Crimes of the Mother

For a short time when I was a little girl, my family lived in New Jersey. I loved the junkyard across the street with a small creek running through it. I was forever bringing home "treasures" to share with my mom, who diplomatically tried to tell me to take the item back to the junk pile. Deer were often spied in our backyard, though not by me, by my older sister. Unless she was making it up to annoy me. "The deer was JUST there a second ago..."

We weren't in New Jersey for very long before we moved back to Ohio, but I have one vivid holiday memory from that time period. I think I was about 5 or 6 years old, and we were driving to Pennsylvania to visit my Uncle and Aunt. I was sick with the stomach flu, which must have made the drive especially fun for the rest of the family. I recall hearing my mom tell my dad to put me in the car with my pajamas on, and he made me get dressed instead. I was miserable. 

By the time we got to Pennsylvania, I felt much better. Good enough, in fact, to swipe a little box from beneath the Christmas tree and open it up. There were a pair of earrings, sparkling up from the white velvet. Just the treasure a little girl would want to find. Until she realized that she'd done something terribly wrong. So I hid the earrings outside the door, in the snow, and went back to playing with my sister. Naturally, my parents and my Aunt and Uncle called me out and I got quite a scolding for my thievery. 

Now that I'm a mother, I'm expecting my own child to repeat some of my mistakes, and I'm trying to remember to go easy on his first offenses. So far, his gaffes have been so full of innocence that I've had to fight against the urge to laugh or smile when they're reported to me, though I often fail. Lately we've had some difficult discussions at home as Henry struggles with goofs he's committed at school and his powerful desire that I not find out about them. Even the principal says she's caught herself grinning as she's trying to correct Henry's behavior. If trying not to laugh is my biggest challenge, I'm a lucky parent. 

Check back with me when my son is a teenager. See if I'm still trying not to laugh. 

Over the River and Through the Woods

When did it get to be mid-November?

Suddenly I need to create a Thanksgiving menu, figure out whether my husband is working on that Thursday, decide if I'm baking pies this year or visiting Baker's Square...so much to do. This holiday crept up on me, despite my excitement at this time of year. Excited, yes, but ready? Not so much. 

When I was a child, Thanksgiving was usually spent at my grandparents' home in Cincinnati. Arriving at the house, we would enter through the breezeway, like a little room connecting the garage and the kitchen. On the breezeway would be pies cooling, fresh from the oven. Cherry, pumpkin and apple are the pies that I recall. Once inside, my uncle and aunt would greet us, and I'd hear football coming from the family room. There was always lots of activity in the kitchen, of course, and we were immediately called on to do our part. I love the pictures of my sister, brother, and me wearing too-big aprons and standing on chairs to reach the kitchen counter. 

Dinner always meant crowded plates and a crowded dining room. I remember gaping at my uncle's plate, which was so full of food I thought it would topple over. Lots of stuffing and crescent rolls, gravy, turkey, and cranberries. Once the feast was over, it was time to clean the kitchen, which was always a bit dramatic. I don't ever recall seeing a man anywhere near the kitchen for clean-up duty, and as we hid in the family room, Grandma would come in to ask if anyone was going to help clean up. Which meant us kids. Since I only have one son, if I tried this technique with him, he'd be lost in the kitchen after a major holiday dinner. Maybe when he's older I can revive this tradition (she said sarcastically...)

Later in the evening, coffee and pie were on the table, and my sister and I were brushing our aunt's long hair while the adults talked. I have such warm memories of these holidays. Now, we live hundreds of miles from our families, so Thanksgiving is usually a very quiet day with just the three of us. Occasionally, family will make the trip to join us for the long weekend, and then our little house is full to bursting. These are fun times, too, though its always a relief to hear the solitude after having a houseful of company. 

The day after the big turkey, we put the small Christmas tree up in my son's room and hang the ornaments. I would have loved having my very own tree in my very own room when I was a little girl! This year, I might attempt hanging lights on the house. Its all part of making some memories for my child, like those I have from my own childhood. 

Hope

I am still reeling, weeping, shouting, and shaking my head in near-disbelief. The man who spoke at the 2004 Democratic National Convention and who brought me to tears, the man who I said would be our first Black president, has indeed become president. With nary a misstep, with a sober, careful campaign, and with dignity unmatched by any candidate in recent years, Obama is our next president. I am moved almost beyond words.

So, I'll let others speak for me. For they do it so much better than I, this expression of joy with such eloquence. 

A man interviewed on NPR said, "Rosa sat so Martin could walk. Martin walked so Obama could run. Obama runs so our children can fly." 

A columnist in The New York Times described challenging her children to back up their opinions when it came to politics, or any other topic for that matter. "Don't tell, show," she said. She writes this week about trying to find a way to impress upon our children how very magnificent it is that our first African-American president has been elected. 

On national television, Colin Powell choked up as he described the emotions felt when he knew Obama had secured the vote. A careful, elegant, and well-respected United States secretary of state brought me to tears, as I listened to him talk about this historic event. 

In the comments section of a major daily newspaper, the mom of a bi-racial child told of the remark her daughter made as she watched the election results with her parents: "Mom, he's brown like me!" Oh, did I weep.

