Democracy and Drama

 Today America got a new President Elect. It was also 4 days after Election Day. That means for four days the nation held its collective breath. Emotions ran high no matter which candidate you supported. It was also the day my son watched the result of an election he cast his vote in.

My immediate family supports Joe Biden, the President Elect. The dumbstruck despair we experienced four years ago has been replaced by equal amounts of joy and relief. It has not been an easy journey.

It was not easy being a Biden supporter in my world. If there are other Biden supporters in my church, I don’t know who they are. My two best friends, my squad, are both Trump supporters. My extended family on both sides are Trump supporters. I am well acquainted with the sweaty, stomach churning physical reaction to people I care about spouting the “virtues” of Donald Trump. My mouth always stayed quiet, the people pleaser in me eschewing debate. Only at home could my true heart and feelings come out.  

I am not sure when my hatred for Trump came into play. I was disgusted before the election in 2016 by his  treatment of people. As the wife of a disabled man, I watched him make fun of the disabled. As a woman, I heard him admit to using them as sex objects. As an overweight woman I heard him call women like me “pigs.”  As the granddaughter of. POW I heard him equate being a captured soldier to being substandard. As a Christian I saw him autograph Bibles and call himself the Chosen One as he tear gassed people for a. Photo Op with an upside down Bible. He can’t quote a favorite Bible verse, but went on the March for Life.  He claims to support life yet rips children from their parents in a strange land after coming for safety and mercy.  

I have watched the country lose sight of kindness and putting others first. We started acting like a class of detention students without a teacher in the room. It became the norm to complain, to be angry, to tell people what ugliness lives in your heart. 

Then Covid. I did not work for two months, and even though I still got paid, I was afraid, I was worried, I was full of anxiety. I was afraid of my mother getting sick. Of me getting sick. I needed reassurance. I needed people to work together to beat back the beast. I didn’t get that. I got more complaining, people refusing to stop partying, people refusing to wear masks. And it came down from the President.

So now I hope things will change. Today the winds feel like they have shifted and I hope it continues.  I pray the Lord’s will be done and our land begins to heal. 

God bless America. 

Can We Start Again, Please?

I started this blog in 2009. The boy who calls me Mommy was still in elementary school and still called me mommy. Now it is 2020, and he just shut his laptop on his Junior Year in high school. He is, for all intents and purposes, a Senior. He calls me Ma now. 

In two short weeks my baby will be 18. A full fledged adult. Big boy jail old. Register for the draft old. Slipping through my fingers old. 

In the past few years we have experienced life. We have weathered middle school bullying. We lived through two years of high school marching band. Marching band is an animal unto itself. It shows you how strong and resilient your child really is. You learn pride in the team, especially when you scan through a football field of feathered hats to find YOUR feathered hat. And you know that it’s really a Shako.  You love one cog in the wheel, but you also love all the other parts. You go to football games. By choice. 

This year we also started driving. For some strange reason, the bulk of the driving time has been with me. This taught me two things:  one, I could never, ever be a driving instructor by trade. I Just couldn’t take it. Two, you never see danger in the world like you do when your kid is driving. You wonder how many pool noodles are needed to cover all surfaces of your Jeep. And you pray. A lot. 

My baby also has a girlfriend. I like her. And not just because she lives hours away in a different state. She is creative, cute, and comes from a good family. I learned from her Mom that they have a plan to settle in Cincinnati so they will be equidistant from each family home. This doesn’t bother me so much right now because they have only been in each other’s physical presence twice now and we have years of school ahead.

Boy wants to be a pediatrician. He left Marching Band for the Career Tech Center so as to begin his education now. He loves it and excels at it. I sit in disbelief that I may one day be a Doctor’s Mom!  That sweet little boy in his car seat with a Matchbox car in each hand will be an adult that changes the world. 

I want my baby back. I promise I wouldn’t change that much. Maybe I’d make a better eater out of him. But mostly I would just love to live those days over again. To watch the discovery. To read the books. To change out the clothes that no longer fit. I just want a replay button. I want to start over.

GET OFF MY PORCH!

Recently I read a posting in a Facebook Group for those involved in Children's Ministries.  It was asking what we thought the greatest challenges to parents are to parents these days.  I have been mulling it over in the past few days.  Being an Early Childhood Educator, a Mom, and a servant in Children's Ministries at my church, I come into contact with LOTS of kids.  I have watched many many MANY kids grow up and become (hopefully) responsible citizens.  So I have had the opportunity to work with several levels of generations as well as experience my son's growth through the early years.  I have made, and seen, lots of mistakes and have had a good idea or two along the way.  

