Thankfully, God is in Charge

 

I am.

Who's in charge here? I have heard that question in so many voices, situations. 

Sometimes I am in charge, good or bad. I gladly ceded that responsibility now that I am retired. For twenty years and six-hundred students, I was in charge. 

Parents, we were/are in charge. For feeding, clothing, and all sorts responsibilities for our children, we were/are in charge.

Paying bills, having the oil changed, finding lost items, etc.--we adults: we're in  charge.

Given all that, some of the most amazing I'm in charge here people are children. They have no power, no reason to believe that they are in charge. 


Even though you and I know that a child should not be in charge in critical areas,  they are in the sweetest and most amazing ways.

(The longest video is the last one. The others are less than a minute )

I have shown them before, but darn it, they are so cute.

A three-year old taking charge here, maybe

Expressing himself to one he loves

Helping mommy 

Who in charge here?  Both.

There are many elements in all lives when exasperation leads to a  real question:  Who is in charge of me?

He is.

We are traveling to Switzerland to see our gr-sons and their parents.  I won't be posting anything for part of the time in early October.  I know, it hurts. But it has to be done.  I am not super human, not sub human, just me.

I will be gone until mid October. Please continue to comment, since I will repost a few semi-good posts.

This is repost from 2019 April. 

My mama told me....

While I did not dare to mouth off or disobey my mama (seriously, things could go south in split seconds), I have two daughters who have mouthed off to me, disobeyed and deceived me.  They both were told that "Someday, you will have a daughter who will challenge your knowledge and authority".

Now "the chickens have come home to roost".

I feel your pain.

Now, I smile when my daughter unloads on me about battles fought, won or lost. She knows why I smile, and has said the same sentence I said some 25 years ago.

Ah, life is good.

I Am Done

I have been in brain-fog-cobweb mode for nearly a week now.  Part of it is the hot dry weather we are having.  Another part is a barometric pressure induced migraine. 

But, the main part is where I am in life.

Source:  Wikipedia    The linebackers are ready to mow down anyone who threatens their quarterback.

Being a parent has always been a definer of my life.  I am “Mommy” or “Mom”.  Used to taking charge:  Charging forward, mouth first; and then, falling backward, butt down on the ground. 

Source: Wikipedia   The quarterback controls the play

Basically, as a parent, I am intransitive, inactive, and definitely on the sidelines.  I am done.

Source: Wikipedia   You're going down, mister.

That is a hard thing to admit that my active solve-problems parenting is over. That I have been moved to second string.  Or, out all together.

My assignment now:  1. Be ‘grandma’ when needed; 2. Observe and listen; 3. Be silent; and, 4. Leave gracefully. 

Man.  For one who has been a front linesman/quarterback all her life, it is hard to become the water-boy.

The Hand on the Shoulder

Over the years of teaching, I kept looking over my shoulder.  I half expected to feel a hand there, and a voice saying, “Hey, I know you!  What are you doing here as a teacher?  Why, you don’t know what you are doing….”  Then I would be dragged out of the classroom, to the dismay and amazement of my students.

I did know what I was doing.  I did know everything was based on standards and learning principles.  

 What I was depending on was the creativity to bridge the gap from the standards dictated by law to how my students would learn them.  So much depended on what I saw in the student, how I could take that and use it, and return it to him as a learn-able product.  Basically, I was teaching “on my feet”.  Thinking quickly.  Grabbing ideas out of the air. 

But, then, I think we all do that whatever the job or calling.  Parents do it all the time.  We get this tiny crying baby, and go with the flow.  We understand diapers and feedings, no problem.  

 But, what to do when all sorts of things happen, well, that is a gray area.  What do we do when our seven-year old daughter gives sassy, eye-rolling comments?  What do we do when one child lies, out-right lies to us?  What do we do when we break up a sibling fight, where the clarity is non-existent?

Some would grab the video camera, film it, and send it to America’s Funniest Videos.  

 Maybe they will win $10,000.  

 Or, maybe we parents have to think “on our feet”.  Do we rely on what our parents did in similar situations?  In some cases, oh-please-God-help-me, no we don’t.  In others, perhaps we do.

Maybe we all live this way, looking over our shoulder, waiting for someone to tell us that we don’t know what the heck we are doing.  But, I think that at this point, I can shrug off the hand, and say, “Wanta bet?”

...and the battle rages...

Photos courtesy of Bing.com

There are times in parenting when the girl child tries to face down the mother and uses every defiant eye-roll, planted arms on hips, face forward, and shrill voice known in the little girl armory.

What should have been a normal, “Okay, Mom.  I’ll put that away right now!”,  becomes a shouting match. 

Angry Little Girl

Then there is a lot more yelling, some chasing, running upstairs, and more yelling only more shrill. 

The next minutes get all blurry because they happen at super-fast speed: 

You can't make me!

Girl gets hoisted up in a football carry; 

·                  Girl grabs the door frame with both hands;

No, I won't.                                

          Mother pries the hands loose; 

·                  Mother drops girl on the bed;

·                   Girl screams acidic defiance and insults; 

                  Mother threatens spanking; 

·            Girl grips the twin bed with both hands, hurling a final volley of unintelligible insults; 

       

  Mother rolls the girl over and gives one good swat;

·      Mother leaves screeching girl in room;

·         and, the door slams. 

Thirty years ago, I dealt with my own little shrieking girl, who is yet to be a mother herself.  

 Now my other adult daughter has her own little harpy girl to contend in  hand-to-hand battle.   

I feel badly for her.  

I have had it with you!

 I must confess, however, that as all this battle royal went down, I was sweeping the kitchen floor with my eyes averted and a smile on my face. 

Who Blinks First...

He who blinks first, loses.

This is what I learned as a child when facing down a brother or another aggressive boy on the playground. Hold your ground. Invade personal space. Close in for the kill. AND never blink first. 

This is important:  He who blinks first, loses.

courtesy of Bing.com

The skills honed in the fires of sibling conflict and playground battles have carried me through many rough situations. Okay—not necessarily rough, but definitely confrontational. 

As a young mother, I learned the importance of holding my position on naps (everyone takes one in the afternoon, including me) until my oldest child was almost 9 years old.  Having three stair-step children, I bent over and drew my eyes level with theirs.

 “You will take a nap today. A good long nap.” They blinked. I didn’t. The nap wars fought and won, because I didn’t blink first.

When teaching, the teacher must hold the line on so many discipline issues:  raising the hands to speak, asking permission, respecting another student’s right to exist, etc. Staring down thirty + children requires practice and experience. It must be done with firmness and, most of all, with kindness.

Do you understand???

There was always one student who challenged the blink contest “You will not steal anyone's pencils. Do you understand, mister?”  Blink, blink, “Yes’m.”

That was when all the skills in the first paragraph had to go into the game. The teacher has to win this—the rest of the class has to know that the standards of behavior are listed on the wall for a reason.

Yes'm.

When not playing poker for big bucks, or trying to convince a three-year old that he will stay out of the flour canister, blinking is fine. Blink away to your heart’s content. 

In your face.

But, when one absolutely must win a situation, keep those eyes open, piercing into the other eyes with deadly aim, and impose your will.  Good luck, soldier.