Thanks to my clear handwriting, every once in awhile a friend will ask me to address invitations for her. I am far from a professional calligrapher, but I enjoy this task-- finding the perfect pens, experimenting with varying fonts, and finally marking the creamy envelopes with names of people I don't know. It is interesting to note that the only 'C' I received on a report card in elementary and high school was for handwriting, I think in second or third grade. It doesn't take much of a pyschologist to note that given my strong perfectionist tendencies, clearly I've been making up for that mark ever since, but that is far from the point of this post.
This morning sitting at our dining room table, I was happily addressing some envelopes for save-the-date wedding invitations for a friend. It was one of the few lazy weekend mornings we have had for some time. The boys were reading, spread out on the couches, legs askew draped in fleece blankets. P had lit a fire and turned on some of my favorite folkies, Gorka, Griffith and Wheeler. P was in the kitchen starting a fancy stew for guests we're having over tonight, and the smell of red wine and mushrooms was already wafting from his post at the stove.
S sat up from his reading and came to check out what I was doing. "What's that?" he inquired. I explained that I was addressing envelopes and pulled out the printed invitation to show him.
"You see-- Bella is getting married this July and she wants her friends to know the date so they can mark their calendars."
"Is Bella marrying a woman or a man?" was the follow up question.
"A man. His name is Derek," I explained.
"Oh," Sam replied and turned away from the table to resume his position on the couch.
And with that short exchange, I felt a small tug at my heart. His simple inquiring whether our friend was marrying a man or a woman, held no judgment, no politics-- it was just a question. And I felt a small bit of pride because for him, it was just about love and the decision to marry the person whom you love. In his relatively small world, for what he has learned in our home, and in his community, and now his state (yea, Connecticut!)-- women can love women and now they can marry, just as men can love and marry men (which makes him relieved) even though he knows that there are not many places that same sex couples can marry.
For the past weeks, my excitement about the presidential election results have been tempered by the California vote to repeal gay marriage. When I first heard the passing of Prop 8, I was incredulous and then just plain sad. I, like many others, read the story of another mom of boys, Pam Patterson, who took a huge chunk of her family's savings, $50,000, to fight against gay marriage in California saying: "It was a decision we made very prayerfully and carefully. Was it an easy decision? No. But it was a clear decision, one that had so much potential to benefit our children and their children."
I think of Pam's sons and my sons, and I just cannot see the benefit of denying two people who want to commit their lives to one another in marriage. I think how painful it might be if one of those Patterson boys grows up to find himself in love with another man. And my prayers-- well, they ask that when my boys are old enough to make such a decision, they may marry the people they love.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Yet another reason...
to resist the video game thing in our home:
"Video game consoles consume a "staggeringly high" amount of energy, according to a report the Natural Resources Defense Council is releasing on Wednesday."
The boys have just started to press us about the video game systems they hear about from their classmates. C has been keen to invite himself over to a few of his classmates' homes, boys I don't think he actually plays with, but who both just so happen to have wiis at home. I tell C that clearly he is more interested in playing with the wii, not the boys themselves-- which to his credit, he doesn't refute. I finally made the bold pronouncement in the car this evening: Just like we will not be getting a dog anytime soon, we will not be getting a video game system. We're--just---not.
Do you think that I can appeal to their burgeoning sense of environmental concern to combat the pull of the video games? Yeah, and I worry about their 'likability factor.' Imagine how this would go over in a kindergarten/first grade classroom, "We don't play video games because they waste energy and are bad for earth."
"Video game consoles consume a "staggeringly high" amount of energy, according to a report the Natural Resources Defense Council is releasing on Wednesday."
The boys have just started to press us about the video game systems they hear about from their classmates. C has been keen to invite himself over to a few of his classmates' homes, boys I don't think he actually plays with, but who both just so happen to have wiis at home. I tell C that clearly he is more interested in playing with the wii, not the boys themselves-- which to his credit, he doesn't refute. I finally made the bold pronouncement in the car this evening: Just like we will not be getting a dog anytime soon, we will not be getting a video game system. We're--just---not.
