Funny story~NOW...

(Please Note:  Today's blog entry is actually a true story.  It happened some years ago, and I thought I'd share it here, as I am trying to be more disciplined about my writing.  I dedicate this to Julie R., who artfully played the role of the up-till-now anonymous mom.)

I was using my dad's big, dusty, less-than-sporty work van today, and I was at Walgreen's, getting ink for my printer.  I had to lock the van because all of his tools were in it, right?  So, also, today is not a "beautiful" day for me (no makeup, bandana on my head...NOT pretty, you get the idea...).  I get into the store and I notice that there is a "mom" I used to know from the kid's former school, and of COURSE she is perfectly put together, so I spend an extra 25 minutes HIDING in Walgreen's because I look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and I haven't seen this woman in 3 or 4 years.  She is apparently on a long-term spree, but I finally manage to get my stuff and skulk out of the store un-noticed (by her...I'm sure that the clerks were beginning to wonder about me...).  So I get to the van, and I put the key in the lock.  It does not unlock.  I try again.  And again.  I cry a little, and wonder why I bothered getting out of bed this morning.  I try again in case something miraculous has happened during my breakdown.  Nope.  Still locked.  So, I grab my bag and go BACK INSIDE, where the mom I knew is STILL shopping (holy cow, it's just Walgreen's, not the mall!!!), so I use my super-secret-agent skills and manage to continue avoiding her in my quest for a phone.  The lady behind the makeup counter says that the only phones available are able to make calls only within the store.  She says quite cheerily that I could walk over to the health pavilion across the street and call.  She thinks.  No guarantees, of course.  I'm fairly certain that this is not accurate, that somewhere, sometime in the history of Walgreen's, someone has, in fact, called out.  Believe me, if it is true about the phones, and I don't get into the van soon, they're gonna wish they had outside lines...  Anyway, I go back out and circle the van.  I try the key again.  I look into the windows, which reveal my sandwich warming nicely in the sun, as well as all the tools which I could use to solve my dilemma, if only they weren't LOCKED IN THE VAN!!!  I decide that there is no alternative but to beg, so I dash into the store, narrowly missing the mom, and ask the photo-clerk if maybe she has a cell phone that I could use, really quickly, to call my dad.  Guess what?  She reaches under the counter, finds a phone quite easily, doesn't even dial "9" first, and whip, snap, pop!  There's my dad, on the phone.  WOW.  "No," he's saying... "There aren't separate "start" and "unlock" keys

(&^%$!!!), just the one plastic-topped black key.  It shouldn't turn too hard.  If nothing else, you can get a wire hanger between the sliding rear windows and unlock the back and crawl in.  Let me know if that works."  I don't have the heart to tell him that wire hangers are passe, everyone who is ANYONE uses plastic.  I mean, c'mon!  I trudge outside, arguing with the voices in my head, and do the round-the-van key tour again, with the same results.  I just want to go home.  I have stuff to do.  The house is empty, free of husband and kids.  This is not a Monday.  Why is this happening to me???  As I stand by the passenger side door, muttering to myself and planning how I'll probably be spending the rest of my life in the Walgreen's parking lot, an older gentleman in the car next to me asks if I can't get in.  To my credit, I do NOT say "YA THINK???"  He very graciously gets out of his car, and takes the key from me, ready to give it the old college try.  He asks me, "Is this the right key?  Is it this gray one?"  Nope, nice try, guy, but the black key is the one...theoretically.  About 10 minutes of trying every door and the rear hatch and he says "Are you sure that this is the right key?  This is not the right key.  See?  It won't even go all the way into the lock."  "No," I say, "that's the key to my dad's van," and even as I make that claim, I eye the keys which he is holding, the keys with which I have tried for the past 45 minutes or so to unlock this van, and I begin to wonder:  "Hmmmm, why do you suppose dad has my house key and the keys to my jeep and my Speedway Frequent Customer tag on his key ring?"  Oh no.  So, I look into my purse, and find another key ring.  It looks suspiciously like my dad's, and completely unlike the very familiar-to-me-now set which I have been carrying in my hand this whole time.  The gentleman takes the new key from my hand, lets me into my father's van with ease, says, "What would you do without me, Baby?," hands me the keys and hugs me, all without even laughing.  Tomorrow I take the bus. 

How was your day?

Reinventing the Wheel-A Brief Guide to the Mercurial Nature of a Boy

THIS BLOG ENTRY IS DEDICATED TO MY GOOD FRIEND AND HER YOUNG SON:  I AM GLAD TO HAVE ACCESS TO YOUR WISDOM, LADY!!!

