parenting

Life As I Know It

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Yesterday was such a long day. I think I might have aged a year in 14 hours. I’m certain a few gray hairs have appeared and my frown lines have become more pronounced since yesterday morning. It was just one of those days that needed to END. I needed a fresh start today. Fortunately every day is an opportunity for a fresh start, and every day I take it.

After I got Maddie off to school yesterday, after several hours of dealing with her opposition to that idea, I was exhausted in ever way. I was immobile for most of the afternoon, lacking the energy and desire to see anybody or do anything. For a moment I thought a little retail therapy sounded good, but I was too depressed to go anywhere. So I went home and did nothing. Well, I wrote a blog entry and watched an episode of The Voice. Good choice on my part for a number of reasons, including the fact that writing and watching On Demand didn’t cost anything.

Soon it was time to pick up my son, and not long after that Maddie arrived home in the cab. I was dreading the afternoon all day. I knew she would have quite a bit to accomplish because she hadn’t finished some of her work from the night before. And I was right. She had a pretty hefty math assignment and science to complete. Plus a shower.

Ever since homework became part of our lives when Maddie was in first grade, I have spent some of the day dreading it. And the moment I see her after school, it is on my mind. I always give her a warm welcome home and ask her about her day, but then I dive into the homework questions. And we make a plan. Or rather, I make a plan.

So we dove in around 4:00 and nearly three hours later I was still sitting with her while she did her math. She needed a little help with a couple problems, but mostly she needed help staying on track. She’s been better about that lately, but yesterday everything was a challenge for her, so I just gave in to the idea of sitting with her to ensure success.

I did not, however, anticipate how long it would take her. There were an awful lot of problems to do, She was also very unfocused. I spent a lot of energy helping her be productive. It was hard. I was patient. It was long. I got tired. When she finally finished her math, it was time for a little science work, but she also had a long overdue shower to take, and I sent her off to do that.

And then the shit hit the fan. She decided she wanted to watch the newest episode of The Flash. But it was too late to both take a shower and watch the show. By that time I had given up on the science; she could do it the following day during Academic Workshop (study hall). She would have to stay up late in order to watch the show.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Well, you skipped school yesterday and missed half the day today. You do not get special privileges unless you earn them. You don’t even have your usual privileges,” I explained calmly.

And then I saw it. Her body stiffened, and the expression on her face changed. Her eyes looked determined and her lips smirked. Everything about her said, “Oh YEAH?”

“I really want to watch The Flash,” she insisted.

“I’m sorry, but the answer is not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I already told you why not,” I said, and then repeated my explanation from a moment before.

Maddie was not giving up, but instead becoming increasingly determined. She would not budge. She looked me straight in the eye, challenging me to defy her wishes. How I wanted to just say, “Oh, forget it, go ahead.” That would have been so easy and relaxing. She could go do her thing and I could do mine, and everybody wins!

Except everybody doesn’t win. She has to understand that her choices have natural consequences. If you haven’t finished the things you are required to do, you will not have time for fun. That’s just the way it is. I have said that a thousand times. But as we’ve learned, her mind doesn’t work that way.

“But why?” she asked over and over. I explained that special privileges are earned, and staying up late is a special privilege that she had definitely not earned.

She was desperate. She wanted to watch The Flash so badly. “How about if I stay up late tonight and then get up in the morning? Then you’ll see I can do it.”

Stupidly I have fallen for this logic more than once. It sounds wonderful, but it’s a trap. It NEVER happens that way. Why do the work when the reward is already in your pocket? I got my reward, so see ya!

But last night I remained strong. I would not give in. But she’s a tough nut to crack. She wouldn’t give in either, and she is the most determined person you could ever meet in a moment like that. She followed me around the house, looking me in the eye, challenging me. She wouldn’t let me out of my room, blocking each door as I tried to exit. She announced she would do it all night if need be. And you know what? She is perfectly capable of that. I could feel panic start to set in (What am I supposed to do now?) but I worked to retain my calm exterior. I was not going to give up or give in or be upset. I would stay firm and strong and calm.

“I’m done with this conversation,” I announced. “I’m not going to answer you anymore if you talk to me about it.” I had to do my part to put this issue to rest.

But the conversation wouldn’t stop. I kept repeating that I was done, and she kept going. She was going to WIN.

Finally, Rachel (my niece) said, “I’m going to the store. Wanna come with me?”

Oh thank you, my dear Rachel! Something had to give here. Somehow this needed to stop. I was trying to extricate myself, but Maddie wouldn’t allow it until that moment.

We were only gone 15 minutes, but it was a very valuable 15 minutes. I had been trying to leave, but wasn’t able. It was a good instinct. When I got home, Maddie was calm and remorseful.

I looked at the clock. We had spent an hour and 15 minutes in this cycle of questions and explanations. I pointed that out. She could have accomplished so much during that time or even gotten some sleep. She announced she was now ready to shower, but then it was late, so I suggested she just get into bed.

“I just want to sit here and mope,” she said.

“What are you feeling right now?” I asked.

“Guilt. Regret. Sadness,” she answered. Well, that’s something. Emotions identified and communicated! Nicely done.

“Do you know what you do when you have feelings like that?”

“No.”

“Well, when you have guilt and regret, you think about what you did. You think I don’t want to feel like that again, so I won’t do that again.”

“Oh.” News to her, as usual.

“Let’s start fresh tomorrow,” I suggested. “We’ll just start over. If you’re awesome all day, starting right now, and you get up in the morning on time and do your homework and shower without any arguing, you can stay up a little late to watch The Flash.”

I have learned that if she has already lost any chance at a reward, there is no more leverage. I try to keep that in mind. There has got to be something fairly immediate at stake, and even then, as we know, the outcome is not guaranteed. Not even a little bit.

“Okay,” she said. I hugged her and we talked and I said goodnight.

It was a hell of a day. I am glad it’s was over. I wish I could be optimistic that tomorrow will be a better day, but reality and experience tell me it’s a crap shoot. It seems to me that a third morning in a row like this can’t possibly happen. I’m not sure I could take it. Maybe I would give up. I can’t do this forever. I can’t even do it the rest of the year. And I’m not sure even another day would be survivable. I might need to take my puppy and run away, as I sometimes think to myself.

But I won’t. I’ll be here. I will get up in the morning and give it a try. And hope for the best, or at least something better than the worst.

A Miracle Has Occurred, But I Still Feel Terrible

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Somehow or other Maddie changed her mind and went to school. I was about to say “I got her to go to school” but we all know ultimately Maddie is the one in charge. It was three hours into the school day by the time we left, but a half day is better than no day at all.

