This is my favorite holiday. It has been since I was a kid. I like Easter, and Christmas and the 4th of July too, oh, and Thanksgiving, but they all have one problem in common. Whenever I would get excited about gifts or stockings or fireworks or eggs, my dad would always say, "Don't forget the real reason that we celebrate. It's not all about the gifts you know."
Yes dad I do know. I know it so well because you are a very good dad and have raised me up right! Just because I'm excited about this superficial materialistic thing does NOT mean I am shallow!
But Halloween. It really is all about the candy and the costumes. That's it. That's all there is to it. Oh, I know other people have tried to make it about evil and crap like that, but I scoff at their efforts. None of them, no matter how evil they may be can out maneuver the American Marketing Juggernaut! Yes, candy sellers, costume makers and purveyors of decorations will triumph and Halloween will always be, "All about the goodies."
So here’s to the Draco Malfoy, Black Cat, and Little Red Riding Hood (who even got her dad to don a wolf mask) who reside at my house this year. Let the candy feasting begin!
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
I Think I'd Like to British, Maybe
This summer Sue (who is so young and beautiful with all of her long blond hair) and Charlotte had a YouTube link on their blog to Paul Potts. You can link to him
here
The other thing about this story is the actual video of Connie. You can watch it here.
As I watched this lovely little girl sing I was struck by the fact that she actually looked and sounded like the six year old that she is. Even when you see her sing in the finals, she still looks like a little girl. She's wearing a sweet little girl dress that was, or at least could have been, already in her closet. She has no make up on, or it's done to look like she has none on. And she just has clean, combed hair. In other words she does not look like a tart in a tiny body, which is totally what would have happened in an American TV talent show. And now that I think about it even more, there is no way that Paul Potts would have gotten the reaction that he got from an English audience from an American audience.
We are so dang shallow in this country! Why is that? Why do we seem to value style over substance and making everyone fit a very narrow definition of acceptability? I'm not trying to be anti-American, but this is something we should look at in ourselves and see what we can do about it. I can't change TV or magazines, but I can change how I respond to them and how I respond to people who don't fit the narrow definition of how you're "supposed" to look. I can also refuse to allow anyone, even myself, to put my children or me into set boxes.
here
The other thing about this story is the actual video of Connie. You can watch it here.
As I watched this lovely little girl sing I was struck by the fact that she actually looked and sounded like the six year old that she is. Even when you see her sing in the finals, she still looks like a little girl. She's wearing a sweet little girl dress that was, or at least could have been, already in her closet. She has no make up on, or it's done to look like she has none on. And she just has clean, combed hair. In other words she does not look like a tart in a tiny body, which is totally what would have happened in an American TV talent show. And now that I think about it even more, there is no way that Paul Potts would have gotten the reaction that he got from an English audience from an American audience.
We are so dang shallow in this country! Why is that? Why do we seem to value style over substance and making everyone fit a very narrow definition of acceptability? I'm not trying to be anti-American, but this is something we should look at in ourselves and see what we can do about it. I can't change TV or magazines, but I can change how I respond to them and how I respond to people who don't fit the narrow definition of how you're "supposed" to look. I can also refuse to allow anyone, even myself, to put my children or me into set boxes.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Who's The Boss?
A Newsweek writer posed an interesting question this week. “Is it ever ok to discipline someone else’s child?” Her unofficial research said that the social norm is, “No, pretty much never.” There were a few exceptions: If a child is in danger, the child is a very close family friend or maybe a gentle (half-hearted?) discipline on a play date.
I have to admit, that pretty much lines up with how the social norm feels to me as well. If someone else gets on my kid’s case and I’m standing right there, I don’t take it as helpful, I take it as a backhanded reprimand to me for not disciplining my own child. On the other hand, if I’m not right there, it seems to me that another adult should step in. I might feel a little resentful, or embarrassed when I find out about it, but maybe it would do my child some good to know that he/she can’t get away with stuff when I’m not watching.
I don’t know. I suppose this could be a huge can of worms, because what if the parent disciplines my kid for doing something that is perfectly ok at my house? I know of a little girl whose friend and the friend’s parents told her that she shouldn’t be reading Harry Potter because it’s from the devil. JD would have totally gone off on that parent if it had happened to him.
