Girls Posts

A Stitch in Time Saves a Finger

I’m pretty sure that guilt is slamming your kid’s finger in a car door and then hearing HER apologize to YOU while planting kisses all over your face and repeating, “Make it all better, Mommy.”

Such was last Wednesday.

It was picture day at camp. Lexi wore her camp shirt (which doubled as a nightgown) and when I picked her up, she was happy as could be. “I had fun, Mommy.” “Camp is fun always.” “I smile in picture.” Great!

I carry her to the car, nuzzling her. It’s three hours that she’s away from me and I miss my buddy. I open the back door on her side and realize the guy to the left of me is parked way too close and is starting his engine. He puts the car in gear and starts rolling out. I noticed he didn’t see us, so I jumped back quickly because I didn’t want the car to hit us. My backward motion caused the back door of the car to close. I hear Lexi crying and it takes three seconds to realize it is because half of her finger is missing… on the other side of the door.

I open it and yell for the nearest staff member, who runs us to the nurse. After what seems like forever, she gets the bleeding to stop. We have blood all over both of us and all I want to know is if her finger is in one piece, but I can’t see the tip of it. They take a cursory look at the gash and announce that she will probably need stitches and an X-ray to see if it’s broken. I am eerily calm and nod my head, holding Lexi and telling her it’s okay.

The second I get her in the car on the way to urgent care, the tears start coming. I pull over, temporarily blinded. It is the worst feeling I’ve felt as a parent – my child is hurt, and I caused it. Sure, I was trying to keep us safe, but knowing the pain she was feeling hurt my heart so deeply, I was surprised by my own choking sobs. I called Cory and he begged me to hold it together and be strong for Lexi. Five minutes later, we arrived and sat in the waiting room – me crying softly, Lexi sitting facing me on my lap, nuzzling my cheek.

“I sorry, Mommy.” “Finger hurt.”

More sobs coming from me. In five years as a parent, I never had more than a scraped knee to deal with and this was just awful.

We were a sweaty, teary mess when we got into the examination room. Lexi waited patiently and stared at her bandaged finger with a small Dora sticker on it. The TV went on and the nurse brought her three lollipops.

“I want red.”

Two minutes later, “I done, Mommy. Now orange.”

And then, “I done. Purple now.”

We went for x-rays and my little angel sat on the table draped in a vest and held her little hand still while the technician took pictures. I couldn’t believe how calm and sweet she was being while her finger undoubtedly throbbed with pain.

Nothing fractured, but the gaping hole would need stitches.

Before the doctor could stitch her finger, Lexi had to sit for 15 minutes with her hand in some cleaning solution. She watched Nick Jr. patiently, not moving at all. Every few seconds, she would pucker up for a kiss and I swelled with love at this little being. When the doctor injected her finger with anesthesia, she let out a cry but nothing compared to how I would react in the same situation. Kids are amazing.

By now it was nearing 2 o’clock and the events of the day were beginning to wear on us both. During one of her hugs, I felt Lexi’s head get heavy and her eyes began to close. The doctor was coming in momentarily, so I gently lifted Lexi’s hand out of the solution and laid her down on the examination chair. She fell asleep instantly.

It freaked me out to see her sleeping like that, like she was unconscious at a hospital or something, and I kept my head on her chest just to feel her breathe. When the doctor came in, I explained that she may sleep through the entire procedure, which she did. Every time the little hook went into her finger, she flinched but remained asleep.

All done!

The doctor advised us to come back in 7 days to look at the stitches and said she could attend camp but no swimming while the wound healed. Armed with 5 more lollipops, we were on our way home.

I took her back yesterday for a check-up and when I parked the car in the lot, she said, “You sad, Mommy?” She remembered how emotional I was when we arrived a week ago. Again, I was amazed by her compassion for me in what was surely an emotional and no doubt painful experience for her.

The wound healed nicely but the doctor wanted the stitches in until Friday, just to be safe. Best to make sure none of Lexi’s camp activities cause the stitches to open.

My little girl taught me a lot about being strong and got me thinking about how whiny I get at the littlest ache or pain. Sometimes I forget that we not only teach our kids, but that they teach us, too.

