An Accidental Parent

I’m happy to report that Tim is doing extremely well in Kindergarten.

I showed some of his most recent homework to Mark last night after Tim was in bed, and we both marveled over the marked improvement in Tim’s handwriting, and his ability to spell out words by sound.  While there are still improvements to be made, of course, Tim is starting to really look out at the world and read.

I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.

Reading is something that has saturated my life since I can remember.  I fondly remember summer breaks, curled up on the couch or in a nest of pillows on my bed, reading one book after another after another.  Every night, still, almost without fail, I read before going to sleep.  I read sometimes while Tim is at school, or playing with his friends, and almost every day during lunch.

Luckily, Tim came into my life with an established love of being read to.  Eventually we moved from purely picture books to the chapter books that we now read to him every night before bed.  We’ve read through almost the entirety of the Laura Ingalls Wilder “Little House” books, and are currently half way through “The Long Winter”.  With some help from a very informative librarian, we also have several other chapter books that he is beginning to know and love.  One of the simpler series, “Frog and Toad”, Tim immediately came to love.

With this love of being read to, it seemed to me that it would be an easy step to reading, but Tim was at first extremely frustrated by his inability to properly sound out a word, and how long it took for him to do so.  Reading is a slow process for him still, but he’s learning the “sight words”, which started in the classroom and we are reinforcing at home.  Words like:  the, is, me, he, it, was, up, no, to, am, like, my, so, in, can, you, and we.  He can now read most of these words as their title infers, by sight—which is to say, immediately, without the need to sound them out.

Every other day at Kindergarten his class has “Journals”.  This is an assignment where the children write and draw something, usually a subject given by the teacher, but sometimes things from their imagination.  Tim has told me about some of his journal writings—he’s written about trips to Lake Tahoe, blasting off into space on a rocket ship, going on walks, our cats, special dinners that he likes, and playing with friends.  The teacher does not go around making sure everything is spelled correctly, instead she asks them to spell out the words how they think they would be spelled.  Mostly, I believe it to be a practice in handwriting and critical thinking, and it certainly has paid off.  After a few months of this, Tim has become much more confident in his ability to spell, read, and write.

We’re still working on reading short “I can read” books.  Tim continues get lightly frustrated, especially after more than ten or fifteen minutes of reading with our help.  He wants to hear the story, and he does not like how long it takes him to read it.  This frustration is getting less pronounced, however, and his enjoyment is starting to rise.  He has even offered people that visit to read to them from the books he makes at school.

While Tim is learning the very basics of reading and writing, I struggle with a growing desire to go back to college.  I realize that it is impractical if not impossible at this current juncture, and the desire has nothing to do with obtaining a degree.  It has to do with educating myself, and finding that reading a load of fiction books is only barely filling this need I have to further educate myself.

I am subscribed to several education channels on YouTube, and I do occasionally venture over to Ted** and watch some of their lectures, but it was not satisfying me amply.  One of the things I loved about college was writing papers.  Getting words on a page always seemed to drive the lesson home.  I could read the textbook, attend the lectures, and I would come away with some knowledge, but not enough.  Writing it down has always made it stick.  So, I decided to prod once more at Coursera.

(**I linked to an excellent lecture on desertification and how to combat it.  It’s worth a watch for anyone concerned with climate change or likes holistic land management topics, or even people that are not.  It’s worth watching.  Watch it!)

I have to say, I really like the look of this.  Currently I’m signed up for one class that begins in late May, but I enrolled in a class almost a year ago (while I was taking more than twenty units at college) that has all their lectures and assignments archived.  I know I cannot receive a “certification” from Coursera for completing the class now, since it’s over, but I’m not looking for certification or acknowledgement.  I want to learn because I love to learn.  I’m already through most of the first weeks lectures and working on one of my papers with every intention on completing the course in my own time, for my own benefit.

