"Going To Do Something"

When my oldest graduated with her bachelor's degree, we were excited and proud. For one thing, she'd worked hard to get there. For another, my husband, myself, and all four of her grandparents do not have college degrees. All of my children have some kind of secondary diploma or certificate, which makes me happy.

Usually, when we'd tell people she was graduating, the comments were predictable - "How exciting!" "What's her degree in?" "What are her plans?" But one comment just landed a bit wrong. One friend of ours did not actually seem very excited, and said, in an almost scolding tone, "She is going to do something with that degree, isn't she?"

"Of course she is," I replied brightly, ignoring the implied criticism. "She's going to be educated."

This elicited a sigh. "You know what I'm saying, right?" they asked.

"Yes, I do. You know what I'm saying, right?" I asked with a bit more edge in my voice.

They appeared genuinely puzzled. "No."

Oh, for goodness sake.

I didn't try to explain how many things that I found wrong with their query, starting with the fact that good news should be met with congratulations (especially if you're then going to nit pick or gripe). Then there's the fact, as I previously mentioned, that her parents and grandparents do not have degrees. Also, they had chosen to direct this gripe to someone else (me) who has chosen, as their career, to be a stay at home parent.

I was totally clear that my friend was alluding to stay at home parents, despite my being one. I have heard, not just from this friend, but from many people, what a "waste" that is. I experienced frequent verbal bludgeoning, myself, most of it from people who liked or loved me. "But you could do anything!" they'd say, and they were completely unsatisfied by my response of, "I know I could. And I chose." It was annoying and exhausting to deal with people who were sure that no one would choose my life unless they were stupid or trapped.

I've endeavored to teach my children to avoid being job snobs. Sometimes it works. But just recently, I chastized my youngest for saying "Susie Homemaker" in a scathing tone that indicated that the occuption was less desirable than shoveling manure. "You know that I am a 'Susie Homemaker' by choice, right? And besides, do you want me saying (using the same scornful tone of voice) 'people who work retail'?" I asked, since she works in retail. She glared at me, but I'm right about this. Don't denigrate someone else's job. If you do, don't be surprised or angry when they denigrate yours.

Criticism of choosing to be a full time parent (or homemaker without kids) is often leveled at religious people, somehow coupled with the idea that men must have coerced or threatened women into staying home. That may happen occasionally, because humans are infinitely varied. However, most of the stay at home parents that I know are doing it because they really want to be at home. I am also a rarity among us; most stay at home parents that I know not only have degrees, I know a significant number of them with master's degrees. When my kid needed a math tutor, we hired a mom with a master's in math who homeschooled her own kids.

Here's another thing that bothers me when someone tells me what a "waste" it is for bright, educated people to spend their days with children. Do we want only stupid people to spend their time with kids? That's such a bad plan.

Anyway, I knew that was what this person was asking me - "Is she going to spend all that money and time on an education, and then waste it by having kids and staying home?"

At the time, she was headed straight into a job in her chosen field. Her degree is in education, and she wanted a job as a teacher. She worked as a teacher for 10 years, too.

Now, she is not working in her field. (She's not a stay at home parent, either.) I was tremendously proud of her then. I am tremendously proud now. (I would be tremendously proud if she was a stay at home parent.)

Two of my kids are working in their degree field. Two are not. I'm proud of all of them.

I understood why my oldest chose her first career. I also know why she left it. I'm not going to go into all the reasons here. In fact, I'm going to choose just one - money. After 10 years of teaching, she left, and took a job in insurance. Her new job requires only a high school diploma, and she walked into a starting wage that was higher than her wages after 10 years of teaching. It was also fewer hours - no at home preparation or grading time, no parent conferences, no finding and prepping a sub if you're sick. She constantly marveled, "When the work day is over, I just walk away, and I'm done until the next work day!" Her weekends were totally work free.

She's now been there for a few years, and her last bonus almost equalled her annual income for her last year in teaching.

So, even if this was the only consideration - and it's not - I think everyone is totally clear on why she'd choose this job, and not one in her degree field.

