Doing the Right Thing - by Cara Potapshyn Meyers

I always try to be a good role model for my son. As an example, around the Holidays, I received a package in the mail with a return address of a company I recently made a purchase from. I ripped open the package to find four X-box games inside. Because I don’t own an X-Box, I knew something was wrong. Sure enough, the previous owners of our house didn’t give this company their new address, therefore my address was still in their data base. 

My son was so excited to see those games because although we don’t own an X-Box, a few of his friends do. I told him that I was going to send them to the person who bought them. He asked why. I replied, “If you spent $50 on something you were looking forward to receiving, would you like it if your purchase went to someone else’s home and they kept it for themselves?” He sheepishly said no. So I explained that by sending the games to their rightful owner, it is called, “Doing the Right Thing.” I followed it by saying that although trying to get away with something may feel exciting at the moment, in the end, you probably will feel guilty and ashamed. When you feel that way, you know inside that you didn’t “Do the Right Thing.”

Fast forward to this past month. I mentioned in a previous blog that my son graduated to a higher belt level in karate. He was the youngest and smallest person in his class.

This particular karate school does something called sparring. The kids wear protective gear from head to toe with the exception of legs and arms exposed. This was the first time my son was sparring at this higher level. All of the other kids in his class were older, taller and bigger than my son. As sparring began, I noticed first that my son’s opponents were not sparring to perfect technique, they were sparring aggressively and to purposely injure. My son got kicked in his head five times during one match, staggering as he struggled to get up. I mouthed to him, “Do you want to leave?,” he shook his head no, but once the sparring was over, a Mom doctor came over and sat with us for well over an hour hydrating my son, giving him food. When he finally got up and began practicing karate kicks, she said it was probably unlikely that he had a concussion but to look out for warning signs the rest of that evening and into the next day. My son was acting fine.

This past Friday, my son had sparring at karate again. I said to my son as we were driving there, “Honey, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” He said he wanted to try to spar once more. I asked him if I felt he was being injured, would he be upset with me if I called him off the mat. He said no. The ground rules were laid. I was planning on sitting front row, center.

The first sparring round, my son got knocked to the floor but got right up and continued sparring. He then had a break. When it was his turn again, he was up against a much bigger, aggressive type kid. My eyes were glued. I never blinked. My son got kicked to the head. He slowly got up. He continued to spar. He got kicked in the head again. This time, it took more effort for him to get up. He wanted to continue. Whack! A third kick to the head. I stood up and said, “My son needs time out! He can hardly stand!” The instructor reluctantly called over another kid. I slid over to where my son was seated on the mat and said, “You are drained of energy, tired and hurting. Do you want to get off the mat and stop sparring?” He said he wanted to try one more match. My insides were cringing but I had a strong feeling that I was going to make this stop.

My son got up to spar again. He got punched to his arm so badly, it started to bleed. He got hit in the stomach right under the protective padding. He doubled over in pain. Finally he got hit in the throat and kicked in the head. He was on the mat, in a ball, crying. I screamed, “Stop! This is over!!,” and ran to help carry/walk my son off the mat. The Mom doctor was there and she carefully helped get his headgear off and again examined my son for signs of a head injury and felt his ribs and neck area. Again, she said to keep an eye on him. I assured her I would. Once my son stopped crying and hugging me, my son said, “I don’t ever want to come back.” I told him that he didn’t have to do anything in life that made him feel abused or hurt in any way. We left.

The next day my son said he was sore but felt fine. I had him try to rest as much as possible. We had a heart to heart talk about what happened the night before. I asked him if he still felt that he didn’t want to attend that karate school anymore. He replied, “yes.” I asked him how that made him feel. He said he felt really relieved and really good. I explained to him that any time he is faced with a situation that doesn’t make him feel good inside, he can walk away. And if he feels much better inside after he walked away, then he knows he made the right decision. In this case, besides peer pressure, besides being elated at his higher belt ranking, besides not seeing casual friends each week, he chose to walk away from being beat up. I honor him. How many adults could just walk away? I told him several times, how brave I thought he was, how mature, how glad I was that HE felt he made the right decision. When I stated that my son is more of a man than my husband is in a previous blog, I wasn’t embellishing at all.

Now to today. In my blog called, Everyone Has Stress, I knew I had to make amends to a friend I referred to in that blog. I had to, “Do the Right Thing.” Both my friend and I have a truck-load of stress. When I first saw her today, I gave her a big hug because I knew she really needed one. As we sat and talked, something dawned on me. I had gone through the same or similar stressful scenarios in my life, just as she was experiencing. The difference was that in my life, my same stressful situations came one after another. They were not all clumped together on top of each other at the same time. The more I thought about my past and all of the stress I’ve endured, it’s been more than most people will have experienced in a lifetime. However my events gave me small gaps of reprieve to “repair” myself. This poor friend has it poured on like wet cement and she is desperately trying to find her way out. 

I’ve been going through intense stress for two and one-half years now, with more years to come. I was drained completely a year and a half ago. I am literally existing on fumes. I can’t compare what I am facing with what my friend is facing because I am not walking in her shoes and vise versa. But I can imagine that hers is quite comparable to mine. What I do know is that I had to “Do the Right Thing” and make amends. My poor, stressed out friend, I am truly sorry. I hope you accepted my hug in friendship and with warmth. And I hope we both “Do the Right Thing” and will always try to be there for one another, even if just in thought and kind messages. I sincerely apologize. Let’s be stressed out friends together!

