LA Moms Blog

The Art of Letting Go

These are the two most influential people in my husband's life: his younger brother Max and his father Isaac. 

Isaac passed away three years ago, the result of complications during a surgery.  He'd been ill, had had cancer, had beaten it, had had liver damage, had beaten it... he'd been a fighter.  He was nearly dead seven years ago... and then, miraculously, he was at the hospital after I gave birth to my youngest daughter a year later.  He was loud, told it like it was, loved his kids and grandkids so fiercely.  My husband and his brother Max lived by his "rules of life," written on a piece of paper in the entry of his home, which included such simple lessons as don't cheat, don't lie, don't steal.

Max passed away a few days ago, at the age of 37.  He'd been ill throughout his life and suffered from a rare condition (only recently diagnosed) that caused his glands to swell suddenly... not that you'd know it.  Max lived large.  He drank and smoked and had more friends than I could even keep track of.  He was loud and told it like it was.  My husband says that, after his dad, Max was the only one who could keep him straight on what was real.  There was no black or white with Max, only what Max believed... and that, for all intents and purposes, was the truth.

Moving In with Grandma

Consider yourself warned: the next thing you read may be shocking.  Due to unforeseen circumstances, my family has moved into my mother-in-law's house temporarily.  But that's not the shocking part. 

Are you ready?

I'm loving it.

Admittedly, when we realized that there would be a lag time between when we sold our home and were able to move into our new one (after doing a small bit of remodeling), we panicked and researched temporary housing, apartment rentals, long-term hotels... But my husband's mother lives alone, just a mile or two away from the girls' school, with a nicely set-up guest room and second bathroom right across the hall. We thought, Should we even ask?  Would it be too big of an imposition?

Over dinner with his mom a month ago, my husband mentioned the idea to her and she jumped at it.  A few days later, I called to really get a woman's feel for the situation, to be sure that she wasn't just being nice to her son or feeling obligated.  To my surprise, she was giddy at the prospect of having us -- and her three granddaughters -- in such close proximity for a few weeks.  "It's a gift," she said, mentioning that she'd been secretly envious of my parents, when they lived with us for a short time after my dad retired.  "You never get this kind of opportunity." 

Mother Mentors

In business, it's important to have a mentor, someone who's been there before you and can help guide you through the uncertain times.  You know, someone to give you a road map to follow.  While I appreciated this feeling of being "taken under a wing" as a young corporate worker bee, it has been a saving grace in my life as a parent.

Not that I would have been smart enough to find a mom mentor on my own.  Even that bit of advice had to come from someone more experienced - I was so green as a mom that I still felt as though I knew best and I was always reluctant to listen to an older, wiser mom.

That changed about five years ago, during the last time that I was in Italy.  I was attending an artistic workshop in a tiny hilltop town in Tuscany and many of the attendees had flown in to Florence for a few days before the workshop, so we planned to meet and take the train together to the final destination.  On the train, I was sitting with a good friend of mine and an older woman from Canada.  I had three small kids -- my youngest was about 18 months -- and my friend's baby had just turned one.  The trip was, understandably, very liberating for my friend and I: we were able to drink without worrying about taking care of kids, sleep in, stay up late because we wanted to (not because we were roused awake by babies), stroll through museums and art galleries at a slow, unhurried pace.  And we felt a little worried because neither of us really even missed our kids and husbands -- we knew we'd be back to "real life" all too soon.

Unattended Money -- Like a Kid in a Candy Store

If only life were like an unattended candy store.  Kids - and some adults, I'm sure - could just skip on in and feel free to scoop up handfuls of sweets, no one watching, and feel no remorse.  It's the owner's fault for leaving it open and unlocked, they'd say.  Lucky me.

But what if that candy store owner had a family to support, a sick child who needed an operation to get better... and even then may not survive?  If the looters knew that, would they feel any differently?  Would it stop them?

