I AM a Hockey Mom

I'm not exactly sporty or athletic or coordinated.  In fact, I would say that I am the exact opposite of sporty and athletic and coordinated.  I believe I suffer from a hand/eye coordination problem.  I've been known to miss catching keys that have been thrown to me from two feet away.  I've been known to lose my breath half way up a flight of stairs.  I've been known to (often) trip over my very own feet.

And this is nothing new.  I HATED sports in school.  Like, even bolding and capitalizing that word does not show the extent of my school sports loathing.   To answer the question:  I don't know how I can miss kicking the ball that is right in front of me.  I don't know.  Okay?  I just don't know.  It boggles my mind too.  I mean, I line the ball up with my foot and I look away for a split second and it's almost as if someone moves the ball...

But I also must confess that because I a) didn't enjoy sports and b) am a perfectionist, I never really put much effort into it either.  I kind of have this *life motto* that if I'm not perfect at something right away, I should just give up and try something else instead.  I am, for instance, very good at reading.  And so I continue to do that.  I also think my voice sounds great in the shower and the car, so I continue to belt it out while sitting in traffic. 

All of this to say that I really just didn't *get* sports.  I have on occasion fallen asleep while "watching" hockey.  I think it's the sound of the announcers voices and the skates on the ice and the crowd cheering, it lulls me to sleep like a lullaby (or melatonin, come to think of it.)

I certainly can appreciate the hard work and determination that goes into any sporty goal and I can well imagine how rewarding it must feel to be part of a winning team or to accomplish a life long dream.  It's just never been anything I've experienced before and so I can imagine as long as I want, I'll never know how an athlete feels (although, sometimes when I have to run to my car when it's pouring rain, so I sort of get it...)

When Q was six or so, he heard his dad and I talking about starting a joint savings account for him so he would have a little something for post secondary education. 

He said:  What if I don't go to University?

Me:  Oh you'll be going.  Whether it's trade school or college or university, you'll be going.

Q:  It's just that...well...I'm pretty sure that I'll be playing in the NHL by then, so would it be okay if I went to University after that??

It was then we decided to put Q in skating lessons and over the next two years we watched him glide through four levels of skating with such determination.  He went from falling and stumbling and tripping and well...falling...to the skating coach saying she had taught him all she could and it was time for power skating (which, btw, is exactly what it sounds like...lengths of the rink, doing squats, in skates).  It was an inspiration to watch him set goals for himself and then work hard to meet them.  It made my heart proud.  I was a skate mom.  Smiling in the stands while he skated backwards and forwards and sideways and pivot. pivot. pivot.

But now...

Now...

...I'm a Hockey Mom. 

(respectful awe-filled pause)

(maybe some angels singing)

I go to practices at 6:00am.  (OMGoodness...it's actually a thing)

I spend weekends at the rink.

I cheer in the stands until my throat gets sore.  And forget about it when he scores.  I lose my mind. 

I yell helpful instructions like, "GET IT OUT" and "KEEP IT IN" and "SKATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and lately, "HUSTLE BOYS!!!"

I know all the names of all the kids and yell their names out sometimes too, just to keep it real and encourage them all equally.  I know most of the rules (and make up the rest...they're fondly referred to as the *Mom Rules* - For example: If they've really hustled, it's not icing because I mean...they skated all the way to the other end...they're tired.  And also, the losing team - us, usually - should get an extra player to even things up).

We've been on a losing streak and a short winning streak and then another losing streak.  No matter how much I cheer.  Sometimes they just don't listen to my direction.  We have a great group of families this year and we are so invested in our kids.  Not necessarily in winning, but in life experience.  We cheer when they win.  We cheer when they lose.  We cheer when they try really, really hard.  We love them whether they win or lose.  We feed them whether they win or lose.  We're good like that. 

I've learned more this year about sports than I have my whole life.  Yes, the rules of the game, but also something so much more important.  I've learned what it means to be part of a team for these kids. 

