An Adventure in Parenting

I want to thank my friend, Cece Doucette, for this post.

One day, Cece told me about the time Adventure Bear came home from preschool with her daughter, Zoe, to sleep over for a few days. One day, Zoe was playing with Mr. Bear in the leaf pile… and forgot… and Daddy mulched him!

I cannot resist sharing this story about the power of love and astounding creativity.

The Real Adventures of Adventure Bear!

December 5, 1998

Today Zoe came home from school with great excitement. She had a little canvas tote bag containing a small teddy bear and a journal. Adventure Bear had come to stay the weekend with us!

Zoe introduced Adventure Bear to her baby sister Julia in the car. Throughout the weekend he helped us with our holiday preparations. He helped put the stamps on our Christmas cards, came with us to pick out a tree, and even wrote a letter to Santa!
(Poor Zoe though, when she and Daddy put the letters in Santa's mailbox at the library, she stepped in dog poop for the first time! They came back into the truck and I asked if someone had bad gas. Neither of them did, so I said, "Someone stepped in dog poop!" Sure enough, it was on the bottom of Zoe's shoes. We took them off and threw them into the back of my truck. Zoe was so mortified she started to cry! But Daddy cleaned them off the next day and I put them through the washing machine. All was well!)

Back to Adventure Bear… Daddy was working out in the yard, and Julia and I went down for a nap. Zoe said she wanted to stay outside with Daddy. She and Adventure Bear played in the yard, and after a while I heard her come into her room for a nap too.
I woke up and got ready to go to the Ashland tree lighting ceremony. I told Daddy it was time to go. He said he'd lost track of time and wanted to mulch some leaves he'd put into a pile up front, before it got dark. He had waited until we woke from our naps so as not to disturb us.

Meanwhile, I went upstairs and woke up Zoe. She got ready too, then in a panic remembered she'd lost Adventure Bear in the pile of leaves. As she's telling me this, I'm hearing the mower mulching leaves out front! I slipped out to the porch, and there on the corner of the deck was part of Adventure Bear's head! The nose was hanging off, ragged stuffing was popping out and both ears were gone!

Daddy just looked at me and said the head flew out of the mower. Well, we had to get going, so I went back into the house. Zoe asked if I'd found Adventure Bear. I told her we needed to leave for the tree lighting ceremony and assured her that I'd find him later.

Meanwhile, Daddy and I were in a panic. Adventure Bear had been mulched! How do you explain that to a three-year-old, and all of her classmates? Not to mention the teachers… However, it looked like most of the pieces came apart at the seams, so perhaps there was some hope for recovery and repair.

At the tree lighting, Daddy confessed that Zoe had asked him to help her find Adventure Bear before her nap. He was caught up in what he was doing and didn't remember to help her look for him… a terrible way to learn a lesson in listening.
After we got Zoe to bed, I asked Daddy to walk me through the scene of the crime. With a flashlight, he showed me where the pile of leaves had been, where the head came flying out, and where he'd dumped several loads of mulched leaves in the backyard. We ran our hands through the mulch and Daddy found a big clump that had been the body. It was in rough shape.

Daddy had to put his tools away and clean up some stuff in the yard, so I continued to search with a flashlight. Fortunately, we were having Indian summer so the air was mild. After much sifting, I recovered one ear, then the other, and the little red ribbon that was around Adventure Bear's neck. The only thing still missing was one arm. Daddy went back out and looked again, three times through the mulch piles, but couldn't find it.

I took a picture of the damage for posterity, then spent the rest of the evening reconstructing Adventure Bear on the couch with a needle and thread. As the damage was pretty extensive, Daddy was afraid Adventure Bear would look like Frankenstein when I was done. First I reattached the nose, then both ears, and stitched up the back of his head. The head actually looked pretty good -- Daddy is lucky to have married a gal who can sew!

The body was another story. There were a number of rips that weren't on the seams. But one by one , I fixed the boo-boos. If we could only find the missing arm!
Daddy came downstairs with two other brown stuffed animals, wondering if we could do a transplant. The furs were different shades of brown, so I suggested we hold off until we look for Adventure Bear's arm in daylight.

Zoe asked for Adventure Bear in the morning and I told her we had to get ready for school. I promised to look for him that afternoon. I said he was playing a really good game of hide-and seek. She thought that sounded fun!

