the book thief

Way back in 2006, when I sat down one night to start this blog as the mother of 17-year-month old triplets, I couldn't comprehend just how fitting the title of this blog would become as we ventured in to the realm of parenthood.  But each time I log, I'm reminded...

This is an amazing trip!

We really are navigating life!

We have absolutely no idea what we're doing and we are absolutely figuring it out as we go and fervently praying for the best!

Because I couldn't sleep much on Sunday night, I was out of bed well before the crack of dawn on Monday, and I logged on to Amazon and bought a new Pokemon replacement book for the child on the bus.  (After I took the envelope with the other 50% of the book cost out of the mailbox before it was picked up. At this point, I decided I'd rather just send him a replacement book.)

After paying for expedited shipping so he'd receive it the next day,  I added a gift card that based upon my discussion the previous night with Henry read, "I am sorry that I took your book and told a lie.  I just wanted to read it on the bus because my book was at home.  I didn't want to keep it, but I didn't know how to return it to you and gave it the wrong person. Now it is lost.  Love, Henry."  

I then wrote the family a letter and offered my sincere apology for the anger and hurt that came from this situation.  In closing I told them that hopefully, we can all take the lessons learned from this experience and grow from them.

While I didn't write this in their letter, I can't help but think that if the father had approached Charlie a little differently, and didn't exert such instant hostility that put him on the defense, this whole situation could have been resolved in a healthy and positive way. Although several people, including the bus driver and the front desk staff at the school who know about this saga have said, "There are some very difficult and angry people in the world. Unfortunately, you crossed paths with one of them."

Yes, but I believe in honest communication!

No one likes to be difficult and angry!

Can't every conflict be resolved with successful communication?!

There is way too much fighting in the world. If we want our children to grow in to peaceful people - we must strive to emulate that behavior in every possible situation. In this situation, I owed the family a call on Saturday to tell them what had happened, so it really felt like we were in "crisis" mode and we needed Henry to tell us the truth - immediately.  But now that the dust has settled, here are some of our key observations:

1. If it took the fifth grader two weeks to confess to his parents that his book was gone, why should I expect our first grader to come clean in less than 24-hours?  Telling the truth takes COURAGE, and sometimes, courage takes TIME.

2. While you're waiting for the truth to emerge, patience, kindness and grace are helpful. As are left over Almond Joys from the Halloween stash.

3. It was difficult to decipher what troubled us more ... the reputation that our son may gain as a liar and thief, or the reflection on Charlie and I as deficient parents?  Ouch. Pass the Reese's.

4. While Charlie and I didn't behave ideally, what with us both being the "BAD COP" that destroys our son's Pokemon collection and all, our children should have zero doubt in their minds that we mean business.  While telling the truth is uncomfortable, covering it up with a lie is the absolute WORST thing you can do.  Ah, but guess what?  Once they tell us the truth, we will do whatever we can to support them. The truth really does set you free!

When the children woke up, I told them I am so thankful for mistakes - because without them - we would have so little opportunity to learn and improve. I also reminded them how lucky they are to be a part of this family, because we make so many mistakes, they're surely well on their way to becoming some of the wisest kids around. Charlie and I certainly feel a lot more wise after this incident.

Or at least, we both have quite a bit more white hair.

the pokemon nightmare

A few months ago, we were over at some friend's home and once we arrived back at our house, we found that Henry had taken with him a small dinosaur that he had been playing with, which belonged to his friend.  I immediately talked to Henry about how it is WRONG to take things that don't belong to you, and then I wrote to the mother and told her that Henry had taken something that didn't belong to him - and were very sorry and would return the dinosaur post haste.  The mother wrote me back and said, "Eh, our kids don't even like dinosaurs - we have so many toys I'd likely be giving that one to Goodwill, anyway. Henry can keep it."   

My position is that even if they are giving the toys away, Henry CANNOT keep it, because his method of procuring the toy was improper, so the dinosaur was returned the very next time we saw the family.  Even if the boy had told Henry he could have the dinosaur (which Henry says he did), the proper channel would have been for Henry to ask me and the mother if he could have it, and once parentally approved, he could have the toy.  That's how we handle things at our house, and those rules apply outside of our house, as well.  Our kids know this.

Or, at least they've been told this countless times.

A few weeks ago, we were visiting the same family and Henry came home with a Bakagun toy that did not belong to him.  RINSE AND REPEAT the same situation that had happened before, but now I'm really emphasizing to Henry that he cannot take things that do not belong to him and I'm very disappointed that this has happened again, and we must return it ... etc. etc.

I should interject here that ever since school has started, Henry has become obsessed with Pokemon. One afternoon, he came home with a little card that one of the kids on the bus had given to him. Despite my rules of engagement that he cannot have something unless he clears it first with me, there are FOUR kids and quite often I'm not always completely aware of what precisely is going on at any point in time; in retrospect, we should have taken it away from him, completely once we found out.

Soon thereafter, Charlie bought him a pack of his own Pokemon cards and his obsession grew and he soon is talking about trading cards with other kids ... he needs an Ex something or other, yada yada yada.  Recognize please, that I'm totally opposed to all of this card trading stuff because I can see things going south, very quickly.

Nonetheless, nearly three weeks ago, Henry dug in to his piggy bank and took out money to buy a Pokemon book at the school's Book Fair.  Fast forward to this past Friday, Halloween, when the children were getting picked up for school, our bus driver summoned me to talk to him.  As I stepped on the stairs of the bus, he said "Some parents of a boy on the bus have approached me and are very upset because they say that Henry stole their son's Pokemon book two weeks ago.  They are planning to reach out to the school and file a complaint."

My heart sunk because despite my best efforts, I'm raising a pint-sized kleptomaniac.

Also, I knew that Pokemon was bad news!

Why must I always be right?!

We called Henry to the front of the bus and asked him what happened and he looked surprised that we would know anything about this.  Because they had to get off to school, I gave the bus driver our telephone number and asked them to please have the parents call me.   I then called the school and talked to the Assistant Principal (the Numero Uno Disciplinarian at the school) and told her that I'd spoken to the bus driver and was concerned that Henry had taken something that did not belong to him.  I also relayed to her that Henry has had a recent history of "sticky fingers" and taking things that didn't belong to him.

This was the first that the Assistant Principal had heard about any of this - so she asked my permission to talk with Henry and I told her ABSOLUTELY she could talk to him and root out what had happened.  I also told her that I was planning to ask one of the men from our church small group - - who is a police officer on the SWAT team - - to dress in his full gear and come talk to Henry about what can happen if you steal.  Not to mention the stories I'd tell him about prisoners who were once convicted of stealing and would have their hands chopped off!

She laughed and said, "Oh, I wish more parents were like you!" Which made me feel good because we are really trying to be proactive and nip any issue in the bud. 

Friday afternoon, as I was rushing to get ready for a Halloween party for 100 kids that would be descending upon our house in less than 30 minutes ... the parents of the boy with the missing Pokemon book called.   His mother who sounded very cool, appreciated that I passed our number on, and she explained to me that her son - who is in 5th grade - had told her that he had put the book in his backpack and zipped it closed. When he got off the bus at school, his backpack had been opened, and the book was missing.  According to key eye witnesses (including the bus patrol who lives in our neighborhood), Henry was seen holding the book.

I told her that Henry has had an issue with taking things that don't belong to him over the past few months, we're working on it, and I would definitely get to the bottom of what had happened and would call her the next day.  Then we had a Halloween party - and Halloween night - and I was planning how to talk to Henry.  On Saturday morning, I very kindly and patiently called Henry aside and asked him what had happened to the book.

