I've been giving a lot of thought lately to how a person's current circumstances are determined by the privilege that person has or has not had in life. And that privilege is, more often than not, pure luck. Sure, personal choices and temperament have something to do with where one ends up. But some people, regardless of decisions made or personality traits possessed, will never have the opportunity to make particular choices.
For example, a child born into poverty and barely scraping through life is likely never to have the opportunity to choose to go to college. This child, as he grows, will be forced to make choices about how to acquire food, shelter, and other basic life needs. If he does make a stab at getting a secondary education, he's likely to be put off by the need to work more than he can study. Lack of education will be one more thing to keep him in poverty.
A child born into a middle- or upper-class family is likely to be expected to go to college. And when he does, the majority of his expenses will be covered by parents, loans, and maybe a part-time job. Nevertheless, once he's finished, he's much more likely to have acquired the skills he needs to break even. He'll not be 90% focused on meeting basic survival needs.
This is just one of many examples. (And there are outliers; I won't deny that. But this is not about outliers.)
The point was illustrated by two cases I came across at work recently. One is a 12-year-old girl who lives in a group home for troubled teens who've been kicked out of their homes and/or schools. A staff member from the group home called to make a post-run appointment for this girl. A post-run appointment is made after someone has returned from running away from the facility. During that appointment there are toxicology and STI screenings done to see if they have done any illegal drugs or contracted any infections from unprotected sex with who-knows-who. It's heavy stuff -- especially for a 12-year-old.
I have a 12-year-old.
Wanna know what he's into? Legos. Minecraft. Nerf anything. His iPhone. Making goofy faces. Fart jokes. Building and programming robots. The farthest thing from his mind is running away from any where. Unless the farthest thing from his mind is doing something that would get him kicked out of his home in the first place.
Because I cannot fathom ever kicking him out of our home, I cannot fathom what circumstances this young girl has come across that have put her where she is. But things in her life are vastly different from the things in my son's life. Most of the decisions these two children will need to make in life will be the result of where and to whom they were born. There is almost no changing that.
The other case that demonstrates the pure luck of the draw was even more personal. I met a young mother with a newborn. She also has 3 other children, all 3 and younger. She is living in a safe house because her newborn child's father punched her in the face, leaving her with broken bones. She is younger than I was when I had my first child.
When I stopped to count up all the strikes she has against her, I might as well have been counting up all the things I have had going for me. But for a few differences, I could be her. I'm lucky that my grandparents paid for nursing school. I'm lucky I didn't get pregnant a fourth time. I'm lucky my ex-husband didn't physically abuse me. I'm lucky that when I finally gathered the guts to leave him, I had a supportive family. I'm lucky that when all of that came crashing down on me, I had a few years more of life experience and emotional maturity than she does.
I'm unbelievably lucky and so are my children. And that, folks, is the essence of privilege.
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Open Letter to the Jerkface Who Stole My Purse
Dear Jerkface Who Stole My Purse,
You have caused me an immense amount of stress and frustration in the last two days. My wallet, which was in my purse, contained most of the proof that I am who I say I am. It contained every reasonable way I have to access my money. The only way this could possibly have been more stressful is if you had also stolen my phone or if my Social Security card and birth certificate had been in my wallet. But you didn't, and they weren't, so at least there's that.
You invaded my space. You walked up to my desk where I sit every day. You went through that desk where I keep all my personal effects. You probably saw my photos -- the one of my children at Red Rocks and the one of my entire family on the steps of my parents' home. Do you know that we're all kind and generous people who would never, ever do what you did?
You had to have seen the magnet which reads, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Do you know that quote actually means something to me, that I really do live that way? I don't steal things or lie to people, I work hard and give as generously as I can. I do those things because that's the way I want the whole world to do things. That is my change for the world.
I'd have given you more money than you got by stealing my purse. I had $2 and change in my wallet, along with a few gift cards to Target, Starbucks, iTunes. That's all you got because I canceled my debit and credit cards immediately. My bank put 'stop payment' orders on the entire series of check numbers in my check book. I'm monitoring my account for electronic check withdrawals. I hope the cash and virtual money were worth it.
You made a security guard come to my office and take a report of the theft. I'm sure he had better things to do. You made my sister drive all over town getting my spare car key for me. You made my landlord come over and re-key my front door and get new copies of all of my other keys. They definitely had better things to do. You're making me spend time I don't have to get a new driver's license, insurance cards, library cards, debit and credit cards, student ID, transportation pass, and Costco card. If you're caught -- and I hope you are -- we've both lost. That's what happens when you take things that don't belong to you.
And if you took my purse for the thrill of stealing, well then I desperately hope you find something else to give you that thrill. You're a cheap jerk and I don't have the time or energy to waste on you if that's all you're after.
Have a nice day.
You have caused me an immense amount of stress and frustration in the last two days. My wallet, which was in my purse, contained most of the proof that I am who I say I am. It contained every reasonable way I have to access my money. The only way this could possibly have been more stressful is if you had also stolen my phone or if my Social Security card and birth certificate had been in my wallet. But you didn't, and they weren't, so at least there's that.
You invaded my space. You walked up to my desk where I sit every day. You went through that desk where I keep all my personal effects. You probably saw my photos -- the one of my children at Red Rocks and the one of my entire family on the steps of my parents' home. Do you know that we're all kind and generous people who would never, ever do what you did?
You had to have seen the magnet which reads, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Do you know that quote actually means something to me, that I really do live that way? I don't steal things or lie to people, I work hard and give as generously as I can. I do those things because that's the way I want the whole world to do things. That is my change for the world.
If you stole my purse because you needed money, guess what? I'd have given you money.
