The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Friendship Based on Illusion
We shared insecurities, secrets, tips, and truly gave each other what was left of us that we didn’t give to our children.
Then -- something changed.
Maybe when my youngest went to kindergarten. When I began to work again. When I got diagnosed with an unexpected illness.
Suddenly, I could see clearly what I could not observe, or did not want to notice: true friendship.
And one person, who I thought was the most giving of people, upon closer inspection, really was not. Oh, there was so called generosity. Groceries in particular. She always came laden with them. And liked to present me gifts with that I neither needed, sought nor could use.
What she had trouble giving -- was herself. I noticed when I talked, she rarely listened. I babysat for her child way out of proportion to her watching mine. Then there were the unkind words that sometimes found their way out of her mouth. They were always so shocking that I was speechless in reply.
One day, after a particularly virulent spiel -- I could no longer ignore my internal voice. It yelled: MOVE ON!
The problem: her daughter and my daughter are great friends and I don’t want that ruined. We also run in similar circles.
This is where being a mother and the wisdom I’ve hopefully gained must come into play. This is not about me. This is not about her. This is about our children.
Still, there is sadness for what once and for what will no longer be.
I’ve always tried to create family from friends. My best friend at 11 is still my best friend today. I laugh as hard now with my college friends as I did with them back when we were in our 20s (a-hem, that being just a year or two ago).
I’ve been fortunate to have lived around the country and have friends in each place where I have resided. And I have incredible mommy friends who will be my sister-friends forever.
I am happy that by putting an end to something that once was beautiful but is now toxic, I am taking care of myself and I will be watchful for my daughter.
I will also be something else – mature, graceful and kind. The qualities I want my children to have.
Still, I am sad to lose a friend or the friend who I thought she was only to realize that person was an illusion.
I'll try to remember the good times, even if there was imagination on my part.
Right now our daughters are BFFs. But watching her constantly angle, setting up play dates, sans my daughter, yet she always seems to want one when she knows my daughter has a play date with another friend, borders on the manipulative and absurd.
I wish things were back to how I thought they once were. But I know now those were only dreams. And we awaken from our dreams.
By Dawn Yun
Labels: baby, By Dawn Yun, childhood memories, Dreams, illness, illusion, kindergarten, toddler, true friendship
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Monday, June 01, 2009
A Child Shines When a Teacher Sees Her Brightness
Parents' Night. Second Grade.
Kindergarten and first grade were disasters for my daughter and for myself. I was in a clinical medical study for lymphoma, while my daughter was in a classroom with forty children from whom much was expected. My daughter needed warmth and attention. Instead she received coldness and efficiency.
Guilt over my class choices for her was at times overwhelming. Probably as overwhelmed as she was in her class. She made few if any friends. Mimi was unusually quiet. I rarely had the energy to do homework with her. I had changed drastically from the fun mommy I used to be into one that she no longer knew. She wanted the old one back. I wanted her to return, too.
Here it was a year later and a class of difference. Mimi was now in a room with only twenty children and a warm teacher who made jokes, treated each child as an individual and with love. She even hugged each one at day's end.
During Parents' Night Mimi was the first name called to read her story. We expected the antithesis. Yun. That's always last. Though surprised, Mimi strode to the front of the room, before her classmates and their parents, including her own, sat on the stool, opened her book, and confidently read.
I sat up straight and stared at her with a kind of love that can only emanate from a mother to her child. My smile was permanently embedded in my face. Her reading was loud, confident and funny. She took note to pause at the laughter and then continue. When I saw my daughter, I admit, I saw myself. What an ego boost!
Mimi jumped off the chair and stood before it, taking in the applause and looked in the back for me, seeking my approval. Our eyes locked as I stood and clapped. "Bravo!" I yelled. "Bravo, baby!"
The other parents clapped especially loudly. Some knew what she, and what I, had gone though. She also received extra applause for going first and showing extraordinary poise. She was recognized for the talent she is and always was. She was no longer "one of the lowest" which I had to hear over and over for the previous two years. The teachers excuses of, "Well, she is one of the youngest," never convinced me otherwise. She was labeled as less than and less than she always was in those classes.
With the right teacher, a warm environment and support, she has thrived. The other day when I was volunteering in her class, the students had to be tested for their reading. I listened to each child as I sat working on my volunteer project. When it was Mimi's turn the teacher asked if I wanted to stay or leave. I said I would continue what I was doing. As Mimi read, my guess was that she was average. I was stunned when the teacher added the numbers and said, "She's at 158. That makes her one of the best readers in the class. Wow!" She looked at me with wonder. "She improved by 200 points from last year. What happened last year?"