On the other hand if I’m at a park or something and my child is not playing nice (Can you believe that I would have that concern with my sweeties?!) and I don’t notice, then I would hope somebody’s parent would tell my kid to knock it off.
In my neighborhood, I have other people’s kids at my house all the time. In the summer, I think some of them live here. In that case, it’s my house; they’re my rules. Of course, if the neighbor kids are doing something they shouldn’t be, and then my own kids are right in the thick of it, so it’s mostly a group scolding. I would hope that other neighbor’s would be the same way at their homes.
This is where being a teacher is helpful. I’m less inhibited about bossing around other kids.
I still don’t know though. Once when I was in line at the grocery store my girls were bickering about something. I decided that Abby was the instigator in the matter and “punished” her by making her sit in the cart. As I was putting her in, the old lady in front of us hissed, yes hissed, at Rachel, “You hit her, I saw you hit her.” It was pretty ugly and Rachel denied doing it. I felt bad, Rachel felt bad; it was a bad scene.
But if Rachel had hit her sister- she would totally deny it under pressure like that- then she shouldn’t get away with it. ARGH! What’s the right thing to do?
I have to admit, that pretty much lines up with how the social norm feels to me as well. If someone else gets on my kid’s case and I’m standing right there, I don’t take it as helpful, I take it as a backhanded reprimand to me for not disciplining my own child. On the other hand, if I’m not right there, it seems to me that another adult should step in. I might feel a little resentful, or embarrassed when I find out about it, but maybe it would do my child some good to know that he/she can’t get away with stuff when I’m not watching.
I don’t know. I suppose this could be a huge can of worms, because what if the parent disciplines my kid for doing something that is perfectly ok at my house? I know of a little girl whose friend and the friend’s parents told her that she shouldn’t be reading Harry Potter because it’s from the devil. JD would have totally gone off on that parent if it had happened to him.
On the other hand if I’m at a park or something and my child is not playing nice (Can you believe that I would have that concern with my sweeties?!) and I don’t notice, then I would hope somebody’s parent would tell my kid to knock it off.
In my neighborhood, I have other people’s kids at my house all the time. In the summer, I think some of them live here. In that case, it’s my house; they’re my rules. Of course, if the neighbor kids are doing something they shouldn’t be, and then my own kids are right in the thick of it, so it’s mostly a group scolding. I would hope that other neighbor’s would be the same way at their homes.
This is where being a teacher is helpful. I’m less inhibited about bossing around other kids.
I still don’t know though. Once when I was in line at the grocery store my girls were bickering about something. I decided that Abby was the instigator in the matter and “punished” her by making her sit in the cart. As I was putting her in, the old lady in front of us hissed, yes hissed, at Rachel, “You hit her, I saw you hit her.” It was pretty ugly and Rachel denied doing it. I felt bad, Rachel felt bad; it was a bad scene.
But if Rachel had hit her sister- she would totally deny it under pressure like that- then she shouldn’t get away with it. ARGH! What’s the right thing to do?
Saturday, October 13, 2007
The Freegans
You might not have heard of them. I just learned about Freegans a few weeks ago in Newsweek. They're people who try to live without spending any money. They're name comes from that fact and the fact that they are also vegans. They even try to get their food free by foraging. Since they live in urban areas, that means foraging in dumpsters. Yes, dumpsters. Apparently that's not as nasty as it sounds if you know where to look. Restaurants and grocery stores through out an amazing amount of perfectly good food.
Here's the part that's stuck in my head about their plan. I hesitated for days to post my thought because in so many ways they have the right idea and I wonder if I am doing any better. However, it seems to me that there's a break down in their logic. They want to disengage themselves from the capitalist machine, but at the same time they are survival depends on Someone being apart of that same machine. Part of living free can mean living on a friend's couch, in addition to the foraging. Capitalists create the “habitat” in which they live and forage.
It seems to me that their hearts are totally in the right place. There is a lot of waste in our capitalist economy and that same economy shuts out groups of people and forces them to live in unchosen poverty. But. It seems to me that Second Harvest, a charity that takes that same waste and shares it with people in need, has a better plan. (Not that Second Harvest digs in dumpsters. They arrange to take the excess before it gets to the dumpter.)
