Sportsmanlike Conduct

Parker had his first T-ball game yesterday. He's been intense about T-ball; seriously excited, treating it with a gravity that he hasn't shown any other activity. I've had my heart in my throat these past several weeks as we've met his coaches, tried on his uniform and cleats and attended his first practices. He just seems to care so very much. I think that, for Parker, there's an expectation about T-ball; that this is what bigger boys do. 

"You know, you might not get the jersey number you want, Bub," I tentatively told him as we headed to Opening Day. "This is just your first ever practice, so it's OK if you're not super great at T-ball right away," I said with a smile and a kiss right before he ran off in full uniform to join his team on a windy Wednesday evening. My eyes misted over as I watched him "grab a knee" out on the infield and gaze up attentively at his coach at that first practice. It was one of those "Sunrise Sunset" moments. (Of course, he's still mostly little boy--not even in kindergarten yet--and little-boy-ness is supremely unsuppressable. He gaily skipped back and forth from the infield to the outfield between drills.)

For me, one of the most challenging parts about parenting is tempering my tendency to overprotect. It is so tough to sit on the sidelines and watch your sweet little guy enthusiastically shout, "Parker is the fastest runner!" knowing that he will learn in short shrift that he is not actually the fastest player on the field; or the best thrower or the best catcher or the best batter, for that matter. Not a whole lot tended to challenge Parker's sense of self when he was a homeschooled kid with no siblings living on a tiny island. Now we live in a sprawling metropolis; now he has a baby brother; now he goes to preschool; now he regularly interacts with older children (his cousin, my dad's 10 year old and 6 year old, the boys in our apartment building); now he plays team sports. He's getting the message, out loud and tacitly, that he's just a little guy in a big world with a lot to learn about a lot of things. I think he feels like he's shimmying up the totem pole a bit by donning his T-ball uniform, like he's more in league, so to speak, with the bigger boys.

Parker's first practices went well--nothing untoward happened to quell his fever pitch--and so he suited up for yesterday's game with gusto. Sure enough, though, about halfway through the game, the spring went out of Parker's step. He trudged toward me to say, "Mommy, this game is taking too long. I'm ready to go now." His eyes were red and his chin quivered. I asked him if anything had happened. He was adamant that he was just tired. "The practices are much shorter than this, Mommy." He didn't believe me when I told him that the reverse was true.

What to do, when your child wants to throw in the towel? How hard do you push him to "get back on the horse?" Thoughts bounced around in my brain: he'd slept plenty the night before so he can't be too tired; maybe he didn't eat enough lunch; maybe his uniform is too thin for this insanely cold wind; maybe I took too many photos, thereby putting too much pressure on this first game; maybe I should let him quit for today; if don't make him finish the game, will he learn that it's OK to give up? shouldn't I encourage him to persevere? but will he think that my love is conditional if I force him back out onto the field? aack, he's crying! what do I do? Meanwhile, Parker was sitting dejectedly on the dugout bench, Logan (my newborn) was snotty, tired and screaming on my chest in the Moby wrap, the other parents were covertly taking in the whole scene, and the same thought kept repeating itself, overriding all the others: "Maybe Parker just misses his dad."

Parker ended up playing out the game with aid of a Z-bar and the promise of a hot chocolate. I noticed that the other team's first baseman liked to shout, "You're out! I got you out!" at Parker each time he eventually trotted up to first base after hitting the ball. (I say "eventually" because Parker, like most other T-ballers, seems to have a hard time remembering to actually drop the bat and run to first base--and tag the base!--once he's hit the ball, thereby giving the other team ample time to field the ball. Aren't all Americans born instinctually knowing how to play our national pastime? Apparently not.) There are no outs in T-ball but that doesn't stop some competitively minded kids from keeping track of when they make an out; I'm sure those same kids were counting the runs scored, too. I again asked Parker, after the game, if anything had happened to upset him during the game. He mentioned that first baseman, those taunting words. It's so hard, as a parent, to watch your child's feelings get bruised, even when you know it's all part of the maturing process. That mother hen instinct to swoop your chicks up under your wings and keep them there bundled next to your heart forever is so strong. I told Parker that the only person he really needs to listen to on the T-ball field is his coach. He looked at me, a little deflated, and replied, "Can we go to the park after we get my hot chocolate?"

Carrying his gear to the game.

Listening to the coach, pre-game.

Parker's fan club. 

Watching the action from the dugout.

 

Dec, Papa Bo and Logan.

On deck. 

