Table for three..oh, and the turtle

If I have to define family, I am pretty sure that I can't use the traditional definition.

I have me and my kids. The three of us are for sure the strongest bond of family in each of our respective lives.  We have rules.  We have expectations.  We have love.  We also have all the funny shit that only families will have, like being naked for breakfast, stealing each other's socks, and laughing hysterically at farts during the intense part of a movie we are cuddled on the couch together to watch. We have discussions, situational learning and teaching, and a whole lot of growing up.  We play.  We sing. We cry.

We also have other people in our family.  Yes, we count their dad.  At least we try to.  Every other weekend.  And when something is left in his car.  We count grandparents.  At least we try to. Once a week or so.  Or when we need a walk and some cookies.  We count friends. At least we try to.  As often as possible, because really, they are our family of choice, even when we only see them once a month, for breakfast, at an awful restaurant, halfway between houses, because we just had to see each other.  Or dropping everything we had planned so that we could go swimming instead.  Not a bad trade off on most days.  Family is like that.

We are connecting to other people through Social Justice Causes.  No, my kids don't actually call them Social Justice Causes. They think of it as just the right thing to do (and a damn lot of fun) when we volunteer to clean up the beach, or go to a dance party in support of Marriage Equality, or write letters through Amnesty International to help free a prisoner of conscience.  Yeah, building world family, too.

So when this morning I received an email, asking that I support the use of a "Stop and Discuss" form (I wrote about "fix it" tickets in my blog titles "All things can be fixed with duct tape") that my ex wants to use with the kids in his home (on those "every other weekend"s previously mentioned) I was actually amused by the list of family he has for the kids.  Seems there is him, his wife, my children, her three adult children, and the the household pets, including a turtle, who qualify as family.  Not his wife's children's father.  Not the roommates that also live in the house.  Not the grandparents, not the aunties, not the friends.  The pets.  Not me.

My children had already told me about this new form, the reworked fix-it ticket, and the whole "family" expectation.  I asked them about it, and how they felt.  The answer was predictable: they were pretty much ignoring it since the whole idea was, in their minds, stupid.  I asked them why they thought it was stupid.  And again, the answer was predictable: families don't work like that.

I explored it more with them as we drove home.  I learned they like our little family of three.  We have rules.  We have expectations.  We have love.    We are funny.  We play.  We sing.  We cry.   We talk about stuff immediately.  We respect boundaries.  We say we are sorry. We mean it when we do.  We don't do it again.  We have a lot of growing up to do, and damn, we are having fun in the process.  And family, well, giving each other "tickets" and "forms" was just not how we roll, and would not be used with those that we love in our real world.

I have now labeled the email, and pulled it into my "I'll get right on that" file.  And while I did a "I-need-some-validation-as-an-awesome-mom-and-beautiful-kick-ass-damn-right-I-am-a-member-of-my-children's-family-fuck-the-turtle-you-can-go-to-hell" moments for about five seconds when I first read the thing, I am over it, and know that I will not be using the form, any other stupid tricks to get respectful behavior out of my kids.  I don't need to, because they already are.  REAL family is like that.

Teshuva

This week is the Jewish High Holiday of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

No, I am not Jewish.  I actually was raised Catholic. Most of my beliefs now center around some of the more mystical native traditions, with a core belief that there is no heaven to achieve, nor hell to avoid, except that which we create and allow in our life here on Mother Earth.

I attend a local Unitarian Universalist church.  I do so because with in my core beliefs also reside the need to *do* something besides think of myself.  It revolves around community, giving what you can, and seeing how others might both need from us, and share with us a desire for social justice and a liberal peace.  I mean, in my limited view of the meaning of God, a person can not rightly claim a genuine relationship if others are persecuted and marginalized, often at the own believer's hand. 

I want my kids to get this, too. It might mean that we do not eat our favorite strawberries if the farm workers that picked them were paid less than a living wage.  It might mean we attend the wedding of a same sex couple while the grandparents look away and shamefully shake their heads.  It might mean we cook spaghetti, or risk getting arrested,  or speak up when a "respected" individual is acting like a bully.  All in all, it means action both in our hearts, and in our deeds. Finding a path that is not created by throwing stones in another person's way. 