Posted by Dani in Girls, Parenting, Safety and tagged with emergency room, finger in car door, kids are resilient, stitches

I Love You, Mommy

One of the best feelings in the world? Hearing “I love you, Mommy” sincere and unprompted.

First time.

Today.

My daughter.

Happy Mommy

Posted by Dani in Girls

Bullies Beware

Let me start by saying that Ryan is the funniest, cutest, sweetest little boy that I know. He is goofy, athletic, friendly, social and polite (most of the time).

He is also extremely sensitive.

He gets it from both parents. And it is bothering one of his parents right now much more than the other.

Cory gets really upset when Ryan comes to him crying that someone was mean to him, said “I don’t like you”, “You’re not my best friend” or some other preschool insult. It breaks my heart, too, but I’ve had more experience with it – at playdates, on the playground. I also have the knowledge that Ryan has said these things to other boys as well, so I know it goes both ways, even though as time goes on, I see a wonderful maturity and empathy progressing in his dealings with peers.

It’s difficult not to take it personally, to wonder why another child thinks yours isn’t good enough or cool enough. But as you, the parent, get lost in your own painful thoughts and memories and do your best not to pick up the kid and shake him or her, that same child then grabs yours and shrieks, “Let’s go play hide and seek!” and all is forgotten in Little Kid World.

I always thought that raising a little girl would be the worst with the bullying, name-calling and worth-leveling based on unattainable standards of beauty. I figured if a boy is somewhat athletic and/or social and has interests of some sort, he’s in the clear. But it is difficult for both. I have girlfriends whose young boys are taunted because they’re too short, too smart, too weak, too into dinosaurs.

Even though it hurts the same to a child, this preschool stuff is so benign compared to what kids endure when they’re older, which makes me worry about how Cory (and I) will react to the bigger stuff. Our boy is sensitive. That will one day be a wonderful gift. In friendships, with girls, in dealing with younger kids and people less fortunate. With certain friends, he’s the tough guy and a leader – the one with all the ideas. With other friends, he’s the follower – hanging onto the other kid’s every word. Aren’t we all this way in different social situations?

I don’t think there’s any “toughening up” that can be done. It’s in his makeup to be upset and take it personally if someone says something negative towards him. I’m the same way. I think it’s just that young children don’t have the tools, the proper language, to defend themselves properly or handle an uncomfortable situation.

So they turn to parents. And what do we say?

I’ve heard parents say anything from “Hit him back” to “Walk away” to “Play with someone who’s nicer to you” to “Tell him he sucks at football, too”.

I’m a big proponent of telling Ryan that whoever hurt his feelings is probably having a bad day, that other people don’t have the right to define him, to work it out fairly with the other kid. But really, I have no answer. He’s going to get hurt. He’s going to want to follow the kid who hurt him. There was a kid last year who wasn’t very nice yet Ryan idolized him. He’s going to be confused as to why some kids are mean sometimes and nice other times.

I was in a clique of three BFF’s in the 3rd grade and one day the “Queen Bee” decided that she and the other girl would sit alone together at lunch and I would not be invited. I remember I could not concentrate that day or any day that week. I went home crying that my world was shattered, that I lost my best friend and I was a loser. To this 8 year old, it was the lowest I had ever felt.

I caught up with Queen Bee on Facebook last year and we were having a lovely time reconnecting. Turns out we had much in common and she was quite the beautiful soul. But instead of forgetting the past and acting like a mature adult moving forward, we got to talking about bullying and girls and I couldn’t forget that experience of being odd girl out. After considering a good way to say it, I somehow blurted, “Yeah, I remember when you were really mean to me in 3rd grade, too” or something equally as dumb and pointless. She was silent for so long that I knew immediately I said the wrong thing. Why did I feel the need to bring up something her 8 year old self did? Did a part of me want her to know that she hurt me? To feel bad? To apologize? What good would that do now?

She explained that she had a hard time connecting with other girls as a kid for different reasons, that she knows she wasn’t nice and she hid behind her insecurities but that it was just as hurtful for me to say this now, after all these years. And I agree. She also pointed out that I also did my fair share of hurting, yet I don’t remember that side of it at all. I haven’t forgotten what she said and never will, just like in the third grade. I wish I never said it and I’m sorry. Something in me just had to say something, but I know it was wrong and I can’t take it back.