Though a very painful subject for me, I've learned -- and being a New Yorker this has not been easy -- not to say anything bad. Rather, I simply said there was a lot going on with me medically and I believe it affected her. Plus, she was simply in the wrong class. "Now," I said, "she's in the right one."
A child being placed in the correct class with the appropriate teacher can make all the difference in her confidence and success.
Now I must seek out the right third-grade teacher. I am not a parent who demands things for her children. But when it comes to school and the right teachers I've learned the hard way that some things are worth fighting for. This week I have a date with the principal. Mimi endured two years of wrong classes. I will be nice, but firm, and even a New Yorker if I must, but I will ensure that a classroom mistake like that doesn't happen to her again. I think she's paid her dues. Even if her library books are usually late.
By Dawn Yun
Labels: artistic daughter, Bravo, breast cancer, By Dawn Yun, clinical medical trial, ego boost, first grade, hugging, kindergarten, Parents' Night
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Monday, May 04, 2009
When Should You Send Your Child to Kindergarten?
I am afraid if I send him before he is “ready,” I risk launching a tragic school career. It will be fraught with failures and missed opportunities sprinkled with serious judgement errors.
Everything will be traced back to kindergarten.
“If only I had one more year to work on my social skills,” he’ll say, as he cries from the window he has shot out as a teenage serial shooter. “It only I had learned my ABCs.”
Of course, the truth is -- I feel guilty for actually thinking about my needs first when considering when to send him. My son, Paul, has a late birthday, missing the cut off by one week, which was just as well because he was not ready.
But with Eric, it is up to me. His birthday is August 1st. This will put him pretty much in the middle. He will not be the youngest and he will not be the smallest. He turns five-years old, four months before the cut-off date, so he is officially old enough.
“If only I had one more year to work on my social skills,” he’ll say, as he cries from the window he has shot out as a teenage serial shooter. “It only I had learned my ABCs.”
Of course, the truth is -- I feel guilty for actually thinking about my needs first when considering when to send him. My son, Paul, has a late birthday, missing the cut off by one week, which was just as well because he was not ready.
But with Eric, it is up to me. His birthday is August 1st. This will put him pretty much in the middle. He will not be the youngest and he will not be the smallest. He turns five-years old, four months before the cut-off date, so he is officially old enough.
Is he “prepared” enough?
Socially, he is up for anything. Whatever he sees, he wants to try. He is always determined to succeed. He gets frustrated easily but this involves him clenching his jaw and his fists and stating loudly: “I am so frustrated!”
Paul’s reaction to just about everything has always been tears and hysteria. But Paul was writing his name by four-years old. When I ask Eric to spell, he smiles and says “S!” He is obsessed with Scotch Tape and opens Zip-Lock Bags by ripping a whole in the bottom.
He takes his pants off in order to pee. No matter what the weather, he will be wearing shorts (“little pants”), a T-shirt with a dinosaur on it, and bare feet. Oh, and no underwear. I finally figured out the shoes and underwear slow him down when he takes his pants off to go.
And so he is registered.
Socially, he is up for anything. Whatever he sees, he wants to try. He is always determined to succeed. He gets frustrated easily but this involves him clenching his jaw and his fists and stating loudly: “I am so frustrated!”
Paul’s reaction to just about everything has always been tears and hysteria. But Paul was writing his name by four-years old. When I ask Eric to spell, he smiles and says “S!” He is obsessed with Scotch Tape and opens Zip-Lock Bags by ripping a whole in the bottom.
He takes his pants off in order to pee. No matter what the weather, he will be wearing shorts (“little pants”), a T-shirt with a dinosaur on it, and bare feet. Oh, and no underwear. I finally figured out the shoes and underwear slow him down when he takes his pants off to go.
And so he is registered.
He is excited about the prospect: announcing daily that when he is “bigger” he will go to Paul’s school. Every day I am encouraged by his positive attitude and determination. While Paul always needed to be “first,” Eric prefers a challenge. I am confident he will rise to the test and have a great year at kindergarten.
I look forward to to athose extra “child free” hours, too.
By Cathy Burke
I look forward to to athose extra “child free” hours, too.
By Cathy Burke
Labels: ABCs, Cathy Burke, dinosaur, five-years old, kindergarten, Scotch Tape, social skills, T-shirt, Zip-Lock Bags
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Sunday, May 03, 2009
Girlfriend, It's Time to Move On
We shared insecurities, secrets, tips, and truly gave each other what was left of us that we didn’t give to our children.
Then -- something changed.
Maybe when my youngest went to kindergarten. When I began to work again. When I got diagnosed with an unexpected illness.
