Soccer Mom in Denial

Love, more

2011-08-22T00:20:00.009-04:00

Once again, I return from blogging oblivion - and vacation mode - to acknowledge the boys' birthday. They turn 11 today. And as is my custom they get their own letters.

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Dear little man,

I recently read in Sophie's World (a fictional novel about the history of philosophy) the following quote:

"The most subversive people are those who ask questions."

You, my son, are the most subversive of subversive people.

When you and your brother were less than two years old, I encouraged you both to use words to describe how you felt, in an attempt to thwart the oncoming "terrible twos". I thought if you could articulate what was going on inside your brain you would be able to calmly explain your toddler angst with grace and dignity.

That clearly didn't happen. But it did lead to a relative asking, incredulously, if you as a 20-month-old had explained you were feeling blue. You were able to saying that you were sad by using the word "blue".

Fast forward to today. This has been a year of incredible horrors - the shooting of an elected official and murder of others in Arizona, natural and man-made calamities in Japan, gruesome mass slaying in Norway, drownings and murders closer to home, the return of an old man to our big city that was on the FBI's most wanted list. And through it all you keep asking questions. Hard questions. About the root of evil. About goodness. The details of events. Who did it. Why they did it. Why didn't their parents stop them. As if an 81-year-old man has parents who are still alive to punish him.

Sometimes your questions wear me down and I just say "that is all I know". And you stew. I don't know what your stewing about. Is it that I let you down. That I couldn't answer all your questions. That I am fallible.

Or, maybe, are you realizing there are still questions to answer. Still mysteries - some great, some horrible - that need to be solved. Are you realizing that you could be the one to answer one of them? Maybe several?

Because I knew when you were nearly two years old. When you were telling me that you were blue.

Happy birthday little man. I love you,

Mama

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Dear little man,

During 2010 you were two musicals within 8 months of each other with the amateur theater group our family is a part of. You played a young gambler in Guys and Dolls and had a solo in "Learn Your Lessons Well" in Godspell. The director, Diane, made it clear that she had plans for you in future productions. One of them was to resurrect a simple staging of Amahl and the Night Visitor. Diane was the only one who would mount that show and she had been waiting for a boy to become old enough to handle the singing. You were even given the music to get to know it.

Then Diane got sick. We didn't understand how sick. She had cancer and was dead in a matter of weeks. You were devastated. Within a week of her dying you had to write a school essay about someone who made a big difference in your life.

This is what partly what you wrote:

The person that made a big difference in my life is Diane W. First, she was a beautiful singer, and she acted. Next, we attended the same church. Last, she got sick 5 weeks ago. We had big plans for future shows....

The effect she had on me was important. First, I am more confident on stage, and this carries in the outside world. Also, she made me more mature. To conclude, I know more songs because of her. She made a big difference in my life.

You cried as you wrote this. But you worked through it. To write this tribute to Diane. And to show that you will always make music. And act. And sing.

Earlier this month we all saw All Shook Up, Shakespeare's Twelfth Night set to Elvis' songs. And you have already decided that the first post-Diane production of our little community theater group will be All Shook Up. And you're going to be the lead. The Elvis character.

And Diane would've loved it.

Happy Birthday. I love you,
Mama

Happy Birthday Happiness

2011-04-23T00:07:00.013-04:00

Dear daughter,

Your confidence continues to amaze me. It is as if you have a core of steel. You will boldly try a new task, dance move or experience with barely a blink. Although as you turn 7 years old it seems that strong confidence is starting to become a bit shaky. You complain that certain steps in ballet are too hard. Your bicycle peddles are not properly placed for you to get started. You can't figure out a math problem. But then you are presented a challenge and never look back.

Last fall you were the second youngest cast member in an intergenerational production of Godspell. For the final dress rehearsals the actress playing John the Baptist/Judas had laryngitis. Heading into opening night it was becoming apparent she wasn't going to be able to sing the opening to "Prepare Ye" as she walked from the back of the hall towards the stage. An hour before the show the director asked me if you could sing "Prepare Ye" by yourself, walking in front of the actress. I said yes but only if you agreed.

Of course you agreed.

After the opening song you appeared at the back of the hall, arms outstretched singing

"Prepare ye the way of the lord, prepare ye the way of the lord."

While the audience was indeed prepared for the lord, they were also warned to watch for you. Because in spite of your budding concerns and occasional lapses in confidence, you still have that fearless core of steel.

Happy Birthday. I love you,

Mama

Dedham Rocks - Godspell

2010-11-09T13:59:00.003-05:00

Once again I'm back writing because there is this terrific blog in my town (or, as we say "wicked aswesome" blog) that gets me to write the things I love about my kids' school and the town were I live.

This weekend my family will be part of its fifth Parish Players’ production, an enthusiastic and uplifting version of Godspell. One son and I sang in a musical review in 2006, which is when I almost had to stop singing “For Good” from the musical Wicked (you can visit my blog to read the full story). The following year both of my twin boys and I were Munchkins in the Wizard of Oz. When the youngest child got into the shows, I helped from behind the scenes watching them in You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown and this spring’s Guys and Dolls.

This time around all three kids insisted I be on stage with them. So I tried out in early September, singing “The Preamble” from the Saturday morning classic, Schoolhouse Rocks (c’mon, you know it – “We the people, in order to form a more perfect union….”).

Unfortunately I did such a good job I ended up part of the 8 person opening number, one of the hardest pieces I have ever had to learn, and sing. And this weekend I have to sing it before an audience.

Godspell is the retelling of the Gospels of Saint Matthew (for instance the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son) with short skits and songs. The show lends itself perfectly to the type of productions the Parish Players’ puts on. Everyone who auditions gets a part. There is no “type” of performer or expectation of previous stage experience required. We have had cast members as young as four and as mature as 90 years old. So while the original 1971 show had only 10 cast members (including Sonia Manzano aka Maria from Sesame Street), our intergenerational cast of 26 are able to share speaking roles and songs.

And the Parish Players, while affiliated with the First Church and Parish in Dedham, is open to all. We have performers who have never set foot in the church sanctuary because they worship elsewhere. For instance, Mary has never in her life been on stage or sung in public (and her first ever singing in public will be in that opening number I mention above). But she played the Godspell cast album over and over again in high school and knows every song by heart. This is her chance to sing it.

We have been Dedham’s local amateur theater company for 16 years. So come see a wonderful show this weekend. And think about your audition song for the next production. We’d love to have you there.

Godspell will be performed this weekend (November 12-14) at the First Church and Parish in Dedham, 670 High Street, Dedham, MA. Friday and Saturday shows are at 7:00pm and Sunday’s show is at 2:00pm. To purchase tickets, either call 781-326-7463 or email firstchurch@dedhamuu.org. Tickets are $10 ($5 for children under 12 and seniors 65 and over).

Dedham Rocks - Apple Picking

2010-10-08T23:15:00.006-04:00

So I'm back writing because there is this terrific blog in my town (or, as we say "wicked aswesome" blog) that gets me to write the things I love about my kids' school and the town were I live. Who knew this is what would get me back on the blog saddle?

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Oakdale Elementary School recently had the annual first grade field trip to an apple orchard. All four classes - nearly 75 students - pile into two school buses to travel an hour to go pick apples, eat a brown bag lunch and enjoy cider donuts.

This is not only a part of fall but a school rite of passage. For at least a decade Oakdale first graders go on this field trip, to Honey Pot Orchard, on similar yellow buses and fill their clear bag of apples. Plus pick an extra apple to eat while walking along the trees.

This was my first time being an "official" chaperone - meaning I had the honor of riding the big yellow bus with the kids and the teachers. But it was my second time going to the orchard with a class of first graders from Oakdale (another tradition is Oakdale parents will follow the buses in a caravan of cars/vans to join the fun). The first time I went one of my twin sons lost his first tooth in the orchard. While biting an apple. We found the tooth sticking out of the apple. It is still being talked about to this day....

There were farm animals, simple machines (a perfect recap of this week's science lessons - I got a full explanation of how levers work from one of my daughter's classmates), and the incredibly popular cider donuts.

Mrs. Ward said, as we bounced on the bus, how important this trip is. How it brings the students together, students who will become middle schoolers and high schoolers and creates shared memories. And as I looked at the turning leaves through the clean bus window there were shrieking voices. Little children singing, yelling as they bounced in seats, and seeing horses, stone walls and fall leaves from their own windows.

They were making memories.

Dedham Rocks guest - Meeting the new teacher

2010-09-05T20:46:00.004-04:00

"I'm a guest, I'm a guest/ Dedham Rocks is just the best".

Apologies to Beauty and the Beast. I wrote the following post below for Dedham Rocks, a wonderful blog which celebrates the town where I live.

Meeting the new teacher

Oakdale Elementary School has a lovely tradition on the last day. Each classroom is broken up into groups, in the hallway those subgroups merge with other subgroups of similar grade students and they march into the classrooms of their new teachers. This is both how they find out who their teacher is and who their classmates will be for the new school year.

One of my then 3rd graders got into line and marched into his new 4th grade teacher’s classroom. He was warmly welcomed by her and handed the all important list of school supplies needed. The list my children seem to obsess about all summer long.

My other then 3rd grader was in his line and marched right into a classroom with the principal standing before them. She told the class their teacher would be hired over the summer and they would have a chance to meet this person before the new school year began.

So he spent a good part of the summer, whenever asked who his 4th grade teacher was, saying “TBD”. To Be Determined. Then in August the letter arrived from the principal announcing the new teacher and the September date for the meet and greet.

Several days ago, my son and I both eagerly stepped into the grand school building with the stone arches and beautiful wood hallways to climb the stairs to the 4th grade classroom.

We were the first ones to enter the bright, clean room with desks arranged in groups. The teacher walked over to my son and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Mr. Paris. What’s your name?”

The other students filed in with their parents with warm greetings for those they hadn’t seen since June. Adults commented on how much the students had grown while the students tried to take more candy from the bowl sitting on one of the desks.

As we left the building I asked my son how he thought the year will be. “Great!” he declared.

“Because he has a candy bowl.”

Be safe cake lady

2010-09-02T11:57:00.004-04:00

Twelve days ago I went to pick up my sons' birthday cake from the bakery section of the supermarket near our vacation home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. While we get to be known by a few locals over the course of those two weeks, we didn't have a sense of interacting with the same folks year in and year out. Except for the folks my husband buys bait from. They remember us.

I asked for the cake from the woman behind the pastry case. She disappeared and a few minutes later returned with the large sheet cake with two photographs scanned onto the white frosting. She had written their names and the birthday message in red, white and blue icing.

"I made their cake last year" she said to me. Then she looked down and thought out loud "I've done their cakes for the last few years".

It was true. We love how they put our boys' faces on the cakes.

And now, the woman who makes our boys' birthday cakes, the couple who make the best pizza, the folks that sell my husband his fishing bait, and thousands of others, are facing a category 4 hurricane.

Be safe cake lady. And Cosmos Pizza. And Corolla Bait and Tackle. And everyone else.

Be safe.

Brave - Part I

2010-08-30T20:48:00.005-04:00

During our recent vacation to the shore we dealt with pretty strong rip currents. Never far from my or my husband's minds was the knowledge that last year a 12-year-old boy drowned at the very beach we visit. He was taken by a rip current during our final day of vacation. We were not there but the news rippled through the little vacation community we visit.

We spent the two weeks this summer being extremely vigilant as my 10-year-old sons and 6-year-old daughter became more comfortable throwing themselves into waves and riding boogie boards into the shore. We talked with them about how to get out of a rip current. I never thought to talk through with them how long it would take or how much energy.

Every year as we return home we visit some of my family. On a beautiful sunny day this past weekend, the boys and I joined my cousin and her two oldest sons for a swim across the small bay to a dock and then swim back. My guys are full of energy and can run for hours. They are strong swimmers and I figured it wouldn't be too far for them. I grossly misjudged the distance since it was over one half a mile to the far dock and back. It was fairly easy for one of my guys.

It wasn't easy for the other one.

Before we had crossed over to the far away dock I heard a pretty sickening sound. The sound of someone gulping air, taking in some water then trying to cough it up.

My guy was really struggling.

I talked to him, encouraging him to get to the far dock. Once there he declared he wanted to get out and walk back. The other boys were ready to go back so my cousin swam with them to her dock.

After catching his breath, he agreed to swim back. We swam to the closest dock and I thought that would be our strategy - to go from dock to dock until we return to the original one. But he decided to go straight for it.

I encouraged him to swim on his back and use less energy. He did and stayed in control of his breathing. I told him how great his was doing, how we were getting closer, how he was showing real stamina. And I was thinking this was the best way to show what it takes to get out of a rip tide.

After a while, I waved to my cousin and she swam the last bit to us with a styrofoam noodle. Little man gratefully tucked it under his arms and did the breast stroke back to the dock. Then he pulled himself up the ladder, turned toward the water and jumped right back in.

Love, more

2010-08-22T00:47:00.003-04:00

Not only am I coming out of vacation but I am coming out of non-blogging mode to honor my boys' 10th birthday. And even though they are twins, they deserve their own letters which makes this a bit long for a blog post. But it is their birthday. And their first year in double digits.

Dear little man,

I sometimes can't figure you out. You can be maddeningly mean to your younger sister, mocking her 6-year-old illogical comments or fantastical stories, to the point where I think I've raised a vicious young man. You and your brother can gang up on her and just be merciless.

Yet you carefully help her make "parfaits" just like her favorite book character, Fancy Nancy, and use all the fancy words that Nancy uses ("Why YES! Putting a layer of jimmies in our parfaits is just stupendous!!!" you said to your little sister, making her beam with pride). You offer to fix her hair or play with dolls. I celebrate your kindness and practically cane you when you are mean.

Then, during the last parent-teacher conference for the grade you just finished, your teacher told me how you are the one she went to when a classmate was struggling. She shared that she often would pull you aside before recess, tell you that she was worried about one classmate or another, and ask you to "check in on the playground".

And you would.

You also in front of all your friends come up to me, slide your arm around my waist and lay your head against me. It still floors me that you continue to show such affection in public. In private you are even more cuddly. While I was cleaning the kitchen in our vacation home this week you came up behind me, wrapped your arms around me and starting singing Taylor Swift's You Belong With Me.

If you only knew how true that is.

Happy birthday little man,

Mama

Dear little man,

You are convinced you are going to be discovered on the Internet on some home video. Or you will single-handedly save an entire nation from ruin. It depends on the day. Or hour.

One excitement during your 9th year was you and your brother were hired to be "mother's helpers" for a mom with three-year-old twin boys. You got to spend 1/3 of your earnings that week, place 1/3 in savings and after several months designate the final third for a charity. We had talked during that time that you would donate to the local food pantry because it would make a real difference in our community.

And then an earthquake struck Haiti. You have classmates with family who live there. You had to listen to me talk about my own friends who were trying to locate their families. And you decided that your $18 from babysitting should go to Haiti. Three days after the earthquake. We eventually agreed to give the money to the pantry because it wasn't clear if the money would actually get to people in Haiti.

When you first heard We are the World: 25 for Haiti you were floored. Months later you continue to sing along with the song with a sincerity and passion that humbles me. I'm pretty grateful for the sunglasses I wear in the car while driving when you start singing "send them your heart/ so they know that someone cares..." You sing the entire song with feeling, eyes closed, and as loud as a you can. Your sincerity makes me weep which I hide behind the sunglasses.

And then Katie Perry's California Gurls comes on the radio and you sing that perfectly, loudly and with great zest. Making me wonder just where your passions are. Saving the world, or being a star.

