Note leaving

The whole family has taken to leaving notes for each other.

There are various functions for the note-leaving.

For me, it's a case of expediency.

It's convenient, it stops me from nagging till I turn blue in the face and the little reminders do in fact act as little triggers for them to do things. Sometimes we  do it because it's funny and it gets a rise out of them.

Sometimes, it's purely to remind me to do something. Regardless of how much we remind them to pass us stuff to sign the minute they get it, they often only remember just as they are going to bed or when I'm not home. I take comfort in the fact that Evan is very responsible and will remember things told to him so occasionally, I take advantage of it and ask him to leave a note to remind me to for instance, "pick his sister at 3 pm".

Tangentially, Evan needs better handwriting because he wouldn't really know if I 'sighed' on the form.

     

 

Other times, they do it because they've done something wrong and it's easier to confess it on paper than to face the music. Muffin has recently discovered the joys of procrastinating. So he'll read and sit and play even if he has work to do. A few days ago, despite the fact that he didn't do anything else and spent a good 4 hours just sitting at his desk (only to get up for the bathroom and have dinner) he hadn't finished his Chinese homework which included a five pages of exercises and two pages of writing. His siblings, having more experience with the wrath of mom 'orrhhed' at him to the point that he trembled with fear and then ominously warned him of imminent punishment i.e. (Mummy is going to kiiiiiilll you). In an attempt to pre-emptively placate a potentially angry mummy and avoid sudden 'death', he left a note on his board with multiple "very"s to highlight his recalcitrant behaviour. 

Procrastination at work

Unlike her brothers who leave notes for purely functional reasons, Jordan leaves me notes for everything. To tell me what happened in the day, to recount something bad that had happened, prayer requests, to apologise to me for sassing me, everything.

Funny how they don't leave Packrat notes.

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Lesson learnt

Despite the fact that it is a universally accepted truth that children in Primary One have no exams, there are these things called mini-tests. And in my book, when we are told ahead of time that there is a 'mini' test, files are sent home so that they can revise for it and that we are told that it will be a certain percentage of their final grade, IT IS AN EXAM. An exam by any other name is still an exam.

They did it mid-year too but since they had only been in school 5 months give or take at that point, the twins had no problems with it. This recent one, culminating the entire year's work required much more revision and because there was more to test, it was also a longer paper.

They survived relatively unscathed, except for their Chinese paper.

What we took away from it.

a. There is actually wisdom in setting practice papers for the children to do. Mistakes that were carelessly made were not specific to but more endemic to the end of the paper where I suspect they were mentally exhausted from the effort. Practice papers however, have to be timed. I should have known this. I have spent a lot of time doing this with my students but I had been under the false impression that kidlet exams didn't require the same amount of mental endurance.

b. Being pedantic is important. So many marks were lost because of punctuation and where upper case letters were required but were absent.

c. Reading instructions are important, even if it were in a language they aren't competent in. Or, the level of competence needed for Chinese had to be at least where they could read the instructions. Jordan dropped an entire grade because she chose to write the characters of the words rather than the number of the word, as specified. And because she had written the word inaccurately (see pt b.), marks got docked for it despite her knowing the answer.

d. We ought to allow our kids to get what they deserve. I wanted badly to go to school and take it up (see pt c.) with the teacher. After all, she did get the answer right. But two things stopped me.

i. The teacher could easily have decided that she should have docked all the marks in the section because Jordan hadn't followed instructions. Then, rather than helping her gain a better grade, I would have caused her to drop yet another grade.

ii. The girl's gotta learn. Stupid things like that can cost dearly. And in national exams eventually, the papers do not get returned for checking so making a mistake like that would mean irrevocable consequences.

So, she has had to stick with her- 1 mark shy of a higher grade- mark.

e. We know where their weaknesses are now. One of the things about assessment is that if done properly (meaning they test what has been taught rather than toss something out from left field at them), it can act as an indicator of what the child knows and doesn't know. So, instead of teaching ahead as Singaporean logic would dictate, we're going to spend an hour every day during the holidays building on what they haven't got a good grasp of. That way, they'll still have to listen in class at the beginning of next year and they might get a bit better at their multiplication and division. That's the plan.

