Page 143 of 312

School: It’s in the Bag

September 6, 2012 / Michele Minehart

Today I pack H Boy’s bag for preschool. Yes, he’s that old. I’m not really into weepy-mom mode, lamenting how time has flown (though it has). Instead I found myself hung up on the fact that I didn’t buy him the “official” school bag with his name on it for $8.

At the time we initially registered him, I opted out of The Bag because we were already over-justifying what we spend on pre-education education. So the cute blue backpack my mom gave him as a church bag worked perfectly. Also, he loves that bag. He’ll often ask if he can pack his backpack and take it with him when we venture places, like the park or the grocery. (Related: He also has a hard, small blue suitcase that says “Going to Grandma’s” that used to be his father’s. He’ll equally ask to pack that bag and take along. We’re bag packers in this family.)

Then last week at our open house/ Ice Cream Social, the teachers had laid out the Bags that everyone else had ordered. There were approximately as many bags as kids in the room. Minus one. Okay, maybe two, but there are some returning students.

I’m already that mom. And I’m entering that world.

The world where I’m being told what to buy my kids and that what I have isn’t ever good enough. The world where kids begin to judge how they fit in by what they own, where they go and who accompanies them.

Also, it’s the world where I as the parent begin to feel that I’m always one step behind enough. That if I just bought him the bag like everyone else, then he’ll have what he needs.

Welcome to the world of feeling inadequate if we don’t have – or even perhaps don’t want – the very best of everything.

If I’m to be honest – and I do try – I’m not naturally a parent that steps back and says, “is this good enough for my kid(s)?” I wonder if my kids – and myself – don’t need the best of everything.

I recently read a blog of a mom whose greatest summertime stress was which of the local schools she would send her children. Some were better than others for certain reasons, but mainly she wanted it to be good enough for her exceptionally smart kindergartener. I was taken aback by the luxury of choice that we enjoy here; it’s not enough that we get a free education in this country, but now we’ve become consumers of educational systems and providers.

Says the girl sending her 3-year-old to a private preschool because of its Emilio approach with an emphasis on art and nature.

We’re already sending him to a school over-and-above the norm. Do we really need to buy him a bag, too? And my heart and mind cry, “NO” while my ego says, “it’s only $8”.

But preschool is just the orientation. It’s the Intro to School Life 101. And much like the rest of my life, I’m not walking in without considering the greater implications of how we react and interact with what our world is offering us. Do we want to raise our kids thinking that they need everything that others have in order to be happy or successful?

A bag that looks like everyone else’s won’t make him smarter. It won’t build character. It won’t challenge him to do what is right in a difficult situation. A bag won’t remind him to choose truth over winning or ask him to do the hard things of learning.

Yet here I am, lamenting the challenge already. Secretly wondering if I mean it when these words drift out of my mouth. Defensive and concerned. The first day has barely begun and I’m ready to hand over my $8 and join in the rest of the world telling myself that it must work for them. Following the herd is a tried and true method, right?

A little advice from the real world

August 31, 2012 / Michele Minehart

Today could be categorized into what I would call a “learning day.” Full of “lessons.” Life is a “classroom.”

Is anyone else doing the Joey Tribioni “air quotes” on everything today?

First: Customer Service 101

There’s nothing I love more than a good customer service rep who knows that her job is to make me happy. If you hate your job, please work in tech support. But customer service belongs to the chatty, the kind, the concerned and the willing to give me a credit for the inconveniences that caused me to be on the phone with you in the first place.

So after patchy internet connection and a first call, which resulted in a technician appointment, I had to work from Panera today. This is not why I pay $70 for internet and phone. I pay it because my office requires it, because they know how grumpy I get when I have work while watching people stuff their faces with a nine-grain (sliced and toasted) with honey walnut spread – or worse. The Cinnamon Crunch. That “crunch” was the sound of my heart shattering after someone, with their gluten-y filled goodness, took another bite.

All of this carbohydrate-envy-induced anger incited another call to request a a billing adjustment. It only took me about 3 sentences to convince her and a few moments later I have my $16 credit. Which doesn’t sound like much, but she was only able to cover from when I first called to complain until the date of the tech appointment.

Lessons to learn:

Customer service is for the nice people.
Don’t wait to call and complain.

Next: Basic Economics

You make an investment on beautiful – BEAUTIFUL – family pictures, and you call your photographer (because you stalk her like that) to ask if it’s silly to pre-buy the frames because you’re at IKEA and WHAT A STEAL to get these huge frames (because there’s nothing currently hanging on your living room walls, even though you’ve been living there for a year).

Totally hypothetical situation.

But as the discussion pursues about the purchase of the frames, the concern shouldn’t arise over either the pre-buy nature of not having actual pictures yet OR the fact that the frames have completely whacky dimensions. No, those things work themselves out with the aforementioned brilliant photographer.