I hope that, in the future, Tim feels much the same way about education as I do.  I feel like I know he will be.  Already, and for so long as I’ve known him, he has wondered at the world and wanted to know more.  He asks why, how, where, when?  So far as I am able, I answer him.

Just the other day, in fact, we saw four military helicopters fly overhead.  He asked what kind they were, and I wasn’t sure, so we looked them up on the computer, and then read about when they were made and when they were first used.  We both learned things, and we both enjoyed the experience.  YouTube, Google, and a wide range of websites are an incredible asset to the education of young folks today.  I feel incredibly gifted to have these tools to offer Tim, and incredibly grateful that he wants to use them.

Springtime

Spring has come, and with it, the onslaught of allergy season.

My soon-to-be father-in-law tells me that the reason allergens are so fierce here in the Bay Area is because “Everything is in season, all year ‘round.”  I tend to agree with him.  While this is my hardest bout with allergies, it is not the first this calendar year, and I’ve been plagued with allergies on-and-off throughout the four seasons.

This last week Tim was off for Spring Break.  I was, of course, out of sorts with nose blowing, head aching, dizzy sensations, and general irritableness.  Luckily, his friends were home for Spring Break as well.  Unluckily this meant that the ever present drama of groups of children rose to a crescendo that broke with me kneeling on the floor in front of one of Tim’s friends, threatening to beat the ever-living shit out of him.

Okay, so, that last part merits some sort of explanation.

First, let me begin by stating, again, that I am sick.  I was sick when I made these threats.  I know it’s just allergies, but it feels like that sort of gut-wrenching, put me out of my misery, God help me kind of sick.  Suffice it to say that when I’m in that sort of state, I am not the best at making the most rational decisions.

It was Bennie again.  Bennie and Tim were playing most of this week.  In fact, on Tuesday I was able to take the two of them on an outing to the California Academy of Science, where we had an extremely pleasant time despite the many hours and some minor issues here and there.  On Wednesday, Bennie and Tim were playing in the gang of kids that roams our cul-de-sac, and had been for many hours when I heard raised voices outside our front door.

I was in the middle of cooking dinner so dismissed the first wave of yelling, until it persisted for more than a few moments.  Finally getting to a stopping point, I pulled open the door and stuck my head out to see Tim in tears and Bennie insisting in a loud voice that he was five, not four.

For the record, Bennie is five.  Inconsequential though this may seem, it was apparently a cornerstone of the argument.  Later I found that the argument was also about looking when you crossed the road and how a body reacts when getting hit by a car.

Somehow, in the midst of this argument, it boiled to the point that Bennie reached out with his super-soaker and gave Tim a good whack.  Tim tried to whack back, failed, tried again, and got hit once more for his efforts.

Tim is naturally shy, and resistant to forms of violence.  Lion King, my friends.  The boy is afraid of watching The Lion King.

So, we have now introduced into our daily routine some basic self-defense lessons, since Tim is as of yet completely unsure how he is supposed to defend himself against any attack.  He needs to know, so now we are teaching him.

But, in my sickly state, it seemed that my motherly instincts did not feel like this was enough.  On Friday, after hearing yet another argument in the next room between Bennie and Tim, I pulled the little shit aside.  He tried to escape but I pulled him back—gently—by his shirt, knelt in front of him, took his head between my hands—gently, again—and told him in no uncertain terms that if he was to ever hit my son again, I would beat the ever loving shit out of him.

Did I go too far?  Probably.  I plead sickness and flashbacks to my own bullied childhood.  I would never beat him up, but I thought that since his parents, Mark, Tim, and I have all tried being reasonable about the situation and talking it through, this was the next step.  I figured that threatening Bennie would probably get through to him, in a language he could understand.

So far, there has been little fallout of this episode.  Tim has reported to me that Bennie said I was going to beat him up, and Bennie’s mother said not to come over here anymore.  Since I have not spoken to either party since the incident, I’m not sure which is true.  Personally, despite being sick I’m sticking by my decision.  Like I said, I think I’ve gone too far, but the gauntlet has been thrown, and I’m prepared to accept the consequences. 

