Tag: growing up

Maturity By Way of a Dingleberry

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

Parenting bright spots can come in some funny ways. As I wrote last week, my son is newly 10. Most days he makes choices that make me wonder if he will ever register on the maturity scale. Of course, there are those lovely glimmers of the man that he may become, like when I see how sweet and attentive he can be to younger children, I believe that someday he will make one heck of a dad. But on the average day, he exemplifies “typical boy.”

We had a mature moment this past week, though…maybe it is because he has now entered the realm of double digits. Or maybe it was just a blip on the radar to be followed by many more head-scratching moments. Nonetheless, I believe in taking the bright spots and running with them!

The Culprit
The Culprit

We were leaving our vet’s office with our dog, who had been there all day to have a procedure done. My son wanted to hold him on his lap. Since he did a good job bringing him to the vet, I figured if the dog was doing okay it should be just fine. Off we went. I would check my rear view mirror here and there, and all was seemingly well. But then I looked over my shoulder, and I swore I saw a little smear of something on the towel we were using for the dog. As I was processing this, I looked up to see my son’s eyes as big as hockey pucks staring at the poop on his hands. In a nanosecond, he cried out, “Mom! He’s got a dingleberry!”

Now, for those of you who are unfamiliar with what a dingleberry is, go Google it. My son was using it very accurately. I had to get my eyes back up front not only because I was driving (though we were stuck in parking lot traffic), but also I had to hide my chuckle. Even though I knew that a poop-cleaning catastrophe lay ahead, I couldn’t help but be amused by the visual that had just played out before me.

What I found so impressive is that my son kept his head. He didn’t push the dog away or freak out. He did say, “Can’t you pull over and clean this?” to which I reassured him that I would as soon as I could safely turn off. But he really held it together (not the dingleberry—just his attitude).

In a couple minutes I was able to pull into a corporate parking lot. No bathrooms available, but we were able to clean all things to a reasonable point, thanks to a bottle of Perrier, hand sanitizer, and paper towels. We then journeyed on and hosed ourselves down when we got home.

I couldn’t help but be impressed at how my son handled the whole experience. From the smearing to the cleaning, he handled a crappy situation like a pro. (Please tell me you got that pun right away.) He even continued to take care of our dog—now dingleberry-free—for the rest of the ride home.

I shared with him how much I appreciated the way he dealt with the situation, and how proud I was of him for being so mature. He brightened up and had that look that’s says, “Yeah, I did do a good job, didn’t I?” It was a precious moment of seeing my kid understand his own capabilities and growth.

Who knew that because of a wild dingleberry, a boy might stand a little taller?

Stop and See the Eggs

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 7 Comments

Today is my son’s 10th birthday. As a parent, there are so many life lessons I want to share with him…from why morning breath isn’t “cool” to the importance of kindness. And I always hope that the good parts of what I say stick, and the less than ideal ones fall away.

But some lessons I aim to share with him are ones that I need to hear myself. Over and over again.

Though I’m told it’s typical behavior for a boy his age to need to be told everything at least three times, I really want him to be better connected to the world around him. For instance, after taking a trip dozens of times, the other day he asked, “Are we going the right way?” illustrating that he hadn’t been paying any attention. This is just a tiny example of how he is in his own little bubble that I would like to pop. Many times we have had “conversations” (read: nag-a-thons) of how he needs to pay attention to what’s going on around him.

But what about me?

Though I may know the route I’ve taken dozens of times, how connected am I to the actual moment I’m in? We who struggle with the juggle of life also struggle with the clichéd stopping and smelling of the roses.

Our little nest.
Our little nest.

Recently my husband discovered a robin’s nest in the pine tree right outside our kitchen window. After we all enjoyed seeing the beautiful blue eggs, the mama robin nestled in. She had expertly camouflaged the nest, and when she covered the eggs with her body, there was no way any of us would have known what miracles lurked beneath. I realized that it was the exact right perspective at the exact right time that clued us in to this exciting little world. My husband’s height gave him the angle to see, and the fact that the mom was out stretching her wings gave him the opportunity to discover. It came together in one ideal moment. Now we all know where to look and are enjoying watching our new little neighbors grow.

But what do I miss because I am not looking at the right angle at the right moment? I wonder.

Too often I have my “busy-busy blinders” on…on one mission after another, I power through and forge ahead. My bubble may move faster than my kid’s, but it’s still a bubble.

Thankfully, there are times of self-awareness where I simply make myself stop. Stop the swirl. And in those moments, inevitably I find something worth looking at…truly seeing. Maybe it’s enjoying my favorite goldfinches dart and weave after getting a nibble at our feeder…or maybe it’s seeing my son practice his piano with his bare feet (growing bigger by the day) keeping time while his tongue peeks out from his pink lips and tries to help him along.

