The Kids Are Not OK

"Nothing you do for children is ever wasted." ----Garrison Keillor 

 It's good to know that even on my worst parenting days, what I do for my children isn't a waste. The days of toddler tantrums, middle school mood swings, and high school hijinks are behind me, and all three of mine seem to be doing well, so I guess that means I can put my feet up, and chill, since the hard work is all done? Nope. Not even close. While right now my children are all young adults, and they do most of what they need to do on their own, they do sometimes still need me, just in different ways. 

Recently, the big issue in town has been about children and the school system, but just because none of my children are still in public school here, doesn't mean the decisions being made don't impact me. A good educational system benefits all of us, and not just here in town. The children we educate will go out into the wider world and make their way. As a town, it's important that we do whatever we can to avoid releasing a generation of young people into the world who haven't had a decent education. Lately, the issue we've all heard the most about doesn't concern the nuts and bolts of funding our schools, hiring teachers, purchasing the right equipment and books, but rather it's about naming the newest school in town. It's to be expected that there are a gazillion opinions, and it's to their credit that the School Committee narrowed it down to just a few choices. Then the debates began. On social media and websites set up for information, the thoughts were flying around. Comments, concerns, and more than a few arguments over this, that, or the other thing. Finally, the decision was made, and the new school will be named the Lucretia and Joseph Brown Elementary School. Naming it that was my first choice, so I'm happy they picked it, and now that debate can end, and we can continue swinging at each other on social media on other topics.

 At the Zoom meeting of the School Committee, there were other items on the agenda that were being considered, the main one being a plan to get schools reopened, safely, but soon. There are a ton of moving parts involved in a decision like this, and once again, kudos to the parents, educators, volunteers, and staff that have been trying to make it work. During the portion of the meeting that invited public comment, I was trying to cook dinner, while finishing up some research on an article about vintage kitchen appliances, and annoying my daughter with TikTok videos. I glanced over and noticed a student was speaking, and he wasn't mentioning infection rates, or six-foot distancing, or union contracts. He was speaking about his friends, about himself, and the very real mental health struggles that are happening with high school students. He was firm in his conviction that there is a crisis happening and it's about more than budgets, masks, and disinfectants. 

He spoke eloquently about missing his friends, about having to hear over and over how miserable many of them are, how hopeless some of them feel, and he wanted the adults to know, that, well, the kids are not okay. All of the back and forth about the name of the school, hybrid or remote learning, cohorts, vaccinations, pool testing, and the rest have taken up endless hours of debate and yet, guess what many of us, the adults that are supposed to be looking out for them, didn't know? We didn't know how many kids are really up against it, mentally. We didn't know how hard this has been, how lost some of these kids have become, and how desperate they are to be heard. They're sad, they're scared, and many of them don't know where to go with it all. Thank goodness this young man spoke up. Now it's our job to listen, and to act. The school has been named, and I'm hopeful that means that there will be more education about the Browns, their contributions, who they were, and what they meant to our community. Since that is now settled, what's next? 

I think it has to be our kids, our students, our future. They're it; they will be running this world before too long, how can we not prioritize their issues, and get them the support and help they need? As adults charged with running a school system and as parents and caregivers who are raising children, we kind of have one job: don't screw up the kids. I believe most of us are doing the best we can, but now that we know there is more that is needed? Let's do it and do it fast. Yes, it's easier to say that here, than it is to jump in and do the work, but at least now we have heard, from the real stakeholders in our public education system, the students. Thank you Niall Kearney, for speaking up. I hope we can help. The video below is the School Committee meeting from 2/4/21. If you'd like to hear Niall for yourself, fast forward to about the 24:00 minute mark. Also, please note, the video settings do not allow for the video to play here. When it comes up unavailable, please click where it says "Watch on YouTube" Here is the direct link for anyone who wants it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KlTdkfhwlHg

Taking Time Out

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”

—Anne Lamott

As a parent, there have been more than a few timeouts in my world. With each child, the location may have changed, but the goal was the same. Whenever any of my kids were losing the plot, they were banished. For their own safety and also for my sanity, each one of my children has spent some time in timeout. In just two days, my youngest turns 18. Where is my trophy? Where is the finish line? Where is my shiny medal, my kudos, my recognition?

Oh, wait.

That doesn’t happen in parenting. Why not? Because if you have kids, you are never done. There is no finish line. Which is fine, whatever, but if you’re going to make it through the roller coaster that is parenthood, you’re going to need to take a break now and then. Trust me on this. Just recently, I was in a time management crisis. I had the paid gig to manage, and hey, I like getting paid. Some parenting issues needed to be dealt with because when you have kids, a day without drama is like a day without oxygen; you’re always gasping, sighing or otherwise writhing around incoherently. It’s a given; if you’re a parent who has never experienced this? Just wait. It will happen.

