Take a Knee

I grew up believing that people of color had all the same opportunities that I did. Black students who worked just as hard as I did could go to college. If they didn't take advantage of those opportunities, they were clearly just lazy. They could even get scholarships that I couldn’t, just because they were black! How fair is that?

Let’s rewind. First of all, I’m going to be frank: I did not work very hard. Ever. I was gifted in many, many ways, and I squandered just about every opportunity that was ever presented to me. I was the lazy one.

The difference was that I lived in a system designed to let me succeed anyway.

I was very fortunate that I had parents who could afford to not let my failures ruin my life.

I was the very definition of white privilege.

I was also very fortunate along the way to have invaluable friends of color who would patiently encourage me to see other views.  Friends who, when I would proudly proclaim, “But I don’t believe THAT, I believe THIS!” and consider myself so very open-minded, would gently remind me, “No. That’s still racism.” Thank you, friends. You know who you are.

So here’s what I think about this #takeaknee protest:

I see black athletes taking advantage of their positions as professional athletes to make a statement. They are using their God-given gifts to maybe, hopefully make a difference for those less fortunate than they are.

Fat, happy middle-class white people like me are bothered by this for a couple of reasons. First off, they’re bothered because veterans fought and died for their right to protest in such a manner.

EXACTLY.

For over 240 years, veterans of this country have fought to defend our country, our flag, and our constitution, which guarantees the right to free speech. THANK YOU.

American veterans fought for the right to protest peacefully, and that’s exactly what these young men of the NFL are doing. They are not spoiled. They are not entitled. They are not teaching black children that it is okay to disrespect the flag.  They are teaching black children that there are other, more peaceful ways to protest a broken system than standing in traffic, or looting stores, or shooting cops.

But white people who are bothered by such a “display” don’t think that NFL players should use their position as an athlete as a platform to protest.

If the players shouldn’t, who should? Who’s going to notice if a team of inner city teens protests in the same manner? Not EVERYONE. NFL players are taking a knee because they want EVERYBODY to see that they feel the system is failing people like them who maybe didn’t have the same opportunities that they did.

White people don’t like this because we don’t want to believe that maybe the system that treats us pretty good doesn’t treat everybody pretty good. That maybe there’s more we can do and should be doing as we strive to become a true nation of equality.

I know that, on my part, this was not a comfortable realization to come to.

But you know what? Change isn’t supposed to be comfortable. And neither are protests.

If a protest does not make someone uncomfortable, it’s not being done correctly.

Funny, You Don't Look Sick

I hear it so often.   "Well, you look great," they'll say, and it's true.  I don't look sick.  I have cancer, but I don't have the look people typically associate with cancer -- namely, I still have my hair.   Couple that with the fact I weathered my first round of chemo like a champ (I trained for and ran a 15k race while on chemo), people tend to forget I'm sick.   However, I'm presently on round three of chemo (plus two previous rounds of radiation), and it's taking its toll.

A friend of mine made a great comparison today:   It's like kids with autism.   When you see a child with Down Syndrome, you know it.    Many times, when you see a child with autism, you see a kid who looks like any other kid, except his brain's wired differently and maybe when you see him he's completely losing his stuff about something.   And judgy people walk by and think, "Man, what a brat" while this kid's screaming in the toy aisle at Target.*

When you look me, a colon cancer patient, here's what you don't see:

My hair is falling out.  I just happen to have a lot of it.   The clumps I clean out of the drain when I shower are alarming.

I get tired washing my hair.   Like, physically fatigued.  FROM WASHING MY HAIR.

I get winded walking to the mailbox.   Or across a large room.

I have zero appetite, which does nothing to help me keep my strength up.

I am either constipated or I have diarrhea.  There is no in between.   The constipation makes my tailbone hurt.   The diarrhea makes my anus hurt.   Both make me bleed.

I have Multiple Poop Syndrome.   That's actually a thing.  Look it up.  It means I poop several times a day.   So the aforementioned constipation or diarrhea?   ALL THE TIME.

You know that scene from "The Princess Bride,"  where the Six-Fingered Man tortures Westley and sucks a year from his life?   That's the best analogy I've found for how I feel pretty much all the time.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the compliments and the support.  I really, truly do, and for the most part, I'm good.  I'm tough.   I cope.  But when you ask me how I'm doing, I will reflexively respond, "I'm okay. How are you?"   Take it with a grain of salt.


*Please forgive my over-simplification of autism.  I know there's nothing simple about it.