First at bat.

A hit!

Trotting up to first base.

 

Snotty Logan asks, "Can we go home now?"

On second base.

Playing second base.

Here We Go Again

Greetings! It's been, what? Five months or so? I've missed you! Allow me to explain my absence. It's simple really: my computer broke (thank you, Tropical Storm Otto!), and it is very, very difficult to blog without a computer. (Alright, yes, I could have used my iPhone. I've been plagued these past months by a niggling sense of guilt over the fact that I didn't at least try to post a blog or two from my multitalented phone. I mean, there's an app for that! But I just balked at the thought of attempting to compose an intelligible, interesting and pertinent post using a keyboard smaller than my library card. Maybe that calls into question my commitment to this blog, but I contend that it confirms my (oftentimes questionable) grasp on sanity.) So, where was I? Ah yes, the irksome difficulty of blogging sans computer. Well, I have recently solved this problem! I have purchased a new computer! And upon booting up my new MacBook for the first time, I immediately sat down to write a new blog post. (OK, so I spent a week or so surfing the web, shopping for stuff like work shoes for my husband, birthday gifts for my son and his buddy, face lotion for me. But a week is pretty close to "immediately" if you take the macro view.)

So what have my son and I been doing in our homeschool all this time? Ummmmm, a lot? How can I even begin to sum up?!? I think the most important thing that has happened since we returned from our Stateside odyssey is that I have relaxed quite a bit. When my son and I started out on this homeschooling adventure, I was--how shall I say--FRAUGHT WITH ANXIETY about assuming responsibility for my son's education. Thanks to the passage of time, votes of confidence from friends and family members and insightful conversations with my parents and in-laws, the anxiety has abated. I realized that I was responsible for my son's education before we started homeschooling, with positive results. (Oprah has "Aha!" moments; I have "Duh!" moments.) Just because we officially began to homeschool didn't mean that I had to suddenly start doubting my abilities as parent/educator. I also realized that I needed to stop comparing our homeschool to traditional preschools, that it's OK for our homeschool to look a little less structured, a little more "organic" than regular schools. As my dad reminded me, "normal" preschool teachers have to constantly tackle crowd control issues at the same time they are trying to educate their gaggle of little tykes. The structure that permeates most preschools is necessary; the schools could not function without it. Well, I don't have a gaggle of little tykes in my school so I don't have to impose structure strictly to maintain order. This allows my son and I to approach learning much more freely, to follow his interests and indulge his curiosity.

In the interest of being less structured, I decided to simulate my mother-in-law's pink shelves here at home, and thus keep our homeschool materials out at all times. (In this way, my son could practice pouring or stacking the graduated blocks or what have you whenever the urge struck him; my husband or I would always be on hand to assist him, if necessary.) I was worried that finding suitable shelves would pose a problem. The shelves we had been using for our homeschool sessions were wobbly, beige-y gray and (gasp) plastic. Ceding some of our already meager living space for the sake of allowing my son unlimited access to his homeschool materials seemed a noble sacrifice to make, but I just couldn't stomach the idea of having to look at those ugly Home Depot shelves day in and day out. But, as I've mentioned before, we have no Ikea down here; nice, sturdy, wooden and inexpensive furniture is awfully hard to come by. However, in a truly serendipitous moment, my husband happened upon a pair of discarded wooden shelves next to the dumpsters behind his restaurant just days after my son and I returned home from our trip. We (and by "we" I mean my husband and his business partner) put them in the back of a school bus yellow pickup truck, drove them home and carried them up the stairs to our apartment. It took a little elbow grease to get them looking good, but it was well worth the effort.

The before photo.

Helping me paint.

Blue shelves in action!

Postscript: My husband and were talking over dinner the other night (a very rare occurrence given his 100-hour work weeks of late, thanks to the recent reopening of his restaurant in a bigger, better space in downtown Cruz Bay), when he gently suggested that a tad more structure in our homeschool sessions wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. I had to admit, I'd swung to the other end of the structure spectrum for a little while there; we weren't homeschooling so much as unschooling. While I admire the unschooling movement, the Montessori educational philosophy is what really resonates with me. So it's time to swing back a bit, to be somewhat more structured in our homeschooling. Notes on those adventures to follow...

