Why do I make my life more difficult than it needs to be?

Patch will be entering KG this fall.  Yay.  Enrollment packet came home from school the day he had a doctor appointment, and I could actually drop the form off without having to make a second trip.  Double yay.  School gave me six weeks notice for our parent-child orientation day - ample time to take off from work.  Triple yay.  

Now I read the packet more carefully, with everything I have to prepare.  

Birth certificate or passport - check.  

Mortgage bill or other proof of residency - check.  

Social Security Card - um, weird, but ok, check. 

Then the kicker:

"If your child was not born in the United States, please contact the International Student Office at 301-230-0686 for an appointment prior to the dates of orientation.  Children born outside the United States cannot be enrolled without first going to the International Student office." 

Um, ouch.  

Now, I know that since Patch is a citizen jus sanguis - from his blood, the second he was born - I can pretty much tell you whatever this process is or Office is supposed do to, does not apply to him.  I can also tell you that if I showed up with this Certificate of Report of Birth Abroad, the school secretary would have no idea what to do with it.  

Now I am going to keep my fingers crossed and hope that when I call the office, they have enough experience with "international students" like Patch (this is a DC suburb, after all), that I don't actually have to make a special trip to have his status (which is "citizen") verified.  Let's hope!  But, I only have myself to blame for this, of course.

secret to keeping my mind sane

I did not succeed in March (at keeping myself sane), which should be evident because I did not post a single blog post.

But, April 1-7, I'm home for a combination of child-watching and vacation (Lea is back in the Philippines, getting a new visa and visiting family).  Last night, I realized that, since November, I hadn't been following my own advice.  And, this is why I was feeling out of sorts.

My secret to keeping sane, with all the boys and working?  Taking one day off per month to get done all those little things that mount up.  (In honestly, that is tip #2.  Tip #1 is being able to be lucky enough to have a nanny who does laundry, cleans, and cooks dinner.  Without that, I'd be crazy.)  I had been doing a good job all of 2014 in following this piece of advice.  But then we took a wonderful week at Thanksgiving in Texas.  And then I threw out my back and for mid-December through the end of Feb, I was having to juggle two physical therapy sessions per week, so no extra time off.

But yesterday, I was home.  It was crazy running around (and, I admit, I tried to squeeze too much in and didn't make it home in time to cook dinner ... though this sort of turned into a parenting win, because Wm got his long-time wish since he remembered the local pizza joint has kids movie night on Wednesdays).  But, I crossed off some of those little things (my hair cut, second opinion on some bumps Ian has, Ian's hair cut, sorting papers, and I'm sure some other things, too, given how busy I was) and went to sleep happy.

Note to self: don't forget to take that one day per month!

A missing glove, found

I love Japan.  Let's just get that out there, for those of you who didn't already know the obvious.  I leave, spend time in other countries, tell myself it doesn't bother me that I have yet to be assigned to Tokyo.  But, then I have an occasion to visit and, let's face it, I get sad.  Yes, I'm excited to be headed to Vietnam in 2016, and sure if I lived here there would be crazy things I'd remember that annoy me (just like in any place!) ... but Japan just has a special place in my heart.  

Today I walked out of my hotel, went about two blocks, and pulled out my gloves because it was a tad nippy.  Except I only had one glove.  My fingers are long, relative to the general American population, so this was more than a bit of a bummer, since it took me (and Greg - the winning ones were a Christmas present) quite some time to find them.  But, then I remembered that I had worn my gloves walking home last night from dinner, so there was a chance I had dropped it in the hotel.  Which meant there was a chance I could retrieve it on my return from brunch.  

This being Japan, of course the glove was there.  And, not only was the glove there, but the second I walked up to the bell captain's desk, with just one black leather glove in my hand, before I could even utter a word, he looked at me with a huge smile.  I started to ask, but he just said, "one moment please!"  He walked over to the lobby captain's desk, returning my glove, with such happiness as if reuniting my left glove with the right was the absolute best thing he was going to have accomplished all day.  

How can one not love Japan, with vignettes like that? 

Independence & Homework

I need my children to be independent. With three of them - and both of us working full time - independence is not a "nice to have" but an actual necessity, if I'm going to stay sane. Independence takes training.  Yes, it is definitely faster if I pull up my two year old's pants for him ... but then he never learns.  Yes, my oldest son has some cavities because he has brushed his teeth himself since age four, but at least they are in baby teeth and he is now listening to the dentist about how to properly brush his teeth.  The idea is that the investment in time (and, apparently money) will pay off later with kids who are able to take care of themselves.

This is why the second grade homework has annoyed me ALL YEAR.  While the activities could be done independently, they are not presented in such a way that he could do them himself.  The font is too small.  The chart to fill out is poorly labeled.  The instructions are too vague.  After the first two weeks of school, my son gave up on homework out of frustration.  He knew he wanted to do it, but he couldn't quite do it himself, and by the time we got home/ate dinner/bathed kids, it was too late for him to be able to concentrate.  On top of which, he one time saw his teacher throw the homework chart in the trash, from which he deduced that she didn't really care about his work.

And it wasn't worth the struggle for me.  I identified completely with this WaPo article.

Except this week, apparently his teacher finally spoke to him about the fact that he has not turned in a sheet since SEPTEMBER.  I had already informed her we wouldn't be doing the activities, and she had acquiesced, as long as he was reading and doing some math.  Since he reads -- and makes up elaborate box scores by quarter for basic math skills -- I figured we were fine.  We were, until now, I guess.

This homework chart, however, has been causing much consternation this past week.  So much, that Friday night he refused to eat dinner in the kitchen because then he would have to see the blank homework chart and be reminded that: (a) his teacher was disappointed with him and (b) he didn't know how to fix it because he couldn't do his homework himself.