I'd have given you more money than you got by stealing my purse. I had $2 and change in my wallet, along with a few gift cards to Target, Starbucks, iTunes. That's all you got because I canceled my debit and credit cards immediately. My bank put 'stop payment' orders on the entire series of check numbers in my check book. I'm monitoring my account for electronic check withdrawals. I hope the cash and virtual money were worth it.
You made a security guard come to my office and take a report of the theft. I'm sure he had better things to do. You made my sister drive all over town getting my spare car key for me. You made my landlord come over and re-key my front door and get new copies of all of my other keys. They definitely had better things to do. You're making me spend time I don't have to get a new driver's license, insurance cards, library cards, debit and credit cards, student ID, transportation pass, and Costco card. If you're caught -- and I hope you are -- we've both lost. That's what happens when you take things that don't belong to you.
And if you took my purse for the thrill of stealing, well then I desperately hope you find something else to give you that thrill. You're a cheap jerk and I don't have the time or energy to waste on you if that's all you're after.
Have a nice day.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Two Fitting Quotations
"People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them." George Bernard Shaw
"Again and again, the impossible problem is solved when we see that the problem is only a tough decision waiting to be made." Robert H. Schuller
I came across the first quote months and months ago. I love it. It explains my philosophy on life thoroughly, yet succinctly. I just found the second one this morning on a note Miriam brought home from her jump rope coach. At any other time it probably wouldn't have meant much to me but since I've been struggling with my career plans recently, it hit home.
Time and again the problems in my life have been solved by accepting that sometimes life sucks and sometimes I have no choice but to rearrange my perspective, make the difficult decisions and blaze a new trail. Getting divorced, moving half way across the country, changing jobs, enrolling in school, losing 25 pounds, parenting -- all of it is challenging. Curling up into myself and sobbing about it only works for so long. At some point I have to blow my nose and wipe my eyes, take a deep breath and figure out how to fix it. There is always a solution. It might not be the one I want and it might not be easy or fun but there is always a solution. Always.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Changing My Parenting
I've never been very big on self-help books or parenting books or anything like that. They're preachy and condescending and annoying. I am the authority on me and I don't need someone with a PhD to tell me how to deal with the stuff in my life. Right?
But then one morning a few weeks ago I had a near-breakdown over not having enough time for breakfast or sleep or homework or to get to school and work on time or to do chores or to relax. Not enough time for anything. I yelled at the kids again and they continued to move at their snail's pace and they continued to walk away from their backpacks and jackets instead of picking them up and putting them on.
I have had this terrible thought over the last few weeks that I haven't been teaching my children responsibility. Rather, I've been teaching them to respond to my yelling and frustration. I'm talking at them until I'm blue in the face and my blood pressure is 162/98 and they're still forgetting that they need to take a snack to school or that they need to wear gloves when it's 19F outside. I'm e-mailing their teachers weekly about homework and missed tests and issues with classmates. I'm not doing them any favors like this.
So right then and there, leaning on the kitchen counter and breathing deeply, I bought "Parenting with Love and Logic" with the Amazon app on my phone. It was one of those moments when I've just had enough. Or too much. I'd had too much and I couldn't take it any more.
When the book arrived I read half of it that same evening. It's so simple, it's brilliant. The premise is that kids are adults in training and if you don't treat them like that, they'll eventually become adults -- 'cause that's biology -- that act like kids -- 'cause that is what you brought them up to be. It's much easier to let kids mess up now than it is to let them loose in the world where messing up means you lose a job or a house or worse.
So I've started stepping back. I've stopped e-mailing the teachers, I've stopped pushing the homework, I've stopped the reminders about snacks, jackets and bed time. That's done.
Instead of harping on weather appropriate clothing, I've told the kids what the weather is supposed to be like and let them dress however they think they'll be most comfortable. If they don't wear snow boots and it snows and they have to walk home in it, they'll likely remember to take their boots next time there is snow in the weather report.
Instead of stressing out over a pre-set bedtime and getting all bent out of shape when it doesn't happen, I've laid out 2 requirements: 1) teeth must be brushed and 2) I don't see or hear any children in this house after 8:30, unless there is an emergency. If they're exhausted at wake up time, they'll probably decide that getting a little more sleep is wise.
Instead of mediating the spats and the bickering I calmly suggest that they go some where else, together or alone, and deal with it however they think is best. They're more likely to learn that hearing each other out, sticking up for themselves, making sincere apologies and having some patience work out problems rather well most of the time.
Instead of nagging the kids about leaving their things lying around, I've instituted the nightly sweep. At 8:00 PM anything that is lying around in the common areas of the house is confiscated and place in the Confiscation Box. On Sundays the sweep occurs at 5:00 PM and includes bedrooms. Things that have been confiscated can be earned back by doing a chore.
Some amazing things have happened since all the Insteads were instituted. The most amazing thing is that the house runs much more smoothly and there is a much lower level of stress for all of us. I'm not so uptight because I've stopped making the kids' problems into my problems. They're less stressed because I'm not hassling them all the time.
It's been slow going, but the kids are definitely stepping up and taking responsibility for a lot more things in their daily lives. The mistakes they have made, while not catastrophic -- let's face it, they're kids -- have been true learning opportunities. They take ownership of them and they work out some way to fix it, the best they can. They're more likely to say to me that they messed up because it's no longer my "job" to preach to them about how they should have done things differently. I listen to them and I ask them how they're going to fix things. That's it.
This is the simplest and best change I've ever made to our home life. I love it.
But then one morning a few weeks ago I had a near-breakdown over not having enough time for breakfast or sleep or homework or to get to school and work on time or to do chores or to relax. Not enough time for anything. I yelled at the kids again and they continued to move at their snail's pace and they continued to walk away from their backpacks and jackets instead of picking them up and putting them on.
