One Step at a Time

Warning: If you’re looking for a running blog today, this blog has been temporarily abducted by a Neurotic Mom blog. Yes, I have been running, it’s keeping me on the cliff of sanity, but that’s all I have to say about that. You’ve been warned. Lots of great running blogs still there on your right, though … if that’s what you need today.

Firstly, I’ve had a lot going on this week … who would have thought 36 was so busy!? Thanks for all of the b-day wishes, everyone. What a nice family the RBF is.

Lots of craziness around here this week, mostly of the kid kind. Derek is having some trouble focusing at school, to say it simply. We’ve moved him from a very structured, traditional, private school that he was in for Pre-school and Kindergarten (as I type that, I’m wondering why I ever chose it in the first place, frankly) to a much different environment. His Grade One class at his new school is very active, dynamic, and feels like a party every day. His teacher is amazing. Dora and Mr. Dressup and Miss Frizzle and Lois (the one who hangs with Sharon and Bram) rolled into one person. Mrs. A. lives with her guitar strapped on, sings constantly, and basically puts up a “to do” list for the kids to work their way through. The problem is, Derek’s really not ever had to manage his own time and make a whole lot of activity choices at school. So … he chooses to stand with his mouth open a lot of the time. Oh, I’m not exaggerating. Mouth gaping, staring blankly, blinking at intervals. I’ve been in the classroom helping some, and watching him was kind of heart-breaking.

Me: Buddy, what are you supposed to be doing now?
Derek: (whispers happily) I have no idea, Mom.

The teacher is concerned about him, but I honestly think that the kid is in shock. He has a great attention span at home to Lego (3 hours on one project) or drawing (made super-spy notebooks for the whole family today, complete with maps to our missions for the week.) So I can’t figure out why he can’t sit down with some markers and do the “Letter N” page in a reasonable time. Shell-shocked, I tell you. We’ll see how it goes, and I do plan to frequent his class, so I’m hoping things go better.

For me, watching my kids struggle is tough on me. I could’ve saved years of counselling and just outright admitted years ago that my parents didn’t have me struggling a lot. Some might say spoiled, but not so. I was a good, polite, bright kid who basically got her way because I never caused a wave. My struggles came later, in learning to admit to people that I’d done wrong or made mistakes. (Yucky, yucky struggles, those are.)

I remember my internal dialogue the first time I watched Troy as an infant try to roll over. Back to front, you know the drill. How hard they work at it when they’re weeks old, with the legs pumping and the face mashed into the blanket. I remember actually thinking, This is completely insane, me watching him have to try so hard. I’m his mom, I’m with him all of the time, I could just help him along some. But then something clicked in my foggy post-partum brain, and I thought: No. No, I won’t roll him over and hold his bouncing chin up so it doesn’t bump and coo “Wow! Good boy!” at him. He has to do this for himself. This rolling over thing, it’s his work right now, and he has to do it on his own, and then he’ll own it and be proud of it. That was a huge moment for me, and one I’ve clung on to.

So, right now, I’m watching Derek learn to roll. I hate it with every ounce of me. Watching my kids struggle is the hardest thing on me, hands down, but I do have the sense to recognize that that’s exactly why I have to do it.

Whew. Thanks for listening. Obviously I needed to get THAT out.

And lastly, I’m bubbling with a secret I’m hoping that by this time next week, I’ll have some definitive and exciting news about the pilot I’ve been co-writing. Exciting schtuff!