Becoming a team is so much more than just a few kids on the ice.  It's being a part of something that's bigger than yourself.  And that's a new concept for kids.  It gives them a community. 

It's determination.  It's passion.  It's skill.  It's selflessness.  It's encouragement.  It teaches consequences and follow-through. 

The kid I see on the ice is a different kid than the one I see going to school.  He's confident, he's outspoken, he's assertive.  He sees what he needs to do and he does it.  He skates until his lungs burn.  He works together with the other boys towards a common goal.  Watching some of them play together is like watching poetry.  Poetry!  Can you believe it?  Like a finely choreographed poetic dance. 

Gah!  I get goosebumps.

And there is nothing more rewarding to watch. 

I get it now.  I get the valuable lessons learned on the ice, or the court, or the field.  I am so grateful to be able to experience it with Q. 

I can say with pride that I am a Hockey Mom. 

And who knows, after watching the determination my kid has - he might just make the NHL one day.  And then I'll be a Professional Hockey Mom, which I think pays a bit more.  Haha.

In the meantime, we're probably going to get our arses handed to us at the tournament next weekend, but dang, it'll sure be worth it. 

Parenting - Actions Speak Louder

I learn so much from parenting.  

Sometimes, it's humbling.

Sometimes, it's downright embarrassing.

Since forever, Q has had a difficult time reading and writing.  He hates reading.  He hates writing.  And he has to work really hard at both.  Last year, we had the school do some testing, because I was really concerned that he has dyslexia.  Studying for spelling tests were a daily struggle and I felt like I was waaaaay out of my league.  I needed help in helping him.  The testing revealed that he was reading and writing at a grade level lower than he is in.  This spiked my anxiety.  Reading and writing at a grade level lower can be an indication of a learning disability.

Q is always so good at everything he does.  He's awesome at sports, he can do math in his head, he beats me at board and card games all the time.  Everything comes so easy for him.  I knew it must be so frustrating for him to have such a difficult time with spelling.

So I did everything I could do to help.  We studied those 20 words for hours every week.  Hours.  Like, I'm talking hours.  On average, we were spending 30 minutes to an hour every night practicing the words.  I would have him stare at the word, write the letters, say the letters - all in an attempt to help him succeed on the spelling test every Friday.  And then I would stress that it didn't matter what the mark was, as long as he did his best, I was super proud of him for doing his best.

We finally hit out breaking point.  

I called the principal.  

She reviewed his file.

She called his teacher, a learning specialist, and me into her office so we could discuss how best to help my child with his learning disability.

So you know when you take your kid to the doctor because he's super sick and the second the doctor walks into the room, your kid is fine.  Totally fine.  And you look like the paranoid, overprotected mother??

Ya.  

This meeting was kind of like that.  

It was Friday, so Q had a spelling test.  He got 26/30.  Twenty six out of thirty words that have* ie* and *ei* (and don't follow the rules).  Words like receive and believe.  And he got 26 of them right.

Pretty fricken awesome, right?

Then the learning specialist had him read...where he read perfectly at a grade 4 level.

He's in grade 4.

The LST says, "So where's the problem?"

The principal says, "Does he have a lot of pressure from home to do well?"

The teacher says, "I've brought his journal.  It's very well written."

I started to sweat.  

What was going on here???

"Yes, but we had to study an hour every night for him to get 26/30..."  As the words are coming out of my mouth, I'm trying to grab them and put them back.

The principal says, "Does he enjoy sitting and practicing for an hour every day?"

Uh, no.

The teacher says, "He should be practicing for no more than 20 minutes per night."

They all just stare at me.  

As I'm sitting there, it finally hit me.

I'm telling Q that it doesn't matter what he gets on his test as long as he tries his best, but my actions are telling Q that he needs to try harder, do better, and sit in that chair until he gets every single word right. Because as long as your best is perfect, we're all happy.  

I wanted to crawl under the table, slink my way to the door, and then run for my life.  