Maybe this isn't the best analogy, but our elementary school's parent group has been struggling with a petty theft incident and trying to determine the best course of action.  It was not a major crime.  Every spring, we raffle off themed gift baskets for our school-wide talent show and the baskets are on display on the main playground the week leading up to the show; this year, even with an army of parents selling tickets and supervising, and with responsible 5th graders helping us to move them back and forth from the Parent Center, a few gift cards were missing from a basket by the time it reached the winner.

The amount was nominal, close to $40.  A few moms actually replaced the cards so that the winner wouldn't feel slighted.  But the icky feelings remained and our parent group wonders: whose responsibility is it to make this situation "right"?

This is the House That Love Built

This is the house that my husband grew up in, where we were married, where our kids have grown up, where we know all the neighbors, where we've loved being centered, and which we may never see again.

We fell in love with a different house, you see, and the only way to move into this other house -- not better, but different -- is to sell this one.  On paper, it makes sense and even reminds us that we're trading up.  Forward and upward movement, even in a down market.  We have felt so lucky.

That is, until we signed the contract that has bound us to the buyers.  To say that they are...er, not like us is an understatement.  They do not seem to love the house (or, if they do, they have been passive-aggressive in their affection).  They do not love the zip code (don't even get me started on that bit of craziness).  They will never enjoy its quirks and eccentric improvements we've added, like the stained glass scale on the front door (custom-made for my father-in-law, a Libra), the way the windows on the roof can look like eyes, or the oversized window in the kitchen that opens outward so that I can yell at my kids to knock it off (doesn't matter what they're doing).  It is highly unlikely that they will ever say a quiet thank you to the house when it stops shaking during an earthquake. 

Public School Libraries Are Not "Extras"

I know our public school district is trying its darndest to cut back on all the "fat" in the system and I am trying to keep an open mind.  But last week, when it was announced that ALL library aides in LAUSD might be cut (which also meant that their libraries would be closed if proper district employees were not able to run them), I became incensed.

It's just not enough to cut our favorite teachers, I suppose, or the arts programs.  And maybe it's not enough to expect our parents to fund "extra" programs like PE, or computers, or classroom aides to help ease the burden of an ever-escalating ratio of students to one beleaguered teacher.  But the library? It is so essential to the process of learning that I find it hard to imagine NOT having a library on any school campus.

Some of the fondest memories from my childhood took place in libraries, where I could spend hours sorting through a single section, sitting on the floor, books both open and piled up near me.  Pages flapped like wings. Time evaporated.  I learned to read, research and take responsibility for returning books I'd checked out.  I can't tell you how much my library card meant to me.

My kids and I don't go to our city library as much as I'd like, but that hasn't been an issue because our school has a Wonder of Reading Library equipped not only with books but with a librarian named Miss Ellen.  Miss Ellen is lovely and knowledgeable and even looks like a librarian -- I have often opened up the door to the library and found her serenely sitting at her desk, legs curled up under her on her chair, hair twisted into a bun with a pencil, and her reading glasses sliding down her nose, engrossed in a book while she waits for the next class to come. 

It was Ellen who tipped me off about the possibility of her position being cut district-wide.  Our parents, who are no strangers to activism at this point (I even went to Sacramento last June to see what the problem was... and let me tell you, I found no answers there), were up in arms, threatening a letter-writing campaign and trying to find ways to save our library.  A book sale?  A bake sale? How do we earn enough money to keep a valuable program -- one that is a necessity, not an "extra" by any means -- alive?

I am grateful that today's paper offers hope about saving our library aides, along with teachers and other staff and administration.  But there's always a sacrifice.  To save these jobs, we must give up five instructional days for our kids (teachers and staff will take furlough days).  So they will have five fewer days to learn and, hopefully, they will not have class sizes increase AGAIN next year and they will have more staff to support their educational efforts.

It is not enough, but it is a little shove in a good enough direction.  My question is: when will our kids get more than just "good enough"?  In this big city, for god's sake, don't they deserve to use the library at their school?  And, give it to me straight... even if we keep it now, will we have to fight for it again next year?