Of course, the egos of my two 7 yos have deigned P1 work for babies. They can't wait to not be at the bottom of the school. Our response thus far has been, show me work with no mistakes then we'll break out some P2 stuff. Though in truth, if they could show us stuff without mistakes then they ought to use that time to read all those wonderful books on the shelves.

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Separation Anxiety

As teachers, we don't travel as much for work. When I did travel for work, I went away for long stretches but that was pre- kids. I no longer do. Packrat still does so; for conferences, courses and student trips.

So when he had to fly off to Japan this evening, we thought nothing about bringing JED to the airport to say bye. After all, they've been home with just me for close to three weeks without Papa and they were fine.

What we hadn't counted on was that Evan was now old enough to feel the loss of Papa leaving. I recently blogged about Papa being his best friend and while I knew that he was worried about Packrat leaving, it really hadn't occurred to us that he would take the leaving so badly.

First he followed Packrat like a puppy, while Packrat gave instructions to his students. He sought out Packrat to hold his hand or just be in physical contact with him. Then when he saw Packrat's luggage get checked in and he knew it was a matter of minutes before Packrat needed to go through security, his eyes began to redden. I said in an earlier post that Packrat had a good sense of what Evan needed so he disengaged himself from his students and comes round to Evan, swooping all 26 kg into his arms. He whispered a prayer with Evan so that Evan might be reassured that he would come back.

But that act of affection and intimacy set free the flood gates that Evan had been so valiantly holding back. And he sobbed as if his heart had just been broken. No amount of consolation and holding him calmed him down. He wanted his Papa.

My eventual solution to calm him down was to take him in search of supper. That however, worked for as long as it took him to finish his sausage roll. He kept talking about how he couldn't stop thinking about Papa and who was going to help him build his Transformers and talk to him about Star Wars.

I know how difficult and awful it feels when I travel sans JED and I'm pretty sure that if any of JED pulled that on me before I had to go anywhere, I would have willingly given up my plane ticket and gone home.

Hanging onto Papa and not allowing him to work. Perhaps thinking that by doing that, Papa will not leave.

The boys sticking to Papa like glue while Jordan is happy to clown around.

Hopefully the night's sleep puts things into perspective for Evan and that he will feel better in the morning. I suspect the Saturday treat of watching television will help loads. 

Whatever it is, I join him in wishing that the week will pass fast so that Packrat will be back again.

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An Apology Letter to My Husband

If you asked me for tips to 'survive' staying home with the kids, I would say I don't have anything new and practical to add to what's been already said. But the 'tip' that I do have, has to do more with helping the mind and heart survive the transition. And it's all about being aware of your own needs and being able to tell hubs about them, before they blow up in a bad way. I learnt that the hard way and here's how I learnt it, in a form of an apology letter, to my long-suffering husband.

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Dear Packrat,
I know this happened many years ago, but it is something that till today and I am still utterly mortified that I had said to you and I have never stopped being sorry about. It's one of those things that I wish I could take back.

The twins were just 18 months at that time and after working through most of their first year, I felt too guilty and torn to work any more. And you made it happen. You helped me work out our finances so that I could stop work and be with them. I was ecstatic and I didn't think anything else would matter.

And I hung out with the twins all day. I was happy to do that. I was at my most creative. I would make stuff with them and play with them. But then, that's all I did most of the time and at the end of the day, I had done nothing much else. On a good day, I might have read the paper. On a bad day, I would be in the same clothes I was in when I kissed you goodbye in the morning.

