Millie writes:
If there's one subject upon which I wax evangelical (okay, there are lots of them, but this is a big one), it's kids learning to read. During my 3-year stint as an actual person back at the turn of the century (can you believe we can say that again?) I ran a reading program for 5-8-year-olds at the local elementary school. Our personal kids all read by age 3, not because I pushed them (I really didn't) but because it's so easy and natural to teach it. I think one of the reasons they all took to reading so readily has to do with one of my favorite traditions: The First Library Card.
Oh, you'd better believe it was an occasion, too. Not just any BABY could get a library card (even though our fabulous local library system would probably give a library card to a fetus, if the mother signed for it). In our family, you have to be able to write your name on the application form.
They'd practice and practice until their pencils were worn down to little nubs until they could spell their names (first AND last!) correctly and write them recognizably; then off we'd go to the library. The kid would whisper to the librarian that he was here to get a library card, please! (We went to the library at least once a week and everyone knew us, so I'd be able to tip the attendants off that this was An Occasion.) With a flourish, the head librarian would produce a signature card and I'll tell you, the Declaration of Independence was not signed with more aplomb than my 3-year-old kids applied to those 4x6 cards.
The presiding official (librarians are an unfailingly sporting breed) would always live up to the kid's expectations, too, and give a solemn speech about Responsibility and Cleanliness and Late Penalties, and shake the little hand when presenting the card. Once one of them called for everyone's attention (she shouted! In a library! My children were so shocked and impressed!), announced that there was now a New Cardholder at this library and everyone applauded. I think my kid was prouder at that moment than he was when he graduated from high school. I still get a lump in my throat just recalling it.
Think about it, though; in many cases a library card is the first “identification” a child has, the first thing he can carry in his wallet that didn't come with the wallet. It's an early sign that he is growing into his place in the world. Reading is one of the first of the Great Mysteries we decipher, one of the most important ways we have to find out how things work. A library card is the key to more secret codes than James Bond ever dreamed of – it is something that should be celebrated!
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the library.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Homework: What to do and what not to do
Mollie writes:
It drove John and me crazy that one of our children just wouldn't do his homework, and when he did, it was iffy whether or not he would hand it in. Being the ultimate in nerds, John and I did nothing but homework the first 30 years of our lives. And we had one boy who LIVED for homework, no kidding! So when the other rebelled, we were shocked. As it turns out, most boys in that age group (10-14) eschew homework. As it happened, it was the child with the work ethic who was outside the norm.
I am not a spanking mom. That doesn't mean that I didn't swat little bottoms that ran into traffic or put pennies into electrical outlets, it just meant that I didn't use physical force to drive home a point. As a result, my little ones were relatively unscathed until middle school, when one child decided that homework was for everyone else.
My husband and I strategized how to work this out. We'd supervise his homework in the evenings, disallowing television until homework was done, and when we received the dreaded "progress reports" in the mail, we would ground the little guy until his grades were up again. But we spent 2 1/2 years fighting a battle that was winner-less. Nobody wins when you force a child to do something, and nobody wins when you give up. We were often at our wit's end, trying to figure out how to modify this child's attitudes.
At one point, when John was traveling with work, I was also working outside the home. We had a mailbox that locked, and after work one day, there was a progress report in it, waiting for my attention. I read the report in the kitchen and stomped upstairs to his bedroom.
It didn't help that he was playing video games. It didn't help that he pretended that he didn't know what I was talking about. It didn't help that I was tired after a frustrating day at work and a nasty rush hour drive home. I'd hit my limit.
I spanked that little rear end. After I was finished, I burst into tears, as did both the boys. The dogs were yipping and the birds were fluttering in their cages. It was the apocalypse and I was one of the devils. I don't think I ever hated myself more than I did at that moment.
I apologized to both boys, the dogs and the birds, but I didn't feel any better. When my husband returned from his trip out of state, I told him what I'd done, and I don't know who frustrated him more, his wife or his son. But I finally had my awakening.
Spanking isn't a solution for teaching a child about personal responsibility. Making the child aware of the consequences of personal failures only happens when the child has to live with his failure. It took an ego bruising (me) and a bottom bruising (the child) to make this point to both of us.
What I ended up doing was cutting my work hours so that I had Wednesdays and Fridays off. Wednesdays I'd catch up on household duties and Fridays were for the boys. Both were in middle school, so when I started appearing in the principal's office lobby every Friday afternoon, it was truly a statement. While one boy was dashing into the library to get some reference material, the other boy would be sauntering down the hall with his buds. The first time he saw me there, he had a look of utter disbelief on his face.
