To My Son On His Tenth Birthday (Chapter Two)

My second-born, my baby, you are ten today. How did that happen? You’ve always wanted to be older, and now you are. And I am so proud of you.

There are three years between you and your brother. Because parenting is hard, and it took that long to feel like I knew what I was doing, and like I was ready to do it all again. But surprise—you were your own person from the start, and a lot of what I thought I knew from raising your brother didn’t apply. So I was learning all over again.

And you’ve kept us on our toes: you learned to climb stairs and open doors before you could walk. Enter the baby gates and bolt locks we didn’t think we needed. You’ve been on the move ever since.

You do have some things in common with your big brother. You also thrive best when learning in your own time. When you do decide to do something, though, you are all in.

You are a voracious reader, and will read just about anything and everything I oh so casually leave on the coffee table. You can’t get enough of graphic novels, and have discerning taste in picture books, often telling me which ones deserve my library “staff picks” stickers.

You don’t much like school, never have, but you are scary smart, and love learning and trying new things. You are currently researching poisonous snakes, just because. You love to help in the kitchen, and will probably make your own birthday cake. And it will be amazing.

You have a confidence I envy, and I hope you never lose. You get over anger and upsets quickly, and never hold a grudge. You have always been a snuggler, and will still randomly hug me in public; I hope you always will. I love your uncontained joy for certain things, like going out for sushi, or your pet snake (your birthday present).

You can also be a bit obsessive with things you love. TV shows, video games, drums, breakfast—you go through periods of choosing that thing and only that thing. Your current obsession is playing outside with your neighbourhood friends. Bagels with cream cheese and lox. And trying to convince us to get a dog.

You are a trooper. We’ve “joked” you’ve seen just about every specialist there is at one point or another. And yet, you are far from a sickly kid—you are an active boy with a great attitude. You’ve gone through medical tests, eye patching, chronic illness, and surgery without complaint. In fact at the worst point in your recovery from having your tonsils and adenoids removed, you commented that you “felt sorry for younger kids having this done”. You were six.

Though you try to play it cool, you still adore your big brother. You are both growing up, and have your own friends and interests. You don’t play together as much these days, and can get on one another’s nerves (sometimes on purpose). But overall, the bond is still there, and I look forward to watching it grow as you do.

Happy birthday my sweet boy!

Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning’s End

Earlier this year, I told my sister-in-law a cute anecdote about something BB#1 had said just before his brother was born. As we shared a laugh, I didn’t really notice that the boy himself had gotten up and left the room.

So I’ll admit, I was a bit floored to discover later that he was angry with me–for telling a story about him without asking first. I didn’t consider the story an embarrassing one at all–it has never been my intention to make my children the butt of a joke or to humiliate them in any way, and I abhor the child-shaming that seems to be so rampant online these days (have some foresight, parents!) In actual fact, the point of telling the story had been to show what a clever toddler he had been! But I suddenly remembered being his age, and how I felt at being the topic of conversation–or more specifically, the source of humour–among adults, and I could relate.

It was probably around the same time that I read this post by Tracy Chappell: Why I’m Breaking Up With My Blog. As an editor and writer for Today’s Parent, Tracy had blogged long before I jumped in. And not for the first time, my friend made me think. Although I had purposely kept the boys anonymous online, hadn’t used their photos, and wasn’t writing for the size of audience she had (*waves to reader: hi, Mom!*) I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right: that the older my kids get, the less their stories are mine to tell.

So although I’ve never been the most consistent of bloggers anyway, I found it more and more difficult to come up with posts that didn’t make me wonder, “would my son(s) want me to share this?” I suppose I could have just asked them, but really, as Jennifer Pinarski points out in her own blog (suggested reading for new parent bloggers!), that’s expecting a child to make an adult decision.

When I started this blog, I wasn’t sure of my focus–would this be a “mommy blog“, or a collection of thoughts on random topics? My most popular and most commonly shared posts have been those about reading. And when visitors discover my blog through search terms, it tends to be in their quest for information about PFAPA. When the boys first started having these periodic fevers, there wasn’t much about the condition online, so I chose to share our stories in the hopes of helping other families dealing with it. I hope that I have.