So why mention Yom Kippur?

On Sunday, while thinking I would get a little kick in the spiritual pants with an upbeat sermon on justice or something or other, I got a revelation-kick-in-the-head-god-is-talking-to-you-dumbass moment.  Damn it.  The topic: forgiving the person who has injured you.  Fuck, really? The answer: Yes, because if not, you are just a-smug-little-rat-bastard-who-thinks-she-is-perfect-so-get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way.

Okay, the minister did not actually say that.  He was much more polite as he talked about seeking forgiveness in two different ways.  If you had injured your own soul, and needed to right it with your own spiritual power, then do so, and move on.  But if you have hurt someone else, even by the act of denying them forgiveness, you need to right it with them. A bunch of different examples popped into my head as he talked it through: Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar's; Steps 8 and 9 in the Big Book; The Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz.  Yes, strange and varied things spinning their way through my conscience all coming back to the same message.  If you don't forgive someone, you carry the burden yourself. If you don't forgive someone, you set yourself up for all the rest of the bad stuff to happen. If you don't forgive someone, you are throwing rocks in their path.  If you don't forgive someone, how would you ever be deserving of forgiveness yourself when you mess up.  And you know you will.  I know I will. Eventually. I always do. Shit.  I can only save myself.

So while contemplating my grudges, and realizing my nature of holding forgiveness like some kind of prize, I had actually come to the conclusion that I suck at forgiveness. I don't wanna forgive.  I like my little badges of hurt and resentment.  I get to be a victim, damn it, I earned it.  Be a nasty bitch to me, I get to hate you forever.  Make a crude or vile comment to me, and I will not only know when you said it, but know your tone, inflection, and what color shirt you were wearing right then as well.  I might go away to lick my wounds, but is only so I have enough strength to come back and hold your nastiness over you at some later date.  I mean, it takes a damn strong person to climb that high up on my high-horse.

So if in the recent, or not so recent past, I have done something to hurt you, please forgive me. I am sorry.  Let me make amends, and atone to you my desire to change.  If I am your target, and you have asked for me to forgive you and I have held it over you instead, I will try to do better, and forgive so that we both have the opportunity to put down our burdens.  Don't, at least right now, expect that it means friendship.  But please know it means civility and no worsening of your pain, how ever I may have contributed to it.

So I hope you find your own path. I will be over here, trying not to wreck mine, saving the only life I can save. No hell or heaven except that which we create.  I will stay out of your journey, with a little bit of atonement for possibly having blocked your way before, and not doing it today.

All things can be fixed with duct tape.

Last week my daughter got a "Fix It" ticket at school.  And while I could write a whole bunch about my reaction to the ticket, and how much of it had related to things that had already been "fixed", I really want to talk about how this got blown out of proportion in the days that followed,and how some people in my life (and hers) just didn't get it.

To give you a frame of reference, a "Fix It" ticket at school is a lot like the kind you get for your car.  A person in authority (a cop or a teacher) stops you when they notice something that needs to change.  If it was a busted taillight, or a cracked windshield, an officer could give you a fix-it and let you know the "penalty" to make it all good again.  I am all for this in society, when often the thing that need fixing is just because you were lazy, possibly didn't know, or otherwise just needed a point in the right direction to be in compliance.  All in all, the fix-it will ultimately get you in compliance and no-harm, no-foul.  Mess up a second time, and the fix-it is a kind of proof that you had a chance and chose not to take it.  Sorta like the DMV database.

For the school, it kinda works the same way.  The school tries to give you the chance to change the action or behavior if it is a "first-time" offense.  Maybe a kid just didn't know they were hurting another kid's feelings, or that dirty Kleenexes belong in the trash.  Whatever it was, the kid is getting the chance to make it better and do the right thing.  I say awesome to that.  If it works, and you don't have to constantly punish or remind, all the better.  Blow it by doing it again, and there is no excuses.

But I digress. 

On Sunday, a couple days after the fix-it was given to my daughter, an argument that a child should never have to endure happened.  Granted, I was not actually in the argument, I just felt the sting of it as my daughter came out of her father's house, barefoot and crying, and not able to function.  My son, the calm one of the two this time, explained that he had just needed to stand up for his sister because the woman my children's father is married to had just verbally slammed my daughter.  Actually what he said to my query of "What happened?" was " (insert psychopath name here) happened!"