He told me that he found it on the seat and he carried it in to the school and gave it to the Art teacher for them to return to the boy.  Asking him to look me in the eye, I said "Tell me the truth. Did you open the boy's backpack and take the book out?" and he said, "No, I did not."  

I asked, "Are you sure? Because that is what people are saying that you did..." and he kept telling me, "No, I didn't take the book." But then he started to cry and said, "I made a mistake!" So I asked him, "What was your mistake? Did you take the book?" and he said, "No, I didn't take the book, but I'm sorry I stole it and told lies."

None of this made any sense, so I started to get upset because these are some pretty serious allegations and he wasn't being straight with me.

Charlie at some point summoned me to listen to a message from the Assistant Principal who had called the day before (when we were hosting the party) to tell us that she had spoken to both children and Henry went around and around on a wild goose chase in his explanation of what had happened to the book.  Ultimately, Henry had said that he thought that maybe he had the book at home and would check.  When he returns to school this week, he'll either bring the boy's book back, give him his book, or give him the money to buy a new one.

This also made no sense because why would Henry keep the boy's book when he has the same one, already? All the while I'm wondering if the Pokemon book that Henry had bought from the Book Fair was really his, or if he stole the other boy's book and had been passing this one off as his own?!

The triplets are telling us that the book Henry's had in his possession really was is, because they saw him buy it at the Book Fair ... but no one really knows what happened to the boy's book.

As Charlie and I were listening to the message, Henry's eyes had a twinkle in them because this story was NOT THE SAME as the story he had told us.  I told him that we could not believe him if he lied to us, and trust is something that is not easy to repair.  We also explained that while we'd be upset if he took the book, we'd be even more upset if he was lying to us. I sent him to his room and told him to think about what had happen and then come back and tell us the truth.

Twenty minutes later, the truth was still not clear, despite Charlie and I trying to remain as calm and logical as we possibly could.   Around and around we continued to go, the story changing ever so slightly with each reiteration, until we both realized we were getting the run around.  Instantaneous combustion of both parents is extremely rare, but it happened at our house on Saturday morning.

It's bad enough to steal, it's worse to then lie about what had happened.

After listening to him waffle on and on, I'm seeing red as I grab what I think is Henry's treasured Pokemon book and I rip a page out of it, which I then held above a burning candle.  As the page singed, I said to my seven-year-old son much like I would to a hostile enemy under interrogation, "TELL ME THE TRUTH!" 

He cried, his siblings cried, and Charlie rounded up all the Pokemon cards in the house and ripped them in half.  Because we owed the family a phone call and an explanation, we had Henry write an apology note to the boy, which William helped him craft, that said something like, "I'm sorry for stealing your book and telling lies."  I then called the mother and told her that we still couldn't figure out what had happened with the book, but we are so sorry about what had happened, and Henry would be replacing the boy's book.

I told her that according to Henry's story, which never changed despite all of the torment that he endured from us, he found the book on the seat of the bus and he returned it, albeit to the wrong person whose identity kept changing like the wind.  Conclusion #1:  He did not take the book home and it is somewhere at school, unless someone else picked it up and kept it.

The mother softened up a bit and told me that her son reads all the time and sometimes, he leaves books laying around, including on the bus, and this particular book didn't have his name in it (yet).  And right then I had my first twinge of uncertainty because OH MY GOD.

Now Henry's convoluted story all makes sense.

Her son left the book on the seat and Henry picked it up and was trying to do the right thing by returning it, and he gave it the wrong person and we were so angry, that he became intimidated and not even thinking rationally because the situation happened two weeks ago and two weeks to a child is akin to two years.  Details get fuzzy! 

Before all these thoughts were fully straight in my head, we ended our conversation by me telling her that we'd come by the next day and drop off money to replace the missing book.

But that night, as I was having Henry dig money out of his piggybank to replace the book, and my thoughts became more congealed, I was frustrated that it appeared Henry didn't actually steal the book and yet, he was having to replace it in full because the boy had left it behind.  Also, both Charlie and I felt like huge piles of dung because we damaged our son's book and ripped up his playing cards, and psychologically tortured all four of our children over this issue and GREAT PARENTING MOMENT, CHARLIE AND JEN.

WELL DONE!

So my compromise - that Charlie agreed with - is that Henry should pay for 50% of the $9.99 book because it wasn't entirely his fault.

Today, Charlie and Henry took an apology card (which I had Henry re-write to read, "I'm sorry that you lost your book on the bus and I did not give it to the Bus Driver") and $5.00 to the boy's house.  As Charlie stood there making the exchange - the mother said, "Great, this closes the matter." And the boy said, "Yes. But, Henry told me that he would bring me my book tomorrow, or he would give me his book, or he would replace my book in full."  

Charlie looked at the boy and at the mother and said, "From what we understand, Henry did not take the book out of your backpack, but he found it and returned it to someone at school.  If you find your book at school, great. If not, this money will help replace a new version." And then he said to the mother, "Are we good?" and she said, "Yes, we're good" and my husband left.

But then.

Oh, but then.

Less than an hour later, the FATHER of the boy called.  I was out for a walk at the time and missed the whole discussion, but apparently the father ripped in to Charlie and said, "The agreement was that YOUR SON would replace the FULL COST of the book, or give him a new book. YOUR SON, who your wife even said has sticky fingers, STOLE the book and is a THIEF and is LYING about it" and then he ranted and raved and screamed that "THIS IS THE PROBLEM WITH SOCIETY" people aren't held responsible for their actions and then he said more things relating to our son violating the Law of Cub Scouts and how DARE my husband condone this behavior when he is a Cub Scout Leader.

(Apparently the boy with the missing book is a Cub Scout, too.) 

Charlie doesn't get upset too easily, but he said that this guy was totally off the handle and these were fighting words.  He took a few deep breaths before responding, "I'm sorry, but we're talking about children and a children's book, right?"  Then he listened to the man berate him a bit more and say he'd be filing a complaint with the Principal, and then the other father slammed down the phone.

When I came home from my peaceful walk where I was channeling Love and Peace and could see real angels in the clouds above me, Charlie met me before I could even get in to the house and told me that the father called and it wasn't nice.  He said that if the man had been standing in front of him, there might have been punches thrown. But he was proud of himself for handling it so well and not calling the man vulgar names. Then he told me about what had happened and said he'd be handling it from this point on, because he was The Man of The House and this was a Man Matter.

Except, I'm a woman that works in a man's world and he should know better than to tell me anything about accusations where we are in any way blamed for THE PROBLEMS WITH SOCIETY. 

So I semi-flipped out and called the family back and when the mother answered the phone, I told her who I was (again), and I was calling to address some of the allegations that her husband had just raised with my husband.  She could either let me talk to her husband directly, so I could set the record straight, or she and I could try to work this out like rational women.  She opted for the latter which was nice because I might now be in jail, or in the morgue.

In a not so calm tone, I explained to her that we interrogated our son like a hostile enemy the day before and the only reason we didn't give her son Henry's book is because we had torn a page out of it and BURNED it in front of him, as we demanded he tell us the truth.  If after all of that, he still tells us that he found the book on the bus - we need to either believe him, or worry that we're raising a pathological liar.

