Up to now, re-parenting has been like being washed ashore on a remote island in the middle of the ocean.  Suddenly a ship appears and delivers all the tools needed to put down stakes in the new location.  The problem is not that I am without the equipment, but that I have no earthly idea what to do with it??   I was just thinking that it was getting easier because she is much more independent and is in school for five days a week, but that was before the avalanche of information from her new school hit me!  When I sent my two now grown children to school, i would occasionally receive a note requesting input of some sort or a signature here or there.  It was a trickle of communicaiton linking the school to home and now it is a wave.  On a weekly basis, there will be at least five e-mails from the teacher outlining the lessons of the week, requesting support for the skills, beckoning us to look at recent photos, thanking us for collaboration, or calling our attention to an upcoming event.  Websites are recommended for all the lessons and enthusiastically promoted to enhance the classroom experience. A newsletter is sent to recap the same information in hard copy and reams of paper fill the daily folder of the written work for that day.  There is also the daily calendar which displays her behavior for the day that must be initialed and a homework sheet that requires an additional initial once the activities are completed.  General school procedures, or district events are announced through a district e-mail, a school wide principal phone call or a hard copy sent home.  Most of the time it is all three.  The reading log is to write the names of the books read to "S' or that she might read to me.  Books from the library must be turned in on one day and the ones from the classroom on another.  The recent fundraiser required the sale of food items, the names of the buyers, the checks from the buyers and a packet that provided the choices, the log for names and an envelope for the checks.  Last week a note was sent home to describe a food drive that the school promotes in hope that it would be supported by the parents.  A card is required to pick "S' up each day and a badge must be acquired to enter the school.  My afternoons are filled with the shuffle of paper from counter to table, back to the folder. to be displayed on the refigerator or to the trash. My brain is a total muddle of information overload!  Obviously I was in a comatose state when the school-parent revolution began, but I am undoubtfully left with the ashes.  This is a direct result from the outcry of parents for more communication and accountability from teachers, administrators and districts.  The number of frivolous lawsuits that have flooded the  educational courts for better service and more tranparency has spawned a barrage of paperwork and computer chit chat that is overkill at best.  If I do not review each note and e-mail than I appear as the disinterested or uninvolved parent so I push on.  But what I want the school and "S's' teacher to know is that I trust you to do your job well and to teach my child to the best of your ability.  I do not need to know each time you dot your i or cross a t.  I am happily sharing my most precious asset with you, as an equal partner, but I will need a stipend for a secretary if this keeps up!

For five years, my friends have nudged me along the path of new parenting with a gentle reminder that I would eventually have more time to myself.  "Before you know it, she will go to school and you will have half a day without a little voice and continual requests."  So the summer before Kinder arrived, I jumped into the preparations with the zeal of an old lady who just found the fountain of youth. When the enrollment process was announced, I was the sixth parent to complete the book of paperbook, provide documents of proof that could have allowed me to earn a CIA clearance and obtain the mountain of dead trees describing everything from the school's motto, websites, (you cannot be parent of a school age child today and not own and operate skillfully a computer) to the advice of  how to spend the rest of your summer in preparation for kinder.  I thought getting my first born ready for college was trying, but this was a much higher hurdle at my osteoporosis knee age.   I ran from store to store and completed the supply list by early June.  It almost took a late mortgage payment to purchase all the brand name crayons and paper products, requested today, but bought, branded with her name and bagged it by early summer.  I began to read to "S" several books on going to school.  All discuss the fears of kindergarten and all end with a cheerful child loving the institution and eagerly wanting to go for the rest of their life.  We practiced some sight words and played a game to learn to count to 100 so she could be confident and unabashed for the first grading period.  Cute and fashionable clothes were the next priority.  Since this has never been a skill or strength for me, I am lucky that she seemed to look cute in everything!  Finding shoes that would look good with skorts (skirts with the shorts attached, I am learning the new lingo), but could still be worn in the gym was a challenge.  