Friendship

When I look back, I know that the good feelings, of security and light-heartedness have washed out any feelings I must have had of sadness, fear, or boredom.   I was never bored.  There was so much to do, even when I was alone:  arrange my plastic animal collection in new ways;  draw; use my Fashion plates;  dress and undress my Barbies; make blanket forts; play with matchbox cars in our little yard, making roads in the dirt.  And that was just what I could do alone.

 With a friend, we could play wall ball, army, jump and squeal in the sprinkler; practice cartwheels;  the possibilities were endless.  With a friend in the wide red leather back seat of my mom’s enourmous Pontiac, everything was fun.  Whatever music played on the radio was what we listened to and sang along to.  Errands.  To the supermarket, to the drugstore, it didn’t matter.  With a friend, it was just background to endless conversations and sharing.  Sharing sugar dot candies from paper strips;  sharing and trading glittery-plastic jelly bracelets, sharing stickers, sharing barettes and banana clips;  sharing secrets:  who we thought was “cute” and what we dreamed about, and what we over heard our parents fight about.  Through the frigid grocery store isles, our conversations would continue, or our dances, or jokes that only we thought were funny.  It really didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing, a good friend was enough.  

Things to do with a 14 year old boy that aren't "lame"

I miss the days of crafts, cooking, going for walks, and playing with my little boy.  As I've lamented before, our list of shared interests has dwindled over the past year.  I am sad.  Jackson, now 14,  could care less. So, that's good.  He's right on track developmentally.  (sniff, sniff)
Here's my list of fun things for us to do this summer that are not "lame" (unlike hiking, biking, art, visiting museums, and baking)

• Play one-on-one in the driveway then cool off with the hose (we already do this, sans the hose) Winner gets to hose off the loser…or maybe vice-versa
• Make weird popsicles…jalapeno lime orange;  chili pineapple;
• 4 Square Tournament with kids and adults
• Ultimate burger cook-off
• Fish local streams and brooks for little brookies
• Take photos of John (my husband) sleeping in his camp chair and make a photo montage
• Summer Photo Challenge:  take one photo every day of summer
• Drop water balloons off the roof on unsuspecting friends
• Set up a double slip ‘n slide
• Go to Waterville to the big pool we used to go to when Jackson was a baby, then go out for Indian Food
• Go to a concert in Bangor or Portland on the waterfront
• Go to Boston on a “Duck Tour” and see the Blue Man Group
• Go “mining” in Bethel
• Jump off the Kingfield bridge
• Go to Houston Brook Falls and jump off the cliff

Not my usual type of post...

This post is way out of alignment with what I usually write about, but I'm angry and need an outlet.

Why is it that teachers are still using the word "tattle"?  In fact, why is it that on Pinterest there are THOUSANDS of pins dedicated to "teaching the difference between tattling and telling"?

When teachers send the message to "not to tattle" they are really sending the message not to tell.  To face their problems alone, to figure it out, to be a bystander who "minds their beeswax".  O sure, there are all sorts of helpful videos and posters and flow charts to help students navigate the murky waters of when to tell and when not to tell.  It's not okay.  They are still getting the message that sometimes if you tell you will be ridiculed.  This idea takes root and by the time students get into fifth grade the idea is rooted to not tell.  About any harassment.  Ever.  It's dangerous and it's wrong of teachers to ever use the word "tattle."

 This poster is especially repulsive.

What's the solution?  I learned from Stan Davis, author of Schools Where Everyone Belongs teachers can simply say, "Thank you for telling me" when a child tells on another child for an incident that does not pose a threat to anyone.   Let's say Charlie runs up to you and reports that Gina is using a red pen to do her homework.  All I have to do is say, "Thank you for telling me."  I don't have to address the issue or talk to Gina at all.  Charlie has gotten the message that it is good to tell the teacher when something concerns him or when someone is breaking the rules. Gina gets to go about her business.  I have found that I just need to let my students in on my approach:  that I want them to tell me when something is wrong, but it's up to me to decide what to do from there.

