Parenting

In the Blink of an Eye

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

Today, Second Born Son graduates from Grade 8. I’m not really sure how that’s possible since I just took this photo days ago….

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But I have an invitation from his school saying that he graduates today, so I guess it must be true. There were hints that this was coming, like the grad photos that were taken last fall. However, as you can see, I can be forgiven for thinking it was his Kindergarten graduation.

2014 on the left, 2006 on the right.

2014 on the left, 2006 on the right.

The irony is, that SBS hasn’t changed all that much from either of these two “youthful” photos. He’s still quick with the smile, and the hugs, and the kindness, not to mention the one-liners. Reading his report card yesterday, I was struck at how much the qualities I love about him are the same qualities that his teachers appreciate in him.

Elementary school is 9 years that go by in the blink of an eye. I cannot image how fast the next four will be.

So proud of you Tootie! xo

A Man with A Plan

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

You want to know one of the things I love about being a Mom? It’s that you just never know where your life is going to take you.  A simple dinner can turn into a complex conversation about prejudice. Getting ready for school can veer off into a political debate.

Take, for example, a conversation last week, around dinner time. Second Born Son has been jonseing for some extra cash, since he has a serious “graphic novel” (comic book to the rest of us) addiction going on. He has every last coin counted out on his desk and he’s done the research for the upcoming Free Comic Book Day (May 3 cannot come fast enough!). However, the books he really wants, will not be “free” this year.

CURSE YOU UNIVERSE!!

SBS is a clever little dude, so he comes to the Mother Ship to figure out a solution to his financial woes.

“Bud, what it comes down to, is if you want extra money, you need to get a job.” I tell him.

“I don’t want a JOB!” he replies, as though I have suggested that he donate a kidney.

I can see the hamster running on its wheel and his eyes light up.

“I know, you can pay me to do chores!” he announces, with a look of excitement that is reserved for Christmas morning.

{{POW}} – DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING BATMAN!

“You mean, like recycling, compost, feeding the dogs and picking up poops?” I ask.

“YES! For $20 a week!!” he exclaims, thrilled that I’m picking up what he’s putting down.

“Why would I do that? You are supposed to do that now?” I ask, almost literally scratching my head.

“I KNOW, but you wouldn’t have to TELL me to do it, I’d just do it. And I’d keep my room clean too!” he generously offers.

<PAUSE >Now, I know what you are thinking. You think, ‘Hey Sarah, the kid is asking for an allowance.’ I am in no way, a fan of allowances. I read A LOT about the concept and aside from the fact that I didn’t have one, nor did The Big Guy, I feel like the items that he’s asking for compensation for, are part and parcel of being part of this family. I understand the dynamic of teaching the child the importance of understanding how to handle money. I get that some feel it is good for a child’s sense of self to be responsible for their own currency. However, SBS has demonstrated that with proper guidance, he CAN save money, UNTIL he finds something he SIMPLY. MUST.HAVE. We have also endured his frustration with himself when the coveted item he purchased last week in the throes of desire, quells into another item for the Not So Cool bin once it’s obtained. Boyfriend likes the chase, is what I’m saying. <PLAY>

So, with this in mind, I size up the situation.

“If I was going to pay someone, and I’m not saying I’m going to, I would want a lot more than that,” I reply. At this point The Big Guy is in the room, as is First Born Son (who, by the way, has never asked for an allowance). They can tell by the look on my face that this is going to be entertaining. I’m waiting for them to break out popcorn.

“You tell me what you want me to do and I’ll write it down, we’ll have a contract!” gushes SBS.

“Well, I’m thinking you need to set the table every day, do the dishwasher, start helping with laundry,” he looks up from his note pad at this point, “and you have to help with outside work.” The pen goes down. He’s not picking up my puttin’ down any more.

***ZOINKS***

“What???”

“Well, if I’m going to pay you $20 a week, you are going to have to earn it!” I tell him.

~HOLY BANK ACCOUNT ROBIN!~

“Go for it! That’s $80 a month!” goads FBS. I shoot him a death stare.

“I don’t know,” says SBS, doodling on his “contract” post it note.

