Queen's "We Will Rock You." is playing in my ears. I can feel the weight of my High School's standard issue sweatshirt around my shoulders. The thick gray jersey keeping out the chill from a crisp Minnesota afternoon. The sun is beginning to set, even now as we are just out of school. I'm shoulder to shoulder with my fellow runners. We sound like a mass of locusts coming through the woods; the nylon from our pants rubbing and shifting on us as we warm up. My pants are too large and with every other step I have to adjust them. I try to run with just one arm, the other holding up my pants. Through the woods we run. Leaves crunch beneath us. Tree branches give way. We hop and jump over random tree roots. Free. Powerful. Unaware that there is any other way to spend an afternoon....
Suddenly, an earbud falls out of my left ear and I hear the pounding music from the sound system in Gold's Gym. I look down from the treadmill loft and see people hefting barbells over their heads. I realize it is 6:30am and I best get on with my day.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Neighbors. Fences.
We have new neighbors.
That, right there, should explain my contemplating Mr. Frost's ironic poem.
We have two sets of new neighbors.
It is surprising how a seemingly little change is reason for mourning and a bit of sadness. It wasn't as if we were friends with either of the departed families. We aren't mourning weekly barbecues or nightly chats over glasses of wine while we watch the moon rise.
We miss the known. We miss the quiet. We miss a friendly smile and wave. We miss neighbors we trusted to watch our house and ones that surprised us by shoveling our sidewalk on a snowy morning.
Way back in a communication class in college I learned a basic principle of human systems. Never underestimate the effect one person can have on a group. One person's arrival at a party, changes the whole party. Or, the meeting. Or, the family. Or, the neighborhood.
Or, seemingly today, our life.**
** And, no I wasn't a Drama Major. ;)
That, right there, should explain my contemplating Mr. Frost's ironic poem.
We have two sets of new neighbors.
It is surprising how a seemingly little change is reason for mourning and a bit of sadness. It wasn't as if we were friends with either of the departed families. We aren't mourning weekly barbecues or nightly chats over glasses of wine while we watch the moon rise.
We miss the known. We miss the quiet. We miss a friendly smile and wave. We miss neighbors we trusted to watch our house and ones that surprised us by shoveling our sidewalk on a snowy morning.
Way back in a communication class in college I learned a basic principle of human systems. Never underestimate the effect one person can have on a group. One person's arrival at a party, changes the whole party. Or, the meeting. Or, the family. Or, the neighborhood.
Or, seemingly today, our life.**
** And, no I wasn't a Drama Major. ;)
Monday, June 28, 2010
Fence Me In.
Mending Wall
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors”.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors”.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Life is (not) Like a Catalog
Above the TV in the family room my mom keeps nearly every catalog that comes during the month. I remember an activity I did circa 1985 which took full advantage of her collection.
We had high stools that line the counter of the kitchen pass-through counter. I needed the stool to get up to the catalogs, and I would gather as many as I could muster without falling or dropping my loot onto the ceramic floor. JCPenny's, Sears, maybe a spanking new thing called Pottery Barn, Ethan Allen, Talbots and various other brands that portrayed life as being as ideal and perfect as...well, a catalog.
I spread them out. Collecting scissors, a piece of paper and some pens and markers, I would begin to create my life. Cutting out a couch. Then gluing a picture of the ideal cottage garden next to it. I can feel the paper give way as I ripped a whole page out. Sometimes, I'd be focused on the knickknacks or the flowers in the garden. Other days I would be all about the interior furniture.
One day sticks out in my mind with vivid clarity. I must have been working on the same type of project but this time, perhaps for a class, or for a lesson of sorts that my parents hoped to teach me, I was adding up the prices of each item. I was listing everything I would "need" in life and how much it would cost. (It must have been for a budgeting class.) 2 couches. A dining room table. 8 chairs. A hutch to hold my china. China. That tea kettle on page 87. The outfit on page 6. A rug. My house should like the one in the Mpls/STP magazine. "Hum, I wonder how to figure house prices..."
As I sit on the stool, I am looking into the kitchen and I directly face the back door. I can feel my feet swing and gently kick the back of the cabinet. I see the dishes in the sink, the peanut butter and jelly out on the counter top. There is paper piled orderly in a stack. A decorative bowl holds fruit. To my left I can look out at a lake becoming quiet as fall progresses.
As I am mid-rip in acquiring a table set I like, my mom comes in from the garage. She is loaded down with paper grocery bags. I can't see her face through the overflowing bags. Knowing what I am up to, she plunks the bags down and reaches in to one for a box of tampons and a box of toothpaste. She drops them onto the counter top in front of me with a thud.
"Better be sure to include these on your list as well." she says, with the aplomb of a woman in her early 40's.
The whoosh of ice water that came over the project was a needed reminder to a girl who still looks at way too many catalogs in hopes of life jumping off the page.
We had high stools that line the counter of the kitchen pass-through counter. I needed the stool to get up to the catalogs, and I would gather as many as I could muster without falling or dropping my loot onto the ceramic floor. JCPenny's, Sears, maybe a spanking new thing called Pottery Barn, Ethan Allen, Talbots and various other brands that portrayed life as being as ideal and perfect as...well, a catalog.