Sew Satisfying

TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:

• Dressing Busy Board
• Hardware Busy Board

So, if I were you, here's what I'd probably be thinking right about now: "That is the dressing busy board she's been talking about (more like complaining about) needing to finish? That's what she needed more than a month to complete? Really?!?" And I don't blame you if you are indeed thinking something along those lines. I mean, it's a cute little busy board and all, but it's a little pathetic that it took me one-tenth of a year to create. In my defense, I refer you to my previous post about my desperate need for more hours in each day. In my further defense, there's the post preceding that one, in which I detailed the horrid illness from which I've only recently recovered. OK, so busy life and sickness aside, it's still pretty silly that I couldn't knock out the dressing busy board in a few days. Here's the cold, hard truth: the busy board took me so long to make because I am the exact opposite of a sewing phenom. It's a good thing I wasn't born in the 19th century because no one would have wanted to marry a sewing dunce like me. I would have been hard-pressed to make myself a shift to wear, let alone put together a workable wardrobe for my family. And embroidery? Forget about it. Now, my mom and my aunt are needlework fanatics. (I think a passion for needlework might be the only thing they--sisters, three years apart in age--have in common.) My aunt volunteers in a needlework shop several days a week, and my mom cannot go anywhere (and I mean anywhere--even just to the local sports bar to grab a beer and some fries) without taking along one needlepoint project or another. My mom is such a needlepoint enthusiast that she's actually convinced several of her male business colleagues (you know the type: guys you'd find sitting a few stools away from George Clooney's Up in the Air character in a random hotel bar) to pick up the hobby themselves. And not only are my mother and aunt fabulous sewers (needleworkers?), but my husband's mother and sisters are also absolutely awesome with needle and thread. By all accounts, I should be able to sew with my eyes shut. Well, not so much. I know the stitches on the dressing busy board look like I sewed them with my eyes shut, but sadly my eyes were open and even so those stitches are the best of repeated (and I mean repeated) attempts. In any case, it's done, and I'm inordinately proud of it. Making things is so much more satisfying than buying things.

Parker had been asking about his yellow board, and when it would be ready, for several weeks, so he and I were both excited when I unveiled it this morning. (OK, I didn't really unveil it. Forgive me for sometimes succumbing to dramatics.) I showed him how each component worked and also talked about why we call it a dressing busy board; I pointed out the buttons on his shirt, and the snap and zipper on his shorts. I thought the zippers and buttons on the board would be the main attraction for him--and he did at first go right for the big zipper--but he ended up mostly concentrating on the buckle and the bow. It took him at least a dozen tries, but he eventually got the hang of the buckle. Most kindergarteners still struggle with tying their shoes so I would have been shocked if he'd figured out the bow in one school session. He enjoyed struggling with it, though, regardless of the final outcome. (He started asking me about tying, and how it's done, a few months ago; he loves playing with string and ribbons and shoelaces, "tying up" his toys or stuffed animals or parents.) Unlike the hardware busy board, this one will take a while for Parker to master, which will help teach him perseverance and patience. The process of making the busy board offered me ample opportunities to practice those traits; I'm happy to pass along the fun.

Mission Accomplished

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you...

The Dressing Busy Board!

Resurrection

THIS WEEK'S ACTIVITIES:

• Transferring
• Pouring
• Using Tongs
• Bead Stringing
• Clothespins
• Bottles and Tops
• Hardware Busy Board
• Dusting
• Sweeping
• Cleaning Surfaces

Here's what you might call an anti-revelation: 24 hours per day is just not enough. Hasn't every human being, living and dead, uttered this aggravating truth at least once in their life? I can even imagine neanderthals feeling frustrated by the fact that they couldn't hunt and gather everything they needed to hunt and gather before the day was done. The crazy thing about this not-enough-hours-in-the-day syndrome from which I'm currently suffering is that I can recall periods in my life when I would cast about for ways to while away those self-same, now insufferably insufficient hours. Double feature at the cinema? Awesome, that should kill at least four hours! Brand new Tony Hillerman book? See you in 48 hours, world! Slightly dirty car? If I go slow, cleaning it should take something like three whole hours! And if all else failed, I would just lay down in bed and sleep forever and ever. Now I find myself maintaining a to do list in my head. It remains in my head because I can't really write it down--I'm constantly having to reorganize it, reprioritizing and reprioritizing and reprioritizing as the day unfolds and Life gets in the way of me actually accomplishing anything.