In 2015, my top five posts have been:

• Reasons I’m Not Buying Your House
• Memories of Tracy Chappell
• Things I Don’t Regret
• Things Not to Say to a Breastfeeding Mom*
• To Vaccinate or Not to Vaccinate: Is There a Question?

But the fact is, this blog is called Mum2BeautifulBoys. And as I wrote early on, one of the main reasons I started blogging was to keep a record of some of the little things about parenting I would otherwise forget over the years if they weren’t written down. So while I’ve explored other topics, it has usually been through my parent-lens. And if I want to shift my boys’ stories offline, I’m not sure M2BB has a reason to exist any more.

So what does this mean for 2016? I’m not sure. I will continue writing, but I may need to create a new space, with a new focus, and a new name (got any good ideas?) And pick up a pen to record my family’s more private moments.

In the meantime, Happy New Year, Mom! 😉

 

*These posts are apparently “out” for 2016.

 

Things I’ve Learned as a Supply Teacher

Although I was fortunate enough to have landed two LTO (long term occasional) assignments since becoming an occasional teacher, I’ve learned a few things during my days as an on-call supply teacher too:

Bring something for the headache.

Wear comfortable shoes.

Arrive as early as possible to review the day plan and make sure the resources listed are actually on hand. And to use the washroom.

Don’t forget to pick up the attendance again at lunch.

If you can mispronounce a name, you will.

Count kindergarten children before and after they so much as walk through a door, every time.

Always make sure there are smocks before getting out the paint.

Bring a whistle. And something to write with. And it wouldn’t hurt to bring your own white board markers. Really.

No matter how clear the lesson plans seem to be, the students will ask you a question about the assignment you won’t be able to predict–and probably won’t be able to answer. (Bonus: when you are the classroom teacher, be sure leave explicit instructions. And an answer key where necessary.)

Kids love it when you know Percy and Junie B. and Chester and Babymouse and Raina and Geronimo and…

Even if you have to speak to “that” student over and over again, she’ll still smile and wave and say hello the next time you are in. You should do the same.

Nothing beats a good read aloud.

Things I Don’t Regret

Before I had kids, there were lots of things I was never going to do. And there were lots of things I was told never to do, or I’d regret it. Ten years into this parenting gig though, the kids seem to be doing all right, so I can tell you there are a number of choices that I don’t regret. Not at all. Here are some of them:

Breastfeeding my infants on demand around the clock. Breastfeeding past infancy. Not forcing them to wean when they weren’t ready. “Encouraging” them to wean when we both were.

Co-sleeping. “They” said we’d never get them out of our bed. “They” were wrong. If anything I regret not doing it sooner.

Rocking them to sleep. Nursing them to sleep. Staying with them until they fell asleep. Letting them nap in my arms, in the swing, in the car. Those years seem so long ago.

Vaccinating.

Picking my babies up when they cried. Carrying my kids as long as I could.

Not potty training. Amazingly, they have been out of diapers for a long, long time, despite the lack of candy or sticker rewards!

Encouraging my kids to take part in different activities. Not pushing them into activities.

Having a child in daycare. Working full time. Having a nanny. Staying home. Being a student-mom. Working part time. Working from home. It’s all good. Honest.

Taking a year of maternity leave. Having my kids three years apart. Taking my preschooler out of daycare while I was on mat leave with BB#2.

Putting my kids in French Immersion.

Not forcing them to do homework in Grade One.

Taking a stroller to Disneyland for my almost-5-year-old. Judge away, at least we had fun!

Spending money on books. Reading to my kids after they could read to themselves.

Letting my kids watch TV and play video games. Not letting my kids watch or play everything their friends are watching or playing.

Giving them choice over their hairstyles.

Staying with them on playdates when they were younger. Letting them walk around the block alone together now that they’re older.

Telling them the proper names for body parts and being honest about where babies come from.

Not being Pinterest-perfect.

Letting them believe in Santa Claus. Not getting into Elf on the Shelf.