I'm looking forward to seeing what it will be.

Happy birthday little man,

Mama

Running with the Bulls, New Orleans style

2010-07-25T11:24:00.004-04:00

In the summer, Unitarian Universalist churches do not hold formal services, if any, because - as the joke goes - God goes to Cape Cod (or the beach, or the lake, just insert your vacation spot of choice). My congregation has lay led services throughout the summer and I volunteered to give my own reflections on New Orleans. Here is what I said this morning:

There is a song, Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans, famously sung by New Orleans native Louis Armstrong that includes the lines:

Miss them moss covered vines… the tall sugar pines
Where mockin’ birds used to sing
And I’d like to see that lazy Mississippi…. Hurryin’ into spring
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

My family has many layered connections to New Orleans, Louisiana and the deep south. My mother spent her first ten years of life in Baton Rouge, LA as her father worked for the Army Corps of Engineers. My maternal grandmother’s family was for many generations from Natchez, MS - in fact the first Allison in the family was a 6 foot, 3 inch red headed man named Allison Foster from New Hampshire who moved to Natchez following the Civil War. There are family tales of those Natchez ancestors going to the “big city” - New Orleans - for shopping, theater and general merriment.

One such story comes from this century and involves people still alive. My 96-year-old grandfather still tells of going to Mardi Gras in New Orleans in 1949, the year Louis Armstrong rode as the King of Zulu. Mardi Gras is actually only one day in, what the locals call, the Carnival Season. My grandfather, grandmother and aunt (my mother was too young to attend and stayed behind in Baton Rouge) went to the office of a family friend’s who was a dentist. His office was on the second floor of a building which was along the parade route. My grandfather recalls watching Satchmo Armstrong riding down the wide street, waving and, in his words “having a grand time”.

After graduating from college, I ended up living in New Orleans when I was placed by Teach for America in a 1st through 3rd grade emotionally disturbed/behavior disorder class. I lived in a neighborhood called Uptown in a grand if slightly decaying old home with three other teachers. During the time I lived in New Orleans I was introduced to a young man in his early 20’s. He was half Cajun, half Italian and cooked food I never experienced. He managed to find on-street parking next to the French Quarter during my first Mardi Gras, taught me how to properly eat crawfish and had a deep love of his home city. I married him three years later and we are celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary in September.

My husband moved to Boston when he finished his MSW and this is where we’ve lived for our 15 years together. Of course, you can take a New Orleanian out of New Orleans but you really can’t take the city out of the person so we would return to the city once a year if not more often - for weddings, baby christenings, holidays, family vacations and the never ending festivals. One vacation with his family involved flying into New Orleans, renting a red convertible and driving to Pensacola, Florida to spend the week at the beach. There are photos of me, 6 months pregnant with twins, floating in the Gulf Coast waters that are affectionately called by locals as the “Redneck Rivera”.

Perhaps the best known of the festivals are Mardi Gras and the wonderful food, music, and art celebration known simply as Jazz Festival. When our twin sons were born we would make an effort to go to one or the other of these big events each year. There is a photo of my husband and I at a Jazz Fest in which we each have a big baby carrier on our backs and little 8-month-old heads stick out from the tops.

There is another photo of our boys as two year olds at Mardi Gras sitting atop step ladders in little boxes that resemble old fashioned tool carriers. These are the best places to sit in order to be seen by the riders of Mardi Gras floats.

A moment to try and explain Mardi Gras. Mark Twain wrote in a letter in 1859 “I think that I may say that an American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi-Gras in New Orleans.” The season begins on January 6th, all Kings’ Day. This is the time that teen-age girls are presented to society and that tradition continues as the local newspaper publishes photos of girls in white beaded gowns and tiaras prior to the large balls. Small parades are held on the weekends through January and February. The season culminates the day before Ash Wednesday. Fat Tuesday, just happens to be biggest day of the season which makes it the best known. There are more parades that day. Large floats wind their way down the grand boulevards of the city and surrounding suburbs with riders throwing plastic beads, large coins called doubloons, plastic cups, plush animals and trinkets.

It is difficult to convey just how much the city and surrounding area literally shuts down and rules go out the window. Like Hemingway writes in The Sun Also Rises about the impact of another festival on Pamplona, Spain, “it seems as though nothing could have any consequences”. Grown women dress in pig costumes or as Maid Marion, men wear superhero costumes, people wear masks so they can hide. One man I know has a note from the actress Brook Shields thanking him for creating the mask she wore in the French Quarter during one Mardi Gras. She wrote that no one recognized her as she wandered the streets for hours surrounded by people and she loved the anonymity.

Before our daughter was born in 2004, we had taken our boys to one Jazz Festival, two Mardi Gras and several Thanksgivings in New Orleans. For one reason or another - for instance no one we know getting married, suddenly traveling with five seemed much more cost prohibitive - we didn’t get back to visit once she was in our family.

But in August of 2005, my family’s relationship with New Orleans changed. On Monday, August 29th, a hurricane named Katrina plowed into the city. It wasn’t until Tuesday morning the 30th was the gravity of the storm and its after effects were starting to be understood. While our immediate family had all evacuated and were accounted for, several close friends were determined to ride it out. The news we were hearing was frightening and fragmented. During breakfast my husband walked over to our then 16 month old daughter, rubbed her head and said sadly “I never got you to my hometown, Baby Girl”. He used a term of endearment with her that I had never heard him say and in a tone that mixed both his native accent with mourning. She kept happily eating her Cheerios in her high chair, clueless of what was said to her or what was happening to her daddy’s beloved city.

I think, in many ways that was the sadness and fear many who lived in New Orleans faced that August, 2005. That their hometown - either actual or adopted - was gone. That there was no way it could come back.

However, by February of this year - as a certain team was winning the National Football League’s championship game - New Orleans showed that if there is one thing it is, it is a town that survives. Through determination, grit, humor, food and music, New Orleans manages to rise again and again through storms, financial woes, and other awful events. I visited New Orleans for a conference in April 2007 and was struck by how some neighborhoods didn’t look like they had been underwater 18 months earlier.

However, the oil volcano - a rap video called Sorry Ain’t Enough No More by local New Orleans artists appropriately question the use of the term “leak” - in April of this year has done something that I have rarely heard or seen in the Crescent City, put a note of sad resignation in the voices of people I know down there.

Several weeks ago I posted on Facebook the New Yorker cover by Bob Staake. It was a near perfect replica of an Escher painting with lone turtle at the bottom of the diamond and two fish above it and different species above them. Then past the line where water meets the sky three birds fly below two other types of birds and a lone pelican flies at the top of the diamond. However, in this New Yorker cover entitled “After Escher: Gulf Sky and Water”, the water is actually an icky black and the birds fly with globs of oil dropping off of them.

A friend who lives in the French Quarter called me to express how grateful he was to see that cover art because it showed that people were still paying attention to the crisis in the Gulf. Earlier this month I asked the owner of a funky little t-shirt shop which also prints bags, bumper stickers and other items to showcase wry political sentiments why he hadn’t made any bumper stickers about the oil in the Gulf. “We all thought it would be plugged by now” he resignedly responded.

While our national addiction to the oil fouling our coastline continues to be talked about, what doesn’t get as much attention, at least in the northeast, is the economic boom the oil industry provides Louisiana. The Times-Picayune, New Orleans newspaper, published a lengthy article a week ago (July 18, 2010) about the region’s historic relationship with offshore oil industry. According to reporter David Hammer, the oil industry at one point paid taxes that once financed 40 percent of the state budget and now pays one out of every eight dollars it spends. For a state mired in poverty this is a difficult revenue source to lose.

For all the complexities that poverty brings, the city and region are equipped to deal with hurricanes. An inn manager from the Alabama coast told the New York Times last month “Hurricane, it comes, it does its thing, then it’s over with and we can fix the damage.” New Orleans has one of the most complex systems of canals and pumps that continuously keeps the city dry. The rain storms we are experiencing this year causing massive flooding in Somerville’s Union Square and elsewhere would merely cause puddles in New Orleans.

Yet that Alabama inn keeper captured the sentiment perfectly when he went on to tell the Times, “ain’t nothing I can do to get the oil off the ocean.” You can’t put plywood up on the marsh like house or store windows or move all the birds and fish to a safer place like we can our children and families.

I went back to New Orleans earlier this month to visit that friend who appreciated the New Yorker cover. Originally from upstate New York, he has lived in and around the French Quarter for nearly all of his 20 years in New Orleans. He has fully embraced living in New Orleans - the humor, the food, the bugs. When I walked into his beautiful condo which he shares with his partner there was one of those huge Creole butterflies - commonly known as a cockroach - as big as my thumb crossing his kitchen floor. “Oh” he barely uttered, as if seeing a dust bunny.

[I want to stress that every home, business, church, office, and hospital has cockroaches in them. It is in no way a sign of cleaniless, or lack thereof.]

This just shows how much of a New Orleanian my friend has become. A roach the size of a human appendage doesn’t faze him.

While visiting with my friend was the main purpose of my trip I also had a personal goal - to run with the bulls. July 11th this year was the 4th annual San Fermin in Nueva Orleans, which is modeled on the famous running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Early that Saturday morning I wore my all white outfit, a red handkerchief and red sash (made by my French Quarter friend) and a red straw cowboy hat. There was a man in a large pontif style hat announcing run information from a bar balcony and a group of men carried in a large paper mache saint, or saint-like being since it was wearing a propeller beanie on its head. The 2000 plus runner were told to kneel before this golden being and then they started yelling at us to run through the streets of the French Quarter.

After several blocks of running folks started to slow down to a trot, walk, or stroll, which seemed more appropriate for those carrying a beer in a plastic cup at 8 o’clock in the morning. Then as we turned onto Bienville Street someone started yelling “the BULLS!!” and suddenly members of various all-female roller derby clubs started streaking through the crowd. Dressed red and black they had bull horns attached to their helmets. They wielded plastic bats of various sizes and went after the delicate backsides of the runners. Some runners had attached appropriately named bull’s eyes to the back of their shirts. The roller skating bulls did not disappoint them.

The run ends at, where else for New Orleans, a bar and runners mingle with bulls. One bull caught my eye. She had the BP’s now infamous green sunflower looking logo on a cloth skewered on one of her horns. Folks cheered as they walked by her and many, including myself, asked to take a picture of her.

And so I have a photo of a young woman with a black helmet sporting huge horns and fake roses surrounding them. BP’s logo is dangling from one of the horns and she has a look that defies you to think she is crazy.

Because, for all of the talk that New Orleans is built is a “bad location”, that it is mismanaged, that it is too poor, it is America’s city. Twain recognized its importance before the United States was even 100 years old.

New Orleans is the crazy aunt of America. The crazy aunt that always says those things you don’t say in polite company, comes a bit tipsy to the family gathering and keeps on drinking (and we’re jealous because that is how we would like to deal with the family gathering) and has a garish way of dressing. But we would be such a boring American family if New Orleans wasn’t our aunt.

As Hemingway wrote in The Sun Also Rises during another bull run, "Oh, darling, please stay by me. Please stay by me and see me through this." New Orleans, I will stay by you. I hope you all will too.

May it be so.

Music that makes her dance

2010-05-03T00:51:00.005-04:00

Little lady had her birthday party this weekend. Part cooking show (they made pizzas and decorated cupcakes), part playdate and part dance party - it was exactly the low-key affair we like.

Of course the dance party had a soundtrack. As is our custom we gave out CDs with some of her favorite songs from the previous year. Here were the songs we gave our guests:

First Train Home - Imogen Heap
M.A.G.I.C. - The Sound of Arrows
Fireflies - Owl City
Replay - Iyaz
Don't Stop Believin' - Glee
Waterfalls - TLC
Popular - Wicked
Thriller - Michael Jackson
Million Dollar Bill - Whitney Houston
Got to Be Real - Cheryl Lynn
This Heart Is a Stone - Acid House Kings

And this year, there are serious credits to give out for introducing my little lady to the songs. A long-lost, but blessedly found, high school buddy introduced her to no less than five of the eleven songs (numbers 1, 2, 5, 9 and 11) while my very own Ambassador got her hooked on TLC's Waterfalls. Then beloved sister-in-law got little lady and me to Wicked over the winter.

In each birthday CD I usually like to slip one song in that my kids don't know but makes me think of them. Kind of like that extra candle on a cake to grow on. This is an extra song to enjoy as their new year begins.

This year's extra song is Cheryl Lynn's classic Got to Be Real.

And it is her new favorite. She sings it, complete with deep from the belly "got to be real! got to be real!" flourish. Because that is what I hope my lovely lady always is.

Real.

Happy Birthday Happiness

2010-04-23T00:09:00.003-04:00

Dear daughter,

Many days I find myself catching my breath, incredulous that you are in my life. You often wake up in the morning, face framed in golden curly hair, with a glorious grin and announcing the fabulous realization of what the day will bring. "I'm going to see a PLAY!" you yelled one morning. "I have LIBRARY and can get a NEW BOOK!" was another day's observation. You manage to find cause for celebration in the smallest things.

Last week, while dropping off your brothers at their school, you did your usual wander away while I stood near the spot where the third graders line up. As hundreds of children ran around I could hear "Mama!" over the yelling. I turned to find you standing alone in a swirl of children and pointing up at the sky. A flock of birds were flying over head in a perfect, backwards check mark. Eventually other children stopped and stared, yelling "cool!" and "that's a backwards check mark!" You just smiled and went along with your private jumping game.

You continue to amaze me how you get along with nearly everyone you meet. And if they are reluctant, you will get them to like you by force of will. I watched you, with great determination, convince a fellow ballet student to play with you following class. Her father watched in amazement, after she had hidden behind his leg, as she eventually grabbed your hand and ran off shrieking with you. He swore that wasn't in her nature. But there you both were, hanging from a stair bar talking about princesses, or bugs or ballet moves.

However, you are starting to hear when other children are mean to you. Up until now it seemed you didn't, or chose not to, hear mean words. This week at a playground you came sadly up to me after having another girl tell you that you can't play with her and her friends. I can't believe that someone wouldn't want you in their life. I can't believe that someone wouldn't see the fun, joy and laughter that you bring.

But in the end, those people will lose out. Because very quickly you found others at the playground to play with. And you were laughing again. And swinging in the swing so high you could touch the sky.

Love,
Mama

Women's Work

2010-03-08T00:28:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about my family's 96 gallon recycling totter - in some towns they are affectionately called "Big Blue". Our town, in an effort to cut down on how much trash homes produce, gave each household one large totter and only trash in that totter will be collected. It forces families to do a better job sorting their "true" trash from items that can be recycled.

So we fill up our 96 gallon totter for the biweekly pick up with cans, plastic items and others that can be recycled. And a large collection truck comes by and dumps them all together with other recyclables. And off they go to a plant to be sorted.

But who does the sorting? What is the safety standards of these plants? While we feel good about decreasing our overall trash, who is compromising her or his safety to sort our recyclables?

So on this International Women's Day, I'm inspired by the nameless women (and men) who do the work to make our planet green - sort our recyclables, weatherize our homes, create new items out of "trash" (e.g. a purse from an old rice bag).

Because they are not being thanked for cleaning up, or sorting through, our mess.

Thank goodness

2010-02-04T20:49:00.003-05:00

As we got into the van at the end of the day...

"Mom, I had to go to the nurse today because I wasn't feeling well and she looked at my throat and it was o.k. and she looked into my ear and could see my brain and she said 'you have a headache' because she could see my brain and then she listened to my heart and told me that my heart almost was stopping."