After a day of trying to be zen about this whole thing yesterday, today I just didn’t have it in me. So I played hardball with Maddie. After I sent the cab driver on his way, I took away access to all electronics. She didn’t like that. I wouldn’t engage in light conversation. “I’m not talking to you,” I said when she initiated small talk, trying to smooth things over. I even emailed the educational consultant to follow up on boarding schools, and she watched me do it. Today I’m feeling like I can’t do this anymore. Maybe somebody else can instead.

“Can I have my stuff back?” Maddie asked.

“No,” I laughed, incredulously. “You didn’t go to school.”

“Well, when can I get it back?”

“When you have gone to school.”

“What if I go to school today?” she queried.

“Well, then I’ll give you something back. I’m leaving in three minutes,” I said, “to go to the chiropractor. If you’re ready to go in three minutes, I’ll take you to school instead. I’ll put your lunch together and then I’m leaving.” I was very matter-of-fact. I meant it. I wanted her to go to school so much, but I was done lobbying. Plus, even though I was perfectly willing to skip my appointment, it had to be for something as big as driving her to school.

So when she said she was almost ready, I sent off a quick text to Dr. Marc, canceling my appointment.

I love my chiropractor. He’s not your usual “crack, crack, see ya” kind of guy. An appointment with Dr. Marc lasts a whole hour and involves only deep massage along the spine (or whatever you need) and a few pops with that triangular adjusty thing. If you have jaw problems, like I did a few years ago after taking a baseball to the temple, he’ll press some points inside your mouth that make you want to run through the door like in a quick cartoon escape, but it works. He’s gentle and kind and has so much sympathy. Seeing Dr. Marc is a form of therapy in a way. I could have really used a visit today. But I gave it up for Maddie.

A couple weeks ago I was in a bad way. My upper right side, including my neck and shoulder, was in so much pain. I thought maybe I had a pinched nerve from sleeping wrong. When I gave Dr. Marc my explanation, he looked at me uncertainly, as if waiting for more information. “I’ve been under a lot of stress, too,” I added.

“That would explain it,” he said, nodding sympathetically. “You carry the world up here,” he observed as he manipulated the area above my shoulder blades. Boy, is that the truth. There is everything I experience, right up there on my shoulders. I’m hunched forward at the shoulders all of the time. Apparently it’s from a fight or flight response to stressors. That makes so much sense to me.

Some years ago I had the sensation of a knife going from my chest straight through to my back. “Stress,” diagnosed my doctor. But his only suggestion was, “You’ve got to find a way to deal with this.”

I still haven’t figured that out. Wouldn’t that be magical if I could just “deal with it”? Every day I try to “deal with it.”

So this morning when I was pulling out of the high school parking lot after watching Maddie stroll toward the office to check in, I didn’t feel some huge sense of relief. I was glad she was at school for half the day, but the weight of it all is still with me.  I wish the chiropractor could remove that weight permanently, but all he can do is try to relieve the pain from the weight I can’t seem to shake. He is not the magic answer. I don’t know what is.

I also don’t know why Maddie changed her mind today. I’m glad she did. All the moms I know hate making lunches for their kids. I hate making lunches for my kids. I’m tired of it. But I would make 100 lunches a day rather than deal with this in the morning. I woke Maddie up at 6:30 and spent the next 3 1/2 hours trying to get her to school. This afternoon we’ll embark on homework and the shower that was supposed to happen yesterday. I hope she’s more cooperative, but I can’t count on that.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Life goes on. Deep breaths.

I Hate This Morning

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Remember that roller coaster ride I described in great detail last week? Well, I’m back on it. Big time. And not the fun part.

Last night as I was getting all philosophical about Maddie and parenting and life in general, I felt a great sense of peace. And a tiny sense of accomplishment. That feeling is hard to come by as a parent. How did I do today? Am I doing a decent job of raising a human? Beats me! I guess I’ll find out eventually.

Still, last night I felt so good about what I would oddly call a successful day. Normally I would say a successful day involves everybody going to school. At 7:45 in the morning, when both kids have departed, I feel both triumphant and completely relieved. It’s time for a huge exhale.

Yesterday, though, I redefined success, I suppose. I remained calm. I kept my cool. I retained my perspective. Yes, yesterday was all about perspective.

And then there was the clock thing. Even though Maddie didn’t finish most of what I’d asked her to do, I delighted in her sudden awareness of the clock. Small victories.

Today? Forget it. Maddie said no again. For no reason. I’m not going to school, she decided. And there you have it.

I could feel the tension rising in my chest. Both tears of frustration and a sense of rage started boiling up inside me. Deep breaths have been required this morning. Lots of them. It is so hard not to feel defeated in the most literal sense of the word. Defeated and deflated: those are the words that come to mind in moments like this.

I brought up the boarding school thing again. It’s definitely not on Maddie’s mind on a morning like this. She hugged her cat and pretended not to hear me. But I know she did. Her message was basically “talk to the hand.” I guess her idea is that if she doesn’t make eye contact, I must assume the message isn’t getting through. But I know she heard me.

It was all I could do to refrain from yelling. I’m that mad. Again with the deep breaths.

But then I had a little epiphany. I keep bringing up boarding school as if I’ll be making the choice for her. I will be making that choice in a way. But really it’s her choices that are leading the way.

“Maddie, every time you cut school, you are getting one step closer to boarding school,” I said. “If you can’t get up and go to school, you will have to live at school. And each time you stay home without permission, you are making a choice.”

I want her to know she’s in control of this situation. She has the power to stay here and continue at what is really a lovely school. Or she can send the message that she’s willing to give that up and move away.

I reluctantly admit I’m somewhat ambivalent about this prospect. I feel a knife in my heart when I think of Maddie not living here. Who will take care of her when she’s sick? Who will hug her every night and every morning and throughout the day and tell her how wonderful she is? That’s my job, and I’m good at it!

But the truth is, it would be such a relief. My mornings wouldn’t begin with a deep feeling of anxiety and dread. I could spend more of my energy on things I enjoy. Parenting Maddie is exhausting and stressful. What if I handed that off to somebody who’s both more qualified for this and less emotionally invested? The deep breathing might involve more inhaling joy than exhaling pain.

There is hope, though, at least for the immediate future.

“I want Dad to wake me up,” Maddie suggested.

“Every morning?”

“Yes.”

