Category: Parenting

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The Baby Upstairs

The young couple who live above us had a baby this summer.  I often hear the distinct cry of a newborn these days, filtered through the ceiling and floorboards above me.  It is a boy and he is tiny, but already growing.  His parents are happy.

Most every day, when I hear the cries, when I see the stroller carrying its little bundle, when I see the weary parents, I think to myself, “Whew.  So glad that is over.”  I am happy for this new little family, for the love they share that has created this little life.  And, still, I think, whew, so glad that is over.

I hear him right now.  The little honey must just have woken from a nap.  And, hearing her cue, there are mom’s footsteps.  It is a beautiful thing, a sacred thing, the caring a parent provides a baby.  Infants are so vulnerable, so completely dependent, so needing a competent, loving older human to watch out for them, watch over them.

Me and my youngest baby, August 2014.

“Old MacDonald” with his farm and his vowels seems to be the go to song his parents rely on to soothe and calm him.  We hear it often enough that my five year old has started singing “E-I-E-I-O” when he hears the baby’s cries.  It’s cute and sweet, and often, full disclosure, a wee bit unsettling.

At 48, my infant days are over, but not that long gone.  My newly minted five year old son will still, like a baby, rely on tears to communicate his frustration, his needs.  It happens in a flash, those tears, and they are often gone as quickly as they started.  He uses his words most of the time, thank goodness.

I’ve been thinking about the anxiety I feel, the little internal bristling I sense when I hear that newborn cry.  Why?  Why now?  What about those cries unsettles me so?  I don’t know for certain, but I think a part of it is my body and my unconscious saying, “We’re done.  No more.  Moving forward.  Next!”

I came to it late, so it stands to reason that it would end later, too, but that stage in my life, the baby yearning years, those newborn years, the baby raising years, are over.  Done.  Fini.  Bye, bye.  Check you later, sleepless nights.

The passage of time is a gift that not all of us people are granted.  As my two boys get older and achieve new milestones, I celebrate each and every one.  I jump for joy on their first days of school.  When I pack up the too small clothes and shoes for another, younger kid to use, I fist pump the air as I drive them to the Goodwill.

I should do the same for myself as I do for my boys.  Celebrate those milestones, fist pump the air for the changes in my life, recognize the stages that were and live the stages that are and will be.  It is a beautiful thing to get older, move forward, embrace what is.

Thank you, baby upstairs, for the life lesson.  I wish many blessings on you and your parents.  E-I-E-I-O, sweet child.

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What Happens When 3rd Graders Visit a Holocaust Museum

Yesterday I had the opportunity to chaperone my son and his 3rd grade classmates as they visited the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center.  It was made clear to parents long before field trip day that the children would not spend time at any of the exhibits that focused on the atrocities of the Holocaust, but, within the education center, would focus on the concept of bystanders and upstanders.

Our docent did an incredible job of explaining the act of “taking a stand” and becoming an upstander in the face of bullying, but also in larger social and political matters.  She referenced “Mr. Hitler” and asked the kids what they knew about what happened in Europe during World War II.  The kids had a general understanding.

The docent (Hi, Renee!) then encouraged some critical thinking skills when the kids offered that Hitler had dropped bombs, set up concentration camps, and used gas chambers to kill Jewish people.  Through a back and forth, the kids were able to identify that “Mr. Hitler” did not act alone.  Despots are not made in a day.

Initially, the kids identified that soldiers were the people who enabled Hitler to do those terrible things, but with more discussion and questioning, the docent was able to help the kids understand that citizens who looked the other way were also a necessary step in Hitler’s rise to power.  By the time, she said, that Hitler’s intentions were clear, it was too late and he was too powerful to stop.

The moment felt profound to me, both as a mother and as an American who is struggling, mightily, with an administration that is increasingly favoring authoritarian regimes and bashing allies.

The kids took it all in stride, moving from activity to activity, absorbing and discussing what they were seeing and learning.  I could not stop the obvious connections between what happened in Europe between the 1920s -1940s and what is happening in America today from popping up in my head.

At one point, the kids were brought to a different gallery that displayed an exhibit called, “Where the Children Sleep.”  There is a long hallway with stunning, glossy photos of Syrian refugee children sleeping and resting in their beds, wherever those beds may be.  The children are photographed alone.  Some have stuffies or blankets to bring them comfort, others do not.  Some have clean sheets and walls, others have uncovered mattresses lying on the ground in the streets or the middle of a forest.

Whew.

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I don’t know how any American could have walked through that gallery yesterday and not made the connections between those Syrian refugee children, with their big eyes, alone, many full of fear, and the new American policy to separate children from their parents on the southern border.  One sizeable difference is that Syrian refugee children are allowed to remain with their parents and families.  They were photographed alone, but somewhere close is a mom or a dad who cares for and comforts them.  But not in America.

Today in America, it is policy under this administration to separate children and families for those crossing the border illegally into America.  This is a policy crafted by President Trump and Attorney General Jeff Sessions.  They blame the Democrats, they claim it is the law, they use the Bible to justify it.  Those are all lies.  And too many damn Americans are happy to go along with this policy, believe those lies, and cheer on this practice.  Or, like many average citizens of 1930s Germany, ignore, turn their heads, not acknowledge the willful tragedy for what it is.

During the field trip, the docent asked the children what they do when confronted with wrongdoing — are they a bystander or an upstander?  She asked the upstanders in the crowd to raise their hands.  Joyfully, looking around to find me, my boy raised his hand.