Do you think that I can appeal to their burgeoning sense of environmental concern to combat the pull of the video games? Yeah, and I worry about their 'likability factor.' Imagine how this would go over in a kindergarten/first grade classroom, "We don't play video games because they waste energy and are bad for earth."
Self-awareness at Six
Given my English teaching background, I am always a sucker for a good simile. Today while driving to school with C and S, I spoke with them about the two times of the day I find the most difficult: getting out of the house in the morning to go to school and leaving school in the afternoon.
"Yup," S sagely replied, "School is like baths for me. I don't like to get in the bath, but once I am in-- I just never want to get out."
"Yup," S sagely replied, "School is like baths for me. I don't like to get in the bath, but once I am in-- I just never want to get out."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Dinner Conversation
S, giving yet another reason why he can't eat the dinner in front of him (one of the few dinners he actually used to eat on a regular basis, and by 'used to,' I mean as recently as this past Friday night): Don't you remember, Mom? The last time I ate _______________, it felt like there was fire coming up through my throat.
Me: S, I have to say I don't remember that. I just remember you eating _______________ and loving it.
S: No, Mom, really. One day when we had ___________, I felt like smoke was coming up out of my throat. Smoke, and maybe even fire.
C: Maybe you're just turning into dragon.
Me: S, I have to say I don't remember that. I just remember you eating _______________ and loving it.
S: No, Mom, really. One day when we had ___________, I felt like smoke was coming up out of my throat. Smoke, and maybe even fire.
C: Maybe you're just turning into dragon.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
The Right Place
The elementary school where I work, and S and C attend, starts each Wednesday morning with an all-school meeting. All the kids, teachers, staff, and any available and interested parents gather to sing songs, listen to class sharings, acknowledge birthdays, etc. The kids themselves lead this meeting and I find it most exciting each week to hear a sixth grader or third grader or even a kindergartner stand up in front of this crowd to tell us what his/her class is working on. It is also fun to sneak peeks at my boys in the mass of kids, sitting with 'meeting buddies,' students from older grades that they sit with at these gatherings.
This past Wednesday, S was particularly looking forward to the school meeting and asked his dad to attend because his class was going to do a sharing about their apple survey. S, himself, was not the one to stand up to explain the survey procedures and results but he just loved that two friends from his class were going to do so. These two first graders did an admirable job in front of 170+ squirming children, faculty, and parents and I was as proud of them as Sam was.
One moment of pause, however, when the meeting started. The music teacher got in front of the crowd to lead us in a song. His strummed his guitar and the school community members who had been there in past years started singing about Christopher Columbus sailing across the ocean. "Oh," I thought to myself for just a second, "It is weird that this school, so outwardly into social justice and treating others fairly, is singing a Christopher Columbus song."
And then I heard the fourth line:
And speaking of right places:
While I have really liked living in New Haven this past year, I haven't much identified with the state of Connecticut. I guess when I thought of this state before, I always associated it somehow with Greenwich and Westport and those other preppy, rich towns that just don't call to me. However, yesterday I was most pleased to live in Connecticut so I must give this state a shout-out: GO, CONNECTICUT! Check out why.
This past Wednesday, S was particularly looking forward to the school meeting and asked his dad to attend because his class was going to do a sharing about their apple survey. S, himself, was not the one to stand up to explain the survey procedures and results but he just loved that two friends from his class were going to do so. These two first graders did an admirable job in front of 170+ squirming children, faculty, and parents and I was as proud of them as Sam was.
One moment of pause, however, when the meeting started. The music teacher got in front of the crowd to lead us in a song. His strummed his guitar and the school community members who had been there in past years started singing about Christopher Columbus sailing across the ocean. "Oh," I thought to myself for just a second, "It is weird that this school, so outwardly into social justice and treating others fairly, is singing a Christopher Columbus song."
And then I heard the fourth line:
1492
Nancy Schimmel
In fourteen hundred ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue,
It was a courageous thing to do
But someone was already here.