Suddenly, I could see clearly what I could not observe, or did not want to notice:true friendship.
And one person, who I thought was the most giving of people, upon closer inspection, really was not. Oh, there was the giving. Groceries in particular. She always came laden with them. And liked to give me gifts that I neither needed, sought nor could use.
What she had trouble giving -- was herself. I noticed when I talked, she rarely listened. I babysat for her child way out of proportion to her watching mine. Then there were the unkind words that sometimes found their way out of her mouth. They were always so shocking that I pretended they were unsaid.
One day, after a particularly virulent spiel -- I could no longer ignore my internal voice. It yelled: MOVE ON!
The problem: her daughter and my daughter are great friends and I don’t want that ruined. We also run in similar circles.
This is where being a mother and the wisdom I’ve hopefully gained must come into play. This is not about me. This is not about her. This is about our children.
Still, there is sadness for what once and for what will no longer be.
I’ve always tried to create family from friends. My best friend at 11 is still my best friend today. I laugh as hard now with my college friends as I did with them back when we were in our 20s (a-hem, that being just a year or two ago).
I’ve been fortunate to have lived around the country and have friends in each place where I have resided. And I have incredible mommy friends who will be my sister-friends forever.
I am happy that by putting an end to something that once was beautiful but is now toxic, I am taking care of myself and I will be watchful for my daughter.
I will also be something else – mature, graceful and kind. The qualities I want my children to have.
There is legacy and lesson in that.
By Dawn Yun
Labels: baby, By Dawn Yun, kindergarten, toddler
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Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Volunteer for Brainless Tasks and Find Nirvana
I never feel more stupid than when I volunteer in my daughter’s kindergarten class.
Her teacher snaps out instructions. My job, I think, is to help the kids draw three pictures that describe their weekend and then write a one-sentence summation.
I’m supposed to help my daughter, Mimi, her friend, Anni, a boy, David, and a girl, Samantha.
“This way!” I say. Mimi goes the other way, as does giggling Anni, while David heads straight to his seat, as does Samantha.
“Mimi! Anni,” I admonish. The giggling girls slowly come over. “Okay, let’s draw!” David sketches, as does Samantha. That leaves the other two, who do not.
“How are things going?” asks the teacher.
Obviously, not well.
“Mimi and Anni, start drawing please,” she says. “We’re running behind.”
Running behind? I look around at the other parent-volunteers. Paul and his students look extremely absorbed. He seems to display quiet authority.
I can try that. Not that I get the chance. Somewhere between looking up and looking down, another parent-volunteer swoops in and takes over teaching David and Samantha.
Is this a parent-volunteer-student steal? Is somebody saying I can’t handle teaching four children at once, which I obviously can not, but still. . . And why take those two? The easy ones. Why not my daughter and her friend? The challenging duo.
“Good work!” the parent-volunteer-student stealer says proudly to David and Samantha, as they continue to draw. She smiles at me.
After much cajoling, my two remaining little students finally draw their pictures and write a sentence.
“Can you stay for a few minutes?” the teacher asks.
She leads me to a table in the back upon which sits several sheets of black construction paper, a white pencil and scissors. She holds up a circle.
“I need you to make twelve of these.” She draws a circle in the air with her finger. “Think you can do it?”
I look nervously from paper to pencil to scissors and finally nod. “I think I can.”
I carefully lay my pre-cut sample against the very edge of the paper and trace. I leave an inch of space between and then draw another circle and repeat the pattern. I precisely cut, taking deep breaths along the way.
“Your daughter is smart,” says another parent-volunteer who approaches my table.
I protectively cover my circles with my hands, fearful she may take them.
“Your daughter does her work. She’s just taking advantage of you because you’re here.”
“Oh!” I shriek. “I was really worried because I thought she couldn’t draw. I thought she couldn’t write. . .”
I suddenly stop externalizing my internal insecurities. I don’t even know this mother. “Thank you!” I say displaying all my teeth.
The woman gives me a small, knowing smile back.
I return to my circle cutting.
Sometimes, the most mindless tasks can provide the greatest peace of mind.
By Dawn Yun Stumble This Post
Her teacher snaps out instructions. My job, I think, is to help the kids draw three pictures that describe their weekend and then write a one-sentence summation.
I’m supposed to help my daughter, Mimi, her friend, Anni, a boy, David, and a girl, Samantha.
“This way!” I say. Mimi goes the other way, as does giggling Anni, while David heads straight to his seat, as does Samantha.
“Mimi! Anni,” I admonish. The giggling girls slowly come over. “Okay, let’s draw!” David sketches, as does Samantha. That leaves the other two, who do not.
