The first parent-teacher conferences of the year happened this week and man did I get schooled.

As a mother of a 15-year-old and a 12-year-old, I’ve been to more parent-teacher conferences than I can easily count. But, as each one approaches, the part of myself that I consider a recovering perfectionist starts to creep to the surface.

Fears of being judged as a parent and as a person float to the forefront of my brain. MY ANXIETY decides that it’s a great time to show up, sending negative self thoughts into hyperdrive.

Per usual, I respond to these desires to present myself perfectly by attempting to control as much as I possibly can.
My anxious self prepared for this year’s video parent-teacher conferences by checking and double checking our appointment times, testing the software, making sure my background was tidy and presentable, and gathering a pen and some paper for notes.

I was as ready as I could be.

Then I sat, nervously tapping my pen against my notepad as I waited for THE FIRST TEACHER to pop on my screen. I waited for judgement. Are they going to think I’m a bad mom? Are they going to judge my son?

Teacher after teacher said the same thing.
“He’s a great student.”
“He does all his work.”
“He’s super smart.”
“He’s respectful, polite, and participates.”

These are all the things a parent wants to hear — especially this year when more than half of my son’s school hours are being done remotely from his bedroom.

Then each teacher ended with a similar message about him.
“But I can’t read him.”
“He’s a mystery to me.”
“I can’t figure him out.”

Each conference ended with an almost exasperated sigh from the teacher “I hope I get to know the real him.”

I couldn’t help but laugh each time, thinking to myself “You probably won’t.”

These teachers can’t read him because my youngest doesn’t give a flying f*ck about what anyone thinks of him.

He will show up, do his work, and be polite but he will never be phony. He will never try to impress you or make you like him. He will never strike up casual conversation. He simply doesn’t care what you think of him. He doesn’t need anyone’s approval.

And boy, do I wish I could be like him.

As I logged off my computer, I shook my head at myself.

Once again, I had fallen into the trap I set all too often for myself — the trap where I think I need to care what others think of me.
If my 12-year-old were sitting beside me he would have rolled his eyes and said, “Mom, why do you care what they think of you? That’s a waste of time.” 

At the end of the day, my 12-year-old’s view on the world is right and mine is wrong.

PEOPLE’S OPINIONS OF ME DON’T REALLY MATTER.

They don’t dictate who I actually am as a human, a parent, a community member, or a professional. I know who I am. I know how to let the right people see the real me. If people don’t like me, that’s on them.

It turns out my biggest takeaway from this week’s parent-teacher conference has nothing to do with my son’s performance in school but everything to do with what I can learn from him.

(Originally published 12/1/2020 by Filter Free Parents HERE)

​When my oldest son was 6 years old, he asked us if he could play football. Although I was a solid "no" because I felt it was unsafe, he was determined to play. One year later, after I had done lots of research and talked to many coaches, I decided to let him try it. 

After just 3 weeks of practice, he asked me if he could quit. While a big part of me wanted to take his little hand and whisk back to my car, leaving his stinky football equipment on the field, a voice inside me told me that I shouldn't let him quit just yet. 

He decided to stick it out and see what a game was like before he made his decision.

That first game day was magical. The sun was bright and hot, a perfect New England September day. The music pumped throughout the stadium and my son got to hear his name announced over the loud speaker at his high school's football stadium as he ran through streamers held by cheerleaders. Although I cannot recall for sure, I am fairly certain that I cried. I was so proud of him and his teammates. They had made a commitment to each other and to themselves. Even though he didn't play much that game, he was hooked.

That season I got to see my quiet, insecure, and timid son change before my eyes. He was becoming more confident, more assertive, and more hopeful. Football was helping to reveal an amazing version of himself, a version I had always known was inside.

So, when our youngest son became old enough to sign up for football, I didn't hesitate. He knew what he was signing up for - after all he had just watched his brother play two full seasons. Just 3 plays into his very first football game, he scored a touchdown on a quarterback sneak play. I suspect that moment will be one of the moments that sticks in the photo album of his childhood in his mind - one of those moments he'll tell his own children about someday. 

Today my family heads into our final youth football season and I am so thankful for the gifts football has given to us. Year after year, I have seen football's lasting impact on my boys' school work, friendships, and in their other sports. It has taught us all patience, compassion, and the power of commitment.

Lessons we'll carry forever.

​8 years ago today, my family of 4 headed to our neighborhood bus stop for the last time. 

Back on that day, my oldest was THE oldest at the bus stop - not just by age or grade but physically too. He towered above the other kids and looked completely out of place. It was on that day that I realized every single phase of childhood was reflected in our bus stop:

- the newborn baby who everyone hovered over and smiled at
- the toddler playing in dirt and eager to dart into the traffic
- the preschooler with a million questions and comments about the world
- the pre-kindergartner who desperately wanted to be getting on that bus that year
- the kindergartner dressed in his very best khaki shorts and polo shirt, anxiety and excitement written on his face
- the 1st grader who couldn't believe they had cried the year before
- the 2nd grader who boarded the bus with secure confidence - they've got this
- the 3rd grader who was starting to feel the power of being one of the "big kids"
- the 4th grader who would get to sit near the back of the bus and begged to wear tech t-shirts and basketball shorts on the first day of school
- the 5th grader who was beginning to feel out of place and ready to move on. 