I spread them out. Collecting scissors, a piece of paper and some pens and markers, I would begin to create my life. Cutting out a couch. Then gluing a picture of the ideal cottage garden next to it. I can feel the paper give way as I ripped a whole page out. Sometimes, I'd be focused on the knickknacks or the flowers in the garden. Other days I would be all about the interior furniture.
One day sticks out in my mind with vivid clarity. I must have been working on the same type of project but this time, perhaps for a class, or for a lesson of sorts that my parents hoped to teach me, I was adding up the prices of each item. I was listing everything I would "need" in life and how much it would cost. (It must have been for a budgeting class.) 2 couches. A dining room table. 8 chairs. A hutch to hold my china. China. That tea kettle on page 87. The outfit on page 6. A rug. My house should like the one in the Mpls/STP magazine. "Hum, I wonder how to figure house prices..."
As I sit on the stool, I am looking into the kitchen and I directly face the back door. I can feel my feet swing and gently kick the back of the cabinet. I see the dishes in the sink, the peanut butter and jelly out on the counter top. There is paper piled orderly in a stack. A decorative bowl holds fruit. To my left I can look out at a lake becoming quiet as fall progresses.
As I am mid-rip in acquiring a table set I like, my mom comes in from the garage. She is loaded down with paper grocery bags. I can't see her face through the overflowing bags. Knowing what I am up to, she plunks the bags down and reaches in to one for a box of tampons and a box of toothpaste. She drops them onto the counter top in front of me with a thud.
"Better be sure to include these on your list as well." she says, with the aplomb of a woman in her early 40's.
The whoosh of ice water that came over the project was a needed reminder to a girl who still looks at way too many catalogs in hopes of life jumping off the page.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
You Think You Had a Day?
Every once in awhile, when I need a reality check and a reminder that I really DON'T need that dress, I head over to The Livesay Blog. It helps remind me what I do want to be about in this world.
You must stop over there and read her entry titled--Lock It-- because it is FORKING hilarious. (yes, I just quasi-swore.) You think you had a day--what with your cleaning for a person who only stayed in your house for maximum of 10 mins--I will show you a day.
Giving thanks for perspective and...for tomorrow.
You must stop over there and read her entry titled--Lock It-- because it is FORKING hilarious. (yes, I just quasi-swore.) You think you had a day--what with your cleaning for a person who only stayed in your house for maximum of 10 mins--I will show you a day.
Giving thanks for perspective and...for tomorrow.
Wednesday
I think our butterflies are mating.
We have another house showing today. The feedback from people who have looked at it is usually moot. "Too small."--yep, we think so, too.
Beyond freeing butterflies so they can do their thing in the wild, and cleaning, I'll be looking for a spot of shade and dodging tornadoes.
Peace!
We have another house showing today. The feedback from people who have looked at it is usually moot. "Too small."--yep, we think so, too.
Beyond freeing butterflies so they can do their thing in the wild, and cleaning, I'll be looking for a spot of shade and dodging tornadoes.
Peace!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
What they said
The following are answers from a conversation I had with each kid about their dad. It was part of his Father's Day gift from us. Along with this plate...
EG: (2 years)
Describe your Dad: He has red hair and blue eyes
What is his favorite food? Tomato and fruit
What else about your Dad? He snores to me.
What is your Daddy's job? Riding his bike.
What is his favorite thing to do? Play in the yard with me.
BB: (4.5 yrs)
Describe your Dad: He has brown hair, whiskers, blue eyes and he is skinny.
What is his favorite food? Meatballs and he likes to drink milk.
What does your Daddy do around the house? Vacuum, water plants, takes out the garbage, and mows the grass. He also washes the dishes so I don't have to.
Anything else? He reads books to me and we play baseball, football, tag and we do yard work. That's it.
EG: (2 years)
Describe your Dad: He has red hair and blue eyes
What is his favorite food? Tomato and fruit
What else about your Dad? He snores to me.
What is your Daddy's job? Riding his bike.
What is his favorite thing to do? Play in the yard with me.
BB: (4.5 yrs)
Describe your Dad: He has brown hair, whiskers, blue eyes and he is skinny.
What is his favorite food? Meatballs and he likes to drink milk.
What does your Daddy do around the house? Vacuum, water plants, takes out the garbage, and mows the grass. He also washes the dishes so I don't have to.
Anything else? He reads books to me and we play baseball, football, tag and we do yard work. That's it.
My Dad
I think a lot about my parents as I have become a parent. I realize how naturally parenting came to them. I imagine, they weren't always exactly sure of how to navigate the waters we churned up, but we never knew that. As I watch people try to learn how to parent differently than how their parents did it--due to poor parenting, difficult marriages, simple neglect--I am thankful for a mom and dad who modeled solid parenting. Many days, I have ideas and responses to the kids which seem to come from out of the blue. "Wow, how did I learn to do that?" I give thanks, time and time again, that I watched two of the best for 37 years.
I don't think it would be any secret to many people that I am my Dad's Number One Daughter. (play on words because, in fact I am his first born.) I'm not a 'daddy's girl' in that syrupy sweet kind of way. But I am my Dad's daughter. We share some strong DNA bonds, and because of that I have felt his advocacy over the years. In many a situation he was guiding me out of personal experience.
I hear a lot of parents talk about how they need to be an advocate for their kids. The current use of this phrase usually means they stand up for their kids in situations where the kid might have been better served by learning the consequences. Or the parents say it when someone is giving them an answer they don't like about their child.