Slowly, I realised that it niggled at me on many levels. I had 2 college degrees. I had been offered a PhD scholarship. At work, I had been on my way to positions that would have given me a private office rather than a cubicle. On top of that, I loved my colleagues and we spent on time having working lunches and teas. It was where I felt that I belonged. But I had given up all that. The most productive thing I would do in a day would be to make play dough with my kids and embark on finger painting projects. I also realised that I had nothing much to say to you when you got home from work. All I could talk about was what I did with the children because for most part of the day, that's all I did. In a flailing attempt to make conversation with you, I would ask you to tell me about your day. Your replies were always vague because you said there was nothing much to tell me.  And then crickets...

I had always cherished that connection that we had. That our relationship had grown from chats that lasted the whole night. I couldn't fathom how we had gone from that to not having 2 things to say to each other at the end of the day. It weighed down on me and that slowly bloomed into full-scaled panic. I am not sure if you remember the night I am talking about but I do, like it was yesterday.

You were at your computer. I was saying something to you and you gave me a dismissive response which was pretty much an echo of the last two words of my sentence and something in me snapped.
Out of no where, I flung something across the room and announced somewhat angrily "NOW I KNOW WHY SOME PEOPLE HAVE AFFAIRS!" It was a surreal moment. It was a strange out of body experience where I heard and watched myself say that and went "You really need a filter between your brain and your mouth". I regretted it the minute I said it.

The hurt look in your eyes grew into wild anger; where you took the car and floored the car right out of the house without looking back. My fear was that you would get into an accident and it would have been because of what I had said.

I spent the better part of the 2 hours you were out pacing the room going "What have I done? What have I done?". I remember being so thankful that you came home even if you refused to come into our bedroom that night.

We went to talk to someone after that because I was appalled at myself for hurting you like that and I think you found it hard to forgive me for saying that. I think it took us months for us to fix and realise that staying at home was much more complicated than just making sure our bank balances could afford it.

I had needed you to know how inadequate and inconsequential I felt because I was home all day and I had no way of communicating with you on any intellectual level. I had felt my brains, literally dribbling out of my ears as I watched a puppet panda teach our toddler children Chinese for the 10th time in a day. I had felt taken for granted, that I would be home all the time and everything in the house would be in good running order; my natural state has always been one where I am out actively doing something. Staying home felt counter intuitive to that. I missed being out at work. I missed being able to hang out with my colleagues and friends. I miss having spare change to buy something nice for myself if I wanted to.

By the end of the day, it would always feel like I had made a huge mistake by choosing to stay home. I had forgotten the guilt and it had been replaced by something even more hideous; panic and doubt. I needed to know that I had made the right decision by doing that and I needed to know, not from the kids but other adults, especially you, that they were thriving because I was home. I needed to know from you, that my time had been well-spent because I was beginning to not be able to justify it to myself. I needed to also feel that I was still equal to you. In short, I needed to be affirmed for what I was doing. Because when I reached out to you and I couldn't find you, I lashed out.

It doesn't explain away what I said but I guess after all these years, what I went through those early days of leaving my career has crystallized. The fact that my social circle shrunk down to just you, my ability to do things to pamper myself (like get my nails done and heading out to get a massage)  hamstrung by sticky toddlers and my world becoming so small that I had nothing to say to you were things that I hadn't counted on and was unable to deal with. It scared me more than not having an income did.

If I could do those days again, I would have talked to you first, long and hard about how much insecurity I felt at leaving my job and how for the first few months; singing nursery rhymes all day and eating kiddy food wasn't enough to feed my soul. I would tell you that my life up till that point had not prepared me for the dive I was going to take, socially, professionally and as your partner.  I would also not assume, at all, that you had a clue that any of this was churning round in my head and actually come right out and say it. Using the perfect 20/20 hindsight, I would have been more honest with you, about all these conflicting emotions in my head. But then again, only if you promise not to discourage me and only make it easier. I know, I am being demanding here. But it's my 20/20 and I can pretty much make it up as I go along!



But after 5 years of being home somewhat, thank you for slowly realising that even though I wanted to this, I badly needed outlets to just be myself and my own person. Thank you for creating the opportunities for that to happen. Things are by no means perfect and I still feel taken for granted occasionally, especially on days when I spend all my time in the car driving one kid or other around and I don't hear from you the whole time.