My daughter (age 10)had just been called a bitch by her father's wife (age 51), and then heard the same person yell at her "You are going to grow up to be a bitch just like your Mom!".  She had to further endure her dad not only saying nothing, but nodding in agreement.

I got this first-person account of it after we drove away.  It will be an issue for attorneys and courts and blah blah blah par for the course bullshit.  But I believe my daughter and son unconditionally.  This is big enough that they would not lie about it.  I know my kids, and it happened, and will be dealt with.

Here is the part that ties in the whole "fix it" part though. Yesterday at visitation, my daughter's father suggested that his wife be given a "Fix It" ticket for her bad words and out burst.  BWAHAHAHA!!!  I just about peed my pants laughing at that.  A fix it ticket? To a 51 year old woman with a history of emotionally unstable angry outbursts? To an emotionally immature man who, through his lack of response, actually allowed my daughter to be verbally abused, even more so that he participated as a bully's henchman?  That is some funny shit.

Yep, even my kids could spot the bullshit flaw in that thought.  That was when I knew that not only would the "Fix It" at school work, but that the life lesson had transferred: 1) Authority figures (cops, teachers, and in this case, parents) have an obligation to point out and correct undesirable behavior. 2) The person who was the target of the unwanted behavior (say, the kid who picks his nose and then wipes it on his desk, or the 10 year old who rolled her eyes) does not have to do anything to both warrant the protection of the authorities, nor have to face the attackers. 3) Fixing it means changing yourself, not them (or replacing your light bulb, not yelling at the cop).

My kids got it.  Issuing their dad's wife a fix-it ticket would not do one damn thing to change anything.  It might make it worse because it would imply that it was the first time and could be corrected.  We all knew that wasn't the case and that, if by the age of 51, you had not figured out how to control your temper and not use ugly words, you really were beyond the "Fix It" ticket stage.  It did, however, help my kids to understand that they could change their behavior.  It might get them in some trouble with their dad when they truly start to ignore his wife, but that life lesson will just have to be okay, too.

I wonder if I will be offered a fix-it when this blog is read, again implying that something should be done to change it.  I don't think so, but I will laugh really hard if it is suggested.  I also have a roll of red duct tape you can borrow for that tail light.

This one, I hope he reads.

An open Letter to my children's father:

You have asked me to respond about Parenting Coordinators.  Here goes.

In 2009 we went to Tier I mediation.  You rescinded our Parenting Plan.

In 2009 we went to Tier II mediation.  We came up with an agreement.  It went fine.

In late 2009 we went again to Tier II mediation.  We came up with a plan.  You did not follow it, and then got mad at me because I did.

In 2010 we went again to Tier II mediation.  Some things in it were just not right.  This time since it was our last time allowed before another court date, I hired an attorney.

In 2010 we went to court and were ordered into Co-parent Counseling along with an Assessor.  We did the assessment, came up with agreements, and began orders.  We also talked to a co-parent counselor who gave up because we couldn’t even agree on a date, much less what to talk about.  I followed the orders.  You didn’t.  You repeatedly changed the time and place for exchanges, including having the exchange at a pullout on the side of the freeway.  You started the kids at a new church that I don’t agree with.  You listed your then girlfriend as my children’s mother, and lied to the school about orders.  You repeatedly asked me to change the orders and then got mad when I followed them, asking each time that you go back to co-parent counseling with me so we can start talking.

In 2011 we followed the orders until you decided that it wasn’t good enough and wanted more changes.  You still refused to go to co-parent counseling, and even got to the point where you called it LAME.  Your now-wife verbally abused me and you did nothing.  Your now-wife sent me nasty messages and you did nothing.  I asked again, to go to co-parent counseling, and got no response except to say you wanted “family” counseling to include a people who have nothing to do with our parenting, and even then you made no suggestions or recommendations.

In 2012  you took me back to court and got us back into assessment that got you, what?  An additional 2 hours every other Friday and 45 minutes every other Sunday. So far three judges, two mediators, an assessor on two different occasions, a co-parent counselor, the children’s counselor, two attorneys and both of us have agreed that co-parent counseling would be of benefit to us, and still you refuse.