That would be the gift of a lifetime: handing off this relentlessly stressful task to somebody else. Maddie’s dynamic with Jake is so different. She loves to take on a character, and he magically knows how to interact with her that way. I’m baffled by this scenario, and she knows it.

Also, he doesn’t get up each morning with 15 years of frustration with her on his shoulders and in his brain, waiting to spring forth at the first hint that she might refuse to cooperate. For me, each moment is fraught with the pain of all those years of experience. She has been, after all, my 24/7 job since the day she was born.

At my request, he has made an attempt to get her moving. Better late than not at all. She wasn’t responsive. We have passed the point of decision, and it’s nearly impossible to redirect now. Even for Jake. I’m not optimistic.

So what do I do? I haven’t cried today. You know I don’t cry much at all. There aren’t any tears, but my eyes have that burning, heavy feeling you get when you cry. My head hurts. I feel the heaviness in my face, too, my mouth turned down in a sad frown. Maybe I really am crying–on the inside. It feels like that.

I am working on letting this go, as I so graciously and effortlessly (well, not really) did yesterday. The idea that Maddie is making the choice, and removing the burden from myself, sounds so smart and wise and evolved. I want to hold onto that. I’m not sure how to do it, though.

Because the truth is, at some point I have to decide that she has made her choice. I will have to find the school for her. I will have to make that happen. It’s not quite as easy as it sounds, this letting go. Because I’m still the mom. And she’s still the child.

I’m breathing deeply. I’m waiting. I’m hoping, but I’m not really that hopeful in the moment. This is going to be a long day.

Special Appearance

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

First, let me start by saying I’m kind of proud of myself. I let go today. For today, anyway. This is an internal struggle that rears its ugly head on a regular basis. I’m fighting the urge to engage in an un-winnable battle. A battle that shouldn’t be fought at all, really. The real victory in this particular conflict comes in letting go. This is becoming a theme for this year. Letting go. Just a couple years too late for the theme song. Oh, well!

When Maddie announced she had no intention of going to school, I simply closed her bedroom door and then proceeded to call the district’s transportation manager so he could cancel the cab stops for today. I was filled with both anxiety over yet another missed day of school and utter relief that I was able to just accept what was happening so much more readily than usual. Maybe I’m making progress.

I did require Maddie to accomplish a few things today, though. She took the morning off, and then later in the afternoon I announced she would have to read for 30 minutes, complete her science homework from the night before, and take a shower. In typical Maddie fashion, she said “okay,” but without a lot of commitment in her voice. I’m not stupid. I know she’s just saying what I want to hear. She didn’t mean it at all.

Since we were both hanging out in my room at the time, she willingly got out her book and read 30 pages. How relaxing! I asked her to do something, and she did it! I love it when that happens. Shortly after that I was scheduled to leave for a couple hours to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Just a short outing with some lady friends for a drink or two.

Then home again. Imagine my utter un-surprise when I got home to find Maddie scrunched down in my bed watching TV, with her backpack still zipped up by her side, and her hair an oily mess. Seven o’clock at night and no science homework completed. No shower taken. It’s amazing how I can be disappointed by the very thing I expect. Perhaps a part of me was secretly optimistic. I can’t imagine why.

I turned off the TV and she went in her room with her backpack where she settled in to pet her sweet cat Daisy. “Get started on your science NOW,” I said calmly and firmly. “I’m going to check on you in two minutes. You’d better be working.”

When I returned to make sure science homework was underway, Maddie asked me to stay. Her assignment was to read a chapter in her textbook and answer some questions. I thought perhaps I could speed things along if I took dictation. I read some news online while she read the chapter, and when she was ready to work, I opened Google Docs and began to type.

Maddie efficiently answered the first two questions, giving articulate, succinct explanations. I just typed. The third question was much trickier. We both looked over the material and couldn’t figure out exactly how to answer, but I made a general suggestion and she took it. Onto question four.

It was getting late, but I really wanted her to finish. By this time I had given up on the shower. Oh, well.

And then the unimaginable happened.

“I don’t think I can finish,” Maddie said.

“You only have three more questions,” I said. “We can do it.”

“No, I don’t think I can.”

“Are you too tired?”

“No, I’m worried about the time. I need to go to bed so I can get up in the morning.”

So who was the special guest this evening? The clock. My child looked at the clock, assigned significance to the time, and made a decision based on both the time and future consequences. My mind is officially blown. What. Is. Happening.

Tonight as we were getting ready for bed, I relayed this sequence of events to my husband Jake. He, of course, understood the momentous nature of this little anecdote. “Maybe she…” he began. And then he stopped. Maybe nothing. Maybe now she’ll start taking interest in time passing. Maybe she’s turning over a new leaf. Maybe she will prioritize and make good decisions.

Sure she will. Sometimes. Unpredictably. And mostly not. I know better than to think that one moment like this is a breakthrough.

“Light!” Jake reminded me. Yes, just like the time she said “light” and then nothing at all for six more months. Exactly. Sometimes Maddie does something so surprising and wonderful, and we can delight in it for a little while. But that’s where it stops. Appreciate those moments, and know if you expect the same thing next time, you will most likely be disappointed. So just don’t. Enjoy  now. Enjoy this. The end.

Occasionally people say such kind things to me after reading my blog. Even before I started writing, a common compliment to me was, “You’re so patient” or even “You’re an amazing mom.”

Well, all of us moms work hard at this parenting thing. And I have put–and continue to put–a tremendous amount of effort into honing both my skills as Maddie’s mom (and as mom to my son as well) but also, and perhaps even more so, my philosophy on life as a result. They are completely intertwined. How I look at life and the world and myself and people and kindness and love and forgiveness guide how I choose to be with Maddie. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, every single day it is a choice. It often does not come easily to me to be calm and loving and accepting. Often it takes every ounce of mental energy I have not to be angry, not to fight. I don’t always succeed. At all.

But every day I learn. Every day I am getting better at this. Every day I am working toward something, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if what I’m working toward is just as much a better me as it is a better Maddie.

I don’t know when our special guest, the clock, will make a second appearance. I’m not even going to think about it. I’m going to feel happy it happened today. I’m going to feel good about myself for staying calm and being loving. I’m going to feel grateful that at least Maddie got some of her science work done and then still got a good night’s sleep, even though she ran out of time to shower. I am going to hold onto the feeling of snuggling with her in bed, of her loving hug, of her forehead on my lips because she still lets me kiss her goodnight.