I have had this terrible thought over the last few weeks that I haven't been teaching my children responsibility. Rather, I've been teaching them to respond to my yelling and frustration. I'm talking at them until I'm blue in the face and my blood pressure is 162/98 and they're still forgetting that they need to take a snack to school or that they need to wear gloves when it's 19F outside. I'm e-mailing their teachers weekly about homework and missed tests and issues with classmates. I'm not doing them any favors like this.
So right then and there, leaning on the kitchen counter and breathing deeply, I bought "Parenting with Love and Logic" with the Amazon app on my phone. It was one of those moments when I've just had enough. Or too much. I'd had too much and I couldn't take it any more.
When the book arrived I read half of it that same evening. It's so simple, it's brilliant. The premise is that kids are adults in training and if you don't treat them like that, they'll eventually become adults -- 'cause that's biology -- that act like kids -- 'cause that is what you brought them up to be. It's much easier to let kids mess up now than it is to let them loose in the world where messing up means you lose a job or a house or worse.
So I've started stepping back. I've stopped e-mailing the teachers, I've stopped pushing the homework, I've stopped the reminders about snacks, jackets and bed time. That's done.
Instead of harping on weather appropriate clothing, I've told the kids what the weather is supposed to be like and let them dress however they think they'll be most comfortable. If they don't wear snow boots and it snows and they have to walk home in it, they'll likely remember to take their boots next time there is snow in the weather report.
Instead of stressing out over a pre-set bedtime and getting all bent out of shape when it doesn't happen, I've laid out 2 requirements: 1) teeth must be brushed and 2) I don't see or hear any children in this house after 8:30, unless there is an emergency. If they're exhausted at wake up time, they'll probably decide that getting a little more sleep is wise.
Instead of mediating the spats and the bickering I calmly suggest that they go some where else, together or alone, and deal with it however they think is best. They're more likely to learn that hearing each other out, sticking up for themselves, making sincere apologies and having some patience work out problems rather well most of the time.
Instead of nagging the kids about leaving their things lying around, I've instituted the nightly sweep. At 8:00 PM anything that is lying around in the common areas of the house is confiscated and place in the Confiscation Box. On Sundays the sweep occurs at 5:00 PM and includes bedrooms. Things that have been confiscated can be earned back by doing a chore.
Some amazing things have happened since all the Insteads were instituted. The most amazing thing is that the house runs much more smoothly and there is a much lower level of stress for all of us. I'm not so uptight because I've stopped making the kids' problems into my problems. They're less stressed because I'm not hassling them all the time.
It's been slow going, but the kids are definitely stepping up and taking responsibility for a lot more things in their daily lives. The mistakes they have made, while not catastrophic -- let's face it, they're kids -- have been true learning opportunities. They take ownership of them and they work out some way to fix it, the best they can. They're more likely to say to me that they messed up because it's no longer my "job" to preach to them about how they should have done things differently. I listen to them and I ask them how they're going to fix things. That's it.
This is the simplest and best change I've ever made to our home life. I love it.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Expectations of Perfection
After the beginning bands played we heard the 7th and 8th grade bands. I have to admit I was underwhelmed. I thought, "I was once in junior high band. I was once a musician with this level of experience. And I don't think we sounded so ... unpolished?" And then I reined myself in and thought what any reasonable adult should think when looking back onto experiences in their youth -- which is, "My frame of reference is skewed. Of course we sounded unpolished. We were 13."
On Friday night Jennifer, Caleb, Lance and I got to talking about what we remembered of our band experiences. They all had the same thoughts I did during the band performances. (Can I just say that it meant the world to both Solomon and me that they all came to the concert? How fantastic is this family?) Lance, being Lance, has recordings of his 9th grade concert performances and they're even on his iPhone. So we did what anyone reliving their glory days of junior high band would do and we listened to one of them. It's a piece called Havendance that my band also did in 9th grade. It was my favorite concert piece ever. It's demanding, difficult, beautiful and so extremely fun to play.
You know what? It sounded amazing, even coming from the tinny iPhone speaker. The instruments were in tune, there was one tempo. The dynamics blew me away. So my frame of reference isn't as skewed as I thought it was. We really were as good as we remembered.
Now, for a bit more reference. Lance, Jennifer, Caleb and I all went to junior high in the same school district. Caleb went to a different junior high than the other three of us but we knew his school and his band and he knew ours. We went against each other regularly at all-region competitions for concert band and marching band. We all went to the same high school. Lance was a few years behind me in school, Jennifer and Caleb were two years behind me. Jennifer and Caleb are the only two of us who played in the same band for the same years during high school. Also, when I compare the 8th grade band here to the 9th grade band of which we were a part, I'm comparing students who've all had 3 years of band experience. Middle school here is grades 6 to 8 and junior high there is grades 7 to 9.
Since we could hear such a vast difference in musicality between the 8th grade band of a few nights ago and our 9th grade bands of years ago we started talking about what the difference could be. We've come to the conclusion that since, as a group, 12- to 14-year-olds are capable of the same basic things, it lies in the director.
Our junior high band director and the directors we had in high school were smart, passionate about music, passionate about teaching kids music. They told funny and corny jokes. But when it was time to rehearse, they could turn into the meanest, toughest, ugliest guys in the world. They were perfectionists and they expected us to be perfectionists. Making a mistake due to inattention was not tolerated. We tuned ourselves against a devil of a tuner with an eternally spinning wheel. When we had trouble sticking to one tempo, the Evil Metronome of Death was hooked up to a PA system and that beat was broadcast throughout the band hall at a deafening volume until we succumbed to it and, by God, we played in tempo. It wasn't uncommon for one person to be singled out as the one who was missing the run of 16th notes in the 58th measure. That one person then played those 16th notes alone half a dozen times in front of everyone until they were right. I remember more than one temper tantrum from a director that consisted of throwing a baton, knocking over his music stand and stomping back and forth across the room.
