East of Eden

It was a rough week at work, a really rough week. Maybe all the planets were out of synch, but so many clients were out of sorts I was starting to get paranoid. It was the kind of week that would make me cry.

If I were younger.

But the fortunate thing about getting older is I remember all the other crappy weeks I got through, and I can say, yeah, next week they’ll all be fine.
It’s kind of a perverse logic, I suppose, but I really rely on my horrible experiences to help me put the current ones in perspective.

Chief among them is my meeting with the Queen of Mean, Leona Helmsley. Having heard all about her, of course, I was waiting through the whole meeting for the lash to crack. She was perfectly polite through the main presentation, and then, just as we were beginning to breathe easy, she looked me straight in the eye and said “I hate your dress.”
Should I apologize for it? She would distain that. And me.
Should I agree? I would be marked a sycophant and lose all power of persuasion.
Should I snap back? Might as well kiss the account goodbye right there.
So I looked back with a big smile and said, “Let’s go shopping!”
She didn’t reply right away, but I have to tell you that four times over the course of the evening she complimented that stupid dress.

Nobody has remotely scared me since.

So naturally, as a mom, I wonder what experiences the smalls are going to have to toughen them up for the world ahead. It isn’t something we parents think about, in our stacks and stacks of anger-management, situation-deflecting guidebooks. I must’ve bought a dozen resources on how to turn my children’s upsets into ‘positive’ moments. And I’ve thrown them all away. Because as much as I’d like to make their childhood an Eden where all is sunny and bright and the fruit is really, really good, the truth is, sooner or later we all get kicked out of the garden.

So when my children are upset, I empathize, but I’ve stopped trying to make it go away.

My son was crying about problems at school, and I said, “Hon, you’re just going to have to find the strength to get through this.” He yelled, “Mom, that’s not very comforting.” And I said, “What comfort would you have me give you? You’re the one going through this, you have to decide what you want to happen.” He stopped crying, calmed down, and said. “Okay.” And I think (I hope) he made a mature decision that night.

Does that sound harsh? It would if you think of your child as a weak little chick you have to protect. (And of course, if they’re under 5, you’re right – they are a weak little chick and you should protect them.) But as they get into the school system and spend their days with people you don’t know in situations you can’t control, they need to know they are strong enough to get through it.
And someday when my kids meet the new Queens of Mean – and believe me, I’m sure some over-indulgent jerk is incubating them right now – they’ll know how to handle them – with confidence and self-possession. Two things Eden didn’t know much about.

Rebel Without a Clue

The boychild is signed up for two weeks of sailing lessons. He’s staying with my mother-in-law and we’re all just praying it goes well. Because, while he can be a loving and kind and thoughtful eight-year-old who makes my coffee and brings his sister a cold compress to soothe the spot where he’s just walloped her in a tussle, he can also be wayward and cantankerous and sullen.

It’s been a problem all year with the school. I keep getting phone calls and comments like, “I complimented him on his behavior and he acted offended.” “I just don’t understand him.”

How can I tell them the truth? This isn’t a phase. This is DNA. His paternal grandfather ran away from home at 13 and hitchhiked across the country, working at a dude ranch. My father ran away from home at 13 and got a job as a bag boy until his dad showed up and brought him home. Self-sufficient is the nice way to put it. The men on this family tree just don’t fall into line. They just don’t. They don’t take orders, they don’t think anyone has good sense except themselves, and they don’t want to hear it.

The good news? Both grandfathers were successful in their own businesses. Their own. As in not working for anybody else. I swear if my son could learn an ounce of charm he could be president. He has more practical sense than any kid you’ve ever met. As long as he’s in charge. But patience? Perspective? The ability to see anyone else’s point of view?

Please somebody tell me this is normal eight year old boy. Or recommend a good military school.

I’m going to go run a hot bath and fill it full of SkinMilk bubbles. Then I won’t be able to get the phone when the sailing instructor calls to say “come pick him up.”
Give me strength.

Insider Trading…in the 3rd Grade

What I love about our educational system is that what is being taught is so rarely what is being learned.

At my daughter’s previous, very private school, the headmistress thought that what she was teaching was that there is right and wrong way to do absolutely everything – a way to walk down the halls, a way to think, and above all, a precise way to express oneself – that way being, to express oneself in accord with her.

Instead of learning how to conform, my daughter learned she had absolutely no interest in conforming. A pretty important thing to know at 8, eh? So we did the inevitable and switched to the public school in our neighborhood.

Has it been a panacea to cure all ills? Of course not. But overall, a terrific year. Overcrowded a bit, like all public schools in New York, but conscientious in the right ways and laissez-faire when they should be. After a few months of adjustment my daughter began to relax, stop fearing constant scolding, and to enjoy her new friends, one of whom is referred to as “Queen of the Lunch Table.”

Which brings me to my point: children have a whole ‘nother life we parents don’t really know about. Sometimes they are our children, sometimes they are the teacher's students.
But who they are to each other belongs only to them.

And it's never really what you'd think. Take this exercise in free market trading the girlchild related one day while packing lunch. In her new school, most of the kids bring something from home. But apparently, no one actually eats they lunch they bring. Eating, if it is done at all, comes only after a complex transaction period that would boggle the Big Board.

The most highly valued trade commodity is, according to current trends, the Chinese fortune cookie. Its bland flavor and lack of zippy additives would seem to work against it, but one mustn’t overlook its essential two-part nature. Having both a fortune and a cookie doubles its value. The girl who most aggressively corners the market on these actually uses the lucky numbers on the back, to play lotto.

Other valued items? Goldfish crackers, any chip that comes in a pack of its own, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. I love that the kids do this, that they’ve come up it with on their own. Adults wouldn’t understand the relative values, I’m sure. But I also love that she’s learning a real skill. To trade well and fairly, she has to think about what she has to offer, what someone else has to offer, and what a third someone might have that’s even better if you just hold out. That’s knowledge she’ll use every day of her life, whether the math facts stick or not.

By the way, snack marketers of America, are you listening?