“How are things going?” asks the teacher.
Obviously, not well.
“Mimi and Anni, start drawing please,” she says. “We’re running behind.”
Running behind? I look around at the other parent-volunteers. Paul and his students look extremely absorbed. He seems to display quiet authority.
I can try that. Not that I get the chance. Somewhere between looking up and looking down, another parent-volunteer swoops in and takes over teaching David and Samantha.
Is this a parent-volunteer-student steal? Is somebody saying I can’t handle teaching four children at once, which I obviously can not, but still. . . And why take those two? The easy ones. Why not my daughter and her friend? The challenging duo.
“Good work!” the parent-volunteer-student stealer says proudly to David and Samantha, as they continue to draw. She smiles at me.
After much cajoling, my two remaining little students finally draw their pictures and write a sentence.
“Can you stay for a few minutes?” the teacher asks.
She leads me to a table in the back upon which sits several sheets of black construction paper, a white pencil and scissors. She holds up a circle.
“I need you to make twelve of these.” She draws a circle in the air with her finger. “Think you can do it?”
I look nervously from paper to pencil to scissors and finally nod. “I think I can.”
I carefully lay my pre-cut sample against the very edge of the paper and trace. I leave an inch of space between and then draw another circle and repeat the pattern. I precisely cut, taking deep breaths along the way.
“Your daughter is smart,” says another parent-volunteer who approaches my table.
I protectively cover my circles with my hands, fearful she may take them.
“Your daughter does her work. She’s just taking advantage of you because you’re here.”
“Oh!” I shriek. “I was really worried because I thought she couldn’t draw. I thought she couldn’t write. . .”
I suddenly stop externalizing my internal insecurities. I don’t even know this mother. “Thank you!” I say displaying all my teeth.
The woman gives me a small, knowing smile back.
I return to my circle cutting.
Sometimes, the most mindless tasks can provide the greatest peace of mind.
By Dawn Yun
Labels: By Dawn Yun, children's school volunteer, construction paper, kindergarten, nirvana, scissors, teacher
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Friday, April 03, 2009
Why Mothers Should Take Xanax Before Their Next Play Dates
It wasn’t always this way.
My daughter has been having play dates for awhile but before kindergarten they were limited to a close group of preschool friends. These were friends whose houses could be counted on to be messy and not very stylish. Now that I’ve made it to kindergarten, my daughter’s play dates have expanded to people I know very little and who have a sense of style.
It’s a bit nerve wracking.
Growing up, I only had one good friend who lived at the end of my street. That was it. The kids at my school lived in a different neighborhood and my parents both worked. So, there was no after-school playing with kids in my class.
When the bell rang, I would pick up my lunch and walk home, alone. Then, when I got home, I would call my friend down the street and hope that she was home.
Those were my play dates.
Now my daughter has play dates every week. So far it’s been fun, but often times I notice that I compare myself with the mom I’m sitting across from. I wonder, gosh how much younger is she than me? How does she keep her house so clean? Wow, her daughter has much better toys. Wow, her daughter has better manners than mine. Boy, am I a loser or what? Can I ever have this woman over to my house? Shit, I’ll just have to move or maybe I can rent a single friend’s house for the day? What a minute, do I have any single friends left, much less one who is neat and has a sense of style?
All of these thoughts go through my head as I’m nodding my part of the conversation. Usually, I bring some snack for my daughter. She and I have allergies. But, sometimes, my chocolate chip cookies are looked upon suspiciously. I think it’s the sugar. I know I should bring fruit, but I like the cookies, too!
So, my resolution this month is to just go to the play dates with as little judgment as possible. Oh, and maybe I’ll put on a bit of makeup before I go. That may give my self- esteem a needed boost as I ponder how clean their kitchen floor is.
By Georgie Craig
Labels: anti-anxiety meds, cookies, favors play dates, fruit, frumpy moms, Georgie Craig, kindergarten, messy house, preschool, self-esteem, stylish moms, sugar, Xanax
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Saturday, April 26, 2008
Picture-Perfect for Daughter's School Picture Day
When I was a girl, every year when picture day rolled around, my mother insisted on setting my slack, black hair. One year it was pin curls, another year rag curls and another pink foam rollers. On the eve of picture day, I slept restlessly with bobby pins or roller holders sticking into my skull while wearing a nylon, floral print roller bonnet or worse, toilet paper wrapped around my head to protect my mother’s handiwork.
In the morning, I would watch in disbelief as she unwound springy curls which made my round face look even rounder. By the time I sat for my picture, the curls would have deflated, losing much of their bounce.