Insert Butt Joke Here

Okay, guys, my mom said, “Don’t put that on Facebook!”  but since I’ve been bombarding you for weeks with all my intestinal TMI, I feel like I owe you the explanation.   I, for one, really hate vague Facebook statuses like the ones I posted yesterday that are all like, “If you’re really important to me, you know what I’m talking about.”   And then you torture yourself with how nosy you want to be to seem like you care.   Or maybe I’m the only one who does that.  Anyway, you’re all important to me, so here it is:

My hot date with Dr. Butt yesterday did not got as expected; he found what is listed on my release paperwork as a “malignant completely obstructing tumor in the descending colon.”  Long story short:  I have cancer.  Probably.  Pathology results will confirm.

He seems to think that we caught it early enough that simply its removal will make me well.  Here’s hoping.   I will be meeting with my surgeon Thursday to schedule said removal.  Hopefully, it will be soon.

I’m in good spirits, but I’m on a liquid diet, so please pray for or send positive thoughts to my family, as they will bear the brunt of my “I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry” moments.   And keep the butt jokes coming.  They help.   Cancer sucks, so the only thing to do is to be completely irreverent about it.

My thoughts on the Les Miserables movie (Spoilers! Beware!)

I love Les Miserables.   Love, love, LOVE IT.  It has been my favorite musical since I was 16 years old.  I love the characters, I love the story, I love the music and the lyrics.   Long story short, this movie really couldn’t go wrong with me.

That doesn’t stop me from being critical.   Nothing does.   So here are some of the thoughts I had while watching the movie on Christmas Day – in no particular order.

(Look down.  Look down.  There’s spoilers there below.)

The idea of having the actors sing on set is really cool – in theory.   It allowed for some really great emotional performances.   In the end, I don’t think it ended up blending well with the orchestra, and I think it caused the actors to hold back a little vocally.   Nobody was as powerful as they could have been.  Nobody really let rip.   Except maybe Samantha Barks (Eponine), once.

Unfortunately, really great emotional performances were accompanied by snotty, drooly close-up shots.   My husband called it “follicle-cam,” though, to be honest, I was too distracted by everybody’s dental work to notice their follicles.

Some of the songs were performed out of order from the musical.  I actually liked the way that worked out.   “I Dreamed a Dream” was so powerful, and it will be just plain wrong if Anne Hathaway doesn’t get an Oscar nomination for her performance as Fantine.  Seriously, wow.   And I’m not particularly a fan of Hathaway.

Hugh Jackman deserves an Oscar nomination just for being able to sing the entire opening sequence around those nasty, 19-years-without-a-toothbrush false teeth.

Colm Wilkinson (who originated the role of Jean Valjean in London and on Broadway) as the Bishop of Digne was just beautiful.  That man’s voice can tear me up in any incarnation.   It was fitting that he be part of this movie.

The plot was altered a bit from the musical, which made it more true to Hugo’s novel.  The downside to this was that Eponine’s role was slightly smaller than it is in the musical.   Gavroche’s  was slightly larger.   The student insurgents were a little bland.  I can remember being so affected by the passion in the voice of David Burt as Enjolras on the Original London Cast Recording.   Not so, here.   Admittedly, I left for  a bathroom break (thanks to a 32 oz Cherry Coke)  just as the opening bars of “Do You Hear the People Sing” began.   My husband assures me that scene was very cool.

Any duet or ensemble scene with Russell Crowe (Javert) had me singing in my head,  Sesame Street style,   “One of these actors is out of his comfort zone.  Come on, can you tell which one?”

Russell Crowe is in a band?  People pay money to hear him sing?   Hugh Jackman (a stage veteran, to be fair) sang and acted circles around Crowe, though Valjean’s songs were a bit rangy for even Jackman’s vocal talent (Hugh, I love you, but "Bring Him Home" should have been dubbed.)

The Thenardiers couldn’t have been better cast.   Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter were perfect (and again, I’m not especially fond of either).

The kids were fantastic.   They could do a whole movie about Gavroche and I’d watch it.

Mercifully, the song “Turning” was trimmed to just the first poignant verse, though given recent events, the lyrics, “Did you see them lying where they died?  Someone used to cradle them and kiss them when they cried.  Did you see them, lying side by side?” really hit me.

Javert pinning his medal on Gavroche’s dead body was totally unnecessary and, more than that,  out of character.  I imagine they were trying to show how Valjean’s mercy was starting to get to the unyielding lawman, but as a nearly lifelong fan of Javert, I truly don’t believe he could have forgiven an insurgent, even a child.

While I was a little disappointed in the absence of Eponine’s ghost and harmonies from the finale, the way Valjean’s death was portrayed was heartbreakingly beautiful.  Unless you're made of stone, bring Kleenex.

Musical performances aside, I loved the way the movie made me feel.   It was gritty, without being graphic.   I was truly seeing “les miserables” of 19^th century France – dirty, crowded streets; disgusting sewers; starving poor with sunken eyes and sore-ridden skin.   I loved the unfortunately realistic glimpse of human nature, too, as the people of France rallied behind the insurgents, only to leave them hanging out to dry when the moment of truth came.  People love to vocalize about a cause.   It’s taking action that’s the hard part, and too many people would just rather stay inside and close their windows when it gets too hard.