Solomon's band director is a very sweet, personable woman. She clearly loves what she does, she loves teaching, she loves music. The kids love her back. I haven't spent any time in her rehearsals so I can't say what happens in them. But if I were a betting person, I'd bet she doesn't tune kids and their instruments against a machine. I'd bet there is no Evil Metronome of Death in her band hall. I'd bet she does not stress to her musicians the importance of watching for down beats, for cues about when the melody cuts from the flutes to the clarinets. I'd bet she does not express disappointment when things are not played the way they are supposed to be played. I can be reasonably sure of winning all of those bets because what we saw and heard on Thursday night does not reflect a director who expects, demands and gets everything of which 8th grade musicians are capable.
I believe that my band directors bordered on abusive. If a parent treated a child the way we were treated as a group, it would warrant intervention of some kind. There's no doubt about that in my mind. But you know what? My band experience is one I would not trade for anything. We had extreme pride in our performances, no matter what the venue. We were really good and we knew it. Despite the yelling, the occasional humiliation and the frustration with not always being perfect, I never questioned enrolling in band every year. I felt affection for my directors and consider them some of the most influential teachers in my entire school career. Other people with a similar experience have told me they feel the same way.
I would venture to say that if we hadn't been as good as we were, if we hadn't had so much pride in what we did as musical students, we wouldn't have loved it so much. And our excellence, our pride, was a direct result of the way we were taught. I hope that the lack of pressure and the lack of expectation to work harder than he has before does not deter Solomon from future years of band enrollment. I want him to make it to high school band where there might be a director that demands the best.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
True Feminism
I've been mulling over this idea for more than a year. I've wanted to write about it for almost that long but I haven't been able to find the words. A cousin posted something related to this on Facebook recently so I've been thinking about it more. I'm still not sure I have the words but I've decided just to take the plunge any way.
Feminism as a word has become distorted. People misuse it and misrepresent it. They use it as an insult or they're insulted by it.
Feminism as a movement was necessary and wonderful. It was the civil rights movement for women. It was a time when women decided they weren't going to be told what to do by men or by society just because they were women. It was a time when women said that it doesn't matter if your chromosomes are XY or XX, you should have choices and you should have a voice.
Feminism today has morphed into this ugly, distorted idea that women are better than men. I don't think that's what any Suffragists meant when they marched for their rights. I think they wanted true equality. I think they'd be horrified at the man-bashing that happens in so much of society now.
I see women today give their husbands and partners nasty looks that they'd never tolerate themselves. I hear them say things about their men and to their men that are truly horrifying. I hear condescension and patronization and disgust in their voices. It's every where -- on television, in music, in daily conversation, in sweeping generalizations.
I know that not all women enjoy all the benefits that men do. I know that in other parts of the world, the plight of women is as horrible as it's always been. I know that even in the United States not all women make what their male counterparts make in the same careers. I know that. For most of us, however, life is good and getting better. And it certainly does not justify the anger that some women harbor toward men at just being a woman.
The pendulum has swung too far in the other direction in a lot of respects. It's not right.
The flip side of this are the women who say with horror, "Oh, I'm not a feminist!" as if it were some horrible condition requiring an exorcism. And to that I say, what's so wrong with being a feminist? What's wrong with being on equal footing with men? What's wrong with embracing all the choices you have and picking something you love because you love it, not because you're supposed to? What's wrong with not depending on a man to provide and lead and make decisions?
Being a feminist does not mean giving up on marrying, having children, making a home, even staying at home to raise children while foregoing a career outside the home. Being a feminist does not mean you're automatically a power-mongering, money-grabbing bitch. Being a feminist means that you support your rights and the rights of other women to choose what to do with life. It means that you have freedom. It is not a bad thing.
Feminism as a word has become distorted. People misuse it and misrepresent it. They use it as an insult or they're insulted by it.
Feminism as a movement was necessary and wonderful. It was the civil rights movement for women. It was a time when women decided they weren't going to be told what to do by men or by society just because they were women. It was a time when women said that it doesn't matter if your chromosomes are XY or XX, you should have choices and you should have a voice.
Feminism today has morphed into this ugly, distorted idea that women are better than men. I don't think that's what any Suffragists meant when they marched for their rights. I think they wanted true equality. I think they'd be horrified at the man-bashing that happens in so much of society now.
I see women today give their husbands and partners nasty looks that they'd never tolerate themselves. I hear them say things about their men and to their men that are truly horrifying. I hear condescension and patronization and disgust in their voices. It's every where -- on television, in music, in daily conversation, in sweeping generalizations.
I know that not all women enjoy all the benefits that men do. I know that in other parts of the world, the plight of women is as horrible as it's always been. I know that even in the United States not all women make what their male counterparts make in the same careers. I know that. For most of us, however, life is good and getting better. And it certainly does not justify the anger that some women harbor toward men at just being a woman.
The pendulum has swung too far in the other direction in a lot of respects. It's not right.
The flip side of this are the women who say with horror, "Oh, I'm not a feminist!" as if it were some horrible condition requiring an exorcism. And to that I say, what's so wrong with being a feminist? What's wrong with being on equal footing with men? What's wrong with embracing all the choices you have and picking something you love because you love it, not because you're supposed to? What's wrong with not depending on a man to provide and lead and make decisions?
Being a feminist does not mean giving up on marrying, having children, making a home, even staying at home to raise children while foregoing a career outside the home. Being a feminist does not mean you're automatically a power-mongering, money-grabbing bitch. Being a feminist means that you support your rights and the rights of other women to choose what to do with life. It means that you have freedom. It is not a bad thing.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
When I Grow Up ...
Around the dinner table tonight, we got on the topic of future plans for making a living. It comes up every once in a while and I'm always interested to hear what the kids have sprouting in their imaginations. Miriam said she wants to be a teacher, probably an art teacher. Samuel wants to be an artist or an inventor. Solomon wants to be a scientist or a veterinarian or an astronaut or something else that I can't remember at the moment. That boy thinks big, and I do mean BIG.
