Shhhh.... he's sleeping

I'm typing this as my 10-year-old sleeps next to me on the living room floor. To tell you the truth, I kind of wish I was him -- but my goal is to post to this blog every weekday... and seeing as it's now 11:11 p.m., I'm getting this one in just under the wire.

Christian had trouble falling asleep tonight. He had hockey camp this afternoon followed by an evening of pizza and kickball at a friends' house, so those endorphins were really pumping today. I've been there. So when he wandered out of his bedroom at 10:15, I told him to grab a pillow and blanket and settle in next to me so I could rub his back while I work. (Tonight, by the way, "work" equals considerable amounts of time surfing Facebook while printing a grant that's due tomorrow and putting off writing next week's column.)

So here Christian sleeps, on the floor next to where I sit. (My office is so yesterday.) He's in last year's Relay for Life T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a mop of hair that I think is getting too long and he thinks isn't nearly long enough.

When he sleeps, Christian still looks like my little boy. His skin is creaseless and soft. His eyelashes curl above his pink cheeks. His nose is dotted with freckles. But sticking out from the blanket, his feet are as big as mine and his legs aren't far behind.

He has an e-mail account. Can edit his own videos. Knows yo-yo tricks. Yesterday, he had a personal best 5K at 25 minutes on the nose. I came in at 31 minutes, a minute from my personal best.

I remember when I was 10. I remember telling my Mom with a sigh, "I'm in the double-digits now," as if she and I were suddenly in the same club. I remember feeling somehow wiser. Like I'd left something behind.

I just reached out and pushed some of Christian's hair behind his ear. Instinctively, his hand raised in his sleep, but fell again before it reached mine. He fascinates me, this boy who taught me more than a decade ago how to be a mother.

"We're both learning how to do this," I tell him sometimes when we butt heads. "You're learning how to grow up and I'm learning how to mother you as you grow up. We have to help each other."

This summer, Christian will be 11. "A preteen," he tells me with a bit of a swagger. It's a time of contradiction. He doesn't want to go to sleep without a cuddle, but he also doesn't want me going in the locker room with him at hockey practice.

As he bridges this time -- this child whose leg is crossing mine as he sleeps -- I hope he stays safe, of course, and happy, and the good-natured boy I know. And I hope I don't screw it up... don't stand in the way of letting him become who he's supposed to be.

I think that's going to be my greatest challenge: Letting this peaceful little boy dreaming beside me grow up.

Wednesday's Jen's World

Wednesday's column is up on the Post-Bulletin site. It's a bit dated now, but if you want to read about how I spent my Memorial Day, you can find that article here.

Happy weekend to all! I'm looking forward to the Farmer's Market in the morning and some hardcore triathlon training in the afternoon. (The tri is a week away and I'm justifiably freaking out!)

Then Sunday finds me and Christian at another 5K (the MacAttack down at Silver Lake), followed by a progressive deck party in our neighborhood.

What a fantastic weekend. Hope the same for you!

Flashback Friday

Traditionally, I've closed the school year with a Jen's World ode to my sons' teachers. But I'm not writing a sappy end-of-the-school-year column this year, and you can read into that any way you like.

Instead, Flashback Friday features the column I wrote last year -- about two fabulous teachers who taught my kids more than they know.

* * *

I always get sappy at the farmer's market. It just makes me so happy.

For starters, the number of people who come out to support local farmers blows me away. Last Saturday morning, as I joined the throngs crossing Fourth Street, I found myself immersed in an electric hum of music, conversation and laughter. From young families pushing strollers to old couples walking hand-in-hand, everyone just seemed so glad to be there.

And why not? They were carrying bags of hand-washed onions and artisan breads, tomato plants and jars of honey, baskets of flowers and bags of fresh salad greens — all bought directly from the people who produced them. How cool is that?

I wanted to hug everyone there — but especially the farmer who was so kind to the elderly customer in front of me that he put his arm around the man's stooped shoulders, leaned in close to hear his request, and carried his purchases to his truck. I bought my tomato plants from that vendor for that reason alone. It's also why I had to forcibly restrain myself from screaming, "I love this place!" on my way out.
But I'm always emotional this time of year. It's the end-of-the-school-year thing. It gets to me.