Wow. You're heart is stopping? I think that means we can't do the special art project tomorrow with your class because you are sick.

"Oh. I'm fine."

Thank goodness.

Pet Shop Boys do Cold Play

2010-02-01T00:17:00.001-05:00

I admit it - probably one of my highlights from last year was seeing the Pet Shop Boys in concert. I mentioned back in September that they did a terrific cover of Coldplay's Viva La Vida combined with Domino Dancing.

And, duh, PSB released it back in December as part of an EP.

You know what I'm listening to on the train today....

Which is Worth More according to a 9 year old

2010-01-26T18:40:00.003-05:00

During Sunday's service, our minister read a poem by Rumi, the Persian mystical poet who lived during the 13th century.

Also during this point of the service one of my rather tall 9 year olds decided the only place he would sit was on my lap. His back pressed against my chest, his head laying on my ear, he gave a running commentary as she read the poem (his commentary in italics):

“Which is Worth More?” by Rumi

Which is worth more, a crowd of thousands,
or your own genuine solitude?

"Solitude!" he suddenly uttered in a loud whisper.

Freedom, or power over an entire nation?

"Freedom." he whispered in a what-are-you-stupid? tone of voice.

A little while alone in your room
Will prove more valuable than anything else
That could ever be given to you.

"Alone in my room" he repeated, in a reverent whisper.

I never said I didn't like Madame Gaga

2010-01-25T06:32:00.001-05:00

I continue to be amazed at what posts of mine generate comments months, sometimes years, after I wrote them. I just got a comment the other day from someone who, like my son in 2007, found herself eating a clementine with worms.

But I am starting to think the Lady Gaga post last spring will continue to generate comments for years to come. You may recall my tirade about 5th graders performing a talent show piece with Poker Face playing as background music. The comments that drove me nuts were those that clearly HAD NOT READ MY PIECE. I stressed I personally, as a then 40-year-old, had nothing against her music. I stressed that teens should be able to enjoy her. However, 2nd grade was too young to be listening to lyrics about getting drunk, bluffing with muffins, and love isn't fun unless it is rough.

So when I saw last week that I had another comment to this, I just waited for another "get a life" (Jake) or "god you're one of THOSE parents" (yes, Jordan, did you notice I am one of THOSE parents who teaches sex ed at my church?). So I was pleasantly surprised to read this gem from Lady:

I'm 10 and I listen to Lady GaGa,SHE'S MY FAVORITE,and I just don't bother asking so if your kid asks about something,just say it's adult stuff. I understand if your chil (sic) is in 2nd grade,of course but 5th grade is fine

I'll ignore the fact that a 10-year-old commented on my blog (my sons will be 10 in August and the idea of them roaming around the blogosphere gives me stomach pains) and just marvel at her very grown-up response. She agreed that 2nd grade is young but 5th grade is just fine.

Thank you, Lady.

And, Lady, don't tell my kids that my new favorite song is Bad Romance. You're old enough to get it.

Six voters

2010-01-22T15:47:00.008-05:00

My assigned task for the Martha Coakley campaign on Special Election day was to drive voters who could not get themselves to the polls. At first I only had three folks to drive, all southeast of my hometown, and figured I would get to return to finish the day holding signs or making a few last ditch Get The Vote Out (GTVO) calls.

The first voter, the note said, used a wheelchair. I arrived at the apartment building, Mrs. D buzzed me in, and I rode up the elevator to her floor. Turning down the hall I was immediately struck by the medicinal smell of a nursing home, although this was a mixed use building. Her door was all the way at the end and slightly ajar. I knocked and opened the door to find a tiny, frail woman sitting in a motorized wheelchair.

After switching to a chair I would push, and attaching Mrs. D's oxygen tank, we locked up and started down the hall. She proceeded to rail, in her tiny voice, about people in her building "who aren't even registered to VOTE!" She continued, aghast "Can you imagine?"

We arrived at my mini-van and she struggled mightily to get herself up into the passenger seat. As we started to drive I mentioned which polling station I was taking her to and she felt pretty strongly that she voted at another location. I suggested we go to the one I was told and run in to ask. She agreed.

I entered the large church hall only to find two precincts voting in that location. It became apparent I was asking for someone else and when I finished explaining Mrs. D's situation, a clerk declared "Well you should just bring her ballot to the car. Let me get one of the police officers to escort you". And like that I was able to bring a ballot and pen to Mrs. D and she voted in my van. It was an honor to have my dingy van be the site of something so important.

Another voter later in the day became a US citizen 35 years ago. Mr. A was born in Trinidad and Tribago but raised his three sons in the big city. He had a prosthetic leg, above the knee, that kept popping out requiring him to stop and either have me push it back while sitting in his wheelchair or he would rearrange it so he could stand. It took him 30 minutes to get out of his house.

While driving to the polls he talked about how the United States was the greatest country in the world and that voting was very important. At one point he declared "Let's get Martha elected!" with a broad grin and a clap of his hands.

Coming back he mused "maybe I should have gotten an absentee ballot" so that he didn't have to vote at the polls. "But then I would've never met you!" I replied.

It took 30 minutes to get him back into his house, through the garage and up a winding staircase. I left him at the top of his stairs, on a mobile stair chair waving goodbye.

I drove others that day. An 88-year-old woman who had never missed an election since she was 21 ("we couldn't vote until we were 21" she reminded me). A 56-year-old man living in an assisted living facility who had suffered a massive stroke and asked my help to fill out his ballot since he couldn't find the dot to fill in. One woman who told me about how she missed out on her chance to vote for McGovern (and declared with pride that Massachusetts was the only state to vote for him) because she had emergency surgery that day.

While I was on the losing side of the election (in more ways than one), I did win in other ways. I helped six people vote. Six people who each had very good reasons, and in some cases many of them, to not vote.

So while I am still sorting out my anger and disappointment from other parts of the election, I am hopeful.

Because people vote.

The Girl Elephant in the Room

2010-01-21T18:57:00.004-05:00

I spent the last few weeks devoting all my free time (all 32 seconds per week) to the Martha Coakley campaign to represent Massachusetts in the US Senate. I missed both my chance to volunteer during the primaries, and celebrate her win, when I had an emergency appendectomy the early morning hours of December 8th. But that didn't stop me from voting. My father brought me an absentee ballot to my hospital bed and I proudly filled it out, hours after surgery.

So I jumped into phone banks leading up to the general election and drove people to the polls on election day who had no means to get there. I talked her up to anyone who would listen. I was committed to getting her elected.

It is old news that she lost. That she went down in flames. All the talk is about how poorly her campaign was managed. Few people are willing to acknowledge that something much more insidious was involved.

Misogyny.

During the first hours of the polls being open, I stood with a large Coakley sign outside an elementary school. As young children walked on the sidewalk past me a man who looked to be in his 50's rolled down his car window. There was a sidewalk and an entire lane between us requiring he had to yell to be heard.

Very clearly he shouted "She's a fucking beast".

During the days leading up to the election I would call voters, asking them to vote for Martha Coakley and half the time they would say to me that they hated her negative ads. When asked about Scott Brown's ads they insisted he was never negative. And yet, several years ago during the Presidential campaign when Senator John Kerry ignored the Swift Boat negative ads, he was considered weak. So according to those callers a woman couldn't fight back.

Later, after the polls closed, I was at a town gathering unrelated to the Senate race. I was surrounded by Democrats, Republicans and unenrolled voters. I started talking to a man I know. He isn't someone I know well but we've interacted over the years. We got to talking about the Senate election and he made it clear he voted for Scott Brown in part for his position on abortion.

After a discussion of Brown's failed amendment to create a massive loophole in a bill to protect rape victims, the man suddenly said,"If my daughter was raped, she wouldn't get an abortion. Two wrongs don't make a right."

I thought I had been kicked in the gut. I started to cry, describing the hell of pregnancy - even when that pregnancy is a product of love - and asked him how he, sans overies or a uterus, could even think that he should have a say.

I returned home late election night, reeling from my bookend experiences. A man who felt no inhibition to yell such profanities in public and a man who would look a woman in the eye and say that a woman should be expected to carry a pregnancy from a rape. I cried until 2:30 in the morning. I awoke at 4:30 in the morning only to start crying again.

I would talk to liberal men about the sexism and be brushed off. "It was all about her bad campaign. It had nothing to do with gender" declared one young [male] colleague.

Yet every woman I spoke to agreed. Agreed that there was vitriol directed at a female candidate that would never happen to a man.

So why is it o.k. to diminish the impact of gender on this race? Why is it o.k. to yell obscenities about a woman candidate? Would the driver that morning have felt it was alright to yell a racial epitaph if the candidate was black? Why is it o.k. to be matter-of-fact about options for a female rape victim? Would the man at the party have said the same about denying treatment to the victim of any other form of assault?

I have no answers. I'm still too raw from Tuesday's results. Both inside and outside the polls.

Wicked Popular

2010-01-04T00:30:00.008-05:00

In 2006 I wrote about how one of my sons and I sang For Good from the Broadway show Wicked in a musical review.

And how I barely made it through the performance without sobbing. Because I have been changed because I know him.

In 2009 I wrote about how a dear dear friend sent me a mix of songs which included Defying Gravity from that same musical. Which led to me lifting my daughter high in the air while we danced to this song and, of course, causing me to cry. Because I don't want anyone to bring her down.

So, incredibly, this past weekend, I finally saw a touring production of Wicked thanks to my fabulous sister-in-law. You would have thought by now I had actually seen it live and on stage. And we brought that 5 year-old girl I lift in the air.

Which led me to sob uncontrollably as Act I ended and Elphaba (the green witch) flies up singing "tell them how I am defying gravity". And led to my daughter to wipe my tears with her fancy party dress. And her winter coat. And then hug me. Causing many strange women around me to go "awwwwww......"

But that wasn't the song that grabbed my daughter. It wasn't the song that she sang over and over in the car.

No, that would be the song Glinda the Good Witch sings to Elphaba when she decides to "help" her.

Popular
I'll help you be popular!
You'll hang with the right cohorts
You'll be good at sports
Know the slang you've got to know
So let's start
'Cause you have a long way to go....

As she awoke the morning after seeing the play, literally the first words out of my daughter's mouth was "one, two, three BALLGOWN!!" as she waved a (practice) magic wand. Then she giggled and sang a little of Popular. Complete with hair swishing.

She made her aunt and uncle play the newly purchased cast recording on CD as she pranced around their kitchen.

"Someday she'll get the irony" my sister-in-law said in a slightly hopeful, with a tinge of concern, tone in her voice.

But I know she will. Because as the play ended the day before in this incredibly grand and old theater, my little lady in her fancy party dress climbed into my lap. Earlier in the day she had expressed concern about seeing Wicked because she was scared of the green witch.

Now she clutched my neck and hid her face. Because she didn't want to see the green witch die from the bucket of water.

The play begins and ends with the line "no one mourns the wicked".

Fortunately, a little five year old did. Even if she does want a practice magic wand.

Finally saw something you should have?

Please join in Music Monday. Just leave a note if you play, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Just like Madeline

2009-12-17T11:12:00.000-05:00

I would not say that the little girls at Miss Clavel's school, the smallest one being Madeline, were a big part of my childhood. I knew of them but don't recall reading the books as a child. We have a few of the books in the house but they aren't ones we read repeatedly - over and over again - like others.

That will change because I now share a special bond with Madeline.

It all started last Monday, December 7th, the day before my birthday. I started to feel a bit blah during a meeting (but then who doesn't feel blah during meetings) and noticed I wasn't hungry (an odd state for me). I made myself eat some soup with a friend and blessedly she was interesting and engaging so I could focus on the topics and not how I felt.

I had to leave the big city early to see the boys in a Musical Theatre review. They and 40+ other kids spent the last six weeks learning Singing in the Rain, We Go Together and other songs and this was the big performance. I got to the school auditorium and immediately started feeling chilled and then really hot. My gut started to hurt and all I wanted to do was curl up under the medal chairs.

I watched the performance, clapped and cheered. I thought I had done a good job covering up my discomfort. As the boys bounced off the stage one of them came up to me and asked "why are you so mad? You looked mad during the show."

So much for hiding it from them.

I managed to get us in the van and then realized I was really hurting. It was so bad I taught one of my sons how to make an emergency call on my phone. "Does this mean you are going to crash?" he asked warily. Fortunately we were able to retrieve their younger sister from her after care program and arrive home safely without crashing.

I told the kids to fend for themselves for dinner and not torture the dog. I curled up in bed, read on-line the symptoms for appendicitis, and laid there convinced it wasn't my appendix. It didn't feel like the flu - no achy joints or headaches - and it wasn't a stomach bug. The pain was all in my gut. And while it was painful, and I had heard all these stories of people suffering blinding, rolling-on-the-floor pain, it in no way compared to giving birth without an epidural.

So I laid there trying to convince myself that it wasn't my appendix.

And then I smartened up, called the after-hours staff at my doctor's office and called a friend to drive me to the hospital. By 9:00 pm I was drinking barium for a CT scan and by 2:30 am, my birthday, I was going under general anesthesia for an appendectomy.

And, just like Madeline, I now have a scar to the right of my belly button. And she is now one of my favorite characters from children's literature.

Now I just need a yellow hat with a black bow.

Wish list

2009-12-06T17:34:00.003-05:00

Shot on Sunday. A new theme by Mo'Jenn.

Let the season begin

2009-12-05T18:51:00.002-05:00

Basketball

For more Singular Saturdays go visit its new home at
Finding My Way (aka MoJenn).

All I got

2009-12-01T18:32:00.008-05:00

30 posts in 30 days. Phew.

Perfection, by Muppets

2009-11-30T06:28:00.005-05:00

Because I can think of no better way to end NaBloPoMo, 2009 with the Muppets singing Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.

"Mama?"

How are you celebrating the last day of November?

Please join in Music Monday. Just leave a note if you play, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Look who played!!

A2EatWrite
Finding My Way

Elf

2009-11-29T19:34:00.007-05:00

Shot on Sunday. A new theme by Mo'Jenn.

Today was wonderfully

2009-11-28T18:38:00.003-05:00

low-key.

For more Singular Saturdays go visit its new home at
Finding My Way (aka MoJenn).

Accompany

2009-11-27T15:50:00.003-05:00

Performing, with help from a 2-year-old cousin.

Thankful

2009-11-26T09:45:00.004-05:00

What came home in two 3rd graders' backpacks yesterday --

I am thankful for my brother. He always lets me play his DS games. Second of all, he is nice to me. In fact, he always lets me listen to his iPod because mine broke. Lastly, if he wasn't in the world I would be sad. W. is the best brother, I love him!

***

Thanksgiving reminds me of all the things I'm thankful for. I appreciate my mom, my family and my dog.

I'm especially thankful for my family because they love me. Secondly we go on vacation together. Lastly they love me. I love my family.

I also appreciate my mom because she makes our dinner every night. Secondly, she takes care of me. Lastly she loves me. I love my mom.

Finally, I'm grateful for my dog because he plays with me. Secondly my dog loves me. Lastly my dog loves my family. My dog is the best

As I enjoy this holiday season, I realize that I have many reasons to be thankful. My mom, my family and my dog are very important to me.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Say whatever

2009-11-25T16:33:00.004-05:00

While driving to school one brother told on the other one.

"I saw him sitting on his chair the wrong way. His bottom was on the back rest and his feet were on the seat!"

What followed was a cascade of confessions, tattle-telling and a 5-year-old younger sister begging that we not talk about this.