Have you seen the movie?   Tell me what YOU think!

Crossing the Line

I have a pretty good sense of humor, especially about being a nerd.   I'll admit, I'm not above poking fun at other nerds, either.   Case in point, while sitting at breakfast in my hotel's lobby before going to Star Wars Celebration VI, and after hearing several conversations around me, I posted to Facebook that I suspected I was not actually nerdy enough to be attending the convention.   The fact remains, however, that I did attend the convention.  In fact, I had a great time at Star Wars Celebration VI.

In middle school and high school I was bullied.   A lot.  And I confess that I have said unkind things to others in the past.   I'm not proud of it, and to this day I still feel guilty, even for stupid things I said and did in elementary school (Tiffany and Jason, I am so sorry!).

That said, I generally take teasing with a grain of salt.  Someone makes fun of you, you cope.  If it's genuinely funny, you laugh.

William Shatner calling out the Trekkies on SNL?   I'm a fan of Star Trek, but that sketch was funny.

Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog, interviewing Star Wars fan in line for Episode I tickets?  I'm a huge Star Wars fan, and that segment was hilarious.

This?  I didn't find especially funny.
"What the Force??? Most bizarre Star Wars convention sightings.

One expects irreverence from SNL and Triumph.  But several websites for news stations posted the "What the Force???" slideshow -- not in the opinions and editorials section, but as a link from their main page.

Countless members of the 501st Legion -- people from all walks of life who create and wear movie-quality Star Wars costumes and raise millions of dollars for charities annually -- felt the slideshow was derogatory and certainly did not belong on a news network's website.  Some even called it cyberbullying.

Members of the 501st sent emails to the news networks.  One by one, the slideshow was removed from the news sites, accompanied by responses of apology.  Most of them.   A news station out of Miami, Local 10, has not only informed disgruntled 501st-ers that they "have better things to do," they have reposted the slide show, first (briefly) with the 501st Legion logo, and then on their Facebook page as a link from a photo captioned, "NEED YOUR THOUGHTS!  Posted this Star Wars convention slideshow a few days ago, seems to have caught on today.  Some people are upset.  WHAT DO YOU THINK????"

Juvenile?  I certainly think so.

I admit, if I found the photo captions on the slideshow even remotely funny, I might tell the stormtroopers of "Vader's Fist" to get over it and learn to take a joke.  Honestly, though, I found the captions to be insulting and inappropriate.   I don't feel like I'm taking anything too personally, though maybe I am.   I just thought it was tacky.

Basically, what bothers me is the news station is sending the message that it's okay to make fun of someone who has different interests than you as long as someone else gets a laugh out of it.   Here's the thing:  If someone's feelings are hurt by something you do, and you insist on continuing the behavior because you think it's funny?  That's being a bully.  Plain and simple.

Plus, someone went out of their way to go to Star Wars Celebreation VI and photograph people (people who, again, raise MILLIONS for charity with their costumes) just to make a few bucks off a mocking slideshow.  Tell me again just who it is that needs to get a life?

Summer Days, Drifting Away

It's August.   School has started in my county, and in the diocese in which I teach.  Once again, I find myself wondering where my summer went.

Here's where:

The threes are worse? Seriously?

We are in the throes of the "Terrible Twos" here.  Once again, I find myself at a complete loss, as an only child who has never really had much exposure to small children.  I keep trying to reassure myself that this stuff is normal and my son isn't really demon spawn.

I find myself fighting battles I don't want to fight, and having to put my foot down a lot harder than I really want, because I can't show weakness.  I can't let him think he can get his way by acting the way he does.   I know that somewhere in his little toddler brain it all makes sense somehow -- that really, the screaming will work this time.  That it's okay to not do the things Mommy says, or not wear shoes, or a jacket, or clothes at all.   That it's okay to kick or hit, even though every time it lands his little tantrummy butt in time out.

He's so sweet, and so smart, and his vocabulary is amazing, and if he could just use his words, everything would be fine.   Use the words before the meltdown and the time out and the hug and make up, and we would save so much time.  And sanity.

The other night, after telling the boy that I understood that he was upset and if he wanted to cry about it that was fine but he had to do it in his room because nobody else wanted to hear it, I walked back into the living room and exchanged exasperated looks with my husband.

"I hope we're not screwing up royally," I said to him.   "This is a developmental thing, right?  He'll get past this eventually?   Please tell me he's not going to grow up to be awful."

The best he could offer was, "I think so."

Good Manners

If TLB wants something, he must ask for it properly.   "May I have _____?"   He doesn't always remember.  Sometimes it begins as "I want _____,"  but he gets nothing from us until it becomes a request with "please" on it.