The older generation has looked upon the spoiled younger generations probably sine Adam and Eve watched their own children grow into young men, one of whom had....issues.  No doubt Eve mumbled about her thirteen hours of hard labor to bring the little ingrates into the world.  Only to have her precious babies grow up to suffer from a lethal dose of sibling rivalry.  I am no different.  One of my hobbies is to complain about kids these days.  Including my own.

What is wrong with kids these days?    It seems the teens are happy to live in Mom and Dad's house well past a medieval person's expected lifespan.  A job is an inconvenience and college is something that will wait in the wings until you think you are ready.  Middle Schoolers are so stuck into their phones and devices that they literally cannot go 30 minutes without checking their notifications bar.  And seriously...they consider it a dating relationship when they talk over text even if they have never met in person.  Elementary school kids seem to be shuttled from one activity to the next, and those activities rarely involve the family, the Lord, or making a difference.  Even the little ones cannot sit at a restaurant or take a long car ride without a tablet or other device as a distraction.

Now, comparing the kids of today with my generation X youth and childhood is not really fair.  Technology is unlike anything I could have imagined while growing up playing games on the old Atari.  No doubt I would have enjoyed being able to see the Charlie Brown Christmas special on August 18 if I so chose.  And to have Google ready to give me instant answers? GET OUT!

So where did we go wrong?  Why don't kids today want to grow up and get out and make a life of their own like we once did?  Why don't they want to get their license the first day they legally can and take the first step to driving away from uncool Mom and Dad?

My theory is this:  Today's younger generations are not taught personal responsibility.  Before any Tiger Moms out there attack me for disparaging their perfect child, consider this.  Does your child do his chores, earn good grades, eat her veggies, save his money because it is the right thing to do or because it is expected, or is t because they have some form of reward on the line?  And when they get that reward, are they grateful?  Is your child aware of what childhood is like in the favelas of Brazil? Do you have to sneak toys into the trash or donation pile because your lil darling would throw a tantrum if they knew you were giving away their precious broken Optimus Prime that they didn't know was living behind the dresser for three years?

And while we are at it, what do our kids say when they are online?  Do they exhibit integrity when they are only a name on a screen?  If your kid is like mine, and is forced to socialize on a crappy computer in a common area of the family room, have you looked at the browser history?  It is quite eye opening.  If I didn't know my Christian, sweet spirited, kind-hearted son and only knew him frm what he posts, I would find him emo, angry, foul-mouthed, and snarky.  It hurts my heart to see what he says to be accepted.  Lord only knows what he would do if I gave him complete privacy and civil rights.  I screw up with him a lot, but I do monitor hid activity and call him on it when he goes too far.  

As parents our job is to rear our kids to take responsibility for their decisions.  We love them and support them.  Should be apologize for them?  Make excuses for why they act out?  Stand in court and explain why your rapist son deserves leniency because he really is such a good kid?  Because that is where we are heading when we don't require our kid to accept the consequences.  It seems we are all about rewarding our kids for just living, but do not require them to give us or our word any respect.  Then they don't give any respect to teachers or other adults.  Then authority figures like bosses or police officers do not earn their respect.  

Sometimes I think that while we are going full speed ahead in the wrong direction, it is us the parents who have given the push to get it all started.  It is my hope and prayer that they arrive safely, and that we are not left behind wishing we had thought it through before it was too late to turn it around.

Redux

     I guess it's time to renew this page.  I have been feeling the interest to blog again, and searched for the best blog sites with which to work.  I found  this blog again, which was like finding a twenty in last year's coat pocket.    Most other blog sites are too technically complicated for the likes of me.  I am of the generation where my high school computer class consisted of learning to cut and paste, insert text and print on the old computer paper with spool holes along the sides.  I got through college typing my papers on a typewriter.  Correction tape was my friend.  So I hear about Power Point and Excel and something called spreadsheets and I just shut down.  I know how to type by watching my fingers.  So this computer diary-keeping stuff is fun but I am like the fat lady taking a walk carrying a personal music player that plays CDs.  Or cassettes.    When I started this blog forever ago there was still Myspace and only the hippest were on Facebook.  Consequently, not many people found this blog because it was only available to people in my email list that I was comfortable in sharing with.  You see, I really enjoy writing.  An empty spiral notebook is Narnia's wardrobe to me.  But I have such social phobia and psychotic people pleasing desires that I am terrified of sharing the thoughts swirling around in my head.  So, I don't know if I will ever share this blog on facebook or anything.   But I digress.   

