Takes One To Know One

Me: Whatcha singing? Shouldn't you be asleep?

Maybe Kiddo #2 is like this because I seriously
considered naming him Samuel Beckett in utero?

Kiddo #2:  I'm singing about how people never change, and nothing changes over time. So don't worry about changing people, because they can't change.

Me: (inner triumphant screams of joy and ecstasy that I have, clearly, birthed a Post Modern baby out of my love of the literature) Sorry? Aren't you 3?

Kiddo #2: Yes. I am three. And at my next birthday I will be four. And also, I want to have a Lego party.  

Me: Ok. Well, you can only arrive at your fourth birthday by getting enough sleep between now and then.

And with that, Kiddo #2 continued singing about how people can't change, as though I've left and have been gone for quite some time. Effectively, he's dismissed me, as he often does when he's finished speaking of the mundane with me; I think I need to get a dog so that at least someone in my house can't be smarter than me.  Like, a dumb dog, cuz the one we've got is also too smart, too.  Ugh. Maybe I should get a pet rock.

Me: Ok, but why are you singing about people not changing?

Kiddo #2: Because they can't.

Me: Well, that's not really true. I mean, you have to want to change.

Kiddo #2: No. I don't think you're telling the truth.

Me: Well, like, if I want you to pretend you're Spiderman, you can put on the costume and zoom around, but if YOU don't want to be Spiderman, then when I leave, you'll take off the costume and be Kiddo #2 again.

Kiddo #2: (pausing to consider this) Well, it's like this: even if I put on the costume, I'm not the real Spiderman. And even if I want to be, I can't be.  Nope. People can't change.

Me: (pausing to consider this) Um. Ok. But like, if you're a mean person, and someone wants you to be nice and you decide to be nice because you want to be nice, too, then you've changed. But if you only want to be nice so that someone you like wants you to be nice, then you're not going to change forever.  

Kiddo #2: I think you need to go to bed. 

Me:  Yes. You, too.

Kiddo #2: I'll stop singing about people not changing if you want. 

Me: Just sing about whatever makes you happy or sad. Just sing. 

Kiddo #2: See? No change, Mama.

Honestly.  I mean, honestly. 

If I were Zach Morris, I'd be looking directly into the camera right now in disbelief. Since I'm not, though, we'll just assume I look like Captain Picard doing the facepalm and move on.

Later that night, I was discussing this, and several other similar issues, with Husband.  The breakdown of the argument basically looks like "Hey, our son is a free-spirit, and I don't want to crush his spirit, BUT he's got to listen to rules, even if he doesn't think they apply to him in any way." 

The two of us have gone through all sorts of ways to get him to stay in bed at night, or to get him to listen to directions, or...

I spent, for example, 10 minutes looking for Kiddo #2 at Superstore because he saw something on the other side of the store, skipped off to investigate, and got so enthralled in whatever the hell it was that he couldn't hear me whisper-yelling his name.

And when he skipped on back, and I said "Kiddo #2! You can't just wander off like that! It is not allowed. And it isn't safe. And it scared me!"  He looked at me with a "what's the big fuss? We're together now" look on his face and put his wee hand on my cheek and said, "But Momma, I needed to see something.  Don't worry. I'm back now."  

Like, W. T. friggin' F.! 

Again, I don't want to break his soul by suggesting there are ninjas out there who are begging to steal him whenever my back is turned (although Handmaid's Tale (Atwood) plays out in my head everytime I lose him, which does NOT help me stay calm.). And, frankly, yelling at him, or giving him time-outs, or loud noises, simply don't do jack.  He will go to a time-out, sit there, play or cry or whatever, and at the end of the time, he says what I need to hear (ie: why he was put there in the first place and how he will change to keep from going back there) and then continue on his merry way.  If he was evil, this would be sociopathic behaviour.  He's quite kind to animals and stuff, though, so don't worry that I'm enabling some super-serial-killer here.

Living the life of Zach Morris.  Lucky effer.

He truly doesn't think the reason he's in time-out has anything to do with him. I think he thinks he's there because I'm cross about SOMETHING so he says whatever he figures out he's being wrongfully accused of, does his time, and gets out of jail as quickly as possible.  ...so that he can get back to whatever he was doing before he was so rudely interrupted by the adult in his life.

I think it must be like being Zach Morris-- just hanging out, watching everything going on, doing shit, having fun, getting into trouble but talking to the audience to let us know he's not sweating it. He's got it all figured out and can get out of any jam with his giant motherfucking cell phone.