I don't know if I gave enough thought to the "When I grow up ..." stuff when I was a kid and I want to encourage my children to think about it a lot. I want them to feel confident that they can do whatever they want to do. I want them to explore different ideas and dreams. I want them to pick the most satisfying and fulfilling one they can. I want them to know that it's going to be difficult, that it will take a lot of hard work and discipline and determination. I don't want that to be a surprise to them.
I'm glad they're seeing me in school. I hope to be an inspiration to them in their future endeavors. I also want to be an example of how not to do things: for example, finish school before you move on to having children. Because both things are very hard to do, but they're exponentially more difficult when you're doing them both at the same time.
When I grow up, I'm going to have raise 3 amazing human beings.
I don't know if I gave enough thought to the "When I grow up ..." stuff when I was a kid and I want to encourage my children to think about it a lot. I want them to feel confident that they can do whatever they want to do. I want them to explore different ideas and dreams. I want them to pick the most satisfying and fulfilling one they can. I want them to know that it's going to be difficult, that it will take a lot of hard work and discipline and determination. I don't want that to be a surprise to them.
I'm glad they're seeing me in school. I hope to be an inspiration to them in their future endeavors. I also want to be an example of how not to do things: for example, finish school before you move on to having children. Because both things are very hard to do, but they're exponentially more difficult when you're doing them both at the same time.
When I grow up, I'm going to have raise 3 amazing human beings.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
It's Been a While
Nice way to leave you hanging, huh? Not knowing if I have cancer and all. Eh, I figured no one was all that worried. You all discovered via e-mail or phone call or in person or on Facebook (how good am I at the e-communication?!) that all was good. Actually, come to think of it, if there's anyone reading this who didn't already know that my final path report was benign, I'd like to know who you are. 'Cause you might be one of the El Anonymous commenters. So stand up and take a bow. Or something.
Truth be told, I've not been in such a bloggish mood lately. I think of something to write and I'm all, "Huh. I suppose that could be interesting. If I could be bothered to drag out the ol' laptop and actually place my fingers upon the keys. But Ye Olde Laptop is all the way over there. And I'm tired from all the surgery and work and kids and cooking and laundry and dishes and organizing and budgeting and dealing with the ex-husband and eating and sleeping and breathing and not running. It can wait." Yeah, I'm just a creative well-spring of words these days. Ugh.
So.
I have officially begun all of my classes. Clinical Calculations for Some Type of Medical Person is just fine, as is Nutrition for the Some Other Kind of Medical Person. Microbiology for the Super Smart Medico is freaking kicking my behind in a seriously scary, painful, nerve-wracking way. Yuck-o. I'm askeered. I want to drop it and then take it again in the Winter 2011 semester in an actual classroom with actual lectures and actual labs but I'm afraid of what that might do to the financial aid I've already budgeted into my life for the next 3 months.
I'm not working out. That probably has a lot to do with how 'blah-ish' I'm feeling lately. I don't have the energy for it. That's probably because I've almost forgotten what vegetables are. I need to find some carrots and squash, stat. I bet that would snap me out of this funk. Someone wanna give me a shove in the right direction? Please?
Seriously, I'm doing okay. I feel great, actually, considering that my throat was cut open less than a month ago. The scar is still sore. Sometimes I forget that it's there and accidentally scratch an itch or something. When that happens there are a few seconds of blinding, "Oh. My. Gosh. What the %*#$? Did you think for a second that you have a normal neck?! OWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW!" And then I forget about it again. Other than that, I'd never know that I'd had surgery.
Yup, even with all the health issues and all the work and all the stress and all the school and all the tight budgeting, I'm happy. I'm still savoring moments and feeling like this is a good life. I've been dealt a good lot and that's more than a lot of people can say.
And now I'm rambling. I have bread rising in the oven and I've had some wine and it's time to go to bed. After I punch down the dough. See ya.
Truth be told, I've not been in such a bloggish mood lately. I think of something to write and I'm all, "Huh. I suppose that could be interesting. If I could be bothered to drag out the ol' laptop and actually place my fingers upon the keys. But Ye Olde Laptop is all the way over there. And I'm tired from all the surgery and work and kids and cooking and laundry and dishes and organizing and budgeting and dealing with the ex-husband and eating and sleeping and breathing and not running. It can wait." Yeah, I'm just a creative well-spring of words these days. Ugh.
So.
I have officially begun all of my classes. Clinical Calculations for Some Type of Medical Person is just fine, as is Nutrition for the Some Other Kind of Medical Person. Microbiology for the Super Smart Medico is freaking kicking my behind in a seriously scary, painful, nerve-wracking way. Yuck-o. I'm askeered. I want to drop it and then take it again in the Winter 2011 semester in an actual classroom with actual lectures and actual labs but I'm afraid of what that might do to the financial aid I've already budgeted into my life for the next 3 months.
I'm not working out. That probably has a lot to do with how 'blah-ish' I'm feeling lately. I don't have the energy for it. That's probably because I've almost forgotten what vegetables are. I need to find some carrots and squash, stat. I bet that would snap me out of this funk. Someone wanna give me a shove in the right direction? Please?
Seriously, I'm doing okay. I feel great, actually, considering that my throat was cut open less than a month ago. The scar is still sore. Sometimes I forget that it's there and accidentally scratch an itch or something. When that happens there are a few seconds of blinding, "Oh. My. Gosh. What the %*#$? Did you think for a second that you have a normal neck?! OWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW!" And then I forget about it again. Other than that, I'd never know that I'd had surgery.