Deciding that tennis shoes can be worn with anything, especially if they are blinged, we were ready for the next major purchases -the backpack and lunch box!  I could not believe the choices and cost of these items!  When did two boxes that will be dragged, thrown, and packed till they bulge suddenly become so costly?  "S" chose two that oozed of pink, puppies and swirls of color over brand, so I did not have to cash in a savings bond over this necessity.  The prerequisite list was checked off by July and now all we had to do was enjoy the rest of the summer and wait for "Meet the Teacher Night".  We dressed like we were two twenty year olds traveling to the big city and walked into a beautiful new campus to the sights and sounds of pure chaos.  Parents, children and siblings were elbowing their way to the assignments of teacher and students.  Parents, teachers, helpers and vendors lined the hallways, cafeteria and classrooms.  Shouts of organization filled her new home, "go the the hall on the right and take the third left to her classroom, put her supplies in these bins, sign up on the volonteer sheet,  pay into the cafeteria account, decide if you want an afterschool activity, purchase the school spirit shirt, take notes on her bus route if interested."   By the time we left, our clothes were disheveled and I resembled a deer in  headlights.  I was totally prepared and not at all ready.  I spent a good part of the weekend completing forms and signing my signature.  The first day was a blur, but the following  days reminded me of General Schwarzkopf's quote-"Prepare for the worse, hope for the best".  I was going into battle and was not at all ready!  I was not ready to let go of her hand among a swarm of weepy babies, a smiling teacher face and a cubby to house her possessions.  I was not ready for her to tell me she was ready to walk the hall alone to go to her classroom.  I was not ready for "S" to tell me that she wanted to ride the bus home or that her teacher is pretty and smart.  I was not ready for the valley girl shrug of her shoulders as she announced that she is a big girl now and can do more things alone.  I was not ready for rushed mornings in the dark and grumps from a very tired child in the early afternoon.   I was not ready to be the cheerleader and not the sole caretaker.  I was totally prepared with checked off lists and intellectual acceptance, but not at all ready for the emotional adjustment of letting her go and watching my baby walk into a building of countless halls, rules and demands so confident, happy and without me!

So far my social activities of the week have consisted of a five year old birthday party at a "jump place", an afternoon at an inflatable wonderland and a few hours at the youth pool at a local hotel complex.  My sweet daughter is worried about the abandonment of my retirement bucket list and the too-few hours I spend with my husband.  Quite frankly, in the beginning, I was also worried about the trade off between long lunches and Mcdonald's playland, but a recent conversation with "S" has reminded me that I will indeed accomplish everything on my list and more.  She asked me a month ago if she could fly when she goes to heaven and I said that she would be able to do anything she wanted to do.  Naturally that led to "Can I eat candy all day?" and "Will I be able to swim in a pool whenever I want? interrupted by the same response after each question- "whatever you want."  It suddenly dawned on me that this would also apply to me. I will be able to travel to the most remote corners of the world and revisit the ones I especially enjoy such as Italy, Paris or perhaps some isolated island in the middle of the Pacific.  I will be able to learn a different language and will speak fluently and precisely without blunder or the aid of a pocket dictionary.  I will finally learn to play the piano and will sing along with a voice like Carrie Underwood to a soothing ballad or catchy rock piece.  I will live in a house that includes a guest room with sparkling floors and crumbless countertops (have I mentioned that I am a neat freak??)   I will chat with former presidents and finally meet my idol-Mother Teresa.  I will visit with my grandparents, cousins and friends, and bask in the glow of the Lord and the love of  Jesus. Seccretly I hope to get a jumpstart on a couple of these goals while earthbound, but right now I am committed to raising "S" and providing her with as normal a childhood as I can give her. Service to others has always been my reason for being, and at the moment she is the "other".  This will continue to be a daily challenge as it is with most parents, but thankfully my husband is financially, emotionally and lovingly supporting me while I focus more on this little girl and less on our ventures together.  Our couple time is very limited, but we are meeting this obstacle in the same way as all the others with a partnership of mutual respect and daily dialogue.  In August, our vows will be forty years old.  "S" told me the other day that she would like to go to heaven at the same time I go.  I told her that I would go first, check it out, get the house ready and patiently wait for her arrival.  Actually I will be starting on my bucket list before she gets there!