From what I read, most of the Freegans are well-educated people who have or had good, well paying jobs. If they want to disengage maybe they should try what all the hippie farm collectives tried and at least do the work of creating the food and shelter themselves.
Here's the part that's stuck in my head about their plan. I hesitated for days to post my thought because in so many ways they have the right idea and I wonder if I am doing any better. However, it seems to me that there's a break down in their logic. They want to disengage themselves from the capitalist machine, but at the same time they are survival depends on Someone being apart of that same machine. Part of living free can mean living on a friend's couch, in addition to the foraging. Capitalists create the “habitat” in which they live and forage.
It seems to me that their hearts are totally in the right place. There is a lot of waste in our capitalist economy and that same economy shuts out groups of people and forces them to live in unchosen poverty. But. It seems to me that Second Harvest, a charity that takes that same waste and shares it with people in need, has a better plan. (Not that Second Harvest digs in dumpsters. They arrange to take the excess before it gets to the dumpter.)
From what I read, most of the Freegans are well-educated people who have or had good, well paying jobs. If they want to disengage maybe they should try what all the hippie farm collectives tried and at least do the work of creating the food and shelter themselves.
Friday, October 12, 2007
You Can't Go Back, But...
Last week as Abby and I were taking clothes off the line and hanging up more, Abby said, “Mommy when you let me hang up clothes with you, I love you so much! When I grow up I am going to be a great clothes hanger.”
That’s pretty much what I think whenever I’ve been doing some task in just the same way my mom and grandma used to do it. That’s part of the appeal of growing vegetables or making jam or even hanging clothes on the line. Of course I love that it’s environmentally friendly and saves me money, but it’s the emotional connection that keeps me going.
Low-tech ways of doing things are more of side-by-side way of doing things. They let me live with my kids, not just meet them at the occasional intersection. The ways of my mom and grandma make tasks not just something to get done and then spend time with my kids; they're accomplishments that we complete together.
When I was a kid my parents had a huge garden, even though we lived in the city. My sister and brothers and I spent a lot of time weeding it, picking and snapping beans, shelling peas and freezing all this stuff. We really resented that we had to do all that work and couldn’t play with our friends. The funny thing was though, all the neighbor kids wanted to do garden work with us! Working with our friends certainly made the job much more pleasant, even if we thought they were weird.
You can’t go backwards. I realize that, but I think that there are some ways that we might think about reviving. These stories and memories tell me there’s a truth to my sense that modern efficiency has a cost much more than the environmental one.
That’s pretty much what I think whenever I’ve been doing some task in just the same way my mom and grandma used to do it. That’s part of the appeal of growing vegetables or making jam or even hanging clothes on the line. Of course I love that it’s environmentally friendly and saves me money, but it’s the emotional connection that keeps me going.
Low-tech ways of doing things are more of side-by-side way of doing things. They let me live with my kids, not just meet them at the occasional intersection. The ways of my mom and grandma make tasks not just something to get done and then spend time with my kids; they're accomplishments that we complete together.
When I was a kid my parents had a huge garden, even though we lived in the city. My sister and brothers and I spent a lot of time weeding it, picking and snapping beans, shelling peas and freezing all this stuff. We really resented that we had to do all that work and couldn’t play with our friends. The funny thing was though, all the neighbor kids wanted to do garden work with us! Working with our friends certainly made the job much more pleasant, even if we thought they were weird.
You can’t go backwards. I realize that, but I think that there are some ways that we might think about reviving. These stories and memories tell me there’s a truth to my sense that modern efficiency has a cost much more than the environmental one.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
What's in a Name?
Besides wanting Newsweek to publish me, I've always wished that magazines would print my letters to the editor. I haven't written a lot, but still; I think that what I have to say offers such brilliant insight (yes, my tongue is firmly planted in my cheek.) that they should print my letters. Now, thanks to the blogisphere, I no longer care, much.
I once wrote a letter to some parenting magazine about their article on what to tell children to call their various genitalia. (Is various the word I want there?) Of course the magazine was all about saying, "Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina." Fine, no cutesy names, no acting embarrassed, whatever. I get all that. I had a different issue altogether and it's been bugging me ever since.
