The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

Meet my son, Gooby. He is 3 years old and, as my first born, is the amazing little person who taught me how to be a mom. And, in case you are wondering, Gooby is not his real name. He earned this nickname when he was a few days old because his colic and reflux, plus his very expressive brow, reminded us of the cartoon character Mr. Magoo. The name eventually morphed into Gooby and stuck. On his recent preschool enrollment forms, I described Gooby as spirited, imaginative, creative, emotional, moody, and expressive. Though what I really wanted to say was, “My son actually thinks he is Spider Man, a Power Ranger, and Luke Skywalker combined. He is borderline obsessed with firemen and construction workers, and I once thought he had developed the hoarding disease due to his relentless pilfering of trash and common household items which can be found stuffed to the brim in his Fisher Price toolbox (which he also pretends is a kitchen).”

Like all first-time moms, when I was pregnant with Gooby I worried whether he would be born healthy, wondered what he would look like, and hoped (and still do!) that he would not be plagued with some of the mental health struggles that exist in both my husband’s and my own family history. Throughout my pregnancy, I often tried to imagine how I would be as a mom and wondered if it would be difficult to accept my child for however he turned out. Though I love my husband and my parents, I had never actually created another human being from scratch, and did not have experience with the extreme physical and emotional investment of being a parent. But the truth is, when Gooby was born, those worries did not hold their weight. Those worries didn’t matter, because I knew the moment I set eyes on my son that I would love this little person with all of my being, and most importantly, without conditions.  Since the day Gooby was born, this is the world in which we have continued to exist inside our family. And it’s awesome. However, I also know that unconditional acceptance of all human beings is not transferrable to the real world.

As parents, I’m sure we have all received the unsolicited piece of “advice” from a random person on the street about our child(ren). We have all received the sideways glance from a stranger in the grocery store judging our style of managing an unexpected toddler meltdown.  We have all felt judged as parents at one time or another. And in turn, we have judged ourselves. Though I am not proud of it, I will admit that I too have judged others, certainly contributing to the perpetual cycle of parental insecurities. Perhaps it is a rite of passage. Or maybe it is a coping mechanism. Regardless, it sucks.

As a mom who works fulltime outside the home, I must entrust the care of my children to others. My husband and I don’t have family that lives near us, so both of my kids attend a phenomenal in-home daycare. Gooby started at daycare when he was 3 months old. Over the years we have relished in our provider’s recounting of Gooby’s life without us while we are at work. We enjoy celebrating Gooby’s successes and we learn from his failures. This means that early on, we had to develop the skill of receiving (and appropriately reconciling) feedback that may differ from our own opinion about our child. And I will say that as a mother, hearing anything short of positive feedback about Gooby has been the most challenging part of all. Because receiving criticism from my daycare provider about my kid, constructive as it may be, is not the same as hearing it from the random stranger on the street, or in the grocery store. This feedback holds more weight. I have to listen. I have to reconcile. I have to learn. I have to accept that not everyone thinks that my kid is as perfect as I think he is. This is the real world, after all.

This past week, my daycare provider talked with my husband about Gooby’s obsession with ninjas, swords, guns, and battles. Turns out, that what we think is innocent boyish play in our house, may not jive so well with other parents whose children attend the daycare. After receiving this feedback, my husband came home to discuss it with me. My instinct was to immediately feel protective of Gooby’s imagination and creativity…and of my own parental ego. Because not only did this feedback put into question Gooby’s utter perfection, it also questioned my parenting skills. I started doubting myself, asking internal questions like, “Have I been a bad mom because I haven’t cared enough that Gooby likes to shoot toy guns? Am I influencing violence in society by allowing him to watch television shows that have some violent themes, like Power Rangers and Spider Man? Am I perpetuating society’s stereotypes of boys vs. girls by not encouraging Gooby to play with more gender neutral toys?” And really, I was embarrassed. So my husband spent some time talking me down from my emotional ledge into the world of logic.

Gooby is not alone at daycare. His actions have influence on other children. And in turn, those children will have influence on him. But man, it is tough not to have complete control over every situation. It is heart wrenching to know that I will not always be able to protect my kid. And as he grows older, I know this will only become bigger in scale and consequence, and ultimately more difficult to manage. So in the end, I realized that I have to respect the rights of other parents to express their opinion about how my child might be influencing their own. And one day I will also need to go to bat for my own children, because that is what parents are programmed to do. Ultimately, I am thankful to have a daycare provider that I consider our parenting partner. I am grateful that I have a daycare provider that I respect, and that I know loves and cares for my children when I cannot be with them. That is all any parent can ask for.

(Disclaimer: this is kind of a rant, completely lacking funny).

I saw a horrific story on the news last week.  So horrific, in fact, that I can’t even bring these swollen fingers (at 32 weeks pregnant, what’s not swollen?) to type the details.  Let’s just say, a Third Grade teacher in Los Angeles was arrested for having his students pose for some unthinkable photos.  As if that wasn’t disgusting enough, allegedly, the photos were turned over to authorities by the photo developing lab, and the administration at this school was notified – but no parents were ever notified.  This happened a year ago.  A YEAR AGO?  This has been kept under wraps for a year?  Obviously, the parents at this school are demanding an explanation.  How on earth could news this devastating, regarding their children, surface one year ago without any notice to them?  Ugh, the pit in my stomach keeps growing.