Please, if you are a teacher, try this approach.  It actually saves time.  You don't have to go into your whole dissertation about the difference between telling and tattling, everyone can get back to enjoying their recess time, and maybe students with time will not have the "don't tell" culture ground into their psyche.

Shedding

Everything is hatching, blooming, changing.  Here is a dragonfly exoskeleton and a caddisfly case.

It makes me consider what habits I could shed.  I am reading Gretchen Ruben's Better than Before.  It's a great read.  She doesn't tell you what to do, she describes many strategies for adopting, letting go of, or changing habits.  Some of the habits I am considering are:

A new exercise program:  strength 3X/week (Mon, Wed, Fri); Yoga (Tues/Thurs/Sun) with running or something cardiovascular when I can fit it in for fun

Eating "clean"

Adopting a new filing system for all the paper in our lives

Committing to never "winging it" at school, to always have my plans for the next day in place before I leave for the day.  

Putting my clothes away and not allowing them to pile up on my dresser or in clothes baskets

De-cluttering everything possible, one room at a time.

Making my bed each morning.

Read the news at least two times per week so that I am better informed about what's going on in the world...but WHERE?!  It has to be easy and convenient!  (Easy to do, hard to fail is how habits stick)

Accepting my husband's habits as his own, which I cannot alter...but my son is fair game.

Mom knows best (Not this mom, but my mom)

On the Friday before Memorial Day I lost my phone.  It was a hectic end to the day with phone calls coming in, packing up my room, a math meeting, and general Friday-before-a-vacation-pandimonium.  Finally in the parking lot, I recalled the parent phone calls I had to make. Determined to not go back into the building, I opened up my laptop on the hood of my car to look up parent numbers and enter them into my phone.  I'd call them later.  Also, knowing I had to pack up a car and that my family was waiting for me to leave for the weekend made me all the more harried.  I didn't know it at the time, but I left my phone on the roof of my car and drove off.

I searched my car and my school and dumped out every bag I own several times.  I gave up.  The phone was gone.  I ordered a new one.  Yesterday, my new phone came and I promptly called Tracphone to set it up.

The kind woman with a slight Slavic accent told me that the number to my old phone had been changed and therefore I would not be able to use my old number.  A light went off in my mind.
"Will you give me the new number, please?" I asked.  I would call and see who the hell had my phone.

"Yes, but please, first you must answer a security question."

How the heck did whoever had my phone know the answer? I wondered.  In any case.  I gave the correct pin and was granted the information.

"(207) 616-8398," the Slavic lady replied.

"Thank you." My hands shook as I dialed the number.  Please don't let it be one of my students.  That would be so disappointing.

"Hello?" a man's voice answered.

"Hi.  This is Stacey.  Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Billy Peters."

"Hi Billy.  By any chance did you find the phone you are speaking on?"

"Yuh."

"Oh, well, that's my phone.  I lost it.  Can I have it back?"

"Yuh."

"Great!  That would be wonderful." (You stupid jerk, lowlife thief).  Deep breaths, I thought,  remember you get more bears with honey and all that...just get the phone.  "So, are you in the North Anson area?"

"Nope.  I'm in Fairfield."

At this point I should have offered to come get it, but did I?  No, of course not.  I never see the most direct path to anything.

"Oh, so if I give you my address will you mail my phone to me?"

"Yuh."

"Okay, good."  Why didn't this idiot just look in my contacts and call me? I wondered.  Ask nicely.  "Can I ask you a question? Why didn't you just call my home number listed in the contacts?"

"I didn't see any." Because he's dishonest or stupid or both!  Be patient.  Be kind.  Deep breath.

 I was about to give Billy my address but was feeling a bit doubtful of him following through. "Are you really going to mail it to me, or are you going to just keep my phone?"

"Ah, well, I can try, but I'm low income."