But, that bus stop wasn't just a snapshot of each stage of childhood, it was also a cross section of parenthood:

- the single parent managing it all on their own
- the work from home parent who could only be away from her computer for so long before her boss got mad
- the parents who worked opposing schedules and were handing off child care responsibilities in the morning
- the stay at home parents who were somewhat grateful for one less child to entertain that day
- the new-to-the-neighborhood parents who didn't know anyone. 

That school year 8 years ago flew by quickly and before we knew it, we were all standing back at the very same bus stop, this time on the last day of school. 

Sometime my heart aches a little when I drive by that old bus stop and catch reflections of who we all used to be.

And sometimes, for just for a moment, I wish we were back there - back in that space where life was both harder and easier. 

As summer comes to an end each year, I find myself happily diving into back to school tasks for my two teenage boys. Those days leading up to the return to school are usually filled with me creating color coded calendars with their class schedules, setting up organization systems for studying, figuring out ways to manage homework assignments, and reviewing school maps and processes with them so they can be sure they won’t get lost on their first day.

The fall is when I feel most needed as a mom
This is often a time of year when I feel so completely alive as a mother – clear in how I am valued and where I am needed. It also is a time of when I feel stressed, overwhelmed, and alone — the weight of a successful start to the new school year resting solely on my shoulders. 
Today that weight was lifted and I am equal parts relieved, heartbroken, and proud. 
 Knocking on my freshman’s bedroom door this morning to remind him to take his mandatory concussion test for athletes, I found him already deep into the test. How had he remembered to get it done without multiple texts and reminders and nagging from me? All I did was forward him an email last week with a due date and it got done.


My high school freshman can manage his responsibilities without me
Without my help. 

Later on, as he passed by me in the hallway to get a snack from the kitchen, he causally rattled off some of the other tasks he had done this morning, including figuring out when and where his socially distanced lunch breaks would be held, and completing some forms that were due by next week. How could that be?

Just an hour earlier I was knee deep in a social media thread where other high school parents (myself included) were panicking about everything from lunch to school drop off to homework.

Yet, he figured it all out on his own. 

Without my help. 

Surely, I thought to myself, he would need the annual lecture about how it would be important to go to bed early tonight and wake up earlier tomorrow, enjoy a healthy breakfast, and start his first day off right. But, he beat me to the punch, telling me his detailed plan for school night bedtimes, school morning wake ups, workouts, and meals. He figured it all out. 

Without my help. 

With only a few hours to go until he starts his first day of high school, I’m finally beginning to realize that my high schooler doesn’t need me in the way he used to. 

I am no longer needed to calm any nerves about lockers not working or getting lost on the way to his class or what will happen if he doesn’t get to see his friends on his first day at a new school. I no longer need to follow him around like a trusty old herding dog, reminding him where he needs to be and what he needs to get done before and after school.

He can do that all on his own. I no longer need to review every single assignment and communication from teachers to make sure he understands the requirements. He can figure it all out on his own.

Without my help. 

Gone is the shy, timid, nervous little boy who held back tears while he boarded the school bus for his first day of kindergarten 9 years ago. Gone is the young teenager with poor self-esteem who worried if he would be made fun of on his first day of middle school 3 years ago. 

In place of the shy boy is a confident young man
Instead, standing before me is a bright, confident, and capable young man, poised to begin his high school experience, arguably the most important 4 years of his life so far. And, this young man no longer needs me to do it all for him.

It’s time for me to pivot into a different approach of parenting so that I may better respond to his shifting needs and abilities. He will always need the love and support of his mother, of course, just not in the same ways he used to.

Neither of us are quite sure yet what that will look like but I’m sure he will figure it out. It seems like these days he always does. 

Without my help. 

(originally published by Grown and Flown at: https://grownandflown.com/high-school-freshman-is-capable-independent/

Before I became a parent, I assumed parenting was hard. 

Then I had my first baby and quickly realized that parenting is way harder than I ever could have imagined.

When my baby became a toddler with his own big personality, an inhuman-like ability to slither like a snake out of my arms when he didn’t want to be carried, and a deep commitment to throwing massive tantrums, I realized that parenting had somehow become even more challenging.

Parenting a high schooler is the hardest phase yet
​
Fast forward to today and I find myself facing the hardest phase yet of parenting: parenting a high schooler. With just a short bit of time so far under his belt as a high school freshman, I find myself more confused than ever when it comes to how to parent my son. 

When do I step in and communicate with his teachers? 

How much do I remind him and check up on him about his school work and home work, especially during these times of partial remote learning?
When do I loop in the administration if there are bigger concerns?
What ARE bigger concerns at this age?
When do I get involved?
When do I keep quiet and shrink into the background?

Today the finish line of his childhood looms larger than ever in the distance. Next year he can drive a car. In two years we start looking at colleges. In three years he’ll be in his final year of high school. 

Just like that — these days will be gone.

