Advice for the 2nd Grade Substitute

Max: What does regret mean?

Me: It means that you're sorry you did something. (My curiousity is peaked at this point)

Max: Well, there is something I should tell you. My whole class had to write a letter to our substitute from Monday. Apparently, we talked a lot. And we didn't really listen to her. Though, I don't think it was me.

Me: Max, you talk when you don't have a substitute so I have no doubt you did your share.

Max: OK, I did.

Me: So what did your letter say?

Max: That I was sorry for all that stuff that I did. But you know what else I said in my letter?

Me: What else did you say? (Again, curiousity peaked)

Max: I told the sub the things she did wrong while she was in our class. If we had to talk about what we did wrong, she needed to know what she did too. And I told her. Like how she did the spelling words completely wrong. And other stuff.

Me: I'm not sure what to say about that, Max.

Max: Oh well, she just needed to know for the next time she substitutes.

Me: I bet she's very appreciative of your advice.

Max: Yeah, she probably is. I like to be helpful.

Where Were You That Day, Mom?

A few weeks ago, Max brought home his library book as he does every week. It was a children’s book about the Oklahoma City bombing.

“I know this was a bad thing that happened in Oklahoma City. And it is where Ms. Kari works and I just wanted to know more.”

We talked a little about what happened that day, where I was, where his dad was and how violence doesn’t solve anything.

Any of us who were in Oklahoma City 15 years ago today, or even those who weren’t, remember exactly what we were doing and how we felt. It seems like it all happened yesterday and it also seems like forever ago. Our city and so many lives were changed. Oklahomans showed strength, courage and resilience while the nation lifted us up as we began the healing process.

What now stands on the site of the Murrah Federal Building is a tribute to “those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever.“ The Memorial & Museum help educate visitors about the impact of violence, inspire hope and healing and sharing and lessons learned by those affected. Max says he thinks he would like to visit there soon to learn more than what he read in his library book.

As he woke up this morning we talked about the day and I reminded him that it was 15 years ago today that the bombing happened. As I was packing lunch and his backpack he said “I set our DVR for the live coverage, Mom, because I want to watch it when I get home.”

We drove to school down Grand Boulevard and saw the banners hanging from the light poles, each with a name of someone who died 15 years ago today. A reminder to those of us who are running the Memorial Marathon on Sunday why we’re there.

“Mom, I know how when you run, you run your miles for different people, like me. But I think you should run some miles for the 168 people who died, too.”

You can count on it, Max.

Listening to the Savage Drummer

This is how my day started last Thursday morning at approximately 7:20 a.m.:

Max: I have a music program today at 2 p.m.

Me: No, I don’t think so. It is just practice.

Max: Mom, my program is today. I am a Savage Drummer. My shirt has feathers.

Me: I really don’t think it is today, but let me check.

So began my search of the school newsletter, website, then a text to my friend Margaret saying “ I think Max is confused…is there a program today?”

Return text from Margaret: Max is right, the program is at 2 p.m. today.

Me: AHHHHH!!!

While I knew there was a program coming up because I had sent the required costume elements, I had absolutely no idea it was Thursday. How did I miss it? I am diligent about reviewing the school newsletter, website, etc. but for some reason this one just slipped right on by. That happens, right?

Luckily my afternoon was open and I could attend the 1st & 2nd grade “Shipwreck” musical to see Max as a Savage Drummer. Mommy guilt diverted. Barely.

This made me think about listening…truly listening when your kid tells you something. I'm learning they're usually right on. But I assumed because I didn’t know about it, it meant it wasn’t happening. Not true. Max knew his program was at 2 p.m. and told me more than once. Apparently, he listened much better than I did.

“Max, you’re right. You do have a music program today. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” I said.

“That’s OK, Mom. I understand. Even Moms forget to listen sometimes, but not very often, right?”

I can only hope.


(Photo: That's Duncan, Max's buddy & fellow Savage Drummer)

I Know Why You Run…

Max: I know why you run, Mom.

Me: Tell me why you think I run.

Max: Well, for your heart and stuff. And because you like to have coffee with the girls after.


Running…I’m addicted. It makes me more patient, clear-headed, empowered and healthy. And yes, I do love coffee with my running girls afterwards. (Don’t tell, sometimes we pretend that it takes a REALLY long time for coffee.)

Over the past two years, I have done the majority of my running—or training—early in the morning, long before anyone at my house is awake or even knows I’m gone. That’s good for someone with the occasional bout of Mommy Guilt.

But the girls and I have committed to the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon (26.2 miles for goodness sake) on April 25, 2010. With that comes the addition of long runs…really long runs that can take hours even without coffee afterwards. It got me thinking about the balancing act of being a mom, daughter, friend, employee, volunteer, etc. and a runner. How can you fit it all in? If you’re like me—whether you have children or not—there are days you juggle it all very well and other days when it falls apart regardless of how well you plan. And those days when it falls apart, you may still need to get your miles in somehow.

I’ve asked Max a few times how he feels about my running and the time it takes. “Its fine, Mom,” he says. “Because I am proud of you and want you to win.” I love that. And it makes me want to keep running.

Running came into my life two years ago. Up until then, I walked the neighborhood and did yoga on occasion but there wasn’t really any sport or physical activity I was passionate about. I played a little tennis in high school and have attempted golf and I can honestly say I never in a million years imagined myself a runner. But I am. And I am passionate about it.

Max isn’t a competitive kid and sports really aren’t his thing right now. “I am good at other things,” he says. And he still gets physical activity in other ways, which is what is important. I’ve told Max how I really wasn’t into sports when I was younger and that it took me awhile to find my love of running. “Yes, you were older,” he tells me. Just like a kid to bring age into it.