My kids are amazing. I realized the other day that I have more moments of enjoyment with my kids than not. Sadly, a couple of years ago I couldn't say that. There was a lot of stress and anxiety and general malaise that caused me not to enjoy much of anything having to do with child-rearing. I'm not sure when it happened exactly but all of a sudden I started having these moments of thinking,
"Wow. This is cool. These kids are fabulous. I'm lucky to be doing this,"
and they far out-numbered the moments of thinking,
"Geez, when is this going to end? IamsoexhaustedIfeellikeIamgoingtodiebeforetheyareadults."
It makes me happy and sad to figure this out. Happy because I really like the phase we're in. Sad because I probably missed out on some great moments. Sad because I'm slightly afraid that this is all going to be blown to smithereens in a few short years by teenage angst and hormones and yucky stuff. But for now, I'm going to savor it.
Because now is good and that's what I'm about.
Yup, even with all the health issues and all the work and all the stress and all the school and all the tight budgeting, I'm happy. I'm still savoring moments and feeling like this is a good life. I've been dealt a good lot and that's more than a lot of people can say.
And now I'm rambling. I have bread rising in the oven and I've had some wine and it's time to go to bed. After I punch down the dough. See ya.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Bumper Sticker Shopping Again
So my car -- her name is Susie, by the way -- isn't quite so bright, shiny and new any more. She's still fabulous, of course; that will never change. But I'm ready to adorn her with bumper stickers and such now. I'm getting another Coexist sticker because I love that sticker so much. I'll be getting a couple more that reflect my views and stuff but in the mean time, here are a couple that I considered for a time:
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Dinner Conversation
Tonight we talked about segregation. Last night we talked about The Birds and The Bees. I don't know how this stuff happens -- it just does. And since I'm not one to pass up Teachable Moments and Life Lessons (I hate those phrases but what else do you call them?) I go with it. Anyway, tonight it was segregation and Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King, Jr. and unfairness and anger and sadness.
Samuel was especially moved -- I don't know what's with him today, he's very in tune with his sympathetic side this evening. He realized during the course of this conversation that life 40 years ago was extremely different from today. His eyes welled up with tears and he said, "If my best friend Evan and I lived back then we couldn't be friends and play together! He has brown skin! That would make me so sad!"
I was so touched. The innocence and the naivete ... Little do my children know that 40 years ago they very likely wouldn't have been born. If they had they'd be living a very different life than the one they have. We all would. I am so grateful for progress and fairness and for those that fought so hard for all that we have today. And I am so happy that my children are learning fairness and equality now; it's instinctual.
Samuel was especially moved -- I don't know what's with him today, he's very in tune with his sympathetic side this evening. He realized during the course of this conversation that life 40 years ago was extremely different from today. His eyes welled up with tears and he said, "If my best friend Evan and I lived back then we couldn't be friends and play together! He has brown skin! That would make me so sad!"
I was so touched. The innocence and the naivete ... Little do my children know that 40 years ago they very likely wouldn't have been born. If they had they'd be living a very different life than the one they have. We all would. I am so grateful for progress and fairness and for those that fought so hard for all that we have today. And I am so happy that my children are learning fairness and equality now; it's instinctual.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Number, Part 5
So the number is steadily decreasing and my resolve is steadily strengthening. To date, I have lost 10.7 pounds and I feel great. That's 10.7 pounds that will never be on my body again! And the best part about all this is that I'm not on a 'diet.' I have made sustainable changes to my eating habits. And yes, my diet is different but it isn't a diet like most people think of a diet.
Which brings me to this: I hate when people talk about dieting. Your diet is simply what you eat. There are good diets and there are bad diets. And the irony of this is that when people talk about dieting, they're talking about bad diets. Any dietary changes you make that you cannot sustain for the rest of your life will not improve your health and therefore constitutes a bad diet. You may lose some weight -- or even a lot of weight -- but when you stop 'dieting' you'll gain it all back and likely more with it.
That's not going to happen to me. I've learned that I don't have to slather oil or butter or cheese on my food to enjoy it. I've learned that I don't have to make my coffee mostly 1/2 and 1/2 to love it. I've learned that when I eat properly, there's enough room in my diet to have a reasonable amount of ice cream on a fairly regular basis. I've learned that herbs and spices add a lot of flavor and increase my enjoyment of my food without adding a lot of calories or any fat. The way I'm preparing my food means that the weight I lose now is going to stay lost.
And I feel pretty dang fantastic about that.
Which brings me to this: I hate when people talk about dieting. Your diet is simply what you eat. There are good diets and there are bad diets. And the irony of this is that when people talk about dieting, they're talking about bad diets. Any dietary changes you make that you cannot sustain for the rest of your life will not improve your health and therefore constitutes a bad diet. You may lose some weight -- or even a lot of weight -- but when you stop 'dieting' you'll gain it all back and likely more with it.
That's not going to happen to me. I've learned that I don't have to slather oil or butter or cheese on my food to enjoy it. I've learned that I don't have to make my coffee mostly 1/2 and 1/2 to love it. I've learned that when I eat properly, there's enough room in my diet to have a reasonable amount of ice cream on a fairly regular basis. I've learned that herbs and spices add a lot of flavor and increase my enjoyment of my food without adding a lot of calories or any fat. The way I'm preparing my food means that the weight I lose now is going to stay lost.
And I feel pretty dang fantastic about that.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Mocklate vs. Choxie
I like chocolate. I enjoy chocolate cake with chocolate icing. I do love fudge and hot fudge sundaes. But just a chocolate bar? Not so much. However, for a couple of years I've seen this stuff at Target called Choxie. The pictures on the box look really good and I've wanted to buy a box to try it. You want to know why I haven't? Well, I'll tell you.
Big dorks like myself, that know practically every Friends episode by heart, will remember an episode when Monica attempted to cook with some stuff called Mocklate. It was an artificial version of chocolate that was supposed to be healthier or something. All of Monica's Mocklate recipes were miserable failures. It was utter garbage. That's why I haven't tried Choxie -- I imagine it to be akin to Mocklate.
