In which I admit defeat

I have overscheduled my daughter. I am now officially one of 'those' parents--the ones who the rest of you look at and laugh at in a condescending "what COULD she be thinking" kind of way. The one who the media write about. The one who is destroying childhood for children. It's me. I've done it.

Let's review: Em is 9, in fourth grade. In addition to school from 8 until 2:30 daily, she has chorus after school on Mondays from 2:30 to 3:15 on Mondays (and now on Wednesdays as well until the spring concert is over), Hebrew school from 4:15 to 6:30 on Tuesdays, and from 9:30 to noon on Sundays, Girl Scouts from 3 to 5 every other Thursday, and soccer practice once a week plus a once-a-week game on Saturdays starting in the fall and continuing through November. She takes flute in school, and has to practice at least half an hour, three to four times a week.

But wait, there's more. There are reports to be done (the mission report is just past, but now we're knee-deep in the year's big science project). There's homework for school, review for Hebrew school. There's our usually weekly get-together with our 'gang' of friends, every Sunday afternoon/evening.

And then there are the social engagements: Playdates, study dates, sleepovers. This child simply Never Stops Going.

Let's look at just this weekend, for instance. Last night we had a new member celebration/potluck at our temple at 6 pm, after which Em went off to have a sleepover at her friend Cat's house. This morning was the religious school's Saturday services (something they sponsor just twice a year), so Cat's mom brought them at 10:30, and N and I met them there. We left right after the services (and lunch) to get Em over to her friend C's house so they could spend the next 4 hours conducting their science experiment, the results of which are due on Monday. She came home around 6, and I thought she might hang around a little, since Uncle Stevie is here for dinner, but she saw some of her friends playing out on the street and so is out there now, Heely-ing around. She wants to invite her friend J to dinner, which would undoubtedly turn into a sleepover request, but I said no. BECAUSE...tomorrow at 9:30 is Hebrew school for both she and N, and then N's kindy teacher is coming at 1 to pick them up for a lunch-and-bookstore date that we purchased for them at the school fundraiser. They'll be back around 4, and then we'll be off to Deb's house for our 'gang' get-together.

Then, Monday, school starts again.

I'm tired just thinking about it.

But here's the rub: We've already cut out SEVERAL things. No more swimming lessons, no more gymnastics, no more guitar. What next? And what do you do about a kid who simply fills any vacuum in her schedule with more friends, more playing, more things to do. Look up at my weekend. Look up at her schedule. What would YOU cut out? What would you deny her out of those experiences? And HOW would you deny her them? Chain her to the couch? Ground her for being too...social?

I think I take it back: I haven't overscheduled my daughter. She has overscheduled herself. I'm just a dazed and exhausted bystander.

My Bedroom Smells Like Tangerines

(That title has nothing to do with this post, except that I'm writing it up in my bedroom, and N is here, dancing around and eating a tangerine that he just plucked directly from the tree right outside our back door. The tangerine tree from which all the children WHO CAME TO HIS PARTY got to eat from. Which leads me to...)

So Monday brought a few things to light. First, Baroy came back from dropping N off at school that morning with two presents from kids who couldn't make it to his party and were sorry they missed it. Both were Korean kids. This is relevant, as it turns out, because while most of the churches in our area tend to be done with Sunday services (or whatever y'all call them) by around 1 or so, as it turns out, the Korean churches go until 4. Which made it hard for the Korean kids to be at a party that goes from 2 to 5, as N's did. And since more than a third of his class is Korean (which is actually low, considering that over half the school population is Korean), it explained a lot.

That made me feel a lot less bad--for a few minutes, at least.

And then Baroy told me the other half of the story from that morning...the part where bratty little Troy came sauntering over to N and said, "So, I didn't see you at Susan's party yesterday while I was playing games and eating ice cream. Where were you?" N apparently responded by hiding behind his hands; Baroy, apparently feeling the need to fill in by becoming the emotional equivalent of a kindergartener, said, "He was having a great time in the bouncy house at his birthday party, that's where he was." (Gee...I wonder where N gets his social issues?)

Obviously, Susan has a right to have a party, and not to invite N (though I'm surprised, because I thought her mother and I were fairly friendly, and Susan happens to be one of the kids that N talks about and seems to like in his class, but that's my problem, not theirs). I'm betting that mom sent out ACTUAL INVITATIONS, too, and before I sent out N's. So of course people would have chosen that party over N's.

So I should be happy, right? The Korean kids didn't come to the party because they were in church. The rest of the kids were at a party that they had been invited to long before N's. This isn't an indictment on N; this isn't about his issues. HOOOO....ray.