“Well maybe I should tell you about my terms for this,” I offer. The Big Guy is smiling now.

“What terms?!” asks SBS.

“Well, right now, I pay for a lot of things for you. I don’t mind doing that because of the things you do help out with. But if we are going to switch and I have to PAY for your help, then I get to cut back on what I spend.”

“Like what???” he asks, genuinely concerned.

“Well, I pay for pizza and milk at school. I won’t pay for that any more, or any pita days.” I state. His jaw drops. “When we go to the city, I treat you to snacks or lunch. I won’t do that any more. I won’t pay for movies either. And now that I think about it, your brother was doing odd jobs around the neighbourhood and he was earning money for some of the clothes he wanted. So maybe it’s only fair we do the same for you?!” My hubby and elder son are transfixed, as though watching a real life episode of Dragons’ Den.

“NO WAY, I’M OUT!” announces SBS. He packs away the note pad and pen. Said contract is in the trash.

“No, hey, wait a minute,” I call out to him, “this could really work out well for me!!

The next morning, the pad is out again.

Lordy! I don't get paid every Friday!!

Lordy! I don’t get paid every Friday!!

I note the reduced rate, as well as the omission of outdoor work and laundry. He has been asking each morning since if I’ve come to a decision about this “counter” offer.

This conversation is going to resume tonight. I have a feeling he is going to enjoy the status quo!

Sticks and Stones Part II

/ Sarah / 8 Comments

I had a brilliant blog ready to go for Valentine’s Day. Unfortunately, I left it until Valentine’s Day to finish it, and my day became a little chaotic after a phone call from Second Born Son’s school.

“Hi Sarah, It’s Mrs. Awesomeschoolsecretary calling. I’ve got SBS here and he says he broke his arm again.”

“Holy shit.” was my most eloquent reply, thereby shattering my image as a polite, well-spoken, organized, respectful parent. But really, who the hell was I kidding anyway?

Within minutes I’m looking at my son, who has plastered on his face the best. poker face. EVER! We immediately leave the school to head to our hospital’s emergency room. As soon as the door of my vehicle closes, the emotion pours out of him and he tells me what happened. Snow pile at recess. Bunch of friends jostling each other. SBS falls down show pile with one of the friends. SBS makes it to the bottom first. Friend lands on him. Previously healed arm is on the bottom of said pile of 8th graders. He’s upset because he thinks I’m going to be mad at him. If truth be told, I think he’s mad at himself.

Once again, my college-level psychology class is paying for itself, as I employ the power of positive thinking and advise him I am not angry, but worried about the arm, for obvious reasons. We will deal with what happens.

An x-ray reveals what SBS already knows. It’s cracked right through the spot that broke before. This concerns the emerg doctor who also happens to be our GP. He lightly throws out the idea that surgery may be in the future, refers to how cool Wolverine is, and shoots me a look. Okaaay. Gotcha. We need to get the kid ready for this possibility.

So, armed with the knowledge (pun intended) that we have a bit of an uphill climb in the somewhat familiar road ahead of us, we buy a new collar and cuff sling from the hospital and head home. SBS refuses any pain meds, likely because he feels he deserves the pain. I decide its time to play “Glass Half Full”.

“You know,” I point out, “we can look at it this way; we know how to take care of this because we’ve done it before. No figuring out how to get dressed, or shower, you know?”

He nods, half heartedly.

“And, again, it’s your left arm, so you can still write and you won’t have to miss art class!” I try for some enthusiasm.

“I guess it was a good idea that I cancelled the drums then,” he allows.

“Sure! And you know, it could be worse; it could be your LEG!” I gasp, adding how impossible it would be for me to lug him around, now that he’s taller than I am.

“Yeah.”

It was a rough night, but the next day did seem a little brighter. We had a call in to his specialist and agreed that SBS would stay home from school until we had been to our appointment. I didn’t want to have this fracture complicated by a slip in a wet hallway or a nudge from an overly enthusiastic friend.

Because of the holiday Monday (yeah Family Day – I worked – what else is new, right??) we could only get squeezed in on the Friday – a week after the break. By the time the appointment rolled around, SBS was ready to crawl walls. He’s frustrated, sore, tired, anxious and wondering how he can go back in time and redo recess.

