Who is sick to death of me spouting off about motherhood?
I am raising my own hand.
Good thing it's Tuesday. Here's a poem from Mrs. Clare's classroom about a bird with socialization issues.
There Once Was a Puffin
by Florence Page Jaques
Oh, there once was a Puffin
Just the shape of a muffin,
And he lived on an island
In the bright blue sea!
He ate little fishes,
That were most delicious,
And he had them for supper
And he had them for tea.
But this poor little Puffin,
He couldn't play nothin',
For he hadn't anybody
To play with at all.
So he sat on his island,
And he cried for awhile, and
He felt very lonely,
And he felt very small.
Then along came the fishes,
And they said, "If you wishes,
You can have us for playmates,
Instead of for tea!"
So they now play together,
In all sorts of weather,
And the Puffin eats pancakes,
Like you and like me.
And here's a bonus because I like you. It's the alma mater song from North Dakota State as sung at graduation this weekend.
The Yellow and The Green
A.E. Minard
Ho! a cheer for Green and Yellow,
Up with Yellow and the Green;
They’re the shades that deck our prairies
Far and wide with glorious sheen,
Fields of waving green in springtime,
Golden yellow in the fall—
How the great high-arching heaven
Looks and laughs upon it all!
Here in autumn throng the nations,
Just to gather in the spoil,
Throng on freight-cars from the cities,
Some to feast and some to toil,
Then the yellow grain flows eastward
And the yellow gold flows back;
Barren cities boast their plenty
And the prairies know no lack.
Hushed upon the boundless prairies
Is the bison’s thund’ring tread,
And the red man passes with him
On his spoilers’ bounty fed.
But the Norse, the Celt and Saxon
With their herd increase, and find
Mid these fields of green and yellow
Plenty e’en for all mankind.
Ho! a cheer for Green and Yellow,
Up with Yellow and the Green;
They’re the shades that deck our prairies
Far and wide with glorious sheen,
Fields of waving green in springtime,
Golden yellow in the fall—
How the great high-arching heaven
Looks and laughs upon it all!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
The Road
So Saturday, s'on Jeremy graduated from college and Big Daddy officially became father to a college graduate AND a 2-year-old. There is never a dull moment at our house.
I'm not going to lie to you. It was a long ceremony, but there's just something exciting about a Fargodome full of kids (because I am middle aged now, I call them kids) ready to take on the world.
My favorite part is when the professors come in wearing all their robes and goofy mortarboards. Gigi used to work for Community Relations at a university in southern Minnesota, and so I was recruited several times to carry a banner in front of a distinguished looking professor or department. I couldn't wait for my turn to be a serious professor sending my charges out into the world.
I walked through two undergraduate graduations, but I haven't made it to that graduate ceremony . . . yet. Life has a way of going down roads that are different from what you had planned. It's okay. I'd say, in my life, most often it's been for the best. And if I never get to lead the kids out, it won't mean a thing. I've had the tremendous privilege of helping lead that kid out and there are three more to come.
Three more to head down those roads that don't lead where you think. Three more all full of excitement. Three more ready to go when their time comes with someone bright and cheerful by their side ready to take my place.
Good for them. Good for them.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Take courage
Dear Cyberspace,
In the grand tradition of our family, we shall not actually speak of this, but will write it to one another for the whole world to see. (See entry: That the world will know.) Now I must set up a small mirror, so that I am talking to myself as well as you.
I'm back.
I commented on your blog that you are worrying too much about sending Ella to summer rec. A faithful reader of yours said after me, that she would feel the same way you do. Of course, she would. I think we all do. It isn't easy sending them out of our sight. At the risk of sounding like someone we both know, Motherhood is hard.
Oh, is it ever hard. It's freakish and ironic* that our purpose as mothers is to work ourselves out of our jobs. What the heck? What other career asks for that kind of commitment? If we have done our job and done it well, we will have created independent adults who are free to leave us and begin the cycle over again with their own families. And, to top it off, they owe us nothing for the experience. Nothing. We chose to bring them into this world and it is our responsibility to love and care and nurture them through it until they are able to do so for themselves.
And here's the thing that makes me nervous: Not everyone takes it as seriously as I do. Every day people are having children they don't really want and for whom they will not properly care. Then they send them out into the world with my child I have been working my butt off to raise and protect. Ah!! Why is this and what are we to do about it?!