In my opinion (and I'm right about this, too), education provides you with two things - knowledge, and choices. She still has all of her knowledge, and all of the experience she gained in areas like time management, setting and achieving goals, "people skills" (how to deal with various kinds of people), and learning how to sift unreliable sources from reliable ones. She has choices, as she can now take many jobs that other people can't. There are many jobs, for instances, that would suit me, but I can't even apply, much less be hired, because of my degree status.

So, Friend, and any other critics, the fact that she is now not working in her degree field does not bother me, or her employer, or her husband or the rest of her family, in the slightest. She is still "doing something with that degree."

As she would be, in my opinion, if she did become a stay at home parent.

Praiseworthy

Someone posted an article recently about the latest Young Adult in Hollywood Behaving Badly, and a friend of mine commented with a sentiment that I've heard many times before - "There aren't enough adults in (his/her) life saying no."

We all know this - we recognize it to be true. Give a young person fame, money and few boundaries, and chances are, it will turn out badly. Very few people can handle that kind of constant indulgence without turning into a self involved jerk with no reasonable decision making skills.

Sometimes, though, we seem to feel that it's about the money and fame more than it is about the lack of boundaries. "You've got to support your kids," people say, when what they mean is, "I'm afraid to tell my kid 'no.'" We worry so much about our kids' self esteem, and obsess that we might hurt their feelings or squash their dreams, that we find ourselves unable to set boundaries.

I know people who are just terrified to think that their children will ever be upset, hurt or disappointed in any way. While I adore my kids, and it pains me when they hurt, I have never thought that they are, or should be, exempt from the human condition. It is not my job to tell them that everything they think and do is amazing, or even correct.

My mother, and any parent of her generation or before, would have laughed herself silly if someone told her that her that her job, as a parent, was to make her kids happy. My mother was not perfect, believe me, but you criticize her parenting at your peril.

Mom was a very sensible, logical person. She was not stingy with praise, but it was always earned and matter of fact. If she said, "You worked hard on that project; you deserved an A," she said it the same way she said, "It's time for dinner," or, "You have a dentist's appointment on Tuesday." It was simply a fact.

That was also how she delivered criticism. "You can do better," "You made a mess; now clean it up" or "That's not going to work" were also delivered as a fact, not a value judgment. She knew when I'd thrown an assignment together, even if I got an A on it. Then, she neither praised or discounted the result, just observed, correctly, "Well, (that subject) has always been easy for you." Sometimes, I was annoying, disrespectful, lazy, unorganized, neglectful, hostile or any number of other "negative" things. She never hesitated to call me (or my siblings) on it, but I never, ever felt that she didn't love me because she was angry or disappointed. I also never felt that she loved me more when I was easy to parent - obedient, helpful, focused on my schoolwork. Her response to any action on my part depended on the action. Her love for me - for anyone - was entirely separate from behavior.

She did not gush over my every effort, no matter how tiny, assuring me that I was so much smarter, more talented, more worthy than other people. She also never put me down and made me believe that I'd never be good enough, no matter what I did.

At church, they told us that we were all children of God, and therefore, special. So, I felt special; but, I recognized that everyone else was special, too.

I never really thought that the balance of praise to criticism, "yes" to "no," was that hard. For one thing, Mom made everything she did look effortless. For another thing, the fact of the matter was what was important. If she'd told me that my crayon scribble was better than Picasso and it deserved to hang in a museum, that didn't mean that someone was going to come pay me millions for it and put it on display. If she'd told me that my "A" schoolwork was worthless, and that a chimpanzee could do better, it wouldn't suddenly change my correct answers to incorrect ones. Luckily, I never had to look for hidden meaning. If she pointed out that my room was a mess, it was a mess. If she said that my grandmother really appreciated the letter I'd sent, then Grandma was glad to get the letter. Simple.

