Mama Mode & Monopoly

Tags

children, family, games, life lessons

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. In the first round, I had purchased a number of key properties, including Boardwalk. A few more rounds and I owned 3 railroads, both Get Out of Jail Free cards, and both utilities. A few more rounds after that, I added Park Place and completed 2 more sets. With the exception of the community chest and one railroad, I owned the entire left side of the board. I was rolling in dough with 15 properties to my name, while Little Guy had a mere 6 and a small wad of cash, mostly pink and white. I could hear the frustration in his voice, the half-hearted attempt at lightheartedness, and my Mama Mode kicked in. In the end, it was my fatal flaw. I didn’t purchase the red property he needed to complete his set. “Thanks Mom”, he sighed. It had seemed so genuine.

And then he went in for the kill.

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Every parent hopes their kids gain some wisdom from our patient explanations (while our blood pressure secretly skyrockets), and our oft long-winded anecdotal life lessons. We teach them to play fair, take turns, and consider the other person. But we also don’t want them to be doormats. We want them to learn to stand up for themselves, and to participate in healthy competition. Winning and losing builds character. Apparently somewhere along the way, Little Guy’s character learned to like winning.

There was nothing particularly untoward in his behaviour, save a few smart-alecky remarks as his eyes sparkled and he licked his lips with glee…or perhaps I was just imagining that. But there were things he did that I hope he wouldn’t do in real life. He took scary chances. We all play it too safe sometimes and we regret not taking a risk (another game I lost this week). But as soon as he obtained cash, he invested it in houses and hotels. He held nothing back, and at least once, went into debt. To me – Mrs. I-own-the-best-properties! And I let him because, well…Mama mode! Even after he bought the property I needed to finish a set and yes, I reminded him how I had been gracious in not buying the property he needed. He actually took delight in exploiting my grand gesture. Which makes me start to wonder what did he learn from me…?

The issue really isn’t that he built a row of hotels on the property I graciously didn’t buy and he bankrupted me, while I did the responsible things like not going to jail, and modestly investing in and improving those lots with affordable housing and making sure I had money to cover my debts. It’s an issue, but not the central one. (I lost everything!)

The issue is this – When did my kids get better at everything than me (leaving me feeling like a washed up loser who is ready to sit in a senior centre and weave baskets while singing Kum Ba Ya)?

I have come to expect that they will excel at activities that require strength and endurance, like cartwheels or running long distances without losing their breath and quite possibly, their lunch. I can almost accept that their eye-hand coordination means they will excel at first person video games, or they can catch a ball without looking like a total spazz…while missing it. Of course that’s going to happen. But I have unknowingly believed that my 45 years of life experience would garner some respect and some advantage in, let’s say, intellectual aspirations. Managing money? Glory be, yes! I’ve had to balance a cheque book, pay student loans, refinance a mortgage, and a bunch of other incredibly boring adulting stuff involving math and coin.

I was mistaken. Horribly mistaken.

Still, my Mama Mode kicked in and I made a decision, one that ended in my tears, instead of Little Guy’s tears. My hope has always been that my boys would grow into caring, confident, independent men, and I see their strength and drive, and ability to do more than one push-up at a time, as something to celebrate, even as I start to tune my vocal cords for kum ba ya. So while I may have lost at Monopoly this week (and Risk), in a frustrating and catastrophic manner, maybe I haven’t really lost at all.

Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person’s character lies in their own hands. – Anne Frank

Happy Weekend!

 

You Must Be This Tall to Ride

Tags

faith, family, life lessons, parenting

I remember the first time Big Guy rode a big coaster. We had taken him to an amusement park, warning him that he might not be tall enough to ride. The park had one of those “You must be this tall to ride” signs and your height determined just what rides you could go on. Big Guy was just (and I mean just) tall enough to have access to all the rides. And he knew exactly where he wanted to go first – the newest, biggest, fastest coaster in the park. Ugh!

We lined up for over an hour, Big Guy excitedly chattering away about how cool this was going to be. With every inch, my nerves grew. I’ve tried to like roller coasters but without success. So when Hubby and Big Guy sat down and strapped in, I kept right on going. I heard the rest of the story after the ride.  Halfway up the first hill, Big Guy told Hubby, “I want off”, but it was too late!

Becoming a parent can be like that. There’s the waiting and anticipation for this new life; the physical and mental preparation as the date gets closer. There’s a mix of  excitement and fear, and often one panicked moment when you want everything to stop and let you “off”. But it’s too late and the ride has already begun.  And when it’s all over, the elation.

As a parent, each  day, is it’s own ride…anticipation, excitement, fear and elation. Sometimes we scream and want off; other times, we settle in and enjoy the ride.  Or worse, some parents just “chicken out”.

Last week involved a few roller coaster rides for us – there were lows and highs, laughter and tears, and one sleepless night. I wondered if my heart could take it. I’ve already endured so many bumpy and painful rides watching Big Guy grow up – I was so young, blending a family so challengeing. The rides with Little Guy already seem so much less harrowing than with Big Guy, but a lot has changed. I’ve changed.