A New Addition

Chris Irvine, Parent Coach1 Comment

The big news around here these days is that we have an additional member of the household. And, yes, she is human. (Two dogs and two cats is enough, don’t you think?) It’s been a few months in the making, and the day has finally arrived. Our lives are enhanced with the fifth member of our family!

My niece, Rachel, has to come live with us while she transitions from the Central Coast to the Bay Area. She’s a fabulous 22-year-old young lady whom I have adored since the moment it was announced that she was coming to this earth. Of course I’d love her to stay here forever, but I know this is just stopping point on her way to bigger and better things.

Among all the many benefits of having Rachel here, it has occurred to me that this might have a positive effect on our kids’ behavior. My son probably won’t want her to think he’s a jerk, so maybe his teenager-y behavior will drop a notch or two. A friend mentioned Maddie might respond the same way. After all, Rachel and her two siblings have long been the object of my kids’ admiration. They are a trio of fun, lively, loving people. Excellent choices of people to emulate.

But I know better. Maddie loves Rachel and is so happy to have her here. “It’ll be like having a sister!” she recently told me. “And I’ve always wanted a sister.”

Well, I guess that’s truer than I might have originally thought. Do sisters try change their behavior to impress each other? Not in my experience. I have two sisters and don’t ever remember thinking about that!

While Maddie is interested in spending time with Rachel, and wants to share her imaginative costumes and other things that interest her, changing her own behavior just isn’t something that would occur to Maddie. She’s very much a “take-it-or-leave-it” kind of person, for better or for worse.

Rachel arrived yesterday afternoon. Instead of retreating to her room, Maddie accompanied Rachel, me, and the dogs to my friend’s house around the corner for puppy play time. That’s new. She also elected to hang out with us, eat dinner, and help Rachel with a project, all instead of her usual Minecraft time. What a wonderful change! Maddie was engaged and happy, and still cooperative at bed time.

But today we are back to normal. I’m not one bit surprised that Maddie is in bed instead of in the cab on her way to school. I sort of expected this yesterday because of the Halloween festivities. One big night and she can be wiped out for days to follow. So here we are again on a Tuesday (I now hate Tuesdays too), and Maddie simply said “No” when it came time to get up. No “I’m tired” or “I need some more sleep.” Just a flat refusal with no explanation. She has chosen to stay home. The pronouncement has been made. End of story.

Does Maddie care what Rachel will think about that? Apparently not. Of course, Rachel doesn’t actually have a judgment about Maddie. She loves Maddie just as she is. Maybe Maddie knows that. But really I think that whole concept of how she’s perceived by other people isn’t part of her make-up, again for better or for worse.

Maybe next time I should point this out. “Don’t you want Rachel to see what a good kid you are?” I could say. Now that I see those words typed out, I see how ridiculous the concept is. Maddie really just won’t care. Maddie’s initials are MEH. Who knew how prophetic those letters would become? If “meh” isn’t her motto, I don’t know what is. (Okay, once she said it was “Toast is life,” but I think “meh” covers more territory.)

I still have a tiny bit of hope that somehow Rachel will have a positive influence on Maddie. Maybe it won’t be quite so calculated. Maybe Maddie will simply rise up. Maybe there will be something in Rachel that Maddie wants to emulate. Or, more likely, Maddie’s interest in spending time with Rachel will bring her out of her room a bit more. And maybe more social time will somehow help Maddie develop. Who knows.

Maybe Rachel just being her wonderful self will give Maddie some extra confidence, some inspiration, and most certainly a bit more love.

One of the great things about family is how (if you’re lucky, as I am) they get you. That has certainly been true for my kids. Nobody has treated my kids with more compassion and a deep understanding and appreciation than our family.

What somebody else might see as a quirk or a challenge, they see as a gift, something to be celebrated.

So maybe that’s what we’ll all get out of having Rachel around! Just another layer of love and appreciation.

I can’t say with a straight face that I’m not a little excited about shopping with my niece, getting our nails done, planning and preparing meals together, etc. She’s going to be a great pal to have around, although my wish for her is to build a group of friends her age–even though I like to consider myself young (i.e. immature) for my age.

However this all turns out, I know that having Rachel around for awhile is a privilege. We will make the most of it!

Time Management and a Lack Thereof

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

This evening we have a typical scenario.

Maddie has two things to do tonight before she goes to bed. Tomorrow I’m going to pick her up from school and drive her north to spend the night with her cousin. For several years they have been going to a special Halloween event in my sister’s neck of the woods. It’s always the Friday before Halloween, which is a bummer because Friday night traffic is a true horror show. But I’ll do it anyway. I have no idea how much time I’ll be spending in the car, but it’s for the benefit of two pretty fabulous girls, so I’m going to suck it up and do it. I’m going to take some backroads I haven’t taken before in order to avoid the inevitable multi-hour backup that’s especially bad at this time of year.

So I give her two things to do before her early bedtime: take a shower and pack up her stuff for the Halloween event and the sleepover. I inform her that I would not be reminding her constantly. If she wants me to spend half the day in the car driving her out of town and returning home (oh, yes, and doing the same thing the next day), she was going to have to have some initiative.

“I’m gonna go finish watching Batman Begins,” she pronounces enthusiastically after finishing her dinner.

“Well, you have those two things to do,” I remind her.

“But it’s Batman,” she emphasizes, with bulging eyes and a wide grin. How could I not share her passion?

“Well, how much of the movie is left?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long do you think it’ll take you to shower and pack?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I have no idea!” she insists, with a smile on her face in anticipation of her movie time.

“You’ll need to keep track of time. You need to watch the clock.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen.” She’s probably right, but I would sure appreciate a different attitude. At least an “I’ll do my best!” But I guess at least she’s realistic.

“Maddie, you have to get those things done tonight, before bedtime, or I’m not driving you tomorrow.”

And here we are again. Oh, boy. The waves of regret are already crashing over me. I’m remembering the Giants’ game fiasco, in which I withheld a privilege and then it all came back to bite me in the butt, and what should have been a fabulous day turned into one of the worst experiences in recent memory.

This time, though, it should be more in my control. I mean the sticking to the consequences part. In no way am I in control of Maddie.

The problem with these consequences, as is often the case, is that if I don’t drive her to her cousin’s house, there’s going to be a very disappointed girl on the other end. I hate that part.

At 1 hour and 15 minutes before she is supposed to go to bed, I’m 100% certain she has done nothing. The problem is she has absolutely no clue how to keep track of time.

