Saturday Meg-Talk: Christmas Break Edition
Saturday Meg Talk: Christmas Break edition, covering getting out the door for school on an average morning- socks, shoes, leggings, & nails, and a side of elder brother overly concerned with late passes, as mom is aware, though she keeps the peace and neutralizes the anxiety. We’re too blessed to stress, right? We will be okay, and we have time. Take a breath, and keep reading, if you like and would like to relate. I will attempt to entertain and equalize all the pressure parents feel and the noise surrounding them. We’re not that different on many levels. Bridge the gap. Walk in love.
I have yet to get my kids to school late. Punctuality is important for
all parties, especially those responsible for herding cats, aka kids, at
various stages of neural and psychological development, all while maintaining
decorum in an atmosphere meant to foster safe growth and development yet taxed
with managing a diverse spectrum of needs and even irrationality. This challenge is stressful, for everyone involved.
Therefore, no self-condemnation should be assumed by readers losing count of
how many late passes they've accumulated—no judgment either, at least not from
me. Life means there are times we get late passes. It can happen to anyone,
even the most responsible of parents.
I appreciate being on time though. It comes naturally, albeit
it isn’t easy. I’ve had to learn tips and tricks and coping mechanisms even to
deal with anxiety about being late that then can make one late. Such a sneaky
cycle.
I grew up as the timekeeper of my mother and siblings,
pushing them out the door, even if it meant my elder 17-year-old sister ended
up at church with unmatched shoes. Yes, it happened once, and we laughed as she
gained notoriety for being herself. I also learned to check her feet before walking
out the door 20 minutes late and frustrated.
Back to the present: This past Friday was a typical morning but with a
dash of the last day before Christmas break added, so Elder E’s bookbag was
loaded down with a second round of gifts, this time for friends, and Little e’s
was on my back as I helped her get her shoes and socks right, and she waxed in
her level of grumpiness regarding whatever she felt like being grumpy about at
that moment. This is where I’ll stop to expand:
e:
Mommy, did you know that _______ won’t be at school today?
M:
No I didn’t know that. Let’s put on your coat.
e:
So Mommy, did you hear me, about ______. He won’t be der.
M: I heard
you. Why do you keep telling me. I thought you told me you didn’t like
________. You said he was “cuh-raz-y.” So why do you care that he’s not going
to be there? Here, lift up your other foot. No, not that one. The OTHER foot.
Focus child. It’s time to go.
e: Well see Mommy, if ______ isn’t der he can’t draw on my nails or try to
break dem when I take dem off, and he won’t take dem home, and-
M:
Little e!! You can’t wear your nails to school today. We talked about this, and
your teachers Ms. C and Mr. J agreed that you get so much more work done when
you aren’t preoccupied picking them off.
e:
But Mommy!!!!!
(and thus begins the stomping
of the feet as I’m attempting to secure her boot and zip her coat so we can
walk out the door, now 2 minutes behind schedule albeit still in the safe zone.
It’s an 8-minute walk thereabouts, and I a lot at least 15 minutes. I know my
children. I know all the possibilities that await us in those few blocks, between
our doorway and the school’s. I know them well.)
M:
Little e, we aren’t going to argue about it. I’ve already-
e:
No Mommy. WAIT MOMMY!!! DAT’S NOT IT! (she jerks away). Dat’s not what I
was going to say now. (Apparently, she’s changed reasons for
dissent in her little mind since I’ve apparently won round one about the nails.
She doesn’t miss a beat.)
Hold on Mommy! I was going to say not DESE socks. I don’t wike how they feel…..
---and so we pause here as I then assist her in changing her
socks for the THIRD time now. We’d already tried two pair, and again the work
begins to get the sock-to-boot-to-legging ratio right, how much one is pulled
up and the other pushed down, where the toe creases, what she can feel of the
shoe that SHE MUST wear as opposed to any other pair, and how the zipper feels,
IF the zipper feels, basically anything one can imagine that could be felt. Basically,
I’ve learned my kids need to feel like they are naked while also wearing
clothes, for Little e, a myriad of wanted accessories regardless of whether
they serve purposes or match at all. These are my kids, plenty of kids. This is
our communal challenge. Welcome to parenting, or reparenting tiny versions of
ourselves.
Eventually, we got it right, and we headed out the door. All
was well, except Elder E was now unhappy. He could feel we were off schedule.