We ended up making Fridays school visit day. I'd meet with our little rebel's instructors to catch up on how he was doing with his homework, and the little rebel had to deal with the fact that Mom wasn't going to just let him go down without a fight. I'm sure it embarrassed him to see his Mom there every Friday for the remainder of the school year, but by the time he hit high school, my little dilettante was a changed man. Homework was done promptly and almost always handed in on time. The few times he'd forget, I'd let it pass.
I wouldn't want to relive this period for love nor money. But I want to let folks know that kids will rebel in middle school (especially boys) and their grades will suffer as a result. It just wasn't necessary to have all the collateral damage that accompanies a parent's over-reaction for what, as it turns out, is normal behavior.
Hang in there.
It drove John and me crazy that one of our children just wouldn't do his homework, and when he did, it was iffy whether or not he would hand it in. Being the ultimate in nerds, John and I did nothing but homework the first 30 years of our lives. And we had one boy who LIVED for homework, no kidding! So when the other rebelled, we were shocked. As it turns out, most boys in that age group (10-14) eschew homework. As it happened, it was the child with the work ethic who was outside the norm.
I am not a spanking mom. That doesn't mean that I didn't swat little bottoms that ran into traffic or put pennies into electrical outlets, it just meant that I didn't use physical force to drive home a point. As a result, my little ones were relatively unscathed until middle school, when one child decided that homework was for everyone else.
My husband and I strategized how to work this out. We'd supervise his homework in the evenings, disallowing television until homework was done, and when we received the dreaded "progress reports" in the mail, we would ground the little guy until his grades were up again. But we spent 2 1/2 years fighting a battle that was winner-less. Nobody wins when you force a child to do something, and nobody wins when you give up. We were often at our wit's end, trying to figure out how to modify this child's attitudes.
At one point, when John was traveling with work, I was also working outside the home. We had a mailbox that locked, and after work one day, there was a progress report in it, waiting for my attention. I read the report in the kitchen and stomped upstairs to his bedroom.
It didn't help that he was playing video games. It didn't help that he pretended that he didn't know what I was talking about. It didn't help that I was tired after a frustrating day at work and a nasty rush hour drive home. I'd hit my limit.
I spanked that little rear end. After I was finished, I burst into tears, as did both the boys. The dogs were yipping and the birds were fluttering in their cages. It was the apocalypse and I was one of the devils. I don't think I ever hated myself more than I did at that moment.
I apologized to both boys, the dogs and the birds, but I didn't feel any better. When my husband returned from his trip out of state, I told him what I'd done, and I don't know who frustrated him more, his wife or his son. But I finally had my awakening.
Spanking isn't a solution for teaching a child about personal responsibility. Making the child aware of the consequences of personal failures only happens when the child has to live with his failure. It took an ego bruising (me) and a bottom bruising (the child) to make this point to both of us.
What I ended up doing was cutting my work hours so that I had Wednesdays and Fridays off. Wednesdays I'd catch up on household duties and Fridays were for the boys. Both were in middle school, so when I started appearing in the principal's office lobby every Friday afternoon, it was truly a statement. While one boy was dashing into the library to get some reference material, the other boy would be sauntering down the hall with his buds. The first time he saw me there, he had a look of utter disbelief on his face.
We ended up making Fridays school visit day. I'd meet with our little rebel's instructors to catch up on how he was doing with his homework, and the little rebel had to deal with the fact that Mom wasn't going to just let him go down without a fight. I'm sure it embarrassed him to see his Mom there every Friday for the remainder of the school year, but by the time he hit high school, my little dilettante was a changed man. Homework was done promptly and almost always handed in on time. The few times he'd forget, I'd let it pass.
I wouldn't want to relive this period for love nor money. But I want to let folks know that kids will rebel in middle school (especially boys) and their grades will suffer as a result. It just wasn't necessary to have all the collateral damage that accompanies a parent's over-reaction for what, as it turns out, is normal behavior.
Hang in there.
Homework: From the Trenches
Millie writes:
You want homework? Six kids: two college graduates, one still in college, one taking Army classes and two still in high school. I gotcher homework right here.
We have seen a lot of assignments come and go, and we've learned a few unusual truths about homework:
1. Boys will be boys. This means that most of them will not do homework until they are juniors in high school. I don't know why not and neither do they. Perhaps it's a testosterone thing. One of our boys was too cool, one was too distractable, one was offended by homework on a cellular level and one smiled and agreed to everything and then just didn't do it. I don't know what it is about being 16 or 17 that makes the kid catch fire, either, but so far that has always been the year for boys in our house to suddenly take school seriously. Our youngest started his junior year yesterday, so . . . I'll let you know.