Watching other people, though, it doesn't appear to be that simple. I see parents who feel that their child is never in the wrong, ever. Did the child get a citation for fighting at school? The other child involved is clearly in the wrong, and their angel was only trying to avoid being a victim. Did the child fail a test? The teacher didn't teach the material correctly. They didn't get the position they wanted on the sports team, or the solo they wanted in the chorus? It's because the coach or director doesn't like them, and favors another kid. These parents never ask their child to sit down and be still, to say please or thank you, to have a bedtime or to wait their turn, because the child doesn't like to. It causes the child to be unhappy, and that must be avoided at all costs!

Then there's the other end of the spectrum. I know (otherwise reasonable) people who believe that any praise is bad. It will cause the child to "get a big head." Compliments of any kind are also bad. They also believe that pointing out strengths, or things the child does well, are immaterial, and will prevent any improvement. In order to improve, the child must focus exclusively on what they do wrong. If you do ever pry a compliment out of them, it always has a "but" attached - "That was good, but it could be better." This is being "helpful," they're sure.

Both philosophies are well intentioned, but I believe that both are wrong. Balance is necessary.

The best Little League coach that my son ever had was the one who recognized each player's strengths and weaknesses, and tailored his praise and correction accordingly.

I try to do the same with the speech and debate team that I coach. I would never say to the kids who compete in the impromptu and extemporaneous events, "That's just lazy. You could memorize a piece if you wanted to. Why don't you do one of the events that takes actual preparation instead of taking the easy way out?" I would also never say to the kids who do events that require writing a piece, memorizing a piece, or both, "Anyone can do a decent job if half the work is done for them, and the piece is already written. Anybody can remember something they wrote themselves. Why don't you do something that's actually a challenge, and makes you use your brain on the spot? Are you too stupid to speak off the top of your head?" Each kid needs to figure out what they, personally, are good at, then do that thing. That may be the same thing their teammates are good at, or something vastly different.

I praise them when they do a good job, or even make an effort, and let them face the consequences when they don't do a good job. I've let my own kids walk into competition unprepared, knowing that they'll score badly (or completely crash and burn), because it's not my job to make sure that they never fail. It's my job to provide them with information and opportunity, and then let them learn. What cause equals what effect?

I have always tried to follow my mom's example and keep the same balance with my kids. I try to keep it very factual. Sometimes, they do a great job. Sometimes, they don't. I let them know that sometimes they'll win, and sometimes they'll lose. That's not a reflection on them, personally; it's how life works.

Anyone who's a parent, though, knows that children are not miniature adults, with fully formed reasoning capacity. They are irrational beings. They have no sense of scale - how big or small a problem is - and have undeveloped coping skills. Their brains are not done forming, even if they're intelligent.

My middle daughter has loved her persecution complex for her entire life. She clings to it like a life preserver in a stormy sea. When she was a child, good heavens, she spent most of her time simultaneously angry and depressed. In other words, she was a stereotypical adolescent.

She was about 14 when she informed me, sulkily, "You're always telling the baby, 'Good job!' You never say 'Good job' to me."

This was not the time to point out that when I did praise her - and it happened frequently - she would tell me, vehemently, why I was wrong. After a band concert, for instance, I'd tell her what a good job she did, and she'd snort in derision. "I screwed up the (musical term I don't understand)! I played the wrong note at least six times!"

I would say, "A performance is not measured by whether or not it's perfect. Professional musicians still make mistakes. A performance is measured by whether or not the audience enjoyed it, and they did."

"No, they didn't!" (Her knee-jerk response, the entire time she was growing up, was to disagree.) "Nobody liked it! They're only here because they have to be. Their kids are playing." She "corrected" me if I complimented her appearance ("I look stupid!"), schoolwork ("I didn't even try hard"), attitude ("Big deal"), helpfulness ("You make me do this stuff") or anything else. This is the child who informed me (repeatedly), "I'm obviously not as smart as you think I am."

Instead of pointing out how often I complimented her and was told that I'm wrong, I pointed out another obvious truth. "Just today, I said to the baby, 'You put your shirt on all by yourself! That's great!' The days when I would say that to you are long gone. No one will ever again say such a thing to you until you're 90 years old and in a nursing home. If you want me to say 'Good job,' you have to actually do a good job at something."