The upshot was that someone was copping a little attitude in his third-grade class, in part to keep up with the antics of his friends and in part because I gave him permission.

I what?

"Yeah Mom! You told me that I could say whatever I want when I am with my friends!"

Back up a year or so ago when the first, real ugly word came out of my sons' mouths. I was in a panic. How does one stop them from using obscenities, snarky sayings, crass gestures? How does one, as the saying goes, not think of an elephant when someone says elephant?

A dear friend had an ingenious response. She tells her daughters she can't control what they say to their friends but in their family home they have to use appropriate language.

So that was my response and we've done pretty well in the family, language wise.

What I didn't think would happen was he would take the comment to mean all actions with friends, outside of our house, including class time.

We have now clarified that what I meant was during recess. Class time means work time.

And I have to go apologize to a third grade teacher.

Instant ancestors

2009-11-24T17:57:00.002-05:00

As the classic American holiday that celebrates family descends upon us I'm reminded of this photo I took with Ambassador when we went to Charleston, SC.

Instant ancestors. Who would you like to claim?

Congratulations bill

2009-11-23T14:27:00.003-05:00

Boy: Woof! You sure gotta climb a lot of steps to get to this Capitol Building here in Washington. But I wonder who that sad little scrap of paper is?

As a kid I was a huge fan of Schoolhouse Rock - those ingenious 2 minute cartoons sandwiched between Saturday morning shows that taught math, science, grammar and history.

But my favorite, all-time knock down drag out favorite is "I'm Just a Bill".

Boy: Gee, Bill, you certainly have a lot of patience and courage.
Bill: Well I got this far. When I started, I wasn't even a bill, I was just an idea. Some folks back home decided they wanted a law passed, so they called their local Congressman and he said, "You're right, there oughta be a law." Then he sat down and wrote me out and introduced me to Congress. And I became a bill, and I'll remain a bill until they decide to make me a law.

In some ways the love of "I'm Just a Bill" clearly inspired me to go into public policy. It planted the seeds of a belief that government can make a difference. Like making school buses stop at train tracks.

Boy: Listen to those congressmen arguing! Is all that discussion and debate about you?
Bill: Yeah, I'm one of the lucky ones. Most bills never even get this far. I hope they decide to report on me favourably, otherwise I may die.
Boy: Die?
Bill: Yeah, die in committee. Oooh, but it looks like I'm gonna live! Now I go to the House of Representatives, and they vote on me.
Boy: If they vote yes, what happens?
Bill: Then I go to the Senate and the whole thing starts all over again.
Boy: Oh no!
Bill: Oh yes!

Since arriving at my current job in 2007, I have been trying to pass a new state law that creates a structure to ensure federally subsidized, yet privately owned, buildings with contracts ending somehow remain affordable. Versions of this bill have existed in some form or another in the State House for over 15 years.

Since getting a panicked phone call in April, 2008 I've been working to reopen a state loan program that helps to remove lead paint from low-income families homes.

Clearly I don't do this work alone. There was a team of folks and I was part of a great team in both cases.

The new almost law is An Act Preserving Publicly Assisted Housing. I write almost because while both branches of the legislature unanimously passed this bill and enacted it last week, we are still awaiting the Governor's signature. My organization worked in coalition with other groups - housing advocates, elder advocates, faith-based groups and others to get this bill passed.

The state government program, Get the Lead Out, reopened on October 28th with money we successfully advocated for during the last state budget process.

So in honor of both those items, and to explain my work, I bring you I'm Just a Bill from Schoolhouse Rock.

Congressman: He signed you, Bill! Now you're a law!
Bill: Oh yes!!!

Can you point to a song and say "yup, that made me what I am today". Do you dare admit it?

Please join in Music Monday. Just leave a note if you play, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

And we have a player!
Mo'Jenn - Simple pleasures

Hanging green

2009-11-22T18:42:00.003-05:00

Shot on Sunday. A new theme by Mo'Jenn.

Doctor just said little man does not need

2009-11-21T11:17:00.003-05:00

glasses.

For more Singular Saturdays go visit its new home at
Finding My Way (aka MoJenn).

Don't like it

2009-11-20T16:43:00.003-05:00

I picked the kids up from school and was driving home when the shocked voice of a 5-year-old directly behind me gasped,

"Did you cut your hair?"

Yes. I did. Don't you like it?

"No. It is too short."

Sigh.

Like it was 1996

2009-11-19T07:57:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I forgot my cell phone at home.

If it was a normal day, one spent at the desk working on my computer next to a phone it would not have been a big deal.

But yesterday was not a normal day. Yesterday I got to watch, after a few years of my work and literally decades of other people's efforts, a bill get to the last stage of becoming a law. And I couldn't instantly tell people outside the State House about the progress.

The funny thing is that my counterpart from a sister organization didn't have his phone either. He forgot to charge it.

So we ran back and forth between the House and the Senate chambers to watch the different proceedings. While waiting to hear about the bill we talked, because we couldn't text or surf the web. It reminded me of how the State House was before the Internet, cell phones and texting.

You sat around with colleagues, watching history be made, and really talked. About people, the weather, upcoming efforts, gossip and jokes.

And I found myself missing 1996.

W.W.I.W?

2009-11-18T00:53:00.002-05:00

I have a new mantra for when I get dressed in the mornings.

W.W.I.W.? Because what would she?

Last week, during what I thought was the end of all illness among my brood but turned out to only be a brief respite (and meant the kids probably infected an entire region of the Commonwealth), we went to one of my favorite museums. I love it any day of the year.

Right now I want to live there.

The museum is hosting Rare Bird of Fashion: The Irreverent Iris Apfel. It is an incredible show of one woman's love of clothes and embracing color, texture and jewelry with abandon.

She combines haute couture with thrift store finds. She layers necklaces upon necklaces and then adds more necklaces. She thinks dressing should be an adventure.

So I have a new mentor. Someone I will talk to every morning and ask how bold, how outlandious I can be. Not that she will answer but it will be a lively conversation that I will have with my new imaginary friend.

Every morning I plan on asking what would Iris wear?

"She will text you back"

2009-11-17T00:06:00.001-05:00

An exchange this past weekend when it became apparent that little lady would not be going to ballet class due to her fever.

"Mama, you can't forget to call my ballet teacher!"

Ok I will.

"No! You need to email her. That is easier."

Alright.

"Then she will text you back. That will be faster."

Shake the Disease

2009-11-16T00:22:00.003-05:00

It has been one of those weeks.

Monday afternoon I picked up my guys at aftercare to find one of them dragging, his eye lids half open. He fell asleep in the back of the van during the two mile drive home.

And it has been downhill from there.

He had all the symptoms of H1N1 - fever, cough, a bought of throwing up, and general misery. The only good thing was it lasted for a day.

Then his twin brother caught it. He has had a fever - going up to 103 at one point - until yesterday. And their younger sister caught it. She actually psyched us all out. She too had a fever for a night and was fine for 24 hours. Then - bam - another bout with a fever. Both of them were checked out by the pediatrician and neither had a secondary infection which was a relief.

But being cooped up with no where to go, and kids that don't act sick even with fevers, is really tiring.

Not that this song fits with the situation, the title sums it up.

A live version of Depeche Mode's Shake the Disease. Hopefully we will shake the disease.

You shaking any diseases? Any songs help you through ailments?

Please join in Music Monday. Just leave a note if you play, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

And we have a player!!
Mo'Jenn

Shot on Sunday

2009-11-15T10:33:00.005-05:00

Shot on Sunday. A new theme by Mo'Jenn.

This week we were most likely visited by

2009-11-14T09:18:00.005-05:00

H1N1

For more Singular Saturdays go visit its new home at
Finding My Way (aka MoJenn).

103 Degree Love

2009-11-13T09:14:00.000-05:00

He thoughtfully coughed
Into his elbow and then
Gave my face a hug.

Stay in School!

2009-11-12T00:21:00.000-05:00

Ever since the boys were little they have admired construction sites. Big ones with large equipment. Two guys working on fancy brickwork for a sidewalk. Anything with tools and concrete and they stop to stare. More so as preschoolers but even today they will ogle at the men (and aren't they usually men?) in hard hats and work boots.

Back when they were three years old we walked by two men laying brickwork for a sidewalk. I was commending their craftsmanship when one of them held up his hand, pointed at my boys and said sternly to them "stay in school!" while the other gentleman nodded with great seriousness. As if three year olds understood what they were saying.

Fast forward six years later and this fall the boys and I, along with their 5 year old sister, looked up as we saw several men restore a smoke stack at an old brewery. The cherry picker was lifting a man up to on it. We stopped to admire both the work and the thrill of the rising equipment. Once again, the lift rider yelled down to my kids (we were the only people watching) "stay in school!" while several colleagues shouted in agreement.

Is there some pact that all construction workers sign to yell "stay in school!" at young children? Is there something embarrassing about working in construction?

Why does this keep happening?

Pirouette with that kick

2009-11-11T00:42:00.001-05:00

The last game for the season was played by a team of kindergarten girls this past weekend. Coached by three high school students (with some backup by a player's dad) they were a force to be reckoned with.

Well most of them. One particular 5-year-old, the one related to me, would often end a kick of the ball with a perfectly pointed toe which would have made her ballet teacher proud. She never seemed terribly focused on the ball, often twirling or looking out to the sidelines for a wave. During the last game she ran off the field for a hug. She ran off the field while the ball was in play.

When given the choice of playing in a soccer game to going to ballet class, there was never any doubt she would be in a leotard and tights instead of shin guards and cleats.

But the morning of her last game, my daughter announced she "loves soccer!!" and plans on playing it forever.

I think she was just psyched to get a movable arms trophy.

One down for the count

2009-11-10T10:30:00.001-05:00

Like everyone else with school age children, I have been worrying about flu shots. The boys got seasonal flu vaccines during their annual physical last month but not the H1N1. Little lady hasn't gotten either.

But it may not matter. Yesterday evening, one little man developed a wicked cough and fever. At 4:00 this morning he graciously added vomitting to his list of ailments.

Last night, he wrote out the following schedule for his sick day.

1. have breckfist
2. get mom's cofe (coffee) and my skoan (scone)
3. eat the skoan
4. charg DS
5. play DS
6. tack a nap
7.

We'll see what #7 is.

First Train Home

2009-11-09T00:06:00.008-05:00

I have a new singer I've fallen in love with. A legitimately new singer, one who wasn't recording in the 1980's. In fact she was in grade school in the 1980's.

Imogen Heap has me transfixed.

She has one song that has my daughter transfixed. She is happy when the song starts in the car stereo and has even taken to narrating the beginning.

[As the music starts my daughter says from the back]

"She's running down the street for the train...."
"She's in the station....."

Got to get on it sings Imogen.

"She MADE it! She's on the train" my daughter yelps triumphantly.

Got any new songs or singers you can't hear enough of?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you play to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

"people of ill will use time"

2009-11-08T12:08:00.004-05:00

This morning, I finally got to sit through an entire service at church. This fall has been spent teaching the middle school class. Today was my first "day off" since September and I relished the chance to sit in quiet, sing some hymns and reconnect with dear friends.

The two readings included one by Tony Kushner, the Angels in America playwright, and a excerpt from Martin Luther King's Letter from Birmingham. I took some liberties:

I had also hoped that the ~~white~~ straight moderate would reject the myth concerning time in relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a letter from a ~~white~~ straight brother in Texas. He writes: "All Christians know that the ~~colored~~ gay people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost two thousand years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth." Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely rational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co-workers with God, and without this 'hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of ~~racial~~ all injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.

So to those of you who are silent as these ballot initiatives strip human rights - who chose not to speak out against the hatred towards gays, lesbians, transgender and bisexual persons, who attend houses of worship that ferment hate yet say nothing - you too are people of ill will.

"Education is not the filling of a vessel, it is the lighting of a...

2009-11-07T00:42:00.006-05:00

flame.

William B. Yeats

For more Singular Saturdays go visit its new home at Finding My Way (aka MoJenn).

No Hobos II

2009-11-06T00:54:00.002-05:00

My walk from the office to the train station takes me past a square that is a hangout for homeless adults. In the summer I wear large hats to protect myself from the sun. One man, with his paper cup outstretched, would often comment on my hats.

He hasn't been out on the streets for long. I started seeing him in the spring in a nice sweater and khaki pants. He stood straight with his clean teeth and would hold out his cup. He looked like a nice grandfather with his full head of white hair and sweet smile. But as the months wore on he is now in sweatpants and his hair is a bit more matted. One afternoon earlier this fall he had a black eye. When I asked what happened he told me he had fallen down.

After their day at the back-up child care center my kids and I were walking towards the station. The gentleman who compliments my hats was smoking a cigarette (a new habit I think) and talking in earnest with another man. He noticed me, promptly hid the cigarette and smiled.

"Where is a hat?" he asked.

"Nope. No hat today" I smiled sheepishly. "I have my kids though."

He said hi and asked them how the children were. I introduced them.

"Hi kids. My name is Patrick" he said.

We told him to have a good evening and walked on. One boy grabbed my hand and urgently said "Mommy?!"

"What?"

He pulled me down so he could whisper in my ear. We were at least a city block away from Patrick.

"How do homeless people go to the bathroom?"

Knock knock - hello? Maine?

2009-11-05T00:03:00.000-05:00

Knock, knock. Hello, Maine?

Hi, I'm SMID and I live in Massachusetts which has had marriage equality for over 5 years.

Funny thing? Even after five years of gays being able to marry, the sky is still where it belongs. No four horsemen nor large swarms of bugs have descended upon us. Everyone's marriage - straight or gay - continues to be the business of the two people in that marriage.

Why, Maine, why couldn't you just do the same?

Maybe this piece from The Colbert Report explains it.

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Nailed 'Em - Mormon Church Trespassing

http://www.colbertnation.com/

Colbert Report Full Episodes

Political Humor

U.S. Speedskating

So really Maine is just another fearful, bigoted Utah. Why don't you move West. As one friend of mine says, you don't deserve the Atlantic Ocean.

No hobos

2009-11-04T00:36:00.003-05:00

The kids were walking down a busy city street with me on their way to get my latte and their donuts. There was no school (yet another professional development day for the teachers) and I was taking them to my office to have breakfast in the meeting room then over to a back-up child care center for the day.

"I want to be a hobo for Halloween next year," announced one of my 9 year old sons as he held my hand. His brother was a few steps ahead while their younger sister was on my other side.

"No you can't," I told him.

"Why?" he asked. I knew my answer would appear in less than a city block.

The man emerged from one of the many nooks inside the buildings along this street. He wore a torn, dirty coat and his pants were too big. His beard was shaggy and filthy. His two bags bulged with their contents. He struggled to pick them up and moved slowly down the street.

"That's why you can't be a hobo" I told my son. "Hobo is an old-fashioned word for someone who is poor and homeless. Do you really want to poke fun at that man?"

"No" my son said quietly.

Unbeknownst to me his brother was overhearing this conversation. We passed another nook and this son asked "so homeless people try to find spots like this to sleep?"

"Yes" I answered.

And then we walked into the coffee shop.

What is your post-Halloween candy policy?

2009-11-03T00:17:00.002-05:00

The day after Halloween, the big city newspaper ran a piece about different families' post-Halloween candy policies. What to eat the night of. What to keep afterwards. What to throw away.

After about an hour of walking around the neighborhood collecting candy on Halloween this past weekend, one of my boys held up his bag and announced he had enough. We headed home, checked all the wrappings and let them eat four pieces of candy. After that it is two pieces after dinner. None goes to school in the lunch boxes. In previous years, the candy lingers for weeks until they forget about it and I take the leftovers to my office. Usually a little after Thanksgiving.