I’ve learned…how well I fare in the ride depends on one thing:

It has nothing to do with my height or my weight, or the number of years I’ve been a Mom. It has everything to do with where I place my knees at the beginning of the day (or the middle of the day, or the 27th time in a day when I start to feel nauseous and overwhelmed). If my knees are firmly on the ground at Jesus’ feet, I’m tall enough to ride. My heart is strong enough. And in the midst of the ride, I can find joy and grace, enough to last every ride until the end of my days.

Today is just another ride, and I’m learning to like this roller coaster.

“You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn’t like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it…” – Grandma, Parenthood

* * *

This has been a 10 minute post…where I write for 10 minutes with no editing on any topic…memories, mayhem or maw ha ha moments.

Humble Pie

Tags

faith, humiliation, life lessons

I ate a slice recently (it was not sweet or served à la mode).

I didn’t have to eat it, but I chose to eat it. I could have justified my behaviour or downplayed it, soothing my pride. Or I could have let the anonymity of the telephone cloak my identity. It would have been so easy…

I took my car in 5.5 weeks ago for an oil change, a squeaky sound, and the all-too familiar “herky-jerky” transmission in my new car. They changed the oil, fixed the brakes, and promised to order a new clutch kit to (cross your fingers) deal with the “herky-jerky” once-and-for-all!

I was told to check back “next week”. I did. I was told it would take another week, but he promised he would call me!

He promised.

He didn’t call me. So I called him back. He would look into it and promised to call me back in 10 minutes.

He promised.

He didn’t. By the time a hour and a half had rolled around, and I was sitting on hold listening to “beep beep” (for 10 minutes), I was ready to crack craniums and bash brains. So I hung up and called back.

The main receptionist answered and I calmly let her have it. I didn’t swear. I didn’t call her names. But I imagine I was a loud, ranting lunatic whose voice pitch kept getting higher and higher until only dogs could hear it. She apologized without making lame excuses. She remained calm and poised…and professional. She sweetly called me “ma’am” and then politely transferred me to the correct department…where I got put on hold. BUT eventually I made contact with “he who makes empty promises” – who promised to call the next week when the part came in.

I hung up the phone.

I felt terrible. I mean, really horrible. After all, I’ve worked in offices too. Haven’t I made “first contact” with more than my fair share of loud, ranting lunatics and passive-aggressive mind-blowers too? Haven’t I been left shaken after an encounter of the oddest kind when I was simply doing my job?

“Pride is concerned with who is right. Humility is concerned with what is right.” – Ezra T. Benson

So I ate some humble pie.

I called her back. I apologized profusely. I shared that I’m really not that “kind” of person and I’ve been in her position. I thanked her for remaining calm and professional. We talked and laughed for over 3 minutes – this stranger and I caught in a bad moment in my day.

As we closed our conversation, she thanked me. No one had ever bothered to call back before. She was more used to being clobbered, than commended. Maybe more of us just need to swallow a bite of humble pie before we open our mouths!

“We learn humility through accepting humiliations cheerfully.” – Mother Theresa

***

Post-script: It’s been 5.5 weeks since I took my car to the dealership. I called last night to see if my clutch kit had arrived – it hadn’t because it was never ordered. It turns out “he who makes empty promises” was fired 2 weeks ago…for not returning calls and not ordering parts. I swear, it wasn’t my doing!

 

 

OH…S#^$7!

Tags

humour, language, life lessons, writing

It was 1990-something when I started working at the law firm downtown. I was a naive , small town “miss goody-2-shoes” fresh out of college. Ann* worked in the cubicle behind me. She worked hard but she also swore hard – the kind that made paint peel and hardened criminals blush. And that was when she wasn’t stressed out or angry!

I never said a word about it.

Talking to a co- worker a few weeks later, I found out that Ann had noticed I didn’t swear…and when she found out I went to church, well…apparently she responded with a new string of expletives!

The thing is, while I didn’t swear, I also didn’t judge others. I have always believed more in building relationships and accepting a person for who they are and where they are, than in insisting they meet me where I am. I may not always agree with their behaviour, their language or their choices, but I don’t have to…Sure, I may wince a little inside from time to time, but I want language to be a bridge to relationship and not a barrier. And I’m going to trust that they will do likewise. Besides, I’m hardly the bar to set standards by!

“Language  does not always have to wear a tie and lace-up shoes” – Stephen King

I swear more than I used to…and I don`t like it. I recently read an article, “Foulmouthed and Faithful” by Patricia Paddey, and I’ve started taking a closer look at myself. With thousands of words in the English language, surely there are plenty of options for expressing myself (how did 1 word become a noun, a verb, an adjective and an adverb)?  Plus, the words themselves are less a concern than the impact they can have on those to whom I am speaking.

Choice phrases usually come with a sense of entitlement or a “screw you” attitude. The words don’t communicate respect to others (or to ourselves). When a society becomes absorbed with its own self-importance, it loses empathy and forgets to stand up for the weak and vulnerable. Am I glossing over someone’s need or being disrespectful?