The Big Guy joined us for the drive to the city; all equally anxious and eager to find out what the specialist would say. I had packed an overnight bag for us, in the event that surgery was going to happen. A conversation with a friend who is a nurse reinforced the idea that surgery was in the offing. We had a couple of conversations with SBS who was naturally nervous about the idea. He was reluctant, but in favor of this possibility by the time we got to the hospital, if for no other reason than he could finally stop worrying about doing further damage to his arm. All week he had walked around as though he was made of glass. Sneezing was to be avoided.

More x-rays and waiting. Thankfully the Olympic hockey game was on and we were suitable distracted.

While our specialist was not available, her colleague was and we were in no position to complain, since we wanted to see the first doctor we could who would give us answers.

An intern came in for the preliminary chat and looked over SBS. He gives us the impression that we have done all that can be done by using the collar and cuff. The Big Guy and I look at each other. No surgery? A mix of optimism and dread hits us both. We express that we would like to be aggressive with this injury, since we were advised the initial break had healed and isn’t bone that has healed from a fracture stronger?

He gives us a smile and agrees to pass our thoughts along to the specialist. The Big Guy and I make a pact that we are not leaving this room the way we came in; with a broken kid with a broken spirit.

Within minutes the specialist enters. Her bicep is a big as my wrist and everything about her is boney and angular. Her smile is phoney and forced. Her voice has a sharp tone and her words are clipped. Immediately the energy in the room changes, and not for the better. She has SBS move his arm at the elbow and wrist and checks for pulse and blood circulation issues. Before addressing us, she’s has told SBS she wants to see him moving the arm so the elbow doesn’t seize up, and that tells us all we need to know.

There won’t be any surgery.

Now I’m not going to get into the nitty-gritty of medical details here, but the moral of this story is that The Big Guy and I should have been thrilled that our son was not being scheduled for surgery. Instead, we felt like we were being ignored. When we asked to understand her position, she immediately became aggressive and condescending; an AWESOME mix, especially when my hubby is involved. Boyfriend doesn’t always edit if you know what I mean. The more questions we asked, the more annoyed with us she became. She pulled out her god complex and wielded it with the dexterity I can only assume she  possesses in the operating room. She can do A, B and C, sure why not? If that’s what we as parents were saying we wanted to subject our son to! She then turns to SBS and unloads on him all the worst case scenarios that could take place during and as a result of surgery. He is suitably traumatized and withholds telling her how he feels about certain aspects of his situation because he just wants to LEAVE! (At this point I want to thank her face with my fist because now if we ever HAVE to do surgery for what she later stated could be a recurring issue, he gets to ponder on the very detailed possibilities she implanted in his brain. Gold star for you, Sweetheart!)

I stop her and advise that for SBS’s peace of mind, we need something done. She ROLLS. HER.EYES. Yes, yes she did; and this pretty much finishes me. After some chatter with the intern and someone from casting, she agrees to “some kind of splint for this”.

Why did I just bore you to tears of this childhood injury? Because I think it exemplifies beautifully a concept that I advocate regularly. Grab your pen and paper now!

It’s not always WHAT you say, but HOW you say it!

Blew your mind just there, didn’t I?

She had no idea of what we had been through in the week leading up to our appointment; but she wasn’t interested in hearing it either. She should have listened to all three of us, and then come back with her position, supported by heavily edited reasoning regarding risks. She should have respected our concern as parents and not simply dismissed our questions as being ridiculous. She should have parked her tone AND attitude with her ride in the underground parking. She should have remembered that even though in her world she sees thousands of broken bones every week – this is the only broken bone that matters in our world. She should have seen that while the patient in front of her is the size of an adult, he is still a child inside. She should have known that while surgery and casts were not, in her opinion, in the patient’s best interest, neither is living with uncertainty and fear.

Her only advice was if he was “that nervous” about going to school, then he should stay home for another week. What he needed was to get back to his regular routine. Thankfully, the splint we begged for has had the necessary effect; provided physical protection while offering emotional support.

