Under His Belt

My son attends a different school than my daughters. While they ride the bus, he carpools.

Driving him and the other kids hasn't been a problem all these years, yet I was thrilled when the oldest boy in the carpool turned 16 and got his driver's license in December! Now I pick up my son only when he stays after school for activities. Otherwise, our young friend drives him to and fro.

He's a good, responsible kid whom I've known for a decade. I have a lot of trust in him.

Still, we've gotten a lot of snow this season...

And then he told my husband that he'd slid off the road recently.

Whew! I was actually relieved. The conditions of his mini-accident were really quite ideal: He was driving with at least one parent in the car. There was snow on the ground, and gaining experience with that snow was the purpose of the drive. Nobody was hurt, not even the car.

So now he knows.

He knows he's not invincible. He knows how his car reacts when driving in slick conditions. He knows how it feels to lose control of all that steel, despite his best intentions.

Now he'll be an even better driver. One with experience under his belt.

What Was I Afraid Of?

I should have known it wouldn't be as bad as I'd feared.

Fearing miscommunication, for three weeks I put off a task that I felt ill-equipped to perform.

But I could put if off no longer. So having never learned French - I took Spanish in high school - I took out my English-to-French phrase book, picked up the phone, and punched in the number.

The woman who answered, in French of course, pleasantly replied "Yes" to my hacked "Parlez-vous anglais?" I was relieved! We were able to have a very detailed conversation - thanks to her English proficiency, of course, and not any speed-thumbing skills of my own.

As I hung up the phone, I couldn't help but smile at the timing. Didn't I just write about overcoming fears? That the dreaded moment would come and go - with much less drama than anticipated - and life would move on?

I guess I just needed a little reminder that, really, I had nothing to fear but fear itself.

Time to Move On

Things just aren't right anymore. The negativity is building, and it just seems impossible for things to change for the better. In our years together, the good times put a big goofy smile on my face. But the bad times made me feel disappointed.

It's frustrating when you know how good it could be, yet isn't.

But I've put it off for too long. I've given him many chances. Communicated my desires, as well as what I feel is missing. But the situation is just not improving. I want to be "wowed" again.

Though I'm reluctant, I know it's time to move on.

Yes, it's time to find a new hair stylist.

It'll Be Okay

The other night I served on a discussion panel for parents of children who are transitioning from a school for the deaf to a typical school.

This transition is what they've been waiting for, yet for those parents, every step they take is fraught with indecision and uncertainty. I know, because I wore their shoes five years ago.

They're wondering: Where should I enroll my child - our local public school or a private school? Should we hold him back or enroll her at grade level? Will his teachers know how to accommodate him in the classroom? Will he even need accommodations? Will the typical children understand her hearing loss, or make fun of her? Will he make friends? How should I orient the teacher to my child's hearing impairment and associated devices? Will she need help academically? Have I taught him adequate self-adequacy skills? And dozens more questions...

These are valid questions. They do require thoughtful consideration. But what I tell the parents is this: Next fall, your child's first day of school will come and go. He will be fine. You will be fine. She will make friends, learn, and thrive. Do your research, learn from others, but above all trust your intuition. You'll know what to do.

Although my purpose there - along with the others on the panel - is to offer help, what these parents may not realize is how helpful they are to me. They help me appreciate where my family is now by reminding me from where we've come.

The anxiety seen on their faces and heard in their questions is simply a mirror of anxieties I have felt. Remembering those moments of my own, and how I overcame them, is important for me as I help my children navigate their next challenges. And there are always next challenges.

So thank you, dear parents, for reminding me: No matter what my fears are today, we'll get through it together. It'll be okay.

Surpassed

It was bound to happen eventually. It's happening now.

My children - and their friends - are developing skills and talents that surpass those of my own. And it is such a beautiful, uplifting process for me to witness.

They started out so tiny, of course. I was much bigger than they. And better at everything. From the day they were born, I could eat more neatly, color in the lines more precisely, run faster than their toddler legs could carry them, reach things up higher, spell better, and do thousands of other things better than my babies could. Obviously.

But they're not babies anymore. My girls can sprint faster than I can. My son can explain any technology better than I ever will. One of my daughters has such a gift for song that some nights, after I tuck her in, I linger outside her door just to hear her sweet voice as she performs a concert for her Webkinz. The other daughter is a faster reader than I am. {I'm not slow - I just never got the hang of skimming. Afraid of missing something important, I read every word on the page.} My son seems to have a desire - a need almost - to compete in triathlons, whereas swimming and bicycling hold negligible interest for me.

Likewise, my kids' friends are developing some amazing aptitudes that I admire. One is becoming quite the creative and knowledgeable photographer at the age of 12. Another writes imaginative and engaging short stories with ease. Yet another is destined to become a famous cinematographer someday, as evidenced by his talent and intuition behind the camera at the ripe old age of 13.

Yes, it was bound to happen. And I feel so fortunate to see it unfolding before my very eyes. Someday, I'll be able to say, "I knew them when..."

Bad

A friend was saying how he and their family hadn't been to church in several weeks. And that, during the summer, they had skipped it almost the entire three-month stretch.

I told him I hadn't been to church in about a year and a half.

And he asked: "Do you feel bad?"

Bad.