Why is vagina the automatic counterpart to penis? When you are three or four years old, or when ever the heck this comes up, (go for the pun if you must, we'll all wait for you....) what do you most frequently use that area of you anatomy for? To pee, of course. And I don't know about you, but I have never peed with my vagina. Not once. So it seems to me, that when you are little what's more important than a vagina is a urethra. Unfortunately that's a tough one to say, but it is what you pee with and that's what little kids want to know. Grownups should try thinking like little kids every now and than; it's less complicated if nothing else.
I once wrote a letter to some parenting magazine about their article on what to tell children to call their various genitalia. (Is various the word I want there?) Of course the magazine was all about saying, "Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina." Fine, no cutesy names, no acting embarrassed, whatever. I get all that. I had a different issue altogether and it's been bugging me ever since.
Why is vagina the automatic counterpart to penis? When you are three or four years old, or when ever the heck this comes up, (go for the pun if you must, we'll all wait for you....) what do you most frequently use that area of you anatomy for? To pee, of course. And I don't know about you, but I have never peed with my vagina. Not once. So it seems to me, that when you are little what's more important than a vagina is a urethra. Unfortunately that's a tough one to say, but it is what you pee with and that's what little kids want to know. Grownups should try thinking like little kids every now and than; it's less complicated if nothing else.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Gracias
Thanks to the people who posted funny underwear stories, I loved them all. If you're looking for your chance to add a story, it's down one post. Thanks to all the people who emailed me to tell me that you laughed and enjoyed the stories, but didn't have one about underwear to share. I find that shocking. I actually have two underwear stories, so I figured most people would have at least one. Ah well.
While I'm on the subject, I might as well tell my other underwear story. (For those of you, I think that might be all of one person, who enjoys my more musier musings, I'm musing a few now and will post them when they gel.)
Natalie's bug was chugging, or was it racing, through the streets of Midland in hot pursuit. No wait; maybe it was her orange Saab. Maybe it doesn't matter. What matters is that we were in hot pursuit. Hot to trot, as my mom would say. We were chasing some boy, let's call him Fred, that Natalie was in love with. We weren't even trying not to be obvious. We stayed close to him and he led us on a merry chase through many neighborhoods. As we were swerving and leaning into corners, Natalie and I were also busy sucking down Big Gulps, or maybe Slurpees. I wish I could tell you more details about all this chasing, but you've gotten the two key things: It was a long chase with a big drink.
I'm pretty sure that by the time we pulled into her driveway the whites of my eyes were yellow. She hadn't even put it in park before I flung myself out of the car door and raced up their front walk. Being a frequent visitor at the house, I felt no need to knock- thank goodness! I burst through the front door and tore up the stairs. It was pretty much a straight shot from the front door, up the stairs and into the bathroom. I didn't even bother to see if the bathroom was empty. There were four girls in the house and this was their bathroom; I had nothing to hide. I skidded to a stop in front of the toilet and hastily sat myself down. What a relief. I had made it.
That relief did not last long however. In midstream I realized that I had forgotten to pull down my pants. There I sat peeing right through my underwear and shorts. Too late to do anything about it now; I just let it flow.
While I'm on the subject, I might as well tell my other underwear story. (For those of you, I think that might be all of one person, who enjoys my more musier musings, I'm musing a few now and will post them when they gel.)
Natalie's bug was chugging, or was it racing, through the streets of Midland in hot pursuit. No wait; maybe it was her orange Saab. Maybe it doesn't matter. What matters is that we were in hot pursuit. Hot to trot, as my mom would say. We were chasing some boy, let's call him Fred, that Natalie was in love with. We weren't even trying not to be obvious. We stayed close to him and he led us on a merry chase through many neighborhoods. As we were swerving and leaning into corners, Natalie and I were also busy sucking down Big Gulps, or maybe Slurpees. I wish I could tell you more details about all this chasing, but you've gotten the two key things: It was a long chase with a big drink.
