Call it melancholy. Call it over-analytical. Call it whatever you like. I’m feeling some kind of way about the end of this school year. I’m delighted this is the last day of school.
I’ve always heard that each child is different and it requires special skills to parent each child the way they need, but I’ve never felt that more than this school year. With one in the second grade and two in kindergarten, we had growing pains all over the place.
One was learning the power of his influence, be it good or bad.
One gained confidence as his light finally started shining but realized even stars flicker.
One struggled as he realized perhaps he isn’t the best at everything.
Sometimes, it was difficult for each to celebrate the other because they couldn’t get out of their own way. As a mom, I wanted to fix all of them in one fell swoop. Wasn’t I supposed to be able to snap my fingers and make everything right? That’s what all the “supermoms” do on television.
Well, I snapped alright. But nothing happened. Who were these kids and what had they done to my children? Didn’t they want to do better? Weren’t they supposed to understand as easily as the other kids in their class? This school year was completely different than the previous three.
I felt completely overwhelmed at the notion of trying to help each one get what they needed from their teachers and what they needed from me. There was supposed to be a pattern that I could follow to guide each of them out from their respective valleys and back to the mountaintop where I thought they belonged.
There was no pattern. Just me winding through this maze of parenthood trying to figure it out.
I discovered a lot that didn’t work. The frustration that accompanied the disappointment was difficult for them and for me. I wanted perfect kids who wanted a perfect mom and none of us got what we wanted.
In the middle of this seemingly unending school-year, I realized the only thing I could control was me. And that’s when things started changing for the better. It was how I handled each of them in those teachable moments that mattered the most and had the biggest impact.
Some days they needed the comforting shoulder. Other days zero tolerance.
Sometimes they needed patience. Other times persistence.
Self-esteem lessons had to be taught. Pride and boasting parables followed soon.
Supermom? No. Magician? Maybe. Considering the bag of tricks I worked with this year to pull out what each needed at any given moment.
Mainly, I spent a lot of mornings in prayer for my sons during the school day. Much more than I ever had before. I prayed for their actions, their attention spans, their friends and their teachers.
And, I prayed for me. I asked God to help me face whatever came through the door that evening with the love and compassion of a Mommy and the discernment and guidance of a good parent.
It’s been a different kind of school year. While there was certainly more good than bad, there were some days I do not care to revisit. Ever. Still, the missed opportunities don’t overshadow the growth of each son and my husband and me. Perhaps teachers grew a little bit, too.
When the boys ran off the playground today in full sprint toward summer, I finally exhaled and smiled a little. Whoever invented summer break didn’t just have the teachers and students in mind; they had parents in mind, too. And, I'm glad.
(Written May 22, 2014)
I’ve always heard that each child is different and it requires special skills to parent each child the way they need, but I’ve never felt that more than this school year. With one in the second grade and two in kindergarten, we had growing pains all over the place.
One was learning the power of his influence, be it good or bad.
One gained confidence as his light finally started shining but realized even stars flicker.
One struggled as he realized perhaps he isn’t the best at everything.
Sometimes, it was difficult for each to celebrate the other because they couldn’t get out of their own way. As a mom, I wanted to fix all of them in one fell swoop. Wasn’t I supposed to be able to snap my fingers and make everything right? That’s what all the “supermoms” do on television.
Well, I snapped alright. But nothing happened. Who were these kids and what had they done to my children? Didn’t they want to do better? Weren’t they supposed to understand as easily as the other kids in their class? This school year was completely different than the previous three.
I felt completely overwhelmed at the notion of trying to help each one get what they needed from their teachers and what they needed from me. There was supposed to be a pattern that I could follow to guide each of them out from their respective valleys and back to the mountaintop where I thought they belonged.
There was no pattern. Just me winding through this maze of parenthood trying to figure it out.
I discovered a lot that didn’t work. The frustration that accompanied the disappointment was difficult for them and for me. I wanted perfect kids who wanted a perfect mom and none of us got what we wanted.
In the middle of this seemingly unending school-year, I realized the only thing I could control was me. And that’s when things started changing for the better. It was how I handled each of them in those teachable moments that mattered the most and had the biggest impact.
Some days they needed the comforting shoulder. Other days zero tolerance.
Sometimes they needed patience. Other times persistence.
Self-esteem lessons had to be taught. Pride and boasting parables followed soon.
Supermom? No. Magician? Maybe. Considering the bag of tricks I worked with this year to pull out what each needed at any given moment.
Mainly, I spent a lot of mornings in prayer for my sons during the school day. Much more than I ever had before. I prayed for their actions, their attention spans, their friends and their teachers.
And, I prayed for me. I asked God to help me face whatever came through the door that evening with the love and compassion of a Mommy and the discernment and guidance of a good parent.
It’s been a different kind of school year. While there was certainly more good than bad, there were some days I do not care to revisit. Ever. Still, the missed opportunities don’t overshadow the growth of each son and my husband and me. Perhaps teachers grew a little bit, too.
When the boys ran off the playground today in full sprint toward summer, I finally exhaled and smiled a little. Whoever invented summer break didn’t just have the teachers and students in mind; they had parents in mind, too. And, I'm glad.
(Written May 22, 2014)
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