Photo by Ana Garza

This is an original post for LA Moms Blog.  Erin is the mother of three LAUSD students and a former PTA president.  When she's not shaking her head at the public school system, she writes short fiction and blogs at Poprocks and Goblins and Traveling Circus.

Lessons from Our Baby Videos

It was raining and cold today, my husband was out of town, and the kids and I were looking for something to do, so I broke out some baby videos.  They always ask to watch them but my husband and I don't love reliving those baby/toddler days. I'd like to think that it's because we like to live in the present, not the past, but truthfully it was a hard time for us, having three kids in the span of four years.

What I noticed today was that it may have also been hard for our kids.  My oldest daughter, just a year older than our second child, didn't get much of  a chance to be the favored "only" child.  Our second daughter, utterly in love with her older sister, fully enjoyed being the "baby"... until our third daughter arrived three years later.  And the "baby" has always had to fight for her share of the attention.

In one video, my third daughter is just over a year old and taking her first steps.  As my husband holds the camera, my parents and I clap excitedly as #3 toddles around, #1 chatters about her kindergarten class and #2 blocks the camera.  #2 has dressed up in her 4-year-old finery (princess dress, costume jewelry, sparkly plastic shoes, tiara) and is trying to steal the show from #3.  At one point, #2 actually pushes #3 down, I yell at #2, both start crying, I try to comfort one and then other... and all the while, #1 continues talking my husband's ear off, trying to be heard and understood.

My Kid? Talented?

I recently got a letter home from my daughter's school stating, "As (so and so's) Theater Teacher, I am writing to inform you that I believe your child has extraordinary talent in this area..."  It went on to say that she should be tested for a gifted and talented program, blah blah.

But I stopped in my tracks before I fully digested the rest of the information.

She said my kid has extraordinary talent?  In theater?

This didn't come out of left field - I mean, my kid is really bubbly and her teachers seem to like her.  But talented?  Though I adore her, I don't know if I would have seen her in that light before the letter came.

Lovin' La Dolce Vita

It's like an affair, this thing I have with Italy.  Like a lover, it flirts with me -- "Remember me, bella?  I'm still here..." it beckons, calling me back to the warmth of its bed, promising wine and peeled grapes.  It is messy and passionate, nodding to me carelessly as I arrive, so sure of itself that it no longer pursues me.  "Make yourself at home," Italy says.  "Stay a while.  I've got nothing but time."  Sometimes, it fights with me -- the disarming chaos of its streets and lack of line-forming can drive me to distraction -- but I cannot stay away for long.  It is like a true love, eternal and yearned-for.  And, like a true Casanova, Italy has no shortage of women vying for its embrace.

It's this very thing, the connection that women have with Italy, that inspired my friends and me to throw a mid-winter party celebrating la dolce vita, the sweet life, with Susan Van Allen, author of the recently published book 100 Places Every Woman Should Go in Italy.  Our thinking? If we can't take everyone to Italy, then perhaps we could bring Italy to them, at least for one afternoon.

Can My Kids' Old Shoes Help Haiti?

A few days ago, spurred on by a new burst of remodeling in our house, I decided to go through my kids' closets and weed out the old clothes.  I had found two pairs of Converse sneakers in fairly good shape which had been outgrown my youngest daughter.  Because she is the last of three girls, these shoes have no one to be "handed down" to, and I put them into my Goodwill pile.  They made it to the very bottom of a black trashbag in the corner of her closet, creating a mental note for me every time I entered: I must take those to Goodwill this week, I thought every time I opened the door.  In a few days, I'll get it there. The bag sat patiently, waiting.  Unlike most Goodwill piles, it was easygoing and didn't bother me much, just reminded me that it was there.

A disclosure: as I get older, I don't believe in "coincidences," finding that we are sometimes pulled to do great things on a small scale, little bit by little bit.  And so I wasn't too surprised this morning when I opened an email from my mother-in-law about Sports Chalet accepting donations of shoes to help Haiti's earthquake victims.