Suffice it to say, my son does not have a learning disability.  He has an insane mother with outrageous expectations.  We're going to practice spelling for 20 minutes a day.  We're going to read for 20 minutes a day.  We're going to celebrate (one of his spelling words, btw) no matter the results.  We're going to practice what we preach.  As long as we do our best, we're super proud of ourselves.

I'm also going to stop reading Harry Potter to him while he cries that he's soooooooooo bored and hates Harry Potter.  I'm going to stop telling him I'm doing this for his own good - to inspire his reading and if he would just listen, he would love it, and he would love reading, and he will feel passion for reading.

Like I do...

Oh...and one more thing....

Momma, you were right.

What is Going ON?!?!?!?!?!?

I've been so troubled this past week by things going on in this world.  Not even this world, but in my city, my country.  It makes me sad that this is the way things are going.  My heart breaks and mourns for my son's generation, and every generation after because we're losing some fundamental values - like compassion and respect. 

Earlier this week, a friend of mine who is almost seven months pregnant was walking across the street, when she was hit by a car.  Now, she's fine, completely fine.  But the point is, the guy who hit her rolled down his window and yelled, "Sorry..." as he drove away.  One witness didn't stop but asked if she was okay as he passed on by.  Even the police didn't feel the need to investigate - because she wasn't in a coma or worse...  I guess they're too busy arresting people for having parking tickets and such.

A friend of mine wrote on her fb page that a car was in the middle of an intersection blocking traffic.  Car after car after car drove past, not bothering to see if they needed anything.  My friend stopped to see if she could help, only to find one of the passengers was having a seizure.  Everyone else just drove on by...too busy or just not bothered enough to care.

Five children (that we know about) in Canada in the past year have committed suicide over claims that they have been bullied to the point of no return.  The victims of bullying.  Let me state the obvious for what I will say next maybe will shock some.  It is horrible, horrible, horrible that anyone thinks it's okay or derives any delight from belittling, teasing, or hating someone else.  Especially to the point where someone thinks the only out is to kill themselves.  It's horrendous.

However, it's also horrendous that no one thought to do anything about it until these children killed themselves.  All these anti-bullying commercials, in my opinion, glorify the bullying and glorify the bullying.  Instead, let's teach these children how to defend themselves (with words, of course), how to stick together.  Let's teach children self worth, so that when they're met with adversity - they know otherwise.  Let's teach children that shitty things are going to happen in this world, that not everyone wins, that succeeding in life is really, really hard work.  Let's teach them that failures happen.  Let's help them find somewhere to fit in.  If I had tried to fit in with the popular kids in high school, I would have been teased for sure.  Instead, I found a small group of like minded souls who enjoyed the same things I did, who had my back - and so it didn't matter when people laughed at me, or said something bad about me.  They weren't my people and so what they thought didn't matter.  And to this day, it does not matter.  

Then let's teach them how to get up, brush themselves off and try again.  Let's show them what competition looks like and how to practice even harder when they lose.  Let's show them how to work hard, fail, work harder, fail, work harder and fail again.  Because it seems to me, kids don't know what adversity is.  Everyone gets a ribbon at the race, because everyone showed up.  

What worries me even more is that I fit into this group just as much as anyone else.  I try to shield my child from everything, because isn't that my job as a parent?  Q thinks bullying is when someone thinks something other than him.  "S wanted to play on the swings at recess, but I said no, I want to play soccer.  He's such a bully."

Dinner with some friends this week was also quite enlightening.  No longer can anything with any inkling of Christianity be in a public school.  I understand the separation of church and state, whether I agree with it or not, but you cannot even mention Santa anymore.  Children refuse to stand for the National Anthem, because it's not theirs or because it mentions God in it.  

But...

These same schools will equally celebrate Eid, Ramadan, Chinese New Year, Diwali, and Vashaki.  Don't get me wrong...I don't mind this, and even welcome it, because it's so fascinating to learn about other cultures.  The problem that I have is that our culture is becoming *offensive* in our own schools, our own country.  Our culture is slowly being erased.

What's going on?

