Tag: parenting

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.

Ask Dad. He Knows.

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 7 Comments
Two cents' worth of shoelaces?
Two cents’ worth of shoelaces?

I fell in love with the movie It’s a Wonderful Life when I was just a little girl. Back then, they showed it numerous times during the holiday season, and it’s a safe estimate to say I’ve seen it close to 100 times…so I’m a tad familiar with it. I think most people are familiar with it, too, as well as the main themes of the movie. The ideas of “Each man’s life touches so many other lives” and “No man is a failure who has friends” are the one-two punches of the movie and still so relevant today.

But there’s lots more to be learned in this lovely movie, too—like don’t ride your shovel onto thin ice…a turntable can make one helluva rotisserie…whispering into someone’s deaf ear is a great way to admit your love without having them know it…it’s best to periodically check the floor when dancing…and the valuable tip from Uncle Billy that has served me so well in life: when drunk and in doubt, choose the middle hat.

Think you might be on your way to deliver poison? Best ask Dad.
Think you might be on your way to deliver poison? Best ask Dad.

Indeed, the film is loaded with life lessons, but there’s one in particular that I want to take a moment with, and the title of this post probably already clued you in. Ask Dad. He knows. When George is presented with the problem of delivering what he knows to be deadly “medicine,” he barges into a meeting and attempts to ask his dad what to do. Of course, later in the film you can connect the dots to know that the dad he really needs to ask about his big problems is The Dad of All, but his earthly one is pretty damned important, too. In fact, when George’s dad dies, it ends up shaping the rest of his life.

When I began my love affair with IAWL as a child, I had no idea the parallels that George Bailey and I would have, with a key one being that my dad died just about the same time of life as Peter Bailey left George. His chances to ask his dad disappeared, as did mine.

And, oh, the things I would have loved to ask my dad…Of course, plenty of serious life issues, but lots of others, too. Like how was “Oh, I trust you, it’s just your date that I don’t trust…” supposed to ever even appear fair? And why didn’t you wear shorts except for swimming? And couldn’t you have used another comparison instead of “poodle” when I got that one perm in junior high?

For the years lived without him, lots of questions from my 20s would have begun, “Dad, why do guys…?” and there’d be the specific one that asked, “What do you think of this guy?” In my 30s, I know one question would have been, “How do you like your new grandson?” And now in my 40s, I still find myself wondering, “what would Dad have thought?” about any variety of things.

But all of these questions are no longer possible to ask. So, my friends, I want to encourage you: if you still can, ask Dad—and ask Mom, too. From the silly to the serious, if you don’t ask…you’ll never know. Don’t let them take too many answers with them. After all, it IS a wonderful life, and the more we learn about and love one another, the better.

How Did Our Parents Do It?

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ Leave a comment

While the refrain, “When I was your age…” makes for eye rolls in kids, I must admit I am guilty of uttering it numerous times to my son. Yes, the rose-colored glasses of reflection make for softer edges around what once was, but…times are indeed different. And on the flip side of what was different when I was a kid for kids themselves, I think about what was different for the parents. After nights where my husband and I are finally done with our Have Tos around 10pm (to then finally sit and check email), we ask ourselves…how did our parents do it?

I don’t know about you, but I never remember my mom or dad consumed with ToDos like I am. Let me adjust my rose-colored glasses for a moment, but here’s what I recall of an average night when I was a kid: My dad came home and read the paper a bit while my mom finished getting dinner ready. We ate a leisurely dinner at the kitchen table. My sister and I took care of the kitchen while my mom and dad went to the family room…maybe they worked crossword puzzles, maybe they finished reading the paper, and—of course—there was the TV to enjoy. End of scene.

Yes, the nights where I had a softball or basketball game meant the leisurely dinner didn’t happen, so we did indeed juggle that in some way. And my kid isn’t old enough to do the dishes yet (and have them actually be clean), so there’s that to look forward to. And my mom was a stay-at-home mom, so I’m sure that helped, too. One thing I recall, though, is that we kids weren’t in several activities at once…it was almost always one thing at a time, until I was in high school. Today it seems like parents need a flow chart to route their kids to their next activities accordingly. So…I ask…what are we doing to ourselves? Is our push to give our kids “everything” really in their best interest? In ours?

And then I think of all the things that have since been created to make things happen “faster” or “better.” My mom never needed to bother with email, and she certainly didn’t feel the need to clear her Google Reader. My dad came home from work at 5pm. And he was HOME. He didn’t get work emails or texts. While work may have been on his mind, it wasn’t gobbling up his home time. The lines of distinction were much clearer. Now…everything is a blur. Thanks to technology, we may be freer to be more mobile, but we are also expected to be “available” at all hours. And I am guilty of feeding right into it all…getting screen sucked from one thing to another. I fear it is a black hole of “progress.”

There is no turning back, I know. But my desire to better balance life’s tugs is ongoing. I’m not ready to throw in the towel. And even if I did, I’d just get a late-night Google Calendar reminder that it was time to do the laundry anyway.