To My Son on His Tenth Birthday

I’ve been trying to write this post for weeks now. What to say to you, my first-born, as you turn ten? That I can’t believe it? That time goes so fast? That it seems like yesterday you were born? These clichés are all true.

Ten years. I won’t say I don’t remember my life without you; I do. But it seems like a different era, and I know I’m not the same person I was before you. You made me a mother. There’s a lot I could say (and have. See: this blog) about being a mother—about those early days and weeks and years where I tried to figure it all out. After all, this is my birth-day too.

But I’d rather focus on the person you are today. At ten, you are so many things. Wise, kind, thoughtful. I wouldn’t change you for the world, and yet, I sometimes worry how this world will change you. You’ve received more than one “Integrity” certificate from school, and though I’ve never set much store by those awards, I admit: your teachers called it.

You are so much like me, and not just because of your red hair and green eyes. You don’t really care for change, or surprises, or being teased “good-naturedly”. And yet unlike me, you aren’t afraid to try new things. You want to do it all—and have already done so much: snowboarding, skiing, swimming, water skiing, tubing, skating, archery, mountain biking, skateboarding, squash, cartooning…And you aren’t afraid to say no, to be your own person. So your friends don’t care for your long hair, or the coloured streaks you’ve sometimes worn? You like them. Kids aren’t playing fairly at the park? You’d rather not play with them. I can’t help but hope this positions you well for the years ahead, when you’ll be faced with following the crowd or staying true to yourself.

You are an amazing big brother, and have been since day one. Even when your brother was first born, after you’d gotten us to yourself for three whole years, I never saw any jealousy. Nothing but you wanting to help him–even when he doesn’t make it easy. I know there will continue to be times you don’t get along, or even like each other much. But I hope the brotherly bond between you will never break.

You are an avid and voracious reader. Since we don’t track those things, I have no idea how many books you read this summer. You usually have two or three on the go. I love that we can share our love for the written word, and even recommend books to one another. You have always had a thirst for knowledge—starting back when the dinosaur encyclopedia was a favourite bedtime story. You wonder and question constantly. I hope you always will.

You are still a child—and I mean that in the very best way. You play, and I hope you will for a long time to come. And yet, you are logical and responsible and reliable in a way that makes it hard to forget you are only ten. You’ll often state that you can’t wait to be older, but I don’t wish this time away. I already know how fast the next ten years will fly by.

Happy Birthday, my beautiful boy.

My Kid Just Said (Part 36)

“Now that I know how reading feels, I do it all the time!” BB#2, 6.5 years old, backing up his brother as he tried to convince a friend to read more books.

 

My Kid Just Said (Part 34)

“We had to make a prediction about whether or not the animal in the story would survive, and I said yes, because these guided reading books never end in tragedy.” BB#1, 9.5 years old.

I suspect he’s right about that…

My Kid Just Said (Part 30)

“If I’d known this book was so awesome, I’d have read it a long time ago!” BB#1, 9 years old, about The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo, which had been sitting on his shelf unread for a couple years until I started reading it aloud to BB#2 the other day. Now I’m not allowed to read it unless they are both there.

Reading Contests: Who Wins?

We spent a lot of time in the library this summer break. After our first visit, as we checked out a stack of books, the librarian handed me a pamphlet for the summer reading program. For every book the boys read, they’d get a sticker in a passport. Since we clearly didn’t need this incentive to visit the library or read, I politely said no thanks—and let’s just say the look on the librarian’s face was one of surprise.

In my mind, reading is its own reward. So far, the beautiful boys read (or are read to) because they enjoy it, not for prizes. I see no need to mess with this formula. And a recent story in the news just confirms my belief that reading-for-awards programs can backfire.

According to the story bouncing around Twitter, a librarian criticized a child for reading too much after he won an award for reading the most books over the summer for the fifth year in a row. People are shocked and horrified, some even calling for the librarian to be fired. My opinion will not be popular (nothing new there…): I think people are missing the point.