Columbus knew the world was round
So he looked for the East while westward bound,
But he didn't find what he thought he found,
And someone was already here.
Chorus
The Inuit and Cherokee,
The Aztec and Menominee,
The Onandaga and the Cree;
Columbus sailed across the sea,
But someone was already here.
It isn't like it was empty space,
Caribs met him face to face.
Could anyone discover the place
When someone was already here?
Chorus
So tell me, who discovered what?
He thought he was in a different spot.
Columbus was lost, the Caribs were not;
They were already here.
Chorus
"Ahhh, yes," I smiled, "We are in the right place!" So I may be one of those liberal, Ivy League, New Englanders that Sarah Palin and her followers accuse of being unAmerican or elitist or unpatriotic, but I was so happy in that moment to be here singing about indigenous people.And speaking of right places:
While I have really liked living in New Haven this past year, I haven't much identified with the state of Connecticut. I guess when I thought of this state before, I always associated it somehow with Greenwich and Westport and those other preppy, rich towns that just don't call to me. However, yesterday I was most pleased to live in Connecticut so I must give this state a shout-out: GO, CONNECTICUT! Check out why.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Lines
C climbed on to my lap last night and stretched out. I wrapped my arms around his skinny little self and told him how much I loved him. Suddenly, he got to confessing. He seemed to be checking in to see if I would still love him once I learned that twice he had to have talks with his teachers about his behavior in lines, once on Friday and again that day. I quickly assured him that I totally loved him that he didn't need to earn my love and he wasn't going to lose it, but I got curious and asked him to tell me about the line issues.
He explained that while in line he was working hard to follow the rules. Once the class went by "the tree of silence" he stopped talking--completely. The problem, however, was that a couple of his classmates had not. And those of you who know my son, or at least read this blog occasionally, know that C is a rules follower. He follows rules and he really expects everyone else to as well. He has a grand sense of justice and injustice about big things (incredulous and vocal about the unfairness that gay folks cannot marry in CT) and small (talking in line when you are supposed to be quiet, for example).
And here was the root of his line issue. What to do when other kids are talking once they pass that "tree of silence"? C explained that he knew he couldn't tell the teacher because clearly he would be breaking the rules by talking so first he tried a silent shush. When this didn't sway his classmates, he went to his arsenal, beyond the finger to the lips, and pulled out an elbow. Needless to say, his teacher saw him throw the elbow--BOTH TIMES-- and when the class returned to the classroom, C was called out for a private discussion about this behavior. P and I suggested that this would be a really good thing for him to work on in school: he will work hard to follow the rules in line but ignore other kids if they are not. At first, C didn't jump at the suggestion. "But I just can't ignore that. I just don't know how to ignore things." Well, that may be true on one level but that's not quite accurate as he is quite adept at ignoring us, especially when a book is involved.
However, this suggestion suddenly got a bit sticky because we remembered other conversations with our sons about the necessity to speak up when someone is doing something wrong. If kids are being unkind to another child, you must speak up. If someone is asking you to do something that is not right or makes you uncomfortable, you must tell him/her that you will not participate. Ahhhh-- this is a sticky line. Call out the big injustices in the world. Oh, but don't be a tattletale (and certainly don't throw elbows into the mix). How do you explain to your kids when to speak out and when to let it go? I discussed this strange mixed message we were sending C with his teacher this morning. She gave me a solid guideline that they use in their room about "when a child is hurting or going to hurt himself or another child, this is the time when it is necessary to tell." I thought this was a sensible message for this age.
And then, I was driving to school this morning when we reached a busy intersection. Suddenly a siren came screaming from up the street. Dutifully, I pulled my car to the side of the road to let the firetruck barrel past when I noticed other cars didn't seem to follow suit. This got my hackles up. Frankly, it pissed me off even though the firetruck did get through. It was a similar feeling to the times I get supremely annoyed when cars make a right on red when the sign clearly states "no right on red" or when those jerky drivers try to bypass traffic by driving up the shoulder and then cutting in. Dude, there are rules and you just aren't following them. It's just not right. If I wouldn't do extensive damage to my car or possibly subject myself and any of my passengers to possible injury, it would be great--just once--to block one of those jerky drivers by straddling the shoulder right when they come charging up. Yup, the light bulb dinged.