I'm referring to advocacy that reflects that my Dad knew me. He knew how I felt in his bones. He understood my reaction as sure as he understood his own. Knew that I was angry. Knew why I was reacting. Knew why I found it so fun or interesting. Most of the time, he was experiencing a similar reaction to mine. What makes him such a fantastic person, is that he guided me through-whateveritwasIwasdealingwith-by molding the best course. Not the way he might have reacted at my age, or how he might want to react now. He would give great thought and attention to what might be the best lesson/way to handle/what to say, so that I had skills for the next time. So that somehow, we all grew and moved forward. (moving forward is big with my family.)
Many years ago, when I started college, I met this very cute boy during the first week of school. (this is not the cute boy I married.) I remember finding a common bond over our father's work. He said, "Oh, so you know what it like to have him gone all the time. Messing up schedules and just being tired. It's a pain." (this may not be a direct quote) I agreed and nodded along.."Oh, yeah. What a pain." I sold my Dad out, all for a cute boy. (i'm still friends with said boy and he did get me a date with my husband a few years later...but, this wouldn't be the last time I chose 'cute' over my family in my 20s.) What I should have said was..."I know my Dad was busy, but he was always there."
He wasn't always there, of course. In most families, Dad's are gone most of the day. Mine was physically gone for more than a typical work day. He was gone at odd times and we did have to create some pretty goofy schedules to include him in activities. But I don't remember this huge hole in my life where my Dad was always gone, or busy, or tired, or complaining about one of the above. There is no drama with my Dad--at least not of the emotional kind. He is no prima donna. He never demanded special attention or to be handled with kid gloves. I don't remember his absence because he was there. When he was with us, he was with us. He was into what we were into. He was attentive to who we were. When he was with us, it was about us--in a positive way.
Today, as we give thanks for our Father....and all those who are Fathers...I think my Dad. I am his daughter. He is my Number One Dad. For that I am more grateful than he will ever know. Happy--everydayis--Father's Day, Dad!!
I don't think it would be any secret to many people that I am my Dad's Number One Daughter. (play on words because, in fact I am his first born.) I'm not a 'daddy's girl' in that syrupy sweet kind of way. But I am my Dad's daughter. We share some strong DNA bonds, and because of that I have felt his advocacy over the years. In many a situation he was guiding me out of personal experience.
I hear a lot of parents talk about how they need to be an advocate for their kids. The current use of this phrase usually means they stand up for their kids in situations where the kid might have been better served by learning the consequences. Or the parents say it when someone is giving them an answer they don't like about their child.
I'm referring to advocacy that reflects that my Dad knew me. He knew how I felt in his bones. He understood my reaction as sure as he understood his own. Knew that I was angry. Knew why I was reacting. Knew why I found it so fun or interesting. Most of the time, he was experiencing a similar reaction to mine. What makes him such a fantastic person, is that he guided me through-whateveritwasIwasdealingwith-by molding the best course. Not the way he might have reacted at my age, or how he might want to react now. He would give great thought and attention to what might be the best lesson/way to handle/what to say, so that I had skills for the next time. So that somehow, we all grew and moved forward. (moving forward is big with my family.)
Many years ago, when I started college, I met this very cute boy during the first week of school. (this is not the cute boy I married.) I remember finding a common bond over our father's work. He said, "Oh, so you know what it like to have him gone all the time. Messing up schedules and just being tired. It's a pain." (this may not be a direct quote) I agreed and nodded along.."Oh, yeah. What a pain." I sold my Dad out, all for a cute boy. (i'm still friends with said boy and he did get me a date with my husband a few years later...but, this wouldn't be the last time I chose 'cute' over my family in my 20s.) What I should have said was..."I know my Dad was busy, but he was always there."
He wasn't always there, of course. In most families, Dad's are gone most of the day. Mine was physically gone for more than a typical work day. He was gone at odd times and we did have to create some pretty goofy schedules to include him in activities. But I don't remember this huge hole in my life where my Dad was always gone, or busy, or tired, or complaining about one of the above. There is no drama with my Dad--at least not of the emotional kind. He is no prima donna. He never demanded special attention or to be handled with kid gloves. I don't remember his absence because he was there. When he was with us, he was with us. He was into what we were into. He was attentive to who we were. When he was with us, it was about us--in a positive way.
Today, as we give thanks for our Father....and all those who are Fathers...I think my Dad. I am his daughter. He is my Number One Dad. For that I am more grateful than he will ever know. Happy--everydayis--Father's Day, Dad!!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
"The Secret" ** for Real Estate
It has been over two weeks since anyone has wanted to see our house. With the "threat" of lowering the price looming, I decided to take action. I enlisted a philosophy of "if you clean it, they will come (buy) it." Sure enough 3:45 today I got a call saying someone wants to see it tomorrow. I hope the fresh flowers and chocolates on the table help sell it for someone.
**I have never, and, probably, will never read The Secret. I got the gist of it from Oprah. Eh. I do enjoy a happy conscience, though.