This is why humans do not have magical powers. If she could have reduced me to a pile of ashes right there on the spot, she would have.

When they were younger, my older two children complained bitterly when we made them clean up after themselves at fast food restaurants. They had to pick up anything they dropped, throw away their trash, wipe up spills and put away the tray. They both found this to be victimization of the highest order, and a clear violation of child labor laws. The complaints were loud and frequent. "Why do we have to clean up? Everybody else gets to just leave their stuff. It's not fair. They pay people to do this. This takes forever (a perennial favorite, no matter the job or how long it actually took). Why don't other people have to clean up their own mess, but we do?"

(Answer: "Because it's the right thing to do." This was not met with enthusiasm.)  The caterwauling reached a crescendo if we ever had them pick up a stray piece of trash along with their own.

When she was 16, my oldest went to work at a fast food restaurant. Almost from the first day, she came home complaining about people who didn't pick up their own messes. "People are pigs!" She resented having to do her regular duties and clean up after sloppy and lazy patrons. (I don't blame her.) She was especially scathing about parents who watched their kid(s) make a mess, then just got up and walked out.

I kept waiting for the mental light bulb to go on, and for her to make the connection, but it didn't seem to be happening. After 2 or 3 weeks, she was still complaining when we made her clean her own mess, as well as complaining about people who didn't pick up after themselves. All she had internalized at that point was, "I have to clean up whether I'm the customer or the employee. It's not fair!"

Then one day, she came home especially furious. A frequent customer had come in with his child, whom she described as "obnoxious" and "a filthy pig." Apparently he made considerable messes, and just walked away from it every time. "No one's ever going to want to be around that kid! No one's ever going to want to date him, or even be his friend."

Time to point out the obvious. "Now do you see why your dad and I always make you clean up your own mess? We don't want you to be one of those obnoxious people that nobody likes."

I swear to you, I actually watched the synapses fire in her brain while she finally connected the two thoughts, and her eyes grew wide. It was obviously the first time that this had occurred to her, yet she could see the truth of it. What decent parent wanted other people to feel that way about their child(ren)?

I don't think that we ever again heard "It's not fair!" complaints about having to pick up her own trash. My younger kids have done less complaining than the older ones because the older ones not only provide a good example, they're the first to let the younger ones know what's OK. "Pick that up! Nobody else needs to clean up your mess!"

In fact, one of the joys of this stage of my life is being around my adult children who are delightful, considerate people. "I used to be so jealous of those kids who got away with anything," my middle daughter said to me. "Then I got older and realized, those people are just obnoxious to be around. Nobody likes them."

It was never my job to have children who were happy every moment. It was my job to create functional adults. To a point, I agree with people who say, "We need to build up our kids, before the world tries to tear them down," but I sometimes disagree with the ideas others have about how that's done. I don't think that you "build up" a person by constantly telling them that everything they do is right and praiseworthy and good. You build them up by giving them the actual skills they need in order to function independently, competently and happily. You teach them how to work, how to cope with frustration, how to hear and respect the word "no," how to practice self control and how to consider the feelings of others as important. Those qualities are what will lead to them being happy. They won't be happy if they expect to always get their way and hear how amazing they are, no matter what they do. No matter who you are, those are unrealistic expectations.

I am not a perfect person or perfect parent. My kids are not perfect. Still, three out of my four kids are adults now, and if I do say so, they've turned out to be pretty great. So, yeah, I feel qualified to hold opinions on what's a good idea and what's not.

Young Hollywood: talent does not excuse rudeness. Everything you do, or consider doing, is not OK, funny, amazing or even justifiable. Sales of albums or movie tickets or mentions in the press do not equate to your worth as a human being. People around you, especially the ones telling you that you can do no wrong, are not "supporting" or helping you. Often, they're actually keeping you from reaching your potential. There's a reason for the term "spoiled rotten."

Those boring, outdated, out of touch people who tell you to knock it off, to tone it down, to dial it back - they're onto something. You might want to listen.

But only if you want to be actually happy instead of just indulged.