This morning, TLB wanted Daddy to go to the play room with him, but Daddy was still eating breakfast.

"Come on, Daddy!"  TLB insisted.

Daddy calmly explained that he would happily go to the play room with TLB as soon as he was finished with his breakfast.

Misinterpreting the delay, TLB changed his approach:  "May I have 'Come on,' please?"

Blogging on the Go

Nothing really to say here, except that I can now blog from my phone. Which pretty much makes my blog like Facebook, except I can't play "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" on my blog.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

How I Spent My Summer Vacation (Part 3)

It had been my intention to enroll TLB in swimming lessons last summer, but tubes got in the way.  This summer, after a clean bill of health from TLB's ENT, I started shopping for swim instructors.  By "shopping" I really mean soliciting my Facebook friends for advice.

What my son didn't need was a "Mommy & Me" water class.   He was already comfortable in the water.  That was part of the problem.  He had absolutely no fear.   I ruled out the Y's toddler swim class, and other similar courses around town.

Ultimately, I decided on Waterlilly Swim School, which teaches Infant Swim Self Rescue.   As soon as I heard about this, I knew this was the program I wanted.  Unfortunately, as it was already well into June by the time we were able to start lessons, there was a considerable wait to get into classes.   In the meanwhile, we enrolled in another swim class just to pass time, and at the end of the class the instructor informed me that that was pretty much all she'd be able to do with him until he was older.  I knew better, but I let it go.   TLB had had fun for a couple weeks.

Finally, I got email notification that TLB would be able to begin his ISR classes.   It wasn't at the time I'd initially wanted, but I was able to make it work.

The first class was a briefing of what was to be expected, and a short time in the pool with the instructor to get TLB acclimated to the pool and the environment.   Ms. Gretchen informed me that sometimes the children get upset during their training, and that the best thing I could do was be positive and encouraging.  I assured her that I'm not the sort of mom who freaks out when her kid cries, and that I wouldn't interfere with the lessons.

Throughout the first week of lessons, Ms. Gretchen assured me that TLB was doing really well, but I was convinced he could do better -- or at least do what he was doing without all the typical two year old whining, crying and complaining about stuff he doesn't want to do.   Don't get me wrong, TLB loved to swim.   He just didn't want to float.  And in ISR, floating is kind of key.

So I resorted to bribery.  My son will do pretty much anything for a lollipop (poop on the potty, for example), so I informed him that if he did everything Ms. Gretchen asked him to do without crying, he could have a lollipop.   We made lots of progress that lesson.

For a long while, I had underestimated my son's ability to understand because of his limited vocabulary -- in my mind, only the stuff that came out was the stuff that went in, kind like that old Far Side comic about what we say to dogs and what they hear.  I have since come to realize that my son is not a dog (you'd think the banana episode would have tipped me off), and that he understands much more than he's able to say.  So I began coaching him.   It began with little pep-talks on the drive to swim school, but it gradually began to work its way into my "encouragement" during his lessons -- to the point that the mom of the child who followed TLB's lesson remarked, "Look how smart he is.  He's actually listening to you."

I don't know whether is was Ms. Gretchen's excellent instruction, my mad coaching skillz, or that my kid may be "Son of Poseidon" (according to Uncle Roland), but by the end of TLB's second week of lessons, Ms. Gretchen was convinced he was going to set a record for completing the course.  I don't know whether he actually did or not.  I do know that, according to the website, the average child takes about 35 lessons to complete it, and TLB did it in 16 (plus two days of testing and resetting).

Here is a link to a video Ms. Gretchen made of TLB's last few days of swim lessons (including one picture of a kid who isn't TLB). I tried to embed it, but for some reason it only wanted to embed half the frame.  Yes, he's swimming in his underwear for much of it, as his "reset" lesson was done at the spur of the moment after his winter clothes test and I hadn't brought his trunks.

http://www.onetruemedia.com/shared?p=f13d78f3aae28203149c3b&skin_id=1603&utm_source=otm&utm_medium=text_url

How I Spent My Summer Vacation (Part 2)

Shortly before my summer break started, my husband and I purchased annual passes for Walt Disney World.   Their monthly payment program made it possible for us financially, and as we live only a couple hours away from the Happiest Place on Earth, we are likely to visit frequently.

TLB visited all four Disney parks this summer.   Although he had been to Walt Disney World at 6 months old, he was really more like a piece of baggage than a visitor at that point. I don't mean "baggage" in the negative, relationship issue sort of way.   It's just that we carried him around, but the trip wasn't really for him.

This time, it was all about him.   It was the first time he could really take in the experience and enjoy it.   In a way, it was a first time for me, too.   I've been to Walt Disney World literally hundreds of times, but this was my first real time experiencing it with my child.   The whole experience was different than any Disney experience I remember.