At least, I did. I finally broke down and bought a box of Choxie Truffles last week. Sweet mother of Buddha, they are awesome. They consist of a heavenly, light chocolate-ey, mousse-type filling surrounded by a layer of dark chocolate and sprinkled with shaved bits of white chocolate. The entire box is gone now and my mouth is still watering.
Moral of this story: don't let your favorite television shows -- entertaining as they may be -- color your perception of yummy confections. Or something like that. I don't really care, as I'm off to Target for more Choxie Truffles.
Big dorks like myself, that know practically every Friends episode by heart, will remember an episode when Monica attempted to cook with some stuff called Mocklate. It was an artificial version of chocolate that was supposed to be healthier or something. All of Monica's Mocklate recipes were miserable failures. It was utter garbage. That's why I haven't tried Choxie -- I imagine it to be akin to Mocklate.
At least, I did. I finally broke down and bought a box of Choxie Truffles last week. Sweet mother of Buddha, they are awesome. They consist of a heavenly, light chocolate-ey, mousse-type filling surrounded by a layer of dark chocolate and sprinkled with shaved bits of white chocolate. The entire box is gone now and my mouth is still watering.
Moral of this story: don't let your favorite television shows -- entertaining as they may be -- color your perception of yummy confections. Or something like that. I don't really care, as I'm off to Target for more Choxie Truffles.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I Was on the Radio Today
I don't know what got into me; I never do stuff like this. I called a morning talk show during my commute to work and they actually put me on the air. It was cool.
The discussion was about high school students using the internet for research papers. One of the hosts heard about a teacher who has banned the internet as a source for all papers in a class for a semester. She thought it was absurd and unreasonable that a teacher would do this "in this day and age." Her co-host thought it was perfectly acceptable because students should know how to use other research methods, too.
Anyone who knows me can probably guess which stance I took. I am firmly in the 'perfectly acceptable to ban internet use for a time' camp. I am of the opinion that knowing how to get around a library and use the card catalog (which is online itself) are valuable skills that everyone should have. The internet is a wonderful tool but it's not the only one available, therefore shouldn't be the only one relied upon.
There were a lot of reasons tossed around in support of both points of view. Someone mentioned the widespread plagiarism since the advent of the internet. Someone else brought up software that searches out pieces of papers and alerts teachers to possible plagiarism. Someone said that not everyone has a computer and someone else said that there are computers in libraries which brought the library back into the discussion. I brought up the fact that there are an ever increasing number of functional illiterates in our society and I think our lack of actual reading and writing has something to do with that. The woman host said flat-out, "I don't believe that." I laughed at her.
Like any discussion with no definite answer, this one traced itself in many circles. But it was fun to listen and discuss. And I was on the freakin' radio. :grin:
The discussion was about high school students using the internet for research papers. One of the hosts heard about a teacher who has banned the internet as a source for all papers in a class for a semester. She thought it was absurd and unreasonable that a teacher would do this "in this day and age." Her co-host thought it was perfectly acceptable because students should know how to use other research methods, too.
Anyone who knows me can probably guess which stance I took. I am firmly in the 'perfectly acceptable to ban internet use for a time' camp. I am of the opinion that knowing how to get around a library and use the card catalog (which is online itself) are valuable skills that everyone should have. The internet is a wonderful tool but it's not the only one available, therefore shouldn't be the only one relied upon.
There were a lot of reasons tossed around in support of both points of view. Someone mentioned the widespread plagiarism since the advent of the internet. Someone else brought up software that searches out pieces of papers and alerts teachers to possible plagiarism. Someone said that not everyone has a computer and someone else said that there are computers in libraries which brought the library back into the discussion. I brought up the fact that there are an ever increasing number of functional illiterates in our society and I think our lack of actual reading and writing has something to do with that. The woman host said flat-out, "I don't believe that." I laughed at her.
Like any discussion with no definite answer, this one traced itself in many circles. But it was fun to listen and discuss. And I was on the freakin' radio. :grin:
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Walk Tall
There is a song titled Walk Tall by John Mellencamp. I can't get enough of it. I have searched the internets far and wide for months and have not been able to find it to add to my playlist. Boo. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find this song for me. If you find it, I'll be forever indebted to you. Really.
Here are the lyrics to get you started:
The simple minded
And the uninformed
Can be easily led astray
And those that cannot connect the dots
Hey, look the other way
People believe what they want to believe
When it makes no sense at all
So becareful of those who
Kill in Jesus' Name and don’t believe in
Killing at all.
Somewhere out in the distance
Is the death of you and me
Even though we don't think of it much
It's still out there for us to see
If you treat your life like a bar room fight
You'll die stinking of gin
No drunkards allowed in heaven
No sinners will get in.
So be careful in what you believe in
There's plenty to get you confused
And in this land called paradise
You must walk in many men's shoes
Bigotry and hatred are enemies to us all
Grace, mercy and forgiveness
Will help a man walk tall.
Those are just the verses. The chorus is a bunch of 'walk talls' that sort of run into each other and are kind of a pain to wade through in printed form. Anyway, if you find a link to the song, let me know. My undying gratitude will be your prize. And if you can't find it, well then, enjoy the lyrics.
Here are the lyrics to get you started:
The simple minded
And the uninformed
Can be easily led astray
And those that cannot connect the dots
Hey, look the other way
People believe what they want to believe
When it makes no sense at all
So becareful of those who
Kill in Jesus' Name and don’t believe in
Killing at all.
Somewhere out in the distance
Is the death of you and me
Even though we don't think of it much
It's still out there for us to see
If you treat your life like a bar room fight
You'll die stinking of gin
No drunkards allowed in heaven
No sinners will get in.