Then all my love-for-humanity-deep-breathing-calmness seeped out of me.  "Well, you should have just looked in the contacts and called the number labeled 'Home'! Then you wouldn't HAVE to mail it.  It IS MY phone, and you just KEPT it for weeks because you thought--what? Finders keepers? Give me a break----"

He hung up.  Great.

Full of indignation, I called my mom to share my outrage.  She listened, full of compassion as always, but then when I came to the part about grilling the guy about not calling me when he found the phone, my mom said, "Well, did you want to give him a lecture or get your phone?"

And there lies the crux of my problem with relating to people.  I have such a hard time not telling them what's what.  I tick people off  just to satisfy my own self-righteousness.  Lesson:  Keep the goal in sight.  Keep my ego in check.

Check.

Dragonfly Hatch...Almost

While down by the river this morning I saw an emerald green dragonfly fanning its wings.  It must have recently hatched.  I searched around on the rocks nearby to find its husk.  What if I could witness a dragonfly hatching?  That would be magnificent.  I would go back home, get the SD card which I had forgotten to replace in my camera, and come back down.
Back at home, I replaced the SD card, remembered I had to water my flowers because I skipped last night.   Might as well hang out the laundry on my way out after watering the flowers. Got sidetracked because Jackson wanted my feedback on a poster he is creating for me.  It was good work, going over his designs with him.
While I was upstairs I gathered another load of laundry and grabbed the book I was reading last night to find that great quote about how being lazy encourages creativity.
Back downstairs, camera in hand, hoisted the laundry outside to hang on the line.  THEN I would go see if I could witness the miracle of a dragonfly hatching.  With the last clothespin left on the line, I spotted this:

Isn't the regularity a wonder?  

 and the resourcefulness?

At the top of the clothespin are two halves of some sort of casing. 

 I'll be keeping an eye on these eggs.  

Hiding ourselves

"Jackson, where's your memoir?  I've been looking forward to reading it," I asked, leafing through my son's school folder.

"You can't.  It's personal," he replied.

Maybe he was joking. "Well, I want to read it," I plodded on.  "I read your last one.  I love your writing.  I want to read it."  

"Fine," he sighed, but two days later I have still not seen the memoir.  

I understand where my 14 year old son is coming from.  I can remember my dad opening my portfolio when I was in art school and feeling sqeamish, mildly violated, and embarrassed as he flipped through my drawings and paintings.  My artwork was so personal.  I didn't share that part of myself with my parents: my full, adult, sexual, spiritual, daring self.  I felt like I had a whole aspect of myself that I shielded from my parents because it didn't meld with who I thought they would want or expect me to be.  In retrospect, I was shielding them from me, not me from them.  I didn't think they could handle it, and I was too scared to find out.

And even though I am an adult, 40 years old, I still don't want to share many of my stories with my parents.  It's absurd!  Why should I be ashamed?  Yes, I was foolish, reckless, passionate, but they love me as I love my child.  Maybe I'm fooling myself.  Maybe they don't want to know.  

I'm a different parent than my parents were.  I teach sex ed, for goodness sake.  I let my son swear--at home only!--and listen to all his stories and complaints with the prime objective of being a listener and not always an adviser or corrector.  I have told Jackson many times that I accept him completely as he is.  Everyone can improve themselves, but I accept him and love him.  But really, he probably just hears, "I love you, blah blah blah."  The point is, I'm open, I don't shock easily, and I'm accepting.  

This does not change the fact that there are sides to my son that he does not want to show me.  I'm not talking about behavior.  I don't expect or want him to behave with me as he would with his buddies.  And I know that this is the time that teens must begin to break away from their parents.  But his memoir?  He shared that with his class, his teachers.  What could he share with them that he can't share with me?  Is he afraid I will scrutinize his recollection of the events?  That could be.  We are a family of debaters.  

Maybe Jackson's desire for privacy is that is another part of him that I have to accept. But I'm not sure.  I think not letting the people we love see us for who we wholly are, especially creatively, is selling everyone short.  Can I heed my own advice?  Can I be brave and share more with my parents?  If I can't can I expect my son to?