The older he gets, the more I am trying to savor those moments. It was only yesterday, it seems, that he let go of my leg and walked his first steps. Only yesterday that he waved goodbye to us on his very first day of school. Only yesterday that he would pummel me with questions like, “Mom, does the sky end? Does the grass end? Do our days ever end?” Only yesterday.

boy and tree
As Gretchen Rubin says, “the days are long, but the years are short.” If I can get my little man to understand this sooner rather than later, then I will have helped him in a big way. I know I need to be a better model to help him see this truth more clearly. I better get my act together.

My stubborn self knows this is a life lesson I need to teach myself over and again. I guess the silver lining is that we learn best what we teach, so maybe there‘s hope for me yet.

Happy birthday to our beautiful, not-so-little-anymore boy who is loved tons and tons forever and always by his crazy mom and dad. You make the world a better place to be.

The Lessons We Leave Behind

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 11 Comments

Dad and meWith the recent experience of my mom’s health challenges, I can’t help but reflect on my dad. Though he died when I had just turned 21, I find him with me in one way or another on most days. He left behind many lessons for me. Some were life-shaping and some merely enriching in a smaller way.

Many of his life-shaping lessons were work-oriented. As a product of the Depression, he knew how important education was—he worked hard and cut every corner he could (like eating “butter sandwiches”) to put himself through college—and he would put his kids through, too. I always knew I was going to be able to go to college. What a blessing. Interesting that I was a teacher for several years and my sister teaches, too. Go figure.

He wanted his kids to work hard but be happy with their choices, so he made sure from an early age we knew that we should love what we do. The way he saw it, you were guaranteed to be working for at least a third of your life, so it would follow that you should strive to find something you enjoy doing. I am grateful for being taught that the world was wide open to me–I know many people don’t have that same kind of encouragement.

And he instilled in us that all work was honorable. Whatever your choice, be the best at it. One of his phrases was, “If you’re going to be a ditch digger, be the best damn ditch digger you can be.” Anyone who worked hard had his respect. Slackers, losers, and users did not.

Beyond the work ethic he instilled in me, though, he also had lots of other, lighter lessons to impart merely by example. For instance, he taught me that it’s perfectly normal to sing at the top of my lungs when I’m in the car. Alone or not. There were several times that my mom, sister, and I would be traveling in our car running an errand and we would pass my dad’s car on his way home. He didn’t see us, but we would see him—mouth wide open, head moving around as he belted out a number.

Understand: the man was not one to carry a strong tune. It didn’t matter. Though the line “dance like no one is watching” is popular today, my dad was ahead of his time with the embracing of “sing like no one is watching (or listening).” There have been many times I’ve been singing and bopping around at a stoplight to turn and see someone looking at me like I’m nuts. I just smile and keep on keeping on…I feel bad for what they are missing out on!

He also loved to laugh—big, hardy laughter—the kind where he would typically end up coughing because he was laughing so hard. I so miss the sound of that laugh, but I think my sister and I are doing an amicable job at carrying the torch on this one.

Of course, he wasn’t perfect, as no one is. One painful lesson I learned from him was the very specific “don’t wear shorts to play in a softball game.” (This was before it was common for girls to have shorts as uniforms and apparently be taught how to slide without ripping up their legs…still don’t get that one. Back then, we played in our jeans. Yeah. We’ve come a long way, baby.) One 100 degree day when I was 12, I begged him to let me wear shorts to my game. He explained the risks, and I said, “Don’t worry—I won’t slide,” and he told me that if I did get hurt, he didn’t want to hear about it. Well, as my life would have it, I hit a lovely triple that night that I greedily wanted to stretch into a homerun. Not only was I tagged out on the slide, but I had to pick tiny pieces of gravel out of my shredded thigh. It was freakin’ AWesome. He was so mad at me (and himself for not holding to his rule, I think) that he didn’t talk to me for three days. Lesson learned.

One of his universal lessons was “when you play, you gotta pay.” This worked for so many things…goofing off on homework, staying out late, drinking…whatever the case may be, he didn’t want to hear any whining if I was suffering from a choice I made like that. I now hear myself uttering these very words to my kid for various reasons.

It makes me wonder what lessons I will leave behind for my son. Will he, too, have memories that he realizes were lessons on how to make the most out of life? Or will he be at a loss if someone asks him, “What is one important lesson you learned from your mom?”

I know I can’t simply wake up and think, “Today is the day I will teach my son to understand the value of (insert lesson).” If that were the case, the poor kid would be facing a curriculum every day of things I deem worth knowing.

No, I think it is much more a matter of living life by example and purpose and praying that some of the good sticks (and that the bad doesn’t stick but still teaches something). I know a lot did with me and my dad. I hope my son feels the same way someday.

Sitcom Solutions

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 7 Comments

wristwatchtv2When I was about four years old, I told my parents that in the future, there would be wristwatch TVs. “She has such an imagination!…Maybe someday…after all, anything is possible!” Needless to say, I was a psychic genius. Well, maybe just psychic, because I didn’t actually invent it. Well, maybe not even psychic, but just a good guesser. Okay, lay off of me—maybe I did just have a good imagination.

