Tuesday, October 7, 2014 | By: Jill

Dej√° Pikachu

A decade ago when I was teaching in NYC, Pokemon cards were all the rage with the elementary crowd. So intense were the conversations about evolutions, strengths and rarity of these little trading cards,  that we had many rules surrounding Pokemon.

1) You do not talk about Pokemon.
2) You do not talk about Pokemon in the classroom.
3) You do not talk about Pokemon on the carpet.
4)You do not write about Pokemon in writing.
5) If I see Pokemon cards in school I keep them.

They might not sound quite as harsh as Tyler Durden's rules, but they were just as strictly carried out.

Damn, I hated those cards.


Fast forward to last week. 

My kids became obsessed with Pokemon.  They used all of their allowance money to buy cards. They have ben discussing their team names and gearing up for the world championships (your surprise that this exists is warranted.) I had to firmly dissuade them from spending all of their allowance on one, 'very rare EX card'. For $25. For one card. No, thank you.  

When they got the cards, I firmly said, "No. You may not take them to school. No way."

They persisted. I wavered and asked a little bit more about what they wanted.  
"Lots of kids bring them." 
"The teacher said we could as long as we keep them in our backpacks or desks." 
"We only play on the playground and on the bus."
"We don't take them out during the day."

I caved. Because there is a point where your kids are excluded because of things like this,  and I am trying to walk to line. "Fine. You can take them. I am opposed to this though, because you might lose them, someone might take them, or the teacher might take them away if you are not using them responsibly. So you have been warned. They are your responsibility."

I couldn't believe I was reliving my Pokemon rules.


Fast forward to yesterday, after school. 


He just kept going and going. After a few minutes though, I could tell he was really agitated. He started yelling when I asked him questions about a new homework assignment. Then, as he and Jacob were leaving for a neighbor's house, Asher said he did NOT want to take his beloved Pokemon cards and he screamed at Jacob. I pulled him aside and asked if he was OK, but he brushed me off and took off down the street.

When the boys returned to our house with their friend, all seemed normal. But after about 30 minutes, Asher insisted that he was done playing and his friend had to go home.  He started ranting and crying and got a book while Jacob and the neighbor played Pokemon upstairs.

After bedtime Dan and I were settling in to watch Parenthood (have you seen the latest episode? Double knife stab to the heart. Topics covered: Open heart surgery and a heavy dose of poking fun at gluten sensitivity. Not cool, Parenthood. Not cool.) 

I digress.

We were starting to watch Parenthood when Asher made his semi-regular appearance at the bottom of the stairs. We both let out heavy sigh, as this routine usually goes something like:

"I can't sleep and I've tried everything."

"Get some water, and go back to bed."

"That doesn't work."

"Give us a kiss and hug and go back to bed. Please."

"But can I read for longer?"

"No. Go back to bed."

"Just five minutes?"

"Good night!"

But tonight he said, "There is something that I need to talk to you about." And then tears welled up in his eyes. "Remember when you asked if everything was OK before? Well, I didn't want to tell you but I was goofing around in line and I lost my Pokemon cards at school." Commence solid crying.

Insert giant paradigm shift right here.

You see, this is wonderful. This is amazing. He had a problem. He tried to handle it, and when he couldn't he came to tell us, even though it meant we might be mad. THIS is the parenting win!!


But I didn't say that! I said something like, "We are so glad to came to talk to us. We are always here to help you if you have a problem. Let's try to fix it together..." etc. etc.

And that, my friends, is why I went to school at 7 A.M. this morning to look for the lost Pokemon cards. Because to an 8 year old, they are his world right now, and he took a risk coming to us. We might have given him a great big I TOLD YOU SO! And sent him back to bed. But with loving kindness, we heard him and helped him, and as I said before, that is the parenting win.

He went to bed relieved, but still sad. I think that's just fine. We heard. We supported. We were there to share. We did not fix immediately.


This morning, after a sweep of the school and a peek at the lost and found, the cards are still missing. And here is where the stellar parenting must continue.  I still effing hate those damn cards and think they do not belong in school. But now I think it is the time for him to learn the good lesson with us on his side.

I will not buy him new cards.  I will allow him to make his own decisions about using his money to replace them or not. (He will. I'd bet you a $25 Squirtle). I will also let him decide how to not have this happen in the future.

I keep telling myself that this is actually WONDERFUL! So glad it happened with $12 worth of trading cards, and not an iPod, or laptop, or a teen pregnancy, or some other terrible 15 year old secret. Telling us his worst problem now and getting help is more important than my opinion about Pokemon.  And keeping my opinions to myself during all of this will be just as challenging as a 3 A.M. feeding. Bigger kids. Bigger problems. Bigger lessons. Bigger real life payoff.
Monday, September 29, 2014 | By: Jill



New friends.


Self -Assured.