Procreation

I wrote this over a decade ago. I felt sure that I'd shared it on the blog already, but I can't find it. One of my friends (young, pretty, pregnant with Baby #5) shared an article about how many expectant and young mothers didn't feel that society supported them. "I'm with you, sister!" was my reaction, even though I'm so old now that my daughters are the age I was when I had children in grade school. "Young" is far behind me.

Takeaway lesson, folks: there really is such a thing as "none of your business." Please don't ever be the busybody in the canned goods aisle.

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Two times in my life I have been totally unprepared for everyone around me to have such strong feelings about my life, and to express those feelings so frequently and strongly. The first was when I was getting married. I could never have imagined that others would be so emotionally invested in the color of my bridesmaids' dresses or what flowers I carried. People I barely knew would be vehement about what I should and shouldn't do. People who had planned their wedding with more attention to detail than went into the moon landing were apparently not burnt out by it, because now they wanted to do the same to mine. This came as a complete shock.

The second time came close on its heels – the birth of my children; especially the older two, since they were born during the first two years we were married. I had been somewhat prepared for our families and close friends to have strong opinions, but even then I was unprepared for those opinions to be foisted upon us with such zeal. And I was completely unprepared for total strangers to feel so invested in my choices. If someone had tried to warn me, I would not have believed them.

The first time a total stranger walked up to me and my pregnant tummy in the grocery store and demanded to know, "How old are you?" I thought they were an anomaly. I also thought, silly me, that when they found out that I was an adult and married, they'd feel rather silly and maybe even apologize. Nope.

"How old are you?" was inevitably followed by, "You're too young to be having babies!" Even now, years later, I cannot fathom what these women – it was usually women – thought these pronouncements would do. I was quite obviously past the stage for abortion to be an option, even if I agreed with abortion and even if such a discussion should be brokered by total strangers in the canned goods aisle. Did they want me to suddenly realize that I didn't want the baby or babies and give them up? Were they hoping I would resent the child for taking my youth? What result, exactly, did they hope this conversation would produce?

My sister in law tried to make sense of it by explaining, "When I see someone doing something that I think is wrong, I feel it's my job to educate them." Aside from the fact that I find that stance to be extremely presumptuous, how was I supposed to feel "educated?" I was the age I was, and the baby was clearly coming. I couldn't make myself older or make the baby disappear. If the conversation would ever have been appropriate, it would have been before I got pregnant. I'm also still and forever convinced that it is simply not the job of total strangers to start those kinds of conversations, before, during or after a pregnancy.

              A girlfriend of mine said, "It's not as if you're on welfare." Even if I was, why would that involve people I'd never met before and would never see again in my personal decisions? They weren't social workers handing me information about classes, they were busybodies who should have left me alone to buy my food in peace. Would being on welfare mean that everyone else was entitled to walk up to me and make pronouncements?

It became harder and harder to greet supposed humor with any kind of civility. Every time someone said, "Have you figured out what causes that yet?" they acted as though it was both wildly witty and original. It was neither. I was delighted by the response my husband gave when a coworker said it to him after we'd had our second daughter – "Yeah, but is that any reason to stop doing it?" I swore that would be my standard answer from then on.

I did start saying, with a smile, "Apparently not," when I was told I was too young for childbearing. It often caught people off guard, which was a bonus.

I could not believe how many strangers asked me about birth control, or offered birth control advice. I got the distinct impression that they thought I was somehow unaware of contraceptives and their use. It's just unacceptable to expect a complete stranger to discuss such things with you, unless you're a health care professional and they are your patient. It's also unreasonable to imagine that because someone is pregnant they are ignorant.

It's just as unreasonable to assume that someone having a baby hasn't thought it through. Even if that were true, that's another conversation that should only take place with those you are close to, and before a woman is pregnant. Once the baby's on the way, it's "ready or not, here I come." Yet people wanted to engage me in those conversations – or rather, deliver those lectures - while I was picking up laundry detergent, assuming that they were somehow enlightening me. It was maddening. "Do you realize what it costs to raise a child?" people would ask. Of course I did. I also knew I didn't need the total sum in cash in order to take the baby home from the hospital.