I was reminded of that this morning. As usual I woke Maddie up at 6:30. It’s still dark at that time. After a gentle wake-up, which this morning included puppy kisses, I hung out for a few minutes, then left to start the food-related tasks of the morning. I returned several times over the next 30 minutes, and at 7:00 I started to panic.

“It’s seven o’clock, Maddie. You really have to get up now,” I said.

“I will,” she replied, holding onto the blanket I was trying to remove. I stayed for a moment to ensure she was actually out of bed and getting dressed, and then I returned to the kitchen to finish my work.

The cab arrives daily at 7:15. At 7:12 I realized she still wasn’t upstairs, so I shoved her lunch and her water bottle into her backpack and ran downstairs. She was in the bathroom.

“Maddie! You have to leave in two minutes!” I said, knocking on the door.

“What?! Really?!” She opened the door, still in her underwear, her clothes and shoes still lying neatly on her bed.

And that might be the source of our morning issues. She just has no sense of time passing. She never has. When she was little, that came in handy (as it does with most little ones). If we were at the park, I could give a five-minute warning and then 30 seconds later announce it was time to go. The kids didn’t know the difference and that was fine.

Now, it’s not so fine. What do I do? I have tried Time-Timers, with red triangles that shrink as time passes, a nice visual representation of time. I could say, “You have to be ready in three songs.” I can give her the time every two minutes for a half hour. But it doesn’t matter. Time awareness, and so time management, just isn’t part of her makeup. I’m not sure she has completely internalized how long a minute actually is. 

She has no idea how long her math assignment might take, or how long it takes to drive somewhere, or how long she’s been in the shower. How do you plan your daily life when you can’t conceive of any of that? Or if you don’t really care? I think that’s the other part of the problem. Not interesting!

I go into her room again this evening to check on her progress.

“What time do you think it is?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. Seven o’clock?”

“Look at your clock.” It was 7:20. She had less than 40 minutes to finish packing and take a shower before my deadline. That sounds like plenty of time, but for her that’s a mad rush.

“Maddie, stop what you’re doing. Finish packing the things you absolutely need first. If you have time, you can move onto other stuff.” Packing for a trip to her cousin’s house typically includes a pillow case full of stuffed animals, some costume stuff, and maybe a game or two, in addition to the usual overnight stuff. I want her to leave all the optional stuff for the end. For her, though, it’s all the fun stuff that seems most important, so she usually packs that first. I suspect I’ll finish her other packing tomorrow, despite the rules I set down tonight.

And then, I see a light bulb over her head. “I need to do something really important!” She holds up one of her new gray plastic swords, which is partially colored in with black Sharpie. I can see what she means: she needs to finish coloring. “It might take quite a bit of time, though.” Finally, a clue about time.

Just as I feared. I had laid down some pretty clear expectations, but Maddie’s poor time planning has gotten in the way. AGAIN. What am I going to do now?

“How about if I just brush my hair and wash my underarms instead of taking a shower?” That’s a common substitute for her, but she’d already done that the night before. That long 15-year-old-girl hair is going to start getting nasty.

I stick to my guns…for a minute. It’s all I can do to muster up a “No. I told you what you had to do and you made the choice to watch the movie.”

I am having an internal battle. I really don’t want to take her trip away from her. Also, her intentions are pretty good, but she forgot something. Do I punish her for that? Ugh. I don’t know.

Last night I was half-watching an old episode of The Big Bang Theory. I love that show. I was pretty sure I’d seen all the episodes at least once, but apparently not. This episode focused on Sheldon’s lack of a driver’s license. In case you haven’t seen the show, Sheldon is a brilliant scientist who probably has Asperger’s (even though nobody ever says that). He doesn’t read people very well, he has a tough time with sarcasm, and he’s very regimented in everything he does. Because he didn’t have a driver’s license, he was expecting his friends to deliver him wherever he needed to go. His demands were very matter-of-fact, and his friends were losing their patience. Usually I find this show hilarious, but last night I was kind of sad watching it. Sheldon wasn’t doing anything on purpose. He really couldn’t help it. In the middle of the episode, his friends insisted he get his license, but it turned out he was a horrific driver. Back to his friends driving him everywhere. The bad news is many of his irritating behaviors are beyond his control. The good news is he still has friends.

So tonight I think of Sheldon. He can’t help that he doesn’t roll with change. He can’t help that driving isn’t going to be part of his life. Maddie can’t help that she’s terrible managing time. (She’ll likely never drive, either). I would certainly like her to try and improve, but maybe she never will. And I don’t want to make her feel like a failure because of her challenges.

While Maddie is showering, I have a great idea. You’re not going to believe this, but it involves duct tape. Why color a sword when you can just apply a couple strips of duct tape and call it good? I share my idea with Maddie. She says, “You’re a GENIUS.” Whoever would have thought I would solve Maddie’s problem…with duct tape?!

I let her stay up a bit longer to finish her swords. Once again, I give in to the situation. I don’t think of it as wimping out or giving up. I think of it as coming to grips with reality.

When I say goodnight to Maddie, we review the evening’s events. I am hoping something will land. I point out that she had made choices that made things difficult. “I know. I’m so stupid.” Well, that’s not what I want her to think about herself. At all. I just want her to learn the things that don’t come so easily, like time management.

And in the end, I realize tonight is not the night that is going to happen. I’m not sure when it’s going to happen. Or if. But I do know these ultimatums aren’t having the intended results.

This is such a journey. Every day I learn something. Maybe about myself. Maybe about Maddie. Maybe about parenting. Maybe about life. The key is being open to the lessons, being willing to redirect, to change course, to admit I’m wrong, to try something else and hope it works. And not be discouraged if it doesn’t.

I’m working on that.

She Who Can, Crafts. She Who Can’t Craft…Really Really Can’t

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Halloween is coming up and Maddie is prepared. Or preparing, anyway. For a kid who loves superheroes and animated characters more than anything, and who makes duct tape swords in her spare time, a special day designated to the imagination and dressing up is maybe better than Christmas.

I have to confess, I’m not sure what her costume is this year. It’s some character from Bleach, the complex anime show she knows in extraordinary detail (which she is happy to share with you whether you like it or not).

Last week she wanted to go to the Halloween spirit store, to which I reluctantly drove her one evening. I sat in the car and she went in with her debit card and bought some stuff, including, you guessed it, a couple of plastic swords. As if she doesn’t have enough.

She has also created a mask of some sort and asked my mom for some sewing help. She doesn’t even ask me anymore. That’s probably because of the costume incident of sixth grade. Suffice it to say sewing hates me as least as much as I hate it. Sewing, in this case, apparently includes using scissors.