2. Girls will be girls. This means that even if they hate homework with the white-hot heat of a thousand suns (which, who doesn't?), they will usually do it because someone told them to do it. Girls figure out early on that teachers are people who are already exasperated because there are so many boys in their classes, so girls can expend minimal effort on the homework and still shine by comparison as long as they hand it in. Of course, sometimes handing it in is the stumbling block. I will never understand how I can sit on top of a kid and make sure the homework gets done only to find it at the end of the quarter crumpled up in the bottom of the backpack, never having been seen by the teacher.
3. Teachers will be teachers. Frankly, many of them give homework just because they think they are supposed to. In some cases it reinforces what the kids are learning in class (math, vocabulary) and in some cases it teaches a skill that it takes a lot of practice to master (research, violin practice). In most cases? It's a waste of time. And teachers – I am not your student. Don't even think about giving me homework. (Those of you with children in school know exactly what I'm talking about with this one.)
4. Parents should be parents. Up until about middle school age, we can and should ride the kid about homework but after that point, if you are checking in with your child AND his teachers AND his adviser every single day about his homework – your child is not learning responsibility, you are. We learned the hard way that this is one area where we must butt out sooner rather than later and let the chips fall where they may. We're tempted to stand between our kid and the consequences of his action or (more commonly in this case) inaction – which is why he knows he can get away with never doing any homework. This being said, I do still ask if homework and chores are done before any playing around commences.
In the single-digit grades, we had a set homework time when everybody worked together around the dining-room table and there was always an adult nearby to help. Even if they didn't have homework, they had to read quietly during this time so they didn't bother anyone else. This had three benefits; it made them less likely to play the “I don't have homework today, Mommy!” card and head for the playground, it kept them reading, and it acted as a “place holder” to keep that time as Homework Time. If you do this you must be adamant about no phone calls, no chatter and no distraction, but it needn't be the Gulag Hour either; have a nice (non-smeary) snack available and set the kitchen timer so they know it will end eventually.
Suggestions:
1. Teach your kid to type. Some schools and community centers have keyboarding classes, or you can buy typing tutor programs for any computer. By the time a child is in the eighth grade he will be writing papers and reports, and it will all go so much more quickly if he can touch-type; not to mention the legibility factor.
2. Make sure your kid has his own desk. It should be in a quiet area with sufficient light for reading. He also needs access to research materials and supplies like paper, pencils and scissors. By the time he is in high school he should also have access to the Internet, even if he has to go to the library for it.
3. When older kids say that the screeching loud music helps them concentrate better, they actually mean it. Let 'em wear headphones to spare the rest of you.
4. If your kid is knocking his head against a concept he's just not getting, let him quit after a while. Too much frustration is going to set him against the subject forever. Follow up with his teacher by email, if necessary, and see if there's another approach that will make more sense to your child.
5. I don't care if everyone else in the TAG program is making nuclear fission for the Science Fair and your kid is taking in a cup of mud – don't do his homework FOR him. You'd think that would be obvious, wouldn't you? You would be wrong; sometimes it's almost irresistible.
6. Try not to sweat it too much. This is your kid's fight, not yours. You've already passed the seventh grade.
You want homework? Six kids: two college graduates, one still in college, one taking Army classes and two still in high school. I gotcher homework right here.
We have seen a lot of assignments come and go, and we've learned a few unusual truths about homework:
1. Boys will be boys. This means that most of them will not do homework until they are juniors in high school. I don't know why not and neither do they. Perhaps it's a testosterone thing. One of our boys was too cool, one was too distractable, one was offended by homework on a cellular level and one smiled and agreed to everything and then just didn't do it. I don't know what it is about being 16 or 17 that makes the kid catch fire, either, but so far that has always been the year for boys in our house to suddenly take school seriously. Our youngest started his junior year yesterday, so . . . I'll let you know.
2. Girls will be girls. This means that even if they hate homework with the white-hot heat of a thousand suns (which, who doesn't?), they will usually do it because someone told them to do it. Girls figure out early on that teachers are people who are already exasperated because there are so many boys in their classes, so girls can expend minimal effort on the homework and still shine by comparison as long as they hand it in. Of course, sometimes handing it in is the stumbling block. I will never understand how I can sit on top of a kid and make sure the homework gets done only to find it at the end of the quarter crumpled up in the bottom of the backpack, never having been seen by the teacher.