Not to mention, she told me that her son had left things before, including books on the bus, and perhaps the reason THIS book was lost is because he had not put his name in it?  Then I bellowed on that the problems with society are PARENTS who do not realize they are dealing with CHILDREN and perhaps some KINDNESS AND GRACE are in order because we are, after all, supposed to be their ROLE MODELS.

(Yes, Yes, Yes. I recognize I wasn't being the best role model burning pages out of my son's Pokemon book and causing him psychological trauma ... or in that exact moment, when I should have borrowed from Charlie's Play Book and just let the situation dissipate while I focused on my breathing ... but I'm ridiculously human and I've got many, many more flaws than Charlie.)

She responded that her husband had reacted so angrily, because he felt that Charlie was calling her son a liar that he had left the book on the bus, as opposed to it being stolen.  I calmed down in that moment, because no ... we're not calling her son a liar. We're saying that there was definitely a mix-up and we do not think that Henry maliciously stole the boy's book.  She then went on to tell me that this wasn't the first time that Henry took something of her son's that didn't belong to him and WHOA.

What?!

She explained that Henry had taken her son's Pokemon toy that had been nestled in his water bottle mesh pocket and when the boy realized it was gone, and asked for it back, Henry returned it the next day.  My head started swirling and the mother, who was now crying said, "I can't tell other people how to parent their children...." and I said, "That's too bad because I'd love to hear your input on this matter..." but then she said she had to go and promptly hung up.

So....

I told Charlie the newest twist to this saga and we immediately retrieved Henry who was outside playing. We're both feeling physically sick about the whole situation, as we ask our son about the toy that the boy has told his parents, Henry ALSO stole.  But Henry tells us that the boy had let him play with his toy and he didn't take it without asking, also - he returned it.  

OK, who to believe?  

Now I'm in tears as I sit down and write the mother a note and tell her how sorry I am that this has happened and all any of us want to do is raise children to be honest, responsible and kind adults. I also tell her that while the full truth continues to elude us, I pray that these challenges will make all of us stronger.  I've slipped the other 50% of the book cost in to the envelope and tell her that I want for this money to go towards the book replacement fund.

The envelope is addressed, stamped and mailed.

Tonight after our Sunday night small group where we divulge to our group what has happened, and people are nearly laying hands on us as everyone prays for clarity and wisdom and patience after this situation (and that at some point in life, I will learn to keep my mouth shut) ... Charlie and I pull Henry aside, yet one more time, and as kindly as possible, explain to him what has happened.  How one family is saying one thing and defending their son, and we are saying another thing and defending our son and how there can only be ONE TRUTH as to what happened and we are heartbroken that we cannot find the truth and there has been so much hurt over something as simple as a book.  We tell our son that we will always love him, but he has to tell us the truth. 

Just then Henry starts to cry and says, "Yes, I took the book from his backpack."  Soon the story would unravel that he took the boy's book from his backpack because his copy was at home - and he just wanted to look at it and then give it back. Except, the boy got off the bus before he could give it back and by the time he walked in to the school to return it, he couldn't go to the fifth grade floor, so he asked the Art teacher (who he passed on the way to his 1st grade class) where it should go and the Art teacher told him that he didn't know who it belonged to (Henry didn't know the boy's last name), so instead, the Art teacher pointed out a 6th grader that could take it to Lost and Found on the 5th/6th grade floor.  But since the boy's name wasn't on the book, it has since disappeared in to some black hole at the school.

Conclusion #2:  He took the book from the boy's backpack and he lied about it, which caused major trouble for two families.

I'm not entirely convinced we're raising a pathological liar / kleptomaniac ... rather, just a seven-year-old boy whose "wants" inconveniently  get in the way of any common sense or boundaries which are not yet fully developed.  Charlie and I will continue to dissect this saga and over-think what we could have done differently (and what to do next) while Henry gets his first taste of being grounded.

With excellent behavior, he'll be up for his first parole hearing by Thanksgiving.

back-up vocals

We listen to music all the time.

Pandora is constantly playing in our kitchen and my favorite channel, as of late, is Loggins and Messina.  Here's a little bit of fun trivia: almost thirty years ago, when Charlie was living in Santa Barbara and wrapping up his senior year in high school, he actually volunteered with Jim Messina at his sound studio in Carpinteria. That experience lasted for six months, until Charlie told Mr. Messina that he thought he should be compensated for his efforts and Mr. Messina laughed. That exchange is what promptly led to the end of my husband's dream of pursuing a career in the music industry, and the dawn of his career as a short order cook at a burger joint near the beach.

These days, my favorite song is "Danny's Song."  Whenever I hear it come on, Charlie will remind us that he once worked with Jim Messina until I shush everyone within a 200-foot radius and belt out the words in my most soulful rendition.

As it would turn out, Henry's also very partial to "Danny's Song." Tonight, after the kids had been in bed for more than an hour, it came on Pandora.  And as I stood singing along, feeling each word with every ounce of my being, I sensed that I had company.  I opened my eyes and there was Henry, holding a whisk and clearly singing with his eyes closed, "... and even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey!" 



Everything will bring a chain of love. 

Love.

Love.

Love.  

when you're a kid at heart

Every afternoon that we are home and it isn't raining, within 20 minutes of the children arriving back from school, several neighborhood kids have descended upon our yard.  This big pack of children numbering nearly 10 or more, will run around the house, down to the creek, up and down the hill in the back, and jump on bikes and scooters and do laps around the driveway.



At some point, Charlie and I usually challenge them to a game of kickball and the kids quickly divide in to teams.  It once was that they objected to Charlie and I playing on the same team because we'd tend to DOMINATE and the poor children couldn't keep up.   But within the past month, these kids have become so unbelievably good and fast, and work so well together, it's Charlie and I who are now struggling to keep up with them.







The smack talking that we were doling out, is now coming back out at us.  "Hey Mom and Dad, you better run hard because we'll take you down like an elevator." 

Kickball!



This is serious business. 









We even have a referee...



Who sometimes serves as a counselor when a play doesn't go as expected.



It's an exhausting job.



GET ON YOUR FEET, GRACIE!



These moments, running around in the front yard playing a raucous game of kickball with our children plus several neighborhood kids, are quite possibly my favorite parenting experiences thus far.  We run hard, we play hard, we load them up on lemonade, and Charlie and I laugh like we're 10-years-old wondering aloud how bad it'll hurt us to walk the next day?





If you have kids - and even if you don't - go round up a bunch and play some kickball.

It'll be the most fun you've had in a long time.  Guaranteed.   

leaf tag

The object of this highly sophisticated game is to grab a leaf before it hits the ground...



If the playing field is any indication, they've missed a few.

it happens

One day last week, the fourth grade classes of several elementary schools in the region, attended the symphony at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.   It was a big deal for the children and the schools encouraged that everyone should dress up and try to look their best.  For our girls, that meant wearing dresses and their new boots.  For William it meant wearing his father's tie,  because his tie was too small.  I tried to dissuade him because it nearly came down to his knees, but he had his mind made up and so it came to be. When I spoke with my mother the night before this big event, I promised her that I'd take a picture of the kids dressed up and post it on the blog for her to see.

This is for you, Mom.

As is often the case in the morning, we were running late on the day of the symphony.  So Charlie was preparing to drive the kids to the bus stop, because we didn't want to take a chance we'd miss the bus - and it was starting to drizzle and heavy rain clouds were quickly moving in.  I'd almost forgotten that I'd promised to take a photo so as the kids were running out the door, I had them turn around and quickly pose for a picture.  I didn't realize that I'd captured what transpired in those next few moments, until I'm looking at the photos now...