What do you do? How do you manage the candy? Do you think that leaving it around leads to hoarding and/or stealing? Or do you think it teaches restraint?

Curious minds want to know.

Not your mama's Electric Company

2009-11-02T00:04:00.007-05:00

I am the first generation of kids that had the joy of PBS's children's educational programming. Seasame Street, Mr. Rogers and Zoom are all staples of my childhood. My own children have enjoyed their own PBS children's shows including WordGirl, Super Why and Fetch with Ruff Ruffman. A few years ago we even went to a local mall to meet the cast.

But nothing is really beating the new Electric Company. Sassy, smart and fun, I am thoroughly enjoying watching my 5-year-old as she absorbes the repetitive language lessons.

Plus, for this dance, they are wearing fashions from when I watched the original. Gotta love the merging of the eras.

So everyone now, slide and drop. Slide and drop.

What childhood shows did you love?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you play to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

30 Posts in 30 Days

2009-11-01T00:15:00.003-04:00

Two years ago in November I posted every day as part of National Blog Posting Month. It was really easy for me then, mainly because I had 2-3 posts brewing in my head and I seemed to have unlimited time and energy for blogging.

During that month in 2007, I would occasionally stumble upon bloggers who would mention that they were writing a novel in 30 days. Which just made my jaw drop.

A few would casually mention they were writing a novel AND posting every day for that month. Reading that almost made me close up the blog. I felt like such a wimp of a writer.

During 2008 I found a story forming in my head so I took the plunge last November and wrote a novel. One hundred seventy pages in less than 30 days. I'm still editing it, slowly, but look forward to getting the book to a point where I can share it with some folks and not worry about them laughing at me.

So for 2009 I think I will try to get back into posting every day for November. This has been a very full year off the computer for me. I miss blogging and want to play along.

Let the NaBloPoMo-ing begin.

Whispering Your Name

2009-10-19T00:19:00.006-04:00

Starting in December, over the holidays, I've been getting many gifts. Often spontaneous gifts that floor me.

I've been handed or mailed mixed CDs. Compact discs full of songs lovingly compiled by friends.

Two of them ended with the exact same song, and neither of the giver/music mixer know each other.

The first time I received this song in a mix CD, it was from my favorite Ambassador. He handed it to me, along with a myriad of other goodies, when we met-up in South Carolina in June for a much needed friends' get-away.

The next time I got it was when a dear high school buddy, who I lost contact with (which was completely and totally my loss), reconnected with me and invited me to this summer's Depeche Mode concert. As I jumped into the car with him and his friends he handed me a two-CD mix, also ending with this song.

And funny thing? I didn't own this song before this summer. Which is probably a crime for any Yaz fan.

Alison Moyet, Whispering Your Name.

Did friends "give" you a song that you fell in love with? Who was it? What was the song?

The Newest Member of our Family

2009-09-29T20:30:00.001-04:00

Hello world,

Cannot tell you how long it took to finally get my paws on the keyboard.

The humans think I was born in January of this year, somewhere in Virginia. They also think I'm part black lab and some type of hound. Maybe a coonhound. Like the one banned from Nantucket last week.

I was found wondering around and brought to a shelter. One that would kill me if I wasn't adopted in so many days. I'm afraid of any floors that are white. The humans I live with think that is because I was scared in the Virginia shelter.

In the Virginia shelter different humans found me and drove me for a long time to a different type of shelter. One that would let me live until the right humans found me.

And the right ones came to the shelter when it was warmer outside (I'm told it was July). The little ones crawled into the crate I was in while I hid in the corner. The bigger human (he's really big) liked a different dog. One that jumped and crawled all over the little ones. But those little ones just kept saying they wanted me.

They wanted me.

So here I am. With my family.

from,
Zeke

Fourth Annual Fluff Fest

2009-09-28T00:28:00.003-04:00

This weekend, which was partly spent on soccer fields and ballet studios, was also spent in the neighborhood that created Fluff - that distinctly New England foodstuff. Australia has Vegemite, New England has Fluff.

This year's Fluff Festival (aka "What the Fluff?") was more crowded, more chaotic. They even ran out of white bread at the Fluffernutter tent (Fluff and Peanut Butter - get it? Fluff-n-Nutter?) before the festival was over. The line to buy a t-shirt, kid you not a t-shirt, was 30 people long. My friend who lives one block away from the festival, and volunteered at said t-shirt booth, commented that this year there were more folks who were not "from the neighborhood". I would like to note my family attended the very first Fluff Festival in 2006. That should give us some street cred.

Or Fluff cred.

But we got to celebrate in something that is very silly. A sandwich spread made of marshmallows. And what better way to spend a Saturday evening?

And now I bring you a Fluff commercial.

And maybe... maybe? Linky Love is back. Just in time for the wonderful set of you who play along.

Awe

2009-09-23T00:01:00.002-04:00

That pretty much sums up how the boys were during the U2 concert on Monday night. In awe.

We got off to a bit of a nerve-wracking start after a colleague told me it took him 3 1/2 hours to get to the stadium for the previous night's show - causing him to miss the first 45 minutes of U2's performance. While the boys were very calm about that prospect, one did say "I'll be sad if we miss Beautiful Day."

I would have been as well.

We managed to get to the stadium (a mere 15 miles from our house) in under 2 hours. We got to hear most of the opening act, wander the stadium, sign up for the One campaign and get white rubber bracelets, bump into some friends, acquire some free bags with the Blackberry logo and buy the boys their concert t-shirts (using money they had been saving from birthday presents).

From our seats we could see the band enter the stadium. The boys just sat frozen while all these adults around them were screaming and cheering. They were not frightened. Just in awe.

I had warned them that I would be standing up to dance to various songs, explaining that this is what people do at concerts and they shouldn't give me any "sit down MOM!" lines. At one point after I got up for a song Bono yelled to the crowd to stand up and start clapping. One little man did as he was told like he was in school. I leaned over to tell him Bono wasn't talking directly to him and he didn't have to get up if he didn't want to.

He sat down with noticeable relief.

They did get to hear their jointly favorite song, Beautiful Day, but to my disappointment we didn't hear Pride. The boys understood that song after our visit to Memphis in 2008.

It was fun to sing With or Without You, loudly, while a son was hugging my waist. But both guys struggled with what Sunday Bloody Sunday meant. Or why there were images of people covered in blood from Iran shown on the large screens. The car ride home was a bit long for that reason. "What is going on in Iran?" "What happened on Sunday? Why was it bloody?"

In the end the investment, time and loss of school productivity (I can only imagine what these new teachers think of me as a parent) was worth it. Because they had that look in their eyes.

That look of seeing idols. Real idols.

Beautiful Day

2009-09-21T00:06:00.006-04:00

A while ago, one of my boys declared that particular day was "a BEAUTIFUL day!" His exuberance caused me to break into U2's 2000 hit which led him to demand to hear the real version (as if my rendition somehow paled to Bono's).

And so a U2 fan was born.

When U2 announced their 2009 tour dates I promptly asked my husband (aka Amazing Guy) if we could take the boys to the show. He grumpily agreed to purchase three tickets but was convinced there was no way two 9-year-old boys would appreciate the value of these tickets.

Leading up to their birthday I cut out a U and a 2 from posterboard and plastered images of the band on them. I also included a note in each gift explaining they were being taken to the U2 concert on September 21st.

The evening of their birthday, after dinner, they were given their gifts. New ball caps, Elvis Pez dispensers, a DS game, and other items were unwrapped and appreciated. Then they opened the "big" gifts.

And stared blankly at the large U and large 2 in their hands. I finally mentioned the note and one guy picked it up and started reading.

And they started yelling.

And crying.

And fell to the floor.

And got up and hugged each other, yelling.

Then ran to me and Amazing Guy to hug us.

And Amazing Guy was crying too.

It truly was a beautiful day. And will be tonight at the concert.

Johnny Clegg and Juluka

2009-09-14T00:04:00.005-04:00

When I was in Paris in spring of 1990, one of the few bright spots - aside from being with my dear friend Mimi - was the crazy hostel I stayed in. The women's "dorm" was a large room with four or five bunk beds. The advertised "hot showers" were not quite that. You stood in the shower and pushed one of those nobs like in the sink of public bathrooms. For 30 seconds you were blasted with the most frigid, cold water to ever leave a shower head. But by then you were covered in soap or shampoo which you had to get off so then you screemed through two or three more stinging pelts of the "shower".

Add to that someone laughing - hysterically - in the room. I came out, blue and a bit bruised, and she kept smirking.

And so began a friendship.

TM was from South Africa. The only other woman in the dorm was a petite Japanese who spoke no English. We figured out (through hand gestures, maps and some amazing shoes she bought) that she had been to Morocco, alone. TM and I felt pretty wimpy just being in Paris by ourselves.

I didn't run around Paris with TM but we exchanged addresses (this was, after all, pre-email). Once I got home we started to write (paper) letters to each other 3-4 times per year.

A few years after meeting in Paris, she wrote that she had a new job working for a South African musician. She didn't write his name out. I wrote back that I was (note: still am) a huge fan of Johnny Clegg. A white South African who formed a racially mixed band in the early 1980's during the apartheid government, he also published several academic papers before his music career took off.

A few months later I received a package with various signed items. It seems my friend was working for Johnny Clegg.

Johnny Clegg and Savuka - I Call Your Name (1988)

TM has moved on from music but whenever I hear Johnny Clegg I think of how she gave me a connection to one of my favorite musicians.

Who is playing this week?

Fourier Analyst (you gotta read her "coming clean" about her wild music performing days!)

In Suburbia

2009-09-07T07:21:00.006-04:00

We got back from vacation late last Sunday and have been gearing up for the fall to begin. Today I could see my breath while walking this morning. Hard to believe that just 8 days ago I was sweating in thick humidity south of the Mason-Dixon line.

But what got me through the past week of non-stop school forms, new schedules, missing soccer gear, and work re-entry was knowing that I was going to see the Pet Shop Boys in concert for the first time with my dear friend who didn't make last year's Yaz show. They were suppose to open for Depeche Mode in the mid-1980's but canceled right before the tour began because they couldn't get the sound right (or how I remember it).

PSB came onstage and I did not stop dancing (and hurt all day Sunday for that). They sang the oldies "West End Girls", "Always on my Mind" and "It's a Sin". They sang from the new album (which I LOVE if you are looking for new music) as well as a hysterical cover of Coldplay's "Viva La Vida".

The song that resonated with me the most though was "Surburbia".

Because that is where I - now the soccer mom - reside in denial.

I only wanted something else to do but
Hang around
Hang around
Hang around

Love, more

2009-08-22T00:42:00.001-04:00

We're away. On vacation. But I come out of vacation to honor my boys' 9th birthday. To honor their last year in single digits here are letters to each of them. A bit long for typical posts but humor me. They have to share a birthday so why should they share a letter?

Dear darling one,

You are my tough guy. The one who will strut around the house with his pants half down pulling off some gansta move you learned from other white kids at camp. While part of me wants to fall over in hysterics at how just plain ridiculous you look the other part wants to pull your pants up and tell you to act right. You are quick to put on an I-don't-care face when you know you've done something wrong. And just as quick to sob as I send you to your room for being disrespectful.

But then, but then, the week before vacation you insisted on walking arm and arm with me, everywhere we went. Through the big city square, on a wooded and rocky mountain, and into the town coffee shop, you would sidle up to my side that didn't have a bag, slip your arm around my waist and lift my arm to drape over your shoulder. Then you would work really hard to get your steps in sink with mine. Your left foot out with mine. Your right foot out with mine. You would over compensate for my longer strides. This would go on for many city blocks, over several wooded hills.

Every few minutes you would yelp "Mama! We're in sync!"

Yes, my darling boy. I hope we will always be in sync.

Happy Birthday. I love you,
Mama

***

Dear darling one,

This summer I started in earnest to teach your younger sister how to ride a bike without training wheels. It has been a struggle because she can do it. She has the balance and the strength but she doesn't believe she can do it. It is probably the thing that drives me the most nuts as a mother - when one of you can do something but you won't do it because of fear, doubt, lack of practice. It was exactly what happened with you when you were learning to ride a bike. You didn't believe in yourself and then one day you got it. And off you went, riding far away from me.

One afternoon this summer, in the parking lot of a courthouse, you watched me seethe as your sister kept giving up on herself. And you looked me in the eye and said "Mom, I feel your stress."

I nearly fell over. Both from your empathy and from embarrassment.

Around the same time you started to spontaneously say "I love you" to me. Sometimes with a hug, sometimes as a comment as you passed by on your way out the backdoor to play or ride your bike. You never said it to worm your way out of a punishment. You just say it.

And like when you feel my stress, telling me you love me just makes me melt.

Because you will never know how much I love you.

Happy birthday little man,
Mama

Three years of blogging

2009-08-11T00:14:00.001-04:00

Sunday, August 9th was my three year anniversary of blogging.

The first year was just bumbling and fumbling, of getting my blog-legs, of writing for me.

The second year was when I really "got" it - go comment on other blogs so you will get lots of comments on yours.

The second year was also when I "got" them - an insanely wonderful group of friends that have become even closer. I just can't envision my life without you all.

This past year was one of retrenching, of writing for me, of barely venturing out and commenting on other blogs. I'm back where I started. Writing for me. Thanks to those of you who keep coming back and reading even when I take long breaks or don't visit for months.

And just to be super vain, here is my pick of top posts from the last 12 months:

When you Take Boys to a Triathlon

Started and Ended with a Funeral

Travel to You the South Carolina Mix

Determined Pointed Toes

Get Out of My House Lady Gaga

Happy Birthday Darling (Daughter's birthday letter)

Peanuts, a Blanket and Yellow Feathers

130 Songs

Stories from History

La

Writing the Bee Tree

How a Park Should be

"Go Kill the Yellow Man"

Love more (Boys' birthday letter)

What did I miss?

Futbal and mix CDs

2009-08-10T00:04:00.010-04:00

David Beckham came to town this weekend and threw a birthday party for my boys.

Well, not exactly. We bought the New England Revolution birthday party package and brought four soon-to-be third graders with our family. I picked the date partly because one the availability of one of these young friends. Little did I know what a big deal it was that we were going to see David Beckham and the LA Galaxy play our beloved Revs.

These guys knew. They were up ALOT complaining about the ref, the plays, etc. And while the Revs lost, the boys seemed pretty happy. One young guest even declared in the van coming home, "that was STILL a GREAT night!"

And as is our family custom, the boys gave out 9th Birthday Mix CDs. And I think the parents were more excited than the party-goers.

Pride (In the Name of Love) - U2
Everybody's Changing - Keane
Just Can't Wait - The J. Geils Band
I Thought I Lost You - from the movie Bolt
City of Blinding Lights - U2
Jailhouse Rock - Elvis Presley
A Little Less Conversation - Elvis Presley
Beautiful Day - U2
Candy Girl - New Edition
More Than a Feeling - Boston
I'm a Believer - Smash Mouth
Let My Love Open the Door - Pete Townshend

And in a few weeks we're going to give the boys their BIG birthday present - hint, hint - it involves someone on this list.

Any of these songs strike your fancy?

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love. Leave a comment if you want me to list you.

Also making music on Monday:

The Ambassador

When you take boys to a triathlon

2009-08-04T00:10:00.002-04:00

When you take boys to watch their uncle in a triathlon
They will want to be in a triathlon too.