3. Teachers will be teachers. Frankly, many of them give homework just because they think they are supposed to. In some cases it reinforces what the kids are learning in class (math, vocabulary) and in some cases it teaches a skill that it takes a lot of practice to master (research, violin practice). In most cases? It's a waste of time. And teachers – I am not your student. Don't even think about giving me homework. (Those of you with children in school know exactly what I'm talking about with this one.)
4. Parents should be parents. Up until about middle school age, we can and should ride the kid about homework but after that point, if you are checking in with your child AND his teachers AND his adviser every single day about his homework – your child is not learning responsibility, you are. We learned the hard way that this is one area where we must butt out sooner rather than later and let the chips fall where they may. We're tempted to stand between our kid and the consequences of his action or (more commonly in this case) inaction – which is why he knows he can get away with never doing any homework. This being said, I do still ask if homework and chores are done before any playing around commences.
In the single-digit grades, we had a set homework time when everybody worked together around the dining-room table and there was always an adult nearby to help. Even if they didn't have homework, they had to read quietly during this time so they didn't bother anyone else. This had three benefits; it made them less likely to play the “I don't have homework today, Mommy!” card and head for the playground, it kept them reading, and it acted as a “place holder” to keep that time as Homework Time. If you do this you must be adamant about no phone calls, no chatter and no distraction, but it needn't be the Gulag Hour either; have a nice (non-smeary) snack available and set the kitchen timer so they know it will end eventually.
Suggestions:
1. Teach your kid to type. Some schools and community centers have keyboarding classes, or you can buy typing tutor programs for any computer. By the time a child is in the eighth grade he will be writing papers and reports, and it will all go so much more quickly if he can touch-type; not to mention the legibility factor.
2. Make sure your kid has his own desk. It should be in a quiet area with sufficient light for reading. He also needs access to research materials and supplies like paper, pencils and scissors. By the time he is in high school he should also have access to the Internet, even if he has to go to the library for it.
3. When older kids say that the screeching loud music helps them concentrate better, they actually mean it. Let 'em wear headphones to spare the rest of you.
4. If your kid is knocking his head against a concept he's just not getting, let him quit after a while. Too much frustration is going to set him against the subject forever. Follow up with his teacher by email, if necessary, and see if there's another approach that will make more sense to your child.
5. I don't care if everyone else in the TAG program is making nuclear fission for the Science Fair and your kid is taking in a cup of mud – don't do his homework FOR him. You'd think that would be obvious, wouldn't you? You would be wrong; sometimes it's almost irresistible.
6. Try not to sweat it too much. This is your kid's fight, not yours. You've already passed the seventh grade.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Homework
Mollie writes:
I'm so glad my kids are grown. In the 90's 'back to school' week was a roller coaster ride for all of us. It meant that the kids were back in school, so I could shovel out their bedrooms and disinfect their closets. I could get the family on a more regular schedule. Our schedules got busier, but it was an organized busy, with nobody complaining for the next nine months how BORED they were.
With the start of the school year, and our kids in public schools, it also meant more exposure to the rest of the world. Grade school wasn't too bad. The girls generally seemed to grow faster than the boys, which was fine with this mother of two boys. But middle school was a whole other critter.
In middle school, some of the boys returned to school with long hair, no hair, green hair, or split-level mohawks. My kids were still at the buzz cut stage when our oldest entered middle school, but by the end of the year, he was positively hirsute. Some of his friends were still playing with toy cars and some were itching to drive a real one. The whole speed of maturation was uneven. But I still had the younger one all clean and tidy, looking smart. So it wasn't too bad.
Until high school -
Mine would go back to school and find that their friends were tattooed, pierced, or otherwise more mature, while my boys were sure they had spent the summer stagnating. Forget the computer programming classes and/or the anime classes, the concept of body art was a big deal in high school, as was who drove to school, who was driven to school, and worst of the worst, who rode the bus.
It wasn't just the hair and body image issues that came up after elementary school, but the whole issue of academics. I have a BS; my husband ended up with a PhD. As a result, we figured that the kids should at least do their homework on time. But there is this magic that happens during middle school - the kids discover who they really are, and it doesn't necessarily mean that they are scholars.
One of my boys was in the district talented and gifted program (TAG), the other wasn't. One got straight A's, the other often coasted through school by the skin of his teeth. And if you think it was the TAG kid who got the A's, forget it. It was our "mediocre" child, the one with the work ethic, who ended up with the highest grades. The gifted child just wasn't into academics, he was into his social life.