Tuesday, September 16, 2014 | By: Jill

Satisfying and Ordinary

Make eggs.
Pack backpacks.
Do dishes.
Return emails.
Pay bills .
Clean bathroom.
Schedule plumber and dog grooming.
Return pants for Jacob, buy another pair.
Go to Target.
Put away groceries.
Eat random leftovers for lunch.
Volunteer at school.
Meet bus.
Unpack lunchboxes and backpacks.
Take apart vaccuum cleaner.
Start meatloaf recipe.
Pack lunches.
Supervise piano and homework.
Finish dinner.
Dog walk.
Supervise kids showers.
Supervise teeth.
Read stories to kids.
Read my book.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014 | By: Jill

How to Make a Friend; Two Strategies

"Mom, I made a friend today!"

"You did? Tell me about it."

"Well, I bet you didn't know it was this easy, I just walked over to Andreas and said, 'Will you be my friend?' And then he said, 'Yes.' "


"Jason is my best friend. "

"Oh yeah? How did you decide that?"

"Well, he looked at me and did this (see below). Then we were best friends."

Monday, September 8, 2014 | By: Jill


"Mommy, I know the first person on the planet had to be a woman."


"Because there would be no baby if it was a man."


Today I was waiting for the boys to get off of the school bus, and I was searching my dusty old blog looking for this post to share with a friend when I stumbled into the past.  I re-read a few blog posts from when Jacob was 1 and Asher was 4 and I a Diapers-Naps-Thomas the Train-Cheerios Mom.

Now Jacob is 5, and Asher is 8, and it feels like a lifetime has gone by. And I'm still their mom, but I'm more of a Minecraft-Quit the Fart Noises-Library-Lego Mom.

I'm also 39 today. Which is weird, because I remember when my mom was 39. And it feels like she has always been that age, but now I am that age, and that means she must be more than that and have other things in her life.   And so she has gone from Lunchpacking-Cheerleader-Soccer Mom to the mother of a Bike Riding-Origami Yoda-Little League Mom.

And I met a friend who is a mom who just put her baby into preschool for the first time. She is the kind of mom who is experiencing freedom for the first time.  I remember that. She's going from Sippy Cups-Choking Hazard Mom to Maybe Squeeze in a Yoga Class-Go to Target Alone Mom.

I was also thinking of what I thought I would be doing at 39 and what I am doing at 39. It's not what I thought. Some things are better. Lots are better. Like the parts of my life that happen with ease. The things I am grateful for, like a home and choices and the freedoms that I have every day. And smaller things like health and coffee and finally sharing good stories with my kids. The other parts aren't WORSE, they are just not what I thought, or HOW I thought it would go.

But that isn't bad.

There is this point where you think about how you were consumed by doing everything for the small people in your life. How your simple task of showering revolved around pooping and napping and eating. How it morphs into showering while they watch a show, and then while they are at preschool, and then whenever you want.  And now that they aren't physically with me all day, I have only myself to consider. I can slowly relieve myself some of those duties, and look at myself not just as the Taco-Tuesday-Laundry-Piano-Flashcard Mom, but the rest of the person.

But here's the thing.  I don't know that person. Not all of her. Not very well. I know that person at 29 and what her hopes and dreams were then. But I don't know her at 39. So I'm going to find her.

I think starting with the things I am sure of, the things I likem and that I can embrace is the obvious beginning.

So right now I'll go with Taco Tuesday-Reader-Writer-Volunteer-Yogi Mom.

I'll work from there.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014 | By: Jill

Asher Takes on Moral Monday

Where to start...?

Photo From Winston Salem News

This kid.  He has some ideas. Big ones. One is for a human powered hover scooter. One is for a laser hat. And one is for his school.

The hat and scooter he came up with on his own, I was not involved.

His ideas about schools? Those were his too, but his selective astute listening skills are what sparked this amazing opportunity.

Dan and I have been doing a lot of work advocating for public schools because our great state of North Carolina has been having some problems in that area. I have been working closely with many advocacy groups to ask for funding of our schools.

Asher has been listening.

One day at dinner he started talking about it. My jaw dropped at the way he processed it. I could watch it in slow motion.  "You mean they think....? But why wouldn't....? But how and I going to learn how to ....? Why can't they just...?"  As he talked I grabbed a piece of paper to write down his words.

A few days later, Dan and I were composing our letters to the legislators. I reminded Asher about his great ideas. If I would type it, he wanted to write his letter. That's the trouble with your voice at 8 years old, right? Your thoughts are hindered by the speed of your fingers.  So I typed. He dictated. I asked a question or two so he could clarify a point here and there but there are none of my words in his letter. None.

We sent it to Raleigh. Dan posted it to the FB page of one of the websites. Someone noticed. A lot of people noticed. By 10 PM, someone asked if he wanted to speak at Moral Monday. At breakfast, I asked Asher if he wanted to give a speech. He didn't hesitate, "Would it be like talking on front of the schools? OK."  By noon, he was on the agenda. He got home from school and said, "So? Did they have time for me to do it? Do I get to?"

As we waited for his turn and looked out on the crowd, he didn't really waver. (He did run a few laps and dump some water on his head, but doesn't Phil Berger before he talks to people?)

But when it was his turn, he told me I could stand to the side.

I'm proud. Of his command of the stage. Of not getting nervous when he fumbled. Of his message. Of his independence. And of what is going on in his head.

On the way home, he told me he'd like to get in touch with Google. He thinks they have use for his hovercraft, since they are making driverless cars.

I think he might be right.

For news links:


- scroll through to pic 7