With a toddler, you do different things.  

You stand in line for character visits. 

You watch the parades, instead of using parade times to take advantage of slightly shorter ride lines.  

You ride Dumbo and the Carousel instead of roller coasters.   

You stay two nights in a hotel instead of making it a day trip, so your kid can spend midday napping in a dark, air-conditioned room.  

And you somehow manage to have the most magical time of your life.

Our trip to the Magic Kingdom was my favorite, because we experienced so much that was new.   We ate breakfast at the Cape May Cafe at the Yacht and Beach Club Resorts and were visited by Goofy, Minnie and Donald.   We stood in line at the park to visit Daisy, Pluto, Mickey and Minnie.   We danced at the "Move It! Shake It!  Dance Party" on Main Street and again at Chip, Dale and Stitch's dance party in Tomorrowland.   We let TLB stay up past his bedtime to see the Main Street Electrical Parade, but left before the fireworks.

It was our first Disney trip in over a decade that we didn't spend an evening at EPCOT to see IllumiNations: Reflections of Earth.   This is tradition for our family, as my dad was the manager of the production team that built the barge that carries the Earth globe.   We did see the show when we visited over Memorial Day weekend, but TLB was terrified by it (to be fair, it does start off rather loud, fiery and violent).  So we gave it a miss this time -- we'll pick up the tradition when he's a little older.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation (Part 1)

Right around the time my son turned 2 in April, the manager of his day care asked me what I wanted to do about potty training. There were a couple of little girls in his class about the same age whose mothers were interested in getting them started. She advised that I buy some Pull-Ups so they could start TLB on the system of being set on the classroom potty at regular intervals.

Nobody who has read my previous posts should be surprised that I've done some reading on potty training. My parents tease me frequently about my "information overload" approach to parenting. Yet when I called my mother to ask her opinion on the potty thing, she asked me, quite seriously, "Well, what have you read about that?" What I'd read was that boys generally potty train a little later than girls (average age of 39 months, according to Toddler 411, which I highly recommend to ANY new parent), that potty training was a matter of the child wanting to be clean, and that when a child was ready, it could be done in a day. I'd also read that Pull-Ups weren't particularly conducive to potty training, as they didn't let the child feel when he was wet.

Based on this information, I decided not to start potty training during the school year. I didn't want to start a prolonged process that might be frustrating to my kid who may or may not be ready. When he was ready, he'd be able to tell me or whatever caregive he was with when he needed to go, instead of being reminded on a schedule.

I would be home with him in June, so that seemed an ideal time to give the potty thing a go. We could spend as much time as necessary focusing on the task at hand, and I could do things my own way. I was totally prepared for him to not be ready, in which case I'd just put potty training back on the shelf for a later date.

We started on a Friday morning. I announced to him that starting right then, he would be wearing underpants like a big boy. I had Toy Story and Yo Gabba Gabba briefs ready, and he got to pick which ones he wanted to wear. He picked the ones with Woody. He was very excited to be wearing Big Boy Pants.

"I got Woody!" he cried, pointing to his briefs.

This could be a problem, I thought, but let it go.

I brought the potty out into the living room, told him that when he needed to pee-pee he should tell me and I'd help him go on the potty, and we settled in for a morning of Fresh Beat Band and Winnie the Pooh.

Within the hour, TLB suddenly made the crotch-grabbing proclamation that he was wet. One pair of undies down. Deciding that "big boy undies" on Day 1 might end up being rather laundry intensive, I stripped him naked, put the potty next to my recliner, and reminded him that if he needed to pee-pee, he needed to come sit.

A couple hours went by. Nothing. Then shortly before naptime, he ran to me and sat. And he peed. In the potty. Just like that.

There was much rejoicing.

During naptime, he wore special "naptime undies" (aka Pull-Ups, because sleep-time is a totally different animal that we'll tackle later), but when he woke up it was back down to nothing. By the end of the night we'd had two more successful pees, both announced by him. He had one accident as well, but I figured we'd come out ahead.

The next day, we launched into the same routine -- buck naked in the living room, potty at the ready for whenever he needed to go. There were no accidents that day, and all potty times were decided by him. It was a great day.

And that was pretty much it. Just like the book said, TLB was potty trained in a day -- on #1, anyway, which was to be expected. Poop was, and still is, a different matter. But for the most part, TLB saves it for his "special naptime undies," so it doesn't interfere with anything. Day care, dance lessons, swim lessons, Walt Disney World -- TLB takes them on like a big boy, complete with big boy pants.

And Mommy and Daddy are saving a ton of money, now that they no longer have to buy diapers.

Mommy Wanderings (or: Holy Crap! This Kid's Almost Two!)