**I have never, and, probably, will never read The Secret. I got the gist of it from Oprah. Eh. I do enjoy a happy conscience, though.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Kids on the Block
We have new neighbors near us. Lovely people. Two small kids near in age to BB. Their presence has increased BB's time outside. If he catches a glimpse of his new friends outside, zip, zap he is out the door. Peer pressure starts early, I guess. The new presence of kids to play with on a daily basis has increased BB's sassy level, he much more hyper and jazzed. Needless to say, I don't like it. He now calls me 'Ma, Ma' in a sweet sing-songy--baby voice--instead of his flat nearly stoic, 'Mom.' I don't like this change either.
Sometime this week I read this blog entry. The new kids in my life plus this entry got me thinking. (read her entry and some comments to fully understand the conversation I am entering.)
The first realization I came to was that, Idon't allow haven't encouraged the kids to have many 'play-dates.' They have spent time in church nurseries...a couple of hours a month. They have played with the kids of my friends. They play at parks and museums. But, I haven't encouraged many in house play times...even with familiar parents from church or school.
I'm a control freak. No way around it. I want my kids exposed to what I what them exposed to. In my defense for those who don't know me...I don't run screaming from a situation where they are exposed to something...say a random Batman character or water gun. In public, I'm no where near a drama queen and actually do my best to down play any internal craziness...how well I do will show up in the comment section of this entry.
But as I thought it over these are the biggies that I watch for and limit exposure to--mostly with families we are just meeting at school or church. Obviously, I have friends who don't share my thoughts or intensity on some of these issues...friendship seems to trump differences for me. Probably, because I either know the intent and, just to sound cheesy--heart--of my friend. Also, as friends we can talk about differences.
(first off, I'm not even listing inappropriate touching, tickling or sexual comments...I think they are a given, rather than a peculiarity from family to family. Also, known drug/alcohol abuse aren't even optional. For me firearms in the home make my list as well--fully acknowledging that I am out of many people's mainstream views on this point.)
1. Manners and attempt at respecting each other. In my early parenting and pre-parenting life I was even more harsh on this. "Teach your children to say 'Please and thank you'. They should be able to say 'Hi' when greeted." Then I had children and I do teach them. I model it. They are still woefully lacking and so I cut the kids some slack...but a parent that is rude or doesn't model good manners, basic civility and respect for those around them won't be spending much time with my kids.
2. Age appropriate toys and themes. We are going to be the nerds on the block on this one until our kids go off to college. I think four is too young for Super Heroes and Star Wars. I think two is too young for a manicure and even pretend make-up. I think we are encouraging our kids to grow up way too fast in all areas. It has taken me all year to formulate an argument past, "I think it is wrong that PeterPaulSam wears and talks about Star Wars all day long." (and I really wish he hadn't taught you about it at school.)
It pushes two buttons...first, we are rushing childhood. (and allowing marketing to do so--but that is another entry all together.) My son is four. 4. FOUR. If he is playing with toys and themes traditionally created for eight to ten year-olds, what will he be doing when he IS eight or ten? Not playing video games...not with the nerd parents he has. Why are we rushing their childhoods along?
Which pushes me to reason number two, 'We' don't like to say no to our kids. It is a pain to have to explain why our family doesn't buy that or read this or turn on the TV then. It is a pain to say "Nope. You are too young." and then listen to whining. Especially, when you know Batman isn't inherently a bad guy. So the collective 'we' cave. (somewhere in this paragraph might be a parenting style deal breaker as well...)
All I will add for my daughter is that I think there is very little value in teaching girls about princesses. Seriously? What are we teaching with this message? Now, dress up...being fancy does not bother me as much. Again, she's two. How fancy does a two year old really need to be? She is extremely happy to have discovered sand. The adornment and fanciness young girls are emulating is more complex and less clear cut in my mind than violence, rage, and fighting. I have next year to formulate my thoughts on this.
In this category falls, gender roles. I have a boy and I have a girl. I can't can sit here and write that there aren't inherent differences between the two. But, I prefer to view it as they are different people. I cringe when people put labels of "boy toys" and "girl toys" on things. I bite my lip when people only pick 'pink or purple' when guessing what EG's favorite color is. (It is yellow or orange--and she'll tell you.) I love the faces when people learn my son loves Fancy Nancy (the book) or when we bought him a doll at two. EG loves blocks and trucks. Granted, she loves to play trucks WITH her brother. I see her drawn to social interaction in a different way than BB. I see him pick up interaction between stuffed animals or toy people from her leading. But it seems healthier to allow these differences to be articulated as unique to the individual, rather than "because he's a boy and she's a girl."
3. Religion, politics...
Obviously, I have thoughts here. I think if I came across someone forcing their ideas on my kids (verses casual comments or slip ups) our time together would be over. I have the image of someone sitting my kid down to tell them the ills of X or Y political party or sharing some off the grid religious doctrine with them. (Now, mind you this area is more of an issue within family, than it is among our friends.) Likewise, if someone felt a need to dismiss or challenge my kid's belief--I would see red.
In some ways I am simply jumping in to the conversation started at The Hollywood Housewife. It also struck me as a helpful exercise to really narrow what are my deal breakers...and I'll always take a moment to share my opinion...at least anonymously. ;)
Sometime this week I read this blog entry. The new kids in my life plus this entry got me thinking. (read her entry and some comments to fully understand the conversation I am entering.)
The first realization I came to was that, I
I'm a control freak. No way around it. I want my kids exposed to what I what them exposed to. In my defense for those who don't know me...I don't run screaming from a situation where they are exposed to something...say a random Batman character or water gun. In public, I'm no where near a drama queen and actually do my best to down play any internal craziness...how well I do will show up in the comment section of this entry.