It took a lot of talking on the ride home to understand that while we put a lot of faith into doctors, they are only human. Just like every other profession, there are good ones, and there are bad ones.

We can’t wait to see our GREAT specialist when she returns in time for our first follow-up appointment. I don’t think any of us needs a repeat of last week’s performance.

Practice vs. Passion

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

When Second Born Son decided to learn to play the drums, we were really excited, even though most people thought we were crazy.

After a year of lessons, we could see the interest waning. We encouraged, we cajoled, we got ticked. Finally I advised him after Christmas that we would not be continuing the lessons. He was very disappointed. I explained to him that I don’t want the “Bad Guy” role of forcing him to do something he wasn’t interested in pursuing. He admitted he agreed with the decision – but just as a break. While he does enjoy the drums, I don’t think he LOVES the drums. Certainly not enough to practice on a regular basis. While I don’t mind keeping the kit in the basement incase he changes his mind, I’m not going to make my limited parenting time shrieking about practice.

I remember my parents having to take that role with me, when they paid for organ lessons for me and Little Sister. I can remember practicing and hating the organ because that was the easiest place to direct my frustration. I certainly didn’t want to blame myself, but I’m sure I shot more than one loathing look at my parents.

I guess I’m taking a different look at this. Some might say, “You’re letting him quit!” I’m saying, “I’m letting him find his passion.” There’s a difference. Some of you may recall me being a cow about not allowing First Born Son to quit playing hockey many moons ago. You can pack up your hypocrite flags, because the difference here is FBS wanted to quit because of the actions of others; he still loved hockey. SBS is simply isn’t  interested in drums enough to spend the time to practice therefore I don’t feel the desire to spend the money.

In the middle of this discussion, he was finishing a project for school; a poster of what the Canadian government would have sent out to European countries to encourage immigration. You know, if posters were the thing to do in the 1800s. I took a look at his poster and told him I was disappointed that he traced the image of the man in the poster.

“I didn’t trace it,” he replied, rather indignant. SBS does indignant very well.

“You’re telling me you DREW that?” I replied.

“Yes!” he said.

“You are positive?” I replied, have another look.

“YES! I DIDN’T TRACE IT!” he’s annoyed with me, and rather offended. He’s pretty good at offended too.

That’s when the lightbulb went on for me. I’m not sure why I didn’t see it before.

My grandmother was an artist…

2014-02-12 10.47.37

My sister is an artist….

2014-02-12 10.43.19

 

not to mention…this….

DSC_1473

And while FBS would say he cannot draw anything beyond stick people, there is no denying his creativity,

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and…

2014-01-22 20.34.09

…both from his brain, no pattern here folks.

His father is creative through his landscaping and I’ve been known to take a photo or two, so I’m not sure what took me so long to put it together. But I realized we were definitely on to something after his first lesson.

2014-02-12 13.09.21

 

Wow. Looking good!

Last night was his second lesson…

2014-02-12 13.19.33

Holy. Crap.

SBS is excited, inspired and eager to learn more.

So in the end, is it about fighting about practicing, or is this about finding your passion and going with that?

I’ll take the later.

 

 

 

Oldie but a Goodie – Second Born Son

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

I’m going through my original blog to pick out some of my favourites. Here’s one of my favourites with Second Born Son. Enjoy!

http://thebowerygirl.blogspot.ca/2009/07/recent-conversation-with-second-born.html

 

A Sense of Occasion

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

Pride, as a parent, is as thrilling an emotion as it gets. You see your child accomplishing something; be recognized for something; have others see him or her as the outstanding individual you believe them to be; for them to see it in themselves.

When Second Born Son told us his artwork for his school’s Royal Canadian Legion Remembrance Day Contest was selected for an award, we were thrilled. I think he was pleased because not too many boys have been recognized, so he was “representin”!

This morning, he asked what he should wear. I asked him how he’d like to dress.

“Probably something nice?” he said.

“Sure!” I replied, knowing he is not a fan of the shirt and tie.

“Like a button shirt?” he clarified. I nodded.

“Maybe a tie?” I venture.

