26 posts tagged “antic”
Before I became a parent, I had wonderful expectations and visions of family life that were soft around the edges, emotive, and highly idealized. My head was full of idyllic scenarios: quiet moments spent in the rocking chair with baby, days at the park soaking up sunshine with happy toddlers, countless explorations and adventures in the world of learning, fun-filled family vacations, evenings at the dining room table talking and laughing, and so on. I believed a parent's job was akin to that of a sculptor. I would 'raise' my children, shaping their futures with caring hands and guiding them to achieve their potential. I predicted that I would love my children dearly.
Once my boys arrived, I discovered that the reality of parenting was something else entirely. Much of what I'd imagined came to pass, but usually in different ways and with rougher edges. The peaceable, fuzzy world I'd envisioned was replaced by something bigger, more chaotic, and harder to steer. Unsurprisingly, I do love my sons dearly. In fact, if anything, I had underestimated how fiercely I would love them and how willingly I would fashion my life around them. I didn't foresee how deep my protective instincts would run, how intensely I would feel their pain and disappointments, and how strong the desire would be to clear their path of obstacles and struggle. I certainly didn't know how unrealistic my ideas about raising kids would turn out to be.
Now, as a mother of teenagers, it is clear to me that parental influence is a much less effective force than I'd expected. Throughout my sons' lives, I've tried to model the principles, behavior, and life choices I think are best, and I truly hope that a good deal of it will appeal and take root. But ultimately, each child is, and always has been, his own person. They were never putty in my hands. Each boy's unique personality has been in evidence since day one. They've had the same parents, home, rules and standards, schooling...same everything, yet they've always been as distinct and different as any two people could be. The choices they make reflect their individuality and their essential natures. With each passing year they've become more confident and independent and my advice and opinions have carried less weight. I've never stopped offering guidance and affection, but I no longer delude myself that I'm actually shaping who they are or where they'll end up. For the next few years, I'm just along for the ride, white-knuckled and wondering if we'll all get where we're going in one piece.
Yes, I knew I'd love them. It's the easiest thing in the world to do. It also makes everything harder.
...nothing like you!
"When I have kids, I won't be like you. I'm going to be a cool dad. A fun dad. No stupid rules. My kids are going to love me. I'll put Poison Control in the speed dial and just let 'em go. We'll have parties. I'll be their friend. I'll take 'em to strip clubs."
"Hmmmm. I wonder how your wife will feel about that."
"She won't care. She'll work there. Yeah. C'mon kids! Let's go see your mom at work."
Charming.
On my weaker days, it's tempting to throw in the towel and embrace the 'do whatever you want' brand of un-parenting (sans the strip club and pole-dancing spouse, perhaps). It would certainly be easier. It's exhausting trying keep my balance on that fine line between too much parenting and too little. Sure, I want my kids to develop independence and self-reliance, and of course I want them to make choices and learn from their mistakes. But at the same time, I want to keep them safe and help them steer clear of mistakes that fall into the brutal, life-altering category. I want them to be happy, enjoy life, and consider me a friend. But my first priority is to be a good parent, not a pal. It's kind of a drag to be uncool all the time, but too many of the 'cool' things seem like a truly bad idea to me now that I'm 'old' and 'square'. I don't want to have too many rules, but I think having too few is even worse. I want to trust them, but rebellion and stealth seem to be teenage raisons d'être. Yeah. Who knew raising kids would be so tough? (Other than my parents.) I'd like an instruction manual, please.
Sleeper and Antic will soon begin a new term at school. While my boys aren't heavily into open contemplation at this age, I think most students experience the start of a new term, at least subconsciously, as something of a fresh start. Ah, but what about cumulative GPA?
People treasure and celebrate the idea of new beginnings. There are many examples, not the least of which is New Year's with its parties, countdowns, and resolutions. A brand-spanking-new year awaits us on the first page of every calendar, providing the opportunity to wipe the slate clean and make changes.
But that clean slate is, for the most part, a comforting illusion. Change is certainly possible. Don't get me wrong. But there's no denying the past. Each passing day makes an indelible mark on us and shapes who we are and the future path before us. (I believe this is as true for societies as it is for individuals.)
The student entering a new term or a new year lugs his prior performance along, for better or worse. And so it goes ever afterward. Education, resume, partnerships and transactions, credit score, voting record, medical history, net worth. Parents, children, loved ones, rivals, bliss, despair, trust, betrayal, give and take. Every choice and experience, accomplishment or failure, adds to the tally somehow, internally or externally.
The past stubbornly refuses to be erased, yet we rub at it, ever hopeful, ready to lay down more pleasing lines. The new year / new job / new spouse / new home / new you will be so much better than what came before.
I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I suppose it's what keeps us going.
Me: Sleeper, do you think you could find your copy of Night? Antic's going to need it soon. Miss Temornin mentioned they're going to read it as a class assignment.
Sleeper: Yeah, sure I'll look for it. I dunno where it is, though.
Antic, highly exasperated: Why are we always reading books in that class?!
Me & Sleeper, in unison: "It's an English class!"
Silly kid.
If you are the parent of a young child, you may want to stop reading here. I don't want to contribute to your disillusionment. :) My topic: Back to School Night. Bear in mind that my sons are now both in high school. (Yes, this makes me feel old.) So it's safe to say that I've been to a few of these.
Every year, I dutifully put it on my schedule and trundle off at the appointed hour without giving it a second thought. But let's face it folks: these things can be, and usually are, dreadfully boring. Antic's BTSN this year was, perhaps, the most mind-numbing of all. I don't blame the school. I think I've simply reached my saturation point.
