semester start anxiety abated

Turns out my semester start anxiety was fueled not just by my separation anxiety, but by my fear of going back to my feminist porn manuscript which I had vowed to return to after Labor Day. Fortunately it wasn't dreadful and it only took me a good week to finish up revising it in order to submit to my editor, so now I'm back with Lilly all day. I was holding on to summer at the end there, but now I'm finding refuge in fall routines, knowing what's going to happen every morning (class at "school" Monday, take care of a friend's baby Tuesday, class at the library Wednesday, child swap for yoga Thursday, have Lilly at a friend's house Friday so I get some time to write on my sleep question book).

Lilly in the parking lot in front of "school"

The other thing I was dreading, except returning to the above said manuscript, was Lilly (and I, as it turns out), taking a class at "school;" otherwise known as the Early Childhood Family Education Program (ECFE) offered by the public schools in town. From this post, you may remember me being critical about this program and so wonder why I chose to enroll us in it. Well, firstly I wanted to find out for myself how good or bad it could be. Secondly, a lot of my friends with their kids are in this class, though these very friends are among my sources for my skepticism towards this program. I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity of spending more time with my friends, and Lilly with her friends, playing and learning. I knew this class would include separation time, which I know it's time for (though I'm not liking it). Seeing we constitute about half of the class, my friends and I thought we might have a chance at changing the format a bit and, finally, they all thought I'd be a good candidate to step up and speak out, if that were to be needed.

This was the part I was not happy about. I mean, who likes conflict anyways. But I know I would do it, it's just the kind of person I am. And I was just anxious I'd make more of a scene than need be.

It's not been easy. The teachers are overly sweet and teacherly, to kids and moms, and the token dad. So from being greeted and instructed on how to fill out the name tag, it's been a patience trial for me. The space for the kids is great though with lots of stations for them to explore different activities in. From 8:30 till 9 they roam and play freely. Then it's circle time where we sing, the teacher leads some sort of activity and then reads a book for them. At 9:15 the kids line up to wash their hands and the moms and dad are instructed to leave the class room for our (!) class while the children have a snack and then their play of choice before we return for a final goodbye song.

It's "our" (!!!) class that gets me the most. It's listed on the day's schedule as our "discussion time," but oh no, they insist on letting it be known to us that this is our class time because now it's time to ensure we're parenting the right way. Our "teacher" is a grandma who's so nervous she can barely listen, asking didactic questions like, what kind of parenting style do we not approve of, or superficial questions like, did anyone have a particularly memorable moment of parenting this summer.

Ahh. First day I looked around and saw my best friend just about bursting in her seat. Second time I threw out something challenging to talk about. Like separating from our children, which we're all dealing with as we speak, and many of us--I know at least my friends and I--struggling with. It caused a heated discussion about letting children cry-it-out or not, and I was thanked by my friends after class (during our debrief bitching at the local coffee shop) for bringing this topic up. So I guess this "class" can turn out for the better, but it's going to take work, and that's just not as uplifting to me as when you don't have to fight for a good discussion of sharing challenges and strategies in a safe forum of fellow commiseration and peer boosting.

semester start anxiety

There's anticipation and anxiety in the air as we're plunging into another academic semester tomorrow. My best friend's son is starting Kindergarten, my ex's daughter will be a first year student in college, and my toddling Lilly will be introduced to "separation time" in the ECFE class (Early Childhood Family Education offered by the public schools in town) that she'll be in this fall.

To be honest, I'm dreading it all. But I think it'll be good for us all. Perhaps primarily for me.

"Nationwide, campuses are helping this generation of highly connected families manage the transition by teaching the adults how to let their children go," reported the Start Tribune yesterday on its front page.

Frankly, I'm a little surprised to find myself this attached. I grew up in a country that values independence, in children as well as adults. At eighteen years old, I finished high school, and, as most of my friends, enrolled in university (in Oslo, Norway), left my parents' home (which was in a small city outside of Oslo), and got an apartment of my own. We were legal, could vote, get a driver's license, and buy alcohol in the liquor store. Most of us were done with binge drinking by the end of middle school and considered ourselves quite adult and sophisticated.

When I taught as a college professor here in the US, I was taken aback by how connected students were to their parents. The frequent phone calls I'd overhear between students and their parents while walking across campus from class to class. How much (and how fondly) they'd refer to their parents and conversations with them.

I maintained my high expectations from my American students while I met them halfway, providing more guidance and hand-holding than I really thought necessary. But I did it, and I grew quite close to many of my students. I did not, however, ever get over my exasperation with American students' seemingly uncut umbilical cords.