He nods, not pleased, but not completely against the idea.

As we head out the door, he’s grabbed his dress shoes, without prompting.  He has on a good coat, without me reminding him. As we enter the Legion, he is greeted by the Legion member, an elderly man, who works in the schools. He recognizes SBS and comments on his appearance. As do other Legion members. He’s the only student with a tie on. Actually, he’s the only student who’s not wearing jeans. That’s not the point, and we’ve told both boys that. You don’t judge someone who isn’t wearing what you’re wearing. You don’t know if their wardrobe is a choice or not. For us, we like to dress for the occasion.

So as proud as I was that he was recognized for his artistic talent, I was equally pleased that he showed an institution like the Legion the respect it deserved.

2014-01-09 19.14.58

Way to go Bud!

Letters That Need To Be Written V

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

Dear Judge Jean Boyd,

Your Honor, with all due respect of your station as Juvenile Court Judge of Burleson, (near Fort Worth, Texas), are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?

You had an opportunity to send a message to a clearly overly indulged young man; one who has obviously had every opportunity given to him by his misguided, yet financially comfortable parents. You could have given a sense of closure to the families of four people who tragically lost their lives when this youth, who was practically pickled with three times the legal limit of alcohol in his body, mowed them down on the side of the road with his pickup truck. You could have given some sense of justice to the two other victims, “friends” of this youth, who were in the box of the pickup, one of whom is unable to speak or move thanks to the traumatic brain injury sustained in this  preventable, AVOIDABLE, motor vehicle collision.

But instead, you created a victim. The accused himself! How he must have suffered being the son of parents who never gave him boundaries! How horrible for him to have gone years with his every whim catered to! We will never know his agony! Thanks to you Judge, we now have a new trendy condition “affluenza”. WTH? I can guarantee you, no one in my home will come down with this quasi-condition.

Way to reward the guilty! And his sad excuse for parents! Junior gets 10 years of probation, starting with a rehab program (I’ve never been to a resort that is as nice as this rehab facility people! Check out the Newport Academy here. BTW it’s putting his daddy back $450,000 a year.) and keeping him away from his parents for at least two years. Whew! What a relief for them! They can continue NOT PARENTING him just has they have been for the past 16 years! At least they won’t have the burden of dragging him around down like a walking, breathing scarlet A on their chest. They can continue ignoring their role in this travesty.

I’m sure you will be getting Christmas cards from other affluent families, whose spoiled brats are looking for loop holes in the justice system. You just set a precedent with a big enough loop-hole to drive a big ol’ Texas-sized pickup through.

Once again, the self-proclaimed “Land of The Free and Home of the Brave” (Land of the Spoiled and Home of the Self Indulged?) is getting it wrong, because even though this sentencing is a farce, the possibility is slim that the sentence can be appealed, because of the finding of guilt and a sentence being handed down. I guess US lawmakers didn’t allow for “not enough” sentencing. The prosecution asked for 25 years in jail, so with the exchange on the dollar, four, eight, carry the one….yup you are looking at 10 years probation.

My heart goes out to the families of the true victims; a young woman with a broken down vehicle, who was being assisted by a youth pastor and a middle-aged woman along with her teenaged daughter – all providing help, trying to do a good deed.

I hope their memories haunt this young man and his family.

And the judge with her misguided sense of “Justice.”

 

Baby – Teenager

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

2013-12-03 14.06.19These eyes tell it all.

You were meant to come into our family and bring your own brand of humour, love and caring. For that, I will be forever grateful.

Second Born Son, like his brother, arrived fashionably late. He was supposed to be a November baby, but held on (almost literally) until December 3, 2000. Two trips to the hospital an hour away. Twelve hours of labor YOU LITTLE BUM – but totally worth it for the dimples alone!

Now this little man was born at 5:55 a.m. and he’s been a night owl ever since. (Save for the times around 24 months when he would put himself to bed if we had company over! Boyfriend needed his beauty sleep!) He was the happiest of babies until he was PISSED. OFF. Then you needed to be jumpin’, people. You need to be jumpin’. My husband’s family is known for its blond, strawberry blonde and downright redheads. They didn’t know quite what to do with a black-haired baby. He loved the dog, and adored his brother. I need to find a way to download video of him laughing his tush off at his brother because the laughter is from another soul. SBS IS laughter.