OK, I know what your thinking: welcome to parenthood, and stop whining already. I'm not the only one who experiences a time crunch on a daily basis. Come to think of it, I'm pretty fortunate. Sure, my husband works a TON, but it's not like I'm trying to hold down three jobs while raising four kids. I'm responsible for raising (and now educating) one kid as well as for performing my housewifely duties. But [she says in her most plaintive voice] I want to blog, too! Well, you can guess where this blog repeatedly landed on my to do list this past week. That's right, at the bottom. One of the very worst things about getting sick is that Life refuses to stop (or even slow down!) while you're under the weather, so there's always an insane amount of catching up to do once you finally make it back on your feet. Plus, we were not only recovering from illness this week, but also from the St. John Festival. Yes yes, boo hoo hoo, we had to "endure" our island's carnival celebration this past weekend. Life is so hard. I just mention it because returning to work/school after being sick is hard enough; returning after being sick and after a holiday weekend kind of knocks the wind out of your sails. OK, enough with the sob story. Wait, did I mention it's incredibly, uncomfortably hot right now? There, now I'm done with the violins.

Here's the thing: I definitely could have accomplished everything--including blogging--if I'd really wanted to. It would have just meant quite a lot of multitasking. My mom is a champion multitasker, so I know I have the skills, genetically-speaking. And I know that motherhood as a rule requires at least some degree of multitasking (fixing a broken toy while making dinner, folding laundry while playing with blocks, nursing while trimming fingernails), but it just doesn't come naturally to me. I do not have a type A personality; I'm not ambitious, I'm not an over-achiever. More importantly, I hate feeling frantic and I hate hurrying. So when my to do list looks super long, I just let stuff fall by the wayside. I'm the tortoise, and I don't really care if I win the race in the end. (Though I do care if I blog or not, so I'm going to have to remember that when I'm reprioritizing. Really, isn't blogging way more important than spotless floors and pristine toilets?)

I was thinking about multitasking (and my aversion to it) while out walking this morning, and it dawned on me that when I do multitask, it almost always detracts from my parenting skills. The minute I set out to accomplish something while I'm actively mothering (that is, while my son is awake), the probability that I will lose my patience/temper and fly off the handle increases tenfold. Whether it's cleaning the bathrooms, writing an e-mail, creating school supplies (like that darned dressing busy board) or cooking dinner, the task at hand becomes my main focus, and I'm no longer mindful of myself as a mother. I interact with my son distractedly and doing so quite often results in discordance between the two of us. This is not to say that my child can't/doesn't play by himself for periods of time throughout the day; or that I can't occupy myself, cleaning or cooking or reading or what have you, while he's doing so. The distinction is that I'm still mainly focused on being a mom during those times, so I'm not frustrated or upset when my son inevitably interrupts me and I have to stop what I'm doing. (And the interruptions are not only inevitable but incessant: whether it's that he has to go pee or he's hungry or thirsty or that he has a question about big rigs or pulleys or that he wants to simply narrate his actions to me.) When my own personal agenda supersedes my job of parenting my son, that's when my son's interruptions ogre-fy me, and calm, patient, loving mommy becomes angry, mean, yelling mommy. So, though I know plenty of people can multitask their hearts out to no ill effect, it's just not for me. And if, because of this, the house occasionally stays slightly unkempt or my mom's phone calls don't always get returned or I ignore my blog for over a week, then that's OK. I'd rather be a calm, patient underachiever than a stressed out, ogre-y overachiever.

Postscript: School went well this week. Parker's movements are becoming more refined and he seems to be able to focus on the activity at hand for longer periods of time (rather than, for instance, spilling all the beads and rolling them around the tray after only a few minutes of actual bead stringing). I did get a lot of work (read: sewing) done on the dressing busy board during his naps this past week (usually I blog while he naps), so I'll finish that this weekend and introduce it on Monday. Then we'll start sensorial activities, which should be very fun and exciting. I'll discuss these sensorial activities--and why they're part of our curriculum--more in an upcoming post.

Try, Try, Try

TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:

• Hardware Busy Board
• Bead Stringing
• Transferring
• Sweeping

It'll be just a short post today. You see, I usually use the quiet that blissfully occurs while my son is napping to think, to write. My skin has been attacked of late by the horrendous heat rash, though, and it had become so bothersome by last night that I wretchedly lay awake, unable to sleep due to extreme levels of discomfort. My sleep-deprived state caught up with me this afternoon when I lay down to put Parker to sleep; within seconds I was in snoozeville. So I'm writing now, post-dinner. Unfortunately, a tired body combined with a full tummy do not facilitate composition. It's nearly 9 PM and, pathetically, my bed is beckoning again.