I have jokingly mentioned home schooling to my husband a handful of times since giving birth to DJ.  Most of those mentions have happened within the past six months.  Now that DJ is in nursery school (albeit, a co-op, so I’m always there with her), I am much more sensitive to stories about teachers molesting (yes, molesting – I am tired of the candy-coated term “lewd acts”) their students, etc.  I have said, on more than one occasion, that I will be that mom who serves as room-mom, yard-duty, teacher’s aid, chaperone, driver, etc. every single chance that I get.  My daughters will hate me for smothering them – but at least I’ll know they’re safe.   And contrary to how it might sound, I actually don’t plan on being overprotective – I plan on being involved.

Now, even though I threaten home-schooling during my episodes of distrust and lack of confidence in human decency, it’s only a threat.  I know that I’m not at all cut out to be a home-schooler.  While I have great respect for those who are, it makes me appreciate the good teachers all the more.  And there are good teachers.  There are still teachers out there who are changing children’s lives for the better.  There are still educators and influencers out there who impact our kids’ confidence, development, and intellect – and when we find them, we must abundantly express our gratitude for their investment in the lives of our precious children.  They are our greatest partners in parenting.

DJ has a favorite teacher.  It’s her My Gym teacher.  I’m not sure how or why it all started – but the two have developed an inexplicable bond.  “Teacher Stephie” has become a household name, and DJ often asks me where she is, how she is, and makes reference to her long hair quite frequently!  For several months now, I have watched their relationship deepen, and I have finally realized that Teacher Stephie is DJ’s first mentor.  As a mom, this is a beautiful and powerful thing to see.  Watching your child cultivate adoration for someone outside of the family (whom you trust) is pretty remarkable.  Seeing your child’s adoration reciprocated is an overwhelming feeling….”Wow, someone sees how special my child is – and they’re willing to invest their time into her life.”

Last week, we had our first play date outside of My Gym with Teacher Stephie.  You would have thought DJ won the lottery – and for all intents and purposes, she did.  In her eyes, one-on-one time with this special teacher, was as good as it gets.  Teacher Stephie was so gracious.  She was so genuinely excited to be spending her morning with DJ.  She even rode in the backseat with DJ as we ventured off to the Coyote Point Museum.  It was so sweet to see Teacher’s Stephie’s vested interest in my child play out in such a genuine way.  The way I see it, this young and remarkable girl will always have a place in our family.

I know that even though we are fortunate to have teachers in DJ’s life right now who are incredible – there will come a day when we butt heads with one who is not so great.  I can still remember my sixth grade Science teacher.  He was awful to me – and I still don’t know why.  He used to make humiliating fat jokes (I was only mildly chubby) about me in front of other students, and he’d seemingly prey on my sensitive nature.  He was an adult bully, and I began to hate Science because of him.  His message to me was powerful, “Chubby girls who cry aren’t liked.”

The good news is, I also had a favorite English teacher at the same time in my life.  She was my Teacher Stephie.  We had a strong bond, one that I still treasure decades later.  She often came to my defense, and on the really awful days, she’d walk me to a quite corner of the hallway, give me a tender hug and wipe away my tears.  On more than one occasion, she’d march me right into the Principal’s office to share my story – though she’d never leave my side.  She’d sit quietly while I told the principal what had been said to crush my already low self- esteem.  I can’t recall if my parents were informed, but they certainly should have been.  And my English teacher should have been applauded.

Good teachers do exist.  And they are powerful.  They leave their handprints on our hearts forever, really.

So, what do we do, as parents, when we come across adults in authority whom we don’t trust, whom we get an unsettling feeling from?  We listen to our kids, and we listen to our instincts.  When I was very, very young, I had a babysitter who was AWFUL.  Despite the fact that she came highly recommended and had a very successful daycare run from her home – she despised me.  She treated me much differently than the other kids.  I don’t care to go into the details, but my mom listened to me.  Listened to my cues.  She took notice of my daily hysterics while on the way to this woman’s home.  Not only did she notice my behavior, but my mom took action.  Turns out this woman was later arrested and lost her childcare license.

My mom worked a lot of hours back then, and you can believe that searching for a new daycare just about killed her – but, I was more important than her own convenience.  I was more important than her getting written up at work for coming in late another morning.  I was more important that her willingness to settle for second best when it came to whom she entrusted me with.

That’s how we all need to be – concerned first and foremost with the messages that our children relay to us.  Just because someone is put in charge of a classroom, has their name up on the chalkboard, hands out assignments and grades our children’s tests….their authority absolutely doesn’t trump our own.  Their credentials might make them experts in their field – but we will always be the experts on our children.  We need to remember that.

As a side note, I also think that if potential employers can use things like Facebook to better piece together our values and interests, than we should absolutely feel free to do the same as parents. I am Facebook friends with all of DJ’s teachers – and while I haven’t stalked them (really, I haven’t) – I have certainly paid attention to how they represent themselves, what their friends say about them, and what they seem to stand for.  I don’t think that, as parents, we should feel sorry for one minute about asking questions, pressing for information or taking the extra step to get to know our children’s teachers/caregivers on a more personal level.

So, yeah, while some LA teacher hopefully rots away in a jail cell – there are a million other teachers whose heroic acts go unnoticed every day.  Lets use our energy to seek those teachers out – to thank them, praise them, invest in them – and for goodness sake, buy them a box of supplies!