Because we had a son already, many people thought we were hoping for a girl. We didn’t care. What was meant to be would be. We were meant to have this baby. And with his arrival, we knew we were a full family. So while his brother made me a Mommy, this little guy…

2013-12-03 14.08.51

…made our family.

Love you Tootie! Happy 13th Birthday!!!! xo

 

Raising Rob Ford

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

So, the Rob Ford Soap Opera has given me quite a pain. Right over here. No back a little bit more…

Between horrific videos, more horrific press conferences and enough drama to keep a spin doctor employed through to the end of his term as Mayor Toronto, it’s truly a train wreck and we are helpless to stop it, or look away.

 Here we have an adult male who is having, in effect, a toddler temper tantrum on the world stage. I find myself over and over again trying to explain this man’s actions to my sons, who frequently reply with, “But didn’t he learn not to do that when he was a kid?” or “Didn’t his parents teach him that?” They have come to a logical conclusion here. This man needs some discipline; perhaps some parenting is in order?

 You think I’m over simplifying? Let’s break it down. I’m pretty sure we’ve all been told these gems once or twice.

 1. Lying Only Makes It Worse.

Let’s start at the beginning. When this all started, it was about a grainy cell phone photo where Rob Ford was doing his best Whitney Houston impression. And while he didn’t come out with Crack Is Whack, he did come out with a big denial. Had he come forward with an acknowledgement of the incident and some humility (I know, it’s not humanly possible for this man), he could have slipped off quietly for some rehab, stayed in office and people would have given him the second chance he seems hellbent on. However, LYING about the video’s existence started the entire saga on bad footing. We look back now and say, “Well, if he lied about that, what else is he lying about?” Let’s remember, this man has already been temporarily suspended from office, and disciplined for using public transit for his personal use – the transportation of his football team. Prejudice exists, I’m afraid, based on previous behavior.

 2. Don’t Lie To Your Mother.

Momma Ford and sister Kathy took to CP24 to defend Rob’s “honor” (?!) and say that he has been truthful to them, that he doesn’t have an addiction problem, and that they support him 100%. Either the Ford ladies are Oscar-calibre actors, or they have tickets on a cruise down De Nial as a half-wit monkey can see what the Ford family truly is; a bunch of enablers. I’m sure Big Brother Doug Ford was thrilled to look like a moron on Rob’s behalf; DEMANDING the resignation of the Chief of Police on the grounds of trumping up allegations, less than five hours before his brother would have a media conference where he would admit to smoking crack. Ouch!

 3. Watch Your Mouth. (aka – You Kiss Your Momma With That Mouth?)

Right now my eldest son is 16 years old. He swears. If you read this blog with any frequency, you know I do too. The Big Guy can let it fly with the best of them. Second Born Son is keeping it clean, but I fully expect him to melt down at some point and “expand his vocabulary”. I don’t say this with pride, I say this to be relative. Most (not all) people have sworn at some point. Most people (not all) know when it is appropriate and with what audience. My 16-year-old hormone-laden son knows that if he were to come out with some of the crap flowing out of Rob Ford’s mouth (in private, never mind in public), he’d have his jaw wired shut. Ever since the boys were small, we discussed what kind of words were “appropriate” since media, friends, and some family, don’t have the same frame of reference, and we didn’t want our five-year-old coming out with a big “What the HELL?” just before Easter Dinner. We started with negative words like “idiot”, “hate” and “stupid”. Stupid is still as big a swear word as “asshole” in our house and will get you promptly relocated to your room with a lecture to follow. Common civility dictates some words are simply not appropriate, especially the mouth they come from is four inches above the Chain of Office.

 4. Be a Gentleman/Lady.

This may seem self-evident, but what this means is, be polite to others. Hold yourself in certain regard, and you’ll be surprised in how others treat you. If you act like a common street thug, be prepared to be viewed that way. Strive for more. This means refraining from making lewd comments about oral sex with former staffers, and even more so, don’t make that first statement seem less offense by making a followup remark that is just as visual about YOUR. WIFE.