I wish I could tell Ryan and Alexa that no matter what their fate is in elementary, junior and high school, that all will be forgotten when they are adults. And that they should move forward and forget, too. That although the memories of experiences both good and bad will be a part of them, they will one day be reconnected with all of these kids through Facebook or the grapevine, and they will be celebrated for their differences and none of this will matter. Being the most popular kid or star of the football team won’t guarantee you anything. It’s about believing in your own self-worth and not letting anyone else define you.

I don’t know the answer, but I do know that we can’t shield our kids from ever getting hurt. The closest I can get is what my parents said to me as I was growing up, which I never forgot. I think this is why I always had good self-esteem and I pray that I can pass this onto my children…

That to race would be futile because no matter who you are, there will always be someone more popular, more beautiful, wealthier, more athletic. But you don’t know their lives. They could be suffering. They may not be happy. But if they are, it doesn’t matter because I am an amazing person and I have wonderful and special qualities and talents that make me who I am. And I should never want to trade that with anyone. Because nobody else is quite like me.

I hope I can assist in making my children believe that about themselves. Because I still believe it about me. Which makes it easier to celebrate others’ successes because I know it’s not a race, as much as it seems that way sometimes. And one day, I hope both Ryan and Alexa find their unique match – someone who appreciates their uniqueness and their beauty (from the inside out). Because nothing feels better than being loved. And loving yourself.

Bullies Beware.

Posted by Dani in Boys, Girls, Parenting and tagged with bullying, I like me :), sensitivity

Parents, Please Cover Your Little Girl’s Kooka This Halloween

Halloween is tomorrow and I’m really excited. It’s fun to dress up in costume, walk the neighborhood and see people opening their doors with a smile… and the scrooges who turn off their lights but you know they’re totally there. The candy part isn’t bad, either. I started Weight Watchers yesterday, so I can’t eat an entire plastic pumpkin full of chocolate, but I can have a few pieces. Yay for Twix and Snickers!

I don’t consider myself all that uptight but I’ve gotta tell you – a couple of trips through party stores, costume shops and glances at Facebook photos has me shaking my head about the state of little girl costumes today, if you can call them costumes. I’m not the first person to write about the sexualization of little girls, but it’s getting to be a bit much, even for my taste.

Disclaimer: I have no issue with slutty adult costumes (unless you’re wearing it at your 6 year old’s costume party) – after all, Halloween is about having fun and being someone or something different for a day. (If that’s not different for you, then, more power to you, I guess?) My issue is with costumes for young, impressionable girls who in my opinion are sexualizing themselves waaayyy too early. And the parents who are letting it happen.

I’m not saying that dressing like a slut on Halloween will buy you a one-way ticket to 16 and Pregnant, but parents – please think about what message you are sending when you send your young girl out on the street looking like a hooker.

Admittedly, I haven’t had to deal with the angry wails of a tween girl who says that I’m the Worst.Mother.In.The.World for not letting her wear a thong over her Daisy Dukes or saying her shirt is cut so low I can see her ankles, but I’m afraid that the problem with kids dressing inappropriately is a direct result of parents who are afraid to say NO.

For the most part, even though some little girl superhero costumes are short and have tight bodices, I see nothing overtly sexual about them. Probably because there is nothing overtly sexual about a 5 year old. But it’s a slippery slope. Wonder Woman costume barely covers your 9 year old’s kooka? Slap on a pair of leggings or shorts underneath.

We’re afraid that our kids won’t like us – we want them to confide in us and let us into their inner circle. But there is a time for that when they’re off on their own. Young children need parents to give them direction, to let them know what is okay and what isn’t acceptable. I don’t see why showing your ass cheeks is a “must-do” or being in danger of a nip slip is required to look good. I’d rather have my kid say they hate me now than dry her tears at 14 when she doesn’t understand why the boys gossip that she’s a slut while simultaneously trying to get her into bed.

If you think I’m being overly dramatic and insane, check out these costumes, which start at size Child 4-6.

What do you think? Am I just having a bad day or do you agree?

Oh, and Happy Halloween I will post pictures of our non-sexy Elmo and Spiderman in the next few days…

Why would your child even want to be a French maid? She's probably never heard of it.

Not awful, but why the belly button? She has her whole life to show off her skin.