So what happened?  I decided to stop co-parenting and start parallel parenting with you.  I follow the orders to the letter and have had no problems with the time share at all.  I just do it, and help the kids do it as well.  I inform you of things that are happening, and then send zero reminders or coordination beyond that. I tell you when they are going to the counseling appointments, and then I take them.  I don’t care one way or the other any more if you show up.  I make plans with the kids to do whatever we want, and don’t ask your permission.  I talk with the kids about what they can do to make their lives with you enjoyable because they are the ones who have to have a relationship with you, I don’t.  They have asked you to have family meetings.  You refused while I supported them.  Our son asked to play baseball.  When you refused, I took him anyway and let him know that your participation would be your choice and he would have to work it out with you.  When our daughter asked to stop playing piano I told her I didn’t have a problem with her stopping but that she would have to take it up with you.  She did and she also took it up with both her grandmother and her piano teacher.  I am very proud of her for that. And still you refused  Both have told you they don’t want to go to the church you take them to, and you refuse to listen.  I stay out of it. I don't need to say a word.  You are burying yourself and losing their respect.  I somehow think that doesn't really matter to you.

There are lots of things that I simply don’t like about how you parent.  I don’t like that our son has to sleep in a pantry without ventilation.  I don’t like that they both have access to violent video games and are allowed to watch violent movies. I don’t like that there is no set bedtime for them.  I don’t like the church you take them to .  I don’t like that you still have a renter in the house after agreeing to have the renter out in 2010.  I don’t like that our daughter comes home with sand flea bites from the house every weekend she is there.  I don’t like that you don’t even pay attention to her need to sleep somewhere quiet and has to try to sleep in a very noisy house.  I don’t like that they have to wait for breakfast on the mornings that they are there because someone else is sleeping.  I don’t like that the kids report that you spend all your time on the computer when you have visitation and that you are annoyed when they try to get your attention.  I don’t like that you have no idea what our daughter’s favorite color is, or what our son likes to draw.  I don’t like that the kids are pulling away from you because they realize you don’t actually know anything about them and don’t care, and worse, that you don’t even see it happening.  Our son, our daughter, and I have just learned to suck it up, ignore what we can, and blow off the rest to “that is just the way dad is. Sucks, eh?” and live our lives without your input, since honestly, we are doing completely great without it.  I live with it because they love you.  I live with it because I love them.

All this though, is nothing that can be litigated.  I can’t make you be a good dad.  So instead, I am just a good mom that reminds the kids that you are the only dad have, and they each are the ones that have to decide what kind of relationship they want with you.  I will only support their choices.

So back to coordinators.  I don’t want to see one because it won’t make one bit of difference in how I parent.  And since you won’t talk to me, your opinion is moot.  If at some point you want to grow up and actually be a father to your children, then feel free to talk to me, find someone for us both to talk to cooperatively, or man up and just do what’s right.  Until then nothing else will matter and I will just love on our children and guide them the way I choose, until they make the decisions for themselves.  And that is happening faster than realize. 

All this time you talk the talk, and still can't seem to make it a reality for yourself.  All the people you have dragged into our lives have not made any difference.  Adding one more, well, that is your choice.  Have fun with wasting even more time you could spend just getting to know our kids.  They are awesome and you are missing out with all these professionals you want to make your choices for you.  Too bad. The kids and I are fine.

And I am patient, I can wait.

So thank you. All my love for the amazing children I have in my life.  I am sorry you don't get it.

Elise,

You children's mother, now and always

Spinning

I have been spinning things in my head. Possibly because I am not writing often enough here at blog central.  Possibly because I stopped seeing (read that as stopped being able to afford) my counselor.  Possibly because I have not been taking enough Vitamin D.  Possibly because there are people in my children's lives who have no freaking clue who they are or what they need, and it has me just a touch freaked out.  Yep, that's it.  Sleep has skipped out on me.

Last night, while listening to the clock strike the 1:30am chime, I also heard a really loud thump against my bedroom wall.  Turns out it was my daughter's knee, and she was just as awake as I was.  Awake, and wanting to talk.  I got us some milk, used the bathroom, and cuddled us both up in her duvet on the twin bed. 