Recently I was knee-deep in the marketing work while also desperately searching for a column topic, and, as always, trying not to be officially deemed the “Worst Mother Ever.” It’s a never-ending struggle for me, but on this particular day, my limit had been reached. There were no more words, no more marketing strategy; I was just at capacity. We all have that line, where, once it’s crossed, we lose it. While there is no scientific evidence of it (and I spent five years as a science journalist, so I know this), it’s definitely possible for a mom’s head to explode. Ask any mother, they’ll tell you.

The words, which are how I pay the bills, were not coming. No ideas, no inspiration, nothing. My answer to this was unconventional but ultimately successful. You see, it was high tide, and a Nor’easter was bearing down on us. Where else would I go but my favorite local pub? Yes, I tucked myself into the Barnacle, with some hot “chowdah” and a cold drink. Because while usually, the “rules” say that work is work and there should be no deviation from that, reality tells us that life is life, and if you don’t take a break now and then, you’ll go cuckoo.

The ocean is my go-to for just about everything, but when there’s a local pub that has good chowder, happy people and a great view of the waves, it’s even more magical. The bar is packed on most days, but throw in a storm, and it’s the hot happening place to be. Also, as a journalist, isn’t it part of my job to be where the action is? To be ready to report on the news of the day? A bloody Mary and some chowder make it more fun, but it is my sacred duty, right? OK, well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

The thing is, we are always told that when the going gets tough, just keep going. Don’t stop, one foot in front of the other, just keep looking forward, eyes on the prize, never slowing down. Swim, don’t sink (wait, isn’t there a book about that? Yes, there is!) Sorry, but I beg to differ. While I’m no quitter, it must be said that now and then it’s a good idea to step away from all the drama and stress. When I would put my children in time out, it was mostly about me. They needed to be settled in a place where I couldn’t kick their butts, because, as my friend Kristen tells me all the time, I don’t look good in prison orange.

A timeout is as much for the parent as it is for the child. There are likely thousands of kids who owe their lives and their ability to walk upright to the timeout theory of discipline. Personally, there are at least that many parents who should be grateful as well. Whether it’s another day in the throes of child-rearing, pesky office politics, or just one of those days where nothing is going right, you need to stop. Put yourself in a timeout. Maybe it’s a yoga class, a juicy burger, and fries, a cuppa with a friend, or some lousy binge on Netflix, it doesn’t matter. Just stop and give yourself time to readjust. Time to breathe, chill, regroup, and restore. How you get there isn’t the point, just get there. You’ll be glad you did. [Blows whistle] Timeout: Take a break and come back when you’re ready.

These are days....You'll Remember

"These are days you'll remember

Never before and never since

I promise

Will the whole world be warm as this

And as you feel it

You'll know it's true

That you are blessed and lucky."

---Natalie Merchant

What is it about the "good old days" that makes us long for them? I'm not a time lord, so no phone box will allow me to pop off to another era that some say was so much better. Recently, a discussion among some friends (OK, it was Facebook, but all those who commented were real-life people, most from here in town) awoke a bit of a controversy over the good old days, how it was, what is different now, and who's to blame for it all. Sometimes I use a social media post as a kind of journal entry. Then I can go back in a year or so and see what was happening at a particular time. This post wasn't meant to be one of those; it was intended to be funny. 

I had taken the very unusual step of pulling my couch out from the wall and cleaning under it. The exact details of everything that was under there should remain unexplained, but it was a treasure trove of spare change, Legos, hair ties and silverware. It was like the mythical graveyard of cutlery. There may have been some bowls too. That is when the wheels came off the Electrolux, and the debate began.

While a few of my friends could relate, in just a few comments it became clear that my habits as a housekeeper and a mother were the cause of all the evils of our modern society. My children and their milk-slopping, Cheerio-chomping, snack-snogging little faces were devoid of manners, and I had let it happen, right under my nose. Sad! Apparently, some of my friends have traveled further along the road of life than I have, and they remembered when mothers stayed at home, served the family meals around a table, and nary a speck of food had ever been near their couches. Well, I remember those days too. I was a little kid in the late 60s, the Mad Men era of little boxes, on the hillside. It wasn't all Dick Van Dyke, tripping over the ottoman while Laura made a roast and Richie was conveniently in his room. There were workaholic fathers who drank too much, and mothers who often smoked like chimneys or nipped at the cooking sherry in the pantry. There was a war on, and it played on the television every night. Citizens were sprayed with fire hoses or pelted with rocks for the vicious crime of trying to vote or go to school. Good times, right?