Here, William realizes that he just stepped in something as Elizabeth and Henry look on with interest...



"Something" that we would quickly discover was a "gift" that Louie covertly left on the walkway because children did not take him for a long enough walk earlier that morning...



Here, Carolyn is graciously pointing out that she would not be sitting next to William.



This just goes to show that even on our best days...

We can still sometimes manage to step in it.

... and then they were ten

Did I read somewhere that life gets busier as children get older?

I'm pretty sure that I did.  

I think I also read that the busier the life of a child gets, the more wiped out the parents feel.  That would certainly explain why Charlie and I have been going to bed by 10:30 every night and when we wake up at 6:30 (or 7:30 when we totally oversleep at least four times a week), we both say that we're so tired it hurts to move. 

This morning as we laid in bed wondering who was going to make the first move and get up, the thought crossed both of our minds that maybe we have mono, or lyme disease. Is it possible that those ailments could strike both of us ... at the same time? 

OK, so relatively speaking, we're not "that" busy. We know families who have something going on every day - including weekends - whereas we've squeezed most of our events in to three days, that only meet once every two weeks. So one week - we're running from one thing to the next, and the next week - we're chasing kids down and having them finish their homework and rid their backpacks of random debris and small organic life forms ... approximately three hours earlier than we do on those days when we have things happening after school.  But Charlie and I do both have careers in progress, and bathroom remodels underway, and random domestic things that keep us occupied and make us feel like we're always two steps behind in life.

All the while, our weekends have been intentionally left open and we've avoided weekend sport teams like the plague.  On those blissful nothing-planned-days we go for bike rides, or apple picking, or jump in leaf piles in the backyard.  But only after we get out of our pajamas at 11 AM and rush out of the house in a frenzy because ACK!  We've missed 1/2 the day! Whose idea was it to sit down and read the newspaper or fold laundry?!

Wait. What was the point of this post, again?

See, I'm so easily distracted. Is that a symptom of mono?

Oh yes... our triplets turned 10 on Tuesday!

Double Digits. One Decade. Two Full Hands.

HUGE MILESTONE worthy of a BIG celebration.  Right?



Except ... big celebrations take time to plan.

And we spent the weekend before their birthday camping with the Cub Scouts.



We spent the day before their birthday, organizing their summer and winter clothes, packing things away and pulling things out while lamenting that clothes from last winter were significantly too small for this winter.  After spending several hours at the mall trying to buy them new clothes, I came home and ordered everything online.

(NOTE TO SELF: Do not take your children to the mall clothes shopping.  Lands End online is your friend. Especially when everything is 30% off as it was on Monday.) 

The evening prior to their birthday, after hours at the mall buying clothes that I'm planning to return next week, and another couple hours shopping online buying clothes that we'll actually keep, Charlie and I organized party favors that we'd bring in to their classes the next day.

As I was preparing for bed, it struck me that I hadn't bought them a single birthday present. So in lieu of a genuine present, I printed out pictures of items that I'd like to get them and put the pictures in a card.  The next morning the kids woke up and excitedly said to me, "Mom, can we just open TWO presents?!" and I said, "Uh, unfortunately no because as of right now, we have zero presents for you to open. Unless you count a card with pictures of things I think you might enjoy...?"

They were surprised by my lack of gift inventory, which surprised me because when do they think that I get things done? Do these children not realize that I fall asleep almost the same time that they do and wake up only a few minutes before them ... except for on those days (which constitute more than half the week) when they wake up before me?

As the kids raced out the door to school, yelling behind them that they really want a HOMEMADE MARBLE birthday cake ... I made plans to race off to the store.

My babies are TEN ... this is a big day!

I must bake a birthday cake for the children!

I must get birthday presents for the children! 

I must resist the temptation to just buy just ANYTHING and instead get them THOUGHTFUL gifts that they will use and enjoy and I will not be tempted to pick up and throw away the very next day! 

And, I have approximately seven hours to get it all done.

At 8:30 AM, this seemed like an eternity, so I ate a leisurely breakfast and read the front page of the newspaper. In that time, 45 minutes are gobbled up.  The next hour and 15 minutes are spent tidying up from breakfast, pushing through laundry, and packing the remaining party favors that I'd need to drop off at school.  I went to school and met Charlie who was volunteering for the day as a WATCH D.O.G.S

When my husband had decided the first week of school to volunteer as a "Dads Of Great Students" on the children's birthday - it sounded like an awesome idea. But when the reality struck that the ying to my yang would be totally out of commission and unavailable to help prepare for our children's 10th birthday celebration,  well ... the feeling was akin to crossing the monkey bars with one arm.



Once at school, together Charlie and I handed out party favors to 90 fourth graders, before Charlie informed me that he'd forgotten to pack his own lunch.  So I raced home and packed my husband a lunch and returned it to school. I then departed the school, flying solo, with only three and a half hours to get everything done.

Suppressing the feeling of PANIC, I raced off to one store and found a few good items. Books, wrapping paper, tape.  I raced off to a second store and found a few more good items.  Hiking shoes and a genuine Swiss Army Knife for William.  I raced off to the third store and picked up some craft kits and ingredients to make a marble cake: chocolate and white cake mix.

As I'm pushing my cart to the front of the store, I see that I have 55 minutes to check out, drive home, unpack the car, wrap the birthday presents, and start baking the cake.  I'd like to text Charlie to tell him to stall the kids and take them to a park - but his battery has died and I'm cast in to the dark ages of life without cell phones and ACK!

Directly in front of me in line is a mother with three small children.  She has two babies in the cart, a three-week-old newborn in a carseat within the basket, and a 22-month old toddler in the seat near the handlebar. The newborn is crying - a hungry cry - and the mother is trying to plug a pacifier in her mouth while she navigates her cart through the line with one hand.  Standing next to the cart is another little one, who stuck up her hand to show me pudgy little fingers illustrating she was four years old.

We made small talk, the mother and me.  I told her that she is blessed to have her beautiful children and as cliche as it may sound, we have to try our best to enjoy the time, because it goes past so ridiculously fast.  I then told her that I had triplets who were celebrating their 10th birthday, that very day, and I was at the store picking up supplies to bake their cake. I held up the box of chocolate and white cake mixes along with the 3 - #10 candles and waved them with a smile to demonstrate that I wasn't some crazy liar.

She distractedly made small talk back with me, oohing and aahing WOW triplets! How did I survive? And I joked that triplets were easy ... their LITTLE BROTHER ... was more work than the other three combined.   She oohed and aahed some more at the mention of four children under the age of three and I suddenly bit my tongue hard because:

1. No one who has their hands full wants to hear from someone who had their hands more full, and

2. No one who has their hands full wants to hear from someone who once had their hands full tell them how they are SO BLESSED and they should ENJOY EVERY MINUTE.

At this point, the mother had moved around to the front of the cart and was pulling it through the line (and likely trying to separate herself from the chatty lady who is reflecting on the absolute wonder that is life with babies!), while her toddler - at the other end of the cart - had climbed out of the seat and was precariously leaning over the wailing newborn in the carseat, trying to help her Momma unload groceries. But at 22-months old, her grip wasn't so strong so when she grabbed a bag of apples by the bottom and they ripped open and one nearly fell on her hungry newborn sister, and a half dozen rolled to the far downward sloping corner of the cart, I stepped in to help before the toddler toppled over the side.  Meanwhile, the four-year-old was trying to pull the milk out from beneath the cart and lift it over her head to put it on the conveyor belt.  But since the milk weighed almost half as much as she did, she stumbled backwards in to the magazine rack.