There are many things children pick up through the example of their parents.  They learn the vocabulary of their parents, mannerisms, and morality.  As Tim grows, I try to set up as many examples as possible for him, teaching him table manners, polite behavior, courtesy, and respect.

One of the best lessons, however, began a few weeks ago.

It began with a trip to South Lake Tahoe to visit Tim’s uncle Chris and Aunt Lauren.  Lauren is a voracious knitter.  Prior to this trip I had tentatively asked if she would be willing to teach me, since I’ve always loved the look of knitting and the fact that it’s a more “useful” hobby.  She agreed and while we were visiting she ran me through some of the basics.

Lauren is a great teacher, leaving me to figure out some of the mistakes on my own and correcting me nicely where I could not find the flaw.  I made some pretty big rookie mistakes, and I was glad to have her there to help me through them.

In the last few weeks since that trip I’ve finished two scarves, the first one for my mother as an early birthday present, and now I’m working on my first hat.

Pulling back from this new-found love of knitting, I found that I am actually teaching Tim something quite useful.  Tim has no desire to start knitting, but for the first time he’s seeing me do something that is completely new to me.  Realizing this, I’ve made sure to school my reactions to mistakes and talk to him at length about learning new things.

In school they are teaching Tim how to read, how to count past 100, do very basic math, as well as small history and culture lessons.  Sometimes Tim gets frustrated with his homework, and with his current inability to look at a word and discover its meaning right off.  Before I learned this new skill, all I could do was sympathize with Tim and tell him, “Everyone goes through this–no one is born knowing these things.   You have to learn them, and it takes time.”

Now, I am leading by example.  I knew nothing about knitting, and now I’m completing projects and expanding my knowledge base.  Best of all, I’m not losing my temper when things go wrong, or growling in frustration.  I talk out the problem, ask the computer (I call the computer “my teacher”), and figure it out.

Already Tim is reacting to his homework in a more positive manner.  I’m excited that he is continuing to improve his letter and word recognition, and is even able to read short books out loud to me, with minimal assistance.  He’s also getting better at looking at two-digit numbers and recognizing them almost immediately for their name (two-five is now twenty-five).

I remember as a child growing up, I thought adults knew everything.  They seemed to just spring out of the ground pre-packed with information and know-how.  I had trouble understanding that they had once been in my shoes, struggling with the basics.

I almost wish I had thought of this earlier.  Sometimes, talking is not enough.  Sometimes you have to show your child how to react to a difficult situation, and learn something new yourself in the process.

Reflections and Time

It has been too long.

Last time I wrote, Mark had just proposed.  Almost instantly, I was thrown into wedding planning, and neglected almost all else.  Poor Mark had little idea that there were so many options in planning a wedding, and that I would want his advice so much.

Almost a full month later, however, things took a different turn.

December 14^th, 2012.  The Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting.

I listened to the story on the radio at home after dropping Tim off at school.  I read and read all the information I could as it came out that day—scattered and mostly rumors.  All I knew was that a madman had ended the lives of children, children little older than my own.

Sometimes I think, “I don’t know why this shook me so much.”  I cried almost the entire day, and hugged Tim tighter than normal.

The months after, up until now, I’ve been doing some real soul-searching.  Having this sudden, intense demonstration on how frail life can be, how quickly gone, made me look at my situation as a new mom in a vastly different light.

I suppose, in a way, I had been trying to mold Tim around my own expectations, but I paid little attention to his expectations of me.  Young as he is, Tim has an amazingly good head on his shoulders.  I took this time to foster a better understanding of what he needs of me, so that I can be that for him.

After Sandy Hook, I realized that I needed to try in every way possible to make our newfound relationship work in a more symbiotic capacity.   