I'm pretty sure that by the time we pulled into her driveway the whites of my eyes were yellow. She hadn't even put it in park before I flung myself out of the car door and raced up their front walk. Being a frequent visitor at the house, I felt no need to knock- thank goodness! I burst through the front door and tore up the stairs. It was pretty much a straight shot from the front door, up the stairs and into the bathroom. I didn't even bother to see if the bathroom was empty. There were four girls in the house and this was their bathroom; I had nothing to hide. I skidded to a stop in front of the toilet and hastily sat myself down. What a relief. I had made it.
That relief did not last long however. In midstream I realized that I had forgotten to pull down my pants. There I sat peeing right through my underwear and shorts. Too late to do anything about it now; I just let it flow.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Audience Participation
Another thing I love is "This American Life." You can download their podcast for free at itunes. Every week they choose a theme and bring you various stories on that theme. I'd like to copy them a little. I've chosen a theme and I'm going to tell a story about that theme, then you post a story on the same theme in the comments section and we'll all enjoy a few stories together. The theme is underwear.
When I was about 16 or 17 the task of taking my grandmother to her doctor's appointment somehow fell to me. I'm sure there were good reasons at the time, but for the moment they escape me. She needed someone to take her because she'd had a stroke and walked with a walker. When I say walked, I really mean shuffled.
Her appointment was the last one of the day. By the time we left there was no office staff and no nursing staff, just Dr. Fields and us. Dr. Fields was concerned about Grandma getting out to the car safely with such a young assistant. "Are you sure you're all right getting her out there?" he asked. Whatever my reply was it didn't instill him with much confidence because he insisted on standing on the front porch of his office and watching over us.
I pulled the car right up to the curb and Grandma inched her way out there. I opened the door and stood behind her as she scraped her walker off to the side to get it out of her way. She was supporting herself with one hand on the top of the door and one hand on the handle in the ceiling that Grandpa had installed for her. To maneuver into the car was a complicated series of foot shuffles and hip twists. If she were younger and from another background you might have called it dancing. At any rate, it was right in the middle of all this shuffling and twisting that Grandma's frugal habit of keeping things that should have been thrown out came along to bite her in the...
Well, actually that was the trouble. Her underwear, with it's worthless elastic, wasn't anywhere near her butt. It had given into gravity and was down around her ankles.
"Oh Tonia!" she said, "Is Dr. Fields looking?"
I glanced back, and of course he was looking! That was the whole point of him standing there! But what I said was, "I don't think he can see a thing. You just keep right on shuffling those feet until you come out of that underwear. Then I'll scoop them into the car and no one will be the wiser."
So my grandma, her dignity having better elastic than her drawers, got back to the task of getting into the car, this time with the added challenge of stepping out of her underwear. When she was safely in, I snatched up the underwear, trying to block the Dr.'s view with my body, tossed it on the front seat floor, and off we went. No harm done.
When I was about 16 or 17 the task of taking my grandmother to her doctor's appointment somehow fell to me. I'm sure there were good reasons at the time, but for the moment they escape me. She needed someone to take her because she'd had a stroke and walked with a walker. When I say walked, I really mean shuffled.
Her appointment was the last one of the day. By the time we left there was no office staff and no nursing staff, just Dr. Fields and us. Dr. Fields was concerned about Grandma getting out to the car safely with such a young assistant. "Are you sure you're all right getting her out there?" he asked. Whatever my reply was it didn't instill him with much confidence because he insisted on standing on the front porch of his office and watching over us.
I pulled the car right up to the curb and Grandma inched her way out there. I opened the door and stood behind her as she scraped her walker off to the side to get it out of her way. She was supporting herself with one hand on the top of the door and one hand on the handle in the ceiling that Grandpa had installed for her. To maneuver into the car was a complicated series of foot shuffles and hip twists. If she were younger and from another background you might have called it dancing. At any rate, it was right in the middle of all this shuffling and twisting that Grandma's frugal habit of keeping things that should have been thrown out came along to bite her in the...
Well, actually that was the trouble. Her underwear, with it's worthless elastic, wasn't anywhere near her butt. It had given into gravity and was down around her ankles.
"Oh Tonia!" she said, "Is Dr. Fields looking?"
I glanced back, and of course he was looking! That was the whole point of him standing there! But what I said was, "I don't think he can see a thing. You just keep right on shuffling those feet until you come out of that underwear. Then I'll scoop them into the car and no one will be the wiser."