Maybe it's just a Kelley thing, and I come by lackadaisical food rules the same way I got my red hair and my attitude? Our house did not look like a Ladies' Home Journal spread. My mother was much more Peg Bundy than Laura Petrie, which was probably difficult for her at the time, but she was always a rebel; it was likely deliberate on her part. The one fact most of my friends agreed on though, was that the family has changed. That's because time has marched on and change is necessary. There are blended families, single-parent families, families with two moms, or two dads. Parents work more; social research has shown that. Children are busier, not playing kick the can or tag, but club soccer and lacrosse. There is, sadly, still a war on, and there isn't a day that goes by that the news doesn't show a bombing, a shooting or a violent protest. We all know there are still parents who drink too much or suffer in silence but put on a good face.

What does any of that have to do with my nonexistent vacuuming skills? Nothing. That's the point. While some contended that the previous generation of stay at home mommies and societal expectations was the better way to live, I'm not buying that, not entirely. Rather than looking at a specific decade, we should turn our attention instead to who we are now, rather than who someone else was back in the day. The truth is, our recollections of the past are not always infallible. The brain processes memories every day. There are thousands of minutes and hours of experience, and not everything is retained. We forget because the mind needs to do that to make room for new minutes and hours of what is to come. We can't be fully present in our lives today if we are still looking back at what used to be.

I read somewhere that there is a reason the windshield of a car is usually larger than the rear window. And my father, a member of "The Greatest Generation," always told me "Don't look backward, you're not going that way. Also, you'll fall on your arse." Was this discussion a come to Jesus moment? Am I going to suddenly turn into a hybrid of Martha Stewart and June Cleaver and keep a home worthy of a magazine layout after witnessing my living room landfill? No. Not even close. Are the kids banned from morning cereal on the couch and late-night snacks in the recliner? No. The days gone by hold a lot of sweet memories for me, but they are over. These are the days, and despite it all, we are blessed and lucky.

  

Back to School Isn't Just About the Kids

“You learn something new every day if you pay attention.”

---Ray LeBlond

While one doesn’t have to be in school to learn, it is that time of year. Folders, binders and
supplies are flying off the shelves, the big yellow buses are rolling, and it’s what some parents
(and at least one store advertisement) have called “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”
I get that. Summer is great fun for the kids, but it can be a hassle for parents. The beach,
backyard BBQs, longer days, sea breezes and sand are a much-needed part of growing up. So is
an education and, when September comes, that’s where you’ll find more than a few grumpy
kids.

Parents can breathe a little easier when school starts, at least for the first week or so. They no
longer have to be the activities director. The house is quiet for a few hours and there isn’t a
constant stream of Fortnite players and floss dancers bouncing off the walls. While many might not admit it, the kids get over the moodiness of summer’s end pretty quickly. So, parents are happier now, the kids can start their fall sports and see their friends every day, what’s not to like?

Well, I think we are forgetting a few people in the back to school crunch. What about the
teachers? Summer time, at least part of it, is a huge break for them. Summer means that the
alarm clock isn’t bleating like a lost sheep at some un-Holy early hour. There’s no pile of papers
to grade every night. Lesson plans are not due, classrooms are locked and the fun beach books
are in the “to be read” pile instead of IEPs and curriculum changes. How hard it must be for
educators to put away the sunscreen and, once again, clean, unpack and decorate a classroom.

Think about the first day of school. You arrive at your child’s school, dragging a case of Kleenex
and a tub of wet wipes. The desks all have place cards on them, with the names of students.
There are theme boards with cutesy calendars, and color-coordinated task charts. Who did all
that and when did they have time? The teacher did it, and they make the time while most of us
still have our toes in the sand and a drink in hand. The whole “Teachers have it made, they
don’t work all summer” concept is a lie. Every single teacher I know spends a good part of the
summer on continuing education, cleaning classrooms, buying supplies with their own money
and planning the year to come. Also, not every teacher can take the summer off. Many have a
second job, because rent needs to be paid in the summer too.

No one likes the fun to come to an end, but teachers have to be ready, on the first day, to take
on the entire year. No kid shows up on the first day of school already knowing how they are
going to teach the unit on fractions, but the teacher does. That’s because they likely worked it out over their “vacation.” Teachers show up at the school room door already knowing the
names of more than 20 kids and the family and health information on a good many of them as
well. They didn’t wait until Labor Day weekend to think about how their classroom should look.
They were likely in that classroom during the dog days of August, setting up a reading corner
and moving furniture around. There is no “Laminating Fairy” that sneaks into the teacher’s
lounge and heat seals 50 sets of handwriting cards and multiplication tables. There are no
education elves that neatly sort crayons and markers into brightly colored bins. That is done by
the teachers while their students are still hitting the waves.

