It's like Tuesdays with Morrie without all the wisdom
Posts tagged parenting
Don’t be a Jon Gosselin
10September 10, 2009
by Abby
in I have some daughters
Dear Doormats and Doormat Users,
Let Jon Gosselin’s story be a lesson to you: The way your relationship works right now will not last forever. Doormat, someday you will realize that you are a fully-formed person with your very own thoughts, needs, opinions, likes, and dislikes, and if your mate is used to wiping her feet on you, she will have a hard time with this realization and, if you don’t both go to therapy, you (the brand-new fully-formed person) will back down from communicating your brand-new needs and act out in unhealthy ways. Even if your opinions are wrong, it’s ok to have them. For example, say you’re a 32-year-old man and you have the opinion that diamond earrings in both ears looks good. That would be a wrong opinion, but go ahead and rock those earrings, no matter what. They’re not hurting anybody and your wife could just do everyone a favor and not tell you you look stupid constantly because, guess what, they are your stupid earrings and it’s your stupid head. And maybe you would have grown out of it by the time you were, oh, around 22 if you had the wherewithal to have your own opinions about earrings back then instead of just changing yourself all up in order to fit the “love” of your life’s ideas of what’s good and what’s not.
And Doormat Users, when your Doormat comes to you and starts having these opinions and whatever, just shut the ef up ok? If you’re having a super hard time with all of the human-like behavior that your Doormat is suddenly exhibiting, you best get your butt to therapy.
And Doormat, if your User is having a hard time with your human-like behavior and you feel like throwing your hands in the air in disgust and just shutting down again and acting out in childish ways, you best get your butt to therapy. Because, guess what, I know you think you’re in love with your rebound girl and everything, but you’re not. Anyone would seem awesome after what you were dealing with before, but if your marriage is can’t be saved, what you really need is time alone. Figure out who you really are. Maybe you don’t even think diamond earrings in both ears is a great idea, but your brand-new awesome “love” of your life does and it feels good to do what she wants you to do right now because, well, it feels sooooo good and she’s not shrieking at you in the Wal-Mart. But that’s still pretty Doormatty behavior, and we all know where that will lead. It might take 15 years, but it will lead to the same place. Let’s take some time and learn some lessons, shall we? Just because your marriage is over, doesn’t mean you’re done with therapy.
Sincerely,
Abby Aldrich
Daughter of a Doormat and Doormat User
Model of Qualities of Both for More Than 30 Years
Advocate for Change
Advocate for Acceptance of Change
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I’m only slightly embarrassed to admit that Bryan and I watched Jon Gosselin’s interview with Chris Cumo on ABC. We recorded it. And we watched it. On purpose. I’m not interested in the whole he said/she said thing. I’m not interested in his current relationship(s), I’m not interested in how he feels about Kate now or how he felt back then. I wanted to know if he’s been to therapy. I wanted to know if he realizes how he got to the point where he is now. He said he’s been to therapy, but Kate hasn’t, which I totally believe. But I don’t get the feeling that he understands how his personality also contributed to this. Sure, Kate’s a shrew, but there’s a reason she chose somebody like Jon. If Jon had been an actual person, maybe they never would have been together. But he wasn’t. He was clay in Kate’s hands and he “loved” her so he changed for her. And what we’re seeing now? That’s what always happens in these types of situations.
And, of course, I must bring it all back around to parenting. Lena and Liberty are naturally nice and lovely and they’ll do whatever you say and it’s very easy to take advantage of them. We have had to fight really hard to teach them to stand up for themselves even against us. They’re 10 now, and they’re getting better at it. But, in our society, we seem to value niceness above all else and that’s not right. Look where niceness got Jon Gosselin. When my kids and I are standing in line at the grocery store and they’re reading the headlines, I use Jon as an example to Lena and Liberty. I tell them that this is all happening because he didn’t know himself and he didn’t love himself enough to actually be himself in the beginning of his relationship with Kate. No relationship is worth just being a shell of a person.
