Posts tagged kids

TEACHER CONFERENCE SCARE!!

October 30, 2012 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Home schooling my son was no easy feat! We had to suffer through the uninformed comments of those who were completely ignorant of how it all works.We had to tough out assignments that were often more challenging than the ones assigned to his grade in the public school system. We had to work around our own schedules, and I had to be the principal, the teacher, the volunteer parent, the coach, the lunch lady and the cheer leader.

When the time came to put my son back into the public school system, I wondered…would everything I taught him pay off? Would he shine academically as I hoped for? Would he know how to research things on his own? Would he enjoy learning?

We called a teacher conference to speak with his 6th grade teachers to hear the verdict on his behavior, his level of understanding, and his accomplishments, if any, for the first quarter .

Nervously, my pen clicked away beneath the table distracting even me as I spoke. After all, the reason I home schooled him in the beginning was due to his issue with classroom settings. I knew they would speak about his outburst, and his impulse actions. I knew they would mention his overly friendly personality and his excessive talking. They would have to speak about his silliness and his inability to stand still. They would probably ask me if I knew of a great doctor that could help him with his adhd, and they’d surely suggest that I work harder to help Tyler understand that he ought to be a team player and that he was no longer a single student in a home.

My clicking pen slowed down as the math teacher began…

” Your son is very friendly and incredibly respectful”

the language Art’s teacher added…”He’s definitely one of the top five in our class!”

The social Studies announced, “And he’s very wise about choosing the smart and kind students. He stays clear of the trouble makers.He look for friends with goals like his.”

“Your son is brilliant and he comes up with difficult questions that even challenge me” His Language arts teacher remarked.

“You can tell that he’s a hands on learner. He’s going to do awesome in the cow’s eye dissection!” His Science teacher exclaimed.

“Your son has come a long way from his first week of school. He’s adapting just fine”

“And Mrs. Jones….Your son made the Honor Roll.”

My heart exploded into dancing pieces! Had I heard them correctly!??!

Yes, Indeed I had. My son sat there with a beaming glow that I had never witnessed before. Proud parent moments like this remind me…

It’s okay to get up early to make sure he has a hot breakfast. It’s okay to hug him and kiss his cheek before he rushes out the door. It’s okay to stay up late to make sure he finished each and every assignment. it’s okay to critique his work and challenge him to write better, dig deeper, and search harder! It’s okay to make him read above his grade level. It’s okay to say “look it up”. It’s okay to say…this is not your best work and I’ll wait with you as you re-do this assignment. It’s okay to tuck a big old boy in the bed after prayer time, and it’s okay to tell him that his day will be better tomorrow.

It may seem tough, but it’s love! My job as a parent is not to leave him to figure it all out alone, instead, my job is to be that life coach that’s there most of the journey. I’m not his boss, I’m proudly serving my son to give him stability, confidence, dreams, and the means to reach them. Now he sees what he can accomplish. So proud of the boy I used to worry about day in and day out. Skinny jeans and spike bracelets didn’t stop his learning (although he did have to give that up) PROUD MOMMAS UNITE! and PUSH OUR KIDS TO BE THE BEST THEY CAN BE…not better than others, but the better version of themselves.          http://www.shenettejones.com

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JUST 7 YEARS LEFT

August 20, 2012 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The birthday signs welcomed everyone from the street and little boys came racing down the road at exactly five til six. They must have been waiting all day for the celebration to begin. Gifts in hand, three young gentleman respectfully greeted me and raced passed me to find my birthday boy. The trampoline, now worn and ragged still seemed to hold to it’s commitment as six boys tackled one each other in the center of it. The DJ, my husband, made sure their favorite songs were blasting through the airwaves of the backyard, and my friends and I prepared activities and crafts for everyone. 8 pizza boxes sat on the kitchen counter teasing us all with the aroma. Everyone – All smiles!