But as I thought it over these are the biggies that I watch for and limit exposure to--mostly with families we are just meeting at school or church. Obviously, I have friends who don't share my thoughts or intensity on some of these issues...friendship seems to trump differences for me. Probably, because I either know the intent and, just to sound cheesy--heart--of my friend. Also, as friends we can talk about differences.
(first off, I'm not even listing inappropriate touching, tickling or sexual comments...I think they are a given, rather than a peculiarity from family to family. Also, known drug/alcohol abuse aren't even optional. For me firearms in the home make my list as well--fully acknowledging that I am out of many people's mainstream views on this point.)
1. Manners and attempt at respecting each other. In my early parenting and pre-parenting life I was even more harsh on this. "Teach your children to say 'Please and thank you'. They should be able to say 'Hi' when greeted." Then I had children and I do teach them. I model it. They are still woefully lacking and so I cut the kids some slack...but a parent that is rude or doesn't model good manners, basic civility and respect for those around them won't be spending much time with my kids.
2. Age appropriate toys and themes. We are going to be the nerds on the block on this one until our kids go off to college. I think four is too young for Super Heroes and Star Wars. I think two is too young for a manicure and even pretend make-up. I think we are encouraging our kids to grow up way too fast in all areas. It has taken me all year to formulate an argument past, "I think it is wrong that PeterPaulSam wears and talks about Star Wars all day long." (and I really wish he hadn't taught you about it at school.)
It pushes two buttons...first, we are rushing childhood. (and allowing marketing to do so--but that is another entry all together.) My son is four. 4. FOUR. If he is playing with toys and themes traditionally created for eight to ten year-olds, what will he be doing when he IS eight or ten? Not playing video games...not with the nerd parents he has. Why are we rushing their childhoods along?
Which pushes me to reason number two, 'We' don't like to say no to our kids. It is a pain to have to explain why our family doesn't buy that or read this or turn on the TV then. It is a pain to say "Nope. You are too young." and then listen to whining. Especially, when you know Batman isn't inherently a bad guy. So the collective 'we' cave. (somewhere in this paragraph might be a parenting style deal breaker as well...)
All I will add for my daughter is that I think there is very little value in teaching girls about princesses. Seriously? What are we teaching with this message? Now, dress up...being fancy does not bother me as much. Again, she's two. How fancy does a two year old really need to be? She is extremely happy to have discovered sand. The adornment and fanciness young girls are emulating is more complex and less clear cut in my mind than violence, rage, and fighting. I have next year to formulate my thoughts on this.
In this category falls, gender roles. I have a boy and I have a girl. I can't can sit here and write that there aren't inherent differences between the two. But, I prefer to view it as they are different people. I cringe when people put labels of "boy toys" and "girl toys" on things. I bite my lip when people only pick 'pink or purple' when guessing what EG's favorite color is. (It is yellow or orange--and she'll tell you.) I love the faces when people learn my son loves Fancy Nancy (the book) or when we bought him a doll at two. EG loves blocks and trucks. Granted, she loves to play trucks WITH her brother. I see her drawn to social interaction in a different way than BB. I see him pick up interaction between stuffed animals or toy people from her leading. But it seems healthier to allow these differences to be articulated as unique to the individual, rather than "because he's a boy and she's a girl."
3. Religion, politics...
Obviously, I have thoughts here. I think if I came across someone forcing their ideas on my kids (verses casual comments or slip ups) our time together would be over. I have the image of someone sitting my kid down to tell them the ills of X or Y political party or sharing some off the grid religious doctrine with them. (Now, mind you this area is more of an issue within family, than it is among our friends.) Likewise, if someone felt a need to dismiss or challenge my kid's belief--I would see red.
In some ways I am simply jumping in to the conversation started at The Hollywood Housewife. It also struck me as a helpful exercise to really narrow what are my deal breakers...and I'll always take a moment to share my opinion...at least anonymously. ;)
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Days
Some days there are things you have to do...
such as yesterday.
We are planning a trip across the border. Three out of four of us either don't have a passport or need to have it renewed. The kids and I had to go to the bank and down to the 'oh, so mysterious' safety deposit box vault. We grabbed the necessary paperwork and headed to the Vital Records Department. EG needed a birth certificate. After that we drove the Post Office and the Passport Office. I collected the necessary paperwork, absorbed the cost of passports for children and made an even longer list of things to do before our passport appointment.
Other days there are things you just want to do...
today, I took the kids to Panera for bagels (and coffee). We came home and played around with various ways to preserve cut hydrangeas. (I settled on hot water) I love how they look in a vase but I can never keep the arrangement for longer than a few hours. Then I wrapped up two cups of flowers and we drove them to a few friends. Our pottery was ready so we stopped by the shop to pick it up. The kids were so excited to see their creations. We had lunch with a parishioner and came home to rest and write. Now, I am being called into BB's room. He has an art store set up. He has "25 or 80 pieces" of work to show me. There is also a coffee shop set up next door. Reportedly, it sells everything that I drink.
As I make my way over to the art gallery, I realize the next day I need to have involves...
a vacuum.
a cleaning rag.
and a laundry machine.
such as yesterday.