See, Kiddo #1 is NOTHING like this.  She gets in trouble, she bawls her head off (with or without Exorcist fit), comes out, professes her sorrow and apologizes, AND NEVER DOES IT AGAIN.  

I just keep wondering what the hell is going on here. I get that they're different kids, but FRICK!  This second one is KILLING ME.

So, after chatting it over all weekend, I arrived at work and was still puzzled by the whole thing. How do I get Kiddo #2 to listen to me/us without destroying who he is fundamentally?  During a break, I discussed it with a few co-workers.  

(Me: rehash, rehash, rehash.  ...without crushing his spirit... blar blar.)

And it then this friend of mine looked me in the eyes and said, 

Friend: Well, so you're saying that he's a free-spirit. He isn't malicious, or mean, just not concerned with the stuff that keeps everyone else in line. You said he doesn't think it applies to him.  Right?

Me: Yes! 

Friend:  And you don't know how to keep him safe, and get him to stay in bed at night, and all that jazz?  I mean, I have never met him, but maybe you should ask your mother?

Me: Why? What?

Friend: Well, I mean, I haven't met your kiddo, but he sounds pretty lovable, and pretty funny, and pretty crazy and creative... so maybe your Mom could help you out?

Me: But why? 

Friend: Uh, well, she might be able to help you out with Kiddo #2 because she's already had to raise YOU once.

And then she dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter.  Also, for the record, did my mother.

My mother said, "Well you should talk to your father. He can get Kiddo #2 do anything just by explaining to him why he has to do it.  In fact, he used to get you to do anything just by being there.  Used to drive me crazy!"

And then my dad picked up the phone and asked what he was getting into trouble for.  I said, "For just figuring everything out all the time.  I want Kiddo #2 to listen to me and do what I say without crushing his spirit to get him there. But don't bother telling me anything because you don't get to be right all the time."

My Dad: Oh, well you just have to tell him why.  Like, I told him he had to hold my hand on the way to the park and he wouldn't do it.  So I said, "Listen, Kiddo #2, you have to hold my hand because we're walking close to the road and I wouldn't want you to trip and fall into the road by mistake."  

Me: I tell him to hold my hand and he puts his hand on my cheek and says "It's ok Momma, I won't fall."  And I get angry and tell him to hold onto the cart instead, and even then he won't.

My Dad: You need to tell him that he needs to hold onto the cart because the cars won't be able to see him in the parking lot.  He needs to understand the reason because when he leaves you at the cart, HE knows he can find you again-- he thinks the problem is YOURS.  It's YOU having a fit, not him. He probably distracted you so much you forgot to get stuff at the store, right?

And my blood boils because my damn father is right. AGAIN.  It's enough to make a person MENTAL! I'm reduced to another epic facepalm.  This is getting ridiculous. 

Me: UGH! I'm so mad that you're right. I forgot to buy pineapple last night because I was so distracted by Kiddo #2's skippy-happy-lost bs. 

Dad: You're really gonna hate this next part.

Me: Why? 

Dad: Well, before your mother got off the phone, she wrote down on a piece of paper, "Get her to agree with you. And get her to say pineapple."

Me: Wait. What? Whaaa?

Dad: I'm like The Amazing Kreskin, only better looking.  But really, it's not fair. You're young. You're sleep-deprived.  And, you forget that we've already raised him once, but his name was Elizabeth.

It's like Me, wearing a t-shirt of my father, wearing a t-shirt of me, wearing a t-shirt... 

Everyone's a mind-reading, mother-effing, comedian.

Happy Teacher Appreciation Day!

I got a text from a friend of mine today.  It read:

Friend: Hey, so, like, what's the most memorable, meaningful, best present you ever got as a teacher?
Me: Starbucks gift cards. Haha. Just kidding.

And then I really thought about it and wrote back:

Once, two students co-wrote a story about me... and a mountain. ... It's complicated and beautiful.  Another time, I got a gift card for a bookstore from a kiddo who is dyslexic and a note that thanked me for helping him not hate English for once.  Another time, I got false eyelashes from one of my gay students, thanking me for being his safe place.  And then, I got a hug from a boy who thanked me for helping him be the first one in his family to graduate high school without going to jail first.

I'm sure she was looking for something tangible, something other than my trip down memory lane, but it made me remember why I do what I do.

Which, I guess, that's a gift in itself.

It was handy to get that text because holy shit it was a gong show at school today.