Worry. Stew. Fuss. Send carefully worded emails. Pray for them and ourselves. Love them. Raise them. Learn to trust.
. . . Send them to summer rec. They have fun. It's a half day four days a week for five days. There is plenty of time to enjoy summer. She won't get bored. She won't get too hot. She will make friends if there isn't anyone there she knows . . . because that's the sort of loving, kind, exuberant, funny child you are raising. Let her spread her joy and care around. And, yes, she will run into kids who will need the sunshine that glows from her.
In some ways I wish I had been warned. Motherhood rips your heart to tiny, tiny pieces. Mostly, I am glad you cannot be warned because I don't think I would have done it . . . and I would have missed out.
With love and devotion,
Your know-it-all sister
* Shout out to Jeremy J.
In the grand tradition of our family, we shall not actually speak of this, but will write it to one another for the whole world to see. (See entry: That the world will know.) Now I must set up a small mirror, so that I am talking to myself as well as you.
I'm back.
I commented on your blog that you are worrying too much about sending Ella to summer rec. A faithful reader of yours said after me, that she would feel the same way you do. Of course, she would. I think we all do. It isn't easy sending them out of our sight. At the risk of sounding like someone we both know, Motherhood is hard.
Oh, is it ever hard. It's freakish and ironic* that our purpose as mothers is to work ourselves out of our jobs. What the heck? What other career asks for that kind of commitment? If we have done our job and done it well, we will have created independent adults who are free to leave us and begin the cycle over again with their own families. And, to top it off, they owe us nothing for the experience. Nothing. We chose to bring them into this world and it is our responsibility to love and care and nurture them through it until they are able to do so for themselves.
And here's the thing that makes me nervous: Not everyone takes it as seriously as I do. Every day people are having children they don't really want and for whom they will not properly care. Then they send them out into the world with my child I have been working my butt off to raise and protect. Ah!! Why is this and what are we to do about it?!
Worry. Stew. Fuss. Send carefully worded emails. Pray for them and ourselves. Love them. Raise them. Learn to trust.
. . . Send them to summer rec. They have fun. It's a half day four days a week for five days. There is plenty of time to enjoy summer. She won't get bored. She won't get too hot. She will make friends if there isn't anyone there she knows . . . because that's the sort of loving, kind, exuberant, funny child you are raising. Let her spread her joy and care around. And, yes, she will run into kids who will need the sunshine that glows from her.
In some ways I wish I had been warned. Motherhood rips your heart to tiny, tiny pieces. Mostly, I am glad you cannot be warned because I don't think I would have done it . . . and I would have missed out.
With love and devotion,
Your know-it-all sister
* Shout out to Jeremy J.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
And it's quiet
After all the excitement of yesterday's blog entry, I am not sure I have anything interesting to say.
Our time with Shelby is winding down. This weekend she is heading to her job at a state park on Minnesota's North Shore.
The Little Brothers love her and want to be with her and want to see what she's doing and just be near her. It's lovely . . . for me. Last week, I just sort of stared at the wall with all my extra quiet time. Today I started to panic. Only a few more days and I had only done one thing on my list of three to do while she is here:
1. Clean Toddler D's closet.
2. Clean my closet.
3. Clean the porch.
I did D's closet way last week and got it out of the way. It's bittersweet to put his little clothes away -- things I have purchase just for him and things which were Colin's and have now been through two cousins to boot. They are all being put away for good. I just took a deep breath and carried it all out to my car and to a friend from church who is having her fourth child under four. It's those little girls from church, you may recall, with whom D is so keen on jumping on the pew.
Today I dived in a did my closet. Ew.
It's not really warm enough to commit to summer things, but once you've dragged everything out, there is no turning back. I spent the majority of the afternoon near tears as I realized all of my winter clothes, which I wear nine months of the year, fit into one little Rubbermaid. Yet, I pulled out t-shirts every color of the rainbow, skirts, six pairs of Khaki shorts, capris, polos, sleeveless shirts . . . like I live in Arizona or something. (Shout out to the sisters in AZ!)
I suspect, maybe even tomorrow morning, I will dig down in that one poor little Rubbermaid looking for a long-sleeved t-shirt, but now I have two things done on my list.
On to number three, where I have to figure out where to store the snow boots. Yuck.