We are planning a trip across the border. Three out of four of us either don't have a passport or need to have it renewed. The kids and I had to go to the bank and down to the 'oh, so mysterious' safety deposit box vault. We grabbed the necessary paperwork and headed to the Vital Records Department. EG needed a birth certificate. After that we drove the Post Office and the Passport Office. I collected the necessary paperwork, absorbed the cost of passports for children and made an even longer list of things to do before our passport appointment.
Other days there are things you just want to do...
today, I took the kids to Panera for bagels (and coffee). We came home and played around with various ways to preserve cut hydrangeas. (I settled on hot water) I love how they look in a vase but I can never keep the arrangement for longer than a few hours. Then I wrapped up two cups of flowers and we drove them to a few friends. Our pottery was ready so we stopped by the shop to pick it up. The kids were so excited to see their creations. We had lunch with a parishioner and came home to rest and write. Now, I am being called into BB's room. He has an art store set up. He has "25 or 80 pieces" of work to show me. There is also a coffee shop set up next door. Reportedly, it sells everything that I drink.
As I make my way over to the art gallery, I realize the next day I need to have involves...
a vacuum.
a cleaning rag.
and a laundry machine.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Sermon on Luke 7
Last weekend BB and EG experienced their first trip to the basement for a tornado warning. It threw BB for a bit of a loop, I must say. For days following he was very in tune to the weather. Running inside the minute a rain drop fell or quite concerned about leaving the house if there was wind or clouds. Obviously, we left the house. But one day during quiet time, he came to the office. I had my Bible open—which must have been code for “Mom’s connected to God right now.” Because he said this to me. “You should tell God to not send tornados. God should make better decisions.” A bit later, he checked back…from the doorway he wrapped his body around the door jam and had one foot up in the air…all breeze he asked, “Have to you told God to make better decisions yet…”
A friend of mine told me to tell BB that she has had the very same conversation with God a number of times over the years. Perhaps for you, shaking your fist at God or demanding that God makes better choices seems a bit dangerous, blasphemous or unfaithful. Some of us wrestle with God a bit more than others…but I imagine if we are honest most of us have wanted God to get to work on our requests a little faster…or wondered why X, Y or Z struggle was going on in our life. All of us have also experienced those moments when God makes it very clear our ways, are not God’s ways. The systems we live by, the rules we play with, the boxes we assign people, the walls we build…all of them come crashing down, or opened up or blown through in one way or another.
If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.
Simon sees this scene of confusing compassion and say to himself, “If this man knew what I know, he’d be doing this differently.”
This familiar story appears in each of the four gospels…Luke in an interesting move ties the events to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry…pulling the woman’s anointing of Jesus away from his death and burial, highlighting instead the radical nature of Jesus’ hospitality and forgiveness. It helps us see some of what got Jesus killed in the first place. He was a one man wrecking ball when it came to people’s religious rules, and society’s sense of what sin was.
Simon is often held up as a warning for self righteous behavior, but Luke turns the tables on his readers—you and I--as well….we get caught in our own assumptions about the woman, simon, Jesus. Luke introduces the story by setting us up to wonder about this woman…
say for a moment you were at a close friend’s home and someone infamous from your community walks in that you have never met, you can’t imagine your friend knows them…they throw off their shoes, begin to open cabinets in the kitchen, grab a glass of water, asking if the host would like one, too…hugs your friend and plops down on the couch. Acting for all the world like they belong at this party.
In verse 47 we hear Jesus say, “Therefore I tell you her sins which were many have been forgiven HENCE….she has shown great love. It is perfect tense…as in her lavish love is being poured out on to Jesus because she was already forgiven. She was forgiven…before this party…and ever since she was forgiven she has been responding this way…her gratitude overflows. She has kept on acting like she belongs at the party. Belongs at God’s party of lavish love and gracious joy.
Luke wants us to realize Jesus does know better than we do.…
It is mirror in front of our hearts…showing us how jealous, insecure, immature, fragile our faith is. Categorizing people, or labeling which box to put that topic in…deciding for ourselves what sins are forgiveable and which aren’t. Making sure we make out the guests lists on who gets God’s compassion…keeping general order.
To some of us, we love a good story of justice prevailing over what we perceive to be the status quo---we love Jesus the rebel. But how sanitized is this story for us…we might hold it as a beautiful story of Jesus tipping the apple cart 2,000 years ago, but what if it were our apple cart…our cultural realty, what if it were our lives Jesus came to destabilize—then it starts to look pretty scary.
We can begin to claim to mind of God. We can claim to know that limits of God’s action. Or we can trust in God’s promises.
Promises, such as “your sins have been forgiven...” Forgiveness is at the heart of this text for the day. It is what started it all and honestly it started our lives as well…in the waters of our baptism, through the nourishment of bread and wine, in the stories and promises passed down from our ancestors….This is true. Life begins through the promise….You are forgiven.
It is in that proclamation that our worldly judgments come head to head with God’s judgment of mercy and grace.
Your sins are forgiven, go in peace. We, we humans, tend to view forgiveness as a one time event. “Oh, ok…God forgives me…I can go about my life.” We stand relieved at the not-guilty verdict and walk out of courtroom glad to have that over. But really it is a life changing, on going activity. An act, a promise by God that is meant to draw us into the work of God to make things right….
We are forgiven so that we can be drawn in to the work of God…God, God the Creator, God in Jesus, God in the Holy Spirit—God comes to Create. To bless. To restore. To save. That is what God is up to in your life.