Wikipedia says:  "To reinvent the wheel is to duplicate a basic method that has already previously been created or optimized by others."  Also,... "reinventing the wheel is an important tool in the instruction of complex ideas. Rather than providing students simply with a list of known facts and techniques and expecting them to incorporate these ideas perfectly and rapidly, the instructor instead will build up the material anew, leaving the student to work out those key steps which embody reasoning."  And finally, "The phrase is sometimes used without derision, especially when the user applies it reflexively, possibly to indicate that although his or her activities might be perceived as merely reinventing the wheel, they actually possess additional value. The metaphor emphasizes understanding existing solutions, but not necessarily settling for them."


Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my life.  I have re-, and re-re, and re-to-the-umpteenth-power-invented the wheel, in my nine or so years of  being mother to a particular boy of mine.  My guy has a few extra "helpings" on his plate:  In addition to having the normal, everyday challenges of just being a 9-year-old kid in the 3rd grade, he also contends every day with ADHD, OCD, and anxiety disorder, as well.  These challenges are not his alone; I stand next to him always, a steadfast "team member."  I will state here, without reservation, that I love that boy all to bits, and I wouldn't change him at all.  That being the case, however, I also am obligated to admit something very difficult:  There are days when I feel completely overwhelmed; that I am the worst mother that this poor kid could've gotten stuck with.  I sometimes feel so utterly unqualified to parent this child that I want to cry.  I love him, as I love all of my children, so desperately that I would do anything to make his way easier for him, and yet it often seems that no matter what words I use, no matter what "system" I implement, we only ever achieve a temporary reprieve, at best.  I see him trying to work things out, wanting so badly to just "fit," but there always seems to be a "piece" sticking out, preventing him from completing the puzzle.  


I have been using the phrase "We're just reinventing the wheel" for a long time, as we try to navigate these different and often difficult processes, but it was only tonight, needing an introduction for this entry, that I thought to look up the meaning behind the phrase, and WOW...LIGHT BULB!


"To reinvent the wheel is to duplicate a basic method that has already previously been created or optimized by others."


Life is a funny thing, isn't it?  I mean, I recognize that I am by no stretch of the imagination the first mother-or parent, for that matter-to find herself trying to figure out this particular set of circumstances; yet somehow I feel very possessive of it, as if it is only mine...well, mine and his.  And in some ways that's accurate:  While others before us have figured out the basic details of their own experience, and how to make that experience work for them, it falls to us-to me, as mother-to observe what I can, and to then develop what I learn; to duplicate and to expand those methods for our family.  


... "reinventing the wheel is an important tool in the instruction of complex ideas."


What is a more complex idea than that of being human?  To me, this means that we are in some ways obligated to find our own way, and to grow through that discovery.  I thought, though, that it was interesting that this spoke of the instruction of complex ideas.  No one is expected to just "get it," automatically.  We are supposed to teach, and learn from, each other.  Realizing that offers an opportunity for me to forgive myself if I don't get it right the first time, every time, out; it allows me to shed a portion of my daily ration of maternal guilt. I'm not a bad mom if I ask someone else to share their experience so that I can benefit from it; in fact, I'll probably be stronger for it, in the long run.


"Rather than providing students simply with a list of known facts and techniques and expecting them to incorporate these ideas perfectly and rapidly, the instructor instead will build up the material anew, leaving the student to work out those key steps which embody reasoning."


Again, this is a rather defining statement for me~with all of the arrogance of adulthood and "experience" I haven't realized it before:  I am not the only "re-inventor" in the room.  Just imagine~all the while I've been busy trying to reinvent the wheel, so has he~and he should...it's his wheel, after all!  I thought that I could come up with facts and techniques, charts and systems that to my way of thinking, would, perhaps should work for him.  The truth is...reinvention~of the wheel or otherwise~means that the best thing that I can do for him is to help him to be able to discover for himself all of the elements of choice:  Foresight, thoughtfulness, awareness and consequence; that is my challenge. He needs to be able to reinvent that wheel-his wheel-on his own, one day. That is his challenge.  I suppose that it's a challenge that we all face; so different, yet so much the same...


"The phrase is sometimes used without derision, especially when the user applies it reflexively, possibly to indicate that although his or her activities might be perceived as merely reinventing the wheel, they actually possess additional value. The metaphor emphasizes understanding existing solutions, but not necessarily settling for them."


I have to say that I liked this, especially. It lends some power to the process, it validates this "re-invention." It really informs the whole idea; acknowledging that by the very act of "re-inventing" our own particular wheel, we add something of value for the next guy; a better rim, or ribbons in the spokes.  The act of re-inventing, then, is not about tearing down and starting over; it's about taking the time to see the beauty and function of what's already in front of you, but not apologizing if you can help it along a bit.  It isn't just finding what's "wrong" and arrogantly attempting to "fix" it, it's also finding what's right, and humbly polishing it to a high shine.  It's not about wanting a different wheel; it's really about loving the wheel you've got, and trying to retread just a little, every day.