Don't get me wrong. I'm excited for summer vacation — for lazy mornings and long bike rides and afternoons at the pool. But, oh, the goodbyes.

My sons have had, once again, excellent teachers in the Rochester public school system. My nine-year-old's teacher, Mr. Heins — whom Christian calls "the best third-grade teacher ever" — impressed me from the start. Way back at "Meet the Teacher" night last August, Mr. Heins told a room full of eager-faced parents that we were welcome in his classroom any time, that he limits homework so that we can prioritize family time, and that he expects a lot from our children.

But it got better. Over the course of the year, I learned that in addition to reading, writing and math, Mr. Heins also stresses the importance of ecology and environmental responsibility. That he encourages storytelling by helping his students publish their own books. That he rewards hard work with extra (and much-needed) time on the playground. And (I'd be remiss if I didn't add Christian's highlight): That he makes balloon animals for birthdays.

No, it won't be fun saying goodbye to Mr. Heins… but I hope we'll meet again when my seven-year-old moves up the grade-school ladder.

For now, however, my seven-year-old's final schooldays mark an even more poignant ending. By an incredible stroke of luck, we've had Bergen's teacher, Mrs. Hansen, in our lives for three years. She was, after all, his big brother's kindergarten and first-grade teacher, as well.

Mrs. Hansen is patient and positive, has a terrific sense of humor, and treats her students like people — which, when you're in first grade, is a very big deal. But mostly she really cares. She doesn't want her students to "get by." She wants them to succeed — and she works her butt off to make sure they get the tools to do that, whether it's extra services or extra face time.

Saying goodbye to Mrs. Hansen reminds me of that part at the end of the Wizard of Oz. Dorothy tells the Tin Man that she'll miss him. She tells the Lion that she'll miss him. And then she tells the Scarecrow that she'll miss him "most of all." That's how I feel. I'm going to miss all of my children's educators — but Mrs. Hansen, I'm going to miss you most of all. (Warning: This is the part where I get weepy.)

Thank you, Mrs. Hansen, for being an advocate for my children. Thank you for encouraging my boys to work hard and to aim high. Thank you for convincing them that they are smart and interesting and capable people. You have given them a foundation that will inform the rest of their lives.

Maybe my children don't realize how fortunate they are to have had Mrs. Hansen and Mr. Heins teaching them this year. But I do — and I couldn't be happier. Or more sad.

Google Yourself

Okay, admit it. From time to time, you Google yourself.

I like to check in every once in awhile to see how close I'm encroaching on Jennifer Lynch Koski, the longtime holder of the No. 1 "Jennifer Koski" spot. (We kind of even look alike, though it seems we don't share similar interests. She's a professor at the Michael G. Foster School of Business.)

Jennifer Koski is also a preschool teacher in the Midwest. And a "new emerging" artist in Delaware. And a 21-year-old in Phoenix who claims rarely to use her MySpace anymore.

We're a varied, though clearly fun, bunch.

So this morning, as I decidedly put off working on a grant for the next school year, I thought I'd check in to see what we Jennifer Koskis are up to today. And that's when I saw the Google images link.

In addition to a terrible past Post-Bulletin head shot (in which I look both naked and like I have several chins), I see that some of my video screen captures are also up for the viewing.

Here's an especially lovely one:



Great expression, right? And what am I wearing? Is that a sundress over pajama bottoms and under a sweater?

Here's another great expression (though the kiddos look cute):



So tell me: What happens when you Google yourself?

I Can't Quit Writing About that Last 5K

I know, I know. I've gone on and on about this. But I saw the Post-Bulletin article on the Chester Woods Trail Run 5K today, and was blown away by the rankings.

I came in 51st. Christian came in... well, look here to find out: Post-Bulletin article.

"I'm Bored"

One hour and eighteen minutes into summer vacation, my son just walked in the house and said, "I'm bored."

(Should I even mention that 22 of those minutes were spent downing celebratory end-of-school Blizzards at Dairy Queen?)

So, of course, I gave him "the stare" and pretty much recited what I wrote in the first line of this blog post. In the past, I've been the mom who says, "Really? Well, I'm sure I can find you some chores to do..."

Which is fine. But I'd like to get a little more creative this year. Ideas, anyone?

Video Tuesday

Here's what's coming up tomorrow in Jen's World...