My son was 11. The days of fire engine trucks and Dollar Tree toys have passed me. I remember the days of Chuck E. Cheese birthdays. I remember when a stop at the neighborhood park would actually be the highlight of the day as long as he could show me how far he could jump from the mid air swing.
I watched my son bounce around and wrestle his friends on the trampoline. the sound of the pounding speakers and the grunts of testosterone filled boys drowned away under the sound of my own private thoughts.
ONLY 7 YEARS LEFT. In just three years I’ll be sending him to high school. IN just five years he’ll request the keys to his father’s car. In just six years we’ll watch him nervously attempt his SAT, and finally in just 7 years His father and I will release him to this world. I watched my son show off his forward flips from the deck railing onto the trampoline, a dangerous silly thing I should have never allowed. I watched his friends hi-five him with their approval of his cool tricks. My thoughts still racing; I realized that at this tender age of 11, life was great for him. He would end his night with a smile after opening his many gifts. He would wake up the next day to roam the neighborhood with a band of friends who all sincerely respect him and accept him for who he is goofiness, hyperness and all. He doesn’t have to worry about a neighborhood bully. He won’t have to walk into a house where he’s hungry at night. He doesn’t have to close his door tightly to shut out the sound of fighting parents. He doesn’t struggle with his grades, and he belongs to a pretty awesome church that’s down to earth with practical teaching. Life is good for him. I closed my eyes and prayed for a pause in his life. Easy days don’t last forever…I know that tough days are ahead. when I opened my eyes, I saw him jumping higher than usual. His smile was bright and without a care in the world. I wanted to capture the moment and keep it tightly sealed within a jar perhaps. Children are only ours for a moment. We are their guides, their leaders, their encouragers,their instructors, and from time to time, their friends, but we are not their EVERYTHING! They build friendships and those friends will know them even more then we do. They discover purpose and life in avenues that we never planned. They look back sparingly to say thank you, and then their off to create life and even their own families. In just seven years, he’ll go off to find his own way. I watched him play as I prayed within, Dear lord, help me to help him enjoy his last seven years in my home. help me to be a good care taker over this precious life. help me to instill love and not bitterness. Help me to teach him forgiveness. Help me to show him compassion so that he will do the same. Let me cherish these last seven years. The sound of the music became clear again and the horseplay on the trampoline had finally reached it’s peak of danger so I called them down. I pulled my son to the side in hopes to give him a hug, but to my surprise, he embraced me first. “This is the best birthday mom. I love you.” he kissed my cheek and with a love so deep and unexplainable, I kissed him in return. ” I love you too Sweetheart. Go have fun.” The police finally gave us the slow drive -by warning around 9pm to remind us that our speakers were too loud. I think that after seeing the little children smiling and dancing inside around cake and ice cream, even he had to decide to just let them be. If we all could, we would go back to the innocent days of our childhood.  Man would I do some things differently. Kiss & thank mom more for start!

See ya next Monday on the FroggyBloggy or visit my website @ http://www.shenettejones.com to find out more about my book release in the fall! Happy Monday!

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“I’m not afraid of the cops, Mom!”

August 6, 2012 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , , , , ,

     I’ll never quite understand where my 4 year old got his vicious mean streak from. I have my guesses, but that’s beside the point. Four years of age  is simply too young to think that you’re big enough bold enough, and strong enough to take on the police. Unfortunately for me,  I happen to be the mother of the ninja. In case you were not aware, Mother of a ninja is going to be my new social club. I think I’ll give it a cool acronym. (M.O.A.N.)   When you’re the mother of a ninja you have to prepare yourself for a break out war at any given moment.  Wal-Mart is definitely one of his battle fields. I could be strolling through the active wear when suddenly he’ll dart from the yoga pants with one arm outstretched to the ceiling and his other arm tucked tightly behind his back to conceal his weapon. Giving little silver haired ladies somewhat of a near death experience with his surprising jolt and evil scowl, My four year old would announce that he is a ninja.

       I’ve gotten myself to the point where I’m now very accepting of his ninja culture. I smile and continue to walk through the malls even when he jumps off 0f the resting benches into the crowds of teeny boppers.  I’ve gotten comfortable with him darting in front of  old men at Chic-Fila  to make slicing sounds with imaginary nun chucks.

    HOWEVER, I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THE CAR!

             It all began once when taking him to his sweet little church preschool in our nice little town. My music was on blast that morning and My son and I were singing praises to God to our rocked out version of  Our God is Greater. Ignoring the school zone, I zipped right through and there Mr. Trooper was, shortly after, flashing those terrible, never pretty, blue lights behind me. James saw my face turn downward and I slumped in my seat. I mumbled and eventually by the time the police walked away from my door with a friendly smile but a three hundred dollar ticket,  I burst into tears.

       “Don’t worry mom, I can get that police man. I can beat him up!” James proclaimed with a very serious determination in his little eyes. I gave no thought to his words. I was too busy crying.

Months and months have passed, so last week when the police pulled behind me for no reason but to go in my direction and intimidate the *&%# out of me, I straitened up and gave my warning to the boys.

“Is everyone in their seats with their seat belts on?” I asked.

My oldest son called from the back seat, “no mom, you know who is out of his seat again!”

I panicked. “Young Man…the police are right behind me and you better not move. It’s too late for you to hop in your seat now because he’s gonna see you moving all around so stay seated!” I instructed firmly as I headed toward a plaza to stop and buckle him back in.  Mistakenly, I should have not informed him of the police’s whereabouts. His eyes darkened as they exposed his  sinister desire for sweet revenge.

He jumped from the back seat to face directly out of the rear window. he looked the cop square on as his little fingers transformed into imaginary guns.

           “Don’t worry mom! Don’t cry this time! I’m not afraid of the cops.” His missile  sound effects were piercing. “I will get those mean cops and beat them up. I can fight them!” He continued as he aimed out of the window.