When they are in a triathlon
They will have permanent marker on their body for days.

When they have permanent marker on their body
They will need to go into very very very cold water.

When they go into that very very very cold water
They will have to swim 100 yards.

After they swim in very cold water they will have to run up a beach
Dip their feet in water to rinse off the sand
Dry their feet on a towel
Put on sneakers
And a bike helmet
And a belt with their racing number
And walk their bike out of the "transition" area
With no adult help
And start riding a bike for 1 and 1/2 miles.

After riding 1 and 1/2 miles they will have to get off their bikes
And run half of a mile.

After running half of a mile they will get a medal
which they will promptly take off their necks and place on their little cousin

After getting the medal back from their nearly 2-year-old cousin
They will collapse on a sea wall to drink lots of water

While drinking lots of water
They will talk between gasping for air about how they plan on doing another triathlon.

With apologies to Laura Joffe Numeroff, author of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

The Depeche Mode Concert - I conjured up the rain

2009-08-03T00:23:00.005-04:00

Long ago I wrote about how I went to the "new" outdoor venue (back in 1986) for a concert that was rained out. The venue had to cancel and reschedule the show when the first 26 rows flooded because the pumping system didn't work. I was thinking about that show a fair amount on Friday, hours before attending the Depeche Mode Sounds of the Universe concert.

Little did I know the power of my thoughts.

A bit after 5:00 pm the sky turned pitch black and the rain just poured down. It was so bad I scrapped wearing cool cowboy boots for wellies. Because it was that wet outside.

I met a high school friend and two of his friends and we drove down to the venue. We ate our "dinner" in the drizzle and during several other breaks dealt with significant rain drops.

But fortunately the rain didn't cause another flood or stop Depeche Mode. It was a terrific show.

Stripped from Depeche Mode's 1986 album (because that is how I first listened to it) Black Celebration. And kudos to the fan who recorded this. It is a fan video but a pretty good one in my opinion. And skip to after the second minute. This was one of the encores so there is lots of screaming at the beginning.

I'm on a roll with concerts. Seen any good ones lately?

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

So how drunk was Paolo Nutini?

2009-07-28T00:09:00.002-04:00

Note: I like Paolo Nutini. I enjoyed his concert. If you are coming to my site for the first time because you found me in a search engine and are going to blast me I liked his show. Don't go all Gaga on me (as in Lady Gaga) and write mean things. I like his music - particularly his new CD - and enjoyed the show. Feel free to read this story but if you came here in a huff, like a bunch of Gaga fans who didn't read the post they were commenting on, please go away.

This is turning into the year of concerts for me. The English Beat show was my Valentine's Day present from Amazing Guy and later this spring we saw Keane.

Friday evening Amazing Guy and I dragged MoJenn (what? you don't know that Jenn in the Netherlands is now Jenn in St. Louis? Get it? MoJenn as in Jenn in Missouri?) to the Paolo Nutini concert. You know the kid, he sings "New Shoes". Everybody now

Hey, I got my new shoes on
And everything is alright
Hey, I got my new shoes on...

So with my new skirt on (really, it was fabulous) but no new shoes we went to the show.

And thought we were watching a train wreck in progress.

Little Mr. Nutini came out waving his half-full glass of red wine. He stooped over and barely got through "New Shoes", the song he is most famous for. When he finally got through this 93 second version (complete with skipped lyrics and inane mumbling) he practically growled into the microphone "no. more. shoes." He was beyond drunk and full of contempt.

I'm sorry but Van Morrison can have complete and utter contempt for "Brown Eye Girl" because he has recorded 3 million songs (approximately) since it was a hit in 1967 (a year before I was born) and he is 1.5 million years old (thereabouts). He is entitled to his contempt for a song that has been around longer than cell phones or the internet.

Little Mr. Nutini is 22 years old. He was born when I was a senior in high school. "New Shoes" was released in 2007. My daughter is older than that song.

He is not old enough nor has "New Shoes" been around long enough for him to be so bitter. Or drunk.

The show eventually came together. His band was amazing. Just an incredibly talented group of men. Paolo eventually stood upright, played guitar and sang songs in their entirety. He kept drinking but he either hit his stride or sobered up. Either way the show finally came together.

And it was a very good show. Too bad I was worried that he was going to pass out. It would be nice not to worry about the health of the performer.

Started and ended with a funeral

2009-07-27T00:50:00.003-04:00

This past Saturday started and ended with a funeral.

The first one was in a huge Catholic church in a city neighborhood for a colleague of mine. A woman I knew of for over 10 years before I had the pleasure of working with her for the last two. She died suddenly in her home.

Judy was a lobbyist. While we didn't work for the same organization, we spent time in the State House, in meetings, via email and phone calls trying to figure out how to pass legislation and budget items that would ensure the residents of our Commonwealth have safe and affordable housing.

As my boss wrote in an email "Judy was a special person and the type of lobbyist that you don't read about in the papers". He went on to write

"She had the knowledge, networks and skills to represent any client and to make lots of money. But Judy chose to represent non profits who worked for those with fewer advantages. She not only provided a voice for those who are too often not heard in the State House, but she also provided them with an ear- and that is just as important. Judy was a tremendously valuable source of information, intelligence, and yes gossip, from the State House that enabled us to be more effective. And despite endless hours in the 'the building', she always lived her values, maintained her integrity, and never forgot why she was there."

She made a difference for thousands of people. People who will never know the role she played in their lives.

Her death cut short a vibrant and purposeful life. She missed a key vote for a bill she had been working on for over 10 years. That was how we knew something was wrong. Because Judy never missed a vote.

The day ended in a grand theater downtown. One of those guilded tributes to the stage. A dear dear friend came to the big city to see a touring production of Rent with two of the original cast members.

Judy would never think of a Broadway show tune recalling her. But what struck me while hearing the song was how it was about shelter.

And that is what Judy gave by being a lobbyist. Shelter.

Any song gives you comfort?

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

Heard it from a friend

2009-07-20T00:08:00.005-04:00

We were all in the car this weekend and there were several times when I was floored at the songs the boys could sing along to.

True by Spandeu Ballet wasn't too much of a surprise. A song by Daughtry was a bit of a shock but I figured they were probably hearing it on the radio at camp.

But when this song came on - and they sang nearly every lyric, with terrific phrasing and feeling - I nearly fell out of the car.

Laughing.

Because really, 8-year-old boys can sing the following with such authority -

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around
They say you got a boyfriend
You're out late every weekend
They're talkin' about you and it's bringin' me down

Never thought I would hear REO Speedwagon's Take it on the Run sung so well by third graders.

Any song sung by little kids that makes you (happily) smile?

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

Now we have an Ironman in the family

2009-07-14T00:03:00.005-04:00

Over the weekend we drove to a smaller city in a neighboring state to watch a bunch of crazies attempt to travel 70.3 miles. On water and land. Without aid of a plane or train or automobile.

Or boat.

These crazies got up really early to swim 1.2 miles. As one athlete described it "the swim really sucked (white cap waves)". He ended up asking another triathlete, someone he surmised had done this before, how to manage the white caps. The experienced one said to just go with the flow and not fight it.

Then there was 56 miles on a bicycle. This athlete explained that the the cycling "kinda sucked". He went on to say that "everyone had Tri(atholon) bikes except me, which was kind of like running in flipflops while everyone else had sneakers".

Much yelling and screaming greeted the athlete as he finished his final mile on his non-Tri bike. Much running and jumping and down accompanied watching him get off his bike, switch to running shoes and take off for the next part.

And after he started off, little men decided to have their own running races.

They were pretty tired after a few hundred yards.

And the last part was a run. A mere 13.1 mile run (called half marathon in competitive craziness).

The athlete noted that "the run sucked, too (too humid and too hilly)".

And to say that my father (above), nephew (in his arms), sister-in-law, kids, husband, and mother were not insanely proud of my "little" brother (he is after all four years younger than me so I remember the day he came home from the hospital) for finishing an Ironman race - with a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bicycle race and THEN a 13.1 mile half marathon is an understatement. And that he finished this Ironman in 6 hours, 17 minutes and 23 seconds is just jaw dropping.

Because I remember him when he was first learning to walk. And it wasn't pretty.

According to the athlete, my brother, "overall, it was pretty fun!"

A thank you note

2009-07-13T00:05:00.001-04:00

Dear Mother Nature,

Thank you.

Thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!

You flipped your calendar and realized it is now JULY where we live. So now we've had sunny days and temperatures in the 70's.

Thank you for finally giving us summer. I can't stop singing Feeling Groovy, Sunny Days and Here Comes the Sun.

Gratefully yours,
SMID

What's your favorite sun song?

Have to admit

2009-07-06T00:08:00.005-04:00

I have to admit we've been listening to a lot of music by a recently deceased performer who was known for wearing one white glove. It is funny how one kid is drawn to the early Jackson 5 songs while another likes the tunes from Off the Wall and Thriller. The third just seems to be coping. Until I found out he suggested the camp group name this summer be "Rocking Robins". So he's been listening too.

But this version of ABC on the Carol Burnett show is priceless partly because she is a terrific comedic actress and because they are all singing live, something you never ever hear on television these days.

While grocery shopping this weekend, little lady broke into her own MJ-inspired medley which led to several store employees stacking a vegetable section to break into smiles and clap.

Anything making you break into song and dance next to the cucumbers?

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

King Street - Charleston, SC

2009-07-01T00:23:00.003-04:00

During our visit to Charleston, South Carolina, Ambassador and I stayed at the King's Courtyard Inn on King Street.

Quite simply, Ambassador could not have found a more charming and wonderfully located place to lay our heads at night. The staff were helpful, the room spacious and the wine and cheese at the end of the afternoon the perfect way to recharge after a hot day of photography and shopping.

And was there shopping. Window shopping in antique store windows.

The little boutique, Jayne, one of many along King Street, caught our attention because the sign in the window said "Yes, You CAN AFFORD to shop here!" And guess what? I could. I found the cutest summer jacket with ribbon and zipper detailing for a price that was insanely affordable.

I fell in love with this pharmacy sign. When we went in for various sundries, it became apparent we were in a Republican Party haven, complete with personal photos of various 2008 presidential candidates and the Republican Party chairman. The little old lady at the cash register even regaled us with anti-Clinton and Obama slogans. I still love the sign.

But the shop I loved was Lily. Not only for the wonderful items they sold (I literally shopped there three times while in Charleston) or the fact the shop was located in the first floor of our Inn. Or that it can be described as "swanky". I loved it for Kevin who co-owned the shop with his wife, Lin. He gave us tips including where to get drinks, suggested sites for photography and made us feel very special.

Because Charleston is a special place to be.

Travel to You - The South Carolina Mix

2009-06-29T00:26:00.003-04:00

When I arrived, over an hour late, at the Charleston, South Carolina airport last weekend (a foreshadow of things to come) I found Ambassador waiting for me with open arms. We hugged, giggled and promptly walked the four steps to the car rental desk (the airport was this big - put your thumb 1/2 an inch from your first finger).

We found our car and, much to our glee, discovered it had a sun roof.

Which came in handy as we drove over the Cooper River bridge, taking photos of the span while blaring Ambassador's "Travel to You" mix of songs - one of my myriad of gifts from him from that weekend.

Chain Reaction - Steps

Don't Leave Me This Way - The Communards

Groove is in the Heart - Dee-lite

History Repeating - Shirley Bassey and Propellerhead

It's a Sin - Pet Shop Boys

Knock on Wood - Amii Stewart

A Little Respect - Erasure

Never Can Say Goodbye - The Communards

Pride (In the Name of Love) - The Groove Factory

Waterfalls (Workout Mix) - TLC

What's on Your Mind (Pure Energy) - Information Society

Allegra's Aria - Soprano Yanick Alexandre

It's Oh So Quiet - Bjork

Miss Chatelaine - k.d. lang

Everlasting Love - Gloria Estefan

Whispering Your Name - Alison Moyet

And the song I associate with these photos is this fabulous rendition of Don't Leave Me This Way by the Communards. You have not lived until you've sung this loudly in a car with Ambassador.

Any song that you have known forever and now have a fresh memory with it? Do share.

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

Remembering Neda Soltan

2009-06-26T07:27:00.004-04:00

Today people are being asked to wear green and/or black to remember Neda Salehi Agha-Soltan, the Iranian woman whose death from a single bullet shot by government forces was captured on video seen world-wide. Her family has been forbidden to properly mourn her death.

This morning I explained to one son why I was wearing green. I showed him this week's New Yorker magazine. I asked him to read the by-lines of several articles. Then I showed him page 28. The Letter from Tehran is titled "With the Marchers" and the subtitle A resident reports from the streets and the rooftops.

"Do you see anything missing" I asked him.

"There is no name" he said quietly, rubbing his finger over the blank space where the author's name should be.

"That's why I'm wearing green" I told him.

To remember those who have died in Iran and support those who are protesting for their country who cannot say their names.

We could've staged a coup while visiting South Carolina

2009-06-25T00:17:00.002-04:00

Unbeknown to Ambassador and me, and apparently the rest of South Carolina, this past weekend their governor - one of those Republicans who wouldn't take federal stimulus money "on principle" and was a rising star in the party - couldn't be found.

Governor Sanford literally walked off the job without telling people where he was going. At first his staff were saying that he was hiking the Appalachian Trail. Then on Monday it was disclosed that no one knew where he was.

Apparently he was in Argentina because he (I'm not making this up) "wanted to do something exotic". He admitted that he has been having an affair with a woman living in Buenos Aires.

Personally I don't care who people screw. I don't care if they are unfaithful. That is their business.

What I think is absolutely, completely appalling is that this man walked away from his job and was unreachable for several days. He was elected to take care of an entire state - a state I was visiting - and he couldn't bother to leave a number where he could be reached in case of an, oh, hurricane, explosion, flu outbreak.....

But good thing Ambassador and I didn't know. We would've staged a coup.

More photos tomorrow....

The bugs of Charleston

2009-06-24T00:23:00.001-04:00

Ambassador and I were desperate to get together. It had been over a year since my visit to the Crescent City and we wanted to meet up somewhere "in between" for a long weekend. It was to be just the two of us and our cameras. We settled on Charleston, SC.

One subject I tried to capture, partly inspired by Ambassador's stunning images, were the various bug-like creatures we encountered in this southern coastal town.

I did alright but really they don't compare to the master's close-ups, depth of field and stunning lighting. I watched him get so close that any normal small creature would have flown away. But they stayed. I was also amazed at how dragonflies just found him. He has a smell they can't resist.

And while I captured a few good images, I am most proud of catching "on film" a bright red, skittering cockroach along a vine covered walk to a cemetery.

Radioactive Red there reminded me of his cousin who on our first night in Charleston jumped on my lap in a very swank hotel rooftop bar. They were both about the size of my thumb. And I have a big thumb.

Get Out of My House Lady Gaga - Dear Jake version

2009-06-23T00:09:00.000-04:00

Dear Jake,

Oh. My. Word.

I can't stop laughing. I'll start with what you wrote for a comment to my post last month Get Out of My House Lady Gaga.

get a life.
music is music and people like to sing and dance.
who gives a shit what it means.
you cant bubble wrap children forever.
you crazy religious nut.

Jake, you are absolutely correct. I do not have a life. I am a 40-year-old working mother of three kids, ages 8 1/2 and 5. I will assume you can figure out how I can have three kids but only list two ages.

I will also not assume anything about you even though you have made several about me, without reading the entire post. If you had you would have noticed something I wrote:

I have no problem with her music, her lyrics or her video. Have fun madame Lady.
and

And let's not forget that I teach sex ed. In my church.

