Monday, July 29, 2019

Letting Her Fail

As the keepers of two teens, we are deep into the people making factory.

We are also very much aware that we, like most parents, struggle to know if we are doing it right.

For the most part, we probably are. The pendulum that once stood firmly (in our minds) on the side of 'this sucks and we're screwing it up,' now sits consistently (in our minds) on the side of 'oh man, we might actually make it.'

Kid One, Zoe, just turned 17. She'll start her senior year in a little over a month. Twelve months from now, we'll be sorting out piles of what will go with her on her next adventure. We think. We hope.

We don't know.

I spent the first six months of this year busting my ass on college prep. Researching schools, researching curriculum, researching requirements. Researching, researching, researching. As the self-proclaimed Queen of Spreadsheets, I loaded the family share drive with boxes to be filled in and questions to be answered. We talked grades (current and future), extra-curriculars, SATs, ACTs, APs and IBs. And, since it is Zoe, all of this was done in the most non-pressuring, non-anxiety producing way. Because, given more than one thing on her plate, the kid implodes.

Now, before I go on, let me disclaim the piss out of this by saying how proud we are of Zoe. She's a fairly easy kid. Very little attitude or sass, quick to do things when asked, kind, compassionate and incredibly smart.

We were a little surprised by some drifting grades mid-junior year. We talked about it, reminding her gently that her grades really counted now and were assured that things would get back on track. We were asked not to 'stalk' her performances through the school portal and so, we didn't. We've eased off on the stalking each high school year actually - making her more and more responsible for her own homework, due dates and test schedules.

That was hard for me, the Master of Organization. I mean, how else would the kids succeed if I wasn't reminding them daily of what was due and when? Do it themselves? Be responsible for their own success and failure? Okay, well, yes...seeing it in writing...it does make some sense. Now I'm kicking myself a little.

Zoe took her first stab at the SAT. Results arrived. Not terrible, but not quite the right number for the schools she was showing interest in (all out of state, all with fairly low out-of-state acceptance rates). We were advised to sign her up for the ACT as a different style sometimes brought out strengths the SAT didn't show.

School ended with more drifting grades. The ACT scores came in - again, okay, but maybe not where she needed them to be. AP and IB exams showed more of the same.

We paused for our first and only college visits. Somehow we'd reached the summer of visits with only two scheduled - both ones that I'd set up. Off we went to Penn State (no thanks) and Pitt (loved) with high hopes that the trip would spark the college searching, prepping and planning fires.

We had hours to talk (is there anything better than having your kid trapped in the car where their only options are listening to everything you say or jumping out onto the interstate?). We talked primarily about how we, the parents, had completed our part. Zoe was to take the ball - searching, prepping and planning. Zoe was to find more colleges to visit. Zoe was to set up a study schedule for the August SAT. Zoe was to get herself signed up for that SAT. My only job became shifting our vacation so that she'd be back in the 'Ville for the exam.

During the last month, our pendulum swung to a bit of freedom while Zoe's swung to getting something done.

I did look at Rich with my 'but...' face many times. His response? We have to let her fail. Uh, what? How would I secure my Mom of the Year trophy? We have to leave it up to her, he'd say, and if she doesn't get it done, then it's on her. Um...but...did that mean the award for best mom martyr was also off the table?

It was (and is) an adjustment for me - not pushing, pestering or commandeering. Looking the other way as the days ticked by and hearing no other colleges mentioned. Resisting the urge to check her laptop to see if she was studying for the next SAT. Swallowing reminders that the deadline for it was nearing. And now passed. Rescheduling our vacation to the original dates upon realizing there would be no need to back back for the exam.

We have to let her fail, Rich repeated.

Oh boy.

Poor Zack. We're learning so much through Kid One. Kid Two is finding his life very different as we veer off from the same mistakes (we're going to try other ones). He is already dabbling in calendar use, setting up reminders and making to do lists. Small scale seed planting. We resist the urge to answer his questions of 'why???' with 'because we didn't do enough of this with Kid One and now...'

I know Zoe will end up somewhere next year. She's too stubborn not to. And I know we will be proud of her. We already are - proud of what's she done so far, excited to see what's next and anxious to step back and leave the 'next' up to her. We've just also realized that we maybe did too much for too long - planting a slightly unproductive seed.

Not a total fail, doing things for your kids. But with its own lessons.

Monday, July 22, 2019

Taking a week off...

Okay, I actually took several years off...

In fact, I cannot remember the last time I even looked at this blog.