Our time with Shelby is winding down. This weekend she is heading to her job at a state park on Minnesota's North Shore.
The Little Brothers love her and want to be with her and want to see what she's doing and just be near her. It's lovely . . . for me. Last week, I just sort of stared at the wall with all my extra quiet time. Today I started to panic. Only a few more days and I had only done one thing on my list of three to do while she is here:
1. Clean Toddler D's closet.
2. Clean my closet.
3. Clean the porch.
I did D's closet way last week and got it out of the way. It's bittersweet to put his little clothes away -- things I have purchase just for him and things which were Colin's and have now been through two cousins to boot. They are all being put away for good. I just took a deep breath and carried it all out to my car and to a friend from church who is having her fourth child under four. It's those little girls from church, you may recall, with whom D is so keen on jumping on the pew.
Today I dived in a did my closet. Ew.
It's not really warm enough to commit to summer things, but once you've dragged everything out, there is no turning back. I spent the majority of the afternoon near tears as I realized all of my winter clothes, which I wear nine months of the year, fit into one little Rubbermaid. Yet, I pulled out t-shirts every color of the rainbow, skirts, six pairs of Khaki shorts, capris, polos, sleeveless shirts . . . like I live in Arizona or something. (Shout out to the sisters in AZ!)
I suspect, maybe even tomorrow morning, I will dig down in that one poor little Rubbermaid looking for a long-sleeved t-shirt, but now I have two things done on my list.
On to number three, where I have to figure out where to store the snow boots. Yuck.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Futile Angry Emails
You may recall last week I sent an angry email to People magazine. I still don't want to talk about it or draw attention to the subject that made me so mad; however, I have all the time in the world at this moment to elaborate on my angry email o' the week which, no doubt, is not read or noticed by anyone.
Perhaps you have been following this Miss California/Miss USA nonsense. If not, let me sum up. Perez Hilton, who is apparently an infamous angry little celebrity blogger, was a judge in the Miss USA pageant, owned for some reason by Donald Trump. Perez (this is not really his name, by the way) asked Miss California if she believed every state should approve gay marriage. She said no. An angry riot broke out led by Mr. Hilton. (Hilton isn't his name either.)
Whatever. Agree with her. Don't agree with her. He asked her opinion. She gave it. He trapped her with his question which was a smarmy thing to do. She participated in a beauty pageant owned by Donald Trump. Smarminess abounds.
Here's that part that makes me angry: Hilton-dude calls Miss California a derogatory female name. He apologizes on MSNBC, saying something to the effect that he was thinking of a worse name when he wrote the first one.
This would be so much clearer if I wrote the words, but I am not going to. Google it. You'll see.
Donald Trump says Miss California can retain her crown, but ALSO says today that Perez Hilton (this isn't his name at all) can return as a judge any time he wants.
So this week's futile angry email goes to the Miss USA Pageant who promotes their candidates this way:
. . . yet uses a man who calls women names that start with "b" and "c" to judge them.
Classy.
Perhaps you have been following this Miss California/Miss USA nonsense. If not, let me sum up. Perez Hilton, who is apparently an infamous angry little celebrity blogger, was a judge in the Miss USA pageant, owned for some reason by Donald Trump. Perez (this is not really his name, by the way) asked Miss California if she believed every state should approve gay marriage. She said no. An angry riot broke out led by Mr. Hilton. (Hilton isn't his name either.)
Whatever. Agree with her. Don't agree with her. He asked her opinion. She gave it. He trapped her with his question which was a smarmy thing to do. She participated in a beauty pageant owned by Donald Trump. Smarminess abounds.
Here's that part that makes me angry: Hilton-dude calls Miss California a derogatory female name. He apologizes on MSNBC, saying something to the effect that he was thinking of a worse name when he wrote the first one.
This would be so much clearer if I wrote the words, but I am not going to. Google it. You'll see.
Donald Trump says Miss California can retain her crown, but ALSO says today that Perez Hilton (this isn't his name at all) can return as a judge any time he wants.
So this week's futile angry email goes to the Miss USA Pageant who promotes their candidates this way:
These women are savvy, goal-oriented and aware. The delegates who become part of the Miss Universe Organization display those characteristics in their everyday lives, both as individuals, who compete with hope of advancing their careers, personal and humanitarian goals, and as women who see to improve the lives of others.