After I brought Zoe to school I grabbed the rake and sifted through the mulch again, to no avail. I finally gave up as Julia was in the truck and I didn't want to leave her alone, and I had to get to my six-week postpartum checkup. I brought Adventure Bear and his journal with me. There was a picture of Adventure Bear and Max in the journal, and I hoped that perhaps I could find an identical bear in a store somewhere. I stopped into 135 Discount and CVS but there were no like bears and none of the other stuffed animals had matching fur.

After I picked Zoe up from school we went to the library. She asked if I'd found Adventure Bear. I said yes, and left it at that. She asked for him again when we got home, and I distracted her. After I put her to bed, I heard her calling me. She wanted to sleep with Adventure Bear! We told her Adventure Bear needed to be cleaned. Then Daddy cuddled with her in bed and pretended to be Adventure Bear.
I needed one more day to see if the Fabric Place had a matching piece of fur from which I could whittle out a little arm. Well, the Fabric Place didn't have what we needed, nor did JoAnne Fabrics or A.C. More. But Toys R' Us had another little teddy with matching fur J.

With Julia in my arms, I did a fur graft from the new teddy bear's back to Adventure Bear's front. I patched in a new piece on his belly and created a right arm. Julia was getting impatient, but I managed to reattach the head to the body. Then I washed and ironed the red ribbon and stitched it back around his neck. By the time I picked Zoe up from school, the reconstructive surgery was complete! She was so happy to see Adventure Bear peer over the seat at her!

Zoe's always asking me to "tell a story from your mouth, Mommy" – as opposed to out of a book. So, that evening, as Daddy was coming in the house, I said, "I've got a story to tell you, Zoe…Once upon a time there was a little girl who brought home from school a little teddy bear and his journal…" I went on to relay the adventure, and her eyes were wide with amazement. As were her Daddy's when he saw Adventure Bear put back together!

The Dirty Dollar

In 1982, I was a freshman at Dartmouth College. I received some great letters from my mother, but one was so special, I still keep it in my wallet 28 years later and counting. The paper is torn along almost all of its three creases. It’s still quite legible, and it still has a one dollar bill tucked neatly inside. I call this my “Dirty Dollar.”

The letter was dated “Saturday,” and I know it was in May (you will see why soon enough).

She began:

Hi,

Thank you for the wonderful Mother’s Day cards – both very appropriate (thank you for considering me your friend!).

Even as a clueless ‘shmen in college, I remembered to send her a Mother’s Day card. And yes, I still consider my mother to be my friend.She continued:

Today, Dad was in the woods getting dirt to plant grass seed over patches of the front lawn, & as he’s walking past a pile of leaves at the beginning of the woods, he spotted the enclosed dirty dollar. He figures it’s yours because you always raked leaves for him.

Admittedly, I still get a bit teary-eyed at that part.

Here’s the final part:

So, how about that, a lucky dollar for you. If you want to, save it, dirt and all. We went shopping for Dad today – he bought three pair of slacks and three shirts! How about that?
How are things up there? Good, I hope. Everything is fine here. We’re having dinner with Sally and John Mack tonight.

Love you, Mommy

A few years after I graduated, I absentmindedly left my wallet somewhere. Sure, I was upset that I had lost my license, which is a pain to get, some money (not too much in there) and maybe a credit card. But what truly bothered me was that I had lost photos of family and friends, and, in particular, my dirty dollar.

Several months had passed, and I received a call from a gas station in Framingham saying that they found my wallet. I jumped in my car to retrieve my belongings. Sure enough, no cash, but everything else was intact, including the dirty dollar. That was a very happy day.

A piece of Dartmouth stationery and an old, dirty dollar bill – priceless.

Cheerio but be back soon

Abby has been living at Camp Tel Noar for the past seven weeks. We have seen her twice. Else, our primary means of communications has been through letters.

As a camper, you write a letter because it is required. You write big, sometimes with markers and fill a small page. As a parent in the 21st century, I type my letters (mainly because my handwriting is horrid), and add photos. I want it to be fun and something she looks forward to receiving. I include the basics of who’s doing what, but I have learned not to ask too many questions because they don’t get answered. Sometimes I send a check list, which she can respond to and send back. Instead of saying, “I miss you,” I might write something like, “I know you’re having a great time” or “I hope you’re trying new things.” Also, including photos of her cousins or her brother “in case she forgot what he looked like,” lets her know she can still have a little part of home while she’s away.

One recent letter from Abby was particularly well written and very funny. This is the unedited version:

Hey,

Today, we had a day trip to York Beach. There, they had an amusement park, a zoo a beach, and a boardwalk. It was in York Maine. The waves were huge. The water ice cold. I bought a chocolate covered banana and maple fudge all for $6. I had so much fun. I miss you. I hope your having a fun summer. Make it last.