No, the words that should be spoken – probably from the mother who was accompanying this purchase – is, “doesn’t it seem silly to spend such money on fabulous pictures only to put them in cheapo frames?”

I hear your cheapskate little voices. They’re saying “what’s the difference? A frame’s a frame.”

Let’s put the differences in numerical order (not in sequence because, again, this is a completely imaginative situation).

1. IKEA frames have those little metal tabs allllll the way around the frame that require something firm to flip them up.

1a. No, you cannot just flip up 3 sides of the frame and shimmy the framed work under the forth side. Try as you might, but you’ll end up forgetting the pair of scissors you used as a lever and breaking a nail.

1b. I mean, you could. I’m not saying it’s for sure or that it’s ever happened before to anyone you know.

2. IKEA frames don’t use glass.

3. Instead, IKEA frames use plexiglass and then put a shield on it that is held in place using nothing short of static electricity.

4. You’ll be so anxious to get the picture in the frame that you lay it all out in the middle of the living room floor.

5. You forget that though you just vacuumed yesterday, your dogs shed hair at a rate similar in ratio to which you produce children.

6. Dog hair + static electricity = never good things.

7. Though you relocate to the kitchen table, you have your work cut out for you wiping dog hair off the entire frame.

8. Once you’re 98% free of the dog hair (because, let’s face it, you’ll never get to 100%), you put the frame together only to realize that your fingerprints have covered the edges after trying to get the thing back on the frame.

9. You finally get the thing put together with a satisfactory rating above 80%, though a small black hair is lodged inbetween your husband’s teeth and your two-year-old comes down and plants her hands on the plastic. Which is fine because plexiglass NEVER shows smudges.

10. You still haven’t even attached the metal wire which will hang the frame and the mere thought makes you want to weep. By looking at the hardware involved, it’s going to require that you have to re-up those little black tabs AGAIN.

10a. Tears.

I think it’s clear the lessons we can take away from this speculative case study. You can spend $20 more for a nice frame or you can include “wipe dog hair off the ginormous and beautiful family portraits” on your weekly cleaning list.

In Defense of the Supermom

August 30, 2012 / Michele Minehart

The other day a FB friend posted one of those humorous sarcastic postcards that I’m addicted to, but this one rattled me a bit.

I kept thinking and thinking about it, and finally I realized it slightly hurt my feelings because, well, I tend to be on the Supermom Spectrum. I’ve had days – typically Mondays, I’m not sure why – that I’ll knock it out of the park in terms of productivity. But instead of celebrating a meal well made or a load of laundry folded, I feel like I’m supposed to hide that under the clothesbasket and lament a loss of motivation.

The thing is, I don’t do everything well – I just do some things well and I do those things often. I know my strengths (dinner, laundry, naptime) and I play to them. But by no means do I hit levels of perfection. I’m awful at keeping my dog-hair laden carpets clean, but thankfully I married a man that can wield a powerful vacuum. My van is a disaster. DIS. AS. TER. For those of you wondering if granola makes a good snack to go, it does not. But that Master of Dyson who I married likes to clean out the vehicle before leaving town.

I guess what I’m saying here is that you should marry someone who does well what you hate to do.

Not really.

Well, it’s good advice, but it’s not the point.

My point clarified as FB post came to mind:

I wonder if we moms could begin to apply it to ourselves… when can we stop being so concerned with being a good mom that we forget we’re already doing it pretty well? Can we please stop naming all of the ways we’ve screwed up our kids and just celebrate the ones we got right?

Very few awful moms exist in the world; most do at least a few things really, really well. I know moms who know their kids’ individual interests and find ways to encourage them. Some moms have the knack of making even small things – picnic lunches, a trip to the river to throw rocks, painting toenails – seem like an exciting event and their kids eat it up. And those mamas who patiently rock their babes for as long as needed without resenting them for the work that’s not being done? Someone please saint them.

Don’t know what your mom superpower is? Think to yourself, “my kids will know that I love them when they remember how I….” and you’ll start to see a glimmer. Maybe it’s the way you put on a suit and fulfill life aspirations. Or the way you squeeze in a run at least 4 times a week. These superpowers teach our kids – especially our little girls – what it means to see yourself with value and worth. Or maybe you opened a store because you believe that even small town folk deserve access to quality products. Perhaps your mom superpower teaches what it means to believe in a dream. That’s just as good as a dinner without MSG.

I swear, every mama wears a cape. Stop shamefully tucking it in your jammie pants. No one said a Supermom did everything well. She does something well and it changes the world for those she loves.

Michele Minehart

Page 143 of 312

School: It’s in the Bag

A little advice from the real world

In Defense of the Supermom

Recent Posts

Read more, in your inbox