0 Greener Grass And Fences And Shit: Why We Are No Worse Off Than Anybody Else

I sometimes speak in a proverbial shorthand I learned from my father.  It started years ago, when my mother, a catalog-shopping enthusiast, told me I needed to be more careful with my money.  My father, blown away by the irony of my mother offering financial advice, attempted to tell her that this was like the pot calling the kettle black.  Only it didn't come out that way.

"Pots and kettles and shit!" he shouted, waving his arms in some kind of gesture meant to indicate a connection between us.  "I mean, are you kidding?!"

A new way of talking was born.

I've taught proverbial shorthand to my colleagues, and it's served us well as educators.  Like when we call a meeting to discuss the attitude problem of a student, and meet the surly parents.  "Wow! Apples and trees and shit, huh?"  Or when we give up our lunch periods to tutor kids who don't show up.  "Oh, well, you know.  Horses to water and shit."  Or even the notion that we have to jettison the entire existing curriculum to accommodate the Common Core.  "Really?  Don't you think that's just baby and the bathwater and shit?" 

Note:  It's imperative to add "and shit" to the abbreviated phrase.

Anyway, this all leads me to my point, which is, "Greener grass and fences and shit."  I mean that we sometimes get it into our heads that our NT friends have happier lives than we do.  But I don't think they do.  Their lives are different, for sure.  Easier?  Most likely.  But happier?

There are times when it's almost impossible not to compare.  After spending an afternoon at a friend's house, Big Bro was uncharacteristically quiet.  I asked him what was up.  Didn't he have a good time?

It turns out he had a really good time. He and his friend played soccer and basketball and manhunt with her younger brother.  Then they went swimming and ate pizza and played video games--all three of them, all day long.

"It's just...she gets to play with her brother.  It must be nice.  My brother doesn't play like that."  And there it was.

I tried to explain how different the circumstances were.  Laura and her brother were a year apart in age.  There's a five year age gap between our boys.  Apples to oranges and shit.  But he wasn't having it. 

"Look," I said.  "Our family is different.  But there is no less love in our house.  Yes, Laura and her brother play together, but they also fight like cats and dogs.  Your brother doesn't play ball with you, but he does idolize you.  To him, you are better than Elvis and the Beatles and Derek Jeter all in one.  We do things differently here.  But we still love each other just as much."

That doesn't mean it's easy. 

One night, when things were getting particularly "interesting" in our house, my husband got frustrated.  "Other families get to watch movies together.  Other parents get to relax a bit.  Why is nothing easy?  Why is everything such an effin' tractor pull?"

And I responded, "I don't know.  But nobody is any happier than we are."  And I meant it.  I mean it.

We were once an NT family--just the three of us.  Were we happier then?  Of course not.  We had our worries and stresses and arguments.  We didn't know at the time that our lives were relatively simple.  We didn't know that a few years down the road, we would be installing locks on every appliance and door.  We didn't know that we'd be in this club we'd never asked to join, but has the most amazing members.  All we knew is that our family didn't feel quite complete. 

Well, it's complete now.  He's our miracle.  And yes, it's hard.  We're on our toes 24/7 and we don't get enough sleep.  But we get to celebrate every little milestone.  We get as excited about the boy playing Candy Land appropriately as we do Big Bro making the honor role.  They both bring us such joy.  We're going to worry about some things that other families don't worry about and they're going to worry about some things that don't cross our minds.  And that's cool.  Everybody has their shit.

And shit does get weird around here.  Sleep is interrupted all the effin' time.  Our conversations revolve around meds, therapies and meltdowns, as well as report cards, scout meetings, and baseball practice.  Every outing requires Navy Seal-level planning.  There is often some kind of food substance stuck to our walls.  And we watch an awful lot of Raffi.  But we laugh an awful lot, too.  My kids are funny.  I mean, the boy was naked and trying to hang rosary beads off his junk!  That's good comedy!  We have dance parties in the kitchen to Harry Belafonte and the Beastie Boys.  And I can hardly wait for the weather to get warm so I have an excuse to blast the kids with the garden hose.  Oh, how we all laugh!

Other families likely have cleaner houses.  Other families definitely have quieter houses.  But I don't believe that other families have happier houses.

Home and heart and shit.

Detail: Greener Grass And Fences And Shit: Why We Are No Worse Off Than Anybody Else

0 Thanks for Being Cool

When we take our children out into the world, we have a lot to manage.  We strategize, corral, and buffer, but stuff still happens.  We do our best to teach our children appropriate behavior, we hover, and warn, but they're still our special little darlings doing their special little things.  We're met with mixed reactions.  I'll never forget the time I was trying to steer my boy through a crowd at a Crawfish Festival, and he stole a french fry from a lady who was holding them right at his eye level.  She was not cool with it at all.  I apologized and tried to explain, but she stormed off before I could get any words out.  I will never forget that withering can't-you-control-your-own-child look she gave me for the awful offense of a stolen fry.  It still bothers me that she wouldn't take a moment to understand.

But I'm not here to write about her.