Last night I was alone, no grandbaby, no son and no husband.  At first the mere thought of this situation caused me to tingle!  My son was taking "S" on an overnight to a friend's home, and my husband was traveling for work.  This would be the first time I had been alone overnight in five years!  I could go out with peers and share stories of our latest doctor visits, our frustration with grown children, or our distrust of the government.  No one would be interrupting our conversation with requests for drinks, a complaint about a playmate, or a need to go to the bathroom as soon as I started to eat!  I would not be keeping watch over the time in order to catch the news with my husband or feeling a bit guilty that I left my husband on one of his rare nights home!  This was going to be an outing of guiltless pleasure and old women gone wild!  I plucked offf as much facial hair as my arthritic hand would allow, filled in the wrinkles with a new wrinkle cream which works totally on the psychological premise that if you use it, "you will think it is working" and covered the bags under my eyes with a whitener that is probably more effective on teeth. The company of women were a mix of fifties , and sixties, some celebrating the deliverance of their first social security check and others thrilled that there were many years before medicare.  We laughed, drank( mostly water) and offered simple solutions to the most complex ailments of the world through rhetoric and wisdom of age.  I was home by nine and was the last to leave. Thinking it was much too early to retire, I watched some TV and then read until my eyes began to slowly descend.  I knew that I would not be interrupted with "S's" nightly bathroom urgency so I locked my door and tried to fall alseep.  But something was not in zen with my slumber so I checked the doors once more, made sure my contacts were taken out of my eyes and turned on a night-light.  I wanted to reflect on the conversation of the night with peers of my decade and issues of my concern, but all I could feel was a tug at my heart and a distant voice that beckoned my name.  I missed "S".  I wanted to tuck her in, to look at her one more time before the night engulfed us in dreams and fantasies and to give her  the final hug and kiss of the day.  Only a lunatic would feel this way I decided.  Wasn't I the grandmother who protested about my lack of freedom, the total disregard for my own entertainment and the need for "me time!"  Was I becoming so senile that I did not know what I wanted anymore like others who complain about the summer when it is hot and then become depressed about the days of wind and rain?  Aren't I the one who states that one must create one's own "happy" and counting on the government, family or friends is the pathway to despondence and dependence?  Haven't I bored God with my endless monologues of how difficult it is to reparent at this age?  I tossed and turned over the perversion of my spirit until I realized that I cannot separate "S' from my thoughts even when she is miles away or in the very next room.  She has been my routine and my buddy for five years.  She lives within the confines of each heartbeat and with every breath I take, so a night out with the girls is fun and necessary, but will never be a substitute!!

I was born into a state of confusion, mixed messages and conditional love.  As a child, I aimed to please.  Simple math and a childlike deduction theory meant that attention and affirmation could be gained by "being good." But the one plus one mentality rarely added up.  There were too many negatives and I often felt emotionally hurt and made to feel unworthy of acclaim.  However, there was one woman who understood the confliction of my upbringing and offered moments of wisdom, solace and just plain calm.  Unlike the continuous flow of loud voices within my household, she was often silent and more than likely to answer in three or so words.  I remember asking her how to deal with a rather difficult situation and she said, "have faith."  This seemingly easy, but actually complex solution to my query should have been expected because faith was her answer for all challenges.  Christianity oozed from every pore in her body and every aspect of her being.  She loved everyone, questioned nothing, was loyal to a fault and faced adversity like it was a long lost friend.  She was unflappable, the mother of eleven, grandmother of over seventy, fatherless as a young child, poor by most financail measures, and never had idle hands.  She helped all that asked and many who never knew where the aide came from.  When she finally touched the face of God that she humbly served for 100 years, I gave her eulogy.  I boasted of the time that I was able to share with her.  At fifty-five, I was her first grandchild and now the grandmother of three.  It would be only nine months later when I would begin raising "S".  Nothing would have made her more proud, for she also raised a granddaughter.  It would have been laughable to her if I ever used the word challenging to describe this experience or told her of my continual worries about my role as a grandmother.  Grandparenting was as natural as breathing to her.  You loved the child unconditionally, you took one day at a time, and you served as the cheerleader and not the yell squad.  A clean house was not necessary, gray hair was never dyed, added weight not discussed, and money a non-issue.  If she worried, only God knew.  Today I miss her more than I could imagine.  Almost everything she stood for is lacking in my own journey as a parent of parents.  My view of the future is riddled with worry and I am caught up in the motion of daily trivial apprehension. I realize that I am now the grandmother who others are turning to for common sense and wisdom, but I feel like the young girl that needs the advice of her grandmother, "Have faith!" 