The idea is to speed through an accelerated version of your child's daily schedule, spending ten minutes or so in each classroom, meeting the teacher and listening to a brief rundown of expectations and goals. Some teachers are laudably prepared, with a succinct presentation and a helpful handout. Others seem caught off guard by the whole event and ramble through a disjointed collection of anecdotes and semi-helpful advice.
I recognize that it's a worthwhile process. Really. I just don't know if I can do it again. Maybe it's like childbirth and I'll forget how painful it was before it's time to do it again. Naturally, I wouldn't willingly admit to Antic that it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. In fact, on the way home, Tall and I indulged in a quick my-god-that-was-tedious rant to get it out of our systems, and then we helped each other come up with positive comments we could share with Antic once we got home. The last thing I want to do is come home from school and report that it was boring. That would be too surreal.
One of the teachers had this to say: "Don't call me and ask me why your kid didn't do her homework. Ask her." It was funny, eliciting a nervous titter from the parents, but it's also true. If we don't know why our kids aren't doing their homework, how in the world would the teacher know?
My favorite part of the evening (aside from the 'dismissal' bell) was the frisson of surprise when I recognized the dead-on characterization of a particular teacher that Antic had shared with me a few weeks ago. "She actually gets excited when she talks about math concepts, Mom, I kid you not. She'll be talking about a formula or something and she just gets all wound up." Sure enough. I had pretty much forgotten that conversation until the moment during her 'class' when she walked up to the chalkboard, drew a number line, and started explaining, with a lilt in her voice, the difference between whole numbers and rational numbers. The woman's eyes actually lit up. I nearly laughed out loud.
I've given it a good deal of thought lately, and I've concluded that I don't live what I'd describe as a highly bloggable life. And I couldn't be happier about it.
I am content. My life is noteworthy for its lack of conflict. (Unless you count near-daily scuffles with the teenagers, but really...) I am happy in the relationships that I have, and those that I've left behind. All childhood traumas were effectively examined and put to rest long ago. I share my life with a wonderful man and a couple of kids I genuinely like and enjoy spending time with. I'm fortunate in my family and friends. I'm well suited to the work I do. I have the time and the opportunity to pursue my hobbies.
I almost hate to spell it out like this for fear of bringing down a curse.
At any rate, none of this makes for riveting blog posts. My day-to-day existence is quite lacking in drama, chaos, and adventure. And while there are many fine writers who can post on just about anything and make it interesting, I'm not among them. (Note to self: is there any possible way to add interest to this post about being basically uninteresting?)
This is what I'm sure of: if a boring blog is the price to be paid for the life I live, I'll gladly pay it.
Do you have a green thumb?
OMG, no! I'm cursed. Seriously. I've tried, at various times in my life, to grow vegetables, plants, and/or flowers, both indoors and out. I've yet to succeed. I think of myself as a 'black thumb' who can bring blight to the hardiest plants. For a long time now, I've simply flown the white flag of surrender. However, I think I've worked up the nerve to give it another go. I'm strongly considering ordering and planting this garden:
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I was discussing this idea with Tall during dinner, and my darling Antic piped up with this:
"Whaaaaaat?! You're going to plant a garden, mom? Are you serious?"
"Well, I think so. It's supposed to be a very hardy and easy-care collection of plants. I thought I'd give it a try."
"Um, are they plastic flowers? Cuz, really, I think if they're not, you're gonna kill them."
Ah, the vote of confidence. Needless to say, I feel very encouraged. :0
Antic needs to read a couple of books before school starts, so I pulled up my city library's website and called him over. I searched for the first book, and pulled up the record.
"This is one of the books you need, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I'm going to have it transferred over to our branch and we'll pick it up there."
I typed in my name and library card number, and submitted the request.
"Oh. My. God. Mom. You've memorized your library card number? You are such a square!"
"Hey, Tall. Look at this book I borrowed from the library. I was thinking we could give some of these recipes a try. What do you think?"
"But I like meat."
"I know. But it wouldn't hurt to cut back. Maybe two or three times a week we could try meals without meat? Or I could, anyway. You guys don't have to."
Tall flips idly through the recipes. "You know the problem with vegetarian meals?"
"No. What?"
"Beans. I don't like beans."
"Not really my favorite either. But there's other stuff besides beans. Just not tofu. I don't like tofu."
"Yuck."
"Hmmm. Eggplant. I like eggplant."
"Blech."
"Tempeh? I've never tried that. I wonder how it tastes."
Antic walks in.
"Is mom trying to turn us into vegetarians? I don't wanna be a vegetarian."
"I'm not trying to turn you into anything, Antic. It's not a big deal. I'm just suggesting we cut back on meat. That's all."
"But I like meat. Why would anybody want to give up meat? It's good."
Well, there are actually a lot of good reasons. Environmental concerns. Animal welfare. Better health. Food safety issues. When we watched Fast Food Nation, you said it grossed you out."
"I'm over it. I want a big juicy steak, right now."
::sigh::
I like movies, and I'm generally not hard to please. That said, I hated this movie. Ugh. Perhaps Antic sums it up best.
"Mom, did that movie make you angry? 'Cause it pissed me off. It made no sense. I want to punch that guy."
"Who? The director?"
"I don't care. Him. The bald guy. Monk-in-a-snowglobe. Whoever. What I really want to do is find the tree that can return us to before we wasted our time watching that stupid movie! Grrrrrr!"