Turns out that she is kinda feeling a lot of the same things I am feeling.  

Yesterday, earlier in the evening we had her counseling appointment. The usual rules applied for the session in that the adult(s) (usually it is just me, last night her father joined us) get about 5 minutes of time at the very beginning to state some thing that has been happening that we think might need to be discussed.  Something about how things are going from a relationship status, friends, feelings blah blah blah.  It really is just a starter, and then the child who has the appointment goes in without anyone else and gets to direct the session. Last night my ex wanted to talk about the letter I gave his wife about no-contact, and why I had let my daughter (and son) know the contents of the letter.  He wanted the counselor to say how wrong wrong wrong that was of me to involve them.  He did not want to talk about his wife's crying jags, or that she called me a bitch in front of my kids, or that my kids don't like her. 

I stayed very quiet for the most part, gauging my daughter's reactions, and seeing her eyes roll a couple times, I knew that nothing I could say right then would make one damn bit of difference.

The counselor gave me a little reprimand for having shared "adult" topics with my children, and that those should be off limits.  A slight warning about courts and stuff.  Whatever.  I have been doing this long enough now to know the courts don't actually give a shit. Next.  My ex was told he need to get some parenting classes and was advised that his wife should learn to respect boundaries.  Again, next.

What I didn't realize until 1:31am, cuddled around my daughter, was that she heard the counselor say all that too, and instead of talking to her counselor about her feelings, she talked about nothing.  Her thought was that the whole session was a waste of time.  I got it quickly, in that early morning flash of insight that sometimes happens; my daughter believed that her counselor had told her that the entire TOPIC labeled as "adult" were now off limits for her to talk about, too.  She was feeling isolated and alone because she had lost her outlet of the counselor and was afraid that my "reprimand" meant I was going to stop talking about the stuff with her for fear of some court reprisal. 

That was what the eye rolling had meant. It had meant, in her head, to convey to me that she knew better.  That she knew that was not the mom she got.  She got the mom that was going to say stuff to her honestly and openly, and counselor reprimands or not, nothing had changed.

Then came the spinning in her head, the self doubt, the over-thinking.  Oh how like her mother she actually is.  What if mom stops talking to me?  What if mom really does think I don't need to hear adult topics?  What if I can't trust my mom to tell me the truth in a way that I will understand?  What if she takes Dad's side, and I am stuck without any choices?  Wow, my girl can spin it.  This all came out in a rather heavy sobbing-and-grasping meltdown fueled by exhaustion.  She was afraid.

She got my reassurance, and commitment, to never treat her in a way that makes her less intelligent than I know she is.  I helped her see that I was not going anywhere and that my silence at the counseling session was not me abandoning her, but siding with her in knowing that nothing we said right then would change US.  I cried with her, letting her know that I was scared, too. Not of the courts, but that maybe I had forced upon her a growing-up-fast mantra she did not need to have.  She sighed a lot as I held her.  She was drained, but relieved, I knew, because her body softened, her yawns started, and she hugged me when I told her I loved her.

She fell asleep after I told her I would not leave until my butt started hurting too much from being squished in a twin bed, and that her feet stank.  She giggles, cuddled up, sighed and asked if we could talk more later because she was tired.  She made me pinky-swear-cross-my-heart-promise.  I did.  I fell asleep not too long after.

I am hoping for less spinning and more sleep tonight.  You might be seeing more blogs on the topic just so both my daughter and I can rest.  I think I will go buy her another journal, one with pretty spinning colors on the front.  One we can share.  Like mother like daughter.  Her next counseling appointment, should she decide she wants to go, will involve exploring adult topics. She gets this, and I am more than willing to understand that about her, even if no one else does.

Never trust Hallmark

I was handed a card a few weeks ago on a Wednesday evening.  It had my name on it. So I guess it was intended for me.  My ex handed it to me.  I took it, the way most people do when handed things, without even thinking about it much at first.  I mean I try not to take the flyer and other advertisements that hawkers at places like the Boardwalk and the farmer's market try to hand me. But usually it still ends up in my hands, with me shaking my head wondering what the fuck I am supposed to do with it now.  I also usually say thank you, trying to be polite in the most ordinary non-committal way possible.