The pressure of finishing high school looms large
Sometimes the pressure of that looming finish line is overwhelming, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. We have just a short time to hold on to him tightly and enjoy these final years while at the same time stepping back from him and letting him make his own decisions and fail on his own.

Parenting a high schooler seems to be a never-ending cycle of missteps and course corrections, a constant stream of muttering lessons to ourselves:

“Oops I stepped in too far. I should have let him handle this.”
“Oops, I should have jumped in sooner. This was too much for him to handle on his own.”

For over 14 years I have known that every stage of parenting was getting harder. Yet the challenges I face today as a the mother of a high schooler have somehow caught me completely off guard. 

Sometimes I miss those newborn sleepless nights, the toddler tantrums, and the nervous early school days. Sometimes I miss my little boy. Sometimes I want that finish line of childhood to stay in the distance just a little bit longer. 

My son is still a child but also an emerging adult
But, when this almost adult son of mine who towers over me, wraps me in his arms and tells me he loves me all while asking for $20 to go out with his friends, I’m reminded that balance still exists between the child and adult sides of him. 

Somehow, despite all the uncertainties and challenges that this stage of parenting brings, it also seems to be the best so far. There is space to just enjoy each other’s company and there is beauty in watching the rapid transformation that takes place in high school. 

Just as we did with every other stage of parenting, we will figure it out.

We will be ok, even when we cross that finish line.

(originally published 09/30/2020 on Grown and Flown at: https://grownandflown.com/parenting-high-school-freshman-is-hard/)

“Kids are too soft these days.”
​
I rolled my eyes and tuned out the parent next to me at the youth baseball game when he started on a tirade about “today’s kids.”

The truth is, I’m tired of hearing people say that we are raising a generation of soft kids.
When did we all agree that we wanted to raise tough kids anyways?

Why should our goal be to raise kids who slough off danger like it’s no big deal?
Why should our goal be to raise kids who tolerate being bullied by their parents?
Why should our goal be to raise kids who don’t know how to express any feelings other than anger?

I know the answer that parents like the one next me will give.

“We can’t raise soft kids because life isn’t fair.”
“People are going to be mean to our children when they are adults.”
“Kids need to develop thick skin to make it in this cruel world.”
I just don’t buy it.

What if we all tried to raise soft kids?


Kids who aren’t afraid to express their feelings and emotions and will likely be better partners and parents for it.
Kids who notice other people hurting in the world and want to help create change, rather than place blame.
Kids who let their heart, rather than their pride or arrogance, guide them in life.

If having soft kids means having kids who know the power behind their words and choose kindness over hate, then let me have soft kids.

If raising soft kids means that they don’t have to listen to me shouting criticisms at them in front of their teammates, coaches, and opponents, then I hope they turn out soft.


If raising soft kids means that I have kids who don’t tolerate racism, prejudice, and hate, then I hope I raise soft kids.


Maybe all these soft kids can help make the world a better place. Isn’t that a better option than throwing our hands up and conceding that the world sucks?


Maybe I’m just too soft myself but I have hope that we can do better.

We have to do better.

A few weeks ago I ran away and I brought my family with me.


It’s become my favorite thing to do for my birthday week. 


Nestled neatly between the end of the school year and the beginning of the longest stretch of summer, for years that week has provided my family and I with the perfect freedom to get away. 


There are 4 simple rules for this escape from our normal lives and they are always the same. Our location must:

1. Be located in a climate with palm trees. 
2. Require an airplane to get there. 
3. Have a swimming pool. 
4. Provide opportunities for lots and lots of time with the 4 of us together. 

This year as I floated in the vacation pool with my champagne-margarita in hand, I realized that although those 4 rules are constant, we never travel with the same 4 people.


In fact, two of the guests on this trip are completely different each year.


This year we traveled with an almost 17 year old, complete with his driver’s license, and a 5’11” 13 year old with long flowing hair that would leave even the 1969 version of Paul McCartney completely jealous. 


A few years ago, we traveled with a soon to be high school freshman and a soon to be first year middle schooler, both eager and nervous to start the next stage of their educational and social adventures.


And it wasn’t that long ago that we traveled with a real life 7 year old pirate and his 10 year old transformers-obsessed brother. 


Somehow it really feels like just yesterday that we were traveling with two tiny children - pull ups, blankies, and pool swimmies jammed into our suitcases as we lugged strollers and car seats through airports.


But this year instead of little voices shouting “mommy watch this!”, the pool was filled with the manly voices of my teenagers and my husband playing one of their many games of intensely physical pool basketball. 


While they played, I sipped my cocktail and smiled at the sounds of their booming voices shouting out to each other. 


And every once in a while, I closed my eyes and could almost hear the echoes of the small boys that used to travel with us. 


Because those little versions were still there too.


The truth is that if I look closely enough I can always see those versions everywhere. 


They are in the dimples on their faces


They are in their sweet expressions when they fall asleep. 


They are in the way they throw their heads back when they find something truly funny.


They are there in their still favorite blankets. 


They are there every time they choose to sit down beside us on the sofa to play music or watch a movie.


They are always there - no matter how old their current versions get or how many inches they tower over me now.


And what a gift it is to watch the sweet merging of all those versions of my babies.


I wonder who will join us next year. 
​