During a casual conversation I happen to remark to my daughter (mother of three of my grandchildren) that I am disappointed that no one is reading my blog.  "I was hoping to reach out to other grandparents that are experiencing the same situation as me, but no one is responding!" , I exclaimed.  And as is often the case, she proceeded to lay out the primary reason that she feels this is occurring.  "That is because you are not connecting to other grandparents that are raising a grandchild", she stated confident in her own assessment.  Before I could respond because I was gasping with an indignant right of refusal, she continued.  "Readers like vulnerability in the author.  They want to read that you have experienced the same feelings that they have which would probably be alot more weakness than you have portrayed.  You write like you were handed a challenging situation, but that you have tackled the opposing player and run over the goal line. You are too confident and way too positive!"    Talk about feeling hit by a 300 pound piece of flesh, I was astounded and disoriented.  The problem is she is probably right, but I do not really know how to change it.  Looking at everything through a rosy glass has been my way of coping, since childhood.  I lived with chaos and uncertainty for so long and was told to "count my blessings" no matter the outcome that I eventually turned into a real life "Pollyanna".  It helped me survive in a dysunctional home, as a military wife, the bad marriages of my children, my son's addictions, and now as a grandmother raising a grandchild.  I can always cite a worse case scenerio than mine and would rather dwell on someone "having it worse than me" than wallow in my own misfortune.  Indeed I have embraced the challenge of raising my grandchild with a focused zeal and a solution centered approach.  It is who I am and with the faith of God, I hope to remain.  However, it is not without much angst and worry that I plod along this journey.  I can relate to any feeling that a parent has ever had. I have been on a learning curve since the day she crawled into my kitchen and I will be for the remainder of time I am with her.  I have cried buckets over the loss of socialization, time with my husband,  uncertainty of "S" and my future together, physical aches and pains, and the list goes on.  I have felt battle fatigue on somedays and empowered on others.  I have run the gamut of emotions that any new young mother traverses and many others have swept over me as an old woman attempting to parent again after menopause. If being vulnerable is what will bring you to share in the life I have with my granddaughter, than know that I am and will continue to be.  However I would prefer to laugh, look for the joy and take action rather than shed blood, sweat and tears in all my writings.  It just is not me.....

The other day when "S" actually shut Her bedroom door when I asked her a question, I was thinking that I better hit the books again and not rely on my intuitition.  I taught parenting classes for twenty years here and there, and could not remember a thing about what to do in this situation.  My primate parent usually rises to such an occasion and results in throwing open the door, raising one's voice,  questioning such defiance, and doling out a punishment.  For some reason, (maybe it is because my reflex time has slowed down with age) but that did not seem like such a great idea.  I left the hallway, thought about what I used to teach and remembered what I always told my student parents.  "It is not the present moment that matters, but the message that the child is taught through each learning situation."  Every experience can be a teaching moment.  If the lessons all include mutual respect, and valuable skills, than the child develops life long perceptions.  Perceptions are the unique glasses that each individual uses to view life and situations.  What is actually real is NOT what the individual will respond to, but the perception of the situation.  Thus my response even to her independence and defiance is based on her youthful perception which I must shape in a certain direction.  H. Stephen Glenn and Jane Nelson state it best in their book: Raising Self-reliant children in a Self-Indulgent World (New York, 1996).  They suggest that the following perceptions and skills develop naturally with effecting parenting: "Strong perceptions of personal capabilities (I am capable). 2. Strong perceptions of significance in primary relationshhips,(I contribute in meaningful ways and I am genuinely needed), 3. Strong perceptions of personal power or influence over life (I can influence what happens to me), 4. Strong intrapersonal skills (the ability to understand personal emotions and to use that understanding to develop self-discipline and self-control), 5. Strong interpersonal skills (the ability to work with others and develop friendships through communicationg, co-operating, negotiating, sharing, empathizing, and listening), 6. Strong systemic skills (the ability to respond to the limits and consequences of everyday life with responsibility, adaptability, flexibility, and integrity), 7, Strong judgmental skills (the ability to use wisdom and to evaluate situraions according to appropriate values)." Honestly, you have to ask yourself, if someone possesses all these perceptions he/she could not possibly fail.  It is with this in mind that I opened the door slowly, told her calmly that I was hurt when she shut the door and aked her what she was feeling when she did it.  When she told me, I gave her a better way to express this feeling that would not offend me and hugged her.  I gave her sometime to think about what I said and closed the door.  Then I smiled......