So I really didn't complain about Lady Gaga. I was complaining about parents that inflicted the song onto younger children (please reread the post to refresh your memory). As I note before, I explicitly tell Ms. Gaga to have a blast. She should enjoy her fame. People should enjoy her. People old enough to get the fun and humor.

8-year-olds and 5-year-olds are not in that club of people old enough to get the humor.

Please tell me what, ahem, "crazy religious nut" you know teaches sexuality education - including a panel discussion with transgender youth - at their church. Really. Tell me. Because you will then teach me that not all crazy religious nuts are close-minded bigots who fear their children growing up. Clearly, you mistook me for one of those folks.

I am not.

You are correct that I care about words. I care that my children may think that a popular singer is promoting losing consciousness, or worse, that abuse is part of love.

Because I won't assume that you are a white man in your 20's who hasn't thought of what it feels like to have your [future] kids sing and dance songs with cruel, destructive lyrics. Because dancing and having fun is important but so is the meaning of words. And when your future kids why "love isn't fun without a gun" get in touch with me.

Let me know how it feels.

With honest sincerity,
SMID

Dear Mother Nature - late Music Monday edition

2009-06-22T10:10:00.004-04:00

Dear Mother Nature,

I never did hear back from you after my letter last week. I took matters into my own hands. I went south - real south - to Charleston, South Carolina. The temperatures this weekend hovered in the high 90's. The heat index was in the mid 100's.

It was hot.

And I loved it.

I loved the smell of the humidity. I loved the sweat that instantly collected on the back of my neck. I love the respite found on the shady side of the street.

I also love who I met up there. We hadn't seen each other in over a year. This week I'll tell you all about it but, Mother Nature, you will have to wait to find out who it was.

Just like you are making me wait for summer here in my hometown.

Really, could we please have summer? Now?

Pleading on bended knee,
SMID

"Too Darn Hot" - Erasure's tribute to Cole Porter from 1991's Red Hot and Blue. But trust me, Charleston was just right this weekend.

Dear Mother Nature

2009-06-16T00:39:00.001-04:00

Dear Mother Nature,

Hi. It's me. SMID. I'm sorry to bother you. You are probably insanely busy so my request may seem really plain in comparison. Perhaps even a bit silly.

You see, I think you haven't been flipping your calendar. I forget to do that as well. For a couple of days.

I think you forgot for a couple of months.

Yesterday, on June 15th, it only got into the low 60's. Last week I spent both of the boys' evening baseball games either wearing three layers or wrapped in a fleece blanket. Saturday was actually sunny and got into the 70's but now we're back into the 50's. A cold, wet 50's.

I thought we had a deal. In this part of the world we don't really have spring. That glorious spring people describe in the southern part of this country when the temperatures slowly rise, the sun is bright but not oppressive and, well, there is that smell of flowers and newness in the air.

Here we suffer through cold until May but then you wave your magic wand and *poof* we have warmth. But that hasn't happened this year.

So the only reason I can think of is it is because you didn't flip your calendar. It's o.k. if you haven't for a little while. Like a few months. I'll give you a few days to get your head around the fact that in this part of the country, it is actually June 16th, not March 16th.

It was an honest mistake. Looking forward to the glorious weather, once you flip your calendar.

Fondly,

SMID

Determined pointed toes

2009-06-15T00:17:00.008-04:00

While last year little lady had her first dance recital, this weekend was the first dance recital on a huge stage, with hundreds in the audience.

There was a rehearsal, on a different stage, last week and it was a near disaster. The teacher used claps to cue the girls to their next dance step and a series of claps confused the 4- and 5-year-olds. Eight little girls ran off to gather their flowers.

Two little girls stood their ground in the swirl of pink and white toile that flew by them. And then flew back to return to their spots. My little lady and her dance partner, who came up to her shoulder, stood with their hands on their hips and calmly pointed their toes.

But, as the saying goes, a bad dress rehearsal means it will be a stunning performance. And it was.

At least I think so. It was a bit hard to watch through my tears.

Nothing like a beautiful ballet to end the weekend. What song ended yours?

She should bring more often - Part II

2009-06-09T00:34:00.000-04:00

Last year I wrote about how my daughter nearly accosted a woman at a clothing warehouse sale for a women's skirt for me. She charged up to this stranger and asked "Can my mommy have that skirt?" I hadn't even seen it yet so I didn't even know if I would like it.

The woman wouldn't relinquish the skirt but did find the very last one in the warehouse and gave it to me. It was turned into one of my favorite pieces of clothing.

This past weekend was the annual summer clothes sale at the warehouse. I brought along little lady and she patiently went through all the color-coordinated racks with me and eventually I had several items in my hands that she insisted I tried on. I actually had five from her and five I picked.

Two of the items she suggested looked great on me. She was too busy climbing inside the shelving or chatting with the woman trying to keep the changing are tidy to notice but she gets the credit for finding them.

When I had narrowed down my purchases I decided to make one more sweep of the warehouse and a woman I didn't know stopped me to ask for my opinion. I told her my choice between two shirts and then she noticed my daughter in her brightly colored patchwork short shorts and completely different colored peace-emblem shirt along with her bright yellow plastic shoes from her Woodstock costume.

"I love her daughter's clothes! I dress like that too!" This woman was in her 50's at least.

She then got my daughter's attention and asked her what her opinion was on the shirts and every other item. She narrowed down her choices based on my 5-year-old daughter's suggestions, left items behind and went to the cash register with the clothes my kid picked.

I'm still incredulous.

A whole community to lean on

2009-06-08T00:18:00.005-04:00

The other week we were told the town was going to have try-outs for a summer travel baseball team for 8-year-olds. I'm going to put aside how much I hate try-outs at such a young age and just tell the story that ensued.

We went back and forth about having the boys try-out. What if one made it and the other didn't? How could we manage the week day practices and games when we both worked? Was this experience worth the effort?

In the end we let the boys tryout this weekend and they felt really good about their playing. They recounted specific plays and hits. They pointed out dents on the bat from really good swings.

Sunday morning we got the email that they didn't make the team.

The crying that followed proved that 8 year old hearts really do break. And they break really hard. And those breaks hurt. Hiding in the pillows hurt. Clutching mom's waist hurt.

And they begged not to go to church. Which was exactly where they needed to be.

They were part of the annual children's Sunday service. All the classes shared what they learned and children are invited perform musical numbers or read writings. My boys played the piano for the first time in public. They heard an 8th grader read a school essay about the death of his dog and how much it hurt but how he had to keep going. They heard another 8th grader they idolize play Mendelssohn's Song without Words. An 8th grader who plays serious baseball but never did the 8 year old travel team.

And they heard a 4th grader play this on the piano. No words, just the music. And it couldn't have been more appropriate.

We couldn't have been luckier for their friends - young and old - who were there for them.

There are so many friend songs. Which one captures it for you?

"The Tank Man" - Beijing, June 5, 1989

2009-06-04T00:20:00.000-04:00

The above photo was taken by Charlie Cole of Newsweek Magazine. He described his version of taking this iconic photo twenty years ago along with three other photographers on the New York Times photoblog site. I've just highlight a bit of his story:

As the tanks neared the Beijing Hotel, the lone young man walked toward the middle of the avenue waving his jacket and shopping bag to stop the tanks. I kept shooting in anticipation of what I felt was his certain doom. But to my amazement, the lead tank stopped, then tried to move around him. But the young man cut it off again. Finally, the PSB (Public Security Bureau) grabbed him and ran away with him. Stuart and I looked at each other somewhat in disbelief at what we had just seen and photographed.

After taking the picture of the showdown, I became concerned about the PSB’s surveillance of our activities on the balcony. I was down to three rolls of film, with two cameras. One roll held the tank encounter, while the other had other good pictures of crowd and PLA confrontations and of wounded civilians at a hospital.

I replaced the final unexposed roll into the one of the cameras, replacing the tank roll, and reluctantly left the other roll of the wounded in the other camera. I felt that if the PSB searched the room or caught me, they would look even harder if there
was no film in the cameras.

I then placed the tank roll in a plastic film can and wrapped it in a plastic bag and attached it to the flush chain in the tank of the toilet. I hid my cameras as best I could in the room. Within an hour, the PSB forced their way in and started searching the room. After about five minutes, they discovered the cameras and ripped the film out of each, seemingly satisfied that they had neutralized the coverage. They then forced me to sign a confession that I had been photographing during martial law and confiscated my passport.

Sometime later, I was able to return to the room and retrieve the film, which I took over to the A.P. office and developed. Afterwards, David Berkwitz, who had been sent to Beijing as the Newsweek photo tech-photographer, transmitted the picture to Newsweek in time for our deadline.

Imagine if this photo had been confiscated. Imagine never seeing this photo and what it represents. This photo has always given me chills. I never knew it had to spend time hidden in a toilet in order to see the light of day.

Can't believe it - spinach edition

2009-06-02T00:54:00.002-04:00

While running to the liquor store to get wine one 8-year-old son started to beg me to go to the supermarket for salad fixings. I thought I had fallen into the Twilight Zone (as in the 1950's show).

After getting the all important vino, we went into the store where the boys picked out spinach, plum tomatoes and red bell peppers. We got everything home and they meticulously cut the veggies into a lovely salad.

One guy tried his salad and went back to his staple fruit - Granny Smith apples with peanut butter. The other guy ate a large helping of salad. Probably the 4th salad in his life.

But what floored me though was after dinner, after the kids' dessert (I refrained) little lady - who has about 4.7 types foods she will eat - asked to have a bite of spinach. She took a bite, chewed it up, swallowed it and asked for another bite. She ate.... prepare yourself.... 8 pieces of spinach. Then declared she loved lettuce. I explained it was spinach to which she declared she now eats "lettuce-spinach".

To say I nearly peed on myself is an understatement. My 5-year-old daughter put something green in her body.

Other than chocolate chip mint ice cream.

Won't be silent

2009-06-01T00:31:00.005-04:00

To be honest I didn't even want to play music this Monday.

Dr. George Tiller, a Wichita doctor who was one of the few doctors in the United States to perform late-term abortions was shot inside his church on Sunday morning.

According to the New York Times, "Dr. Tiller, who had performed abortions since the 1970s, had long been a lightning rod for controversy over the issue of abortion, particularly in Kansas, where abortion opponents regularly protested outside his clinic and sometimes his home and church. In 1993, he was shot in both arms by an abortion opponent but recovered."

As one of the few doctors who would perform third-trimester abortions when the life or health of a mother was at stake his death will make it even harder for women dealing with those situations to terminate their pregnancies.

So I was going to not play any music today. I was at the March on Washington in 1992. I do not apologize for believing in a woman's right to choice.

But then, the horrid murderer would win. Those who want to silence women and our right to choose would win. So I choose to play a loud, buoyant anthem for us. For Women. Because Sisters, no one is going to do this but us.

Dr. Tiller's motto was "trust women". How sad that someone who treated us as grown-ups had to die for that belief. But we will not be silenced. Dr. Tiller should not die in vain.

Got any girl power songs to share?

Dimming Twilight

2009-05-27T21:12:00.002-04:00

I teach middle school students at my church. I had the privilege (really, it is) to drive them most Sundays to and from the class because we co-taught the class with another church in a different town. So I got to hear their conversations, have them tell me jokes (some of which were pretty funny) and listen into their worlds.

It has been an honor.

And they clued me into Twilight.

I was aware of the Stephenie Meyer's phenom. Knew of the movie. I didn't bother to read any of the books nor see the movie. But then the girls started talking about the first book in the series, Twilight. They even brought up the main character, Bella, during a discussion of female and male characters in pop culture. Some girls in the class thought Bella was strong and spoke her mind. Others thought she was a wet dish rag. It amazed me that one character could illicit such different responses.

I finally realized that this book and these characters were important to the 12 and 13 year olds I was teaching. I needed to read the book.

And the second one. And the third. And the fourth. I pretty much inhaled the entire series in less than a month.

The first one was sweet. The second and third were more of the same. The fourth one made me want to jump through the book and yell at the author. I felt she completely betrayed her young readers by writing a novel that portrayed Bella's first experience with sex as horribly hurtful, described pregnancy and childbirth in disgusting horror movie fashion and made all the painful life decisions Bella made become easy. Nothing was ever really hard for Bella. Well aside from being eaten alive (literally) by her baby but even in the end that turned out to be so easy. The kid NEVER cried. EVER!

I finished the series a while ago and have been struggling to write about the experience, the frustration, the anger I feel towards Meyer and her complete betrayal of her young fans. The fourth book should not be marketed towards middle schoolers. She should be ashamed of what she wrote.

It took my dear friend Jen suggesting this Ms. Magazine piece by Carmen D. Siering entitled Talking Back to Twilight that finally gave me the focus for my frustration. Every paragraph rings true. For instance:

The Twilight saga has become something of a bonding phenomenon among mothers and daughters. But reading the books together and mutually swooning over Edward isn’t enough. As influential adults, mothers (and, by extension, teachers and librarians) have an obligation to start a conversation concerning the darker themes and anti-feminist rhetoric in these tales. There is plenty to work with, from the dangers of losing yourself in an obsessive relationship to the realities of owning one’s sexuality.
I'm clearly awakening as a parent. Just like Lady Gag-Me and now You Spin Me Round (the super nasty remake), I need to pay close attention to what my kids read, sing and watch.

Like when one of my guys came down to retrieve the recently returned copy of Twilight on the kitchen counter. "Mama," he informed me "we're going to start reading Twilight."

We grabbed Judy Moody instead.

Don't Stop Believing

2009-05-25T00:27:00.001-04:00

We got a new song, thanks to Adam Sandler.

Journey's Don't Stop Believing.

It is part of the soundtrack to Bedtime Stories, a sweet, sweet little movie. Perfect with kids. Some silliness but really, after m'Lady, it was nothing.

Any fun songs out there?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Find this woman

2009-05-20T00:25:00.000-04:00

This person is despicable. Horrid. She should be thrown in jail and the key tossed away.

Please look at her picture and call the Environmental Protection Agency's (EPA) Criminal Investigation Division office in Boston, Massachusetts at: 1-617-918-2300 or submit the Report a Fugitive's Location web form if you recognize Albania Deleon.

As reported in the fabulous big city paper and on National Public Radio this woman ran a sham asbestos training school in the northern part of the Commonwealth. It was the largest program of its type in New England "training" over 2,500 people in how to properly and safely remove asbestos from homes, libraries, schools, hospitals, nursing homes.... the list goes on and on and on.

Asbestos was put in buildings between the 1940's-1990's inside insulation and fabric. According to a chilling graphic, asbestos particles released in the air literally float for hours and can travel for miles. Breathing in these particles leads to an increased risk of lung cancer including the very rare mesothelioma.

But it isn't the buildings, and those that reside or use them, that are most in danger. It is the workers, the people - mostly undocumented immigrants who do those dangerous jobs we native born rarely do - who are most in jeopardy and their families. These people, who thought they were doing what they were suppose to do to be properly credited for the jobs, did not wear proper breathing equipment or outfits over their clothes to keep the dangerous particles off their bodies.

They breathed in the toxic chemicals but also carried them to their homes. Where they floated in the air their children breathed. Their spouses. Their elderly parents or grandparents.

Albania Deleon's victims were not just her students. It was their families. And because many of them were undocumented immigrants, they can't be found. There could literally be hundreds of people, including young children, at risk for cancer that have no idea.

All because she wanted to make a buck.