Rules follower. Elbow. Yeah, I get it.
I don't condone it. But suddenly I got it.
He explained that while in line he was working hard to follow the rules. Once the class went by "the tree of silence" he stopped talking--completely. The problem, however, was that a couple of his classmates had not. And those of you who know my son, or at least read this blog occasionally, know that C is a rules follower. He follows rules and he really expects everyone else to as well. He has a grand sense of justice and injustice about big things (incredulous and vocal about the unfairness that gay folks cannot marry in CT) and small (talking in line when you are supposed to be quiet, for example).
And here was the root of his line issue. What to do when other kids are talking once they pass that "tree of silence"? C explained that he knew he couldn't tell the teacher because clearly he would be breaking the rules by talking so first he tried a silent shush. When this didn't sway his classmates, he went to his arsenal, beyond the finger to the lips, and pulled out an elbow. Needless to say, his teacher saw him throw the elbow--BOTH TIMES-- and when the class returned to the classroom, C was called out for a private discussion about this behavior. P and I suggested that this would be a really good thing for him to work on in school: he will work hard to follow the rules in line but ignore other kids if they are not. At first, C didn't jump at the suggestion. "But I just can't ignore that. I just don't know how to ignore things." Well, that may be true on one level but that's not quite accurate as he is quite adept at ignoring us, especially when a book is involved.
However, this suggestion suddenly got a bit sticky because we remembered other conversations with our sons about the necessity to speak up when someone is doing something wrong. If kids are being unkind to another child, you must speak up. If someone is asking you to do something that is not right or makes you uncomfortable, you must tell him/her that you will not participate. Ahhhh-- this is a sticky line. Call out the big injustices in the world. Oh, but don't be a tattletale (and certainly don't throw elbows into the mix). How do you explain to your kids when to speak out and when to let it go? I discussed this strange mixed message we were sending C with his teacher this morning. She gave me a solid guideline that they use in their room about "when a child is hurting or going to hurt himself or another child, this is the time when it is necessary to tell." I thought this was a sensible message for this age.
And then, I was driving to school this morning when we reached a busy intersection. Suddenly a siren came screaming from up the street. Dutifully, I pulled my car to the side of the road to let the firetruck barrel past when I noticed other cars didn't seem to follow suit. This got my hackles up. Frankly, it pissed me off even though the firetruck did get through. It was a similar feeling to the times I get supremely annoyed when cars make a right on red when the sign clearly states "no right on red" or when those jerky drivers try to bypass traffic by driving up the shoulder and then cutting in. Dude, there are rules and you just aren't following them. It's just not right. If I wouldn't do extensive damage to my car or possibly subject myself and any of my passengers to possible injury, it would be great--just once--to block one of those jerky drivers by straddling the shoulder right when they come charging up. Yup, the light bulb dinged.
Rules follower. Elbow. Yeah, I get it.
I don't condone it. But suddenly I got it.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
A Year Later
A year ago, I wasn't writing this blog. I wasn't writing this blog then because I hadn't started it yet. I had thought about starting a blog months before a year ago, but I was so overwhelmed in a new place that I couldn't quite move myself to press a few links on Blogspot and get going. I was overwhelmed with getting my kids situated in a new home and new school. I was overwhelmed by their neediness because they didn't easily get situated in a new home and a new school. I was overwhelmed with hanging with the one who had no school to go to. Mostly, though, I can now admit aloud that I was totally overwhelmed by my own neediness. I lacked community. I lacked friends. A year ago I lacked any context outside of 'mother of' and 'wife to' and I was struggling mightily with that.