On the other hand Sin is the opposite of what God is up to Sin…breaks apart. Tears down. It kills. It condemn.
Forgiveness of sin upends everything and it is meant to sweep us up…so that it is no longer “I who lives but Christ who lives in me.” We are drawn into the work of God to bless, to restore, to save in every aspect of our life. In our families, in our jobs, in our community, the economy, the environment, all areas of this magnificent world God gave us. You in your own way, are meant to be swept up into the lavish love of God.
A few years ago, in my first parish, I found myself swept up into the drama of a family in the congregation. For a variety of reasons the family was not active in the congregation but had been and called upon me when the father was in the hospital near death. Over the weeks before he died I visited him at the hospital and when he went home on hospice I came once to hold his hand and offer a prayer. I met his children over the weeks—they shared their father’s traits of surliness, anger, alcohol abuse, chain smoking and uneasiness around clergy. One daughter stuck out to me..mostly because her body language and demeanor reminded me of an abused animal. For reasons known only to this family, she was the lowest on the totem pole in their family. It was a situation full of abuse and sin….sin that breaks apart, tears down, kills and condemn. Through brief conversations and over time, she heard me say that God forgave the sins of her family and that God did not view her as the world—or her family—viewed her. God wanted life for her…
A little while later, she saw in the church news letter that we needed someone to clean the church. So she began. It became her refuge. We had the cleanest church in the whole of the ELCA. Then she saw a flower garden near our parking lot that had not been planted…she asked if she could plant it. As the flowers grew, she experienced the life changing promise of God’s forgiveness granted upon us all.
If you were ever to have driven by this church, tucked away in a poor industrial neighborhood …you might not have noticed the humble flower garden. But each day when I walked by it on my way into my office, I saw the world as God longs for it to be and I was swept up in that promise…
* Parts of this sermon were inspired by The Working Preacher and Facebook comments at This week in Preaching
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
I've Got a Fever
Yesterday was EG's baptismal birthday. We have the tradition of doing something special to celebrate. Last year she got a toy for the bath while we were at a children's museum. This year we repeated something BB had done when he was two. We painted crosses at a local paint your own pottery place. She got into it and even called the day her "bath-birthday," which of course it is. Washed in God's love...such a special child of God.
She was also a sick child of God. Turns out the warmth I felt on her wasn't just excitement or sunshine. By early evening she was HOT. At bedtime she was uncomfortable and crying out for me every 20 mins or so. I decided to snuggle into my bed with her as we waited for my husband to come home (he was very late--11pm late.) and the fever to pass.
EG is a hoot with a fever. Here are few of her more memorable statements between 8pm and 6am.
She was naked in bed with me, laying across my chest. I'd think she was asleep, until she'd pop up with the energy of wild horse. In her voice you can tell she a bit drugged or at least effected by her 104.9 fever.
+"Where's your mom and dad?" she asked me. "In Minnesota." I replied. "Minnesota. That's where Grandma and Papa live. And Santa. Santa walks around there. With legs, Santa walks on legs."
+Later she starts to giggle to herself and then pops up to look at me. "Where's Daddy? Is he in my crib? You and Daddy (she's laughing harder now) should sleep in my crib." giggling myself, I say, "Sleep in your crib?! You think we could do that." "Yes. I'll just stay here. With your pillows."
+At around 4 or 5am she is back in bed with us. She looks over at my husband, "Daddy, where you go?" He mumbles that he was at work. "No, now...what you doing?" He mumbles again that he had to "go potty." "Daddy, you can have my diapers." Then in a very absent minded way, spoken to no one in particular, "No more diapers for me...but right now I need 'em."
She was also a sick child of God. Turns out the warmth I felt on her wasn't just excitement or sunshine. By early evening she was HOT. At bedtime she was uncomfortable and crying out for me every 20 mins or so. I decided to snuggle into my bed with her as we waited for my husband to come home (he was very late--11pm late.) and the fever to pass.
EG is a hoot with a fever. Here are few of her more memorable statements between 8pm and 6am.
She was naked in bed with me, laying across my chest. I'd think she was asleep, until she'd pop up with the energy of wild horse. In her voice you can tell she a bit drugged or at least effected by her 104.9 fever.
+"Where's your mom and dad?" she asked me. "In Minnesota." I replied. "Minnesota. That's where Grandma and Papa live. And Santa. Santa walks around there. With legs, Santa walks on legs."
+Later she starts to giggle to herself and then pops up to look at me. "Where's Daddy? Is he in my crib? You and Daddy (she's laughing harder now) should sleep in my crib." giggling myself, I say, "Sleep in your crib?! You think we could do that." "Yes. I'll just stay here. With your pillows."
+At around 4 or 5am she is back in bed with us. She looks over at my husband, "Daddy, where you go?" He mumbles that he was at work. "No, now...what you doing?" He mumbles again that he had to "go potty." "Daddy, you can have my diapers." Then in a very absent minded way, spoken to no one in particular, "No more diapers for me...but right now I need 'em."
Monday, June 07, 2010
Theology with BB--weather edition
My husband and I recently left town. While gone, my parents got to experience the kids' first trip to the basement for a tornado warning.
The experience made an impact on BB. Last night, as I tucked him in to bed, he wondered if there would be any over the nighttime. Today, he over heard a news story reporting on the damage done around the Midwest and he asked again if they were coming our way.