But for the times that you do remember and for the times that you take time to help me, I am grateful that you have heard me and I love you for always trying to place my needs first. And for that crown jewel of a hissy fit and the subsequent ones that have followed, I am eternally sorry and please forgive me.

With all my love,
Ondine.

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This post is part of a blog train hosted by Gingerbreadmum where 31 stay-at-home mums share their survival tips. We hope that you'll find our tips useful and remember that you're not alone!

The next mum to blog is Ling Siew is mom to two adorable boys, Nathan (4.5 years old) and Noah (3 years old).  She blogs at 'The View from Mama's Desk' and she quit her full time job 2 years ago and is enjoying every moment as a SAHM. As much as she misses the corporate world, she can't imagine missing out on her boys' growing up years. She is thankful that she took the plunge to quit, and has no plans to return to full-time work in the near future.

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Peer Pressure

The one very distinct way the twins' school differ from one another is the request for parent volunteers. One school mentioned it at orientation and hasn't really asked again. I am sure if I rang the school and offered to do something, they might get back to me. The other school runs an almost parallel programme for the kids purely on parent volunteers.

Before I go on, I do admit that the programmes the latter school offers are really good and they do make a great amount of difference to the kinds of learning the child gets. But it also drives home some more sobering truths; that access to opportunity does make education extremely unequal and that this opportunity that parent volunteers provide only can exist in a school where parents are middle-upper income, time is flexible or if one parent is not working.

I chose to volunteer; not in a big way but to be present in school half an hour, once a week. I thought the kid would get a big kick out of the fact that Mom was there. But that half an hour, once a week has opened myself and even Packrat up to requests and subtle pressure to do even more. There are ad-hoc committees to organise various special occasions in the school, there are other constant groups that create additional materials for and support academic teaching, there are also groups aimed at organising kids to take them through to out of school competitions.

As a teacher, I would have loved to teach in a school like that because it would mean that I could concentrate solely on the classroom teaching and offloaded from some of the other things.

As a parent, I am thankful that my kid is in a school that provides so many enriching opportunities for growth, exposure and experience.

But as a parent volunteer who works full time (albeit on a flexible schedule) with 3 kids in 3 different schools and is the principal tutor, driver and everything else for them, it is incredibly stressful. After listening to the briefing, I came to the conclusion that volunteering at this kid's school could easily amount to a full time job with zero pay. Yes, there is no price tag we can put on the satisfaction and all the potential bonding I will get to do with said kid and I would be helping out the school community. But where would I find the time in between work, my other primary school going child and Muffin? And all the volunteering that I would be doing, would my other school going child be upset that Mommy isn't there doing the same thing?

I advocate volunteering, I think it is a great way to serve. But when the message that emanates from this volunteer community is that 'you are only a good parent if you spend all your time volunteering at your kid's school,' it becomes stifling. It is difficult to not feel you are being judged when the first question you are asked when you meet fellow parents is 'what are you volunteering as?'. It is difficult not to feel guilty for saying no when you are told 'Your kid will be so thrilled to see you!'. It would be incomprehensible to even say somewhat flippantly that the reason why you are celebrating their being in school is just so that you could get away from those little pesks! I have fantasised about saying that, just to see their heads explode in front of me.

Then what of those parents who work regular hours, who cannot leave the office because the library needs them at 11 in the morning? Parents shouldn't be made to feel bad because they have to work and cannot be at their kids' school during school/ work hours.

Like I said earlier on, it is about opportunity and many of those who can volunteer have the opportunity and privilege of either not needing to work for that necessary income or being able to carve out time to do it. I have thought about that, moving things round and working round all the schedules to do this. But Packrat begs me to realise that I am already overstretched and an overstretched mom, like an overstretched rubber band, has a higher propensity of snapping. I am certain that there will be those who will say, 'but your kid benefits from the parents who do volunteer and you should help some other kid benefit too.' Yes, I am eternally grateful for those who can. But my point is that those who are unable to or perhaps do not wish to, should not be made to feel like they are less of a parent if they didn't do so.