    Surely I was going to die! I begged God for Mercy as I screamed at the top of my lungs. “SIT YO BUTT DOWN NOW!”

My oldest son was outraged. He couldn’t  believe the gall of my four year old, and in some way I think he was impressed.  He finally came to my assistance, snatching the little ninja down from the window. It was a relief to see the policeman pass us by.

 My nerves were frazzled. Am I raising a little Gangster? Perhaps a shoot out guy? and It was even more frustrating to see that he never quite understood why he was in trouble. He was only defending his mother’s honor.

This too shall pass, I prayed later on in my quiet time. He’s just a boy with an awesome imagination and a desire to avenge his mother at any cost. (how psychotically flattering.) That’s my little ninja! I now know that when ever trouble comes to call on Jesus and to call on James.

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WAR WITH SKINNY JEANS!!!

July 13, 2012 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

     Never mind the fact that it’s five something in the morning. Never mind that my ten year old is going to school on a hot summer day thanks to the Wake County Public school Gods that seem to hover over the lands. Never Mind the toys that I tripped over trying to wake him up! Let’s skip past those events/thoughts/moments. I want to get to the nitty gritty. Wiping the crud out of my own eyes, I managed to create a voice saying “wake up sweetie, time for school.” Holding my breath, I waited to see if this will be the first of 100 calls for him to rise from his deep sleeping pooty slumber. To my surprise, however, the covers tossed toward the floor covering a pile of WWE champion action figures. I knew the time had come. Battle time. I was in the thick of the war zone and I didn’t know what would happen next. I had to be on guard. I could smell a stench already that continued to easily distract me from the task, but I remained focused. “Tyler, um, do you know what you’re wearing?” I didn’t want to ask but there were no signs of anything already out. I guess it’s because EVERYTHING WAS ALREADY OUT! out of the drawers, off the hangers, out of the hampers. GOD, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENS IN HERE! I thought. I refocused my eyes on my son to await his response. “No” he muttered. I caught sight of the bright and possibly even clean Holister shirt on the bed. Well that seemed to be a popular shirt these days so I should not go wrong with this suggestion. “Ok, then how about this shirt here and uh….” I headed to the closet. I wanted to reach for a walkie talkie to radio my husband in. I needed back up. I was going in to the terror dome. The closet! Grimacing at the sight of my 4 year old’s underwear that apparently didn’t make the dirty clothes basket, I sojourned onward. AHA!  The jeans were neatly hanging. I rejoiced inside. It was a small victory, but It was MY VICTORY. Handing him my pick of the many jeans, I waited for a great “thanks mom.” Since my back up hadn’t arrived yet, it was imperative that things went smoothly.

                  Before I could read his facial expressions I heard the sound that every black mother has been taught in a secret class somewhere perhaps in our motherland of Africa how to listen out for. It was the sound of the lips smacking! I’ve heard it called several things. popping lips, snitching teeth, sucking teeth, come on…practice it, because you know the sound I’m talking about. “Shenette stay cool.” I whispered aloud which already gave me the appearance of looking crazy. (talking out loud to myself right in front of him) Finally seeing his face, he rolled his eyes, took the pants from me and began putting them on. Back up!!! I need Back UP!!! war has begun! I repeat war has begun! Tyler mumbled as his leg slid in the pants. “mom, I hate these jeans, I don’t wanna wear them.”

“Just try on the darn jeans Tyler!” I heard my voice growing from creaky to crazy.

Once the jeans were on I asked him to follow me to the bathroom where he could see how nice he looked. perhaps I was winning because he followed without complaint, but as soon as he saw him self, TROUBLE!

“Why can’t I just wear the ones on the floor?”

“Which ones on the floor? It’s a lot of clothes on the floor?”

“the black skinny jeans!”

“You mean the ones you had on already like yesterday and the day before that! You have like ten pair of jeans and you wanna keep wearing those skinny jeans which by the way do not look good on you!”

“I don’t like these ma!!!” He yelled.

I stormed into the my safe haven, the bedroom. tattle telling like a child, I reported to my husband, the sergeant. ” Please help! He wants to wear those little funky tight jeans again!” I screeched.

Calm as always, the sergeant calls the young soldier into the room. After hearing our sides, my husband was even a bit irritated. His long insane day was waiting for him at work and we were not doing a great job of helping it start calmly. he sent Tyler to the shower I had time to think and diffuse. I remembered the day my mom made me wear jeans I hated. I was furious. so giving in against my own strong strong strong strong will, I brought him another CLEAN pair of jeans. “What about these too tight size 10 although you’re size 14 jeans, they might look good!” I couldn’t resist the sarcasm. my son peeped from around the shower curtain and smiled. All was right with the world.

but not with me because here I am blogging about it!!!!! DARN KIDS! why did he have to fight me on the jeans? my pick was nice. They were trendy looking, already ironed, clean and they looked awesome. What did I miss? uuggh! the war on jeans in not over friends, it is not over!

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