How do you make a difference in a world where people no longer care?

Where do you even begin?

How do you teach your children to care? 

What do you teach your children?

I think we're teaching our children to be pansies.  We're teaching them to give up when the going gets hard.  We're teaching them not to stand up for what they believe in, because we're not doing it ourselves.  We're leading by example.  We're walking by people who need our help without a second glance.  We're every man for himself.  It makes me so sad.

Q-isms - Wise Beyond his Years

In many ways, I'm a conventional mom.  Q knows his manners, eats his veggies, takes a shower twice a week (if we're lucky), and goes to school on a regular basis.  We've tried to implement chores, but I mostly forget or if I do remember I do it myself because it's easier.  As he gets older, though, I see the value in teaching him the quality of responsibility, the importance of a job well done and a dollar earned - so I'm working on that.

In one way, I am not a conventional mom.  Q still sleeps in my bed.  There are three reasons for this.

1. He sleeps with his dad, too.  Every time I try to wean Q out of my bed, his father does not follow suit, so I relent.  If it's not consistent, it is fighting a losing battle.  I end up with too little sleep and then I'm ugly and grumpy.  Not a good combination.  Coincidentally, him sleeping with me in the beginning started as a way to get more sleep.  He slept longer with me beside him.
2. As an only child from two separate households, Q has some unique challenges that other children with siblings or with parents who are together do not have.  He gets separation anxiety.  If sleeping with me gives him a little extra confidence to get through his day, I see nothing wrong with that at all.
3. There is nothing more wonderful than feeling his little hand on my cheek as he falls asleep, hearing him breathe or talk in his sleep, and watching him sleep.  It is something I cherish.  It gives us extra time together where there is no "eat your dinner" or "do your homework" or "hurry up" or "slow down".  There is just us.

We often have our best talks just before he is going to bed.  I don't know if Q is like other children and I haven't given kids enough credit for their depth of understanding or if he is incredibly wise beyond his years.  Sometimes his insight is so wise it amazes me.  I think he is destined for great things, my little man - just because his compassion and his understanding is so great.

One such occasion was the night before Grade 3....

Q:  Daddy says grade three was his worst year ever.

Me:  That's because grade three is the year his mommy died.

Q:  Oh.  I didn't know that.  I just knew she was 42, but I didn't know he was only 8.  What happened to daddy?

Me:  His daddy moved to Libya to work, so daddy went to boarding school with Uncle Duck (or Doug as everyone else calls him).

Q:  What's a boarding school?

Me:  It's when you live and go to school and eat and play all in the same place.

Silence

Q:  I'm understanding some things more now.

Me:  Like what?

Q:  Daddy was offered a job in Dallas a while ago, and he didn't take it.

Me:  Do you know why he didn't take it?

Q:  Yes, because of me. 

Me:  Yup.  Because he loved you more.

Geez...for all the times I wish I was flexible enough to kick my ex in the face, I lied there thankful for knowing that my Q knows his daddy loves him.  He knows that his daddy wants something better for him than he had as a boy. 

I wonder how many children notice or appreciate what their parents sacrifice for them.  Anyone of us parents can name several things we've sacrificed in the name of our dear children, but how many of them know it?  How many know but don't appreciate it?  How many have to be told to be grateful?  And yet here is my little 8 year old boy not just knowing, but reveling in the knowledge?  It makes me want to cry just thinking of it.  I know it's something he'll carry within him well into his adulthood. 

We're seriously going to save on therapy bills for this one.

Bad Teacher. Bad, Bad Teacher

School has been tough on Q this year.  Like really tough.  The poor kid's learning style does not mesh with his teacher's teaching style at all.  She's super old school (and not in a hipster way....)  In a word I can describe Q's feelings when it comes to having to spend 6 hours in the same room with this woman: Terror.