Max knows why I run and is proud of me for it and I can’t help but think I am setting a good example, whether he ever finds his own love of running or not. What I really want is for him to find something—sports or otherwise—that he’s passionate about, even if it doesn’t come until he’s “older.”

"I Think Cats Go to Heaven, Don't You Mom?"

C.B.
1997- 2010

After purchasing our house, Rich and I made lots of trips to Home Depot for very important “house things.” On a Saturday night in July 1997, we decided to stop at City Bites for a sandwich before we made our weekly trek to Home Depot. Outside the door of City Bites sat a small grey cat who gave a loud meow as we walked up. I had to pet her, of course, and she rubbed on me and purred. We went inside and I asked the clerk if she knew anything about the cat outside the door. “Yes, we’ve been feeding her,” she said. “But some of the kids around here have been mean to her.” I have no tolerance for meanness to animals—AT ALL— and told Rich, “If she is still out there when we leave, she’s coming home with us.”

Of course, she was still sitting outside the restaurant when we left so I scooped her up and put her in the car. We cracked the windows as we went into Home Depot and when we came out we found her on the dashboard, lounging on her back in the sun. C.B. (City Bites) had found a home.

Of all the animals in our house, she was the lowest-maintenance. Quiet, loving and content to do what cats do all day…lay around. She had her quirks: she loved to drink water out of the sink and would come running when she heard you in the bathroom. C.B. also loved to have you aim the hair dryer at her and would stick her face right up to it. And she was partial to trying to sleep on your head or stalking a bowl of cereal like in the picture posted above. C.B. had an adventurous streak, too. Case in point: the Christmas Tree Incidents of 2002, 2003 and 2004.

Over the past week or so, I had the feeling she was sick. After a few days at the vet he felt like she was well enough to come home. She spent one last night with us and this morning, I knew she was dying. C.B. struggled to walk, but came in the bathroom for one last session with the blow dryer. I rubbed her head, told her how much I loved her and said goodbye. She went back to the vet and he told us there was nothing we could do but let her go.

Just as we found a home 13 years ago, C.B. found her home, too. What a blessing she has been to our family. I will miss you, sweet girl.

“I Can’t Believe What I’ve Been Missing!”

Something big occurred yesterday. Really big.

Max ate a cheeseburger.

OK, so that may not seem like a big deal to anyone but me. But trust me, it’s big. Huge.

First, let me say that food has never been a priority to Max. He’s always felt that eating interrupts the important things like Lego building or playing on the computer or doing other things critical to a kid.

Max was good about trying most foods and except for his first and only experience with peas, he was fairly agreeable. That changed at 2 when he began to turn his nose up at the things he always loved. After much discussion with the pediatrician (and my mother) it was explained to me that he wasn’t going to starve and that as long as he was eating fairly nutritious things—even over and over—he would be just fine but to keep trying to introduce new foods to him. And I did…dressing them up, making fun shapes, mixing pureed vegetables into mac & cheese (um, yes, he busted me fast on that one) and even making up songs/dances about just how good something would be. Not my finest moments but I tried everything.

For the past few years, his top/only items include fish sticks (Fisher Boy brand), chicken nuggets (Tyson), turkey and provolone sandwiches (Subway & City Bites), peanut butter (eaten with a spoon, not on bread) and sliced cheese (Kraft). Throw in Goldfish crackers, Cheerios, yogurt, milk, applesauce, mandarin oranges and milk and that is basically his list of approved foods. Oh, and anything chocolate.

“You just don’t know what you might be missing,” I would tell him. “I bet you would like this if you would just try—even one little bite.”

“But Mom, I don’t like that, I just know it.”

“How do you know unless you try, Max?”

“I just know, Mom, trust me.”

This has been a common conversation over the past few years. Almost daily.

But for whatever reason, last night at McDonald’s he decided to try a cheeseburger. And he loved it. Saying he had “NO IDEA what he had been missing all these years and it was SO GOOD.” Though next time, no pickles or mustard.

And while I am thrilled he’s added a new food to his approved list, in my mind the bigger accomplishment is that Max realized that unless you are open to new things and step out of what is comfortable or familiar, you never know what wonderful thing might be out there.

Not bad for me to remember either.

"The Only Bummer is Math..."

Max: “The life of a 2nd grader is great. You get to cut with knives and break some rules. The only bummer is math. “


Math…ugh. I have a long-standing hate-hate relationship with math. I was never good at it and it gave me a pit in my stomach when I had to do it. I remember many a night whining “I can’t do this” while laying across the kitchen table as my mother—a school teacher— quizzed me on multiplication tables. Don’t even get me started on long division. And in my brain, X can never equal Y. Ever.

I’ve tried very hard not to put my fear and loathing of math on to Max. But while we’ve sat at the kitchen table working on double-digit addition and subtraction (with regrouping) I’ve witnessed the draped-on-the-table, whiny, “I hate math” look my mother saw 30-something years ago. Proving as she has always said, “apples don’t fall far from the tree.”

So, how do I encourage Max to work hard at something that is necessary but he clearly doesn’t enjoy? I decided to share with him my struggles in math. I told him that I didn’t always think I was good at math and that I complained to my mom (a lot) when I had to do it. But then I explained why math is important and how I use it every day to do things at work and at home. I also told him how many of the things he’s interested in require math. I also admitted to him that if I had applied myself and whined less, I would have been better at math.

Thanks to a patient teacher, his godmother (who is also a 2nd grade teacher) and lots of hard work by Max, he is making great progress and couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the certificate (pictured above) came home in his backpack.