The public middle school used to hire a lively, gifted, inspiring woman to lead the kids in an entertaining and educational event called “A Trip Through the Ancient World” or something like that. Kids spent weeks learning all about ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome. Each kid was assigned a historical figure, and they were to memorize a brief biography of that character and, on the day of the big event, dress as that character.

I can’t tell you how much my heart just sinks whenever a craft-related assignment comes home that requires parental help. I didn’t want to spend a fortune buying a costume, either. So I had to come up with something. And fast.

Luckily for me, her character was a Hebrew slave, so her clothes didn’t have to look particularly good or at all fancy. Still, I called my very creative friend in a panic, asking what to do.

“Just buy a piece of fabric, fold it over, cut a whole for the head and sew up the sides.”

“I don’t have a sewing machine. Anyway, I can’t sew.”

“Maybe you could just buy some kind of rope and tie it around her waist.”

Now that’s a project I can get behind, except for the part about going to the fabric/craft store. Nothing like stepping into JoAnn Fabrics to give me a panic attack. I hate it that much. But as a mom, you gotta do what you gotta do.

So I mustered up my courage and drove to the store, ready to get that brown fabric and a rope tie. That was literally all I had to buy. So I found the fabric that looked kind of right, some kind of brown muslin (my mom sewed a lot when I was a kid, so I do know a little about fabric). And for some reason I picked up a smaller piece of muslin in a natural color. I have no idea why I did that, but it ended up becoming integral to the success of the costume. (I use the term “success” loosely, as you will see.)

All I had to do was cut a hole in the middle of the brown fabric so Maddie could stick her head through. Then I would tie the rope around her waist to hold the fabric against her body. Right on! Ancient slave clothes are so easy!

Being the crafty genius that I am, I folded the fabric into quarters so I didn’t have to cut a whole circle. I would just have to cut a quarter circle, open the fabric, and voila! Circle! After I did that, I opened the fabric up to admire my work, and there it was: a GIGANTIC hole that would fit completely over Maddie’s little shoulders, and the whole thing would fall right to the ground. You have got to be kidding me, I said to myself. You can’t even cut a circle right!

It was the night before the event, so there was no time to get more fabric. Luckily I still had an option. That’s where the second piece of muslin came into play. I carefully cut a more appropriately-sized hole, but that fabric on its own was too small for a whole costume, so now I had to actually sew the brown fabric over the lighter fabric so it would both stay on her body and be long enough to work. I was pretty irritated at myself, but I got out my needle and thread (I have had the same sewing kit my entire adult life) and began to sew those pieces together. They stayed okay, but I would say an untrained monkey would have done a nicer job. There were random stitches placed haphazardly on both shoulders. Thank goodness for brown thread on brown fabric, is all I can say.

Fortunately, Maddie didn’t care at all. I am so grateful for that kid sometimes. She could have been irritated or disappointed or embarrassed, but she was not only fine with the final outcome, she was grateful! I sent her off to school with her pathetic excuse for a costume, and she was happy.

I showed up at school along with a few parents to watch this play/game show. Among the beautifully adorned princesses was my shabbily dressed Hebrew slave. Perfect, really, although I have no doubt that anybody from that period would have taken more pride in their craftsmanship than I had. Oh, well. I guess I have other gifts.

Fortunately, the costume wasn’t that meaningful in the end, except that somebody without any costume at all would have stood out. My crappy creation seemed to go unnoticed. I told my friend Laura my story and we both had a good laugh. I may not be crafty, but I can recognize the humor in almost any situation. I really thought the whole thing was hilarious.

Years later, when Maddie is concocting her complicated costumes–for Halloween or Comi-con or just everyday dress up–I am NOT the person she consults. She knows better. If there’s sewing involved, she most certainly doesn’t ask me. At best, I’ll say no. At worst, well…

So this year’s costume, the anime character, is almost done. Maddie came up with the plan and did most of the work. My mom did a little problem-solving and sewing. There is one small task left to do, but I don’t even know what it is because my mom bypassed me and went directly to my husband for this little tidbit. Sometimes being left out is a good thing. For us all.

I’m pretty sure that final job, whatever it is, will complete the costume. What I’ve seen so far is amazing. Maddie really took her time to conceive of and execute this thing. Apparently that gene skipped me.

What I love about Maddie (among a gazillion other things) is not only how much she enjoys the process of making things, but the pride she has once she’s done. She would gladly don her costume for anybody who happens to stop by. She will pose with full dramatic effect. You can take as many pictures of her as you like.

Tomorrow, the day before Halloween, some of her friends are wearing costumes to school. She’s probably leading the effort. I’m pretty sure that even if nobody else was participating, Maddie would still pack up her costume (swords included) and wear it all day long. And she would feel awesome.

So here are today’s life lessons:

I can’t sew, and that’s OK.

Be grateful for your grateful, fearless, creative kid.

Be willing and able to laugh at yourself. Life is so much better that way. 

Today I Chose to Be Happy

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Today Maddie wouldn’t go to school. And this time I didn’t care. I really didn’t.

Well, at first I was kind of miffed, and then I decided to let it go. It’s amazing what letting things go can do for you!

I was in a good mood all day. I wasn’t mad at Maddie. She wasn’t mad at me. I wasn’t mad at myself.

Maddie even did all the things I asked of her with little prodding. She did her homework while I was out, made herself dinner, and took a shower on her own. She even remembered to brush her hair afterwards. That’s new!

I played a card game with my kids tonight. We hugged and laughed and were happy together. I enjoyed my children. Isn’t that nice?

Tomorrow is likely to be fine in the school department. It’ll be Wednesday, so Maddie has something to look forward to. I expect a relatively easy (for us, anyway) morning.

It’s one of those times that I feel good about my parenting. I definitely had a choice to make this morning. I could have pushed Maddie to go to school, an effort that most likely would have been futile. And I would have ended up frustrated and angry and exhausted and stressed out. But I chose the zen approach–go with the flow. And guess what! It turns out the flow is kind of pleasant.

And really that’s not a surprise. I’m generally a go-with-the-flow kind of person. I often say I’m flexible to a fault. But when it comes to parenting, there are times when you have to stick to your guns. It’s harder than giving in, but it must be done.

On the other hand, sometimes it’s okay to give in. Not just okay, but the right thing to do. I wasn’t giving in to Maddie, though. I was giving in to the situation. Giving over to my life as it is. Accepting things, really.

