Life lessons through pigs?  Today’s post just goes to show that education happens everywhere-especially when you’re a parent.  I’ve often wondered why someone hasn’t written a parenting handbook-if there was such a thing, I think my guest blogger today would have a perfect chapter!  Read on for parenting tips from Kathy Radigan.  And be sure to check out her blog My Dishwasher’s Possessed for more!

I was thrilled when Jennifer asked me to guest post on her wonderful site. I was really excited to get a chance to re-post a piece I wrote last year when I was just starting my blog on Blogspot. This piece originally ran last February and is one of my personal favorites. This argument remains one of the worst my son and I ever had, but since he turns 13 in two weeks, I’m sure it will not be our last. Jennifer, thank you so much for letting me share this piece with your readers.

My father taught me one of the best parenting lessons I ever learned, and I was only five at the time.

It was a threat that was made in a way that we knew they weren’t serious, but just in case they were, we better do what we were told.

I can’t remember what made me buck the system one fateful day after my father gave me his usual warning. But this time I decided to show him just how smart I was.

“That’s fine daddy. Send me to live with the pigs.”

My poor father didn’t know what to do.  This clearly was never a result my parents thought they would encounter. But once he made the threat, he had to follow through.

He made a big show of getting ready to take me to my new home. He got his coat… and his hat….and his keys. He hoped this would put an end to this and that I would realize that the inmates were not running the asylum.

I wasn’t giving in.

I was having a grand time insisting that I was ready to go to my new home. I confidently said goodbye to my sisters and mother. Not knowing what to do, my dad took me to the car. I kept waving and laughing playing the game I knew I was going to win.

We got into the car and I was still waving goodbye and feeling pretty darn good about myself.
Then my dad pulled out of the driveway… and onto the street.

I am still 99.9% sure he wasn’t going to let me live with the pigs, but I knew at that point that someone was going to have to end this. And that someone, was going to have to be me.

My father stood his ground that day and without yelling or laying a hand on me he let me know who was in charge. And it wasn’t me.

I think of this story often whenever I’m tempted to ground my soon-to-be, 13-year-old until he turns 30. He is an amazing child and I dearly adore him. As I did with my own parents, he knows he is loved and is very confident in that fact.

But he is starting to spread his wings and is determined to test the limits.

“I didn’t go to chorus rehearsal today, I’m going to quit.”

That was the opening salvo of one of our biggest battles last year.
I did my usual spiel of the need to keep commitments and deal with the consequences of our actions. In this case, it meant missing homework club. Unlike chorus, homework club requires no commitment and is just a fun place to do your homework and hang out with friends.

As the battle was heating up, I saw a letter from the school’s principal. Thinking that this form letter congratulating him on his hard work at the concert they just had was a sign from above, I laid the letter down to where he was doing his homework.

Suffice it to say, this did not bring the epiphany I was hoping for.

Quite the opposite. I can honestly say the Bill Cosby quote, “I brought you into this world I can take you out of it,” came to mind. Especially when he started waving the letter in my face while threatening to tear it up.

I surprised myself, as well as my son, when I calmly took the letter from his hand and tore it up.

I’m not sure if I was right, but his behavior was clearly out of bounds and I felt the need to let him know who was in charge.

He continued to protest but listened to me and went to his room. When the dust settled, he came out and apologized. He was also looking for an apology from me. I didn’t give him one. I told him that I loved him enough not to worry about his approval. I was his parent, not his friend.

The next day the pieces of the letter were still on the table. He looked at them and said, “I guess the letter meant more to me than I thought. I am sorry.”