Now, Maya seems more split down the middle of Jon and Kate, depending on lots of things. If she were a little bit older, I might use Kate as an example and tell her that this is all happening because of the Jon thing, but also because Kate doesn’t understand the value of being in a relationship with somebody who is more than a shell. I don’t know. I think it’s easier to teach a young Kate to lay off than it is to teach a young Jon to stand up for himself. A touch of, “Kid, you better chill because your friend said ‘no’ and no means no,” is easier to teach than, “It’s ok to say no, if you want to say no. If so-and-so is sad because you said no, that’s ok. It’s ok if they’re sad, you are not responsible for their feelings. You’ll be sad if you say yes when you really want to say no. Don’t your feelings count? If your friend is a true friend, they’ll be sad but they’ll see that it’s ok for you to not do it and you can still be friends. If they don’t understand that, then it’s not worth sacrificing your comfort for theirs. And maybe they won’t understand at first, but they’ll eventually understand, blah, blah, blah.” Ugh, that’s a lot of words and, actually, there are more words that go to that speech that we’ve been using for the past 6 or so years over and over and in a million different situations, but if it means they learn to not be a Jon Gosselin, then I’ll keep repeating it.
P.S. Jon, you can use my above speech on Cara from time to time. That kid is heading for Ultimate Doormat status and it really breaks my heart when you talk about how much she loves sports. Maybe she does, but maybe she’s also learned that that’s what you love and you are her very first love and she sees how your eyes light up when you talk about how she loves sports and how good she is at everything. And she sees you roll your eyes when you talk about how Mady is just the opposite. Just think about it. You never know. I’m just sayin’.
P.P.S. Mady sees your eyes light up when you talk about Cara’s interests, and she sees you roll your eyes when you talk about hers. I’m just sayin’.
Suck it, Homeschool Laws!
12August 13, 2009
by Abby
in I homeschool
Unlike Michigan, Ohio has laws about homeschooling. Every year we have to notify the school district that we’re planning to homeschool and we have to tell them exactly how we plan to do it. Also, the kids have to either take a standardized test or have a certified teacher assess them. And, while I know that some of you will think that’s a good idea, I can assure you that it does nothing to help the poor school-less children learn any better than in Michigan where you don’t ever have to do anything to notify the school district or whatever.
I don’t like to do the stupid notifying and I guarantee the school district doesn’t like to have to read and respond to all of the notifications. It takes time and money and I’m strapped for time and money and I know the poor saps at the office of Pupil Outreach or whatever are strapped for time and money, too. I know they are because it’s on the news all the time. Lame.
We’re supposed notify within 2 weeks of the start of the school year and I have forgotten about it until late August every single year until this year. Well, technically, I haven’t even notified yet, but the assessments are done. They’ve been done since May. I’ve just been procrastinating on the bit about writing the how-I-plan-to-teach-5th-and-1st-grade stuff. I don’t like to do that. I suddenly get very Ron Paul and I’m all “They’s my babies and I’ll do what I wants with ‘em!” Which, of course, is the stereotype that they’re trying to combat by making us do this kind of junk. This year, I just want to write, “I’m fixin’ ta let the young ‘uns lookit the internit and I’ll haul ‘em to the liberry every once in a while, too, iff’n they finish they chores on time,” and see what happens.
The thing is, we can say we’re going to do anything. ANYTHING. And then we don’t have to prove that we did any of it. See why it’s a silly system? I think the kids might have learned more in Michigan when I wasn’t bitter and didn’t have an unnatural urge to not do what I said I was going to do on the notification. So there, Laws! I think I get this attitude from Maya. My children have all taught me wonderful, precious things like how to love and be loved and how to annoy and be annoyed and whatnot. Maya (and maybe South Park) has taught me all about disdain for authority. Last night, she asked me to read the “How to Go Green-and make every day Earth Day!” tips out of the back of one of her lib’ral learnin’ books. After I rattled off the list of 7 tips she said, “Well, they’re not the boss of us.” And I said, “You’re right, honey, nobody’s the boss of us. Let’s go light some garbage on fire!” She wrapped her little arms around my neck and said, “I love you, Mommy.” Truly a precious moment.
(Cue mature motherly voice) I will notify today (or maybe by the end of the month, we’ll see), but the notification will be incomplete because true learning True Learning happens in those moments like I had with Maya last night. We can’t possibly plan those organic “teachable moments” which will stay with a child throughout her lifetime. So suck it, Ohio, because you’re not the boss of me.
