18 is Not a Magic Number — CMB Post

This was originally posted on the now defunct Chicago Moms Blog.

My twins turned 18 last November and are seniors in high school. Since last spring break, my daughter has been researching and visiting colleges, completing applications, filing for financial aid and pacing the floors with worry and excitement over where she'll be going to school in the fall.

My son has been going to high school. He gets up every morning, does his routine and goes to class. He hears and sees his sister whirling dervishly around the house, and spouting words like "deadlines", "recommendations" and "essays". It has had no affect on him. When asked what he plans to do after graduation, his eyes kind of glaze over and he launches into a brief nondenial denial that he has pieced together from things he's overheard.

"I'm not quite sure yet, but I'll probably take a few community college classes, do some volunteer work and get some kind of part time job. I'm just not ready to think beyond that right now."

It's a reasonable statement, I suppose, except that he doesn't really understand what any of that would actually entail, and he has done nothing to find out more information.

I have been a nervous wreck about him, but getting one kid ready for college has taken a lot of energy, so mostly I've been working with the girl, fretting about the boy, and feeling guilty all around. And hyperventilating my way through sleepless nights. And yelling gently hinting things like: "You are not living in my house for the rest of your life," and "Playing video games is not a viable career choice."

Then, one day, I listened - really listened - to my son's press conference statement. Especially the last sound bite. "I'm just not ready to think beyond that right now." And I realized that 18 is not a magic number; it's just a number, just the next birthday in what we hope will be a long line of birthdays to come. And that, in and of itself, is a miracle.

Born at 24 weeks and just 1.5 pounds, we didn't really think he would see any birthdays. Both twins were significantly delayed. Just to put things in perspective, he was born November 17 and came home from the hospital on March 27; he walked at 23 months; he talked at 4.5 years old. He weighed just 27 pounds when he started kindergarten, and 47 pounds when he started middle school.

Now, he's 18. He has finally caught up physically. He is intellectually very bright, but has a short-term memory deficit, a sequencing disorder (part of his learning disabilities) and some ADD issues. He will be graduating with his sister and his peers in June. He is among the kindest people I have ever met.

This spring break, we are visiting Beacon College, the only accredited college offering BA and AA degrees for students with learning disabilities, ADHD and gifted LD. My mom heard about the school and sent him the link. I suggested that we could visit, but he went to the college resource center at school and he made the appointment for us to tour the campus. Will this be the right place for him? Who knows. Will he be ready to go in the fall, or even the spring? I doubt it.

Why I ever thought that 18 would be a magic number, that he would suddenly start to reach milestones on someone else's schedule instead of his own, is only proof that I'm the one still suffering from developmental delays. My son is right on schedule. So, what comes next? I know what we're doing for spring break. I'm just not ready to think beyond that right now.

When Susan isn't worried about developmental delays, student loans and sending her kids to college, she can be found writing at Two Kinds of People and on her freelance writing Website, www.bearman.us. This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post.

Most Improved Mom — CMB Post

This post originally appeared on the now defunct Chicago Moms Blog.

It's an act of hubris to brag about our children, but as moms, we're all guilty. After all, those accomplishments we love to enumerate — the straight As, the home runs, the chess standings — they really belong to our children. It's hard, though, to keep our pride from bubbling out of our hearts and through our lips, even when we are doing it out of love and not a vicarious sense of competition.

In Hollywood, the award season kicks off with the Golden Globes in January, but every mom knows that kid awards are in May. In this two-week period alone, I will attend at least five ceremonies for my twins, who are high school juniors. (Please note: the following list does not constitute bragging, as I'm trying to make a point here.) My daughter was inducted into the National Honor Society, will be recognized as an outstanding student by three of her teachers (Anatomy, Applied Science and English), and will receive a few other honors, as well. Her twin brother received a "most improved" award in history.

I'm proud of all my children, but these awards for these two children are particularly meaningful because their futures were so precarious when they were born 16 weeks prematurely. At that time, we were hoping they would breathe on their own, so scholastic achievements weren't even on our radar. As I have proudly touted their most recent accomplishments to friends, grandparents and other relatives, it's been hard not to notice the imbalance of accolades. I hear myself saying "she did this" and "she got that" and … she, she, she. Oh, yeah, and he got an award, too — most improved.

A friend recently asked how my son felt about all this attention being bestowed upon his sister. Frankly, it's hard to say, because this is a boy who doesn't register accomplishments (his or anyone else's). This phenomenon is actually part of his set of learning disabilities and reflects an inability to connect planning and effort to achievement, as well as difficulty reading social cues.

This is the second time my son has been recognized as "most improved". The first was after an extraordinarily difficult transition to high school. When you ask him how he feels about these awards, he says "I'm happy," and then wryly notes that it's not hard to be most improved when you start at the bottom — an interesting observation from someone who is supposedly "socially delayed". When you tell him you are proud of him, he says "Thank you." When you ask how he feels about his sister's awards, he says "I'm happy for her."

As his history teacher presented my son with his award, she made special note of his kindness, his upbeat attitude and his positive contribution to the atmosphere of the class. I wish I could give her an award for recognizing these as accomplishments.