I guess the whole 'getting married, moving to Virginia, inheriting two kids almost immediately' stuff got in the way.  As it will.  So lots of catching up to do blog-wise.  So much that, frankly, I'm not even going to try.  Let's just all pretend we're all caught up on my life and move forward to what brought me to the blog again.

I've got a great, great friend here in the 'ville (oh, that's Mechanicsville.  Virginia.  If you've not kept up, that's where I live  now.  A bit less, um, urban than I might like.  But it is home to my husband, so here I am) who blogs on a fairly regular basis.  Not too regular - but enough to make me think I should get back to it and also, it doesn't have to be regular.

Yesterday we stood in the 115 degree heat index sending our respective boys off to camp and I turned to her and said, "It's okay if I'm glad he'll be gone for a week, right?"  And she looked back with the confidence that I one day hope to have, smiled and said, "Of course."  She's like that - very understanding and kind and never judgmental.   Or if she is, she guises it in stellar advice so I have no idea she's thinking I've lost it.

Zackary Glen.  13.  5'10".  Running the table with hormones and teen attitude.

I love this boy.  I will hunt you down if you hurt him - purposefully or not.  I never even knew the speed of which I could come to somebody's rescue until I became his mom.  It's quick.  Lightening fast.

And I'm also thrilled to have a week off.

I'm sure he is too.

We have been butting heads for weeks now.  Pretty much since summer started.  This year, summer as been different.  This year, I have another teen to contend with.  And while Zoe is finding her motivation with her first 'real' job, Zack has lost his, left at the exit door of Oak Knoll when school dismissed.

Previous summers went like this:
We both got up at about the same time.  He'd settle onto one couch with his laptop, I'd settle onto another couch with my mine (coffee for me).  We didn't necessarily solve world problems, but we were sharing the same space.  We'd chat occasionally, meet in the kitchen for snacks and meals and make plans for the afternoon.

If my schedule allowed, we'd pack up and head to the pool.  I'd bring my laptop so I could supervise both work and Zack.  He'd flitter around with friends while always keeping an eye on me.  The minute my toes hit the water, he'd be next to me so we could float around talking about life.  During breaks, he'd always convince me that, yes, he could have a Big Bopper this close to dinner.  I'd say no, no, no, here's two dollars.  Carefree.

This summer?  Not so much.
This summer, I struggle to get him out of bed at the crack of 10am.  Even after I've convinced myself that he is, indeed awake, he still lounges.  In bed.  Staring at who knows what.  Chores?  Eventually.  Chores have always had to be done by noon in the summer.  And always were, usually by mid morning.  Now, Zack rolls downstairs at 11:50am, still PJ'ed and unfed, in a mad dash to knock them out by noon.  After, it's right back upstairs.

Pool?  No so much.  It's too hot.  There's nobody there.  It's boring.  Better to just play video games.

Mind you, we have a no-plugs/no-batteries policy between 1 and 4 everyday.  Perfect pool time.  And he's even old enough to go on his own now - dropped off without a pesky mom hoping for some quiet conversations.

Not happening.

My little boy has drifted away.  Replaced by a (very) young man (who had to shave before leaving for camp!) with a (very) young man's attitude and sense of being right about every-dang-thing.

Days are spent repeating myself.  Do this, do that.  Again, do this, do that.  Met with annoyance that I'm nagging (he doesn't mind when I ask him the first time, it's the third or fifth time that bug him).

My questions are met with questions.  Most often 'Why are you asking?"  As in, "Zack, do we need more kitty litter?"  "Why are you asking?"  Why....why...would I be asking....

If it's not a volleyed return of question, it's a Johnny Cochran inspired argument about why he hasn't done something (mostly because I didn't communicate it correctly or he doesn't feel it's necessary on my timeline or, or, or.)

I love that boy.  But good grief,  how am I going to make it through five more years of teenager-ing him?  I've barely made it through one year and have thrown myself prone at the feet of the director of Camp Hanover.

It gets easier right?  We find a new rhythm?  A new norm?

I did tell him I'd spent the week missing him (and I do).
I did promise myself that I'd do some introspection (hello blog) and dig out that softer side that has been hardened a bit.

I've even taken a shovel into his room to poke through the boy gunk so that he'd have a refreshed room to return to.

I do love that boy.

And will likely mentally run across the field into a bear hug when we pick him up.  I mean, not in real life - the one where I am now mortifying.

I know he loves me as well.  Still my sidekick.

My very tall, occasionally mustached, snarky sidekick.