It is only natural that my first blog be a welcome... but with the television blaring about 9/11 and two of my three sons heading two hours away to a theme park, with friends.... for the first time, my mother bear genes have kicked in. So many instances show how a mother will view life's events in a different way. Not "how does this effect me?" but "how does this effect my children?" So as my teenagers set sail on their first road trip, and my youngest sleeps down the hall... I have time to reflect on the significance of this weekend, through the eyes of a mother bear who wants to protect her boys, and yes, keep them young and innocent for as long as possible.
First, the road trip. My husband had no problem approving this right of passage journey, even after I said that I was no longer considering a celebration that would have taken me to an Open House at Teterboro Airport, a location in the shadows of New York City today. I did not want to be on the roads, or at location that could be seen as a target. My husband even encouraged my 17 year old to find a spot for his 15 year old brother. I had expressed immense discomfort for having my son travel with friends, and no adults, for the first time. Now two of my cubs would leave the den.
In the word of another famous bear, "wherever they go, and whatever happens at them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."
I also see my role as protector and provider of moral compass. So, before putting my 10 year old on the school bus yesterday, I reminded him that he would hear a discussions in school and (possibly) a moment of silence of the victims of September 11th. Since my son was exactly five months old, he has no recall of the event. Early in the week we viewed part of the NBC special on the Children of 9/11... before we experienced a storm-induced blackout. He was fascinated at hearing children talk of their parent(s) death, and expressed an equal measure of compassion and horror. As we watched, with dialogue, he moved closer to me, subconsciously needing to cuddle and feel my presence. I was not going away. So when he returned from school yesterday, he called my cell to say he was home. I asked him how the day had went and without missing a beat he told me that he had heard that NY was going to have another 9-11 attack on Sunday.
"Who told you that?" I said. "We discussed it in school." Really?! Although he had been in my room watching the NFL kick-off on Thursday, and saw the announcement, I had chosen to make light of the threat. "They are just warning people to stay safe, it probably won't happen," I said. My mother bear says that this topic should not have been discussed in school. Especially considering that several children of 9-11 attend our district schools and the everyday reminders of this horror are presence in our life with memorial markers at several locations that we pass everyday.
Then the middle son gets on the phone to announce that a career bully that we had documented in school records, and is prohibited from making any contact with my son, is sitting directly behind him in class. After unsuccessfully trying to contact the school on a Friday, I re-assured him I would take care of it. ROAR.... how can this happen when I have discussed every year how these two boys cannot be in the same time zone. I even visited the police department several years ago, to determine if that was the way to encourage the school to handle the situation more appropriately.
So, as is often the case, my welcome is supplanted by the needs of my cubs. I will be posting on how to circumvent the bureaucracy needed when your child has an IEP (Individualized Educational Plan), living life as a Motherless Child, juggling tips for the working mother who still serves as CEO for her private corporation known as the family and serving as chauffeur, chef, personal shopper, educator, and financial officer for this large group. Many of us wear these hats, so I welcome you to share your experiences, learn from my mistakes and share your own.
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