I also realized that this blog should not only be about Tim.  It is, mostly.  He’s the lynchpin of my life right now, around which all other concerns are weighed.  Of course, Mark is a great and powerful force as well, but he’s an equal, and therefore does not need so much accommodation and attention as a child does.

This blog, these ramblings, are not just about who Tim is and who he is growing to be.  It is about family.  It is about my discovery of motherhood, and Tim finally understanding what a mother is, after so many years without.

From here on out, there is of course going to be a concentration on Tim, but there is also going to be some insight into our little family, and our lives together.  I suppose I may have wandered a little ways down this path in previous posts, but now I want to concentrate on it more.  There is a lot that goes on in our little world.  Some of it has more to do with Mark, or with Tim’s friends, or my family, than just Tim alone.  Some of it has to do with my own realizations on how better to be a parent.

Sandy Hook was a tragedy of monumental proportions.  There are times, still, when I think about it and I cry.  But, within every tragedy is a thread of hope.  Love your children, give them what they need, become the best parent you can be.  Live every moment knowing that it is more precious than any material on this earth.

Remember those who have fallen.

Our footprints

Almost two years ago, I met Mark.

We met online, on OKCupid.  I love meeting people first online, because the anonymity allows for total honesty.  Instead of speed dating, or blind dating, or fancying someone that may not notice you’re there, you can be upfront and honest about what you want in a potential partner.

Mark and I seemed to hit it off through our correspondence (he was ‘a 98% match’).  His messages made me laugh, and soon I was rushing to the computer or constantly hitting the refresh button in hopes of hearing more from him.

A few weeks after we began e-mailing back and forth, we agreed to meet in person.  I proposed the main downtown area of Sunnyvale, a nice public place.  I biked there, and he drove.  He was late for our first meeting, but I could tell by his frequent and frantic text messages that he was trying his hardest to get there on time.

By the time he arrived I had meandered into a used bookstore, and the first thing he did was raise his hand in a wave and then give me a quick hug.  I was a little taken aback by his assertiveness, but it felt nice.

We had dinner, then walked around the neighborhood, and then sat, and talked.  It was cold, and Mark forgot to wear a long-sleeved shirt or bring a jacket.  We walked to the Starbucks that was inside of Target and I got a hot chocolate and then we talked some more.  Soon after, he said he had to leave, and I reluctantly let him.

Mark walked me to my bike.  I can’t remember who asked whom out for a second date, but it was agreed upon.  We decided to go hiking.

The next couple of weeks we went on many hikes—in the rain and in the cold… which I don’t mind at all, especially since it means the trails are mostly deserted.  It was nice, getting to know someone with the dirt beneath my feet and the beauty of nature around me.  We talked about everything.  We almost always went out to eat after, and continued our discussions there.

We have never stopped having our conversation.

I realized I was falling in love with him perhaps two months after we began dating.  I wasn’t ready for it, but I found myself doodling hearts in the margins of my journals and staring dreamily off into space.

We went on a walk.  We said to each other, “I love you.”

Months followed and I was brought into the fold of Mark’s family.  I began to see his son, Tim, more and more.  Soon, I was spending almost every weekend with Mark, and he with me.  I began to feel a bond between myself and Tim, as we walked, and played, and talked.  Tim has such a great, inquiring mind, and as an amateur educator it excited (and excites) me.

I remember the moment that I realized how much I truly loved Mark and Tim.  It was during a backpacking trip for an environmental studies class.  We were two days into the Toulumne Canyon, and climbing down a nearly sheer cliff with little narrow switchbacks blasted into it.  I’ve never been particularly good at heights, and climbing down has always been a little scarier then climbing up.  I stumbled, at a certain point, and then stopped and really looked down.  I was terrified, but then I thought of Mark.  I thought of Tim.  I felt my heart swell with love for the two of them.

I don’t know why, particularly, but it was a moment of great clarity for me.  Of course I was not going to stumble or fall; I was going to go back to them.  I would, and I did.  I felt like some great weight had been simultaneously lifted and put on my shoulders.  The feeling was indescribable.