I couldn't help but smile and gently laugh.

Oh, how I fondly remember those days! 

The three-week postpartum mother was beautifully composed and exuding grace and patience, but when the bag of apples ripped open and the four-year-old stepped in to the magazine rack and nearly fell over, I briefly caught that frazzled look in her eye that said, "I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE AS FAST AS POSSIBLE."  Things quickly began to unravel and within a span of less than 10 seconds, the toddler had managed to climb out of the cart and was perched on the mother's shoulders, with one knee on her head trying to reach the candy rack, and the newborn had spit out her pacifier and was wailing. 

Ah yes ... these - these moments right here are the ones to savor!

But only if you're heavily medicated.  

Because I was standing in front of my little tiny cart, the easily maneuverable race car version used by people who zoom in to the store to pick up a few items, I helped to quickly unload the rest of the groceries from her gigantic cart that can hold three children and several days worth of groceries, on to the conveyor belt. We had both pushed through the line and were standing side by side in front of the clerk and the debit machine when they rang up her total.

I was feeling a little awkward at my positioning - so close to her and the debit machine (usually there is a cart separating people in the checkout line) - but there I was and in that moment, as she was trying to hold a baby with one hand and pull out her wallet with the other, the Universe whispered to me that I needed to BLESS this mother with a small gift for the BLESSINGS that I received ten years ago, when I gave birth to three perfectly perfect children.

So I quickly swiped my debit card and as I did, I said, "Please, let me get this. Hopefully, you can use what you would have spent on groceries for a few boxes of diapers for those precious babies. They grow up so fast. You really are blessed ... breathe deeply and have fun!" 

The mother was gobsmacked.

The clerk was gobsmacked.

I wiped away a tear of gratitude for my life, and my family, and for loving and exhausted parents the world over.  And then I checked my watch to see that I had 45 minutes remaining.

Once I arrived home, I had only 30 minutes before the kids would come barreling in from school, so I quickly wrapped their presents and immediately set forth to make their cake and after hunting high and low and thinking I'd lost my mind, realized that only the chocolate cake had made it home with me from the store because the white cake had accidentally gone home with the new mother.  And the only reason I knew that was because the clerk had given me her receipt and sure enough, the cake had been scanned right between the apples and the gallon of milk.

That night during dinner, I told the children what had happened to their marble cake and I explained why they were having a chocolate birthday cake, instead.  They loved the story and were thrilled to think of the smile (and hopefully not horror at the thought of derailing my children's birthday cake-making) on the new mother's face when she found the bonus box of white cake mix nestled in one of her bags of groceries.

In the end, the tenth birthday was a success.

The children had presents to open...



And a well lit birthday cake to wish upon.



Another highlight of the day, was a surprise visit from my sister Eileen who flew in from Michigan and called at the exact moment we had lit the birthday cake candles and were just about to start singing Happy Birthday. Eileen started singing with us on the phone, and then WALKED IN THE FRONT DOOR and finished singing with all of us.  Her sudden appearance totally blew the children's minds because ....

WHAT! 

HOW? 

Eileen said to us, "Are you kidding?! I love chocolate cake!!" 



We couldn't agree more. 

I excel at getting totally sidetracked

This past week, the laptop computer that Charlie gave me for Christmas last year, crashed. The good news is the logic board just needs to be replaced and experts think my hard drive is still intact. The reason that's good news is because all of the pictures and memories that I've captured since December 25, 2013 through approximately October 1, 2014, have been stored on that laptop computer and not backed up.

We have a device that backs up computers ... I think it's called a "Time Capsule." According to the people at the store, it's very user-friendly and intuitive. Despite that tag-line, I have no idea how it works. Thankfully, my husband does.  He'll plug some cord in to some USB and click a few things and then voila! everything is backed up.  Whenever I've tried to plug cords in and click buttons, I've erased everything on my computer and everything on the Time Capsule and so I just default that responsibility to Charlie.  Now, I just need to remember to remind him to back up my laptop, because even he forgot.

My laptop will be back sometime next week. Until then, I'm posting this blog on our desktop computer that is otherwise the computer our children use to practice their math.

Yes. Math, on the computer!

Maybe I'm not turning Amish after all. 

When one day, last week, one of our fourth graders was struggling with their homework and couldn't recall how to do basic skills that they'd learned how to do in second grade, I fell in to a pit of despair where life choices were called in to question, specifically the full-time career that has me in the office, or traveling all over the northern hemisphere and removed from my children for sometimes much of the school week.  In that moment, I flash backed to when I was in fourth grade and first started to fall behind in math, and thus begin a slow descent in to special education and years of private math tutors and a diminished self-esteem that didn't rebound until I was in college.

Yes, in that moment, I felt like a totally disconnected parent that is blind to how well their children are performing in school and where they might be struggling. So I devoted the next three hours (one hour per nine-year-old child) to reviewing material with my fourth graders and trying to get a better handle on where exactly they need additional support.  That three-hour session led me to a free session on IXL.com and after the free session abruptly ended, and I was hooked on the awesomeness of this program, I paid for one year access to the website.

Since then, I've had to monitor and regulate when the children can take turn practicing their math skills because they tend to get very territorial (aka: obsessed) about when they can play. The geniuses that designed the IXL program have prizes at the end of each 30 or so math question session, and I'm happily surprised at how insanely motivated our kids are to win those "prizes" at the end.  It certainly works better than me sitting before them with a pile of multiplication flash cards and having to take deep breaths and bite my tongue from saying out loud, "SERIOUSLY? YOU CAN'T REMEMBER 4 X 5?"

It would seem that anything electronic or technologically oriented gets them excited, even if it is math.

At the rate they're progressing through the different sessions, I expect Henry will be doing Geometry by next spring and the triplets will be on Pre-Calculus.  No, not really - but if they can easily round numbers and recall fractions, it'll be worth every penny that I paid for the year subscription and I will gladly relax my adamant opposition of children using computer technology.  

You know what's interesting?

I wasn't planning to write about any of that when I logged on to write this blog. I was planning to just post a picture of one of the world's newest and cutest Tiger Cubs.



Our "Honowawy Cub Scout" is officially now one!

i hear jerusalem bells are ringing

While we are opposed to our kids playing video games because of all the negative that we've seen come from their obsession and overstimulation, we're not opposed to our kids listening to music as much as they want. To that end, we recently loaded up our little iPods with parental-approved music and let them listen to their heart's delight.



Here's Henry - who is sporting a sprout like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals - listening to the five cellists play Cold Play's Viva La Vida.  He told me that he loves this song because it gives him the goosebumps.

Yep. Me, too.

practicing

Two weeks in, and the novelty hasn't worn off.

What's been most surprising is how much I love to hear her practice.



Even as a novice, the sound she makes with her cello is so beautiful ... I haven't worn my noise reduction head phones once.

pressure and time

This past April, on the same day that I left home for a one-week business trip in Puerto Rico, my husband decided to demolish the children's bathroom.  

The state of that room - the grungy floor, the rusty tub, the peeling walls and ceiling had finally gotten to be too much for my husband, so he broke out the tile, the dry wall, the 350-pound cast iron tub ... and took the whole room down to the studs. And then, he paused. Because he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

"Uh, Jen. Is it too late to change my mind and stop right here?" 