After yesterday's meltdown, I realized I couldn't be quite so blasé about this homework situation, even if I did think the assignments were silly.  So, today, I took the 10 activities on the chart and typed/printed up 10 corresponding "worksheets."  He read the instructions and said he understood them.  We found a "homework folder," placed them in the folder, and agreed he could pick one worksheet each day when he got home from school.  He immediately recognized this wouldn't work on Wednesdays (Patch has piano then Wm has choir), so he asked me to remind Lea to bring the folder to piano so he can work on it there.

Independence regained.  Life back in balance.  Fingers crossed this new approach works.  Again, as with encouraging all independent activities, it will probably take about 30-60 minutes for me every other Saturday to transform the chart into worksheets, but that is a small price to pay for a kid independently completing his work.

On raising feminist sons

After Ian was born, a friend commented how sad it was I only had boys, since I would be a good role model for daughters about charting one's own way.  Before I could jump in with any number of comments (first of which, honestly, is that most mothers, regardless of work-life choices, strive to be excellent role models for their daughters and I don't do the "mommy wars" debates because I really do believe every person, man or woman, should decide what is best for him or herself, and as long as he or she is responsible and contributing to society, what do you care? .... but I digress...), another friend sitting with us said, "what do you mean? Pam's sons will all grow up thinking moms and dads can do lots of things, so they'll be great spouses!"

Shortly after that, a different Foreign Service spouse mentioned how the two years she spent as a single parent, while her husband was in Saudi Arabia.  I noted my surprise, because the expat compounds in Saudi generally have a pretty family-friendly reputation.  She said she was just worried about the impression it would leave on her then-middle school aged sons, seeing their mom being restricted from doing some things (e.g., driving) or required to do other things (e.g., head scarves) that didn't apply to them or their dad.  And she didn't know how to parent through those situations.

Thankfully, I've never faced those kinds of decisions and really the only sexist comment I've heard from my kids to date is that "salad is for girls" (though, Uncle Andrew worked to dispel that theory last night).  And most days, honestly, "feminism" isn't really a subject of debate at our house.

I think a subtle message must be getting through, though.

Today at church, Wm was working on the kids pew-sheet handout, decoding a message.  He finished, and it read: "We have found the one Moses wrote about in the law and about whom the prophets also wrote -- Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph."

He immediately turned to me and asked why it didn't say "son of Joseph and Mary," since "isn't he just as much Mary's son."  (and, I replied, even more Mary's son, given the immaculate conception)  Then, he crossed out the period and added: ", Mary and God."

It's a work in progress (he's only seven after all!), but knock on wood things are on the right track.

A Christmas of Contributions

This year's Christmas was a Christmas of asking for help.  Last Thursday, out of no where, my lower back gave out.  As in, I had to call Greg to pick me up from work.  Not believing it was that serious, we still went to a good bye dinner for good friends headed to Hong Kong.  Except then I basically had to ask Greg and a friend at dinner to nearly carry me to our car.  Friday I couldn't move.  Saturday I felt better, so I went grocery shopping and started some cookies, but that was a big mistake, as I spent the rest of the day - and Sunday - and Monday - totally out of commission.

Some presents were not purchased.  Cookies did not get made.  Teachers gifts were not assembled. I pretty much lay in bed, being brought tea and meals, and tried to heal my back.

Thankfully, I have plenty adults around to delegate work to.  My sister and my mom made cookies.  Greg and my mother-in-law made Christmas Eve lunch and Christmas dinner.  My other sister and aunt brought over a Christmas Eve smorgasbord post-service.  (For the record, I finally got drugged up so I could move again to make it to church).  My oldest son and my niece played piano-flute Christmas duet.

My nanny went to a distant cousin's house for the day, and, when her cousin found out how immobile I have been, the cousin sent our nanny home with an entire tray of pancit and other Filipino food so I don't have to cook tomorrow.

So, though Christmas was in my house, it wasn't a Pam-hosted Christmas but a team effort.  It wasn't easy to "let go" and just have things happen, but I did manage to without being too upset.  I think Greg is looking forward to his upcoming three week trip to China in order to recuperate from the extra effort he's put in the last week :)  

What's in a name?

I haven't thought about the meaning of my children's names, well, since we named them.  Wm was named after two great grandfathers.  We chose Patch's name because we had already picked the middle name (Wyand) because he (sort of) shares a birthday with his great-grandmother - and we liked the sound of the two names together.  By the time Ian rolled around, we had an English and Irish name, so we figured Scottish was the way to go.  (And, let me dissuade you from following that logic to think that a son named Llewellyn is on the way.  Three Ponkin boys are plenty.)

The last two weeks have been all about deciphering what Vietnam will mean for our next move.  Always good to talk about moving, is our philosophy, because then it's less jarring when it actually happens.  Wm has a friend at school of Vietnamese heritage, who has told Wm that he should pick a Vietnamese name - and the best way to do that is to figure out the name of your English name, and see how to say that in Vietnamese.  Thus, this week, we determined my children will become:
Mạnh (strong; the word for "protector" was too hard to say)

Cao quý (noble)
Qua tặng (gift; again "gift from God" was a little long)

As I thought about their personalities, it seemed to fit.  Wm is definitely strong-willed and protective of his brothers.  Not sure Patch is "noble" in his jokes (little boys love those potty jokes!), but he is definitely gracious and giving, which surely are "patrician" traits.  And, well, for Ian ... he was an unexpected gift from God for which we're (almost always :) ) happy.

Maybe there's something in a name after all.