Again with the French maid. Lace up corset and choker?

This is supposed to be Goldilocks/Bratz-style. Whaaaaaa? I just don't think anything about this says "Goldilocks".

Monster High dolls are like Lady Gaga gone wrong. What is this get-up? Is this even costume-worthy?

She has her whole life to be your little devil. Do we really need the lace-up top and super short skirt?

This is supposed to be Little Bo Peep. Again, nothing about this is appropriate for tending to sheep.

Posted by Dani in Girls, Holiday stuff, Parenting and tagged with cover up your kooka, Halloween costumes, sexualization of little girls, sexy Halloween costumes for kids

A Birth Story

Photo Credit: Kelle Hampton

Everyone comes into this world with their own story.

Some believe we write our stories as we journey through life, our decisions creating unique twists and turns.

Some believe our stories were written for us by someone or something larger than ourselves.

Kelle Hampton is just one woman who is not unlike someone you may know. Blessed with good looks, she has a husband, children, a talent for taking breathtaking photographs and writing about the wonders of life in her blog, Enjoying the Small Things.

Like you and me, she has a story. It is not the first story of its kind. But what makes her story so remarkable is that she wrote about it. One defining event written in raw, honest detail. To share with others how life sometimes throws a wrench in our plans, forces us to change the way we think, to challenge us in ways we could never imagine.

I have so many things I want to say about her story but most of all, I want YOU to read it. So sit back (with a box of tissues) and allow Kelle to take you on her incredible personal journey – the birth story of her second daughter, Nella Cordelia:

http://www.kellehampton.com/2010/01/nella-cordelia-birth-story.html

Posted by Dani in Babies, Birthdays, Girls, Parenting, Women and tagged with a birth story, Enjoying the Small Things, Kelle Hampton

Your 1st grader’s breasts need a little help

You know what the trouble is with young girls today? Their breasts aren’t pushed up and separated enough. And that just makes me MAD!

MAD MAD MAD!!!!

Not sure if you heard about this over the weekend, but abercrombie kids (Abercrombie & Fitch’s shop for boys and girls ages 7-14) has rolled out their spring line of bathing suits and at the helm of their collection is the Ashley Push Up Triangle padded bikini top (bottoms sold separately).

No joke. A padded bikini top, offered up to girls as young as 7. Because we all know your 1st grader could stand to look a little more like the women on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Edition. Duh.

The picture above contains the original name and description. As a result of a barrage of complaints aimed at the retailer, they recently updated the product name on the site to the Ashley Striped Triangle, still described as padded, but has not pulled the product off of shelves. Or the padding out of the top.

An additional edit was made today that omitted “padded” as a descriptor.

Abercrombie, you’re doing a lot of work for an itty bitty booby suit. What’s your next edit – selling the bottom only?

I think this sends a signal to young girls that they are sexual objects and to grown men that they are appropriate sexual objects.

I understand that some girls are in that in-between stage where they have budding breasts and it feels awkward for them to not fill out a bikini top. I say that’s why there are one-piece swimsuits.

Padded and push-up are ways that women play at “altering” their bodies. Everyone knows that the whole point of a “push-up” is to lift, separate and enhance the breasts. Is that the lesson we want to teach our young children? If you’re not sexy, you’re not beautiful?

On the hypocritical side, I am more than excited for my own daughter to put on makeup and don some sequined and probably whorish-looking dance recital outfit one day. Because I think it’s cute. And I did it when I was little. So why do we constantly push our children to look like, act like and dress like adults? Where does it cross the line? Is it cute for your baby to wear Juicy across her tush at 6 months but not at 6 years?

Abercrombie is no stranger to controversy. They have come under fire in the past for portraying nude teenage models in sexually provocative attire in their catalogs, offering thong underwear in children’s sizes with the words “eye candy” and “wink, wink” on them, and who could forget the “Wong Brothers Laundry Service” t-shirt uproar. Controversy is a great marketing strategy – but at what expense?

What do you think? Hysteria warranted or not?

Posted by Dani in Girls, News and tagged with abercrombie kids, Ashley swimsuit, push-up swimsuit, sexualization of young girls

Broken-Hearted

I knew I had to write that daughter-in-law letter sooner rather than later.