Then even later in the day he stopped in to the office for this gem of a conversation. It highlights many lessons four year olds work on in preschool and life.
"Mom, I was shinking (thinking) a 'ittle during my quiet time...I don't like tornadoes. Tornadoes are bad."
Long pause.
"You should tell God to take away all those tornadoes. Because God doesn't make good decisions. God shouldn't send any more."
Long pause as he stands in the door way. I have my Bible open on the desk. I look at him and nod my head up and down in a manner to reflect my concern for his insights and a slight dismissal so he doesn't see me start to laugh. After a bit more time, he leaves.
A few minutes later, he pops his head around my door. He wraps his body around the door jam and his right foot kicks up in the air.
In a breezy tone he inquires, "Did you tell God to make better decisions yet?"
The experience made an impact on BB. Last night, as I tucked him in to bed, he wondered if there would be any over the nighttime. Today, he over heard a news story reporting on the damage done around the Midwest and he asked again if they were coming our way.
Then even later in the day he stopped in to the office for this gem of a conversation. It highlights many lessons four year olds work on in preschool and life.
"Mom, I was shinking (thinking) a 'ittle during my quiet time...I don't like tornadoes. Tornadoes are bad."
Long pause.
"You should tell God to take away all those tornadoes. Because God doesn't make good decisions. God shouldn't send any more."
Long pause as he stands in the door way. I have my Bible open on the desk. I look at him and nod my head up and down in a manner to reflect my concern for his insights and a slight dismissal so he doesn't see me start to laugh. After a bit more time, he leaves.
A few minutes later, he pops his head around my door. He wraps his body around the door jam and his right foot kicks up in the air.
In a breezy tone he inquires, "Did you tell God to make better decisions yet?"
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Oh yeah, that.
I suppose if I am to work on "being ME" I have to work on allowing others to be "themselves." It is wasted energy to make them into who I want them to be. Or expect. Or dream. Or need.
I wish the energy I have expended on this enterprise in the past burned calories. I'd have two 'happiness project' gold stars on the refrigerator right now.
I wish the energy I have expended on this enterprise in the past burned calories. I'd have two 'happiness project' gold stars on the refrigerator right now.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
The Happiness Project
I finished a book. It took much longer than I had planned. I think I may need glasses...so there is that to slow me down. Plus, it wasn't a novel so I got a tad bored...or was filled with enough information for the night...and had to put it down.
The author blogs at this link...The Happiness Project.
I found it helpful and inspirational. It did jump start me out of some dull drums. The book is probably most applicable to those at any point of a midlife crisis or transition. I imagine a lot of people would find it unnecessary, trite or narcissistic. Much like I found the ever popular Eat, Pray, Love. The Happiness Project is much more pragmatic and grounded. Plus I share many traits of Gretchen Rubin, the author. She gives herself gold stars for achieving her monthly goals. I like gold stars. I often wish life handed them out.
One of her basic tenants is to "Be Gretchen." Or in my case, "Be Me." Seems so simple you are probably saying, "You kept reading after this earth-shattering idea. Revolutionary." I imagine you using your sarcastic voice. (which is not very helpful to use if you are trying to be happy. so stop, please.) "Be *insert name here*" seems simple and obvious, but how many times in a day do you make a choice based on who you want to be, who others have decided you are, or try to present yourself as more...excited, smart, dumb, bored...than you really are. Like what you like. Whether that be food, clothing, music, tv, movies... Think how you think. Speak up about these things.
The episode of Seinfeld tonight had George doing a bit on pesto. "I hate pesto." Jerry ask why he ordered it. " I feel like I am suppose to like it. Everyone likes pesto. All of sudden everywhere you turn people are eating pesto. I don't like it." So stop ordering it...just be George.
Simply being yourself is much harder than you think it is. But you might as well give it a try--You may be happier for it.
The author blogs at this link...The Happiness Project.
I found it helpful and inspirational. It did jump start me out of some dull drums. The book is probably most applicable to those at any point of a midlife crisis or transition. I imagine a lot of people would find it unnecessary, trite or narcissistic. Much like I found the ever popular Eat, Pray, Love. The Happiness Project is much more pragmatic and grounded. Plus I share many traits of Gretchen Rubin, the author. She gives herself gold stars for achieving her monthly goals. I like gold stars. I often wish life handed them out.
One of her basic tenants is to "Be Gretchen." Or in my case, "Be Me." Seems so simple you are probably saying, "You kept reading after this earth-shattering idea. Revolutionary." I imagine you using your sarcastic voice. (which is not very helpful to use if you are trying to be happy. so stop, please.) "Be *insert name here*" seems simple and obvious, but how many times in a day do you make a choice based on who you want to be, who others have decided you are, or try to present yourself as more...excited, smart, dumb, bored...than you really are. Like what you like. Whether that be food, clothing, music, tv, movies... Think how you think. Speak up about these things.
The episode of Seinfeld tonight had George doing a bit on pesto. "I hate pesto." Jerry ask why he ordered it. " I feel like I am suppose to like it. Everyone likes pesto. All of sudden everywhere you turn people are eating pesto. I don't like it." So stop ordering it...just be George.
Simply being yourself is much harder than you think it is. But you might as well give it a try--You may be happier for it.
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