I get a kick out of telling my son about how there used to be only a half dozen TV channels and they all went off the air by midnight. Compared to today’s media saturation, that seems like Flintstone times (oh, how I loved the Flintstones!) And, of course, when I hear him whine that there is nothing on…when there are 2,093,457 channels as well as On Demand programming, it is an affirmation that more is not necessarily better.

Though I was only seven when the Brady Bunch series ended, I watched enough reruns to have every ounce of Brady seared deep into my brain. Yes, the show was a saccharine sweet, corny, simplistic look at life, but…it left its mark…even in today’s pop culture. In fact, when I was in high school, I jokingly came up with the Brady Bunch Philosophy—I could solve any life problem with a BB episode. Need to get out of a date? Best not to tell someone “something suddenly came up.” Feeling a little too cocky? Be careful you don’t end up doing the Cindy Brady Freeze on live television.Cindy Brady Freeze

Need some extra cash? Gather your siblings together to form a music group. This is an option you can choose more than once. Really. Just ask the Silver Platters.

If you need a “relevant” example of absolute power corrupting absolutely, watch Bobby abuse his power as class safety monitor. It takes his rescuing a cat from an abandoned building for him to see that sometimes it’s okay to bend the rules. Also, one cup of detergent should do the trick.

Need a believable disguise? One word: mustache.

And anyone my age knows you shouldn’t play ball in the house.

And if you’re ever looking for a legitimate wager to bet, put it all on the line that you will shine the other person’s boots for a month. This is like gold.

If you ever get lost in the Grand Canyon, keep an eye out for Chief Eagle Cloud’s (aka Tonto!) grandson. He’ll help you out. Then you can fill your flashlight with baked beans to repay the kindness. And you’ll get a cool tribal name, too.

Those darn Bradys knew how to pour on the Schmaltz, didn’t they? But underneath all the corniness, we did get positive messages time and again. Tell the truth. Be yourself. Support one another. And don’t let yourself be used just because you fit the suit, Johnny Bravo. It’s a far cry from iCarly’s Sam using the butter sock to settle things, isn’t it?

I guess, when it’s time to change, then it’s time to change…Unless that means bringing in Cousin Oliver. Then it’s time to stick a fork in your eye because Mini-John Denver has come to pour maple syrup over the saccharine that we have previously tolerated but can now no longer stand.

Other than that, it’s a Sunshine Day.

A Real Douchebag

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 3 Comments

…or how I learned that it’s important to ask if you don’t know.

As a young girl, on occasion I’d have to shower in my mom and dad’s bathroom instead of my sister’s and mine. It was always kind of special to be in the “master bath,” and there was this cool thing in their shower that we didn’t have in our regular one. This apparatus hung on the shower door. I figured it was some sort of cleaner (very astute assumption, what with it being in the shower and all). It was a hot water bottle with a hose connected to it that had an interesting looking white thing at the end. It had holes in it with a nicely rounded tip. I imagined it was a cool personal mini-shower, because when I filled up the water bottle, a lovely spray would come out of the end.

I thought it would make a fine microphone that would spout while I sang. Around that time, Tom Jones’ “She’s a Lady” was a popular song. My sister and I would always giggle at how when Jones performed it on TV, he would practically swallow the microphone on the “whoa, whoa, whoa, she’s a lady” part. We used to goof around and sing it while making the same gesture. Of course, this was a song high in my rotation when I would sing with my special microphone…And you can imagine how very close to my mouth this lovely little “spout” was…in fact, I can assure you that I would let the water that came out of it spray into my mouth. Yes. Therapy has been a part of my life.

My mom was not a proponent of talking directly about things related to “womanhood.” To put it in perspective, she never uttered the word “vagina.” It was either “birth canal” or, if she was feeling particularly forthright, “vaginal canal.” But never full-on vjayjay. So one day my mom came in while I was singing with my special mic and had a look come over her face that let me know that all was not right with the world. “What are you doing with that??” she asked… “Nothing. Just singin’.” She promptly suggested I end my song and not use it again. This was an era of child rearing where one did not hear a lot of “But whhyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?????” like one does nowadays. The look my mom gave said “follow directions and don’t ask questions.” And I did follow, and I didn’t ask. And she turned on her heel and left the bathroom. There was no follow-up to this conversation.

Though her behavior made me curious (and a little freaked out), I don’t think I pursued the answer right after that. In fact, I don’t even remember how I came to understand that my spray microphone was really a “feminine hygiene product.” It was probably the lovely Massengill Douche commercials that helped me piece the puzzle together…And when I did, I was absolutely mortified. It still makes me shudder to think that I got that indirectly close to my mom’s lady business.

The moral of this story? Never assume a microphone is a microphone. Though this experience alone didn’t provide an “a-ha moment” that taught me to make sure to ask questions, it did add to my overall desire to find answers to things I don’t know. Like looking up the word “offal” when I read it as a kid because I thought it was a weird way to spell “awful.” And…I kinda do find offal awful. Thanks, but I’ll pass on the haggis.

In essence—both real and metaphorical—life’s douchebags have taught me to seek the truth. And that is indeed good to know.