School went OK this morning, despite my rash-induced discomfort and enervating exhaustion. I'm thinking of creating an OSHA-inspired sign that reads, "Number of Days Without an 'I Can't Do It!' Utterance." Not really. Well, maybe really. Now that we're pretty much past the settling in period--Parker and I both rapidly becoming accustomed to our new school and our new schedule--I'd really like to focus on my son's habit of throwing up his hands at a task and moaning, "I can't do it!" It's crazy because he sometimes says those words right on the heels of having completed the task in question upwards of five times. It's like his capacity to be persistent experiences ebbs and flows. I will need to practice praising Parker's efforts rather than his achievements in order to help him gain the ability to work through his feelings of frustration; this will deter him from attaching an inordinate amount of importance to "success." If, at the end of this homeschool endeavor, my son has learned perseverance above all else, I will feel supremely satisfied.

"I Don't Like School!"

TODAY'S ACTIVITIES

• "Threading" Toothpicks
• Pouring
• Bottles and Tops

So I know I recently sort of disparaged the "live slow" mentality that prevails among the islanders here on St. John, but there is something to be said for taking your eyes off the prize and getting out of the fast lane. (Eek! Sorry for that mixed metaphor. Hopefully you get the gist.) When I've undertaken a new project, I, like most Americans, have a hard time not fixating on achieving The Goal as quickly and efficiently as possible. I can "enjoy the journey" with the best of them when there's nothing really at stake, but when I'm trying to accomplish something I'd rather fast forward through said journey and then sit back and behold the fruits of my labor. Well, The Goal in question here is of course the education of my child, and I can now say with no measure of uncertainty that I am sure to go insane if I don't start loving me some scenery. We've just embarked on an odyssey and Penelope is still a long ways away.

As you can guess from today's title, school was a bit of a struggle today. My son, probably like pretty much every other rookie preschooler on the face of the planet, spent some time testing the pliability of the newly established rules of school. There are really only three new maxims that I've asked Parker to assimilate for the purpose of our homeschool. My husband and I have been hammering home--excuse me, gentling reminding our son of--the other, more standard strictures (no hitting, no screaming, no throwing or climbing indoors, say please and thank you, blah blah blah) basically since he was born. The new rules for school are: (1) all school materials stay on the shelves except those that pertain to the activity in progress, (2) Parker is responsible for taking the materials to his work space and then returning them when the activity is completed, and (3) each school activity must be completed before the materials are returned to their spot on the shelves. I have to say, these "new rules" should have seemed at least a little familiar to my son. We have been loosely enforcing the "put your toy away when you're finished playing with it before you take out a different toy" edict at home for a while now, to a certain extent because I knew it echoed the Montessori behavioral guidelines. And yesterday and the day before, Parker was still content to defer to my suggestions (e.g., "Want to put those toothpicks back in their container?") since the whole homeschool enterprise was so novel to him. Well, not today.

We started out auspiciously enough this morning. As it was nearing time for school, I told Parker, "Hey, bub, in ten minutes it'll be school time, OK?" He looked up from playing with a couple of his trucks and said, "Oooh! I'm going to do the toothpicks first! And then I'm going to do some more pouring!" I pulled out the shelves, made sure everything was ready and then let Parker ring the bell. He did indeed begin with the toothpicks, and was having a grand time, explaining to me that Baby Toothpick was going to join Mommy and Daddy Toothpick in the glass jar. After a bit, though, he accidentally spilled a bunch of toothpicks. At this point (and without picking any of them up) he stated, "I'm going to do pouring now," and got up to get the pouring materials. I removed my figurative muzzle and calmly reminded him that the toothpicks need to be put away before he can get out the pitcher, cup and sponge. Stubbornness ensued, and eventually he moaned, "I'm too tired to clean up the toothpicks," and lay down first on the floor, then on the couch and finally on his bed. Now, I'm sitting there, completely conflicted. Do I transform into

Taskmaster Mommy, haul him out of his bed and stand there sternly, arms akimbo, while he dutifully puts away the toothpicks? Or do I say to myself, "Abort!" and cancel school for the day, lest my son associate negative feelings with homeschool and me? (Hainstock even includes a paragraph in "Teaching Montessori in the Home" about how school should "stop immediately" if it suddenly becomes "a chore.") In the end, I chose the path of nonresistance; which is to say, I stayed where I was, sitting on the floor, and waited until Parker came out of his room and rejoined me. (OK, I did get up to take a picture of the spilt toothpicks. I couldn't resist.) He picked up the toothpicks and performed the activity for several minutes more.

