Parent Teacher Conferences

 Today and tomorrow bring about the two-day festive holiday known as "Parent Teacher Conferences," in our house.  Now, to some parents, this holiday might strike fear in the deep recesses of their hearts.  I have had enough experience over the years to know that the best way to prepare for this party is to take a deep breath, crack my knuckles, partake in a few neck rolls, and shake out the tension.  It is important to stand before a mirror and practice which grin looks the least forced under a sheen of sweat that dots the upper lip.  Perhaps the most important tip I can offer in preparation of this particular feast is the chant used to lull myself to sleep on Conference eve.  It is fairly simple, yet acutely imperative and bears repeating a thousand times.  It goes like this, "Bring It On, Bring It On, Hit me with your best shot and Bring It On."  I believe the counting sheep show compassion as they as they blend beautiful harmonies and perhaps empathy earned from a few lackadaisical lambs.

  I am jesting, sort of...not really, but mostly.

  Within our beautiful crew of seven children we have plenty of personality, an assortment of learning aptitudes, a diverse approach to diligence, and everything in between.  This is in regards to the book work.  Let us direct our attention to the portion that covers...behaviors.  Or perhaps...NOT.  I'd rather let your imagination cover this ground.  Conduct varies by disposition and of course, age certainly plays a factor.  Yet, it is never a given as to which age brings about the most interesting teacher encounters.

  I will let your imagination join our school soiree as I offer a morsel for you to digest.  Let's just say we thought we had seen it all by the time our youngest entered her scholastic career.  Such was not the case.  I didn't even know a pre-school Parent-Teacher Conference could last an hour... and contain such a conundrum of concern and comic relief.  I truly appreciate the teachers who are down to earth and are willing to tell tales of what my children have done while honing the art of presenting with a flourish of humor and positive word choices.  Apparently my youngest is spirited, not sassy.  She has strong leadership skills and has escaped being bossy.  She is exceptionally bright...I may have added the exceptionally- because she is, of course.  She is hilarious, even when she doesn't intend to be so.  However, this could be construed as honesty without filter.  Again, gratitude comes to mind when offered humor in uncomfortable situations.  My daughter once informed me it is possible to have a "Food Baby."  What do you mean, Honey?  "Well, Ms. So-and-so told me it wasn't a real baby in her belly it was a food baby."  My hands flew to my mouth and covered the intake of GASP when I realized what my sweet angel must have asked that morning.  Clearly we didn't cross that line of discussion when we met...yet that shindig still held 60 full minutes of...conferencing.  Siiiiigh.

  This year's Season witnessed my mature head nods and understanding "Mmm-hmmm's," while my spirit screamed, "You can't break me!"  I used to attempt explanations for what I felt judged upon.  I've learned that served no purpose in helping my child's progress.  With age comes wisdom of the sort that can't be learned in the text-books.  The school of hard-knocks, while difficult to live through and even more torturous to witness our children in does serve a purpose.  Every year I fill in the blanks of what I want the teacher to learn about my child with prose subtly suggesting their spirit not be crushed.   I must also respect the fact my child needs to learn to work within a group.  This skill can enhance their individuality so that others will want to follow them when the time is right.  Our greatest strengths may originally emerge as our greatest weakness.  It takes a wise mentor to recognize character and raw talent and know that a student must understand the end goal and be willing to work together for goal attainment.  These are not easy tasks...I know because I am a mother  invested in helping achieve this very goal.  I treasure these opportunities to work together with teachers I see as partners in this mission.

  I can tease about the tough times and roll with the reality of imperfections.  Yet, I will agree to check the on-line student accounts to ensure proper quiz preps, visit our library to borrow FUN reading material, ground my son...I mean move his clothespin to stop, if he doesn't read to his sister, banish friends until geography skills are improved, implement a structured, yet whimsical learning environment where all will thrive as they broaden their brain activity.  I will also broaden my shopping list with the addition of an aluminum cookie sheet, plastic lower-case magnetic letters, shaving cream for spelling activities, cleaner to remove shaving cream from my bathtub walls and perhaps a bit of wine to celebrate another year's Conferencing conquest.