The TAG kid had a certain disdain for homework. When his brother was burning up the PC with homework projects, the other managed to keep in touch with his buds between theater, music, TAG enrichment programs and Godzilla movies. And while the "mediocre" kid with the work ethic handed in his homework perfectly finished and on time, the TAG kid was lucky if he managed to do his homework, let alone hand it in and almost never on time.
It came to a head when the TAG kid was twelve. I got mid-term reports and learned that Mr. Work Ethic was a joy to teach and an inspiration to all, while the gifted child, who always showed up at school, mind you, never managed to turn in his homework. It just settled in the bottom of his back pack with the candy wrappers, school bulletins and other minutiae of middle school life.
My husband and I got to the point where we'd sit at the kitchen table with him while he did his homework, and then watch him place it in a Pee Chee (how DO you spell that?). The following day, one of us would frisk his backpack, making sure the homework was handed in. It was a good short term solution, but didn't address the underlying problem, personal responsibility.
I plan on writing more tomorrow, sort of another "Part Deux" again, that rehashes how we handled this problem. I wasn't a perfect parent, and I need to muster up enough chutzpah to admit spanking my child. But just acknowledging that schooling was a constant dynamic in our household and owning my mistakes is enough for now.
Tune in tomorrow!
I'm so glad my kids are grown. In the 90's 'back to school' week was a roller coaster ride for all of us. It meant that the kids were back in school, so I could shovel out their bedrooms and disinfect their closets. I could get the family on a more regular schedule. Our schedules got busier, but it was an organized busy, with nobody complaining for the next nine months how BORED they were.
With the start of the school year, and our kids in public schools, it also meant more exposure to the rest of the world. Grade school wasn't too bad. The girls generally seemed to grow faster than the boys, which was fine with this mother of two boys. But middle school was a whole other critter.
In middle school, some of the boys returned to school with long hair, no hair, green hair, or split-level mohawks. My kids were still at the buzz cut stage when our oldest entered middle school, but by the end of the year, he was positively hirsute. Some of his friends were still playing with toy cars and some were itching to drive a real one. The whole speed of maturation was uneven. But I still had the younger one all clean and tidy, looking smart. So it wasn't too bad.
Until high school -
Mine would go back to school and find that their friends were tattooed, pierced, or otherwise more mature, while my boys were sure they had spent the summer stagnating. Forget the computer programming classes and/or the anime classes, the concept of body art was a big deal in high school, as was who drove to school, who was driven to school, and worst of the worst, who rode the bus.
It wasn't just the hair and body image issues that came up after elementary school, but the whole issue of academics. I have a BS; my husband ended up with a PhD. As a result, we figured that the kids should at least do their homework on time. But there is this magic that happens during middle school - the kids discover who they really are, and it doesn't necessarily mean that they are scholars.
One of my boys was in the district talented and gifted program (TAG), the other wasn't. One got straight A's, the other often coasted through school by the skin of his teeth. And if you think it was the TAG kid who got the A's, forget it. It was our "mediocre" child, the one with the work ethic, who ended up with the highest grades. The gifted child just wasn't into academics, he was into his social life.
The TAG kid had a certain disdain for homework. When his brother was burning up the PC with homework projects, the other managed to keep in touch with his buds between theater, music, TAG enrichment programs and Godzilla movies. And while the "mediocre" kid with the work ethic handed in his homework perfectly finished and on time, the TAG kid was lucky if he managed to do his homework, let alone hand it in and almost never on time.
It came to a head when the TAG kid was twelve. I got mid-term reports and learned that Mr. Work Ethic was a joy to teach and an inspiration to all, while the gifted child, who always showed up at school, mind you, never managed to turn in his homework. It just settled in the bottom of his back pack with the candy wrappers, school bulletins and other minutiae of middle school life.
My husband and I got to the point where we'd sit at the kitchen table with him while he did his homework, and then watch him place it in a Pee Chee (how DO you spell that?). The following day, one of us would frisk his backpack, making sure the homework was handed in. It was a good short term solution, but didn't address the underlying problem, personal responsibility.
I plan on writing more tomorrow, sort of another "Part Deux" again, that rehashes how we handled this problem. I wasn't a perfect parent, and I need to muster up enough chutzpah to admit spanking my child. But just acknowledging that schooling was a constant dynamic in our household and owning my mistakes is enough for now.
Tune in tomorrow!
Friday, September 3, 2010
I’m Just a Housewife.
The Internet is a strange and wonderful place. Today I reconnected with my best friend from Junior High, to whom I haven’t spoken in more than 30 years. We were thick as thieves, we were alike as two peas in a pod, we were – well, we were probably terrible when we were together, both of us sarcastic with sharp tongues and sharper wits. He was a year younger than I and, as often happens, we drifted apart when I hit high school.