Maya Has Fun
17May 28, 2009
by Abby
in I homeschool
This picture is a pretty good indicator of how Maya is all the time. Her mouth never closes and she’s always moving or posing. If she were my firstborn, I would have ruined that by now. She’s one of those self-motivated learners that I used to dream about before I had actual kids and only ever had dream kids. If Maya were my firstborn I would have taken her conventional, easily measurable learning style and I would have made it my thing and she would probably be having migraines at the sight of pencils by now. It happens. But it’s easy to just let the third child be. The first child (or set of children, as the case may be) does all the hard work, teaching us what’s really important and how everything all comes out in the wash. Nice of them. Maya can thank Lena and Liberty. They really had to work hard to show me everything will always be ok.
Lena and Liberty are unconventional learners and I used to panic about silly things at least quarterly until about 2 years ago. When it’s not easy for me (and The Entire World) to point to progress and measure “success” with grades and honor rolls, it’s hard to relax. At first. We have all of this hope (and fear) and all of this expectation (and fear). Academics can be measured, so it’s easy to feel like they’re the most important thing. But by the time the 3rd kid is here, we understand that these things all come out in the wash for the unschooly as well as for the schooly. It’s the kid’s life that’s the important thing. And we understand that she doesn’t need us to drive her and guide her as if her future depends on it because her future doesn’t actually depend on it. She has her own drive and we’re just there to supply the stuff for her that goes along with her particular brand of drive. Her future really only depends on knowing who she is and what she wants and knowing how to get it. Really. Besides, even the super-smartest child eventually turns into an average kid when all the other kids’ learning starts coming out in the wash so what’s the point of getting their identity all wrapped up in being the smartest when most everybody catches up eventually? Then they have to be all anorexic or drunk or something in order to stand out and that’s no fun for anybody. Nobody wants a drunk 7 year old on their hands. Then you’re in a pickle. Especially if the 7 year old was an early reader or math genius, then they really know about proof and alcohol content and stuff. Then where does all that learning get them? In the gutter! And then on a reality show with Dr. Drew or something. So sad.
I’ll Make Brand-New Mistakes
31May 21, 2009
I like to write. I find it healing and I find it extra healing when I have an audience who says in words or just by reading my posts, “You’re not alone.” I find it super extra healing when someone in the audience says, “Your writing has helped me.” I don’t write about secrets. In fact, I haven’t written about things that aren’t well-known to friends, family, and even acquaintances. There isn’t anyone who knew my family who doesn’t know our struggles.
Is it selfish to be so concerned with my mental health that I would put my family’s pain on my blog? Perhaps. But my mental health is so important to me because it directly affects my children and my husband. My kids are my favorite people. My husband is my best friend. I owe it to them to deal with my life in the best way I know how. If my mental health is poor, my children have a poor life and my marriage sucks. If my mental health is good, my children have a good life and my marriage is good. It’s a simple equation.
I use sarcasm and humor to make light of the tough parts of my life, but everybody knows that right behind humor, there’s pain. I make light of the issues I’ve had with my parents and my grandmother in order to bring them to light so I won’t be stuck in the darkness of emotional paralysis and denial. It’s denial that makes it impossible to heal. It’s denial that causes our health problems. It’s denial that causes us to repeat these cycles. We all love our children and it’s a basic biological desire to want them to have a better life than we had. I’ve had a better life than both of my parents and I know that the experiences I complain about don’t even scratch the surface of what they had to deal with. Where my mom and dad had practically insurmountable mountains to climb, I only have a few small hills. Still, they’re my hills and sometimes they’re steep. I walk those hills and I get blisters and sometimes it feels like my canteen is empty and my tongue is swollen with thirst and the pain is too much and I want to stop. I will always struggle with the habits that come along with experience and DNA. But awareness is the best tool I have. Awareness of my failings, both inherited and learned, can only serve to bring about healing. Awareness is my Blister-Block and the fresh cool water that fills my canteen. Of course there will be issues that I’m not aware of, brand-new mistakes that my children will have to deal with. Of course. And then they’ll work it out on their own blogs or on a talk show or in a magazine or a book and it will all be fine because they won’t be in denial and they won’t repeat my mistakes when they have their own kids.