 5. You are Judged by the Company You Keep.

Remember the first time your parents had to tell you to watch the company you kept? Remember how confusing that was to figure out? eventually, though, we did. We understood that be associating with people who broke rules, were disrespectful, caused trouble, were in trouble, were looking for trouble, were often…trouble? Ya, Rob wasn’t listening that day.

 6. Say “Sorry” Like You Mean It.

When we were kids, saying sorry was like getting a band-aid. It solved the problem immediately. As we mature and the Sorry we need to say is for bigger issues than, say, slamming the door, we understand that Sorry isn’t a band-aid anymore. It’s an acknowledgement of our error and it’s impact on another person. One of my biggest pet peeves is someone using the word Sorry with no meaning behind it. At first Rob Ford refused to say he was Sorry. Within days, he was saying Sorry so much, it began to lose its impact. He quickly moved on to say that he’s said Sorry so many times, he doesn’t know what else to say. And that, my friends, is the problem. There is nothing else to say.

 7. You Always Get Caught.

Wasn’t it freaky how our Moms knew stuff? How did they know??? Did they really have eyes in the back of their heads? Was there a Secret Mom Society?? Any time we do something wrong, bad, hurtful and try to cover it up, it always comes back to bite us. If we didn’t learn this when we were four sneaking cookies, then perhaps we have to learn it in our mid 40s, with low-grade cell-phone video to rat us out. (FYI – There totally is a Secret Mom Society – in case my kids are reading this…)

 8. You Call These People Your Friends?

Not to be confused with #5, this point is for all the people who are lining up to say they support Rob Ford and that this media circus is nothing more than a witch hunt. If you are truly part of Ford Nation, and want to see this man re-elected for another term, you will show support in him stepping aside temporarily. Because if nothing else is evident, it is this; Rob Ford has issues, demons if you will, that need to be addressed now. His passionate refusal to leave the role of Mayor is not only an issue for the City and the Province, but most importantly, is jeopardizing his well-being and his role as a father and husband. Choose your priorities wisely. Voters love a Come-Back story. Be the new and improved Rob Ford. Everyone deserves a second chance, but its hard to rally from a body bag.

 Let’s hope someone, whose opinion matters to Rob Ford, can step in and give him the sage advice he needs.

Starting with a Time Out.

Of Boys and Men

/ Sarah / 4 Comments
What a bunch...

What a bunch…

I am surrounded by Testosterone. Even the dogs are both male.

As one of two daughters, it was extremely enlightening for me to become a mother of two sons. Once the initial shock wore off, I vowed to be the most enlightened and supportive mother I could be. But the male/female dynamic continues to intrigue me.

Take, for example, the roles The Big Guy and I have. We aren’t exactly “traditional” in all aspects of our relationship. He has been very supportive of me showing our sons the range of abilities woman have and how there is no difference when it comes how to treat people, what to expect from people and what people can expect of themselves. Not “men” vs “women”.

However, I have noticed a bit of a disturbing trend. Studies (I don’t have to link them – Google has MILLIONS of links – see you in 50 years) that bring to light a change in the roles we play and why. Women (girls) have been encouraged to go out and be “more”, do “more”, have “more”. That there is no limit to what they can do, and thanks to the Women’s Movement, we have the ability to do everything a man can do.

Hallelujah!

But what about our boys? What support have we given them in the evolving world of relationships and dynamics?

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Now some of what I’m going to say is going to SOUND like I’m anti-female. For the record, I’m not, and since I kinda am  A GIRL, I think I get to say this without any judgement, but perhaps with a little perspective. Follow through before freaking out, ok?

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Today, girls are having, on average, 75 sexual partners throughout their highschool careers. Consequently, this means the boys are in the same camp – but follow along. This is a huge increase from 10 years ago, and unheard of a generation ago. The difference today is that girls feel more in control of their sexuality, and while we could debate the reasoning behind WHY a young person is so sexually active at such a young age, I really don’t have time for a Thesis today – got laundry to do.