Profanity is usually intended to be harsh, to pack a punch, to shock the listener. But life is already harsh. We all experience more than our share of vulnerabilities, insecurities, and wounds in the day to day. We are all in need of a little tenderness, compassion and gentleness. Am I causing more pain?

Richard Beck wrote “profanity functions as a psychological assault”(Journal of Psychology and Theology, 2009). And the more we’re exposed to it, the more tolerant we become of it. As a result, we can become more tolerant when the intent is to assault, demean or oppress a person or group of people, until the assault silently grows into more than just an assault on our sensibilities. Am I part of a bigger problem, and if so, how can I be part of a solution?

“As our language becomes more careless or sloppy, our thinking also grows sloppy” – Patricia Paddey

I’m a middle-aged Mom -I can’t afford to be careless or sloppy. My body is already breaking down and some days I worry about my mental state. I can’t be too sure how many years I have left before my kids put me in a home for the bewildered where I will make tissue roses and sing kum-bya. In the meantime, I have a responsibility as an adult and parent, still being of sound-ish body and mind, to lead by example. My kids already know I am far from perfect but I owe it to them to do better.  I owe it to others to do better. And I think I owe it to myself too. One carefully chosen word at a time!

As mentioned 500 words ago (sorry), I want words to build relationships. It’s not my job to judge others and I’m trusting I’ll be treated the same way.

I worked with Ann for over 2 years and we got to be pretty good friends…her language never improved…but we got to be pretty good friends.

***

This was supposed to be a 10 minute Monday post where I write for 10 minutes without editing … I confess I needed a bit more time… 🙂   And of course Ann* is a pseudonym.

 

The Crying Box

Tags

back to school, humour, life lessons, school

I admire Nursery School teachers. For the first few weeks (or up to Thanksgiving so I’m told by an expert), these stoic educators deal with tears…sad tears, angry tears, and perhaps in private, their own tears. They deal with the “contagious floodgates” – one child cries, which starts another crying, and pretty soon half the class is in the depths of despair. They deal with children with red faces and swollen eyes, and with children who have lost control of their bladders because they are sobbing and they just…can’t quite…hold it…. These teachers deserve giant gold stars!

There’s a Nursery School in the church, which my Little Guy attended for JK. Both teachers are incredibly kind! I have never once witnessed them losing patience with even the unruliest child. They remain loving and steadfast in the face of wide eyes and quivering lips.

A few years ago, one of the teachers came up with an “out of the box” solution to all tears…a crying box. A simple square made of masking tape on the floor of the main room with a box of tissues. The box is separate from main group, but studiously supervised, and while the teachers are always careful to acknowledge a child’s feelings (leaving Mom or Dad is traumatic), they don’t tolerate on-going crying for the sake of crying. They’re experienced enough to understand the difference between kids that are sad and kids that are crying because they are angry. And they recognize that some children just need time…to cry. And it works! The kids learn early on that the crying box is a safe place for them to go and let their feelings out. When they’re feeling better, they can return to the group.

Last week, one of the teachers told me about a child who was trying to “keep it together”. They could see the tension building and tears starting to form, and before long this little girl would sprint to the box for a good cry. Then she’d clean herself up, and return to the group. In a little while, the tension built again and she’d sprint to the crying box again.

It may seem unconventional, however:

• It gives the children a safe place to express their emotions; it is also a space respected by the teachers and other students;
• It acknowledges the children’s feelings without allowing the feelings to control their behavior;
• It teaches them that they are in control of their emotions, not the other way around;
• It teaches them how to gauge their emotions and to judge when they need some time out to regain control; and,
• It minimizes the “cascade” effect in the classroom (i.e., when one child cries, the others start crying too).

Within a week or two, as the children adjust to separation from caretakers and adjust to routines in the classroom, the crying box becomes obsolete. I think it’s brilliant!

How much more pleasant life would be if there were “boxes” in the community. You’re a road-raging parent in the school parking lot – please step into the box, have your rant, and then join the rest of civilized society peacefully. You have one nerve left and your co-worker is straining it – step into the box and breathe deeply until you are no longer seeing red and then go about your day with a clearer head. Your husband…oh, let’s not go there!

But do you see my point? Sometimes we need to take a “time out”, have a good cry or a spirited rant separate from everyone else, before we head back into the fray. And as adults, I don’t think we always do a good job of it. We think we “can’t afford the time” and instead end up hurting those we love the most, and teaching our children that it’s Ok to act like a “bull in a china shop”! We let our emotions and our circumstances control our behavior…and it’s just not a good thing for anyone.

I can’t draw actual lines on the floor with masking tape (how weird would that look to guests in your home, for example), but I’m going to try to make a mental “crying box”. That way, when I have that check in my spirit that says it’s time to step in the box for a moment or two, I’ll be prepared. And perhaps, someday, my “crying box” will become obsolete too.