And it was liberating.

Life Lesson #27, I guess.

My Life, The Roller Coaster Ride

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

Whenever I hear the phrase “roller coaster ride,” I typically think of the highs and lows it represents. True, a thrilling roller coaster has its ups and downs, usually fraught with some amount of excitement and unpredictability (or even harrowing predictability), but a good one also has some twists and turns. Parts are fun, parts are exciting, and some parts make you wish you could just get off that thing. Like, now.

Such is today.

Last week I was tickled pink by the discovery that Maddie apparently has straight A’s. Woohoo! A thrilling surprise!

And today we are back in the “my kid won’t get out of bed” portion of the ride. Oh, boy, my favorite! This, I suppose, feels more like that slow climb at the beginning of a roller coaster, which I’ve always found uncomfortable. Something else is coming, whether exciting or terrifying, but it’s something. This part is the drudgery.

Or maybe it’s like the entirety of the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, which basically just makes my neck hurt. Too much jerking around. I have spent an awful lot of time at the chiropractor lately.

Today Maddie announced she doesn’t get enough sleep. Well, that is not at all true. She is 15 years old and we make her go to bed between 8:00 and 8:30. I wake her up at 6:30. So she’s getting in the neighborhood of 10 hours of sleep. Maybe nine and a half. But I get it. When my alarm goes off each day, it sends a wave of despair throughout my body. Ugh. Not only is it dark, but my first order of business is the most important and typically the most challenging. It’s not a great way to start the day. Dark in a couple ways, I guess.

This morning Maddie needed a few extra minutes for her morning routine. She didn’t shower last night, as scheduled, so in lieu of a shower she was supposed to spend a few minutes this morning doing some cleanup. You know, because of the smell. When I made this pronouncement last night, I wasn’t optimistic. She’s usually shoving a few bites of breakfast in her mouth when the cab pulls up in the morning, and I’m lifting her backpack onto her back and putting her sweatshirt in her hand while escorting her to the door. “Have fun! I love you!” I say, trying to be calm and encouraging. I really want to say, with my hands in fists and my jaw clenched, “Get your ass up there, Maddie!” but I don’t talk to her like that.

So this morning, she is lying in bed. Not moving. Not talking. Nothing. Finally, she says, “I need more sleep.” Finally. Words. 

I give in a little. I see the writing on the wall. Or some of it anyway. So I call the transportation guy and let him know the cab doesn’t need to make a stop here this morning, but Maddie will need a ride home. Oh, I am so hilarious! I am still thinking she’s going to school.

The problem is, I have things to do today. I have to be home by 9:30 to receive a furniture delivery. And then I have other plans. It is not workable for me to spend the 45-60 minutes driving her to school whenever she feels like it. Nor do I think that’s reasonable.

“You can sleep for an hour,” I tell her, “and then I have to drive you to school because I need to be home.”

“That’s not enough sleep,” she says.

“How much do you need? What time are you thinking?” I ask. Reality is beginning to sink in. She doesn’t answer.

“You’re not planning to go to school at all, are you?”

“No, not really.”

Well, at least I have an answer. I can stop the negotiating and finagling, but I’m very unhappy with the situation. It’s Tuesday. She doesn’t like Tuesdays, we have established. Well, now neither do I.

This makes me think of the very first time we took the kids to Disneyland. She was four, and my son was 2. It had been more than 20 years since my last visit. I was so happy! We entered the park, and in a fit of nostalgia, headed straight to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. It’s slow and easy, but it’s dark in there. I had forgotten, also, about two small drops in the beginning of the ride. It’s so dark that they come as a surprise. After the first one, little Maddie said, in her deadpan delivery, “Oh. This isn’t good.”

No, it’s not good, but there we are, stuck on the ride, whether it’s good or not.

I turn off her light and exit the room. I’m trying to take some deep breaths and let it go. I feel the tension in my neck and, I swear, in my brain. I’m stretching and breathing. Whatever part of the ride this is, I hate it. It’s that one upside-down twist too many.

Actually it reminds me of a ride called the Hammerhead Shark at Discovery Kingdom in Vallejo. You just swing up one way and hang there for what feels like an eternity. Then you swing down the other way, and up again for another seventeen hours. The one and only time I rode that thing, I actually feared for my life. I wasn’t entirely convinced the bars that were clamped in front of me would continue to hold me, and then I’d fall face first into the ground. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes and waited for it to be over. Luckily, I never ever have to get on that thing again.

I wouldn’t say that Maddie’s refusal to go to school feels especially dangerous, but it’s symbolic of the struggle we face, and of the uncertainty that comes with it. Also the lack of control I feel over the circumstances. Just as gravity would have taken over had the ride’s safety measures failed, so does, perhaps, the Asperger’s. I have no control over this situation. I want to have at least some feeling of control. But today I don’t. I don’t even seem to have any influence.

Then again, Maddie does have straight A’s (at least for the moment). Maybe an occasional day off isn’t the worst thing in the world. This is so confusing.

Today I’d like to stick to the carousel. It’s relaxing. It’s predictable. Pretty much anybody can enjoy it. Usually there are music and pretty colors, too! That sounds so pleasant. The ups and downs are really small, barely perceptible. Everybody’s smiling! It gradually slows down–no starts and stops, no jerks or squeaky breaks–and then everyone has plenty of time to get off. Or if you want, you can just stay put and ride it again.

I’m starting to relax. I’m heading toward acceptance. This is what today is. It just is. Whatever comes my way–and I realize nobody ever knows what’s coming–I will nod my head and think, bring it on. I can do this.

I can take the slow ride up and the fast ride down, the loops and twists and the hang-upside-downs. Eventually it will slow down. Eventually I will get off. And then I will get on another ride. And that’s okay. I might not enjoy an awful lot of it, but I will be alright.

Years ago, on that girls-only trip to Disneyland, we went (finally!) on California Screaming in California Adventure Park. That is an AWESOME roller coaster. Just the perfect blend of excitement and fun. Maddie screamed the entire time. I couldn’t see her face, so I became unsure of the intent behind her screams.

Finally I asked, “Are you OK?”

“I’M GREAT!” she yelled. She was taking in every curve and drop of that ride and living it to its fullest.

Maybe, like Maddie, I should scream just for the fun of it. I can’t get off this ride, but I can make the most of it! Or at least I can try.

Life Lesson #26

Chris Irvine, Parent CoachLeave a comment

I don’t really have a list, but I’m sure I’ve learned at least 26 things about life, so I’m going with that.