I learned this at five when I almost joined a family of pigs.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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SMACK!  My head crashes into the bar, back and forth, back and forth.  Up and down, side to side.  I am the ball in the pinball machine taking one hit after the next.  No time to take in the scenery from the top.  Eyes pressed shut, arms braced, my mind drifts back to the Lamaze exercises I learned in birthing class so long ago. Go to your happy place.  This too shall pass.  Only the strong survive.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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In the mountains of Nicaragua

Just over a year ago I traveled with my two children to Nicaragua.  I learned HUGE lessons from this trip-some immediate, some upon reflection.  So when I was asked to be a guest writer about ’embracing abundance’ on G.G. Vandagriff’s blog, this experience came to mind.  Here’s a sample:

” I get really tired of excuses.  In fact, in my classroom when my 8th and 9th graders try to excuse their behavior, lack of homework, or unpreparedness I tell them kindly yet firmly, “Excuses are useless.”  Initially a quizzical look forms on their face, and then they start to stammer…which is exactly when I interject my reasoning.  Everyone has issues.  Everyone is busy.  Everyone can blame someone, something, or some “whatever” for anything.  But what’s the point?  It’s not about the excuse.  It’s about being responsible, respectful, honest and courageous enough to create the kind of success we want in life.  Some get the idea more quickly than others.  I just hope that before they end their year with me, they’ve at least thought about it…”

To read more, please click over to G.G’s blog-you’ll not only get to read the rest of my Nicaraguan life lesson, but you’ll find a blog and website full of intriguing writing.  G.G.’s bio says, “My new book “The Only Way to Paradise” is the result of intense immersion in the Florentine and Tuscan culture, and most of it was written there. Of course, the art and landscape are spectacular, but what makes my heart sing are the people. I think that they are born with a genetic tendency to agape (unconditional love).”

So go on, check it out! Why not?

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Once upon a time there was a young girl growing up in an old, small town.  She had long, straight chocolate colored hair and deep brown eyes.  Her oval face held a blank expression most times, as she was the type to watch and listen more than express what she was thinking or feeling.

One autumn day this young girl arrived at school.  She loved her school-it was clean, quiet, and full of places to play.  She loved her teachers, and was a quiet and obedient student.  Unlike most kids her age, what she enjoyed most about school was reading.  She was happiest when she was working alone in her books, learning about new people and places and things.  Also unlike most kids her age, what she disliked most about school was PE.  It wasn’t that she disliked exercise-actually, she loved playing softball, hopscotch and four square.  For her, PE was terrifying for one reason: DODGE BALL.

In her little old town dodge ball was the favored sport for PE class.  Students begged and pleaded each day to play dodge ball during their treasured exercise time.  And as convincing as the students were, the teacher almost always agreed. Dodge ball it would be.

From beginning to end, dodge ball was excruciating.  The two manly boys who were always captains lined the other children up to select teams.  First chosen were always the other ‘sports boys’.  Next came the ‘tom boys’, and then the cute, outgoing girls.  Last was always the oval faced, brown eyed girl.

After that exercise in taxonomy, the game began.  Circling around their prey, the ‘sports boys’ would throw the ball at each other, eager to show off their quick reflexes and agility.  The prey would scurry from one side to the next, not wanting to be hit yet not quite wanting to back down, either.  Then the ‘tom boys’ jumped in, dodging with grace and flexibility.  The cute, outgoing girls giggled, admiring the prowess of the young, manly hunters. 

The young girl trembled, knowing it was just a matter of time before she became the victim.  Eyes wide, she tried to avoid the flaming red sphere, but every time SPLAT! she took it in the stomach. On the back.  At the ankles.  Tears welled up in her big, dirt colored eyes. 

Not sure which was more painful, the sting of the ball or the burn of the humiliation, she attempted to survive.  The predators became more confident.  The giggling girls pumped their testosterone.  SLAP!  TWANG! Over and over the ball would smash the young girl down, the laughter of her classmates growing louder and louder and LOUDER.  Paralyzed with pain and fear and humiliation she froze, absorbing one sting after another after another.

And in that moment, relived thirty-five years over and over, she realized something.  The young chocolate haired, dirt eyed oval faced girl learned that she owed her classmates a thank you.  For what she realized is that those ‘sports boys’ and ‘tom boys’ and laughing spectators had taught her a very important lesson: dodge ball is the way the world works.   

And in that moment, decades later, she realized that like dodge ball, it’s easy to run away from what’s coming at you.  She realized that it’s painless to punch someone in the gut, slap them on the back, ding them at the ankles and go back for more.  Because of dodge ball, she learned that it’s hard to stand strong, take the hit, stay upright, and confront each obstacle hurled by others.  She understood that life really is about survival of the fittest.  And because of dodge ball, she survived and lived happily ever after.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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