 

Happy Halloween!

  18 years of Trick or Treating have taught me...never take anything for granted.  Like, it's not a given all your children will be healthy enough to go...and may even throw-up in the truck on the way to frivolous fun.  That year was a bummer as it was the first child's first Halloween.

  I've learned it's possible to push past personal trauma and illness to ensure your kiddos can participate in the festivities.  Hey, being released from the hospital with just enough time to spare AND still having a bit of meds circulating in the system mean "YES we can!," as long as hubby is there to lend an arm and hold the flashlight as we weave down the street.

  It is SO MUCH FUN to take the kids to the neighborhoods with doors you once knocked on.  Granted, it's probably more fun in your own mind since you're re-living the good ol' days.  Perhaps the children can't feel the joy of walking a "country mile" with stretches of fields between houses.  Now it's all about filling the bag...ok, it was then too.  We just didn't know there was an alternative.
My husband and I took one year each out of the near two decades to walk these old paths.  The smiles on the faces in my husband's old stomping grounds as they greeted one of the Yurkewicz boys and his offspring--PRICELESS!

  I've learned to influence costumes while there is still time!  Yes, in the ideal years my children went dressed as an angel or Saint.  Now there are "tasteful" vampires and Elsa.  While dressing my second youngest child in his Army-man costume for a party last night it came time to add a tough-guy tattoo.  I hesitated over his bicep for a second before suggesting, "How bout a heart with Mom?"  He replied, "How bout a drop of blood."  To which I responded, "How bout MOM in a heart?"  "Ummm, how bout a flame?" he hopefully asked.  I was not giving up knowing my third-grader wouldn't be offering me his little flexed muscles much longer...next year he'd be grabbing the paints himself...and in years to come perhaps darkening the door of a real ink shop.  "How bout Mom." I stated.  "Ok, how bout Mom, he agreed with a smile."  Whew!  You can bet I called attention to that tattoo at the party- Look how my son loves me!

  There was the year we finally accepted the offer to trick-or-treat in my oldest sister's neighborhood.  My sister Mary had been diagnosed with stage 4 colo-rectal cancer and I just wanted to be near her.  A couple things learned that night a) Never try and out-do my sister...there would be no winning.  I felt so festive in my orange and black until I was greeted at the door by a beautiful, glamorous witch complete with striped stockings, a feathery, pointed hat, full make-up, and wig. b) It can be more fun staying behind to man the "giving" station.  Mary and I giggled over home-made yarn braids, scary masks, and neighbors who had come and see her in all her finery.  We also sat in quiet as certain moments called for.  I had the opportunity to ooh-and ahh over every decorative spider web, lit up jack-o-lantern, and fiery cauldron she had found the energy to set out--of course she gloried in the compliments.  c) I should have come to my sister's years ago when her health was well.  Mary's been gone for almost two years now and the tears run down my cheeks as I remember that evening and am grateful that we drove across town-even past the country roads we grew up on to spend that fun evening together.  I'm grateful for her example and hold her spirit of joy deep in my heart as we head out this year. 

    I acknowledge the largest lesson of this season: time moves swiftly.  Therefore I commit to seizing the moment while holding kids and family close.  I am insisting we head to the other side of town as a family- though some teenagers would rather hang with friends.  Regardless of the chill in the air, I will rejoice with each thud of candy in their hard plastic pumpkin.  Not for material gain...but because we walk together as a family- through the darkness of the night and find reasons to laugh and support one another.  It is what you make it.  Perhaps I'll throw on a bit of "ink" tonight.  I'll be the arm with seven little hearts holding onto my husband as we weave through the streets.  He's relented this year...back to my old town.  But not the same old country streets.  The cousins we'll trick or treat with have learned there are streets that exist with houses that are separated by mere driveways.  Even I can appreciate change.