"Most improved" is a stunning accomplishment, especially when you improve upon most improved. My goal over the next year is to follow in my son's footsteps to become eligible for the Most Improved Mom Award — a mom who devotes as much of her braggadocio to her children's behavior and character as she does to the more coveted awards and public recognitions. I will strive to instill in my son the same sense of pride I feel for the person he is. It's clear I have a long way to go, but with a little more effort and self awareness, I may have a fighting chance.

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog Post. When Susan isn't boasting about her brilliant, beautiful, talented children, she can be found blogging at Two Kinds of People and The Animal Store Blog.

Tapping into the Network — CMB Post

This was originally posted on the now defunct Chicago Moms Blog.

"Call it a clan, call it a network, 

call it a tribe, call it a family.

Whatever you call it, whoever you are, 

you need one."

— Jane Howard, Families (1978)

Often, woman have been accused (and guilty) of being catty, backstabbing Mean Girls. I challenge you to find a girl or woman who hasn't suffered the slings and arrows of a group of nasty wenches. BC (before children), I steered clear of girl groups. I had a few close friends I met between junior high and college, and we are still friends today, but I never really joined much of anything. Blame my mother, she wasn't a joiner, either.

When my twins were born at 24 weeks, I was completely overwhelmed. At just a pound and a half, they spent more than five months in the hospital being watched over every minute of the day by literally hundreds of talented, caring professionals. At first, it was difficult to find my place. I couldn't hold them, I couldn't nurse them, I couldn't care for them. I felt pretty lost, and certainly did not feel like a mom, whatever that was supposed to feel like.

About a month or so after they were born, a neighbor came by — a women with three kids, including a set of year-old twins. She invited me to come with her to a Mothers of Multiples (MOMs) meeting. I gave her a bunch of excuses, ending with the fact that I wasn't really a mother to them yet. She looked at me for a minute and then said: "You're their mother. I'll pick you up at 7:15."

I will be forever grateful to that woman for reaching out to me and dragging me to my first MOMs meeting. It changed my life — as a mother and as a woman. For the first time, I was plugged in to the powerful network that is motherhood.

Our MOMs group met once a month in each others' homes and usually had a terrific speaker. To this day, I pull from the parenting advice those speakers offered. But, as valuable as the speakers were, it was the camaraderie of the women in that group that saved my life.

Many of the new moms I met at that time approached motherhood like a competition, bringing the full force of their expensive educations and high-level jobs to the table of motherhood. These women competed about everything: whose child spoke first, whose was potty trained first, what preschool they got into. It was overwhelming, not to mention ridiculous, and even if I had wanted to participate, my twins were not in the running. Boasts of "Well, they're both still breathing this week," got me nothing but pity at a time when I thought breathing was the greatest accomplishment in the world.

The women in my MOMs group were a whole different story. They were so grateful if they got to shower before five in the afternoon, that they didn't have time for one-up-womanship. When you are trying to nurse two babies at once or chasing two toddlers around the house or keeping up with ever-growing mountains of laundry, all bets are off. You learn pretty quickly that it's survival of the fittest and that you better hone your sense of humor. These moms just got it.

To be fair, most of the nastiness of competitive motherhood evaporated with the births of second children. Over the years, I have joined a number of other groups; some have provided temporary connections to get me through a certain phase of life, and some have provided life-long friendships. My network has continued to expand with book clubs, writing groups, PTAs and any number of support groups, including those for families of children with special needs, families with preemies, families with curly-blond-haired math geeks — OK, I made that last one up, but you get my point. Today, the Internet provides even more possibilities for tapping into the network — for finding and hooking up with people from all over the world who get it.

Along the way, I have met women who understand the challenges of infertility, who know better than to say things like: "Tom and I have decided we want a June baby." I have found women who know the difference between morning sickness and hyperemesis gravidarum (puking nonstop during pregnancy) — they get it. I have leaned on women who understand that even though I love my children more than I can ever say, today they are making me totally and completely crazy. I have had moms save my neck when I was stuck in traffic and couldn't make preschool pickup in time (or Hebrew school pick up, or chess club pick up, or … ).

I've saved my share of necks, too. It is in the Mom Code of Ethics that if you can do something for another mom, even a virtual stranger, then you do it. You pay it forward, not so that particular person pays you back, but because you know that you'll need help someday soon. It's like having a healthy savings account in the Bank of Mom.

Just last week, I spent some time on the phone with a mom who is beginning to have her son tested for learning disabilities. My special needs son is now 17, and we've been on this path for a long time. I was happy to share my experience, making another deposit into the Bank of Mom. Today, I reached out by email to another mom whose special needs son is further along the path than mine. I've never met this woman, but she is happy to share her experiences with me as I make my withdrawal from the Bank of Mom.

To all the women who have offered me love, support, a shoulder to cry on, a kick in the pants, or a girly martini, I say thanks for being there and thanks for getting it. To those of you just starting your journey, I strongly encourage you to tap into the network.

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post. When Susan isn't going to support group meetings or balancing her account at the Bank of Mom, she can be found blogging at Two Kinds of People and The Animal Store Blog.