My parents know that it’s sometimes hard to be their daughter. They don’t deny that, but they also have a sense of humor. They have a sense of understanding. They know how important it is to make sense of my story in my own way so I can give my kids a better story. They’re not going to disown me. They might cringe at some of the things I write, but they’re not going to throw a fit and demand that I take this pain and tuck it away so we can watch in horror as it oozes out of me in destructive ways when I’m parenting or when I’m trying to be a decent wife.
I now have the distinct honor of being the first of my generation to be disowned by a small minority of my mother’s generation because of things I wrote on my blog. I’ve totally been dooced, family style. I honestly thought the “You’re out of the family!” rhetoric would have been buried with my grandmother, but that shit don’t die unless you kill it and you can’t kill it if you act like it’s not there, which brings me to my oft-repeated bottom line: It helps me to write about it. And what helps me, helps my kids and helps my marriage. And that, my friends, is priceless.
The Laundry, it’s Dirty
9January 7, 2009
I had a dream last night that I saw Regis Philbin in Chesaning, right on the corner Chapman and W. Broad at the Malt Shop. And I took a picture of him with my camera phone. And my dream-head was planning to frame it for my father-in-law because he watches Regis and Kelly every day. Finally, the perfect gift! Hm.
Yes, we’re going to Chesaning on Thursday for my grandmother’s “funeral.” We’ll be there for less than 24 hours, but we’ll be able to see my mom (she moved to West Virginia to be with my brother for a while so we didn’t see her during our last visit) and my old brother and his young family. (FYI, these are 2 of my brother’s sons reviewing Transformers: Energon at Kids Know Stuff). How could we resist a chance to squeeze those cheeks? We can’t.
So, I know you can’t tell it by that obituary link up there, but my grandmother had 8 kids and around 20 grandchildren and 14? great-grandchildren. And she leaves a legacy of verbal and physical abuse from which even my generation is still trying to recover (well, maybe you can tell that part from the teeny obit). My mom (and probably all of her siblings) did better than Grandma, and I hope my generation is improving on the last, and I hope the next generation does better still. Her death is strange for me. Only a few of her kids and even less of her grandkids were still visiting her on a regular basis. The rest of us giving up in favor of keeping our own mental health intact.
When I was around 19-22 or so, I visited her endlessly hoping for insight and change. And probably approval. That was the height of my Christianity and I felt Jesus would give me the strength and Jesus could help me love her and in turn help her love me. Even Jesus’ blood isn’t that magical.
I can’t tell you how many times I witnessed her tell my mother in scary seriousness that she wished my mom and every one of her “goddamn kids” were never born. I can’t tell you how many times I visited her only to leave feeling like my soul had been sucked into a black hole, beaten and torn apart, and then spat out in pieces with a smirk. One very brief minute everything was lovely and the next hundred years of minutes she was tearing me or somebody I loved apart with a verbal attack that would continue even as I walked out the door in tears. I’m sure there was some kind of mental imbalance, but it’s hard to feel sorry. There are so many specific examples I’d like to share, but they’re all mean. I don’t have a single good memory of her except that she smelled of peppermint gum, and the fact that she was a school bus driver who would take her bus load of kids to the A&W on the last day of school for a special treat.
I rode her bus briefly in elementary school and I was in on one of the end-of-the-year A&W trips. Even at such a young age, I had a really hard time reconciling this woman who I knew to be completely mean, with this woman who was so loving to strangers. As an adult, I would point to the beloved-bus-driver argument as the seed of hope that was the impetus for my many visits with her. Anyway, I thought her death wouldn’t affect me at all, but it has of course. Just the fact that she had all of this family and managed to alienate and/or terrify the lot of us. It’s too much to go into right now, I’m afraid. Suffice it to say that I was going to create a post around this picture, taken when I was out of the house for 2 measly hours:
The post was going to be all “Jesus H. Christ, I was with her all day and she had to sleep with our wedding picture because I left for 2 hours in the evening! Come on! The neediness is exhausting.” And now I look at that picture and cry because I know I don’t meet her needs. I know I don’t try hard enough. And I have my doubts as to whether I have it in me to do better.
If my grandma took my sarcasm with her to the grave, I’m going to be pissed.