 

My Life is Perfect...on Facebook

I love Facebook...yet it is a book of faces and what those faces are doing.  Admittedly, I get sucked in and during my weaker moments, it's for hours at a time. 

  Why?  I suppose the reason varies.  It's good to see what others are up to.  It's a curious itch that seeks to be scratched.  Scrolling uses mindless muscles that aren't linked to any type of time-awareness faculties.  Sometimes I just want a good laugh for the day.  Occasionally I want to mindlessly escape the realities of life that of course would never show up on my timeline. 

  I've witnessed beautiful displays of tantalizingly arranged dinners...would you want to see my overflowing sink of crusty dishes?  Now that's just silly, and gross.  Why would I, wife and mother of seven, have cups and plates jam-packed in a 13"x10" space, competing for room with a chili encrusted, two gallon soup pot to see which can jettison more tap water onto the kitchen floor?  Puhleez!  I can't run fast enough to wash dishes since my little angels race to do this task and fight for the privilege.  Yes, MY children should be role models for the U.N. in the  manner they get along so amiably.  If you saw my FB you'd see them gathered round the table for a wholesome game of Bingo.  On a more raucous evening it might be Monopoly.  You'd detect no sibling rivalry like the children "I heard about" who tore each other's homework to shreds in a fit of revenge--how beastly.  If I could master technology I'd probably post videos of my children volunteering at our Church's fundraising Oktoberfest.  There'd be no hint of neighbors closing windows against offensive bickering...nor air conditioners being turned on to further diffuse our...I mean, some families...clamor.   If you were to look through the history of my photos you'd notice that it took me a bit of time to get the gist of what is meant by "camera friendly."  Of course now, my hair-do is ALWAYS on point (see how trendy my language is ;) ) and professionally enhanced.  Isn't everyone's?  Why wouldn't it be?  We have hordes of money.  Simply boatloads, tons, kajillions of dollars!  Why would I sneak away to Sally's Beauty Supply, under cover of darkness, with my 14 year-old daughter and grill the once upon a time beautician now turned clerk about coloring?  Don't be ridiculous!  Why would I accept her offer to write instructions on scrap paper about how to put hair into sections and have my daughter google the steps to balance out dark roots?  Honey, Please!  Remember..."On Point"- that's me!  If I ever sobbed into my bathroom mirror at 1 A.M. after my daughter begged-off and went to bed because it was the first day of school and I was left to rinse my orange tinged hair on my own and attempt a few snips to get rid of frizz...you would NEVER know about it!  Of course...never happened.  There are no pictures.  You can't prove a thing. 

For whatever reason I sign on to Facebook, I typically read through the top of my News Feed to see what's what.  I keep going to see what's been missed- til I realize the current time and grasp that what's been missed is a chunk of my day! 

  This isn't a rant about social media...for heaven's sake I'm typing on a blog in real time here.  It's just a notion that perhaps it's a good thing to set boundaries for how much of my own life I'm willing to spend on the pictures and captions of family, old classmates, mentors, strangers, and friends of friends.  The currency used is seconds, minutes, hours.  The hitch is there is no refund.  You can't get time back...ever.

 Besides,  what your currency is spent on perhaps is an illusion.  Except on MY timeline- where all is authentic as it's intended to seem ;) 



 

DUCK! and cover...

 

 It's a good thing I knew today opened Waterfowl Season in the Lake Erie Zone... 

  Walking glorious paths of breath-taking, fall beauty while losing myself in interior dialogue is a common occurrence these days.  "I don't know if there's a name for the color of those leaves.  It's a sort of bright orange tinged with yellow and red."  Sniiiiif...yes, inhale deeply to further ingest nature's best.  "Ahh, it's so amazingly beautiful out here.  The sky is so clear and the water is so calm.  I can't get over how peacefxx..." BAM! BAM! BAM!

 "Good one!," I think as I lower my right knee, unclasp my heart, slowly unscrunch my eyes, and relax my lips to cover bared teeth.  I don't think I would fool any human or duck into believing I meant to strike that pose.  Might as well continue walking and remind myself to just look straight ahead as cheeks flame and heart tries to find it's way back to a normal rhythm.