But we're part of a small group and one of the men that come to our home every Sunday evening, had remodeled a bathroom or two, and he encouraged my husband that he could do this.  Charlie was also encouraged by his big brother, Steve, who is a licensed contractor in California.  So my husband went to Home Depot, bought a big orange book on Home Improvement 1, 2, 3 and started reading.  

Several weeks passed. 

Six to be exact, before he summoned the stamina and courage to do the next thing. 

Over the course of the next four weeks, and with the tremendous support of Steve via telephone nearly every day, and numerous YouTube videos that Charlie watched and has him convinced he can do ANYTHING with the help of the internet, he installed a new tub ... plumbing ... lighting ... insulation ... drywall ... and then, tile.  

All by himself.  This is the finished product and although you cannot see the intricacies of his handiwork, believe me when I say it is flawless.  I'm so proud!

On the opposite side of the tiled bathtub wall, is another bathroom: the bathroom adjoining the master bedroom.  Now that he has a very good idea of what to do and has one remodeled bathroom under his belt, this week, while I was at a business trip in California, Charlie decided to start demolishing the master bathroom.  When I returned home late last night, he was still working at taking the tile down.  

At first, he was smashing the wall with a sledgehammer, but when I told him I was afraid he was going to crack the beautiful tile that he had just installed on the opposite wall, he delicately began chipping away at the three-inch concrete with his hammer, one tile at a painstaking time.  

He's calling this his "Shawshank Redemption" remodel because at this pace, he thinks it'll take him two life sentences to complete. 

when imagination takes flight

Although all of our children are very familiar with the Harry Potter series, we go through waxing and waning phases of interest with the story and various characters.

Probably because Halloween is right around the corner, this month the kids are 100% waxed on to Harry Potter.

This afternoon as I was pushing Henry on the rope swing outside, I told him that we had actually considered naming him "Harry" before he was born, but didn't want to have a William and Harry - like the Princes of Wales.  (Clearly, I didn't do too much research, because if I had, I would have realized that Prince Harry's full name is "Henry Charles Albert David".)

"What? You mean you ALMOST called me Harry? Is it too late now?!" 

No, I suppose it's never too late.

So at least for today (and until we forget), he's known as "Harry" around the house.

He is a wizard ...



And he flies around our front yard on a Firebolt broom stick, eyes peeled for the golden snitch.

DSI = Doesn't Sustain Impact

Last year, soon after I wrote this post, my sister sent the children a Nintendo DSI.  It had been her son's and since he had received something new, he wanted to pass it on to his little cousins.  I wasn't at all keen on them having it because I'd noticed that our children are quickly obsessed with electronics.  Especially our boys. 

I know the story of the forbidden fruit, but here's the thing: If we allowed our kids to play video games as much as they wanted, I'm fairly convinced that is all they'd do. Even when Charlie and I have moments of cool parent'ness and let them play Wii on weekend mornings, they'll be down there at 6 AM and we have to PRY them off it, hours later to do something totally necessary like, say, eat breakfast.  And when we do pry them off it, they are cranky and angry and totally unpleasant.   

Maybe one day they could play for an hour and just turn it off on their own volition. 

But for our children, that day isn't today.  

We host a Sunday small group at our house and two of the boys who attend are approximately the same age as our boys. Each week, they would bring their Nintendos to play.  So after a month of pleading, I finally made the concession that on Sundays, ONLY, the boys could play with the DSI.  Singular. There was only one, so they'd have to cooperate and take turns. What typically happened was that William would monopolize the game and Henry would be somewhat content to watch. As for the girls, they weren't at all interested and would rather play dress up or ride bikes in the yard. 

What I noticed during the next several weeks of allowing them this opportunity to play the Nintendo, is that their personalities changed.  Instead of engaging with our guests that would come to the house, they'd be completely zoned out on a computer game.  And maybe I'm just hypersensitive but it felt like whenever they had quiet time at home, even on the perfectly beautiful blue sky days ... all they wanted was to play that little handheld.  Instead of their imaginative spirits that would take flight and build forts out of cushions, they were grumpy and aggressive with each other, and with me.   

So very soon, I wasn't too happy about having the Nintendo in the house and was regretting my decision to let them play with it at all on that one day per week.  

One day after school, I was home from work with the children and we sat down together and made the most amazing marble run.  We were talking and laughing and enjoying a snack together, when all of a sudden, William subtly notices that Henry is MIA.  I'm not fully conscious of William looking for his little brother, until I hear Henry screaming from the other room.  

Henry had disappeared from our little fiesta and tip toed in to the bedroom looking for the Nintendo that William had hidden somewhere.  He found it under the bed and had crawled under there to inspect the game in peace.  But William blew his cover by seeking him out and when he found him, he grabbed him by one foot and yanked him out from underneath the bed.  On the way out, Henry smacked his head on the frame and was crying as William pulled the Nintendo out of his hands and yelled, "YOU CAN'T TOUCH THIS, IT'S MINE!" 

By the time I arrived on the scene, Henry was hysterical, William was hysterical and I was ticked off beyond belief that a little plastic electronic device had caused such turmoil in what moments earlier, had been a picture perfect moment.  So I did something that I'm only slightly ashamed to admit. 

I took the Nintendo away from them and lifting it over my head, let it fall to the floor.  Not once, not twice, but seven times.  It eventually broke and I picked it up and threw the whole thing, games and all, in to the trash.  As I did, I said to my astonished children, "Remember this ... PEOPLE not THINGS are what matter in this family."

During a conversation with my mother, I confessed what I had done.  It wasn't my proudest moment, I know I could have handled it better and I thought I swore her to secrecy, but maybe not because the story got back to my sister who had given us the Nintendo. She told her son, who called me and asked me, "Aunt Jenny, did you really break my Nintendo and throw it out?"  

Um, yes.  And perhaps if I'd been in a better place, I would have made a more rationale choice like donating it to the Children's Hospital.  But in that MOMENT, my central processing unit wasn't working so well and looking back, I can hardly blame my children for losing their cool when I so colossally lose mine. 

But the fact remains - I do not want our children consumed with electronic devices.  I know it's inevitable and one day I'll have to come to terms with that as they navigate technology.  Or maybe it's hypocritical because Charlie and I have five computers across the two of us, along with one iPad and two cell phones. But for what it's worth the only time I'm on the computer is for work, bill paying or to update my blog for posterity. (The whole family also uses it for live-streaming music, movies, and FaceTiming with family.) Technology is awesome! Technology is great! 

But as for now and for the near future, the only electronics that our children have and can use WHENEVER THEY WANT are the ones that they make. 

This is Henry's laptop, made of magnets. 

This is Henry on his cell phone, also made of magnets. 

This is Elizabeth's iPad made out of construction paper.  

She has all kinds of apps that are totally awesome.  

This is Pandora with all the different music she likes to listen to. 

This is FaceTime. 

And this is Angry Birds.  

If you push the button of the application that you want to play, she'll reach inside the folded construction paper and pull out the appropriate item.  I play Angry Birds with her all the time and you'd never guess, but it really is a total blast. 

(For at least two minutes, and then we go outside to play, or read a book.) 

chicken in the bread pan, pickin' out dough

I'm not sure I ever mentioned it, but last year, our Carolyn really, really, really wanted to play the violin.  We listen to a lot of classical music in the house, and we had recently attended the symphony and WHAMO! she was begging to play.  I was so excited because I've always loved the idea of our children playing an instrument.   