And the view was beautiful

 Mark and I went on a walk.  We decided to move in together.

We spent a long time planning our move-in.  I spent more and more time with Mark and his family.  I wanted to be around Tim more, to get to learn more about him, and make sure he was used to me.  I also found it increasingly difficult to be away from the two of them, and longed for the day when we would share a household.

It seemed like years went by, what with all the planning and waiting.  In the meantime, we scheduled a visit to Missouri so that Mark could meet my mother, step-dad, baby sister, and my grandmother.  It was a big step.  I had never introduced a boyfriend to my Missouri family before.  I have never pushed so hard to make sure it happened or wanted it so much.

We found an apartment, within close range to one of our favorite walking parks.  We waited anxiously for the move in date, each of us packing our things, and then finally the day came, and we moved in together.

It was and is difficult, adjusting to life with just the three of us.  We have a great deal of help from Mark’s parents, and Tim is finally getting into the routine of school with some ease.  Each day, I feel like the bond between us all gets stronger, that we are becoming more and more like a family.

This last Friday, November the 9^th, Mark was scheduled to have his wisdom teeth removed at twelve o’ clock noon.  Because Tim gets out of school at 12:40 and I was Mark’s designated driver, we asked Mark’s mother to pick up Tim after school.

With the morning off of work, and both of us home together, Mark suggested we go on a little trip.  I was surprised when he wanted to go to a certain park which is a good forty minute drive from our apartment.  It’s a wonderful park for the two of us, one that we visited often when we first met and in the months and year that followed (before the ankle incident).

Sanborn

With little time before the appointment, we drove to the park in my car and walked around for a bit.  We had just started walking up a hill when Mark stopped me.

“Before we go much further,” he said, “There’s another reason for us coming here, aside from it being a place of good memories.”

He got down on one knee.

He spoke to me of love, of his wish for me to stay with him, and then asked, “Will you be my wife?”   He held out a ring.

Of course, I said yes.

The hours after the proposal are a bit of a blur for me.  I had been hoping for this day for so long, but as it happened it was like a great blankness came over my mind.  My tongue seemed to be glued solidly to the roof of my mouth.  All I could do was babble “yes” and “oh my god” and “I love you so much”.

I don’t even know if I’ve completely recovered yet.

That park was and is very special to the two of us.  The first time Mark and I spoke of our dreams was in that park.  It was the first place I felt the stirrings of love for him.  It was the first place he called me pretty.  And, now, it is the place where he asked me to marry him, and the place where I accepted.

I love Mark.

He is the most incredible, mature, responsible, reasonable, caring, amusing, accepting, romantic, reassuring, and loving person I have ever been with.  I could not imagine a better man to spend the rest of my life with, and I am honored that he feels the same way about me.

The ring

One of the lessons that my mother continuously imparted upon was that I must always have good manners.  I needed to be courteous to others, always use polite words, and have good manners in whichever situation I found myself in.

As long as I can remember, I was required to say “please”, “thank you”, “excuse me”, and “you’re welcome”.  Chewing with my mouth closed, belching quietly, using my utensils properly, and being quiet and well-behaved at restaurants was also a requirement.

I did not mind this as a child.  In fact, I got this little surge of pride at being so well behaved that my mother did not fear to take me anywhere or into any given situation.  She was confident that I would behave myself and, in most parts, I did.

In the last year I’ve been slowly imparting these lessons from my mother onto Tim.  It started out with the simplest requirement; saying please.  I refused to do anything for him until he said please, and then I treated it like a golden ticket to anything he wanted.

Tim still has trouble remembering when to say please, but he’s become a lot better at it.  Also, he’s been much better at saying thank you, and now we’re working on “you’re welcome”.

This is where “car teaching” comes into play.  While in the car, which we are on a daily basis, I teach Tim about politeness (as well as many other topics, but we’ve covered a lot of those).  Mainly, in the car, we talk about what is considered rude and what is not.  Sometimes, he can say some insensitive things, like most children his age, and I am quick to point out that those things are not polite.