It’s always so awkward for me, meeting up again with someone who knew me when I was a teenager or a young woman. I was one of Those Girls, whip-smart and competent, cute (but didn’t know it) and capable, someone who was obviously Going Places. Where I was going, it turned out, was to fulfill my cherished dream of being a housewife and a mother – something you absolutely DID NOT ADMIT in those days – or on any day since about 1963.
True-life example: when Joy was in first grade her school librarian asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up and Joy chirped, “A housewife!” The librarian snorted, “No, you don’t!” – even though I was standing right there. Being a housewife is no longer something to which girls are encouraged to aspire, nor in which women are encouraged to take pride – people think it’s something you fall into because you’re too lazy to make any better choices.
“You have SIX kids? Wow.” That’s usually the first thing people say, and frankly I don’t blame them. It’s not like we’re members of an organized religion that encourages large families, and the Duggars beat us to the TV contract - we just love kids. It’s not an, “Oh, how exciting!” wow, either; it’s a wow that assumes we’re either welfare cheats or too stupid to use birth control correctly. Maybe I should change my Facebook status permanently to, “That’s right – I dropped out of college, had a bunch of kids and stay home all day. Oh, and I got fat, too. By the way, your tax dollars are supporting my extravagant lifestyle! Have a nice day!”
And yet – our children are (or are becoming) intelligent, compassionate, responsible adults who can take care of themselves. We had to choose between a six million dollar mansion and six kids; we chose the kids and have never looked back. We chose family campouts over trips to Europe, Back-to-School Nights over candlelit dinners and new bikes over new cars. Thing is, we are pretty sure that WE got the better end of those bargains.
I get hugs around my neck instead of diamonds. I don’t put out corporate fires, but I am there to give comfort and advice when someone has a lousy day slinging coffee or gets a C on a German test. The closest we will probably ever get to having a convertible was that time when the headliner in the minivan came off, but the boys sing barbershop harmony when we’re all in the car. None of this is anything I can brag about at my 35th high school reunion . . .
. . . but I am very proud that I am just a housewife.
Mollie writes:
I was 29 when I had my first child, and knew I was ready to be a mom. Although I wasn't exactly sure how we would spend the next 20 years, both John and I were ready to make the innocent children we brought into life our first priority.
I was pretty sure that I wanted to be a mother at home the first few years, and quit my job when I was six months pregnant. Both John and I were certain we could survive with only one parent working (John was both a full-time engineer with a public utility as well as a naval reservist). But I also knew that if need be, I could return to work.
This decision was faced with a certain rudeness and derision in 1981. People worried that I'd get bored staying home with kids (try explaining boredom to a woman with a baby in a NICU or a 10 month old in an ambulance with status epilepticus. I pray that all mothers enjoy at least a bit of boredom in the early years - it sure beats the alternative drama and hysteria I faced early on.
There was also an overabundance of materialism to go with that narcissism. I was teased about my used station wagon (so and so has a BMW, etc) my tract home in Gresham, and the minutiae of daily life with pre-schoolers and a husband who traveled (how do I keep my brain active?). I usually chose to ignore it.
Some of my friends and family were insensitive enough to say this in front of my children and/or their own children! Imagine the psychological battery a young soul experiences when told that their parents found the boredom of parenting them insurmountable! I still believe that the seeds we planted in the 70's and 80's grew to the monster we experience now in the form of lack of empathy towards children and each other.
When people ask me to describe myself, I still say I'm a mother first, then I list my other callings (wife, sister, etc). What I want to stress is that always, family relations came first. Eventually, I remember that I have other talents, but family management is always first.
I still see my relationship with my children as a critical role, even though they are adults and completely independent. If, and when, I'm fortunate enough to be a grammy, I hope these little ones know that I find them exciting, stimulating, adorable and entirely worth while.
I'm pretty sure they know I'll never cure cancer or bring peace to the Middle East. But, sadly, no one else has either. Meanwhile, I have the comfort of knowing I raised two lovely children to adulthood.
It’s always so awkward for me, meeting up again with someone who knew me when I was a teenager or a young woman. I was one of Those Girls, whip-smart and competent, cute (but didn’t know it) and capable, someone who was obviously Going Places. Where I was going, it turned out, was to fulfill my cherished dream of being a housewife and a mother – something you absolutely DID NOT ADMIT in those days – or on any day since about 1963.