So be careful in what you believe in
There's plenty to get you confused
And in this land called paradise
You must walk in many men's shoes
Bigotry and hatred are enemies to us all
Grace, mercy and forgiveness
Will help a man walk tall.
Those are just the verses. The chorus is a bunch of 'walk talls' that sort of run into each other and are kind of a pain to wade through in printed form. Anyway, if you find a link to the song, let me know. My undying gratitude will be your prize. And if you can't find it, well then, enjoy the lyrics.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Making a Difference
I miss my old job. It was frustrating in a lot of respects. There was always something unfinished. I was usually behind on at least half a dozen things. Some of the parents were maddening in their capacity for complete ignorance, no matter how many conversations I had with them.
But I miss it because I really felt like I made a difference to some people. I knew it when a mother left my office, relieved that she had a dentist to take her child to. I knew it when a panicked child calmed down during his breathing treatment. I knew it when a Spanish-speaking-only parent realized that not only could I understand him, but I could also help him get a doctor's appointment for his child with a 104 degree fever.
I miss the people I worked with. They knew what I was going through because they were going through it, too. All my frustrations and victories were the same for them. We were a team and we worked together so well.
I miss the kids in the school. So many of them were in my office regularly. I got to know them and their conditions. I worked with their parents to coordinate things at school and at home. I wonder how a few of them are doing now and how much they've grown.
I really miss feeling like I am making a difference. Some people might think I have an over-blown sense of myself after reading that sentence. I don't know; maybe I do, maybe I don't. Whatever it is, I know I don't get the same feeling from my current job. I really hope to get back to the same environment some day.
But I miss it because I really felt like I made a difference to some people. I knew it when a mother left my office, relieved that she had a dentist to take her child to. I knew it when a panicked child calmed down during his breathing treatment. I knew it when a Spanish-speaking-only parent realized that not only could I understand him, but I could also help him get a doctor's appointment for his child with a 104 degree fever.
I miss the people I worked with. They knew what I was going through because they were going through it, too. All my frustrations and victories were the same for them. We were a team and we worked together so well.
I miss the kids in the school. So many of them were in my office regularly. I got to know them and their conditions. I worked with their parents to coordinate things at school and at home. I wonder how a few of them are doing now and how much they've grown.
I really miss feeling like I am making a difference. Some people might think I have an over-blown sense of myself after reading that sentence. I don't know; maybe I do, maybe I don't. Whatever it is, I know I don't get the same feeling from my current job. I really hope to get back to the same environment some day.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Martin Luther King, Jr.
A thoughtful essay, well worth your time. The writer presents the reality of Martin Luther King, Jr. and what his death has meant for this nation.
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1726656_1727254_1726040,00.html
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1726656_1727254_1726040,00.html
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Earth Hour
Please join me in taking a stand against global warming. On Saturday March 29, 2008, turn out all your lights for one hour at 8:00 pm, your local time. You may be only one person, but it must start with one person. Watch the video below for more information. To be counted among the millions, go to http://www.earthhour.org/.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
On Motherhood
I came across the essay posted below on a message board I frequent. It's an online community for mothers and so the topic is more than fitting. I decided to post it here because it is a reminder of what I am doing, all day, every day, with every breath and every step.
I often pause to look at my children and marvel at how far they have come. I always kick myself for not remembering some mundane detail of their infancy or toddlerhood. The mundane things are the things that I must work to remember. I will always remember their very first day of school; but will I remember the overalls they wore, or the pigtails, or the scuffed up tennis shoes? I surely hope so.
There are days when I must count to 10 (or 1000) to avoid doing or saying something I know I will regret. Those are the days when I silently chant to myself, "Only 14 more years. Only 14 more years."
And then there are moments like this, when I am reminded of how little time I have, how they will one day -- all too soon -- be capable of living on their own. I remember my tiny little babies, that heavenly newborn scent, their toothless, milky smiles and I tear up and think, "Only 14 more years."
All My Babies Are Gone Now
By Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author
All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow, but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.
Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach, T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education -- all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations -- what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.
Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.
When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.
Every part of raising children is humbling. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the "Remember-When-Mom-Did" Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language -- mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?" (She insisted I include that here.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?
But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.
Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.
I often pause to look at my children and marvel at how far they have come. I always kick myself for not remembering some mundane detail of their infancy or toddlerhood. The mundane things are the things that I must work to remember. I will always remember their very first day of school; but will I remember the overalls they wore, or the pigtails, or the scuffed up tennis shoes? I surely hope so.
There are days when I must count to 10 (or 1000) to avoid doing or saying something I know I will regret. Those are the days when I silently chant to myself, "Only 14 more years. Only 14 more years."
And then there are moments like this, when I am reminded of how little time I have, how they will one day -- all too soon -- be capable of living on their own. I remember my tiny little babies, that heavenly newborn scent, their toothless, milky smiles and I tear up and think, "Only 14 more years."
All My Babies Are Gone Now
By Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author
All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow, but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.
Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach, T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education -- all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations -- what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.
Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.
When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.
Every part of raising children is humbling. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the "Remember-When-Mom-Did" Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language -- mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?" (She insisted I include that here.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?
But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.
Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Maybe We're Just Here
Dinner conversation last night in our home --
Miriam: Why don't Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Caleb go to church?
Me: I guess they don't want to.
Miriam: They don't believe in God?
Me: I don't know if that's why they don't go to church, but some people don't believe in God.
Miriam: I believe in God.
Me: Why?
Miriam: Because he made us ... actually, I don't know who made us. Maybe we're just here.
Miriam: Why don't Aunt Jennifer and Uncle Caleb go to church?
Me: I guess they don't want to.
Miriam: They don't believe in God?
Me: I don't know if that's why they don't go to church, but some people don't believe in God.
Miriam: I believe in God.
Me: Why?
Miriam: Because he made us ... actually, I don't know who made us. Maybe we're just here.
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