On election day, as I drove to school to pick up my son, a bald eagle landed in a tree directly above my car. I parked immediately and got out, to gape at this magical, evocative creature, on this, the most important political day of my life. After a few moments, he gently flew away. After I had my son in the car, a half hour later, and as we drove toward the polling place, we saw the eagle again, soaring right ahead of us. I excitedly pointed him out to my son and we shared the joy of the moment. What a day to see an eagle! On this of all days. Then as we parked at the polling location, we once again saw the eagle flying overhead. "Mom, he led us to the voting place!," my son exclaimed.

There are no words, kiddo. There are no words. 

The Very First Goat

Just when I think I know something, my son Henry asks me a question and I find myself fumbling for an answer. This morning's question made me smile because of its depth and also its innocence.

"Mommy, what was the very first animal?"

Well, since I'm not sure what the first animal was, I'm silent for a minute.

"I mean, when I look at a goat, I know another goat gave birth to it, and another one gave birth to that one, and another one gave birth to THAT one. But what was the very first animal? How was it made?"

I tell him that all life started as cells, and some cells got together and made a lump of cells, and from that they made another lump, and eventually that lump was more like a creature, and its pretty likely this creature lived in the water.

"But what was the very first animal?"

Then I try to explain how a lump of cells changes into a fish or a turtle or a mosquito, but since we're on the phone for this conversation and I'm at work, I cannot get too deeply into evolution. 

Soon, Henry has lost interest and I'm back to work, but his question stays with me. He's a quick one. He's been asking all sorts of intriguing (and impossible!) questions lately. He asks about spirituality, and we talk about things he's heard at school. My favorite was at around this time last year,  when he still rode the school bus. Over dinner, Henry informed me that angels had visited the German Shepherds in a field. Then he wanted to act out the story. I got to be the German Shepherd. You know, the dog. That was priceless.

I love that my son is curious, and I hope I'm able to foster his curiosity, to encourage his questions for a lifetime. After all, I'm 37 years old and I have questions every day. Mostly, I hope he is always seeking. There are too many people on this earth who think they have all the answers, and they have stopped seeking, stopped questioning. They send me email filled with messages that offend me and are wholly untrue. They shout at the top of their lungs about their version of the facts, dismissing the possibility that there may be another side to the issue.

They make my head hurt.

So I'm delighted when Henry asks me questions, and when he questions what he's heard. We could all use a little more questioning, a little less certainty, if you get my meaning. We could use a little more wondering about the very first goat. 

Tis the Season

I know, I know. 

It's only mid-October. But I cannot help it. I'm a sucker for the holiday season. From the beginning of October, I've got a little sparkle in my eye as I decorate for "Fall-oween," with pumpkins and pretty leaves and scented candles. I play Christmas music in November, a tradition my spouse has come to, ahem, tolerate. I start Christmas shopping this month, and I start asking my sisters what their kids might like from Santa. And, I'm sure, my sisters roll their eyes at my questions, because sane people don't start shopping—or even talking about shopping—this early. 

But I'm not deterred. I love every minute of it, and those minutes fly by so quickly! Before I know it, its late December and I'm in mourning for the anticipation, which is what its all about for me. I love making lists, making plans, making (and eating!) pies, and making myself nuts when my plans outgrow my pocketbook. 

What I wish for most this year is that All Our Siblings (and we have more than ten...) would join us in giving to a worthy cause instead of giving each other presents. With so many families in need this year—families that until this year never set foot in a food shelf—we'll be donating cash and food to our local Second Harvest. Last year, my sister joined us in our effort to help others. We sent fun stuff for the kidlets, and gave our time and energies to local and global charities. I know I'm guilty of forcing my opinion on others, and at this time of year I'm no different. I want everyone to make the same choices that I do. I'm bossy that way. But I also know in my heart of hearts that this season is about each of us reaching out in our own way. Maybe one of these days I'll actually behave like a grown-up. 

Another of my favorite holiday activities is reading stories about this time of year. I love to read history, to learn how people celebrated in years past. I also love to find little gems, examples of how other families have lived through this time of year. I recently read a story that made me sob. While we are young, this season is all about that new sled, new X-Box, new game, and new toys. As we grow older, we realize that this time of the year is really about our hearts. 

And lots and lots of pie. 

And, Palin Is Funny

This made me laugh out loud, at work, which is a good and rare thing. Enjoy.

Palin Is Dangerous

Sarah Palin has been scaring me ever since she accepted the invitation to be John McCain's running mate. Her deer-in-headlights look and hot temper indicate to me that she is a woman who knows she's in over her head but her ego refuses to allow her to step aside for one more qualified. Up to now, I've trusted that she would dig her own grave with thinking people, but today's news is so desperately alarming, I must write about it here. Every person in the world needs to know this before they go to the polls. 

From today's New York Times (which cited a recent Washington Post story): At a recent rally in Florida, Sarah Palin was speaking to a crowd of supporters when someone in the crowd yelled "Kill him!" as Palin mentioned Obama in her speech. Others shouted epithets at an African-American member of a TV news crew. Palin did nothing to stop the hateful shouts. She never stopped her speech to admonish those spouting hate. So, by not doing anything, she endorsed what they were saying and doing. 

If she professes to love Americans, does that include only white Americans? We already know how she feels about our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. Was she secretly in agreement with what those racists were spewing, and that's why she didn't respond? That's what I take away from this item. I urge you to share this with your friends and family members that may be voting for McCain and Palin. This woman is dangerous. As a woman who has struggled to find the right words (i.e., answers to direct questions) at the right time, her actions are doing the talking for her now.