He doesn’t like to deviate from the routines, especially not for issues that
aren’t about him. Still, the important matters were handled. There were no fake
nails, and our outfits (or at least hers) were on point.
Side note to say: I make no attempts for myself most
of these mornings, and Elder E, well, we are doing well if there ARE socks on
his feet to absorb the pre-teen sweat and IF his clothing is clean because he’d
prefer never change it once he finds what he likes. And I shall only briefly
allude to the underpants comparison, the inequivalence in the number of pieces
I often find myself to have washed for him every week versus for myself and his
little sister. This discrepancy has nothing to do with any potty problems for
anyone, I should add, and all to do what I’ve heard is a common, albeit
gross, thing for some boys at this age. If it works, why change it?
“Well,”
I attempt to convince him, “because
after a day underwear is considered dirty, especially after you’ve taken a bath.
Being clean also means grabbing a clean pair because THAT is more important
than how great the old ones feel. And no, I don’t know why we call them a pair
when they are just one. You are right. That doesn’t make sense. Just please put
on clean pair, or a clean…one. Thank you.”
Back on track. Before we even got halfway to the
school, Little e began protesting. Her socks were falling, so we had to stop
and re-dress, or address, the catastrophe, but there was no time to head back
upstairs and get the longer pair that I told her to wear and she’d rejected, so
now she’s grumpy and has changed her mind, and doesn’t want “dese ones.” They
are uncomfortable. So we talk about the difference between discomfort and
actual pain, and her Elder E tries to provide examples about how he has to
endure discomfort sometimes, even for her sake, like how HE might
be late because she’s complaining so much and we have to drop her off first before
walking all the way around to the other side of the school to drop him at a
different entrance. Truth be told, he was right, we really don’t have time to
keep stopping to adjust the sock indefinitely, making it undetectable yet
present under the legging. Plus, her boots are soft and squishy inside against
her legs. She’ll be okay. Yet we still stop again, right before she
enters school, and Mommy re-adjusts once more, finally figuring out that if we
put the socks over the leggings, they will stay in perfect placement, and she
won’t feel any shoe on her leg to any degree. Only then does she head in, and
we turn to go, but then stop again because she’s back outside because I still
have her bookbag on MY back. “Silly Mommy. You forgot.”
Yes, I forgot. I wiggle it off, and she’s laughing, as is
everyone around except Elder E, who doesn’t have a watch but is CONVINCED now
that he’ll get a late pass and the day will be ruined. (Trust me kid. I have this covered. I’m
more afraid of the late pass than you need to be. It’s not on you. I mean, it IS
on you much of the time or on your sister, but in the end, it’s just on me.
Chill out bean sprout. Let me be the one who carries the weight. That’s my job.
Take a breath. Let’s laugh together. We’ll be okay.)
In the end, we all made it on time. The school gives
a 5-minute grace period before kids are counted late, but I know not to
consider that. I aim for the actual time they have to be there, and then I add
5 minutes to that for good measure. Thus, we leave for school 20 minutes most
days so that we can make the 8-minute walk and deal calmly and leisurely with everything
that might occur and often does occur in those eight minutes before my
responsibility for these incredible humans momentarily is supposed to lessen,
albeit we all know it never does, not in our minds…. Never in a parent’s mind
are our children not. We keep them close always, and we’d have it no other way.
The moral of the story- add an additional 12 minutes, or 20,
or whatever you need, and learn to take deep breaths to handle sensory
irrationality and unneeded mental anguish, fingernails and shoes, and high-strung
personalities, all while enjoying the fact that these ARE the moments we
end up cherishing and remembering as they grow up and out of our hands, as they
figure out how to embrace the world and all of its complexities, if even by
first figuring out how to handle their leggings and socks, fake fingernails,
and little sisters. Life is short. Life is not ever entirely or even at all in
our control, but life is a beautiful gift, every moment of it.
Merry Christmas. Happy
Hannukah. Happy everything to you. Be well my friends, and I hope
your shoes fit well and match if you want them to because apparently, even THAT
is an acceptable style these days for kids and adults. My sister was apparently
ahead of her time, and I was merely learning lessons I’d pass on to my mini-me’s,
both the Elder and the Little. They are so darling. I am blessed, and I thank
God for it all.
Meg-Talk done. Have a restful weekend. As much as you can,
seek to live peaceably with everyone around you. Amen.
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