When we moved, I had expected instant community. My husband was heading to graduate school and hey, wouldn't all those grad students just hang together? And let's just put it out there-- he was headed to grad school where people were in training to be community leaders (faith communities as he is in divinity school/seminary). Wouldn't the sort of people who went to that sort of grad school be open and welcoming and happy to see us and our three little fellas? But they didn't seem to be for the most part. They were busy. They put their heads down. They had so much reading to do. They hung with the people they already knew. They didn't have kids and only seemed to react positively to those cuddly teethless ones who didn't throw tantrums. And I was lonely and struggling. And I didn't really have anyone to talk to about that.
It's a year later. And I know it's a year later because today we attended a park event that we attended last year. Our experience at today's event made me think of how far we've come in a year. Every time we turned around, we ran into someone else we knew. There were kids S and C went to school with last year. There were kids the boys go to school with this year (F included!). There were families we met at soccer. There were even a couple families we met through P's grad school. We knew a lot of people there and there were greetings galore. And my guys climbed a tree with a neighborhood friend, and compared lollipop flavors with school friends, and took off their shoes and bounded into the bouncy house with kids they knew from other places. And I hugged a few moms and was hugged in return. And walking away from the park, I thought about what a difference a year makes. Instant community did not appear when we moved here. But community has happened-- quietly, slowly, without much fanfare. We know folks and are known by folks. And that feels good.
A year later, I find I haven't been writing this blog either (it's been nearly a month since my last posting). But I haven't been writing for such different reasons. Last year I felt empty. And this year I fill full--abundantly full, somewhat overwhelmingly full-- but full nonetheless. I am working a job where I am learning and am surrounded by interesting people. My kids are all in schools where play matters and their emotional well beings are being cared for. My husband is going to classes, studying, writing, and interning in a church. We are racing out in the morning to get all of us to our designated schools on time with clean clothes on and lunches prepared and packed. We are busy each weekend with visits and music and birthday parties and work. Yes, life is suddenly full and I am finding it hard to find time to write. And while I am feeling a bit crazed by the schedule, the truth is that I would rather feel full than empty.
When we moved, I had expected instant community. My husband was heading to graduate school and hey, wouldn't all those grad students just hang together? And let's just put it out there-- he was headed to grad school where people were in training to be community leaders (faith communities as he is in divinity school/seminary). Wouldn't the sort of people who went to that sort of grad school be open and welcoming and happy to see us and our three little fellas? But they didn't seem to be for the most part. They were busy. They put their heads down. They had so much reading to do. They hung with the people they already knew. They didn't have kids and only seemed to react positively to those cuddly teethless ones who didn't throw tantrums. And I was lonely and struggling. And I didn't really have anyone to talk to about that.
It's a year later. And I know it's a year later because today we attended a park event that we attended last year. Our experience at today's event made me think of how far we've come in a year. Every time we turned around, we ran into someone else we knew. There were kids S and C went to school with last year. There were kids the boys go to school with this year (F included!). There were families we met at soccer. There were even a couple families we met through P's grad school. We knew a lot of people there and there were greetings galore. And my guys climbed a tree with a neighborhood friend, and compared lollipop flavors with school friends, and took off their shoes and bounded into the bouncy house with kids they knew from other places. And I hugged a few moms and was hugged in return. And walking away from the park, I thought about what a difference a year makes. Instant community did not appear when we moved here. But community has happened-- quietly, slowly, without much fanfare. We know folks and are known by folks. And that feels good.
A year later, I find I haven't been writing this blog either (it's been nearly a month since my last posting). But I haven't been writing for such different reasons. Last year I felt empty. And this year I fill full--abundantly full, somewhat overwhelmingly full-- but full nonetheless. I am working a job where I am learning and am surrounded by interesting people. My kids are all in schools where play matters and their emotional well beings are being cared for. My husband is going to classes, studying, writing, and interning in a church. We are racing out in the morning to get all of us to our designated schools on time with clean clothes on and lunches prepared and packed. We are busy each weekend with visits and music and birthday parties and work. Yes, life is suddenly full and I am finding it hard to find time to write. And while I am feeling a bit crazed by the schedule, the truth is that I would rather feel full than empty.
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