While it’s a lot of work and a job I could certainly never do, many of my friends who are teachers say back to school is a new beginning for them. New faces, new challenges and, at
least for the first few days, the fresh clean smell of Xerox paper and red rubber kick balls for recess. January is the start of a new year and when many of us make resolutions to get
organized, start over, do better at something. Personally, I find no renewed motivation for anything but Netflix and bacon during the frigid days of January. September and back to school is my jam. What a perfect time to turn over a new leaf, when they’re all gorgeously gold and red, showing their best sides. Teachers know this too, and they’ve come prepared to make it happen for our kids. So while you dance back to the car after drop off, take a minute to realize that this day didn’t just appear out of thin air. It happened because dedicated education professionals skipped a few beach days. To the teachers I know, welcome back, you were missed.

Snarky is as snarky does

"Sarcasm helps me overcome the harshness of the reality we live, eases the pain of scars and makes people smile

------Mahmoud Darwish

My mother said to me, more times than I can count, "You think you're so smart, with the wisecracks, just you wait and see." OK, Ma, I'm still waiting, what is it I'm supposed to see? She said that so often I was convinced that something monumental was going to happen.  I was really hoping it was going to be a magical unicorn or maybe Pierce Brosnan would finally realize we were meant for each other. She was right about the wisecracks though. 

(Pierce, kissing someone who isn't me)

Truly, I'm pretty sure I need one of those six-second delay features they have on some radio stations. It's completely organic; sometimes there is just no way to keep what's inside my head from coming out in a storm of snappy comebacks. English isn't my first language, sarcasm is and it's been that way my whole life. The Girl Scouts said I was rude, and they were right because when the leader asked me why I hadn't sold very many boxes of cookies, my answer was truthful, but perhaps not very polite. "I didn't sell very many because you can get a box of Oreos that's twice as big and costs half as much, who's going to be stupid enough to want Trefoils when they could have Oreos?" I didn't last long as a Girl Scout, shocking, huh?

Now that I'm an adult, it could be said that I've mellowed and left the sarcasm behind.  Whoever says that is lying; it's not even remotely true. I have tried, very hard, to at least not be rude (mostly) but the wisecracks are still coming. For me, these little gems are like the valves on a pressure cooker; they have to work or the whole thing explodes. There's a school of thought that says before we speak, we should ask ourselves if what we are about to say is true, kind, and necessary. Well, I don't lie, mostly because I'm very bad at it. Kindness matters to me a great deal, but no one is perfect, and sometimes I'm not very nice. Necessary? This is where you lose me. If every word ever spoken by me had to meet all three of those criteria, I'd barely talk at all and this column would be empty. There are probably more than a few people that think that would be a good thing, but they can kiss my…ok, never mind, this is a family paper.

Snarky is one of those words that sounds exactly like what it means and this is true of me as well. What you see, is what you get. So, while it will not come as a galloping shock to anyone who knows me, I'm snarky and that's never going to change. Why? Because, especially lately, there's been some serious crap hitting the fan, in my life, but more importantly the world around me. Without getting political, let's just say that between newscasts full of over-entitled behavior by those who should know better, and people who seemed to have everything but were in so much pain they literally checked out of life, I've had it. It's just so overwhelming sometimes. Blowing off a little steam by hoisting my snark flag high and letting it fly is just about the only way I'm going to get through a tough day without winding up in an orange jumpsuit. There's only so much badminton I can play, there are only so many birds I can whack the crap out of before my arm falls off. It's the same with this crazy world we're living in, my patience (which has never been something I'm known for) is wearing thin. I'm talking back to the television way too much and guess what? No one that's on it is listening to me. If I toss a few snotty remarks around now and then, well, at least my friends and family know it's just me being me. They are also the first ones to call me out when that line we shouldn't cross comes up behind me.

There's a lot going on now, and so much of it heart-wrenching and sad and phenomenally atrocious. If I'm rolling my eyes because the person in front of me at the grocery store is playing some complicated game of Tetris with her produce on the conveyor belt and then has to unfold her reusable bags from the origami animals she'd made them into because she saw it on Pinterest, you can bet it's because I'm trying to ignore the news on some of the magazine covers. I'm also going to think to myself, "If this chick pulls out a checkbook to pay, I'm going to bounce a can of Spaghetti-Os right off her skull."  My challenge is to not actually say it in my out loud voice. No promises though. It's tough out there, I'm doing the best I can.