I am told that I am a very calm mother.  If that translates to "she does not worry" than I am projecting a false image.  However, I am very discerning about sounding the alarm and usually do not rush to panic unless it becomes a safety or health issue.  All the other concerns get tackled as situations arise in hope that my response becomes a learning moment.  I am not sure whether it is the constant barrage of information that no longer allows one to plead ignorance, but young parents seem to be plagued with worry.  It begins at the onset of birth and grows under the watchful eye of physical, social and intellectual development.  Parents are questioning every baby step: Is he cryng more than usual?, Is he having the necessary amount of bowel movements?, How many words should he be saying by age one?, When should he walk, talk, jump, sklp, play sports, learn the alphabet, read a 20 page book, play the piano, learn a second language?  Should he attend public, private or be home-schooled?  Should he learn from the Montessori, language based or rote method?  Should I accentuate creativity or focus on Science?  Never ending inquisitions boggle the mind of most young parents while I am contemplating what to place in "S's" lunch that does not need to be heated. I am treading water minute by minute wiping her nose, playing dollhouse, chatting about the moon following us home, choosing a nutritiious snack that she will actually eat, planning a playdate or chasing her around the park while the other parents point the sundial toward the future. They are planning for the successful, well educated, influential adult, and I am savoring the days of childhood and appear to be naive about "S's" outlook in her later years.  But, I have already been back to the future.  I have witnessed by my own two contact dependent eyes the events of yesterday and the corrrelation to tomorrow and I have discovered that there are few connections. My two adult children have failed, accomplished, boasted, been defeated, risen to joy, been at the depths of despair and it has taken me all by surprise.  Looking backward in quiet contemplation, I see two parents who spoke of the importance of good grades,  stressed reading, drove miles for sports competitions, encouraged drum and clainet lessons, entertained countess frends in our home, modeled the morals, principals and values that we wanted to emulate, only to discover that our children were a compound of experiences, associations, personality, quirks and independent beliefs that would become equal partners with our influence. Never did all the worry, countless sleepless nights, finger biting, head scratching, tearful words of frustration provide me with a better view to the crystal ball of my children's future. It was only when I took a deep breath, counted to 1000, actually listened to the voice of reason and to the words of my two offspring that I drew the best maps for them to follow.  My calmness today comes from the scars of yesterday and allows me to look back at the future.  This time around, I follow the premise of one of my favorite expressions: "It is not what happens to me that counts, it is my response that actually matters".     