What do you say when people ask.."So what is new with you?"  I hate that question.  Nothing is really ever new with me.  I like sameness.  My little boy is on the brink of teenage, and I have discovered that pre-teens stink.  But apparently they can't smell themselves.  I am not so much his hero anymore as I am the embarrassing fat lady following him around.  But he will occasionally still hold my hand in public or put his head on my shoulder when he are sitting together on the couch.  I am looking with apprehension when those moments are gone.  

What else is new....my beloved cat passed away in October.  He had been showing signs of winding down for several months.  He couldn't control his bowels and acted like jumping up onto the bed was a chore.  I wrestled with the thought of letting him go in a controlled setting.  Then one day I came home from work to find him tangled in an end table, unable or unwilling to lift his head.  I picked him up and wrapped him in a blanket and held him for an hour.  I watched him pass away.  We buried him in the backyard.  For several months we were petless.  I enjoyed closing my bedroom door again and not having to dodge poop in the dark hallways.  Then came Valentine's Day.  My husband and I stopped by the pet shelter at the end of our street and found a pair of the cutest cats. One was a black female and one was an orange male.  We fell in love and tried the next day to adopt.  They were already gone.  But luckily the adoption specialist knew of two identical cats in foster care.  So we met, fell in love with, and brought home a black girl called Tootsie whom we renamed Katniss and an orange male named Butterball whom we named Cinna.  I am so in love with my furbabies.  

I still work in the same place and live in the same house.  I drive the same car and am married to the same guy.  I have a new washing machine and a new (to me) computer, but that is only because the old ones broke.  I am sensing a theme here....I don't get rid of things until they are unusable.  

So...welcome back to the blog.  I may even learn to insert pictures and videos and things one day.  

And what's new with you?

Best Teacher Gift of All

Dear Parent:

As we approach the end of another school year, I would like to give you some advice toward the ever-present problem of what to get for your kid's teacher. My qualifications are that I live on both sides of the fence. I am a teacher, and I am a Mom. I have given gifts to my son's teachers and I have received many many teacher gifts. To be honest, I have even re gifted some of my teacher gifts to my son's teachers. I suspect one day they will come back around, like that quintessential fruitcake at Christmas. But I digress.

I enjoy getting teacher gifts. I love carrying tons of gift bags to my car at Christmas and on "teacher appreciation" week. Once I had to make two trips. That. was. awesome!!!!! And I might add that it really doesn't matter what I get. I say that with complete sincerity. It really is the thought that counts.

My love of the teacher gift far exceeds my general selfishness and love of material goods. To me, a teacher gift is a big ole pat on the back. A visible sign that my hard work is noticed. A little demonstration that I am more to you than a warm body that keeps your kid from getting hurt. It shows me that you think of me as a person. A person deserving of joy.

Teaching really is a work of heart. I have to love and pay attention to your kid even if I don't feel like it. Even when they are whiny, smelly, and covered with snot. I cannot walk into another room and let them play quietly until they call needing another cup of juice. There is no TV in my classroom. My job is to actively engage with your child, and all the others in my classroom, without fail. You complain on Monday about how your one kid drove you batty all weekend and how glad you are to get to work and away from them. But you had only one (or two, maybe three) kids whereas I daily deal with many many more. My favorite comment? When, after hosting a birthday party, moms bless me for what I do and ask how I do it every day. I permit myself an evil laugh then, but inwardly.

So what is it I would like from you? I would like you to appreciate your kid. I would like you to spend your day off with your child, instead of bringing him to me saying you need to "get stuff done at home." You can lie to me (and him) about how much more happy he is to be at daycare....about how he demanded to come...but I see him weepy-eyed and asking when you are coming back. Yeah, your big tough guy pre-kindergartner, the boy who won't cry when he falls and wants to be a football player, cries for you. But don't worry. I offer myself as a second runner-up. I hug him and make excuses for you. But I will let you in on a little secret...when I am loving on your child who longs for you, I resent the heck outta you and wish your Grinch sized heart would grow.

Don't get me wrong...I love your child. I celebrate his accomplishments and feel his pain. I want him to be happy, healthy, and feel cherished. I would take a bullet to protect him. But you need to remember that being here in your child's classroom is my job. I do it for the money. I leave the boy who calls me mommy so I can be with boys and girls who call me teacher. I want you to appreciate that sacrifice. I want you to realize I spend more awake time during the week with your child than you do. I hope you hate that fact. I hope you are desperate to get to your child at the end of a day. I hope you are thankful that his body is intact, that his mind has taken in new things, and that his heart is not broken. (And, you are welcome)

I don't think a stupid Yankee candle is too much to ask. Or a thoughtful card. Heck, even a hearty hug and a whispered thank you would fill me with joy. Because appreciation is the greatest teacher gift of all.