In fact, when they were little bitty preschoolers, no more than four-years-old, I had contemplated signing them up for Suzuki music lessons.  I drove to the studio, parked my car, looked through the big glass window at the sweet little children in a semi-circle around their instructor, playing their teeny violins and I grabbed my checkbook.  But then I opened what must have been a sound-proof door and the sounds of the squeaking, oh my good heavens the SQUEAKING, nearly made my eardrums bleed.  I dropped my checkbook back in to my bag, grabbed my ears, and ran.   Maybe if there was one child, I could have done it ... but there was no way I could manage it with three. 

My sanity is too important to me.

So last year, Carolyn expressed an interest in playing the violin and so we went out and rented her one, and then signed her up for three months of private lessons.  

Here's how it went down... 

Violin comes home, Carolyn is thrilled. She pulls it out of the case and drags the bow across the strings and rejoices in having her OWN! VIOLIN!  She sleeps with it that night.  

The first class happens and she is very attentive.  The assignment from that first class comes home and she practices for at least 15 minutes a day for all of three days.   The next three weeks are torture for her and us, as we remind her to practice - and she doesn't want to - and we feel like loser parents taking her back to class where she has learned nothing over the past week.  

We still have two months of private pre-paid classes and because Carolyn is 100% disinterested, we ask Elizabeth if she'd like to play the violin?  "Sure, I'd LOVE to!" she excitedly exclaims.  She pulls out of the case what is now considered to be HER! VIOLIN! and she drags the bow across the strings and sleeps with it that night.  

Showing up at the next private lesson, the instructor barely bats an eye. With the large volume of students that go in and out of the studio, I'm not sure he even noticed that we swapped out the sisters, despite the fact one is more than 6-inches taller and 40 pounds heavier than the other.  Elizabeth's enthusiasm for the violin sustained for approximately ninety six hours and then the next three weeks we were telling her to practice, and she was dismissing it and we were back in Loser Parent Mode. 

With one month of private pre-paid lessons remaining, we swapped out Elizabeth for a semi-interested William.  This time the instructor noticed and said, "I sense something different here...."   Yes indeed, the toe-head blonde boy is not nearly as interchangeable as the brown haired, freckled faced, blue-eyed girls.  Fortunately, the instructor was very understanding and cooperative and after one month, William had also reached his maximum saturation with playing the violin and it was returned to the music store. (Although, if there had been a fourth pre-paid month, you can bet your rosin I would have tried to swap out William for his little brother.) 

This year, in fourth grade, the children are offered the opportunity to play a stringed instrument. 

Guess What?

We rented three instruments for a year and have not only invested in the insurance, should one of the instruments be inadvertently backed over by a minivan driven by parents who are trying to MAKE HASTE! and get to school on time because the cello cannot go on the bus, we also invested in some excellent ear plugs for all of the practicing that they will need to do at home.  I'm hopeful that with the positive peer pressure of their friends, most of whom are also playing a stringed instrument, our two violists and one celloist, will learn to play "Ode To Joy" between now and June.   

My husband is hoping for something a little more contemporary and has recently introduced our children to The Charlie Daniels Band.  For the past two days, he's had "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" playing on repeat. The kids love the tune and are feeling very inspired. 

Fingers crossed it sticks. 

my mother's daughter

On Sunday nights, we host a small prayer group through our church.  Tonight, we all sat outside and the kids ran around and played in the distinctly crisp fall air.  As I was cleaning up, one of the woman from our group asked if I wanted to keep the used Red Solo cups that were in perfectly good shape and after a very brief moment of hesitation I said, "YES. Let's keep them: reduce, reuse, recycle!" I then brought them inside and stuck them in the dishwasher - nestling them tightly so they don't flip  upside down and fill with water during the rinse cycle.



Charlie, as he was cleaning up the kitchen with me, spied the plastic cups filling the top rack of the dishwasher and said, "What are you doing? Don't you think this is a little ... um ... redneck, Jen?  You're washing plastic cups!"

What can I say?  The older I grow, the more thrifty I become.

I'm sure it's just a matter of time and I'll be washing sponges.

story time

william's welcoming committee

Last Thanksgiving, when the triplets were in third grade, they had to write a letter that they read before their class and creation, regarding something (or someone) for which they were thankful.  We were very grateful that our family was in town, en masse, because the readings were all happening at the exact same time, and seeing as we are not able to be in three places at once, we were able to divide and conquer each of the three classrooms where the readings were occurring.

Charlie and I were present in Carolyn's classroom to hear her sweetly read how thankful she is for her family; my sister Eileen and her husband Clark were present in Elizabeth's classroom to hear her sweetly read how thankful she is for her siblings and bunny; and my mother and nieces were present in William's classroom to hear how thankful he is for his little brother, Henry.  Which really surprised me, when they told me about it later because they don't always act very "thankful" for each other.



My mother told me that a child in William's class - a boy who was brand new to the school - had been summoned to stand up several times, but was too shy to take the stage.  Just before the session was finished, he quietly stood up and whispered to the teacher that he had a few words he would like to share.  He then walked to the front of the room and bravely read to the large audience of his peers and their families, the fears he had about being brand new to the school and how frightening it was to be in a separate class from his twin sister, for the first time.

But, he continued, this year he was so thankful for the boy who talked to him and sat with him and introduced him to all the other kids so that he wouldn't be alone at recess or during lunch. He was thankful for his new best friend, William. 

As it turns out, Carolyn is best friend's with his twin sister and the children are together in separate classes again this year.  Carolyn with Anna and William with James.  We learned today that the two girls both registered to play cello this year; while the two boys are both registered to play viola. None of this had been previously discussed ... it just sort of happened, similar to their friendships.

Today, I was talking with their mother and she told me that there are are two new boys in William and James' class.  When she was volunteering in the classroom early last week, she said that the two new students were really keeping to themselves ... but when she went back on Friday, William was pulling those boys out of their shells by introducing them to people and ensuring they had people to sit with during lunch.  She smiled and softly shaking her head said to me, "You've got such an incredibly special kid there, he has an unbelievably kind heart for a nine-year-old."

Dear God, please help me to remember this when he bickers with his siblings, or does any of those things that make me want to put my head in my hands and pull my hair out by the roots.  He really is an incredibly special kid and he is growing more awesome, every day.  Please also help him to feel better ... he's been quite ill for the past six weeks and I'm hopeful that what multiple doctors think is acid reflux, will soon be abated by Zantac and a mattress that is inclined at a 30-degree angle.  There's nothing better than hearing how kind your child is to others ... and nothing worse than seeing them sick.



(This is what he wants his next tank to look like.)

yes, it's true ... and wow it's exhausting

I'm sure I've mentioned it at some point before ... but even if so ... it bears repeating that I'm the first and only woman that has ever worked in the technical services group of our organization. This group is predominantly comprised of men that are >50 years old and are endearingly referred to as the "gray beards."  It's been very flattering, and an absolute honor, to be chosen to work amongst this group of highly qualified and respected individuals.   

That said, even though I've reached this somewhat "pinnacle" of career success, when Charlie forwarded me an article today about women in the workplace, I felt myself furiously nodding my head and saying aloud, "YES, TO THE OH MY GOSH CUBED." And then, because I am nothing if not a loose cannon dead set on knocking down barriers for the career progression of women in industry as effectively and efficiently as possible, I forwarded it on to my supervisor and suggested that he bring it up during his next Diversity and Inclusion Networking session.   

(He hasn't responded yet.) 