When I was handed this particular card by my ex, in the split second it was in my hand, I read that it not only had my name on it, but both my children's names as well.  And get this, it also had my ex's name right there in black ink on the Hallmark yellow envelope.  I also tried to process, in that split second, what it could be, and who had not heard that the four of were not a family any more.  Invitation to a BBQ? Photos from an event years ago we all attended? Cash from a family member using both me and my kid's father as a filter for my children's potential riches?

But, suspiciously, instead of the words "thank you" coming out of my mouth, I said "Who is this from?"  It only slightly shocked me that it was from my ex's wife.


On Friday of that week, I handed my ex a letter I had written.  It outlined in no uncertain terms my exact expectation from his wife, and his own continuing belief that I somehow give a shit about her, him, or their continuing happiness together as  people, a couple, or as adults in my children's lives.  I honestly, at this point three years in, could care less if they are happy, sad, indifferent.  Basically I just want them both to leave me the fuck alone, and barring that, for her to never ever ever talk to me.  Seems completely clear in my head.

Having written the letter, I owed it to my children to give them the heads-up that there was going to be fall out from it in the form of whining and crying and convincing and name-calling, and that while I was not changing my position, I would not do it if they thought the outcome was more than they could handle.  My daughter, being the amazing relationship guru of all time said "About time you said all this." My son, the more ethereal of the two in matters of emotions was quiet but said he could handle it, and demonstrated his technique by pulling up the hood on his jacket and plugging his ears.  We all laughed, because it was damn funny, and then let it go.  I gave the letter to their father at pickup.

The fall out was as expected.  His wife called my daughter mean, while crying and saying how hurt she was.  Their father said that it was all my fault because I was just a bitch who didn't want any happiness in her life and was poisoning them.  The family meeting they held involved more crying on his wife's part, a decision (without my children's input or consent, mine either for that matter) that family counseling would be in order, and a plea for the kids to try to "bring your mom around, we all just want to be a big happy family".

I let my kids choose their own interpretation, and mostly it came down to feeling like it was all fake and manipulative. We moved on, and basically decided the decision was on my ex and his wife to abide by my wishes or not.  I expected not, but we could deal with that when it happened.  I was happy to have said it again, even if they paid no attention to it at all.

Yesterday was Father's Day.  My kids spent it  with their dad.  I also knew his wife would be around, doing whatever it is she does, and that being the newly self-appointed guardian of my children's well being as it relates to their father, she would have her hand in all the plans.  What happened falls in to the category of the truly weird.  She came up to my daughter on her own on Sunday morning, while my daughter was peacefully munching Coco Puffs near the pool and told my daughter about how much she wanted to start hanging out with me, be my friend, and join in on the five of us (that would be me, my ex, the two kids, and her I suppose) becoming a close family. To that end, she promised to start coming to my children's counseling sessions so she could be recognized as an important mother figure in my children's lives. 

Um.. what the fuck?

My daughter got home and told me all about it, and asked if she could call her counselor right then.  I dialed and handed her the phone. She articulately told her counselor that she did not want her dad's wife there, and could the counselor call her dad and tell him too. Thirty or so minutes later, my ex texted, asking my daughter to call.  I let her. He proceeded to try to tell her that she had misunderstood his wife, and that she didn't really mean all that , and that she would come to the counseling session and sit in the car and that my daughter needs to be nice.  I heard the whole thing, saw my daughter's face of confusion, took the phone and said to him that I believed every word my daughter had to say, that I didn't appreciate him calling her a liar, that I was so proud of her for doing the right thing and calling her counselor and that his wife was not welcome, period.

He tried to spin it. It is his usual MO.  I am poisoning the kids, I am negative and unhappy. I want him to suffer and never have anything positive in his life blah blah blah.  Before I hung up I said, feel free to do what you want, but that I would be happy to help my daughter call him a liar to his face at the next counseling meeting.