As the door to the bus opened this afternoon, I saw my sweet boy in hysterics.

You see, when Ryan cries, usually his feelings are hurt because he hardly ever cries due to something physical.

Miss Pat, who drives him home, asked him why he was crying (for my benefit) and he bawled even harder. He explained, red faced and wet, that the same 4-year-old girl he sits and giggles with got off the bus with a friend today for a playdate at her house. Miss Pat noticed Ryan’s lip quivering after they got off of the bus but talked him off of the ledge and he seemed fine… until he got home.

She tried to ease his suffering by saying that the girls had a playdate scheduled weeks before and that her Mommy just needs to call me, but Ryan did not seem to care. What he cared about was that he did not have this. particular. playdate. Than I tried to explain how she has different friends just like he does and that today she had plans with someone else just like he does with his other friends. No good. More crying.

I asked the girl’s last name, said I’d call the school to get her number and thanked Miss Pat. I carried my soggy lump of hysterics into the house and he took out his frustration on everything – from freaking out that I didn’t let him put his backpack on the couch, to complaining that his feet were cold, to trying to tell Lexi he needed “privaseat” (privacy) to demanding I put on Shrek and fix him a snack. He was a mess.

I’m on my way to call the girl’s Mom to schedule an immediate playdate for my heartbroken son.

Little girl, you didn’t do anything wrong, but I already dislike my future daughter-in-law and this just makes it worse.

Posted by Dani in Boys, Girls and tagged with broken-hearted, playdates, the bus

Monkey Game

About a year ago, I was at lunch with a few friends and their kids in the city. I knew we would want to have some adult conversation, so I made sure to pack Ryan’s “Diego bag” – a backpack filled with various toys and activities to keep his interest and give me some breathing room in between cutting food, wiping his face and reminding him not to bang his fork or crawl under the table.

As I tried to balance eating, talking and parenting, I noticed that I was nearly sweating trying to keep it together. Meanwhile, my friend G’s son was sitting quietly staring at some screen and she was totally calm, steering the conversation every which way.

Turns out her son was on her iPhone.

I had no idea what he could be looking at. Being a Blackberry girl, I wasn’t really familiar with the iPhone. But the kid was navigating that machine like a pro – watching videos, looking at pictures and playing preschool apps.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the iPhone (or in my case, the iPod Touch) would become the ultimate preschool pacifier - a tiny, shiny, expensive lifesaver never to be forgotten on car trips, airplanes and in restaurants.

Before I knew what a gem this would become, I would roll my eyes at little kids playing video games, lost in their own little world. What good could come of a zombiefied toddler? But when I saw that my friend’s son was actually learning something, my eyes widened. Handheld games such as the Leapster as well as educational applications, from Monkey Preschool Lunchbox (pictured above) to My First Puzzles to Math Magic are becoming more popular as education evolves in the media age.

From that point forward, Ryan basically hijacked my iPod, renamed it “My Monkey Game” and uses it almost daily. He has watched some of his favorite movies on 3-hour car trips and listens to his own mix of songs that he learned from camp this past summer. When my Mother-in-Law bought Ryan his own 4th generation iPod Touch two days ago, instead of telling her to return it, I kept it for myself and gave him mine. Instead of him having access to all of our music, apps and videos, he now has his own songs, videos and age-appropriate apps and I feel good about letting him use it.

I’m sure you have your own opinions on the matter and I would love to see some kind of discussion. I have a love/hate relationship with society’s overuse of technology. I am guilty of subscribing to it, but also enjoy being unplugged. I fear that my kids won’t have long phone conversations with their friends but will text instead. That they will never know what it is like to get a letter in the mail because e-mail is an instant message. (This gets my wheels spinning on instant gratification and a total lack of patience but that’s for another day…)

I think that if the iPod is taking the place of quality time you should be spending with your child, it is being used for the wrong reason. If your child won’t eat, speak, read books, draw or play because he/she is addicted to the handheld, you have a problem. Balance and moderation is key. There are some great apps out there for drawing, spelling, reading, solving puzzles, storytelling, creative thinking and memory recall, among countless other things that enhance learning in the traditional sense.

So my question is: would you let your 3 year old play with your iPod?