The woman who took the cake was the one who marched up to me as I was putting my oldest in a shopping cart. I had a huge, protruding tummy; I was about seven months along, which would have made my older daughter ten months old. This woman planted herself right in front of my cart, so I had to stop to avoid hitting her. She looked pointedly from my baby to my tummy and back again, and finally up at my face. "Well, at least you're done now!" she said, none too kindly. I was flabbergasted. At that moment I found myself speechless. Later, when people would say such rude things to me, I would say, with my best sugary smile and voice, "Actually, we're planning on more." It was absolutely none of their business, but I enjoyed returning the favor and making them uncomfortable. And, it was true.

We had to wait seven years for the birth of our next child. It was not our choice to wait; it was just a biological hiccup. I hoped that, since I was approaching thirty and therefore too old for the "you're too young" speech, that people would leave me alone. I was wrong.

I've always been a peacemaker, and my husband has a deep dislike for confrontation, but the older I got, the less I was willing to put up with this sort of rudeness without making a reply. When I went to a family wedding with my body swollen with my third child, my cousin looked at me and said, "Oh, you're not, are you?" I brightened as though he'd just given me a compliment and said, "That's right! I am!" I kept smiling and looked expectantly at him, as though I thought he would congratulate me. I knew better; he's stubborn and a father of one. I just wanted him to squirm a bit.

When a niece and nephew came to live with us, the comments from strangers intensified. They look very much like our own children; we had little blond stair steps. The first time they lived with us, I was pregnant. The second time that baby, our third, was one year old. Most of the comments were simply snarky and rhetorical – "Well, you've got your hands full, don't you?" Sometimes they were out and out rude – "What were you thinking?"

We were in a mall in California during a vacation when a woman reeking of alcohol walked up to me. Looking at our four little blond children and my very pregnant self she demanded, "Wha' are you gonna do wi' anuzzer one?"

I looked her right in the eye and said, "Love it."

She looked puzzled, but couldn't think of anything else to say. She wandered away, and my husband came up to pat me on the back. "Good answer, honey, good answer," he said. I felt as if I was playing "Family Feud."

When I told this story at home, one response I got made me just as angry as the original comment. "Just explain to people that you're a foster parent," the listener said. "That way they'll admire you. They'll know you're part of the solution."

I know the speaker meant well, but that made me angry. "It is nobody's business whether or not I gave birth to those children!" I told her. She couldn't understand why I thought so. To her, explaining that two of them were with us temporarily was the perfect idea. It just made me angry.

When someone asked how many children I had, I said five. Whether or not I gave birth to them, adopted them, or simply babysat them for an afternoon, it was totally unacceptable for anyone outside of a very small circle to say anything at all to us about it. After all these years, I still cannot fathom why a complete stranger would feel the need to walk up to me and express disapproval. I don't walk up and douse their cigarettes, dump their alcoholic drinks or ask if their tax returns are accurate.

                I felt much better about another friend's response to the story. I was telling her why I rejected the idea of explaining that I was a foster parent. "Well, of course!" she said. "Isn't the whole point to make them feel like they belong? Why would anybody want you to single them out that way? Think of the damage that would do." Exactly.

               Another instance that made me see red happened when I was expecting our fourth child; believe it or not, it happened more than once. People would look at our family and not be able to understand why I was pregnant. "But, you already have your boy," they would say, as if having a male child was the only reason for procreation. I wanted to slap them.

When I had our second daughter, I was in the hospital for five and a half days afterward. One of the night nurses was never outright rude, but it was obvious that she was a bit dismayed by attending to a 21 year old mother of two. One night, she began to tell me that it was wrong to have more children. She recited a litany of ills plaguing the Earth. Then she explained why she and her husband were childless. "The world is such a terrible place. We feel that it would it be wrong to bring any more children into it."

I smiled sweetly at her and said, "Really? My husband and I think that our children may be the ones to fix some of those problems."