I know of parents who react in the opposite way, that they are annoyed to be asked to help out in school. I'm not at that extreme either. I'll help in whatever capacity I can, when my schedule and my other kids' schedules permit me to do so. And while I do that, I will also attempt to grow a thicker hide because that is the only way I will survive another 6+ years.

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Teachers make terrible mothers

One of my pet peeves, as a teacher, is bad handwriting. We mark essays 100 at a go and it is, for the want of a better word, exhausting. What makes it even worse is bad handwriting. When faced with one of those, at the end of a long day, it is akin to the straw that broke the camel's back.

Jordan came back with some work already done. It was all correct but it was written terribly. I saw it at night, after Jordan had fallen asleep. But it bugged me through the night. The next morning, I showed it to her and whipped out an eraser and cleaned off everything, having her do it again.

Of course, she argued that it had already been done and it was all correct so why did she have to do it again? I used it to explain to her the things my mother explained to me; that any work I did had to be to the best of my ability and it wasn't about just getting it done, but to actually get it done properly. All those things that didn't mean anything at that point but must have ingrained themselves into my sub conscience only to be brought to surface when I became a teacher and then now, as I parent school going children.

That said, Jordan has beautiful penmanship. It is the other reason why she got told off; because her handwriting was messy, it was slip shod and she thought it didn't matter.

Unfortunately for her, I am a teacher and I wouldn't want her,  Evan or Muffin for that matter, to contribute to any teacher's angst.

 Technorati Tags: twins, teachers, teacher peeves

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The lone mother

The last time Packrat travelled, it was for about a week. This time it's longer. It's 2 weeks and a bit and I don't think we get to Skype this time. Even though I'm more prepared for it this time, it's still a lot to take. It has got a lot to do with me becoming more and more of a control freak with regards to the children.

I've changed.

Well, to be fair, I've always been pretty much a control freak. But once upon a time, I would be painting the town red whenever my kids wanted to stay over at the grandparents. I would have also been utterly panicked about being a lone parent and would have tried to fob off the kids to the grandparents as much as possible because I wouldn't know what to do with them. Now, I'm more stressed thinking about what I can possibly do with them on my own, especially on the weekends and the days they are off school. In the next two weeks, they will be off school on 3 weekdays! And I feel annoyed when I cannot be with them and have to leave them with the grandparents. Packrat assures me, as usual, that they will be fine and they will actually enjoy it. I, on the other hand, have my father's voice echoing in my head about 'disturbing other people' as he would put it when I stayed over at my cousin's house etc.

So, here goes two weeks of juggling work (which is massively high season right now), three children and the very differing schedules, preparing the twins for concerts, driving cross country to visit the parentals (I think I might get them to come over), fitting in wildlife feeding and possibly an exercise class or a run in between all that chaos. The reality is that it won't be very different from what I am doing now although Packrat helps pick up the slack on the weekends and does some of the soccer mom duties if he is not tied down at work.

There is something to be said about husbands who are hands on. It's a strange thought to have, but when dads take on the more traditional distant father figure role, their presence isn't as missed as when they help get the kids to sleep on some nights and hang out with the kids every second of the weekend while Mommy goes out to work.

So Packrat, hopefully the next 15 days fly by. Evan cannot wait to do more experiments with you and Jordan would like to know when her next 'date' with Papa is. Muffin just wants to know where Papa is in the morning because he finds himself the only one in the bed beside Mommy in the morning.

And as a promise to Packrat, so that he doesn't miss too much while he is away and so that he doesn't have to rely on my splotchy memory to recall the highlights of the days to come, I will attempt to start a "Dear Papa, this is what we did today" series.

 Technorati Tags: parenting, pre-schoolers, travelling

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