The trend is not that males are necessarily pursuing females, it’s that females are initiating these encounters on an increasing scale. Traditionally males were the pursuers, now females are the ones reaching out.

This is at the same time where females are entering post secondary education and subsequently the workforce in larger numbers than ever (although we still have to figure out how to make as much as man for the same work, right ladies??) and some would point to selective hiring for minorities as to why that is happening. I like to think it’s because the job is going to the most qualified person – after all, isn’t that what our mothers/grandmothers fought for? Equality? Women are becoming more successful in their careers and pushing of relationships, marriage and family longer and longer.

What are our guys doing?

There are TV franchises built around the premise of the son come back home to nest when he should be soaring because he’s not out making it in the world – because it’s become common within our society.

Women are being challenged to be all they can be. Conquer the World!

Men are the punchline on Wednesday nights.

Think I’m looking too Big Picture?

There was a phone call at our house the other day.

“Is Second Born Son there?” asked the young female voice.

“No, I’m sorry, may I take a message?” I asked.

(flurry of giggles from multiple mouths) “Nope.”

Dead air and the click of phone disconnecting.

I advised SBS that he had a message from an unknown source. He wasn’t impressed. If you remember, this has happened to him before, albeit a little more aggressively.

We returned from a week-long vacation to be greeted by another young girl (we’re talking Grade 4 here people) first asking SBS to call her, then demanding that he call her, and finally berating him for NOT calling her, over the course of four or five messages. BTW – she never left her number.

This time, as in the time previous, SBS was HORRIFIED. A girl had CALLED HIM!? What’s up with THAT? (Remember here that as a household with less than traditional roles, we have not stipulated that ONLY BOYS CALL GIRLS.) He immediately sourced out the “offending” caller at school and reported to me the following day. We talked at length about why it bothered him that she (and apparently an entire room full of friends on a sleep over) decided to ring him up.

What I learned was that he felt he should be the one calling the girl. Now, society has that stereotype out there, but I could also see how this was ingrained in him. It bothered him, beyond what other people thought. This is a kid who was not overly concerned about being popular, and more about being true to himself.

He didn’t know how to be himself if someone else was taking on a role he thought was his.

And that, my friends, is when the light bulb went on for me.

If we are going to empower girls to go higher, faster, farther, then we better be prepared to equally support our boys to understand how to navigate these changes and empower them as well. SBS and I talked about how he may not be comfortable with a girl calling him, but maybe she has the confidence to pick up the phone first. After all, I would think most men would agree, calling a woman for the first time can be an unnerving experience. Less feeling threatened, more feeling flattered. When he’s old enough, we can work through how he can feel better about his role in a relationship, but DEAR GAWD, HE’S ONLY IN GRADE 8!! Maybe next week?

Overall, men aren’t understanding the new dynamic in male/female relationships (let’s be honest – I don’t think they had the “old” dynamic figured out either…) and this was impacting feelings of inadequacy which in turn leaves women feeling like men are not “bringing it” to relationships.

The biggest complaint of dating women who are in the 20s-30s is that Chilvary is dead. Romance is gone from dating. BUT, how many times can a guy hear that his date is more than capable of paying her own way THANKYOUVERYMUCH, or that some “loser” held the door open for her, or heaven forbid – he brought FLOWERS , before he stops making these gestures that he thought made her feel special. You can’t bemoan the Death of Romance while you hold the smoking gun.

If I don’t need you for an income and I don’t need a relationship for sex, and I’m only considered successful if I conquer the world on my own, then really what do I need you for again? Not. Good. For either side.  As women are discovering their own worth, we need to remember the value men bring, before we have a generation of guys who don’t know how to date, never mind be romantic, supportive and empowering of their partner. It’s about give and take. Balance. Equality.

To me, Feminism isn’t the ability to trod upon a man’s sense of self-worth, it’s the ability to enjoy and explore my own. Women can be free to express, experience, succeed and fail.

And so can Men. It shouldn’t be a stigma for a male to be successful, or want to take charge, or want to take care of someone or be the one to pick up the phone first. We need to show our boys that while we are celebrating our daughters, our sons are not over looked.