Aw, who'm I kidding? That part had me in tears. Why? Because that's even WORSE, that's why! Because now, on top of having social issues of his own to overcome, apparently my poor child has a mother who can't even manage to do a BIRTHDAY PARTY right! It's not like I didn't know it was coming up, after all. It's not like I didn't know when he was BORN! I'm just a freaking loser, who couldn't get her shit together in time to make something important happen for her kid. The same freaking loser who can't manage to find the time to set up playdates for him, either. I mean, if I'd sent out invites weeks in advance, maybe a bunch of kids would have chosen Susan's party over N's party anyway. But maybe not. Maybe they'd have chosen him, at least a few of them, and I wouldn't have this feeling of having failed him hanging over me.

Thus, I'm more than a little pissed at myself. I'll get over it, but for now, I have no one to blame but myself. So I'm having at it, throwing a pity party here, in my tangerine-scented bedroom, with my 6-year-old son, who's wearing tiny boxing gloves and singing a made-up song about Spongebob. I have a feeling this party ain't gonna last long tonight.

A Quick Glimpse Inside

One of the things that makes N such a mystery to me is his inability to let me inside, to tell me what he's thinking and feeling beyond the simplest of basic emotions.

Actually, that statement may be wrong. I'm not sure it's an inability to let me inside. It may be an inability to verbalize what he's thinking and feeling, despite *wanting* to let me inside. Or it may be a desire not to let me inside, ability be damned.

Whatever it is, it makes the moments when I get even the most fleeting of glimpses that much more special to me.

A few days ago, on the way home from the last day of school before break, we ran into one of N's kindy friends and her usually-at-work mother, and realized they live just a couple of blocks up from us, almost shouting distance. N and T started playing together, and T's mom invited us inside for a quick, impromptu playdate. Such things are almost unheard-of in N's world, and we both enjoyed it immensely. N, in fact, hasn't stopped talking about it since.

Today, with Em and Baroy both at friends' homes, I decided to take N to a nearby park. As we drove past T's house, he again began talking about how he wants to have another playdate with her. The conversation went from there:

Me: Yeah, you really liked playing with T, huh?

N: Actually, I like T's mom better than T.

Me, thrown but recovering quickly and seeing an opportunity: You know, I've noticed that you often seem to like grownups better than children. Do you think you do? Do you like grownups best, or children best?

N, not hesitating: Grownups.

Me: Why do you think that is? Why do you like grownups best?

N, again not hesitating: Because they give me 'tention, and they play with me, and they give me hugs and kisses like you do.

That was the whole of it. When I tried to delve deeper, he wandered off into that place he goes where the answers have no connection to the questions and it's impossible to follow him at all. (Again, I'm not sure he does this becaue he has some sort of language difficulty, or because he's deliberately trying to hide.)

But I do have to say, that glimpse was enough, for now. And I have to admit that he does make a good case for preferring adults. I'd rather hang with someone who pays 'tention to me, too.

Uniquely Deep

"And how do you think he's doing, socially?" I asked near the end of our parent-teacher conference on Tuesday afternoon, after Mrs. W had gone over N's report-card grades, his academic strengths and weaknesses, and his still-obvious bouts of anxiety in class and how she's been handling them.

She leaned back in her chair and considered me. "I think there's still an issue there," she said, and then stopped. "I know what I want to say, but I feel like I need time to consider my words. Would it be OK if we waited until Thursday to talk about this a little more?"

[Thursdays are when I volunteer in N's classroom; I help out until the first recess, and then Mrs. W and I talk until she has to go out and watch the kids.]

"Sure," I said, a little worried. What could she possibly have to say that requires 48 hours of thought-gathering?

Today, in the fifteen minutes we had to talk, I found out.

She had this to say: "I think that N has a hard time finding common ground with other kids in the class because he's so different from them. He's definitely unique."

She had this to say: "N has a depth to him that I can't quite put my finger on, but I think it's a big part of what's going on with him."

She had this to say: "We may well ultimately find out that he's gifted."

She had this to say: "He may well ultimately be served well by being retained in kindergarten for another year because of some of his immaturity issues."

She had this to say: "On the other hand, he's drawn to adults and older kids, and another year in kindergarten isn't going to help with that."

She had this to say: "He's very sensitive."

She had this to say: "He has definite signs of anxiety, and we need to be sensitive to that, to take pressure off of him, because he can't perform under pressure."

She had this to say: "What I'd love to see is for N to find someone to be close friends with, to get close to another child in the class."

She had this to say: "I'm not sure it's going to happen."

She had this to say: "No, I'm not really sure how to make it happen."

I had a lot to say, myself. But, really, she said it all.