So my grandma, her dignity having better elastic than her drawers, got back to the task of getting into the car, this time with the added challenge of stepping out of her underwear. When she was safely in, I snatched up the underwear, trying to block the Dr.'s view with my body, tossed it on the front seat floor, and off we went. No harm done.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Beauty
I was so touched by this creation by Rachel and our neighbor. Usually they whine about having to play outside, but today they must have been inspired. I love anything where kids use their imaginations and make their own thing, but something about the colors and textures; even the smell of this really lifted my day. Of course their enthusiasm for the project was heart warming as well :-)
In the top picture you can see the house and yard for the little person. Below that is the red flower bed with the little pink eraser girl sleeping on it. The bottom picture features the garage and driveway with house and yard in the background. Rachel took the top two pictures and I took the bottom one.
The Book Thief
I finished reading The Book Thief a week or so ago and I've been puzzling about it ever since.
Book Friends of mine had recommended it very highly, and Ginger wanted me to read it so much that she was nearly beside herself. I usually love what these friends love. Nearly without fail.
I did not fall in love with this book. I liked it. I thought it well written. I thought that a story of the Holocaust told from the point of view of ordinary Germans was an important story to be told.
I found it beautiful. The phrases, sentences, word choices were astonishingly creative. It was a story of the power of words that powerfully used words to tell the story.
But all of that Art stood between me and falling in love. It did not leave a mark on my soul.
Or so I thought. Because if it didn't leave a mark on my soul, why have I had so many conversations about it? Why am I blogging about it now, so long after I finished it?
See? Puzzled.
Book Friends of mine had recommended it very highly, and Ginger wanted me to read it so much that she was nearly beside herself. I usually love what these friends love. Nearly without fail.
I did not fall in love with this book. I liked it. I thought it well written. I thought that a story of the Holocaust told from the point of view of ordinary Germans was an important story to be told.
I found it beautiful. The phrases, sentences, word choices were astonishingly creative. It was a story of the power of words that powerfully used words to tell the story.
But all of that Art stood between me and falling in love. It did not leave a mark on my soul.
Or so I thought. Because if it didn't leave a mark on my soul, why have I had so many conversations about it? Why am I blogging about it now, so long after I finished it?
See? Puzzled.
Monday, October 1, 2007
I Think I'm Backwards From Other People
I've said for years that I'm a backwards Mom. My first born's baby photo album is about a half an inch thick. My second child's album is about an inch and a half or more, and child number three has a big ol' three-inch thick album. That's backwards.
JD, that's kid number one, watched about as much TV as he wanted when his was really little. I've gotten stricter with each kid. What's up with that?!
Now I've realized it's not just the Mom me that's backwards. All of me is. For most people if you want to start a new habit, like exercising, you need a plan, a goal and a way to get there. That has NEVER worked with me. As soon as I mess up, I figure I've missed the mark and I'll never be successful. So, I have no goals, no plan, no set time when I swim or run. And slowly I've grown from swimming or running three days a week, to four and feeling pretty good about that. Then I thought five sounded pretty good and the next thing I knew I was telling myself that I should really give my body a break and not work out seven days a week!
So that's my plan. Don't have a plan. Just take it one day at a time and if you do the thing- whatever it is- that day, then good job! If you don't, tomorrow's another day.
I don't know if this will actually work for everyone, maybe just backwards people.
JD, that's kid number one, watched about as much TV as he wanted when his was really little. I've gotten stricter with each kid. What's up with that?!
Now I've realized it's not just the Mom me that's backwards. All of me is. For most people if you want to start a new habit, like exercising, you need a plan, a goal and a way to get there. That has NEVER worked with me. As soon as I mess up, I figure I've missed the mark and I'll never be successful. So, I have no goals, no plan, no set time when I swim or run. And slowly I've grown from swimming or running three days a week, to four and feeling pretty good about that. Then I thought five sounded pretty good and the next thing I knew I was telling myself that I should really give my body a break and not work out seven days a week!
So that's my plan. Don't have a plan. Just take it one day at a time and if you do the thing- whatever it is- that day, then good job! If you don't, tomorrow's another day.
I don't know if this will actually work for everyone, maybe just backwards people.
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