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Over the past two years I have done more, donated more, read more, and protested more than I ever have before.  My sons see their mom and dad doing all of this.  They have walked with me in marches and used markers at the kitchen table to make signs for science or against guns.  We are a family of upstanders.  I was proud in that moment.  Proud of myself and proud of my son and proud of my family.  I saw in his eyes the connection he made between why we march, why we read, why we discuss, why we speak up, and what can happen when you don’t.

Except later, I realized (after I was done patting myself on the back), I haven’t always been a great upstander under this Trump administration.  I’ve practically stopped writing my blog because I find that the only thing I ever want to write about anymore are the horrors of this administration and how America is transforming, in real time, into a place I don’t recognize.  I am angry a lot of the time.  When I’m not angry I’m worried or fearful or trying to lose myself into whatever series will allow me to escape on Netflix or Amazon.

There are little things that come up with my boys and in my mothering that I think, “Huh, a year ago I would have written a blog post about this.”  Not today.  Increasingly, it feels indulgent and insignificant to write about the cute and sweet moments in my life while our country and our world are reckoning with a new world order that is frightening.

So, yeah.  That’s where I’m at.  That’s where I’ve been.  Good times, folks.

Yesterday, chaperoning those children at the Illinois Holocaust Museum, was a moment for me.  Being an upstander takes work.  I need to get back to work.  I need to speak up, again, and continue speaking up.  I hope you join me.

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Interested in visiting the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center?  Here are details.

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Why I Took My Tween Son to See RBG (And You Should Take Yours)

Last night my nine year old son and I went to see RBG, the documentary about the life and career of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  Hot damn, was it fantastic — we both loved it.  As a mom, I loved looking over at my son during the film, his face lit by the screen in the dark theater, and see how completely engaged he was in this doc about the life and times of the second woman to sit on the Supreme Court.

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I didn’t quite know what to expect, but knew when I saw the trailer being pushed on Mother’s Day that I wanted to go see it and I wanted to go see it with my boy.  Was it about women’s rights?  One woman’s impact on the Supreme Court?  A love story?   Yes, to all of those.

Primarily, I wanted to have my son understand that many of the rights women take for granted now did not exist in the days when his mama was a youngster.  I wanted him to understand that history is closer than one might expect and often influenced in immeasurable ways by one courageous individual.

As the film opened with shots of Washington, D.C. monuments and iconic buildings, my boy took my arm and started hopping in his seat.  Last month we were there together seeing those same sights while on the Hill to advocate for better resources for childhood cancer.  You can read a Chicago Tribune account of that trip here.  The shots of RBG on the steps of the Supreme Court had a relevance for him they might not have had before the trip.  I could see his excitement and the connections he was making in real time.  It was a proud mama moment for me.

My boy ascending the steps of the Supreme Court, April 2018.
My boy ascending the steps of the Supreme Court, April 2018.

The film is cut exquisitely, making it interesting for adults, while accessible for kids, too.  There are interviews with Ginsburg’s childhood friends, her two grown children, former colleagues, the president who appointed her to SCOTUS, and young activists who were inspired enough by her to coin the now popular moniker and aptly named tumblr site, The Notorious RBG.  There’s a soundtrack that is vibrant and bold and engaging and uplifting.  It’s all just so damn good.

Being a white woman raising two young white sons, the weight of helping them evolve into good citizens who are aware of their privilege in American culture rests heavy with me.  I take the task very seriously, even more so because of our current political climate.  RBG is just another tool I now have, as their mother, to help them understand their role, their place, their responsibilities, and relevant history.

Ginsburg’s story is an inspiring one, with universal themes.  After seeing it, there are a few that stand out that will promote great discussion with my boy, and yours, too.  In no particular order:

  • The film provides a window into the love story between Ruth and her husband, Marty.  The couple met in college, on the heels of the death of Ruth’s mother.  “He was the first boy I ever knew who cared that I had a brain,” says Ruth in the movie.  My boys are being raised in a home where both Mom and Dad cook, clean, and provide child care.  For them, this is typical, but there was a time, detailed in the movie, when this was revolutionary.  It’s important to let our sons know that equality does not stop at the front door of our homes.
  • Audio clips and old photo stills are used to explain a time when the justices of the Supreme Court simply did not comprehend the reality of gender discrimination, including Justice Thurgood Marshall, who helped the Courts see the inherent wrongs of racial discrimination.  I learned that Ruth patterned her strategy of using the courts to address gender discrimination by following the playbook Marshall had used almost two and three decades earlier to overturn systemic racial discrimination in American institutions.  These are important connections for a kid to make!
  • We learn that it was President Carter, in the 1970s, who determined that the vast majority of federal judges looked a lot like him — white and male.  He pledged to appoint more women and more African Americans to the bench.  Ruth was one of those appointees.  This is a great example of a white man using corrective action to achieve equity.  Ruth was no less deserving than those white men sitting on the bench (and probably a hell of a lot more deserving than some), but it took a President to address the bias that existed that prevented women and African Americans from being represented.

Honestly, I could go on and on with themes and discussion points that make this movie so relevant for little boys to see, but school pick-up time is right around the corner, and I gots to go.  That kid isn’t going to get himself home, know what I mean?  My point is, don’t let the idea that a documentary about a Supreme Court Justice would hold no interest for your son.  This is a sharp, engaging, relevant movie for our young sons (and daughters) to see.  Take them.  Talk about what you see.  Cheer RBG on and enjoy showing your boy that some women are made of steel and lace.

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If you like what I wrote above, read my previous post, “Ten Things I Am Doing to Raise Feminist Sons.”