Sounds a little harsh, doesn't it?  But it's totally true.  He's been on Spring Break for the past two weeks and so I knew that bed time the night before school would be unbearable unpleasant for me as I convinced him he wasn't stupid, he wasn't going to be in grade 2 forever, the teacher was not going to get mad at him, and that he is really, really smart if he just puts his mind to it.  I just didn't think I'd have to do it 3 nights before school started up again. 

Quinn's weakness is writing.  He can read the words, but he has a hard time spelling them and writing coherent sentences.  I've been working with him on it at home, my mom bought him a work book to use, we spell words at night as he's falling asleep.  But his teacher makes him really, really nervous because he's so terrified of her.  He tells me last night that she says she thinks he just wants her to do it for him.  He said the tells her no, and that he's trying, and she continually says, "Really?" until he concedes and says yes, he just wants her to spell all the words for him.  And then she'll give him a stern talking to.

I really tried to act nonchalantly when he told me this because I don't want him to a) be any more scared of his teacher than he already is or b) think he's *right* and she's *wrong*, but let me tell you my blood is boiling.  My kid, he might be a whole lot of things...rambunctious, hyper, loud.  He might forget his manners sometimes, and he might not listen when he should.  But, the one thing he is not...is a liar.  I have pounded the importance of being honest into him since he was old enough to understand.  And truthfully, it was never that difficult, because he found out early on that being honest with me, no matter what it was, was waaaaay easier than being caught in a lie.  And Q, he has a conscience.  Even if he did get away with a lie, he'd have to tell me because he felt so horribly guilty about doing something wrong (I think he gets that from me!!)  So, first of all, I believe that his teacher says this to him (this is the second time he's told me the exact same thing) and second of all, how dare she question the character of my child on a daily basis?  I am livid.

Teachers have been on strike here in BC since the beginning of the school year or 'working to rule,' which has meant no report cards, no parent/teacher conferences, no field trips, and they refuse to meet with parents who have concerns about their children's learning.  They are doing this because they have the children's best interests at heart, and I can see how helpful this is to students across the province.  Okay, tad amount of sarcasm there...I'm not going to get into what I think about the whole strike because people just get really testy with me when I say what I'm really thinking on this subject.  I have a lot of teacher friends, too.  I just think that these *tactics* are actually affecting the children they're trying to help...but any who....

All that to say I've not been able to speak to Q's teacher about this.  What I really want to say is:

*You're the teacher.  If your teaching method is not working with my child, you need to change your teaching style so that my child can learn.  That. Is. Your. Job.  He is 7.  You have 30 years experience.  If you can not teach my child who has no disabilities, learning or otherwise, then where does the problem lie, really?

*Q can read.  He reads with me at home every single day.  He is terrified of you, and that's why he stutters when he reads for you.  He's afraid you're going to yell at him, or tell him he's not good enough, or that he's not trying hard enough.  So when you ask him if he reads at home, and he says "yes" and then you say, "Really?  It's very hard to tell."  That is not constructive.  It's hurtful and discouraging and it makes him even more nervous around you. 

*Your job is not to judge my child's moral standing to his face.  Ever.  If you think my child is a liar, a cheat or a thief, you come and talk to me, because yes, I agree we would have a problem that would require we work together to fix.

I don't know what to do.  I keep thinking this just a huge character building experience for Q.  I keep thinking that maybe he's over reacting a little bit.  I keep thinking that there are just 3 more months left and we can make it through.  I keep thinking that if we just do more work at home, he be able to spell just like a bee!!  But it's so horrible being powerless to do anything else about it.  His teacher would rather browbeat him than help him, and now our evenings are going to filled with homework and I can't help but wonder if it's because she can't do her job. 

Any great ideas on how to help kids with spelling?  I'm going to get some flash cards and stop by the book store for a *How to Help Kids Spell for Dummies* sometime this weekend, because I'm kind of invested in the success of this little guy, ya know?

Go Get 'Em, Tiger!!