"S" must be perceived as quite the party girl because she gets invited to what seems like an extraordinary amount of birthday parties.  Miss little-friendly needs to be chaperoned to all her affairs so I have the distinct honor of being the chosen one for these festivities.  Once again these events have turned into another grandmother revelation of raising a child now as compared to "before."  My own two children were only one year and twelve days apart so we celebrated their birthdays together for several years.  Invitations were usually word of mouth, food consisted of cake, ice cream and drink and the surroundings varied from year to year, but were either free or for a minimal fee. Approximately ten or so of their closest friends were asked to share the day.  Fast forward thirty years and yearly celebrations for our offspring require weeks of preparations, artistically designed invitations, a costly venue, entertainment , departure gifts for each child and a meal for about fifty or more invitees.  So far, "S" has been on the receiving end of three jumpy houses, five "Chucky Cheese" parties, one firehouse tour and play function, one princess makeover, one celebration at a local art gallery and several theme gatherings at children's homes. Difference and uniqueness appears to be the quest of each parent and expense seems to be a non factor.  However, they are all the same in several aspects; they are loud, rarely go as planned, a non return on your payment (child is not as enthusiastic as the investment) and exhausting.  I can houseclean from dawn to dusk and still have more energy then when I return from a birthday party. It must be because I have an "out of body" experience each and every time I accompany "S" to such an event. I realize that I am physically present, but it is like I am viewing the function from a seat on an upper floor.  All I can see is chaos and all I can hear is screeching.  "S" alwlays seems to be having fun, but I am floating above the fray wondering how and why I am there and not sipping a margarita in the downtown market discussing the latest trends in market analysis.  Instead I am running around a building with a large, overstuffed mouse who throws tickets at innocent children if they follow his dance steps.  The younger mothers (which means all parents except me) chat and laugh in conversations that denote friendships while I seek the probable grandmother of the birthday child in order to connect on some sort of cultural, or chronological level.  Sometimes I am successful, sometimes I just hang with  "S".  I always feel out of sinc financially, physically and psychologically at these events.  I am what the youth would term "old school".  I believe simple, low key and personal is the best memory to add to the child's repertoire of happy happenings.  However, the "bigger the better" seems to be the mantra of parents today and whether I like it or not, "S" is a child of the present and not of three decades ago. I hope to find a comfortable compromise to all her celebrations, but my real desire is that she realizes that a showcase is not the essence of true happiness. Happiness is the essence of one's choice in any situation.....

Holidays are really meant for the childlike or the actual child. What sets these days apart are the festivities, the preparation, the special touches, and the gatherings.  The event is food and drink dependent encased in chatter, cheer and joy.  However, only an adult with the mind and preferably the body of a child has the energy to pull it all together!  When I reached fifty, I had decided to diminish all the hoopla and concentrate on the real meaning of Christmas.  This basically was not a change in ideology because I still loved the spirit of the holiday, but rather a wish for more balance between the work to celebrate and the meaning of the celebration. Of course there was also that "age thing" whereby dragging fifteen boxes from the attic and spending about the same number of hours decorating was not realistic. So the plan was to reduce the fattening cookies, the amount of greenery, and replace the gifts and hours of wrapping with shiny gift cards.  I would then have more time to contemplate, meditate and pray about the birth of Christ.  But then (as I begin most sentences), "S" moved in and the hoopla returned with a vengeance. It looks like Christmas threw up sparkle, glitter and Santas in my home and presently cut outs of bells, trees and stars adorned with frosting and sprinkles tempt my every hunger pain.  My clothes are shoved to the corners of my closet to shield toys and gifts for all the grandchildren and await a jacket of paper and bows.  I will buy a gift for all of S's teachers to show gratitude for their commitment to my little one and prepare food for her school parties.  Relatives witll receive her pre-school picture in the Christmas cards and news of her growth.  We will welcome Santa at the mall, the library, the shopping strip next to our home and at local stores while I ponder a large mug of spiked egg nog (kidding, I really never acquired a taste for this drink) and a good night's sleep (not kidding about this).  Excitement will grow with anticipation of his visit and my anxiety will equally increase as the 25th gets closer and there is still so much to do. As I steal a moment to reflect, I become frustrated with the thought that I have lost the real meaning once again with "tired" as my mantra rather than "joy".  But then I tuck S in at night after a nightime prayer, and I realize that this season is about sharing and caring.  I am doing that everyday of the year by my care of this child, so I may be wary, but I am living the spirit of this season through the sparkling eyes of a child and the limbs of an old, but wide-eyed woman....