I’m trying to figure out just where in the world the last year went. Last April when TLB had his first birthday, we had a small, understated celebration -- TLB, my husband and I went to dinner with my parents, TLB’s Godparents, and Uncle Roland. He was still a baby then. He barely walked, talked even less, and didn’t like the icing on his cake. It was a fun celebration, but it was hardly momentous.

Now, inexplicably, TLB is about to turn TWO. All of a sudden, it seems, I have a little boy living in my house. Not only does he walk and talk and eat cake, he jumps, dances, sings, plays drums, slides down slides and rides horses. He names colors and shapes, and counts to ten in English, Spanish and Korean (French is a work in progress). He eats with utensils, colors with crayons, throws and kicks balls, says “please” and “thank you,” and insists on doing so many things himself. Where did this kid come from?

He had his two year check-up the other day, and the nurse bombarded me with questions about his development. Can he climb stairs? Can he jump? Can he stack blocks? Can he speak fifty words? My first thought was, “Should I be counting words?” My second was, “Well, I imagine so. Thirty of them are numbers.” Then, “The kid says ‘trombone,’ ‘dinosaur,’ ‘tortoise’ and ‘avocado.’ I really think he’s doing okay, vocabulary-wise.” What I SAID was, “Yes.” I saved my bragging for this blog.

Of course, TLB’s rapidly approaching two-ness isn’t ALL manners and singing and dancing. He can go from “Wow, if I’d known it would be this awesome I would have had kids years ago” to “Oh, so this is why people shake babies” in a matter of seconds. Don’t want to wear those pants (“WANNA PANTS!”). Those raisins don’t have yogurt on them (“NO! WHITE RAISINS!”). I want to put my pajamas on myself (“MY DO IT!”). Any of those scenarios can melt down into an episode of body-flinging, arm-swinging, incoherent screaming. I do my best to keep my cool and get through it in a gentle, reasonable manner. I don’t always succeed, but I feel like I deserve an A for effort. Or maybe an A minus. A solid B plus at the least.

Still, those episodes are few and far between. They happen, sure, but I understand why they happen. Really, the “Terrible Twos” aren’t so terrible. They’re just occasionally frustrating.

Sometimes, I feel worse about my behavior than his – those times when I start talking through clenched teeth and muttering words that aren’t in my everyday Teacher Vocabulary. I get angry, when I know it’s not really his fault. After all, he’s not old enough to know better, but I am.

There are moments, and lots of them, when I wonder if I’m doing things right. After all, I’ve never really been around toddlers. I have no frame of reference. I don’t know what’s normal and what’s bratty. I’m just kind of fumbling through motherhood and hoping for the best. Parenting is hard!

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This kid – this dancing, singing, dinosaur-loving little boy – really, really is a gift. I’m not sure what I did to deserve such an awesome gift, but I thank God every day for him.

A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

TLB wanted something. He pointed to the kitchen counter from his highchair. "Nana," he said.

He wants a banana, Daddy assumed, and gave him one. Evidently it was adequate, because TLB ate it happily.

TLB pointed to the counter again. "Deh," he said. (Mommy knows that "Deh," and not "Nana," is the word for "Banana." At the time, Daddy did not.)

Daddy picked up a plastic tub of orange slices, and was met with a disgruntled whine. Wrong. He picked up a sippy cup. Wrong again. "Deh!" TLB insisted, still pointing.

It was time for a different approach. "Book," TLB said. There was, in fact, a book on the counter. Daddy handed it to him, and TLB seemed satisfied.

Daddy is a little slow this morning. Maybe an illustration would help.

TLB flipped through the book, found a picture of a banana, and pointed to it. "Deh," he said firmly.




BANANA.

Adventures

I'd forgotten how much I love being outdoors. I'd let myself get out of shape, and out of the habit. "It's too hot. I'll get a headache. Best wait until the weather is cooler."

But you know what? It's really not that hot. In fact, today was a gorgeous day for adventure in Palatka, Florida, of all places.

The Ravine Gardens State Park is a gem hidden in Palatka. Until a couple weeks ago, I'd had no idea it was there. I just happened to stumble upon it while searching for something online. Today, it became the first of hopefully many new adventures for my family and me.

Building Character (Theirs and Mine)

Today, the Amazon Kindle store recommended to me a book called The Leader in Me: How Schools and Parents Around the World Are Inspiring Greatness, One Child at a Time by by Steven R. Covey. Always game to read something that will help me become a better teacher and a better parent, I bought it.

I have complained for so long that the problem with our educational system is not educational at all, but societal, that it has become habit. I still believe it, of course -- too many of America's children are raised with no boundaries and no responsibilities, so that this generation of school children has more than its fair share of coddled, enabled brats. But I've come to rely on this mantra a bit too heavily. I spout it without even thinking whenever someone mentions longer school days (or school years) or performance-based salaries for teachers.