Grade two has been a hard time for my little Q.  As an only child who is surrounded by adults who love and adore him and dote on him continuously, my son has developed somewhat of a 'fabulous' complex.  Now, I don't think this to be a bad thing, at all.  I think that soon enough, he'll doubt every move and decision he makes...well, if he's anything like me, he will...so if all these loving adults have the chance to build up his confidence now, I'm all for it.  He draws a picture, and we "oohhhh" and "awwwww" at some part of it...it's creativity, its colour scheme, something to make him feel proud of the work he's done.  He cleans his room and I comment on how fast or how thorough or how neat it looks when it's clean, something to teach him how good it feels to work at something and accomplish it well. 

In Kindergarten and Grade one, Q had teachers that were super nice and super encouraging.  They smiled all the time and interacted with the children on a one on one basis.  They were supportive and nurturing and the children learned at tables in a circle instead of at desks.  They were encouraged to play with the other children and structure, while it was there, was kept to a minimum and probably was there just to prevent utter chaos.

Mrs. J is Q's grade two teacher and she is scary.  She's old school.  She's just plain old, really.  I don't know much about her, because our teachers are on strike here in BC and they're working to rule, which doesn't affect anyone but the children as far as I'm concerned.  As part of their work to rule, there have been no parent/teacher interviews and in fact, I've heard from other mothers that teachers refuse to meet with parents at all, because it's considered to be extracurricular.  All I know of Mrs. J is what I see on Fridays when I drop Q off and pick him up, and of course from the mouth of my lil babe himself. 

The walls in the classroom are bare, she opens the door in the morning barely greeting the children and at the end of the day, the children see themselves out.  I don't think I've seen her smile once since September.  Q is terrified of her.  Every morning, he feigns some sort of illness, hoping against hope that I'll believe him finally and he'll get a day off.  And let me tell ya, every morning I just want to say he doesn't have to go to that big mean school with the big mean teacher.  Every morning, I hear, "I HATE school" every morning without fail. 

My heart aches for my poor little boy.  It's my job to protect him.  It's my job to make sure he's happy and well rounded and content.  He's just like his momma, with his nervous tummy and his knack for worrying about absolutely every single little detail about every single day.  That, combined with the fact that he's an introvert and keeps most of his thoughts to himself, I'm an emotional wreck.  He's going to need therapy for sure. 

But guess what....my kid is reading.  And we're not talking words like, 'it', 'and', or 'the'.  No, no, no we're talking big words.  Like real words and real sentences.  It's incredible!!!!!  It's amazing!!!!  It is like something in his brain just clicked and it all makes sense.  Sometimes, words come out of nowhere and I'm all like, "Huh?"  But for the most part, he's sounding words out and he's rocking it.  As far as I'm concerned, he could have very well skipped grade one.  The math skills that he has now (are awesome!!) were already there in Kindergarten and reading, well....that was non-existent. 

I want to be able to explain to Q that yes, he's going through a very difficult time.  Yes, his teacher is a little scary.  Yes, she demands a lot.  And she expects a lot from him.  But holy moly kiddo, you're rising to the challenge.  You're meeting her expectations, you're exceeding them I'm sure on some days.  Look at what you're learning, look at what you've learned.  You're reading!!!!!  Like books and shit!!  It is amazing, this  whole new world has opened up for you. 

But of course, I try to explain this all to Q and he looks at me like I've got three heads.  It doesn't sink in yet.  He just replies with a 'but I HATE school."  So, if I can't tell him so that he understands, I'm gonna tell you instead...

What you're going through right now, it might be hard.  It might be really, really difficult.  You might think that no one understands, and no one cares and that there is no end in sight.  But holy moly kiddo.  Look at you!!!  You're rocking it.  You're getting through it every single day and you're learning more and more about yourself and the world around you with every trial you face, every single day.  And I'm so proud of you.  I'm proud of you for throwing those blankets off every morning and facing the day, because ya...sometimes it's super hard.  But you are amazing.  You might not understand the "why" right now, but if you allow yourself to learn from this hardship, your life will never be the same.  I promise you that.

Now, go get 'em tiger!  Sometimes, it takes a lesson from a 7 year old to remind us what we're made of.