True-life example: when Joy was in first grade her school librarian asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up and Joy chirped, “A housewife!” The librarian snorted, “No, you don’t!” – even though I was standing right there. Being a housewife is no longer something to which girls are encouraged to aspire, nor in which women are encouraged to take pride – people think it’s something you fall into because you’re too lazy to make any better choices.
“You have SIX kids? Wow.” That’s usually the first thing people say, and frankly I don’t blame them. It’s not like we’re members of an organized religion that encourages large families, and the Duggars beat us to the TV contract - we just love kids. It’s not an, “Oh, how exciting!” wow, either; it’s a wow that assumes we’re either welfare cheats or too stupid to use birth control correctly. Maybe I should change my Facebook status permanently to, “That’s right – I dropped out of college, had a bunch of kids and stay home all day. Oh, and I got fat, too. By the way, your tax dollars are supporting my extravagant lifestyle! Have a nice day!”
And yet – our children are (or are becoming) intelligent, compassionate, responsible adults who can take care of themselves. We had to choose between a six million dollar mansion and six kids; we chose the kids and have never looked back. We chose family campouts over trips to Europe, Back-to-School Nights over candlelit dinners and new bikes over new cars. Thing is, we are pretty sure that WE got the better end of those bargains.
I get hugs around my neck instead of diamonds. I don’t put out corporate fires, but I am there to give comfort and advice when someone has a lousy day slinging coffee or gets a C on a German test. The closest we will probably ever get to having a convertible was that time when the headliner in the minivan came off, but the boys sing barbershop harmony when we’re all in the car. None of this is anything I can brag about at my 35th high school reunion . . .
. . . but I am very proud that I am just a housewife.
Mollie writes:
I was 29 when I had my first child, and knew I was ready to be a mom. Although I wasn't exactly sure how we would spend the next 20 years, both John and I were ready to make the innocent children we brought into life our first priority.
I was pretty sure that I wanted to be a mother at home the first few years, and quit my job when I was six months pregnant. Both John and I were certain we could survive with only one parent working (John was both a full-time engineer with a public utility as well as a naval reservist). But I also knew that if need be, I could return to work.
This decision was faced with a certain rudeness and derision in 1981. People worried that I'd get bored staying home with kids (try explaining boredom to a woman with a baby in a NICU or a 10 month old in an ambulance with status epilepticus. I pray that all mothers enjoy at least a bit of boredom in the early years - it sure beats the alternative drama and hysteria I faced early on.
There was also an overabundance of materialism to go with that narcissism. I was teased about my used station wagon (so and so has a BMW, etc) my tract home in Gresham, and the minutiae of daily life with pre-schoolers and a husband who traveled (how do I keep my brain active?). I usually chose to ignore it.
Some of my friends and family were insensitive enough to say this in front of my children and/or their own children! Imagine the psychological battery a young soul experiences when told that their parents found the boredom of parenting them insurmountable! I still believe that the seeds we planted in the 70's and 80's grew to the monster we experience now in the form of lack of empathy towards children and each other.
When people ask me to describe myself, I still say I'm a mother first, then I list my other callings (wife, sister, etc). What I want to stress is that always, family relations came first. Eventually, I remember that I have other talents, but family management is always first.
I still see my relationship with my children as a critical role, even though they are adults and completely independent. If, and when, I'm fortunate enough to be a grammy, I hope these little ones know that I find them exciting, stimulating, adorable and entirely worth while.
I'm pretty sure they know I'll never cure cancer or bring peace to the Middle East. But, sadly, no one else has either. Meanwhile, I have the comfort of knowing I raised two lovely children to adulthood.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
GROUP HEALTH, CAREMARK CVS, AND MOI
What may have started out as a simple communication problem will now turn into a major storm. We shall call her Hurricane Mollie.
My amprya prescription is all gone on Tuesday, September 7th. Ampyra is a new drug approved by the FDA for persons with MS who have trouble walking. Ampyra helps some of us, including me. So after working tirelessly with Caremark, Group Health and my neurologist, and hitting a lot of brick walls, I finally got the rx approved for benefits last month. I've been taking ampyra for almost 4 weeks now and am actually noticing some improvement. And, just yesterday, my hair stylist made the observation that my walking had improved; and Andrea didn't even know I'd started the drug!
A brief recap: Ampyra is a new drug approved by the FDA and is on the formulary list with my Health Benefits provider, Group Health. Group Health has contracted to provide formulary mail order prescriptions with Caremark CVS, a third party. I had to jump through hoops and hold hands at Group Health and Caremark to get the prescription filled in the first place, but my neurologist did write the script for the drug, with permission for three refills. And, after a lot of negotiating with both parties and my neurologist, I finally was able to fill the prescription. But it wasn't easy, and took the patience of Job to lead both corporate professionals to do their jobs.