See, I think that lady sticks out in my mind because she wasn't understanding, and I think most people are, or try to be.  Thanksgiving is upon us and I want to take this opportunity to thank the wonderful people who have been calm and understanding when things get a little flappy.  So here's my open letter to just some of those cool people out there:

To the lady in the restaurant whose water glass my son reached into to steal the ice.  Thanks for being cool.  You could tell he was agitated and that we were exhausted.  It was too nice a restaurant for us to be in that day, but you couldn't have been nicer.  You'll never know how great the words, "It's fine!  Don't worry about it" can be to hear.

To the guys in our local hardware store.  Thanks for being cool.  Every Saturday morning, my husband brings the boy in so he can look at the tools and script from Handy Manny.  Sometimes he gets really worked up and runs up and down the aisles at seven a.m., but you never say a word--even the time he went hillbilly hand-fishing in the bait tank.  We love you guys.

To the Spanish-speaking family on the crowded bus that day.  Thanks for being cool.  You were clearly having an important conversation when my son got up in your faces and screamed, "Rojo!"  See, he was learning Spanish in school, and could tell you were speaking it, and that was the only word he knew.  You just smiled and nodded and said, "Si!  Rojo!"  I tried to imagine what it would've been like if the situation were reversed: if I were sitting with my family and a little kid yelled the word "Red!" in my face.  I bet that was weird.

To the man in Starbucks conducting a video conference on his laptop.  Thanks for being cool.  While I may question the wisdom of your conducting a video conference on a laptop in Starbucks, I will never question your awesomeness.  My hands were full of hot coffee when the boy slipped away from me and ran up next to you and became a part of your meeting.  You smiled and said, "Hello, there!"  You could not have anticipated that he would remove your headset, rub your bald scalp, and announce, "Hair is ALL GONE!"  You handled it so gracefully.  You laughed and said, "Why, yes it is," as I dragged the boy away.  I hope your client appreciated the moment and that you landed that new account or whatever it is that people do when they conduct video conferences. 

And to anyone else who has ever held a door, or held their tongues, thank you.  If you walked past a meltdown without passing judgement, thank you.  And even better, if you've taken joy from the joy my son finds in the world, thank you.

Thanks for being cool.

Detail: Thanks for Being Cool

0 The $22 Temper Tantrum

We generally avoid the mall.  It's 40 minutes away, noisy, and full of my students.  But there was stuff we needed to get and I had a coupon.

I sometimes bribe the boy with the promise of french fries if he behaves.  He wasn't too awful, but we didn't stay long.  (He let us know it was time to go by prostrating himself on the floor in front of a jewelry kiosk.  It was awesome.)

We got out of there and went to lunch.  We thought he'd be happy.  This time, though, it wasn't french fries that he wanted.  He wanted to go to the "Star Store," or Toys R Us.  (There's a star in the logo, so there you go.)  OK, eat your french fries, and we'll take a quick walk through the Star Store.

Ha-effin-ha.

So my husband and the ten year-old waited in the car, and I took the boy into Toys R Us.  He didn't wander or look around.  He didn't notice the gigantic Monsters University display.  He walked with purpose, making a beeline to the action figures.  He hadn't been there in months, but he seemed to know exactly where to go.

The Phineas and Ferb toys.  I took a quick look, and thought, OK, good.  Nothing he doesn't already have.

Ha-effin-ha.

He picked up a set of figures with a little car.  $22.  He hugged it to his chest.

"I want Phineas and Ferb toys, please."
"Yes, sweetie.  You have these at home.  Let's put this back."
"I want Phineas and Ferb toys!  I WANT PHINEAS AND FERB TOYS!"
"You have these at home."

This effin' thing.

But he was inconsolable.  He threw himself on the floor, clinging to the toy, and moaning, "Box, box, box!"

That's when I realized just how badly I'd screwed up. See, it didn't matter that he already has these toys.  It also didn't matter that he doesn't actually play with most of them.  See, what mattered is that these Phineas and Ferb toys were in the box.  He wanted them, but he was not going to get them.  I'd be damned if I was paying $22 for a box.

I somehow got the box away from him and marched him out of the store without having to resort to the fireman's carry.  I was so jazzed by this minor victory that I ignored the people staring at my sobbing son.  I set my face in an expression that I'll call "determined serenity"--if there is such a thing.

By the time we got in the car, he was in full-blown tantrum.  He was screaming, sweating, and kicking the back of my seat.  The funny part is that while he was rhythmically and savagely kicking my seat, he was screeching, "PLEASE!  PLEASE!  PLEASE!"  Good manners!  Then he noticed that our car was moving away from the store, and belted out, "GO THIS WAAAAY!  GO THIS WAAAAY!"  Our 10 year-old pointed out that he sounded just like Steven Tyler, and I about burst with pride.  Not only did he handle his brother's meltdown with humor, but he also made an Aerosmith reference.  Excellent!

Eventually, the boy wore himself down enough that my husband and I could hear each other over the screaming.

"I didn't want to set a precedent.  And I sure as hell didn't want to spend $22 on a box," I explained.
"No, you did the right thing," my husband replied.

Just then, the boy took off his shoes and flung them at the dashboard.

"But you know," my husband continued, "whatever money you saved on not buying the toy, we will more than make up for in alcohol consumption tonight."

Detail: The $22 Temper Tantrum