Like Fine Wine by Elizabeth Allen

No matter how it came about, you are an older parent. Regardless of whether the decision to wait was physical, emotional or occupational, here we are. And now that we’re here, generally speaking, most people expect we are more mature. That our decisions are well thought out and we excel at time management and prioritizing. Heck, younger parents and parents-to-be come to us for advice. We must be better parents because we approach each decision with poise, experience, and a business-like attitude.


NOT!

Okay, maybe some of us are just that organized and well thought out. A chosen few have the skills, patience and necessary deafness to carefully plan out the week ahead: business meetings, school lunches, after-school practice, balance the budget, night out with the girls (which is often reduced to the girl since their schedules overwhelm) and if lucky—very lucky—sex with your spouse or significant other while still fairly conscious and willing.

I can’t say that older is better when it comes to parenting as a rule. Unlike red wine, there is no guarantee parents get better with age. As you can see from my previous post or if you’re brave enough to read my books, being older certainly didn’t make my parents wise, loving or stable. But then, they were always like that. Even before they had children.

In fact, I’ve noticed during my vast years of observation that most people don’t really mellow with age. Quite the opposite. Most habits, mannerisms, idiosyncrasies and general attitudes actually seem to exaggerate over time. Just imagine. That little snorting sort of laugh of his that you barely tolerate will morph into a blustering guffaw in years to come. Don’t believe me? Ask your parents or grandparents.

And it ain’t just the giggles or political views…Can we talk nose hair? But I digress.

So, does the age of the parent really make a difference with respect to maturity? I say no. Not really. Details and circumstances aside, whatever sort of parent you would’ve been at 25, so you will be at 40. You might scream “I said NO!” a little louder and with less fortitude. You might get winded sooner pushing your little one on the two-wheeler the first few times. You might even stress about being too old a grandparent some day. (Aren’t grandparents supposed to be old?)

But you are probably more head-over-heels in love with your children than you could have ever imagined. I believe that older parents view their kids as more of committed relationship and less of a chore. And it’s that level of mature love—that realization that can only come with time—that makes it just a bit better.

Now if we could just do something about these freaking chin hairs…

"Seriously Embarrassing" - By Cara Potapshyn Meyers

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog about how I saw a maturity in my 7/almost 8 year-old son. Somewhat a kin to a 13 year-old. Well, now I am absolutely convinced that my son is a 13 year old in a 7/almost 8-year-old body! Here’s why.

It began a couple weeks ago when he overheard some older kids at the park discussing which sleep-away camps they would be going to this summer. My son immediately approached my husband and me about going to sleep away camp this year. Considering that we already paid for the day camp he will be attending and that he hasn’t quite turned 8 years old yet, we had our reservations. Then an interesting opportunity presented itself.

The sleep away camp my husband went to when he was younger was offering “Parent Weekend” for both currently enrolled campers as well as perspective campers. My son could go for a three-day weekend with his father. He could choose to bunk with some boys at the camp or sleep in a tent with his Dad. He would participate in activities strictly for campers that weekend. “Family” activities would be offered as well. It would not only be the perfect weekend for my son to “test the water” regarding sleep away camp. It would also be on his birthday weekend - an added treat! We signed my son up with the promise that, yes, he would still have a birthday party!

Next, about a week later, I was driving my son to the store and he asked, “Mommy? Can I put the car in “park?” Knowing that I would press the emergency brake with my foot immediately upon stopping the car, I obliged. I then thought, “Next year, he’s going to want to drive this thing.” He also informed me that President Obama passed a law that stated children must be 10 years old before they can sit in the passenger seat of a car. At least he pays attention to the laws! He has also been asking numerous questions about driving and the “Rules of the Road.” Since I plan to eventually be the one who will teach my son to drive (I am a far better driver than my husband, no matter what he may think), I have been taking many opportunities to discuss and point out good versus not as good drivers. I also have to be careful of my own driving habits and speed because my “back seat driver” will point out every minor infraction I may make.

Finally, I absolutely knew that my son was “13” when we were driving to our local pool this past weekend. My son asked, “Mommy? When we get to the pool, can you just call me ‘Brandon’?” I knew that this day would come eventually, but not when my son was 7/almost 8! I responded to him, “You don’t want me to refer to you as ‘Sweetie’ or ‘Sweetie Pie’ or even ‘Honey’.” He nodded as I looked at him in my rear view mirror. Then he added, “And Mommy? When you pick me up from school, can you also just call me ‘Brandon’?” I promised that I would, with a small smile on my face. Then I asked, “My special names I call you embarrass you in front of your friends, huh?” He responded that they did. But he immediately followed his affirmation by specifying, “But that’s only for when we’re out, Mommy! If we are home or in the car, you can call me all those other things. It’s just that when we’re with my friends, it’s seriously embarrassing when you use those other names.” Seriously embarrassing. I expected my son to say something like this to me when he was at least 10 years old or older. But not at 7/almost 8! I chuckled to myself and thought, next year he’s going to want me to drop him off a block before where he may want to go!

"Seriously embarrassing." Yes, my little boy is no longer “little.” Although I may embarrass him, he still wants me to be his “real” Mommy when we are alone. But I better keep my promise to only call him by name when we’re out! We made a “pinky promise” on it!