So now we wait.  I could predict what this will be like.  He will show up, chickie girl will stay in the car.  He will try to say my daughter misunderstood, but wouldn't family counseling be a good thing for all of us so we can all be happy.  He will basically be ignored and he doesn't even know it yet.  His wife will not even exist, and the kids and I will go have See's candy and pizza and laugh a lot.  They will not be invited.  They don't belong in our world and they are desperately trying to figure out how to hold on to the happiness and strength my children and I exude from our whole being.

All this started because I thought a big yellow envelope might contain something fun.  Damn optimistic streak! Moral of the story?  Stop taking those damn flyers, and keep saying no when you mean it. Counseling on Tuesday can't come fast enough.  Bring it!

Mixed Geek Metaphors

It is May the Fourth.  For every geeky kid out there, playing with light sabers while wearing a bathrobe, today is your day. 

I have these children. I am these children. 

My son, if given his way in all things, would live to play baseball, Star Wars, and Legos, all while carrying around a pen and engineering-type notebook designing very complex video games with multi-player, multi-level actions sequences.  These sequences would revolve around baseball, Star Wars and Legos.  I think it is divine.  He is a second grader who can not only understand 6th grade math, but can teach this math to his sister, a 4th grader.  He builds miniature robots and droids out of whatever is around. Cardboard, painter's tape, spoons (yes, I have had to dismantle things so we could eat dinner), Legos (of course) and recently Q-Tips, popsicle sticks, and the arms and legs off of Barbies. (My daughter gave him permission to borrow them as long as no permanent markers or scissors were used, and he gave her a cash deposit.)  It has been adventure.

My daughter, if given her way in all things, would live to have her hair be like Princess Leah all the time, while simultaneously wearing one purple high top and one pink one, and carrying a copy of Harry Potter under one arm, and a diary under the other.  Her diary is a complex grouping of stories and friends and thoughts and poetry, and dreams.  I think it is divine.  She is a fourth grader who has no interest in boys, but understands almost intuitively the complexes of relationships.  She pays attention.  She knows from her heart when things are done with a mean intent, and calls people on it.  Her friends are drawn to her because she is quirky but confident, out-spoken but kind, independent but social.  She seems to do a great job on balancing the fine line between being funny and being weird.  She is honest, and I marvel at how intelligently she can speak about what she sees and feels.  She shares these insights with her brother, and they have come to an understanding somehow that she voices his concerns to the letter, and then defends him completely. 

Me, if given my way in all things, would live to write down every random thought that pops into my head.  I own a really nice fountain pen, but would prefer a whole bunch of gel pens in various shades of red.  I would write all day about how I see the world, what I have learned while sitting at the beach, and describe, in detail, the shape and color of seaglass collected on the many walks I would be taking.  I share these thoughts with my kids sometimes, who roll their eyes and sigh.  When I catch them using the seaglass from the big bowl we have of it sitting on the end table in the living room, I smile and know they are listening, and that I have done my job.  They are well on their way to thoughtful geekness, and I am proud.

If you have children, you might get some of this.  This overwhelming need to have your children be independent, and be exactly like you, at the same time.  My children look like me, and not at all like their dad.  Some days I wish they had inherited their father's denim blue eyes. But 99% of the time, I am glad there is no doubt who got the majority of the genes.  This works totally in my favor at places like the Tech Museum and the Exploratorium when I play, too, and can just blame it on my kids by just pointing and shrugging my shoulders.  They get to go off and teach me stuff from their areas of interest (like my son building a drawing bot, or my daughter using the CrazyCaptcha Hair camera site) and I get to show them how to make paper from gooey stuff and pieces of flowers.  It is a good match.

So this morning, when the May the Fourth thing was brought up, my kids both did something to "celebrate".  My son put on a Jedi Robe from the costume box over his Star Wars T-shirt.  My daughter asked me to help her put her hair up in two buns on the side of her head.  She is carrying a collapsible Barbie sized light saber in her backpack that she will NOT take out (the whole weapons at school rule she was quick to remind me) but will make her happy to know is there.  I changed my ring tone to the Star Wars theme song.

Then they asked for Reese's Pieces. (We have them for a penny out of an old gumball machine in our kitchen.) When I asked why, they said that they could use ET instead of Star Wars to celebrate if it meant getting candy, since there is no Star Wars food.  Yep, geek children.  I love it. Today is a great day.