I'd like to say that everything was peachy after that, but school remained a struggle for both of us today. Parker would appear eager to start an activity, apply himself for about five minutes (and well--he'd definitely progressed from yesterday), then jump up and over to the shelves, neglecting to replace the materials he'd been working with. We butted heads. I explained to him that school has special rules (namely, we put things away) and at some point the inevitable happened; he shouted, "I don't like school!" My feelings were hurt, but at the same time a little voice in my head calmed me down by reminding me that every kid says those words some time, some kids ad nauseum. I didn't draw out the school session but, with life skills like perseverance and follow-through in mind, didn't cut it short either, and afterwards sat my son on my lap and tried to talk with him about how school had been a struggle for both of us. I restated my love for him as well as my excitement about starting school with him... And then he began playing with some cars and I began repeating my new mantra to myself, "Enjoy the journey."

(Another casualty of school. All in the name of learning, right?)

Ladies and Gentlemen, We Have Lift-Off

TODAY'S ACTIVITIES

• Pouring
• Clothespins
• Folding

Today is the first day of hurricane season here in the Caribbean, and the first day of school here at the Prout residence. Coincidence? (OK, yes. But amusing, nonetheless.) I prepared the materials for today's activities last night, fairly brimming with excitement about starting homeschooling my son today. I lay awake in bed for hours, unable to fall asleep until almost midnight (don't laugh--that's really late for me). Upon waking this morning, I discovered a slight snag: we had run out of drinking water and Parker and I would need to go fill up our twelve gallon jugs before we could get down to business. (There's no city water here on island; people have cisterns, and rely on rain water or water delivery services to keep them full. Though cistern water is OK for showering, flushing toilets, doing dishes, etc., it's pretty sketchy to drink.) Undaunted, I built Parker a train track, made a smoothie for him and my husband, went for my morning walk, showered and dressed my son and myself, drove my husband to work, drove to St. John Water and Ice, filled up the jugs (thankfully, there was no line today), drove home, hauled the twelve gallons up the stairs to our apartment, washed the inevitable film of sweat off my face, drank a glass of said water and FINALLY! The moment had arrived.

It should have been so easy. The Montessori method is based upon the belief that children learn best when uninterrupted. As stated yesterday, instilling in a child a sense of independence is of primary importance; this applies to the child's learning process as well as to his ability to take care of himself and his surroundings. Every Montessori activity by design includes something called a "control of error" which enables the child to see and correct mistakes on his own. (For example, he sees for himself the rice that he spilled while he was practicing pouring.) In other words, a Montessori student doesn't need a teacher hovering over him, telling him how he did this or that wrong. Constant criticism is discouraging for a small child to hear, and only diminishes his sense of independence. My job, as teacher, should be to first demonstrate, then observe. The authors of the books I've studied stress over and over again, "Do not interrupt when your child is working." So, in theory, our school session today should have been a cinch for me. The hard part was preparing the materials; today all I had to do was sit back and watch Parker "work." That's not so much what happened. It appears that I'll be needing to practice patience at the same time that my son is practicing pouring (and folding and sweeping and cutting and what-have-you).

Now, you would think that, after living in the Caribbean for well-nigh four years, I would have the patience of a saint. Ditzy tourists, horrible drivers, high-maintenance living (did I mention the water situation?) and islanders confoundingly determined to "live slow" all conspire--sometimes on a seemingly minute-to-minute basis--to try my patience. And I must say that I have adapted (maybe evolved?) to the point that not even a two-hour long trip to the bank to deposit just one rent check can frustrate me. But all my strenuously acquired patience skills disappeared when I watched my child spill rice, struggle with clothespins and fail to fold a washcloth just so. I kept jumping in, saying, "Maybe if you hold the pitcher like this you won't spill so much..." and, "Wait, wait! You need to clean up the rice you spilled!" and, "No, you're not squeezing the right end of the clothespin!" and, "You should try again because you didn't fold it nice and neat like me..." and finally, "No, you may not take a picture of me. I'm taking pictures of you!" The enthusiasm with which Parker approached today's school activities quickly dwindled in response

to his mother's hyperactive and impatient helicopter-parenting. He had fun at first, and seemed unperturbed by his several "unsuccessful" attempts, but he was discouraged by the end, stating, "Oh no, I just can't do it! I can't fold the yellow washcloth!" Poor kid. The pathetic part is that I even made a note to myself that I should blog about how importance patience is. Well, folks, I'm here to tell you: patience is important. We will try again tomorrow. Perseverance is also important.