So why am I so anxious now, what with my Lilly growing up and taking off? I think a lot of it is personal. I grew up in a home that did not feel so safe, and I dreaded first day of school. Alas, it turned out that learning became my sanctuary (though not necessarily school per se: a tiny little girl with glasses, who soon became the class nerd, well, you can see how I became an easy object of teasing and harassment). Yet I liked school. And so when my husband at one point suggested home schooling, even before Lilly was born, I balked. But then the other day, I was the one who threw it out there.

But, ok, so if I take a pause and reflect here now: our Lilly has a completely different foundation from me. We're providing her with a much more nurturing, safe home basis from which she's gleefully adventuring off. She's very confident in herself around others. She loves to learn and she loves people. I think she will love school, and for healthier reasons than mine. She'll be fine. Right???

my five tricks for saner parenting

1) Taking a day off (despite the guilt and shouldn't weekends be family time?) to head up to Minneapolis, in high healed sandals, NO nursing bra and otherwise as dressed up as my wardrobe currently allows, for a two and a half hour lunch date with a girlfriend before some shopping in Uptown.

2) Approaching parenting as work, which it of course is,  but not just as exasperating overwhelming tiring work (which, granted, it often is), or as in the jobs we may get just to get paid (whereas this one doesn't even provide a paycheck), but as work where I can apply my skills and background; practice all I learned from my decades in academia, working with other people; flex those muscles, improve even, as a patient, attentive, enthusiastic, empathetic pedagogue, care taker, therapist, and so on.

3) Co-parent with friends. As in arranging play-dates together where the kids can play and the moms (and the occasional dad) can talk. Be they at each other's homes, downing coffee. Or as trips to the park, pool, Arboretum, library, the great college campus spaces in town, and so on.

4) Living in a small town with charm where there are safe sidewalks; easy and quick to get to things; and where the people who work at the library, in the Co-op and at the bakery, and even at Cub KNOW my daughter, and interact and play with her.

5) Not rushing dinner to be done right when husband gets home. Mixing cocktails and throwing together appetizers for all to sip and munch on while (somewhat more) leisurely preparing dinner, or at least somewhat more peacefully. While perhaps having somewhat of a conversation before it's all about the food that's on the plate in front of us, ready to be eaten.

summer snapshots

As I've just made a vow to reflect a little more on the precious moments of everyday parenting, here's a couple of snapshots from this past weekend:

.. taking Lilly to the Como park zoo and conservatory and seeing her expression of wonder and fascination when she saw real live giraffes for the first time in her life (and also seeing the excitement in my husband's face when he saw a wolf, his favorite animal as a kid),

.. Lilly's glee upon returning to the city pool this weekend (finally recovered after a month of sickness), jumping up and down in the water, splashing and pretend swimming,

and then there are all the moments of endearment that happen on a daily basis:

.. how she wakes up in such a good mood most days, miss chatterbox cafe from the first second, pointing out her foot, or my hair, or the sun, or her teddy bear, as if greeting them upon seeing them all again for the very first time,

.. how she'll then announce she needs to go potty, which I'll take her to do, upon which she'll describe to me what's she's doing; peeing, tooting, maybe pooping. Then bending over so I can wipe her cute little bum, standing up afterward and looking me in my face to comment on how good she is at going potty.

.. after which she'll pronounce it time to make coffee and breakfast, upon which we'll stumble into the kitchen together, she taking out her little coffee pot as I get mine going,

.. how she'll pull up a chair to the kitchen counter when I make lunch for us, snacking on mozzarella cheese and pickled cucumber, describing the sandwich food I've spread out for us,

.. how she'll run to meet papa at the door when he comes home with more thrill than I've ever seen a child greet Santa Claus,

 

.. funny little things she'll do, like cover herself in tattoos of stickers, or put marker lids on her finger tips, stretching out her fingers,

.. how she'll pull out her books and study each page, describing what she's seeing, reading some by memory of how she's heard us read them to her,

.. how she'll trustingly reach up to grab the hand of my good friends when we're at one of their houses for play dates with their kids,

.. how she'll walk around with her baby doll Millie, talking to her, hushing her, making food for her,

.. how her face breaks into big smiles when she runs fast or bikes on her trike, praising herself for how good she is at this,

.. how she walks into the local bakery where Julie works, ordering "Julie's bread" (Brick Oven's artisan sourdough bread),

I could go on, but I think that's enough gooey comments to soften the political edges of this blog, for now.