Let 'em play

When I was a boy, I scared the pants off of my mom,
Climbed what I could climb upon
And I don't know how I survived,
I guess I knew the tricks that all boys knew.

Dar Williams, "When I Was a Boy"

At the most recent parents' conference, we were told that Youngest Daughter wanted to be called "Peter" by her teachers and classmates. Ah, we explained, well, see, she's been into Spider Man. So she's pretending to be Peter Parker. Naturally. The teacher said, with a little smile, well, she has a very good imagination. But it's a little distracting.

I see. It's not that I mind the idea of school, but do they have to be so, well, schoolish about it? In kindergarten, no less. Once I fought down the urge to smack her, I wanted to say to her, seriously? I mean, she's five. She still believes in the Easter Bunny. To her, imagining is as important as adding and subtracting(which she can do) and learning her sight words. I know she's young for kindergarten, the youngest in her class, in fact. It's an all day kindergarten too, I'd like to point out. I remember my kindergarten. I think it lasted long enough for my mother to make the beds and have coffee with the neighbor moms. We spent most of the time, if memory serves, a.playing b. using paste and c. learning a few things. We had a snack, laid our heads on the table for a few minutes rest, heard a story and went home. Somehow with this backward system we all managed to grow up and become reasonably responsible adults.

When I look around my daughter's classroom, I notice that most kids are indeed listening (mostly) and sitting criss-cross-applesauce still and listening (mostly). Because I think most of them have been in daycare and know the drill. And let me be clear:I have nothing against daycare, all-day kindergarten, organized sports, enrichment programs, after-school activities, Pop Warner, pottery classes, et al. It's just that there's so MUCH of it. I feel like our kids are falling into two groups: the docile and the non-docile. So we give the non-docile kids a diagnosis and some pills and there you go.

I'm not exaggerating. When Eldest Daughter was in second grade, in a school system I won't name (rhymes with "Pillsborough"), she was found to have a learning disability. Before they would evaluate her for extra help, they wanted me to put her on Ritalin. But, I said, I spoke with her doctor and she doesn't have ADHD. Well, said the school nurse, some doctors work with us.

Maybe I'm too sensitive about the whole thing. Teachers gotta teach, kids gotta behave. But it's the sinking feeling that if yours isn't the docile little lamb, well then, maybe there's something wrong with them. But I refuse to believe that my spunky, spirited, FIERCE child needs a label, let alone a diagnostic code. For inspiration I found Lenore Skenazy's website and book called Free Range Kids (freerangekids.wordpress.com). It celebrates a time when your mom would kick you out of the house for the day and call you back in when it was dinner time. And if you came home covered in dirt she might scream a bit, but then she'd just throw you in the tub and scrub you within an inch of your life. Nowadays they bring in the decontamination unit and a gallon of Purell.

Also, I have in my possession, a great book called Raising Your Spirited Child:a guide for parents whose child is more intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent, energetic, by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka. Seriously, my little one is intense. And sweet, smart, funny, contrary, and exasperating. I wonder if I could handle a class full of kids like her. Sometimes I wonder why she can't be an "easy" child. I think back with fondness for all the "easy" things her sister did, forgetting that she had her exasperating moments, as well. Then I remind myself that Well Behaved
Women
Girls Rarely Make History.

Nobody said it was going to be easy.

Sleepless in Hub City

I hate bedtime.

As a kid, I hated going to bed. It was unfair, going to bed when all sorts of interesting stuff was still going on. As a teenager, I couldn't wait to stay up all night. When I was single, living alone, I hated falling asleep. My bed would be covered with all manners of things:books, tea cups, drawing pad and pencils and I'd fall asleep to the TV. Now I can't wait to sleep. Even a nap would be nice, but to actually put on some jammies and hit the sheets would be heaven. Clean sheets, even more so.

But now I've been blessed with a little one who, guess what? Hates to go to bed.

I think I probably spend 10-14 hours a week putting her to bed. At this point in a conversation I usually get a multitude of advice:get a bedtime routine(got it), have her take a nap, not take a nap, have quiet time before bed, punishments, rewards, etc. But the fact remains, it takes her a long time to fall asleep and she needs help with the process. And you know what? It's ok.

Sometimes I need to be reminded that not every problem needs fixing. And bedtime appears to be a big problem for parents. How do I know? Besides all the books, magazine articles and t.v. shows about the issue, it almost always works its way into conversations with other parents. "So, what time does Sally go to bed?" they ask innocently. Then they start telling me about their own trials getting little Timmy to sleep, or what their routine is. And you know what I notice? Whether there's tears and yelling, or threats, or bribes, or routines or just laying in bed and telling stories, everybody seems to tell me the same thing-it takes an hour or two. Granted, some nights she's asleep in 10 minutes and some nights I'm thinking we might as well order a pizza and watch the Late Show. But mostly it's an hour or two.

Sometimes, we need Dada's help. But mostly when it comes to bedtime, she wants Mama.

Some nights, I will confess, I think dark thoughts about keeping her in her room, locking the door and letting her scream herself to sleep. We are not "Cry It Out" people. Or I start to get angry, thinking of all the other things I could be doing, say laundry or writing an article for the co0p newsletter. Or, gasp, having some time to myself. None of that is conducive to helping my high-energy kid relax and fall asleep. Though I am a slow learner, I have come to realize that the best thing for her and I is to accept that this is going to take a while and appreciate what I have-some "girls only" time with my youngest daughter. Parenting takes time. So we brush our teeth, get into bed, get out of bed, have a snack, a drink of "icy cold water with ice cubes", back into bed and have a "real story" (printed) or a "pretend story"(made up out of my head). Sometimes both. Sometimes a song. Much as I pine for the day she puts herself to bed, I also want to delay the inevitable, to stretch out this time, when she stills needs me so much that it takes my slow breathing to slow down her own and she drapes her legs over mine and finally relaxes into sleep.