Posted by Dani in Boys, Girls and tagged with ipod, preschool apps, technology

For time to stand still

I think if we could somehow manage without going insane, I’d have a whole mob of kids. (Cory would stop at 3, but I’m the writer here so he doesn’t get a vote.) Kids are just so much fun. They’re clever, loud, adorable, quirky and so lovable. They also raise your blood pressure and make you want to run far away but always - ALWAYS – make you want to come running back. Kids are like a powerful drug. The highs and lows are unmatched by anything I’ve ever experienced.

Since becoming a Mother, I have never felt so manic in my life – the range of my feelings of joy, sadness, love, hurt, excitement, worry, pride, warmth and pain is ever-changing.

At a playground over the summer, Ryan came running over to me crying that an older kid said he was “too little” to play with him. I could just picture his sweet little hopeful face when he inquired, “Can I play with you?” and then the tears gathering in his eyes when he was rebuffed. Such an innocent and common interaction between children, but I literally wanted to tie this kid around a flagpole. I had to stop myself from going over to this child (who was probably all of 5 years old) to make him understand just how awful he made Ryan feel. All rational behavior goes out the window, it’s unreal.

Elizabeth Stone so brilliantly captured what it feels like to have a child:

”Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

I dare you to give me a better quote than that about being a parent. You can’t. I would probably add that the aforementioned child has the power to take that heart and stomp it into little pieces until it resembles sand. Not as poetic, but I don’t look forward to what my poor, fragile heart will be going through for the rest of my life.

I digress.

Now that we have a second child, Cory and I often discuss how things are different this time around on many levels. For one, I did not suffer from Postpartum Depression after Alexa’s birth, so the entire infant stage was viewed through a different lens.

Time feels markedly different, although I’m well aware that the concept of 24 hours in a day has not changed. In the beginning with Ryan, I could.not.wait. for each stage to progress.

When is he going to smile? Sleep through the night? Sit. Crawl. Walk. Talk. When will this get easier? When will I get some semblance of a life back? My body. My sleep…

Although I fully enjoyed watching Ryan change and develop, I had a hurry-up kind of attitude because without hindsight, I didn’t know just how fast each stage would move.

Every three months, something would change. Eventually, I couldn’t update the baby book fast enough with Ryan’s milestones, silly stories and memorable experiences. I would hear people tell me how I should enjoy each stage because it goes by so fast. I waved this off as an “old person” thing to say. It didn’t seem fast while I was going through it.

Now I know better.

Now I know why people go nuts when they see a baby. Because babyhood lasts for, oh, about two seconds. The first time, it hits you like a ton of bricks and it’s like you’re on autopilot without a plan. The second time, you want to hold back the hands of time but you’re poweless against it.

I love Alexa’s wide, drooly, toothless grin. I love her cheek against mine and how she tries to eat my face with her wet kisses. I love how she eats her own feet and doesn’t know that it’s supposed to be disgusting.

I love how she loses her balance and falls over on her side. I love how she bangs on her toy piano with abandon. I love how she looks like a prisoner holding onto her crib slats with clenched fists as I put my nose on hers and we laugh. I love how she smells – anytime. I love the little swish of her diaper as she crawls. I love her amazing smile when someone enters the room.

I love how Ryan squeezes and jumps all over her and she looks at him with only the utmost adoration. I love how she has a squeezable baby belly and thighs that I can kiss for hours on end.

I love her high-pitched squeal. I love how soft she is.

I love that she is a girl.

I want time to stand still.

I love that Ryan is no longer a baby. I love how ”Mommy” is his first word when he wakes up in the morning. I love how he tells long-winded stories that make no sense. I love how he looks at himself in the mirror and does a little jig. I love his half New York, half English accent.

I love how he’s always hungry. I love his amazing hugs and kisses. I love the clever way in which he looks at the world. I love learning from him.

I love how he does the flip-jacket trick to put on his coat and how he puts all five fingers in the large section of his mittens and leaves the thumb part empty. I love burying my face in his neck. I love tickling him.

I love how he tells me where he’s going to hide when we play hide-and-seek. I love that he has no inhibitions. I love how he tries to protect his sister from too-small toys.

I love how he talks to himself in bed and doesn’t fully understand that I can hear him on the monitor.

I love that he is a boy.

