Category Archives: parenthood

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Parent-Teacher Conferences… for Preschool

Yep, I did it. I attended a parent-teacher conference in regards to my three-year-old.

My son’s teacher didn’t tell me much that I didn’t already know: he’s academically far beyond his peers, and he’s a mental sponge, but he needs work on his fine motor skills (like cutting with scissors and holding a crayon correctly).

His parents were much the same. Aaron is one of the only other people I know who also learned to read at age three, like me.

Given the diametrically opposite ways that Aaron and I reacted to being labeled as “smart,” though, my mind is already racing to come up with ways to keep Connor interested in school, to maintain that love of learning, and not let him fall into the trap of feeling obligated to do well in school just because of the results of his standardized tests.

Connor’s teacher told me that they’re giving him extra things to learn, like non-standard shapes and colors (crescent, pentagon, fuchsia, neon yellow), and while the other kids in his new preschool class are learning to recognize and spell their first names, Connor (who can already spell his first name) will be working on his full name, instead.

That’s fine for now, while he’s still a little sponge who loves to learn and who doesn’t really notice or care that he’s doing something different from his classmates. As he gets older, though… as he finishes his worksheets early and then starts staring out the open window… he may or may not resent being given more or different work to do just because he can. He may feel “special,” or he may feel unfairly singled-out.

(I’d guess that’s why some parents home-school their children: letting them learn at their own pace, without knowing or caring what others their age are doing, without letting that knowledge affect their idea of a “fair” workload. That’s not the route we want to take, but I can understand why some parents would.)

I loved being singled out as “gifted.” I loved the extra classes that were a grade level or two above my age. Up through most of high school, I thrived on being in the advanced classes. Aaron didn’t share my love of school, though, despite also scoring high on all the standardized tests and having an advanced reading level, and he got berated for his grades on a regular basis.

My son is only three. I shouldn’t be worrying (or even really thinking) about such things yet. So far, he loves to learn, and he learns through play, and he doesn’t know anything about standardized tests or reading levels or grades.

How long can we keep him that way?

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On Raising a Freethinker

Aaron and I were both raised by Christian families, and went to church regularly up through high school. We’ve since deconverted, and we both identify as atheist. We’re also very “live and let live” sort of people — sure, we shake our heads at what we deem to be ignorance or stupidity or just poor decision-making, and I’d be lying if I said we aren’t judgmental, but we make a point not to let it affect our daily interactions with people.

But we’re both grown adults. We had plenty of time to figure ourselves out before we became parents. We went through our youth of believing what we were taught, and our young adulthood of not knowing or caring what we believed anymore, and finally matured together into discovering what each of us do and don’t believe.

So, it’s more than a little daunting to consider that we’ll need to help guide our son (now three years old) through the process of figuring out who he is, how he fits in, how Life works, what’s right and wrong and what can’t be classified as either until you understand the situation. Instead of educating him in a religious environment (i.e. Sunday School), we have the opportunity to educate him in an non-religious way about social mores, values, standards, responsibility, consequences, kindness, right and wrong. We also have the opportunity to help him figure these things out for himself, which is a much more effective way to internalize such things than just being told by someone else.

It’s kind of like when he was teeny-tiny, and we talked through what we were doing — changing his diaper, making dinner, putting on his clothes — even though he didn’t understand language yet. Eventually, from hearing everything repeated so often, he put things together. Now that he’s old enough to comprehend being happy or sad, nice or mean, we try to talk things out with him. We don’t kick or hit because that hurts people, and that makes people sad and angry. We gave our leftovers to that man on the corner because he was hungry, and having food made him happy.

Even now, he recognizes when I’m getting frustrated with him, and gives me a big hug and an apology. Just today, he asked how I would feel if he threw a drink coaster on the floor — when I told him I would be angry and frustrated, he decided not to throw it on the floor, because me being frustrated would make him sad.

I think we’re on the right track — but I also think that Connor is already an empathetic and intelligent little boy, just by virtue of his innate Connor-ness, not necessarily because of our parenting. We just need to keep guiding him in the right direction.

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Toddler-Wrangling and Socializing Just Don’t Mix.

It started with a post on Facebook, and a comment from Aaron’s cousin Megan. It ended with what felt like spectacular parent and toddler fail at one of our favorite restaurants.

Megan and Ryan decided to come to Toledo on Sunday to check out the museum for the day, and thought, wouldn’t it be nice if we all met up for dinner before they headed back? So, Aaron and I rearranged our normal laundry-and-groceries Sunday to be laundry-and-groceries Saturday instead, so we could meet Megan and Ryan at Pho Viet Nam for dinner on Sunday.

(After all, haven’t we been saying that we wish we were more social with family and friends, and that we wish something different would happen for once? Here it is!)

We inadvertently hyped up Connor for Something New After Quiet Time by telling him that he’d get to see Cousin Megan for dinner. So, once he was napped and ready, he was super extra stoked. He’s also been in a kind of a boundary-pushing phase lately, so that probably didn’t help.

We arrived right on time! They’d arrived before us and procured the only large table for the five of us. An even larger party came in around the same time we did, though, so we got bumped to a booth with an added chair on the end for Connor. That was possibly the biggest strike against us, since Aaron got saddled with the vast majority of the Connor-wrangling that we usually share, and since there wasn’t enough room on the table to keep Connor out of everything.

He yelled. He demanded snacks. He knocked over a water glass when he flailed to give Daddy a hug. He asked to go potty. He made a mess with his noodles. He demanded attention while the grown-ups were talking — and he got attention from the other parties in the restaurant. He grabbed Megan’s chopsticks (after she was done with them, thankfully). And all the while, we tried to put a good face on things and assure them that He’s Not Usually Like This!

Since we hadn’t seen Megan for a good year and a half, we had been looking forward to catching up with her and Ryan. Aaron said afterward that he didn’t feel like he really got to visit at all. I, at least, got a few Connor-free minutes of conversation while Aaron was changing Connor’s water-soaked pants, then again when he took Connor potty.

After an hour or so of this, all told, Megan and Aaron went up to pay our respective checks, leaving me at the table with Ryan and a very wiggly Connor.

“I don’t want to come off like a jerk,” I said to Ryan, “but this —” and I jerked my thumb toward Connor, “is why we didn’t plan on having kids.”

It’s the honest truth, and I felt for some reason like it had to be spoken in that moment. Of course, I did my standard But Of Course I Love My Son backpedal after stating that uncomfortable truth.

We said our goodbyes outside in the freezing rain and sleet, hugs all around, me carrying Connor so he wouldn’t slip and fall in the frozen mud.

That was probably one of the most exhausting dinners out we’ve ever experienced.