Reading even just the first few pages of this book has made me remember something very important: Why I became a teacher. Being an athlete had made me a role model for others whether I wanted to be or not. As it turned out, I liked it, and I decided that I really wanted a career that served others. I wanted to be a hero, in my own way. I was in the process of sorting out how to become a firefighter when a teaching position fell into my lap. I loved it from the start.

I realize that I may be the only positive influence in a child's life. There have been times when this has made me feel a little bitter. Why should I have to be the one who teaches this kid right from wrong? Who encourages the kid to do his work and give his best effort? How can I be expected to do that without any support from his home?

What I need to remember is that, while this is a responsibility, to be certain, it is also an opportunity. Every child is capable of good character. Every child is capable of his best effort. Every child is capable of leadership in some way. And it is my privilege to help them realize that.

It's easy to blinded by behavior issues, unsupportive parents, and academic apathy, but I see the start of this school year as a gift. It's my chance to be a hero.

Social Ineptitude

My 20-year high school reunion is tonight. I'm not going.

I have this strange sort of ambivalence toward the reunion. It would be cool to see everybody, sure, but not $98 worth of cool. I went to my 10-year reunion, and left early feeling sort of awkward. It was like high school all over again -- all that stuff I didn't like about high school.

A few days ago, a high school friend with whom I've recently reunited sent me a message on Facebook to tell me that there would be a pre-reunion get-together at Whitey's Fish Camp on Friday night and that I should meet her there. Sounded fairly painless, so I went.

Whitey's is a pretty popular place by Clay County standards, and on Friday nights it's especially hoppin'. After being herded to a tiny parking space by a reflective-vest-clad attendant, I went into the packed restaurant in the hopes of recognizing people I haven't seen in 10 or 20 years. I spotted a couple possibilities (including someone who claimed he wasn't who I thought he was -- thanks, Robert, that made things SO much less awkward!), but no Christy, so I went back outside on the bench to wait.

Desperate phone call placed, Christy assured me she was on her way, and that I should go back inside and find a few other people who I'd apparently missed at the bar. I went back inside for a drink with a couple people I'd known reasonably well in high school, and let my social brilliance shine through: "Oh, hi, Mary! I almost failed Zoology because I didn't have the cojones to argue with the teacher that the reason I was looking toward your paper was not that I was copying your answers but because you were left-handed and we kept bumping elbows as we wrote. Good to see you!" Not something smoother like, "Mary! You know, I was thinking about you the other day while I was running down River Road and trying to remember which dock we fished from that time to collect specimens for the zoology class fishtank. Remember that? Oh, zany high school fun that I was actually a part of..."

Drinks in the air-conditioned bar moved to drinks on the sweltering outdoor patio, where it was virtually impossible to walk or even turn around without tackling someone into a table. I packed myself into a corner with a couple of other people I knew, clinging to them like a lifeline. A few more old friends came and went, people I'd been genuinely excited to see.




An inebriated classmate who had been in a much higher popularity echelon than I had been swore I looked familiar to her, and chatted with me for a while about how precious children are. Somehow I ended up at an outside table with a couple people, but when they decided to leave for a bit, I went back in and found myself lost, unable to locate any of the people I felt most comfortable with.

I'm a pretty shy person. I'm not the kind of person who throws parties or invites people to the house or out to dinner. I try not to impose myself needlessly on anyone else. I remember every stupid thing I've ever done or said, and I always assume everyone else does, too. I tend to take things personally. The smallest, unintentional slight can scare me away. I'm not good at showing people or telling people how I feel about them. (I can remember my husband saying once about a student of mine, "I don't think that boy will ever know how much you love him." He was probably right.) I downright suck at mingling.

So I left. I'm not too bummed about it. Big reunions just aren't who I am, and I'm cool with that. I'm going to set a goal, though, of getting together with one old friend a month -- or at least asking. Small groups. Baby steps.

Big Kid

TLB returned to day care today after being out for six weeks or so. He cried when I dropped him off and the staff of the day care hastened to shoo me away like one of those coddling helicopter moms, which I most assuredly am not. I get that he'll be fine once I'm gone, day care, but could I please have a goodbye kiss before I go? NO, GIMME YOUR KID, BYE NOW.

Anyway, things went fine, of course. I was informed as soon as I walked in the door that Alex had been very excited to see his old infant room teacher, Ms. Novie, who now works in the 1-year-old room in the afternoon.

My son is in the 1-year-old room. He plays with other toddlers, learns letters and colors, eats at the table, and sleeps on a nap mat on the floor. MY BABY.

All at once I'm both like, "No! He's still a baby!" and "Hellz yeah! Potty training next, please, and how about eating with utensils and some organized sports."