After I read, and then re-read the article, I informed Charlie, who had originally sent me the article (and I'd therefore assumed that he had read it the whole way through), that the Stanford biologist that was interviewed, is related to our family.  Joan Roughgarden is our brother-in-law's sister and I'll be darned if this isn't just one more piece of evidence that the universe is, indeed, unfolding as it should!  

Here's the article, in the off chance the link above doesn't work. 

Why Aren't Women Advancing At Work? Ask a Transgender Person.Having experienced the workplace from both perspectives, they hold the key to its biases.

By Jessica Noodle

Fifty years after The Feminine Mystique and 40 years after Title IX, the question of why women lag in the workplace dogs researchers and lay people alike. While women are entering the professions at rates equal to men, they rise more slowly, and rarely advance to the top. They’re represented in smaller numbers at the top in fields from science to arts to business. 

Some suggest that there is something different about women—women have stalled because of their personal choices, or their cognitive and emotional characteristics, whether innate or socialized. Another possibility is that the obstacles to women’s advancement are located within their environments—that they face barriers unique to their gender.1 

But while bias has been experimentally demonstrated, it’s hard to study in the real world: Just as it’s hard to isolate a single environmental pollutant’s effect on human health, it’s been near impossible to isolate gender as a variable in the real world and watch how it affects a person’s day-to-day experience. 

Until now. Trans people are bringing entirely new ways of approaching the discussion. Because trans people are now staying in the same careers (and sometimes the very same jobs) after they change genders, they are uniquely qualified to discuss the difference between how men and women experience the workplace. Their experience is as close to the scientific method as we can get: By isolating and manipulating gender as a variable and holding all other variables—skill, career, personality, talent—constant, these individuals reveal exactly the way one’s outward appearance of gender affects day-to-day interactions. If we truly want to understand women at work, we should listen carefully to trans men and trans women: They can tell us more about gender in the workplace than just about anyone.

Ben Barres is a biologist at Stanford who lived and worked as Barbara Barres until he was in his forties. For most of his career, he experienced bias, but didn’t give much weight to it—seeing incidents as discrete events. (When he solved a tough math problem, for example, a professor said, “You must have had your boyfriend solve it.”) When he became Ben, however, he immediately noticed a difference in his everyday experience: “People who don't know I am transgendered treat me with much more respect,” he says. He was more carefully listened to and his authority less frequently questioned. He stopped being interrupted in meetings. At one conference, another scientist said, "Ben gave a great seminar today—but then his work is so much better than his sister's." (The scientist didn't know Ben and Barbara were the same person.) “This is why women are not breaking into academic jobs at any appreciable rate,” hewrote in response to Larry Summers’s famous gaffe implying women were less innately capable at the hard sciences. “Not childcare. Not family responsibilities,” he says. “I have had the thought a million times: I amtaken more seriously.”

This experience, it turns out, is typical for transmen. For her book Just One of the Guys? Transgender Men and the Persistence of Gender Inequality, sociologist Kristen Schilt interviewed dozens of FTM (female to male) transgender individuals. One subject noted that when he expresses an opinion, everyone in a meeting now writes it down. Another noted, "When I was a woman, no matter how many facts I had, people were like, “Are you sure about that?’ It’s so strange not to have to defend your positions." When they suggested women for promotions, other men said, “Oh! I hadn’t thought about her”—they were able to promote women because their advice was taken more seriously. Personality traits that had been viewed negatively when they were women were now seen as positives. “I used to be considered aggressive,” said one subject. “Now I'm considered 'take charge.' People say, ‘I love your take-charge attitude.’"

The effects of FTM transition, however, aren’t universally positive. Race, it seems, has the ability to overshadow gender when it comes to others’ esteem. Black transmen, for instance, found they were perceived as a “dangerous” post transition. One subject said he went from being “obnoxious black woman” to “scary black man”—and was now always asked to play the “suspect” in training exercises. 

“Men are assumed to be competent until proven otherwise, whereas a woman is assumed to be incompetent until she proves otherwise.”

What happens when the opposite transformation takes place—when a man becomes a woman? Joan Roughgarden is a biologist at Stanford who lived and worked as Jonathan Roughgarden until her early fifties, and her experience was almost the mirror image of Barres’s. In her words, “men are assumed to be competent until proven otherwise, whereas a woman is assumed to be incompetent until she proves otherwise.” In an interview, Roughgarden also noted that if she questioned a mathematical idea, people assumed it was because she didn’t understand it. Other transwomen have found changes not only in perceptions of their ability, but also their personality. In Schilt’s work with transwomen for a forthcoming book, she found that behaviors transwomen had as men were now seen as off-putting. What was once “take-charge” was now “aggressive.” And they had to adapt; the transwomen quickly learned that “being the same way in the world would be detrimental to your career.”

Unlike those of us who have only experienced the world a single gender, Schilt’s subjects were able to see very clearly that “men succeed in the workplace at higher rates than women because of gender stereotypes that privilege masculinity, not because they have greater skill or ability." Bias is a hard thing to acknowledge. “Until a person has experienced career-harming bias,” wrote Barres in his response to Summers, “they simply don’t believe it exists.” And people tend to think the problem is located elsewhere: “Everyone thinks that there's bias out there, but ‘I'm not that person,’” says Schilt. 

But, says Schilt, bias is both more pervasive and less invidious. And addressing it is going to take more than just waiting around for the old guard to retire: The “fantasy of a demographic shift just isn’t true,” Schilt says. ”It’s our culture. It's how we organize gender, separate by gender, men's rooms and women's rooms—it's so ingrained in us that these things are different. And it's not just men, it's also women who have the same ideas.” The experiences of trans people are bringing these factors to light in a wholly new and unclouded way. 

Of course, the sample size is small here. And there’s no perfect agreement on cause-and-effect. Chris Edwards, a trans advertising executive, says that post-transition, he was given greater levels of responsibility—but he thinks it’s because the testosterone he took changed his behavior. He became less timid and more outspoken—and was seen, at work, as more of a leader. Indeed, some suggest that transmen might experience these workplace benefits partly because, post-transition, they are happier and more comfortable, and that this confidence leads to greater workplace success. But if that’s the case, one would expect that transwomen, armed with this same newfound confidence, would see benefits. The opposite seems to be true. 

To truly understand trans people’s experiences of workplace gender bias, more research is needed. But the window to do so may be closing, as people are able to change genders at younger and younger ages. Puberty-inhibiting medications are becoming more mainstream, meaning young trans people can choose to suppress the development of secondary sexual characteristics from a relatively early age. (The treatment became available in the U.S. in 2009.) A child who identifies with the opposite gender and seeks treatment is now able to experience the world, for most of their life, as that gender alone. 

And the group of trans people who are vocal on the subject is already fairly small; many seem to feel they have much larger issues facing them. When asked how people react when she describes the different treatment she receives as a woman, Roughgarden responds simply, “I don't bring it up.” Ultimately, Schilt says, it’s not trans people’s responsibility fix gender bias. Roughgarden agrees. “We're trying make a life,” she says. “We have to live in our actual roles, we can't sit in a coffeehouse and complain about how this is the world. This is the world and we have to live in it. We have to navigate it.” 

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It’s been shown, for example, that both women and men attribute women’s success more often to luck, and attribute men’s more often to ability. Women also received fewer rewards for sharing opinions and taking leadership roles. One study showed that a female fellowship applicant had to be 2.5 times more productive than the average male applicant to be deemed equally competent.

Jessica Nordell is a writer and multidisciplinary creative living in Minneapolis.