  My husband and sons are hunters.  I knew it was bound to happen.  But that staccato of reports sounding off to my right caught me off guard and scared me as readily as a good glaucoma test.    Sounds weird I know, but to endure the optical exam's blast of forced air, though some call it a tiny puff,  prompts self imposed strong arm tactics.  I have to force my forehead against the headrest while every inch of my face is crumpled and eyes are narrowed to the tiniest of slits.  The expectation of what's coming is clearly worse than the actual outcome.  I know this is a personal quirk that delights some family members and irritates others to no end.  C'mon, doesn't everyone get freaked out by the suspense that builds while waiting on the *pop* caused by placing a spoon to the crease of a can of crescent rolls?  I've finally given up on bullying myself to do it with arms outstretched, hands wrapped in oven mitts, and face turned away as far as possible.  Now, I just pretend I need help with dinner and call my kids in to do the task.  I'm astounded at their bravery!

 For future walks, I suppose I should practice not flinching.  I'll be sharing the Peninsula with 73 lucky duck hunters who won first chance to stake their blinds for the next couple months.  I concede I could eliminate post traumatic stress by January if I chose to walk in a less unnerving location...but I'd just as soon face a plethora of eye-puffs before I'd give up Presque Isle in all it's seasonal glory! 

Rinng Riiiing Riiiiing....Pillsbury called...they suggested I try Wintergreen Gorge.

 

Bonk On The Head

"Mrs. Yurkewicz?" 
"Yes..."
"This is the school nurse...ummm...I'm calling to tell you of a minor incident involving your daughter..."
Silence... thoughts whirring...what did she do now.

The school nurse rushed on to reassure me that my kindergartner had taken a purposeful, solid, two-fisted bonk on the head during their scheduled Learning Lab with a pretty good nature.  I was told she did not have a headache and had rested with an ice-bag on her head before being evaluated once again and sent back to class.

Truthfully, other than asking if the nurse was sure my youngest child didn't have a headache since she had been complaining of one last night and this morning I was a bit at a loss for words.  I did manage to ask about the "bonk-er" but the nurse didn't have that information, she was there to tell me my daughter was physically fine.  Even now I am still processing this conversation and wondering what type of reaction I'll receive once my daughter is home.

This is the fine line we walk as parents- when to get involved and make a big deal of something and when to  walk the sidelines, smiling and waving our support while letting them know we are near if they need us to step in.  These moments, though perhaps soon forgotten in the minds of our children tempt me to want to place a bubble around those I cherish and ensure their safety in the face of whatever comes.  I can't do that...I know because I've tried.  This little one is number seven and there is no way to intercept the boo-boos, tears, hurt-feelings, and ouchies that come.  Yes, these are the character builders.  They are building character in me simultaneously.  The hurt is a different kind- the pain of letting go.  The comfort comes in realizing that there is One who loves my children more than I and He has their back.

Perhaps it's time to be grateful for the incessant bickering that has taken place here at the homestead for...well, forever.  We've made it a rule that the Instigator must say, "I'm sorry" and the Injured Party say, "I forgive you." Yes, I agree with the children who at times have reared back with, "I'm just saying it cuz you're forcing me."  Doesn't matter, do it anyway.  It's the right thing to do. It's now become a habit within our family.  One they can not get around.  Time stops for them until these words are spoken.

Time for my youngest to take these words into her life where I am not in control.  Took me awhile to realize control was an illusion anyway.  I must practice them when the bonk-er is held accountable...after all my baby was hurt...on purpose.  Yet, a few lines keep coming to mind from the movie Finding Nemo and I'm reminded all these little calls from the nurse and bandaged knee caps from life are all part of their journey and are orchestrated to work for their own good.

Marlin: There, there, there. It's okay, Daddy's here, Daddy's got you. I promise I will never let anything happen to you... Nemo.

Dory: That's a funny thing to promise. Well, you can't never let anything happen to him, then nothing would ever happen to him.