You see, it is apparent the child in question is an avid reader. Probably the kind of kid who would read whether or not he got a prize, just for the sheer love of it. Which is wonderful. As a fellow bookworm, I can relate to this child, and suspect he’d have a few things in common with my own boys. But to my understanding, the librarian did not actually suggest he was reading “too much”. She was simply concerned that no other children even stood a chance of winning because they can’t keep up to the reigning champ. Other children, perhaps including those who don’t read as well or as avidly as this particular child, but actually need the encouragement and support of a library reading program more than he does.

In my mind, the library put itself into this position. The contest revolves around how many books each child reads. So where does that leave children who read longer, more complex texts, but fewer of them? Or children who struggle to read even the minimum number of books to enter (ten), but not for lack of trying? What about children who know they won’t “win”, so don’t even participate? Could this type of contest encourage children to skim through books without really comprehending them, or choose less challenging texts than they might have if no one was counting? How does this celebrate the achievements of the rest of the readers–those who picked up a book for pleasure for the first time, or who grew as readers? Perhaps the problem is not that a single child dominates the competition–but that reading is a competition at all.

I can completely understand the boy’s feelings (and when I was nine, I am certain I would have believed that children who didn’t read as much as I did weren’t working as hard—but now as a grown up and as a teacher, I understand those children might have been putting in far more effort than I ever did.) And it’s understandable he wants an award that he qualified for, based on the rules put in place by the library.

But I think the point of this whole debacle is not that a librarian is trying to discourage a nine-year-old from reading. The real point is that awards, stickers, points and logs are the wrong way to encourage readers—because the children who read anyway don’t need them, and those who need additional support can’t compete on those terms.

Summertime, and the Learning is Easy

Back in June, I had every intention of writing a “what we’ll be doing on our summer vacation” post. As usual life happened, it’s now mid-August, and Back-to-School promotions are in full swing.

As a student/freelancer/newly hired occasional teacher (whoo-hoo!) I’ve been privileged to be at home with the boys the past few summers, and we usually take it pretty easy. I don’t buy into summer learning loss much, as I happen to believe learning takes many forms, that something easily forgotten was probably never learned in the first place, and that there is nothing wrong with a little unstructured downtime for children.

That said, this summer has probably been our most structured yet, with two weeks of day camp for the boys followed by two weeks of daily swimming lessons. In between we’ve played at home and at the park, tried rollerblading and skateboarding, made popsicles, had playdates, visited friends and family, gone swimming, taken part in some library programs, read a lot of books, had family game nights and movie nights, and most recently, spent a week at my husband’s father’s cottage. All in all, a pretty awesome vacation. Sure, I’ll admit I’d like it if BB#1 had read more French books, and if BB#2 had practiced his printing. And I know not every family can or chooses to take this approach, but right now, it’s one that works for us and for the kids we have.

And yet, there’s been plenty of learning. Last year BB#1 attempted water skiing, but gave up pretty quickly. He was determined to try again this year, but by the time he was in the (cold) water and his dad had everything set up and ready to go, he’d gotten very anxious and refused to try. We know from experience that for this child to be successful, he has to be ready—and when he’s ready, there’s no stopping him. So we didn’t pressure him, fully expecting it would be another year before he’d give it another shot. But the next morning, he surprised us by asking to go out again. And he got up on the first try, and didn’t fall once! Do I care if he becomes an expert water skier? No. Do I want him to take advantage of opportunities to try new things when he has the chance, and to stick to it even when it’s challenging? Absolutely.

And he’s not the only one learning the value of trying, trying again. When BB#1 mastered a particularly difficult set of monkey bars recently, BB#2 was determined to do it too—and he did. Over and over. Despite several falls. After his first swimming lesson, he declared he was not going back—he’s a fearless swimmer and loves the water, but is finding his current level difficult. But he stuck it out (at our insistence…) and made it though the session without missing a lesson or throwing another fit. He didn’t pass the level, but he’s stronger, more confident, and had the best back crawl in the class. I couldn’t be prouder of these boys.

They’ve been active, but perhaps more importantly, they’ve been persistent. They’ve set goals, motivated themselves to keep going, learned from mistakes, and succeeded. And really, isn’t that what learning—and life–is all about?