Xoxo
Abby

As a camper years ago, the summer flew, and I was sad to leave. I didn’t want to leave my friends and a place on a beautiful lake where I was active nearly 24x7 doing what I loved… sports, sports and more sports. I sprinkled drama, boating and other activities of course, but I loved the community and camaraderie of camp.
Sure enough, I received a letter from Abby the other day stating, “I am so sad to leave camp.” It is comforting to know she loves camp and is having the time of her life. At the same time, she didn’t say, “I don’t want to come home,” which makes me feel good. She can love to be in two places.

Unlike my camper days, Abby isn’t able to call home (unless something is really wrong). On the other hand, years ago, there wasn’t a great Web site called Bunk1.com which the camp uses to post photos and newsletters, to keep the parents informed of the goings-on. It’s fun to scan through the photos and suddenly see her beautiful smiley self appear. Sometimes she is in her Shabbat finest; sometimes she is dressed up for some sort of performance or camp activity.

With all of this, Ari has been loving life as an only child. He attends the Ashland Recreation Department day camp and has been working very hard on his baseball skills. He’s been heavy into his bird watching, and we’re having a lot of fun with him.

So the question remains, do I miss Abby? Hmm. Let’s review the pros and cons of her being away:

Pros: The house stays neat. There is no arguing between children. It is easier to remember to pick up one child from camp. It’s easier to handle just one child, leaving time for fun things for the adults. It is nice to spend time with my youngest child. When he is at a friend’s house or grandparent’s house, the parents get time alone. It is great practice for her and us when she goes to college, provided she goes to college and lives on campus.

Cons: She’s not here to talk with, go shopping with, argue with, clean up after, tell to stop bickering with her brother, tell to read. I can’t pick up a phone to say hi when I’m at work. I can’t drive her to her friend’s house. I can’t watch her new dance moves, or hear her laughter and beautiful voice. I can’t help her make a decision, or be there if she’s sad, or celebrate a success.

There might be just as many pros as cons but the value of the cons outweighs the everyday challenges of life with two kids. And should a parent really evaluate this decision so logically? Admittedly, when Abby first left, it didn’t quite sink in. We saw her only 10 days later when she sang the National Anthem at the Boston Lobsters, and then on Visiting Day at the 3 ½-week mark. We were busy. And although I would think about her, particularly when I’d pass by her very neat room, I didn’t pine away.

But as the saying goes, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Or “You appreciate something when you don’t have it.” I could go on and on with clichés, but the bottom line is she’s my little girl, and I love her. I know I’m doing right by her to send her to camp, but I miss having her around. It’s as simple as that.

Next year, Abby will likely return to her beloved Tel Noar, and her younger brother might be joining her for the second half of the summer. Two kids away at the same time. I had better start preparing myself now. Actually, before that, I need to prepare my washer and dryer for the onslaught of camp clothes.

Growing Up

“…If growing up means
It would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree,
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up. Not me.”

We all know those words from “Peter Pan.” And as I look to becoming closer to the age of 50 with every passing day, I realize that I have never really grown up. Sure, I do grown-up things like work and manage a house, but I also love to play.

“…I don't want to wear a tie.
And a serious expression
In the middle of July.”

Who really wants to wear a serious expression when it’s a glorious 80-degree day?! I drop my son off at camp in the morning and am slightly jealous that he’ll be able to play and be outdoors for the next six hours while I sit at a computer. Yes, I had my day, but who says I still can’t have my fun?

I love to play catch with Ari before camp and take him to the ballpark in the afternoon, or go swimming. I have even been known to join a playdate if the boys need an extra for wiffle ball. On the weekends, we’ve been going bird watching at different places, such as Drumlin Farm , The Broadmoor and the Mt. Auburn Cemetary.

We also enjoy reading together, going to movies and playing games. Quite simply, I love spending time with him. Maybe I am adult enough to appreciate this.

That is not to say I don’t love spending time with my daughter, Abby. She is mature for her age and fun to talk with, but she has different tastes. Instead of playing sports or going bird watching, she would rather go shopping, or better yet, invite a friend to go shopping, even on a beautiful sunny day. One day this spring, when I really didn’t want to go shopping, I said to myself, “Hey, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” I have learned that I need to let Abby be Abby. It keeps the peace.

On this day in spring, I let Abby and her friend go to a few stores, while I bought some lunch for myself and hit a couple of stores on my own. Pretty soon, I received a call from her that they were hungry and would I meet them at Au Bon Pain. We met, and I showed them what I bought. They liked one item and nixed two, so they went with me to pick out other clothes. I ended up shopping with them and having a ton of fun.