As a child I was painfully shy. I was terribly afraid of being called on in class, so I would sit there with my face burning in fear when the teacher asked a question, despite usually knowing the answer. For some reason, even though I was an excellent student, I was petrified I would be wrong and then be embarrassed to death. I really must have thought embarrassment was deadly based on the terror the possibility induced.

In fourth grade, my worst fears came true. Well, I obviously I didn’t die, but I was called on to answer a math question, and despite always have been a math superstar (at that point anyway…then eventually there was calculus), the answer I provided was WRONG. After that public humiliation, I was further embarrassed when my teacher called me to his desk at the end of class to give me ADDITIONAL problems to do so I could learn the subject matter. Well, I did know the subject matter. I had just made a mistake. And now I was paying for it. I was mortified.

I never really like that teacher, Mr. L. I thought he was weird. And then I thought he was lame because of that incident. Obviously it was traumatic, since 39 years later I still feel the burning sense of humiliation it brought on.

That humiliating incident was only matched that year by the time I barfed in front of all the first, second and third graders who were lining up at the end of recess. I had hit my funny bone SO hard that the blood rushed out of my head. My elbow hurt and my face went white, so the teacher had a classmate accompany me to the nurse’s office. I didn’t quite make it there before my now infamous vaso-vegal (fight or flight) reflex kicked in, and I lost my lunch for all to see. I bent over and hurled in perfect view of them all.

It was embarrassing, but I guess at least I didn’t think I looked stupid.

Over time I lost my shyness. I don’t think there was a magic moment when that happened. I was still pretty shy as a college student, quietly doing my work and occasionally setting the curve on a test. The teachers might not have known my face, but they knew my name. I did my work anonymously. It was easier that way. I guess it was preferable to be stupid in private than smart in public, so I chose to be quiet.

Especially in a class like Econ 101, where the professor was notoriously out for blood. He gleefully called on random students in his class of 700 or more: “You, in the Cuervo tee shirt!” he would bellow and point. We all learned to wear clothes that were as nondescript as possible, hoping that our shirts would defy description and thus make us more challenging marks for him. I sat low in my chair, fearful of the words, “You, Blondie, slouching back there!” But this time it was because I didn’t know the answers. I hated economics from the first day of class, when the professor announced, “Economic theory is based on the premise that humans act rationally. But people are not rational,” and then he proceeded to explain to us basic economics theories, expecting us to accept their validity. Plus he was kind of a pompous jerk. So I didn’t especially enjoy or engage in the subject matter. I also didn’t necessarily (gasp!) do the reading before class. So a “Hey, Blondie” would have been like fourth grade all over again.

Something about having kids is so humbling, though, that the whole idea of being embarrassed has mostly disappeared.

Have you ever heard of a book called something like, “I Was an Awesome Parent…Until I Had Kids”? I can’t remember the exact name of the book, but I have said the same thing so many times. I can remember seeing a tantrum-throwing kid and thinking, Well, clearly it’s the parents’ fault.

Then I had a kid who screamed instead of talking, and another kid who threw tantrums. Never in my life have I felt so humbled. Well, actually, I have lots of times over my parenting career. You try your best and then…well, whatever.

Several years ago I began a 6-year stint as co-chair of the annual book fair for our elementary school. The first year I was definitely in learning mode, doing an awful lot of observation and grunt work. I had never even been to a book fair before, I so figured I’d just watch the action and be a worker bee.

The next year we changed vendors, and although our new vendor was better in almost every way, they did not provide any marketing materials. I had made a number of flyers over the years, so I volunteered to make banners and flyers to send home. I do not know how to use any special layout programs. I can’t create a logo. My skills are limited for sure. I know what looks good, though, so I thought I could do an acceptable job.

Then the banners for the big fundraising auction went up, about a month before mine were to appear. The woman who made those for years is a professional graphic artist, and it showed. Mine would look amateurish by comparison. I was stressed out, worried about the potential for judgment.

And then, I thought, what on earth am I worried about? This is a school fundraiser! Nobody cares. In the old days, or at other schools nowadays, people probably still paint words on a long piece of paper. What am I worried about?

Sure enough, my banners went up, and they were fine. I did a pretty good job. Good enough, anyway. People came to the book fair and we sold books. Imagine that! Even though I am not a graphic designer, we sold books!

I am 48 years old, and although I’m not fully over it, for the most part I don’t get embarrassed and I mostly don’t care what people think. Part of that is aging. Part of that is parenting.

When you have a child, suddenly you become acutely aware of how much you don’t know. Most of the time, parenting is a giant experiment. You try stuff, and you see if it works or if it doesn’t. If you’re afraid of being wrong, you will have a very big problem because most of the time, you’re not going to feel right, that’s for sure. And that is humbling.

It’s also good practice. You get used to being wrong, or feeling stupid, or whatever, and you then you realize everything is okay. Or, as my selfless friend will say after reluctantly buying herself a pair of shoes, nothing bad happened. It’s all okay!

But a big part of overcoming the fear of embarrassment has been the experience of being the mother of Maddie. She teaches me by example. She is so fully herself and wouldn’t know how to be anybody else. She will raise her hand and say what she has to say, outcome be damned. She will bring her swords to school. She will wear that fingerless glove on one hand if she’s the only person on earth to think it’s cool.

She has also taught me by being my daughter. Having a special needs child just flips all your ideas on their heads. All your ideas about what’s cool and what’s acceptable and what’s embarrassing and what’s awesome.  All your ideas, mostly, about what’s important.

Is it important to be smarter and righter and cooler than somebody else? Uh, nope. If you’re wrong in public, does it matter? Nope. Will anybody think less of you if you are? Probably not, but if so, who cares? Do you need to be thinner and prettier? Have the smartest kids? Not stick your foot in your mouth? Nope nope nope.

I think one of the greatest skills I have developed over the years is the ability to laugh at myself. That’s especially helpful if you’re the kind of person who seems to be serially injured because of your own foibles. Do you run into the back of the car and give yourself a concussion? Drop a table on your foot and rip off your toenail? Break a finger shutting the door? Break a toe, twice, by stubbing it too hard? If so, do you feel kind of stupid? I have done all those things, and I just roll with it. Am I clumsy? Yup. Does anybody care? Nope. As long as I don’t mortally wound myself or somebody else, everything will be okay.

I’m clumsy, I’m wrong sometimes, I forget things, I goof up regularly, my house is messy.

Oh, well! I’m happy. I’m happy with life and I’m happy with myself.