From the outside, I appeared to be struck dumb as I sat there with my mouth hanging half-open. Inside, my mind exploded with a verbal montage - like those cheesy sequences in B movies, except without pictures - of responses.

I settled on: "It depends on what your definition of bad is."

A little background here... I was raised Catholic, and we've raised our children as Catholics. According to the Catholic faith, we must attend Mass every Sunday. But I had a bit of a lapse during the summer before last. That's happened before. In the past, I usually got back into the habit after a short hiatus. Just like my friend.

But this time, a few weeks turned into a few months. I did feel guilty at first. My upbringing and twelve years of Catholic education nagged at me to get back into church. Yet something else that I couldn't define also nagged at me. I didn't feel like I had a hole in my spiritual self that could be filled by the routine of church. In fact, I didn't feel a hole existed at all. I felt no more like a sinner for having skipped Mass than I felt before, when I attended regularly. So I didn't feel compelled to go.

During the following year, I spent much time thinking about good and bad - and good people and bad people. I found many examples of Christian people doing the right thing. Yet I found examples of people from many other faiths - or no religious faith at all - exemplifying what is good and right in our world. So "good" wasn't limited just to people who went to church every Sunday. Conversely, and sadly, I also found examples of Christians and non-Christians causing others pain.

I recognized that all humans, whether or not they believe in my God or any God at all, have great capacity for love and also for pain. During that year, my absence from church became not so much a lazy response to getting dressed up on Sundays, as a conscious, deliberate decision.

What, exactly, did I decide? That I don't need to be Catholic, or a Christian, or affiliated with any religion whatsoever, to be a kind person of strong morality. I can do good all by myself.

I can skip Mass if that's right for me, and you can skip or go according to what's right for you.

And I no longer feel guilt over my decision.

So no, I don't feel bad.

A Few of My Favorite Things

I have many lovely things in my life.

What may surprise some people is that, if I had to do without most of these objects, I would not feel a great void.

Some objects that bring me the most pleasure are simple, inexpensive, imperfect. Like the small pottery vase with the broken handle that belonged to my grandfather. The glass bud vase that was my grandmother's. Our photos, of course.

And this cup and saucer set - one of three that I found for just a few dollars in an antiques store several years ago. I could turn them over to see who made them, but I really don't care. Simply, I was drawn to them; I just couldn't pass them by.

I was so enamored with my acquisitions that I came home, put them in the cupboard, and resolved to use them only for special occasions.

Every morning for a year, as my coffee brewed, I opened the cupboard, admired the antique cups and saucers, and reached around for the plain ones.

Silly me.

How many "special occasions" exist at 6:00 a.m. in the morning?

So one morning, contentedly alone in space and time while the rest of the family slept, I asked myself: "What am I really waiting for? I'm wasting time waiting for the special occasion to arrive, when I can make today special." And I reached for one of the antique sets.

As I have done every morning since.

Voyeur

If you have ever watched one of those nature programs on PBS or the Discovery Channel, you might have noticed the researcher observing his subjects as inconspicuously as possible.

Yes, the animals/subjects may have peripheral awareness of the researcher's presence, but as long as he stays out of the way, is quiet, and doesn't interfere with the animals' mating or hunting rituals, he is allowed to live.

If he makes his presence known, however, the game is over. He's upset the balance of the animal's life.

I have my own social wilderness in which to observe: My son is the subject; his habitat is Facebook.

He knows that my husband and I can see everything in his account. At the time we allowed him to set up the account, this was a deal-breaker: Either he could "Friend" us and gives us full privilege to see everything that he posts or that is posted to his Wall, or no Facebook.

He agreed because he was 11 years old and he really wanted the FB account. And also because he's a good kid so he doesn't actually have anything to hide. Yet.

He explicitly understands our rules, but I also understand the unspoken rule of Parents Who FB Friend Their Children: although we can see everything on his page, we're not supposed to actually post anything to his page. Because anything we say can and will be construed as weird or embarrassing or outdated or something-that-we-think-sounds-hip-but-isn't. And then we will incur his wrath.

Somehow - I don't know how - I intuited this unspoken rule. The only thing I have posted to my son's account was a simple "Happy Birthday." Nothing clever or witty. No pictures of him as a baby.

I'm the social researcher/mom observing a subject/her son in the wild. If I'm too conspicuous, I will upset the natural balance of his social life. And then, one day as he gets older and wiser to the privacy settings of his account, he'll block me from seeing his Wall.

Oh, it's true. I've heard of this happening with other researchers/subjects - oops, I mean parents/children. Especially in those teen years.

Alas, my husband did not intuit this rule. Though he and our son are very compatible in the real world - our son inherited my husband's sense of humor, so they really do "get" each other - my husband learned recently that their relationship is quite different in the virtual social world.

His crime? While getting ready to drive my son to the allergist's office for his weekly shot, he posted this on my son's wall: "Time to get your tickle poke."

That didn't go over so well.

Yeah, it's cute when a girl my son likes playfully refers to shots as "tickle pokes." But mortifying when Dad announces it that way.

The post has been removed.

In the meantime, I'm sittin' pretty. Just inconspicuously reading and watching my boy interact in his social habitat. Not making a sound. Not drawing any attention. Hoping he'll forget I'm there.

If I play the game right, maybe he won't block me for another year or two.