Lessons From The Food Bank

This time of year, it seems everyone is focusing on the blessings in his or her life, as well as giving warmth thoughts toward those less fortunate. In my own classroom, as well as in my son's first grade classroom, non-perishable food donations are being collected. Grocery stores have collection barrels for donations.

Most of us can be bothered to clean a can or two of food off our shelves and bring it to a donation spot. Many years ago, I would take the opportunity to get rid of the tomato sauce can which never got made into chili a few months ago, or the three cans of tuna which have been in the back corner of the pantry for a while. But that was BEFORE.

Take a moment to consider just who are those "less fortunate" people. Most think of the deadbeats, the welfare lovers and the users. In today's economy we might consider a few unemployed folks and give a can or two more. In the not-so-distant past, however, I learned the terrible truth: the less fortunate folks are like you and me. Especially me. Because I did have to make a withdrawal from a food bank.

We were living in Pennsylvania. He who calls me wife had been injured and was unable to work, then was fired. His disability claims had not yet been approved. I was working part-time. We had no money. We did have a baby, who needed diapers, milk, and food. We tried. We found money when we could. We did without a LOT. But then there came a time where the only thing emptier than the pantry was our bank account. My employer knew how hard we had it, and suggested the local food pantry. We resisted. And resisted. And resisted.

I am not a stranger to charity. My upbringing by a single mom meant empty cupboards and lots of making do. We were once anonymously gifted a box of food. We knew how to make welfare cheese blocks, butter, and powdered milk last. We joke to this day about the HUGE can of baked beans we had. I remember eating a bowl of Crispix from a huge box we were given, and wondered to myself why no one ever gives Lucky Charms to poor people.

So imagine my shame at facing a similar situation for my child. We made the appointment for the food bank. I could not bring myself to face it, and my wonderful husband visited alone with he who calls me mommy in tow for the first time. We were relieved to have food n the house, but hubby cried when he described his feelings about having been there. My heart broke.

The second month I went with him. My face hurt for the shame I was feeling. I was conscious of being overweight and in a food pantry. The way the workers tried to be friendly and courteous as they guided us through each section, telling us how many items we could choose. I felt like I didn't deserve to choose.

So the donations were what we got to choose from. Those cans of tuna came round to face me. Those expired cans of peaches you sent to your kid's classroom? That became my son's dinner.

So now it is AFTER and my opinions on food pantries, donations, and who goes to them are completely different. I will donate food I would actually want to eat. I will donate junk food like cake mixes or Lucky Charms. And I will pray over each thing, so that the shamed, desperate person who has sunk as low as they ever care to who receives it also is given hope and strength.

I do have more blessings than I could possible count. And I am thankful for having survived my time of poverty and desperation. And I am thankful that food pantries exist, and that the people who work in them are kind and understanding.

God bless us, every one.

Halloween on Fuddy Duddy Lane

Just got back from Trick-or-treating with the Clone Trooper that calls me Mommy. In the past few years that we have hit the neighbors up for sugary sustenance, we have had a good time. I know the houses that give out full-sized bars, those whose residents dress up and play scary music, the house that gives out religious tracts along with the Hershey bars. It is the one time of year that there is guaranteed fun with the neighbors.

Perhaps it is because the economy is so terrible. Perhaps it is because this year trick-or-treating is on a Saturday. But this year it seemed most people around our neighborhood were content to sit in their living room with the lights out and the TV on. We had trick-or-treating participation in maybe one out of every five houses. Pathetic.

The point is not that the wee one's load is lighter. Indeed, candy s the one thing our Clone Trooper does NOT need. The point is, that with all the repossessed houses around and the people out of work, the Halloween spirit has been seriously squelched. It is sad.

I remember my days of trick-or-treating and feeling momentarily disappointed in the dark houses. I wonder if my son will think back to tonight, when he stood looking in at a lit kitchen door knocking and how the residents just ignored him. But I will remember how others peeked out their dark windows as we passed by.

My street was the worst. Two blocks of NOTHING. If the porch lights were lit in the accepted sign of welcome, then the house was dark and unwelcoming. My annoyance came when we schlepped through puddles in the cold, holding hopes of friendly houses, only to be met with darkness and apathy too great to lead one to pick up a bag of tootsie rolls at the dollar store. Some houses had not even removed the two feet of leaves which covered their dangerously uneven sidewalks.

I hope trick-or-treating is not something my grandchildren will not ever do. I hope that the walls we build around ourselves will not go higher and stronger until we do not even know our next door neighbors.

On the plus side, we got plenty of Reese Cups right now so it's not all bad.