. . . yet uses a man who calls women names that start with "b" and "c" to judge them.
Classy.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
A Poem for Tuesday
Today's poem is from Mrs. Clare's 4th grade class. I thought it most appropriate in light of Fritz T.
Mother Doesn't Want a Dog
Judith Viorst
Mother doesn't want a dog.
Mother says they smell,
And never sit when you say sit,
Or even when you yell.
And when you come home late at night
And there is ice and snow,
You have to go back out because
The dumb dog has to go.
Mother doesn't want a dog.
Mother says they shed,
And always let the strangers in
And bark at friends instead,
And do disgraceful things on rugs,
And track mud on the floor,
And flop upon your bed at night
And snore their doggy snore.
Mother doesn't want a dog.
She's making a mistake.
Because, more than a dog, I think
She will not want this snake.
Mother Doesn't Want a Dog
Judith Viorst
Mother doesn't want a dog.
Mother says they smell,
And never sit when you say sit,
Or even when you yell.
And when you come home late at night
And there is ice and snow,
You have to go back out because
The dumb dog has to go.
Mother doesn't want a dog.
Mother says they shed,
And always let the strangers in
And bark at friends instead,
And do disgraceful things on rugs,
And track mud on the floor,
And flop upon your bed at night
And snore their doggy snore.
Mother doesn't want a dog.
She's making a mistake.
Because, more than a dog, I think
She will not want this snake.
Monday, May 11, 2009
8 Cents
So I got into the car Friday to return some library books and noticed a dime sitting on the little ledge where you insert a CD.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes. I flashed on last Wednesday when I'd left Toddler D in the front seat unsupervised while I emptied the groceries or books or whatever it was. I was pretty proud of myself. I knew right where he was. What could happen, I thought. My vehicle requires you to have a foot on the brake to put it in drive and, anyway, I had the keys in my pocket. It's the perfect, fun trap.
Yet, something was nagging at me. Something was not right. It is not right to leave a toddler in the front seat of a vehicle. This is bad parenting.
Well, I fished him out and didn't use my car again until Friday when I saw that dime. As I was fishing the dime out without shoving it in, I saw the penny in the DVD slot.
Instead of getting the penny out, I pushed it in. Great.
I continued to the library. When I turned I heard the change slide around. I had 18 cents sitting in the front. Why I remember this, I don't know, but I fished out the dime, so there's a nickle and three pennies left.
As you may recall, I live a block from my car dealer. When I went in to admit I was a slipshod sort of parent who allows a baby uncontrolled access to the front of a motor vehicle, Connie the service desk person laughed and said, "Well, sometimes it's pretty easy to get out and sometime not."
Ah. This has happened before. I'm not the only one. Hooray! There's comfort in numbers.
Epilogue
It cost $57.17 for them to remove my radio, shake the 8 cents out, and put the radio back. They did leave me the 8 cents. They could have kept it and taken it off my bill.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes. I flashed on last Wednesday when I'd left Toddler D in the front seat unsupervised while I emptied the groceries or books or whatever it was. I was pretty proud of myself. I knew right where he was. What could happen, I thought. My vehicle requires you to have a foot on the brake to put it in drive and, anyway, I had the keys in my pocket. It's the perfect, fun trap.
Yet, something was nagging at me. Something was not right. It is not right to leave a toddler in the front seat of a vehicle. This is bad parenting.
Well, I fished him out and didn't use my car again until Friday when I saw that dime. As I was fishing the dime out without shoving it in, I saw the penny in the DVD slot.
Instead of getting the penny out, I pushed it in. Great.
I continued to the library. When I turned I heard the change slide around. I had 18 cents sitting in the front. Why I remember this, I don't know, but I fished out the dime, so there's a nickle and three pennies left.
As you may recall, I live a block from my car dealer. When I went in to admit I was a slipshod sort of parent who allows a baby uncontrolled access to the front of a motor vehicle, Connie the service desk person laughed and said, "Well, sometimes it's pretty easy to get out and sometime not."
Ah. This has happened before. I'm not the only one. Hooray! There's comfort in numbers.
Epilogue
It cost $57.17 for them to remove my radio, shake the 8 cents out, and put the radio back. They did leave me the 8 cents. They could have kept it and taken it off my bill.
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