Kids were "off the heezy" which is to say, "insane in the membrane."  Turns out, as happens at many schools this time of year, our provincial, municipal and local funding for the snack program ran out and this was our first day without our (free) snack bins for our kiddos.

Holy cow, I had no idea just how much our kiddos depend on those offerings of cheese strings, bananas, pretzel squares and/or goldfish.  Everyone was just a little nutty, and many were complaining of headaches, tummy aches, and straight-up hunger.

Guess how much actual teaching and learning goes on when all you can think about is food?

Less than that.

By the end of the day, the other staffers in the building and I were looking at each other with twitchy panic in our eyes.  I had a run of 4 gym classes today.  All 4 of them had at least two kids who had to be removed due to nervous breakdowns that I attribute directly to not enough to eat; the meltdowns had low-blood sugar written all over them.

"Madame, I'm hungry."  <--- I'd normally say "Grab something from the snack bin."
"My tummy hurts."  <-- "Go get a drink and if it's still grumbley, grab something from the snack bin."
"I didn't eat breakfast."  <--- "You need to eat in the morning or your brain won't work. Go grab..."

You get the picture.

Only today, I could just say "Friend, there's nothing left anywhere or I'd find it for you. Make sure you bring extra with your lunch tomorrow."

Only, we know if parents could send more, they would already be doing so.  And I make a note to pick up some granola bars on the way home.

Only, every time I have to say this today, I add a tally until it'd be cheaper to drive to London and go to Costco than to buy that many single boxes of bars...  Oy.

At the end of the day, I walked my last class (of grade 2s? or grade 3s? or grade 2-3s?) back to their room to pack up and I was a little snippy myself.  I sat them all down and said, "Listen, you have to remind your parents that they need to pack more lunch for you now that the snack program is done."

And as soon as I said it, I felt like a schmuck.

There are so few kids in my school that come to school with healthy, real food for both lunches.  There are so few kids in my school that come to school the next day having eaten a proper dinner.  There are so many kids in my school who eat little or nothing over the weekends and show up Monday ravenous and half-hysterical to be safe all day again.

They don't need me to tell them that.  I might as well say, "If you want to not be hungry tomorrow, go catch a unicorn and pluck a single golden hair from its mane.  Sing "Food Glorious Food" from Oliver! and dance a jig, and you shall never be hungry again!"

I'm an ass.

Truthfully, our healthy snack program is run by a wonderful woman who doesn't even have kids at the school anymore. She comes in every day to make sure 350 kids don't have to think about anything but the lesson on the board.  She comes in, chipper, and happy, too, and  I bet it's because she knows she's doing something great.  How about that for a game changer; what GREAT thing have you done today? I feel pretty happy if my socks both match... and I remember to wear them.  She makes sure 350 kids can focus on their futures.

No biggie.

So there I was, trying to tell little kids to make sure they tell their parents to get more food (from where?) and put it in their lunches because our healthy snack program is done for the year.  And I was trying to figure out where I'd get like, $5000 to buy every granola bar in a 35 mile radius.  And I know all the other teachers were making the same phone calls and sending the same emails to try and bridge that same gap.  So I shut up and did the best I could to get the kids ready to go home, instead.  Why rub it in their faces?

I gave the kiddos a smile and had them line up.  I had to exhale slowly as I realized these kids are only a year or two older than my Kiddo #1.  I closed my eyes to do a calming yoga breath when a little blonde girl with blue eyes and a great big, toothless smile, came up and put her hand on mine.

Kiddo:  Ms. Sunny?
Me: Oh, hi.  Yes?
Kiddo:  I know this is probably silly, but...
Me: But what?
Kiddo:  Will you take this and put it in the snack program?

It was three twonies and three quarters.  My eyes welled up with tears.  I closed my eyes and did another calming yoga breath.

Me: Oh, Kiddo. I.  I can't take your money for the snack program.  Why don't you go to the principal and give it to him. He can take it.
Kiddo:  Ok. I just. ... I want to help.
Me: Ohhh.

I gave her a big hug and thankfully the bell rang before I became a blubbering mess.  I did another yoga breath and madly texted another parent from my daughter's old school where I helped do the healthy snack program. Without looking up as I walked, I wrote:

Me: Hey, so do you have any contacts for extra funding? We NEED it here.
Friend 2: yeah. Hold on I'll look it up and email you.
Me: Thanks. I.  Thanks.