(note to reader: a formulary drug is a new drug recently approved by the FDA that is really, really expensive)
Mistake #1
(note to reader: a formulary drug is a new drug recently approved by the FDA that is really, really expensive)
Mistake #1
So, it's 3 1/2 weeks later and I need my refill. Ampyra isn't the kind of drug you stop cold turkey, I guess you have to taper off. How, I don't know, not being a "medical professional." I called Caremark to find out the status of my refill request and was told that it was in a holding pattern until Group Health gave the go ahead to refill. They told me to contact Group Health.
Mistake #2
Today is September 2, 2010, and there are only 3 days left to get the rx by mail (for those on another planet, like Group Health and Caremark CVS, the USPS doesn't deliver on Sunday or Labor Day). I asked if someone from Caremark CVS had contacted Group Health to let them know that the rx was running out, and they said "No, it was Group Health's responsibility to contact us once we asked for authorization to refill." I asked the person on the other end of the line if they weren't concerned with the medical implications that would ensue if they didn't contact me to tell me of the delay, and they said "No, they have to contact us."
Mistake #3
So I contacted Group Health and asked what the problem was. After being transferred to several extensions, I finally ended up in the Medicaid department (I do have Medicare, but don't have prescription drug coverage since I have it with Group Health . . .) and I was told that Caremark CVS needed to notify them of the problem. When I told her that Caremark CVS told me that they HAD contacted them and had heard nothing, the "medical professional" on the other end of the line said "We have no record of that."
Mistake #4
So I asked the "medical professional" on the other end of the line what to do. She told me to call Caremark CVS and explain the problem and that Caremark would have to make the phone call. I took the phone number and called Caremark CVS.
Mistake #5
Caremark CVS told me that they had needed the authorization for payment (a reasonable response, considering the expense of the prescription), but would not ask AGAIN for authorization to fill (not reasonable IMHO). I was told to call Group Health to expedite the authorization for payment.
(note to self: why do none of the "medical professionals" at Group Health and Caremark CVS know how to pick up a phone and push buttons? They sure knew how to push mine!)
Mistake #6
So I called Group Health and was then told that they had contacted my neurologist for a medical explanation as to why I needed this formulary drug. I reminded them that she'd contacted them last month, when the prescription was initially written, with medical justification for a formulary drug. Nothing had changed, and at that time, she'd authorized 3 refills.
That wasn't good enough. My neurologist, she said, had to do this with every refill. My heart sank, since I knew my neurologist was out of town until next week, and I'd have to bring the neurologist on call up to speed. Sigh.
Well, I'm only human, so I finally asked the Group Health "medical professional" what they advised since my neurologist was out of town, I had no instructions on how to taper off the Ampyra, it would run out Tuesday, and I was ill prepared, as a patient and Group Health member, to figure out what to do.
Mistake #7
She told me to call Caremark CVS.
Are any of you dizzy yet? Is this how "medical professionals act?" When is something a miscommunication, when is it a mistake, when is it malpractice, and when is it negligent homicide?
So I finally called Caremark CVS and spoke with Katrina, the only rational person at either organization. Katrina transferred me to her supervisor who understood the problem and told me he would fix it.
Well, supposedly he has; I can expect to take delivery of my refill on Saturday, they are sending it overnight mail tomorrow. But I'm not believing it until the refill is in my hand.
Why can't "medical professionals" handle problems without involving an ill suffering patient in the equation? Why couldn't any of the Caremark folk transfer my call as Katrina finally did, rather than telling me to contact Group Health? Why didn't Group Health contact their contractor, and find out why they were having problems filling my prescription? Isn't that how it works in the rest of the world?
"Health Care professional" is a euphemism for anything but health. care. professional. I just hope I can get through the MS experience without one of these professionals killing me with their negligence, laziness and inability to care about the patient.
This situation was finally handled by me, not by the "medical professional" community who rake in millions of dollars just to tell the sick patient that health care management is in the hands of idiots who can't (or won't) dial phones.
Addendum:
My ampyra arrived this morning via overnight mail. Now, I only need to know that no other innocent patient is endangered by this horrible "pass the buck" attitude in the health care industry!
This situation was finally handled by me, not by the "medical professional" community who rake in millions of dollars just to tell the sick patient that health care management is in the hands of idiots who can't (or won't) dial phones.
Addendum:
My ampyra arrived this morning via overnight mail. Now, I only need to know that no other innocent patient is endangered by this horrible "pass the buck" attitude in the health care industry!
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