He's growing up, and really, I'm totally cool with that because the older he gets, the more fun he gets. He runs and climbs and talks and explores and absorbs things like a jumbo sponge. He's just so much awesome.

It's just that it reminds me that he's over a year old, which means I'm more than a year older than I was when he was born, which means I am quite solidly on my way to that point when I'll be 55 and he'll be graduating high school and people will think I'm his grandmother.

But for now I just have to worry about buying a blanket for his nap mat.

Prince of Naps

A year ago, I was fretting and reading and trying everything to get TLB to nap during the day. He's been a good nighttime sleeper from Day One, but until late July last year his napping left something to be desired.

Just when I'd gotten him on a decent nap schedule (after some sleep training for him and behavior modification for me), he started day care, which threw everything all out of whack again -- a different environment with different distractions. TLB adjusted, though. He's a trooper.

Toward the end of the school year, TLB was only taking one nap at day care. I was afraid this would stick, even though I was pretty sure he could use a morning and afternoon nap. Around the start of summer vacation he was teething like crazy, too, which didn't help at all. It disrupted his naps and night-time sleep as well. I thought I was in trouble.

I was wrong.

My son has become a napping machine. No matter what I have planned during the day, he'll be ready for naps at 9:30 am and 2 pm. No fighting, no fuss, no preparations necessary. He'll climb into my arms, put his head on my shoulder and stick his thumb in his mouth. "Put me in my bed and take a break, Mommy," he says -- or he would, anyway, if his vocabulary consisted of anything more than "Mama," "Dada," and "ball." He sleeps 1.5 to 2 hours per nap, which gives me plenty of time to pick up around the house (yeah, right!), check Facebook and watch World Cup Soccer. God bless my son for letting me watch the World Cup.

48 Hour Film Project

When TLB is napping, I pretty much live on Facebook. Yes, I know there are chores to be done, but I totally need to see what all my friends are up to RIGHT NOW, because I am absolutely incapable of picking up a phone and actually being in touch with people and having real, functioning relationships.

Anyway, over the weekend I received two separate invitations to one of the Jacksonville screenings of the 48 Hour Film Project. One was from a kid who was in my 8th grade technology class my first year teaching. The other was from a guy I know through the local community theater. To make a long story short, I had no plans that night, my husband would be working late, and my dad was available to watch TLB, so I figured I'd go.

(Notes to self:

1) Next time, don't buy tickets online. It's not like it's going to sell out, so it's not worth buying in advance and paying double your ticket price in online fees.

2) Next time, bring a friend. It would be more interesting having someone to talk to before the screening and at intermission, and it would be a lot safer having someone to walk back to the parking garage with at 10 pm. )

The 48 Hour Film Project itself is a really cool idea. At the kick-off event, which is held on a Friday night at 7 pm, each team is assigned a genre, and all teams are given a list of components that must be included in the film (this year they were: a character named Tony or Tina Daubert, who is a wine connoisseur; a line of dialogue - "I love a good challenge"; and use of a lamp as a prop). The teams then have 48 hours to complete their films (the only work that can be done in advance is essentially assembling the team and procuring the equipment), which they must turn in by 7:30 pm on Sunday.

So yeah, in theory, this is a really cool idea. But remember those video projects people did in high school? You'll be seeing a lot of this all over again. Some of the films weren't that bad. Some were actually edited well. In some of them, the sound didn't completely suck. Some even had legitimate actors. But for the most part, when a film would start, 30 seconds in I'd be waiting for it to turn into porn.

DISCLAIMER: I am, by no means, an authority on porn, but come on. Admit it. You know exactly what I'm talking about. The bad sound. The thin plot. The horrible acting. All some of these films needed were a bed and the "Lay That Pipe" soundtrack music.

As people entered the Florida Theater, they were given ballots to select the "audience favorite" film. Everybody was require to vote for THREE films -- so people could vote for their own films and then two others that they actually liked. At first, I started to automatically check off the two films I'd actually been invited there to view, but then the critic in me convinced me to actually watch the films and select my REAL favorites.

One of the films I chose was a musical. Anybody who knows me is thinking right now "Well, DUH!" but seriously. They had to make a MUSICAL. With music and lyrics and stuff. And it wasn't painful at all, fairly clever and somewhat compelling.

Another film I chose was a comedy. Oh, many of the films were comedic in one way or another (whether or not they were intended to be), but this one was actually in the comedy genre and I enjoyed it. Admittedly, I think "comedy" is probably one of the easiest genres to do, but the director chose a format really suited to the actors and it played out well. The only line that really sounded scripted was the obligatory "I love a good challenge."

The third film I chose WAS actually one of the ones I was invited to see, but I'm not going to say which one. It doesn't really matter, because I left in such a hurry so I could beat the traffic out of the parking garage (ha ha, joke's on me!) that I forgot to turn in my ballot. Sorry guys.