For instance, a few weeks ago Tim had a sleepover at his grandparents house.  The next day, Mark and I came to collect him and go shopping for some basic household essentials.  Tim was holding my hand as we walked down the aisle of the store, and I said, “Oh, Tim, I missed you.  I love having alone time with your daddy, but I still miss you when you’re gone.”

“Oh,” he said, “Well, I didn’t miss you.”

Ouch.  I dropped his hand, and stopped walking, “Tim,” I said, “That was not very polite.  It hurt my feelings a little.”  I put my hands over my heart to show him.

“Oh,” he said, “I’m sorry.  I did miss you, a little.”

Well, sometimes you take what you can get.

There’s also the Consideration For Other People that we are working on.  Sometimes, Tim gets a little worked up playing his make believe games while his father or I are doing something, like making dinner, and then he’ll run right into our way and continually get underfoot.  Sometimes, I swear, he’s worse then my cats.  This often results in one of us shouting, “Out of the way!”, which can be a little traumatizing for Tim.  He’s sensitive and does not like to be yelled at.  To make sure these situations happen with less regularity, we’re working on him being a little more aware of what other people are doing at the same time.

“When you’re playing with your toy trains,” I’ll say, “Would you like it if I stepped over there and started hugging you and pushing you and shouting in your ear?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s how it feels when you–” Insert similar situation here.

Empathy is a large part of good manners. If you cannot see how your actions will affect other people, because you can put yourself in their shoes, than you cannot consciously act with good mannerisms.  Once I discovered that this was at the root of the problem, Mark and I started enacting empathy talks and lessons into our lives.

Please believe, we are not browbeating Tim with these lessons.  When lessons are appropriate, or when we see a good segue into the current line of conversation, we act.  It’s the same with any other life lesson we are trying to teach our child.  It’s important to note that we are still a happy, playful family, but we MUST impart this information onto our child so that he can grow into a healthy and well-adjusted adult.

I’m going to take a moment here to talk about something besides parenting.

Today is election day.  On my facebook, a few months ago, I decided to withhold from status updates and posts that reflect political viewpoints, because many of my friends were doing it, and it was kind of saturating the place.

This does not mean, however, that politics mean nothing to me.

I’ve been keeping a close eye on this Presidential campaign, the propositions in my state, California, as well as the Congressional and Senate candidates.

While I will not divulge who I voted for, I will say, with pride, that I voted.

I’m twenty-four.  I’m one of the “youth voters” that political commentators and news broadcasters talk about.  According to the Huffington Post, voters under the age of 30 are 16% less likely to vote than those over 30.

I would like to take this time to urge all of you, regardless of age, to vote.  If you’ve registered, go now to your local polling place and cast your ballot.  If you have not registered, do so now.  It will not be in time for this election, but you’ll have it done.  You can register to vote online in most states, just Google “register to vote in _____” and enter your state.  If you cannot register online, you should be able to find a way to register with your local government office.

This is important.  Forget about the hype, that you’re vote “does not matter”.  I does.  If you hate the electoral college, consider that you’re vote counts on propositions for your state.  Also, consider that abolishing the electoral college may come up–during an election!

If you’re a woman, consider all the generations of women that have lived in this country that were unable to vote because of their sex.  If you’re of African, Hispanic, Asian, Filipino, or Native American decent, consider how many of your people were unable to vote until only recently, historically speaking.  Voting is a privilege, a right, and your duty as an American citizen.

If you do not stand up for what you believe in, or vote for representatives that you feel will hold your best interests in mind, than who are you to bemoan the system?

We all make mistakes.  Sometimes we vote for someone and later we regret it.  Learn from your mistakes, do your research, and vote with your mind as well as your heart.

Plus, let’s not forget the most important thing.

You get a really cool sticker