There is a line between being a parent and being your children’s friend. But I have found you can blur that line, and it can give you credibility and respect. For the most part, when you want to do what they want to do, you’re validating their interests, and you’re allowing them some freedom.

You cannot spend every waking moment with your children. That isn’t healthy for you or them. They need to socialize with their peers, and so do you. But it is really important to spend time together. Sometimes they can do things you want to do, and other times you can make the plans. Balance it out.

The other day, we visited Abby at camp. She will be spending 3 ½ more weeks there. I know she’s having a grand time, and it’s the best thing for her, but I miss her. Next year, Ari would like to go to overnight camp for a half session. That means I won’t have any children at home for 3 ½ weeks. Holy cow. I might have to play with the kids down the street.

“…'Cause growing up is awfuller
Than all the awful things that ever were.
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up,
No sir,
Not I,
Not me,
So there!”

Will on-court coaching help or hurt?

I have been thinking about this topic for a while and… I believe on-court coaching should be allowed in professional tennis during the game changeovers. There. I said it.

There are many so-called purists who feel that it is totally inappropriate, such as this writer.

Then, I found this article from 2008, saying that on-court coaching will be allowed at all women's tournaments next season, apart from the four grand slams.

I cannot think of another sport which doesn’t allow coaching. Even golfers have a caddy to whom they can turn for a little advice. Doubles players (tennis) can help one another. Why is singles so special, so pure?

The event that triggered this thought was Serena Williams’ outburst in last year’s US Open. I think that if she had had a coach on court, he or she might have been able to step in for damage control.

Additionally, we all see players looking up at their coaches and families during a match. And many times the TV will pan in on the coach making some sort of motion. So, at least make it legitimate.

I do not expect that a coach will have in-depth conversations on the odd games when players switch sides. But the coach can give a pointer or two, and maybe offer a little strategy. The player will still be the one doing the work on the court.

A USA Today article in 2006 noted,” Fairness is another issue because many players can't afford to travel with coaches. Some coaches work with more than one player, creating potential conflicts of interest or at least awkward situations.” This point is well taken, But I think a tournament could supply a coach to any player who doesn’t have one. As far as a coach who works with more than one player, that can get tricky, but I think it’s doable for a coach to work with more than one player during a tournament.

The article in The Telegraph says that the fans tuned in will be able to listen to the coach’s comments. This could be very interesting and either trump the commentator’s analysis, which might be a good thing, or complement it. We might hear commentary on the commentary.

My good friend and teammate Lyn Calkins, who is an excellent singles and doubles player, remarked, “[Singles] is a very lonely game. That's one of the reasons it's a turn-off for a lot of kids, (i.e, my first-born, who prefers being on a team). Honestly, I think that's why I'm enjoying doubles so much these days.”

The bottom line is that tennis players must love to practice and love the competition. The pros must also encourage the fans to keep playing and learning. On-court coaching can level the playing field and keep fans actively engaged and growing with the sport.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Raising a Child

I was a shy child. My mother said that when I was a little girl, I didn’t look at adults and hid behind her when they approached. That was, until age 5, when my kindergarten report cards would state, “Very bright but a little too social…” What changed? I don’t exactly recall a specific moment, but I do recall t my parents practicing dialogues with me. For example, “When someone asks you, ‘How are you?’ You should then say, ‘Fine thank you, how are you?’” They taught me that exposing myself to different subjects gave me ammunition to speak with people intelligently.

When I became a parent, it was interesting to be the one responsible for teaching little people how to interact and socialize. I wanted to be sure my children would feel confident expressing their voice to others, in a respectful way. I soon realized I had it a little easier than my parents did. My daughter was born talking. And her confidence gene was oversized. The challenge was to keep all of that gregarious energy channeled in the right way. She too received reports from school saying, “Very bright, but needs to work on self-control…” On the one hand, I knew we had to work on that and help her understand when it’s time to socialize and when it’s time to be quiet and listen. On the other hand, there was a little part of me that said, “Yesss!” She has since improved upon this self control.

It took a little longer for my son to start talking. His sister used to talk for him. But when he did talk, I knew he too would be very social. He watched his family and learned. He had a very easy disposition and was also outgoing. I know that’s not taught, but it can be fostered. For example, when we went to a playground, he had no qualms about asking another parent to push him on the swings. And once again, Ari still comes home with “Progressing” in the self-control category on his report cards. This is still a work-in-progress.