I drove home perseverating about the snack program and how can we get money? I picked up my kids and took them with me to the grocery store.  We chose some goldfish crackers, some mini-wheats and (way too many) snack bags.  And while our chicken and potatoes cooked, my daughter and I scooped 1/2 cup portions in the the baggies.  It's not a lot. It will probably only get the school through one day.  But it's one day more than they had, and that means one day more of learning.


And that's, maybe, the best gift I've ever recieved.




If you are itching to part with money-- any amount will help-- pick a school near you and write a cheque for their snack program.  All the schools have them, and most, if not all, will be out of funding by mid-May.  I don't recommend bringing food in-- I've done this (officially) before so I know the proper sanitation and allergy rules to follow, but they're, understandably, very stringent.  Plus, schools can get deals that we can't, so money donations go further.  

I Heart James Franco

Look at what cool shit you get when you follow James Franco!

Me: So, my BFF, James Franco has this new thing.
Husband: Oh?
Me: Yeah. He's painting selfies now.
Husband: Oh?
Me: Yeah, and now he's showing a series called--

(Kiddus Interruptus -- chasing each other screaming through the house while we make dinner)

Me: Frick, you guys!
Husband: Children, settle down. Dinner's almost ready.
Me: GAH!
Husband: Time to tidy up and wash your hands to eat.

See? More cool shit.  And Seth Rogan's wang.

Me: Yeah, so the newest series is called "Seth at Play" and it's all gigantic nudes of Seth Rogan.
Husband: Didn't he just publish a poetry book, too?
Me: Who? Seth Rogan?
Husband: No. Your BFF.
Me: Oh, yeah. I want it for Mother's Day.
Husband: What's it called?
Me: Uhhh--

(Kiddus Interruptus -- singing of "Happy" by Pharrell)

Me: Friends. Please stop being so loud.
Husband: Sit down and we'll get you some curry.
Me: Hurry up. You're giving me the rage.
Husband: Please sit quickly. You wouldn't like her when she's hangry.

(Kiddus Interruptus-- I explain that hangry is a combination of Hungry and Angry. The 3 ad 6 year olds nod understandingly. I'm not sure what's worse: that they know I get hangry, or that they knew what hangry was before they knew the word for it. Sigh.)

Me: Yeah, so the book-- I think Palo Alto. Or something about David White? Or Seth Rogan?
Husband: How am I supposed to find it if you don't know what it's called?
Me: Well, just Chive: James Franco poetry.
Husband: I guess.
Me: He's on Broadway doing "Of Mice and Men."--

(Kiddus Interruptus-- discussing whether Dora's backpack is better than Diego's. I'm not sure how they ended things but at one point, the songs were even included-- and we all know Diego's rescue pack song is WAY better than Dora's backpack song.)

Husband: Well, my BFF, Kate Mara, made a robot.

She's off to Best Buy to get another cord for her robot.

Me: Who?
Husband: That woman from "House of Cards."
Me: Did she really make a robot or are you jealous that my BFF does everything I love?
Husband: You love seeing Seth Rogan naked in bizarre positions?
Me: I thought you hadn't seen the paintings...
Husband: I googled them while you were distracted with the Diego/Dora debate.

(Kiddus Interruptus-- someone needs more Mac and Cheese, someone else needs something else.)

Husband: She's on my Friends list.
Me: You. Didn't.
Husband: (laughing heartily) I added her a couple years back.
Me: My friend request has been pending since 2008!
Husband: Well... she does make robots.

(Kiddus Interruptus-- someone needs her stuffed dog. The actual dog needs out.)

Me: It's time for bed. Everyone. Jams.
Husband: Children, you need to get your pyjamas on. It's 5 minutes to bedtime.
Me: It's ok. He mostly looks grumpy. Except when he's holding Seth Rogan, or some other dude.
Husband: Oh?

(Kiddus Interruptus-- Can we play with the turtle? Also, can we change the turtle's name from Jelly to Charlie? Only if we can change your names, too, kids. I like Esmeralda and DonJuan. They call my bluff and I say no one is changing their names.)

Me: Yeah. He's just my BFF. You've got my heart, lovey.
Husband: Well then.
Me: Although, I'd like to paint a giant canvas of you naked in an awkward position.
Husband: I think a giant canvas of me naked would be awkward enough.
Me: Just saying. We could hang it in your TV room.
Husband: Just getting awkwarder.
Me: I think "awkwarder" is awkward enough.

(Conversation Interruptus-- he's gone to Olympic Volleyball and I'm heading down to Youtube how to build a robot)

What? Our BFFs in a selfie together? With a girl with a lizard in her hair? Totes Legit.