I want time to stand still.

Just for a little while…

Posted by Dani in Babies, Boys, Girls and tagged with baby stages, growing up, ode to my kids

Someone Else is Teaching My Kid

Being a teacher made me profoundly aware of the impact educators have on their students that extends beyond the content of their lessons. I will go out on a limb and assume that you can recall the names of some of your elementary school teachers, but draw a blank when it comes to the Periodic Table of the Elements.

I remember thinking that I had this huge responsibility to shape my students’ lives. After all, I spent more hours with these children than their own parents! I stayed up most nights preparing the most interesting, unique lesson plans replete with homemade props that were sure to be unforgettable. I succeeded in implementing a Student of the Week program that was later adopted by the school as a whole. I knew how my teachers had impacted my life and I wanted to do the same for my students. I killed myself in the process, sacrificing sleep and sanity, but I was filled with pride and beamed when students told me that I made learning fun.

When Ryan was born and I chose to be an at-home-Mom, I merged my love of teaching with my new role. I loved teaching Ryan about his world so much that I mirrored a little classroom at home with a daily schedule, behavior charts, alphabet posters, a weather wheel, you name it.

Whether it was colors and numbers, animal sounds or art, I loved that everything Ryan learned came from me. He made a “choo choo” sound when the train went by? I taught that to him. He sang a nursery rhyme? That was me, too. Wow, Ryan knows his numbers? All me.

Fast forward to the present. Someone else is teaching my kid and I don’t like it one bit! It’s not a personal thing, I love his teachers to death – Ryan is exposed to a dizzying amount of new songs every day, two foreign languages, art, computers, science, you name it. I just hate that nowadays when he shares his newfound knowledge, I know most of it didn’t come from me -

“Mommy, did you know that grass is living but a rock is non-living?”

“Christopher Columbus taught people that the world is round and not flat.”

“Look – if you mix yellow and blue together, you get green.”

“Seeds come from nuts, flowers or fruit. Look at the seeds on my strawberry!”

Feeling sadly obsolete, I try remember how wonderful it felt when I made a difference in the lives of other people’s children. Didn’t I say I was with them for more hours than their own parents? I mean, honestly, do kids even need parents? (I’m kidding, relax.)

In the end, I think we need all the “teachers” we can get in this life to help our kids on their journey from innocent child to responsible adult…

The speaker at the school assembly warning about the dangers of drinking and driving.

The neighbor who taught me how to jump rope.

The coach who made me run laps because I was late to practice.

The friend who sat with me in silence, knowing that I didn’t want to talk but didn’t want to be alone, either.

The boss who encouraged me to leave so I could realize my full potential.

All are important, all are pieces to our complicated and beautiful puzzle. I give my heartfelt thanks to all of my teachers and to the ones who will help shape my children’s lives in the future.

Roll credits:

1st grade – Miss Casterlin: I loved how special it felt when the 5th graders came to read to us every week. I remember being so proud that you posed for a picture with me at our class Halloween party. The autograph book that you had the class make for me when I moved will always be remembered.

2nd grade – Miss Mirsky: I will never forget the amazing loft in the classroom that we could sit in during silent reading time. It had pillows and you had to climb up a small ladder to gain entry. Only two well-behaved students could sit there on a given day and I remember the feeling I got the first time I was chosen.

3rd grade – Miss Thomas: You taught us how to balance a checkbook, play 7-Up and held an end-of-the-year party at your home where you played guitar and cooked for the entire classroom. Having all of your students to your house? Unforgettable.

4th grade – Miss DiBonaventuro: You taught us a song to remember how to spell your name and I still remember it to this day. We made a life-sized paper maiche airplane in the classroom that we could walk through during our unit on Amelia Earhart and Charles Lindbergh.

5th grade – Mr. Ruzansky: You were the first teacher who made himself available to talk about friendships, relationships and anything on our minds after school hours. You were more than a teacher. And you were hysterical. I remember on our last day of school we were really sad and you brought out this funny joke book. There was a connect the dots page – with just two large dots labeled “1″and “2″. It doesn’t sound funny the way I’m writing it, but it was hilarious.

Thank you.

Posted by Dani in Boys, Girls, Men, Women and tagged with behavior charts, daily schedule, elementary school, teachers