I will let the big city paper tell the next part:

Days before she was to be sentenced for one of the country's most egregious environmental crimes, North Andover resident Albania Deleon begged for the court's mercy.

"I pray that God will forgive my soul," she wrote in a three-page handwritten letter to US District Court Judge Nathaniel M. Gorton, "and allow me to atone the rest of my life repaying and repairing the harm I have done. This is my solemn promise."

Then the 39-year-old mother sawed off her ankle monitor and disappeared into a cool March day, becoming one of the US Environmental Protection Agency's most wanted fugitives.

The court's mercy? She should ask for the mercy of the mothers and fathers whose babies have cancer because she wanted to make a buck.

So if she appears in your community - as a nanny, a new store employee, a neighbor - call the EPA at the number above. Justice needs to, must be, served.

Secretly I listen to the Playground

2009-05-18T00:27:00.002-04:00

Sshhhh....

Can you keep a secret?

There is this terrific student run college radio station. The early afternoon during the weekends is hours of mostly college a capella groups. The following show is all kids music - Sesame Street to Weird Al Jankovich to Gene Kelly to High School Musical.

And while cleaning the kitchen tonight I intentionally picked that station to listen to. Even though the kids were playing outside.

Because how else would I have heard this gem?

Any guilty musical pleasures out there? Barry Manilow? Anne Murray?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

"Sad, lonely, por"

2009-05-13T00:22:00.000-04:00

One of my second grade sons came home with the following completed assignment. The photocopied cover had the title blacked out so he and his classmates didn't know the name of the book.

Book Cover Investigation

Today you looked at the cover of a classroom book. I want you to think about what you see and feel when you look at it. Think about and answer these questions.

Who do you think the main character will be in the story?

I think the main charcter (sic) is the boy on the front cover.

Write 3 things that describe this character:
Sad
Lonely
Por (poor)

Where do you think the story takes place?

I think the story takes place in a desert in egypt.

Write three details from the picture that support your idea.

Theres a camel and it looks realy hot. [Mom note: only two there].

Do you think the main character has a problem?

Yes.

What do you think this story will be about?

A child in the desert.

How does this picture make you feel when you look at it?

It makes me feel sad.

Name 3 specific things from the cover that make you feel that way.

The boy is homeless.
He looks sad.
There lost. (this week the class is studying "they're" for spelling)

And while I am incredibly proud of this little man's empathy, I'm a bit worried about his view of the world. He sounds like a weary old man in these answers. A weary old man at age 8.

Hearing the love

2009-05-12T00:24:00.000-04:00

One of the outcomes from a birthday party is hearing folks say how much they like the birthday CD.

During preschool pick-up, a dad followed us up the stairs to retrieve his son's belongings. I had my entire crew with me. His son came to little lady's birthday party.

"I LOVE the birthday CD!" he practically shouted at us.

He then told us how he plays it at work. His work is a construction site. I think he is at least the foreman if not the actual company owner. So clearly he gets to chose what music is played on the site.

"Yeah. And there is this one guy who just grumbles when 'Barack Obama' comes on. He tells me to turn it off." There was a pronounced pause between the "to" and "turn" which the kids didn't pick up on. I assume there is a swear that began with an f between those two words.

"Why?" asks one of my sons incredulously.

"Did he," my 8-year-old asks with grave seriousness, "did he vote for [pause to clearly wrap his head around this]

John McCain?!?" with complete horror to his voice.

"Yes. I think he did" answers the dad.

And we all - including the dad - sang "Barack Obama" in the preschool hallway.

Get out of my house Lady Gaga

2009-05-11T00:06:00.001-04:00

A little over a week ago the boys started singing a song.

Can't read my, can't read my
Poker face

I ignored it for a few days then finally had to ask.

"How do you know this song?"

"Some girls did a Blue Man Group thing to it during the 5th Grade Talent Show!" which was followed by an impressive recreation of these girls' performance. If they really did all that the boys showed me, it was truly a lovely tribute to those three men with blue heads.

However, there are plenty of songs from Blue Man Group itself that they could have chosen to accompany their performance.

These schoolgirls didn't have to use a song that says:

Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun
And baby when it's love if it's not rough it isn't fun

Or

'Cus I'm bluffing with my muffin

Now in the music video, while singing that muffin line, Lady Gaga points at her crotch. Clearly, my kids are not seeing that video before they are, oh, 92 years old mainly because I don't want to hear:

"So mom, if a girl's privates is her 'muffin', what's a donut? Or a scone? Does orange juice describe some private part too?"

Lady Gaga is out to ruin breakfast.

I have no problem with her music, her lyrics or her video. Have fun madame Lady.

I have a problem with parents of fifth graders (ages 10 and 11 years old) singing and performing to a song that promotes violence in relationships and quite frankly takes food to a place I don't want my 8 year olds, or 5 year old, thinking about.

And let's not forget that I teach sex ed. In my church.

So this is not a slam against the 5th Grade Talent Show, the school or the staff. This is a slam against parents who don't have the sense to listen to the songs their children are listening to and saying "no". Because once you've got a song in your head - even as an 8-year-old - you can't very well banish it.

I've since learned that a second grade classmate of one of my sons has the entire Lady Gaga album.

Great. What will be the next song they'll sing? Perhaps Lady Gaga's "Let's Dance"? That fabulous celebration of getting drunk, losing your friends, forgetting the name of the club you are in and waking up to find your shirt is on inside out from, as a friend of mine surmises, date rape.

Any songs make you want to bang your head - repeatedly - against the wall?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Went to Nashville and visited Greece

2009-05-07T00:35:00.000-04:00

One of the stranger things that came out of the 19th century are the remnants of World Fairs. Cities would compete to host these events. Devil in the White City was an incredible account of what Chicago did to get the 1893 World's Fair. Some cities would create something new - e.g. the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the first Ferris Wheel in Chicago - to make their Fairs memorable while others would bring the world to them.

Like the full replica of the Parthenon in Nashville, Tennessee. And as if to stress that this replica was built in the late 1890's, a guy rode up to us atop a replica of am early bicycle - one of those huge front wheel cycles with tiny back wheel and no chain to connect the two wheels. He let everyone who wanted to sit on it have a turn. And he just did it. No request for money. He wasn't part of any formal organization. Just a guy with a "penny-farthing" bike.

After Atlanta, we were back in Nashville to visit Amazing Guy's wonderful brother, his talented wife and their adorable two-year-old twin girls. Yes, marvel at the fact that two out of three brothers in Amazing Guy's family have twins.

We thought it was a brilliant idea to get the five cousins coordinated outfits, sit them on the steps of the Parthenon and take a happy photo. Early on we plopped a girl cousin on the lap of a boy cousin and started taking photos. What transpired was a 5-year-old girl sobbing in the middle because she didn't have a girl to hold. Which led to the girl cousins balling hysterically and trying to get off their boy cousins' laps. And boy cousins who wouldn't let go of the screaming toddlers because they didn't want to get yelled at for dropping a kid.

And those boys have the most plastered take-the-picture-now smiles they could muster. They got gold stars for being the only ones who played along with the plan.

So we grabbed the balls out of our mini-van and took photos of the kids chasing each other, kicking the balls and generally being silly. And in one of those 500+ photos taken by me or my lovely sister-in-law there is an awesome photo of the five cousins.

I just haven't found it yet.

Stone Mountain - the South's Mt Rushmore

2009-05-06T00:10:00.002-04:00

We went to Stone Mountain in Georgia. On the side there are three men carved on the mountain, just like Mt. Rushmore.

The Memorial Carving depicts three Confederate heroes of the Civil War: Confederate President Jefferson Davis, General Robert E. Lee and Lt. General Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson. We didn't talk about them with the kids. They were just some random men on the side of a mountain.

We rode a gondola up and walked down the mountain. It was a lovely albeit steep hike down. The kids flew down and fortunately Amazing Guy kept up with them. It allowed me a more leisurely walk down with my beloved Uncle who we were visiting while in Georgia.

There were carvings all the way down the mountain. Some recent, some very old. Some incredibly detailed and others just scratched on. It was fascinating to see the comments on the stone.

It was a lovely day. Full of views, sun and charming conversation. My uncle was full of stories of hiking the mountain with his Boy Scout troops, climbing up the mountain as a high school student to drink beer and various points of history he has learned through the years.

A lovely way to spend a day.

Harpers Ferry WV - didn't find any

2009-05-05T00:11:00.001-04:00

Amazing Guy suggested that on our second day of driving into the southern part of these United States during the April school vacation we scoot over to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. I initially thought that was a pretty bleak and boring suggestion. All I had was visions of some dilapidated shed with a marker saying "John Brown's Fort".

John Brown's Fort at Harpers Ferry.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

"For Sale A NEGRO GIRL, about 9 years old...." A reproduction of a 1830 advertisement.

Harpers Ferry is part of the National Parks Service. It has a full and rich history in addition to being in a splendid part of the country. The name comes from Robert Harper and his ferry service that crossed the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. Thomas Jefferson wrote after describing the view from an outcrop renamed "Jefferson's Rock" that "this scene is worth a voyage across the Atlantic."

View from Jefferson's Rock

In 1803 Merriweather Lewis traveled to Harpers Ferry to gather provisions and weapons for his and Clark's expedition across the unknown parts of the continent.

Kids looking out from Robert Harper's house.

While I was familiar with John Brown's raid and attempts to start a slave revolt in 1859, and his subsequent execution, I was completely ignorant of the continued role that Harpers Ferry played in the ongoing civil rights movement.

Harpers Ferry was captured and recaptured six times on September 15, 1862 during the Civil War.

Less than 10 years after Brown tried to incite an armed revolt, Storer College was founded and opened for all regardless of gender, race or religion. And in 1906 The Niagra Movement was founded, the precursor to the NAACP, by W.E.B. DuBois for two purposes; "organized determination and aggressive action on the part of men who believed in Negro freedom and growth," and opposition to "present methods of strangling honest criticism."

There were meticulous recreations of old stores and homes. We got to see tailor shops, boarding rooms and homes for the wealthy. We listened to recordings of actors portraying slaves describing their lives and activists talking about human rights in the late 19th century. We climbed stairs carved out of the mountainous rock. There were views of the Shenandoah Valley and trains rumbling by.

I was surprised at how few people were there. Often when I visit a place I will check it off in my mind as "been there, no need to return." Harpers Ferry is a place I want to revisit again. I hope others visit it too.

As we were leaving, little lady forlornly told Amazing Guy that she didn't see a ferry. He explained to her that there were no more boats to bring goods across the rivers.

"No" she replied. "One with wings."

So maybe not all of us were impressed.

Belly Dancing Birthday Party

2009-05-04T00:15:00.000-04:00

Little lady had her 5th birthday party over the weekend. Preparing for this, surviving a big week at work and recovering from our family drive through the American South (complete with 14 hours of driving through 8 states on the final day) led to my lack of blogging last week.

Several months ago a colleague who is also a friend took me and my daughter to a belly dancing recital. My daughter never sucked her thumb nor had a regular object of her affection. She loves her belly button. When she goes to sleep she rubs her belly button. So for her to discover a dance dedicated to her favorite part of her body was a revelation. And the perfect birthday party.

My friend came in full costume and led belly dancing with the kids. It was fun, spirited and exciting. The girls all joined in. The boys played drums. Before they ran off to play pirate. But a great time was had by all.

And as is our family custom no goodie bags were given. Just a CD of some of her favorite songs from the past year.

Funky Town - Lipps Inc.
Barack Obama - Michael Franti & Spearhead
Single Ladies - Beyonce
Jai Ho - Slumdog Millionaire
Furry Happy Monsters - REM
Funky Bahia - Sergio Mendes
Everybody's Changing - Keane
Just Can't Wait - The J. Geils Band
Love will never do - Janet Jackson
Copacabana - Barry Manilow
Defying Gravity - from the musical Wicked
Hippy Chick - Soho
She Loves Me - Madagascar
Candy Girl - New Edition
It's Raining Men - The Weather Girls

Wiggled your belly lately?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Best laid plans

2009-04-27T00:36:00.004-04:00

We're back. Yesterday we drove 750 miles through 8 states. That was our only insane driving day. Since we're knee deep in dirty clothes, missing toothbrushes and now kids who can't go back to sleep the tales of travel will start shortly.

But one story I just had to tell you was how my best laid plans for the traveling tunes were thwarted by a drag queen. I wanted little lady's 5th birthday CD to be the songs we listened to. Instead, RuPaul's Champion CD became the music of choice.

And there is nothing like having a now 5-year-old girl sing in the middle of a parking lot in the southern United States "hump and pump it! hump it and pump it!"

The lyric is actually "park and pump it" as in park the car and pump gas in it.

And the tales only get better.

Got any good songs to share today?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Happy Birthday darling

2009-04-23T00:17:00.004-04:00

Dear Daughter,

You light up a room when you walk into it. Children and adults are drawn to you, in part by your Botticelli curls and in part by your personality.

Last year as a girl turning 4 you didn't notice them. This year you look over your shoulder as you pass people to see if they have noticed. While I long for that little kid oblivion, as you turn 5 it would be inevitable that you would figure out your effect on people.

But what I am grateful for is that you seem to use this power for good.

You are in a big pre-school class. It is no secret that most of the students just invite every single classmate for birthday parties. I'm in no mood to have 22 classmates plus other non-school friends and your brothers in our house for a birthday party. I asked your teachers for help in who you really play with to winnow down the list. Years ago when I asked similar questions for your brothers I would get a few names and that was it.

It took your teachers a few days to get back to me and when the lead teacher did, she sheepishly told me they couldn't pare down the list.

"She plays with everyone. It doesn't matter who it is. She decides she wants to do a certain activity and whoever wants to join her is welcomed. If she ends up alone, that is fine. If she ends up with everyone, that is fine too."

The teacher reminded me of how you talked about a particular boy a fair amount last year. She then disclosed it was because no one else would play with him. He had a tendency to hit or lash out in other ways. You told him early on he couldn't do hit and he listened to you. For a good part of the year you were the only classmate who would play with him. Now he plays fine and is welcomed by the other kids. You helped him figure it all out and welcomed other kids to play with him.

You use your powers for good.

I love you,
Mama

Moving Right Along

2009-04-20T00:02:00.005-04:00

We're hitting the road again. School vacation is upon us and what better to do then throw the kids in the van, drive through many states, and visit family, national parks and other various places and people?

You know what we'll be singing....

Be back in a week with photos, stories and ... well.... photos. But I will interrupt my vacation on April 23rd. Come back to help me celebrate a certain little lady's birthday.

Any other songs we should be singing in the car?

Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me. Music always makes Monday a bit more fun.

Stealth Grooming

2009-04-16T00:26:00.000-04:00

When the boys were little they hated to have their nails clipped. I would wrestle each of them after bath time and be unable to safely trim the growing claws on their fingers and toes.

But they were very heavy sleepers. I could trim all 40 nails as they slept.

So now I have a daughter with gorgeous curly hair. I do not have curly hair so was unprepared for how best to care for it. When I told my hairdresser, a woman with curly hair, that I was brushing her dry hair when full of knots she dropped her hands and practically yelled at me to stop and only comb out my daughter's hair when wet.

I don't like to bath my kids every day which means my daughter doesn't have her hair washed daily. This leads to some pretty nasty knots between baths. She won't let me put my fingers through her hair so I can't gently work on the knots when they start.

This week I remembered the stealth nail clipping. The other morning I sat on the edge of my daughter's bed and ran my fingers through her golden locks, admiring how beautiful she is as she sleeps.

And getting those knots out of her hair.