This was the ‘70s and my straight hair was actually in. Both Laurie Partridge and Marcia Brady had shiny, satiny smooth manes hanging from parts down the center of their heads.
Not me.
My mother, who had her hair teased and “put up” weekly at the Golden Strawberry Beauty Salon, forbade me from wearing my hair parted in the middle. She insisted it just wasn’t flattering -- in hindsight she was right. But with my unnatural, picture day curls, I felt like a fraud. I longed for a school picture that actually resembled the girl I looked like every other day of the year.
And now my daughter wants pin curls for her picture day!
I shouldn’t be surprised. She did request a Princess Leia like hairdo for her kindergarten picture. She even supplied me with printed instructions on how to achieve the style from a booklet that had come with one of her dolls. Not one to damper such enthusiasm, I complied. And after a couple of attempts at twisting up her hair into even buns on either side of her head, I had to admit -- she did look darling.
But pin curls are out of the question. I fear she will be startled in the morning by the transformation. We compromise and settle on a curling iron induced flip (parted on the side, of course) that will leave her looking much more like herself.
By Tina Bournazos
Labels: '70s, An American Girl: 1944, black hair, bobby pins, elementary school, hair parted in the middle, kindergarten, Molly, pin curls, pink rollers, Princess Leia, school picture day, Tina Bournazos
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Monday, May 07, 2007
Speech
As each day passes my daughter’s speech grows more pronounced.
She speaks well, but certain sounds are mispronounced.
Th comes out as an f. “Mom,” Mimi will ask. “can we go over Efan’s house?” (Efan is Ethan, her friend.)
Her tenses can also get jumbled. “Jay won’t do what me wants.”
Or, my personal favorite: “We go with they.”
When Mimi began kindergarten we were told not to correct our children’s verbal mistakes. Their egos can be so fragile.
Mimi does NOT like to be corrected on anything, anyway. When I try, she will say, “No, Mom, what I’m saying is the truth. (Actually, she says truf.)
Recently, I’ve gently begun to correct her speech, only we do it as an extension of an “award” she received in school. Every child in her kindergarten eventually receives one.
It read: For working so hard to sound out words in Writer’s Workshop. Great job, Mimi!
I put a frame around it and display it on our kitchen table.
When we sit there to do her homework, which she NEVER wants to do, I will point to the prize.
“You received this award for your pronouncing,” I’ll say. “We need to sound out our words, okay?”
“Awight, Mom, as soon as me finishes this.”
“Mia!” I’ll say. Mia is her real name and when I say Mia, she knows I’m serious. Actually, I don’t think she knows. I just like to think she does. Saying Mia does not get her attention. The raising of my voice does.
“Okay, vic-tor-ee,” I’ll say
“Vic-tor-wee,” she’ll say back.
I press my lips together so tightly I can feel my teeth. I find her mispronunciations beyond adorable.
One day she will have perfect phonetics. Until then, we will work togever, I mean, together, on getting her words just right.
By Dawn Yun Stumble This Post
She speaks well, but certain sounds are mispronounced.
Th comes out as an f. “Mom,” Mimi will ask. “can we go over Efan’s house?” (Efan is Ethan, her friend.)
Her tenses can also get jumbled. “Jay won’t do what me wants.”
Or, my personal favorite: “We go with they.”
When Mimi began kindergarten we were told not to correct our children’s verbal mistakes. Their egos can be so fragile.
Mimi does NOT like to be corrected on anything, anyway. When I try, she will say, “No, Mom, what I’m saying is the truth. (Actually, she says truf.)
Recently, I’ve gently begun to correct her speech, only we do it as an extension of an “award” she received in school. Every child in her kindergarten eventually receives one.
It read: For working so hard to sound out words in Writer’s Workshop. Great job, Mimi!
I put a frame around it and display it on our kitchen table.
When we sit there to do her homework, which she NEVER wants to do, I will point to the prize.
“You received this award for your pronouncing,” I’ll say. “We need to sound out our words, okay?”
“Awight, Mom, as soon as me finishes this.”
“Mia!” I’ll say. Mia is her real name and when I say Mia, she knows I’m serious. Actually, I don’t think she knows. I just like to think she does. Saying Mia does not get her attention. The raising of my voice does.
“Okay, vic-tor-ee,” I’ll say
“Vic-tor-wee,” she’ll say back.
I press my lips together so tightly I can feel my teeth. I find her mispronunciations beyond adorable.
One day she will have perfect phonetics. Until then, we will work togever, I mean, together, on getting her words just right.
By Dawn Yun
Labels: kindergarten, phonetics, speech
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