One characteristic I think is critical to foster in a child is a sense of humor. Both of my parents know how to do a “schtick” – start with something random and keep going with it. I learned how to find the funny in something or myself to keep life in perspective. There was great comedy in television with such classics as “I Love Lucy” and “The Dick van Dyke Show.” When I was about 10, my father exposed me to the wonders of the late, great Henny Youngman. This led me to delivering stand-up monologues at Camp Matoaka by age 11. I could make other people laugh! To me, there isn’t a more potent means of interaction than humor in the area of social skills.
Fortunately, I married a guy with a good sense of humor. And this trait this caught on for both kids, which has complimented their personalities and helped them stay grounded as good people.

I realize it’s hard to teach someone how to be funny or how to find the humor in something else. I think you can do it by how you react to situations. Sarcasm, when used properly, can be funny. Exaggerating an action can be funny. Some claim that humor cannot or should not be explained. Author E.B. White once said, "Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”

My point: There are so many traits we want to instill in our children – tolerance, determination, forgiveness, resiliency. However, I believe that having a sense of humor is the foundation for all of these characteristics. Tthe benefits of humor and laughter are enormous both emotionally and mentally. It can boost the immune system, reduce stress, relax muscles, lower blood pressure, increase our tolerance for pain, and hasten the healing process. This makes growing up more fun and carries a person far into adulthood.

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old.

“Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold. “

We might learn that rhyme in nursery school, but it transcends our whole lives. This past weekend, Camp Matoaka in Oakland, Maine kicked off its 60th anniversary with a fabulous reunion. Huge thanks to Jason and Leslie Silberman, the camp directors, and Wendy Berliner, the assistant director, for spoiling us and helping us rekindle camp life even for a few days. I also want to send an even bigger thanks to the people who attended, without whom there would not have been a reunion… without whom there would not have been Camp Matoaka.

Granted, I know that everyone who attended camp didn’t love it. And I also realize that every moment of every day wasn’t all sunshiny bright. But we tend to forget the negative, or at least push it to the back burner, when there are so many good things to remember. I attended Matoaka from 1974 – 1983. Many things have stayed the same, and there are also new traditions, as I think should happen.

When we set foot onto the campus, we became Camp Matoaka girls again. I met campers who attended twenty years before I did and twenty years after I did. No matter how old or for how many years we attended, all of those years melded together. We were all the same. We all turned back time, and time stood still.

The campus is in tremendous shape thanks to the directors and staff, who have, over the years, continuously improved upon the facilities. But what puts the Magic in the “Matoaka Magic” is the people. On one level, it felt like we had never left. We played tennis, went sailing and horseback riding, swam, water skied, and challenged ourselves on the ropes course. We slept in the bunks and hung our bathing suits on the line outside. We talked about stuff… girl stuff. It was as if nothing had changed.

On another level, some of us hadn’t seen friends for 20-30 years, and we delved into what was happening in each other’s lives. Although we sat in the same space where we existed as campers, we were talking about spouses and children and adult issues. Although we were not campers anymore, for just a couple of days, we could be campers again.

Just like old times, as soon as our bottoms hit the benches at dinner, the singing started. Back in the day, we used to sing so much and so loudly, we’d get hoarse. I will admit, I got choked up when the songs and cheers began. My mind raced back to the 1970s, and I was a camper again. I saw Uncle Joe and Aunt Midge (Nathanson, the founders and first owners of the camp), I saw the room as it was. I heard the songs as they had been sung. When I pulled myself together, I started to sing and realized the words easily flowed out of my mouth.




Camp was a time to learn about community, about ourselves and about sharing. We used our bodies and our minds. We learned about being girls. Speaking for myself, I learned that I could be away from my parents for an extended period of time and be more than okay. I took risks. I tried new things. I developed a style and a being. I formed everlasting friendships and memories. Without a doubt, I would not be the same person I am today had I not attended Camp Matoaka.

Now, I am in my reality at home with my family, remembering the weekend through pictures and conversations. This feeling will linger for a while and will become part of the box of camp memories. Thanks to the phone, email, snail mail and Facebook, we are able to stay in touch and keep the Matoaka Magic alive.


As Michael Nathanson, Uncle Joe and Aunt Midge’s eldest son and second director of Camp Matoaka said, “Camp Matoaka provided the place, the Nathansons provided the opportunity. But it was always you girls who provided the abundance of SP-IR-IT, and for that we will always love you all!"

"Make new friends, but keep the old..." To me, they’re both gold.