I'm unsure, at this point, if I seek to make a statement (about mores, self-respect, and the choices we make that define who we are) or simply relay a serious of unfortunate events.
The shenanigans began (as usual) with Andrew's Craig's list addiction. Okay, I won't blame him entirely for the circumstances, but at 11:30 last night, as I drove, exhausted, the one and a half hours home from my epic adventure, I just had to direct the blame for my tears, anger, and general disgust at someone.
You may label my displacement of feelings inexcusable, and rightly so. I suppose I am the one person responsible for how I choose to feel, but you must agree that we all have difficulty sorting through our emotions at some point.
Andrew had been searching, for a couple of weeks, for a cargo van. He had seen a few around town and investigated a couple down the road a ways. Unfortunately, he settled on one not so close to home, and conveniently (or not so conveniently) awoke with a massive migraine the day he had agreed to pick up the vehicle. He had already paid a hefty deposit and didn't want to risk losing the van and his money. So....my sweet husband's deeply understanding, but equally frustrated wife, along with his kind father, agreed to retrieve the van for him.
The plan was for all three of us to make the trip, while my father-in-law would drive the van home. Well, that went well until about ten minutes into the trip, about five minutes after we stopped at Walgreens for Midrin, when I was forced to pull over in an trailer park so that Drew could puke in the middle of the road, with every gangsta in the neighborhood watching. A fantastic plan! Needless to say, we turned around shortly after his nausea subsided.
Feeling quite generous, and equally ill with the jerk (or, the "owner" of the vehicle) who insisted that my sick husband make an hour and a half trip that evening because "he really need[ed] the money," I told Drew that his Dad and I had no problem making the trip alone. We headed out, screaming baby in tow. Our ride was uneventful (except for the screaming baby) until Andrew called me with the exit number and the direction: "Make your first right."
"Oh, my first right. Okay, right into the strip club parking lot?"
"Yeah. Just pull through the valet and tell the guy you're here to get the van."
"Oh, okay. With my father-in-law and my baby in the backseat? Sure thing!!!"
How does one omit such a glaring detail? Not once did my wonderful husband mention, or even hint, that I would be visiting such an establishment. I was humiliated. We pulled around to the back of the building, near the van, and I noticed several young girls enter the back door, duffel bags on their shoulders. I noticed mini vans in the parking lot, married men in their business attire, and a security card patrolling the premises. Wow, I thought. There has got to be more to life for these folks. I felt dirty just standing in the parking lot. And, although we all had a good laugh out of my unforeseen experience, being there really struck a deeper chord.
We make choices everyday. We choose what we'll wear, what we'll eat, where we'll go, what we'll read, or watch on television. Sometimes our choices are limited, but even when this is the case, we always have the option to not choose. I cannot claim to understand the perspectives of the women who "strip" for money or what goes on in the minds of men who frequent places like the one I visited (by way of the parking lot alone, mind you). However, I am confident that none of them have to be there.
And on the way home, after my embarrassment subsided and my anger diffused, I was just plain ole sad thinking of all the folks who, unlike me, purposely walked into that place that night, simply because they chose to.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Miss Lila in the attic
This is a story of creaky stairs, cobwebbed dark corners, dusty old boxes, and a bottle of coconut rum.
Miss Lila had really been working hard lately. Her job was stressful, her domestic life demanding, and her time to unwind-minuscule. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon. The house was quiet, empty of its male inhabitants. And Miss Lila decided it was time to take a trip, a tropical getaway. She kicked off her shoes, locked the front door, and headed to her special place. Miss Lila slowly worked her way up the old, narrow stairs to the attic. As she neared the top, she made a mental note to bring down Grandma Jane's old cookie cutters. Homemade chocolate chip cookies- hhmmmm...no one would ever question her trip to the attic if cookies were the result. Just inside the door, Miss Lila turned to the blue canvas box she had hidden strategically behind her bound, yellowed-by-the-years church bulletins. She wondered, for only a moment, why she held on to all of those old bulletins. Then she stooped slightly, reaching deep into the blue box, and immediately recalled the cool feel of the glass bottle at her fingertips. Ah, yes, those paper stacks were sooo useful. Just as her mind began to dance off to her island paradise, it happened. She raised her head a bit too quickly, forgetting the thick, heavy beam overhead. Seconds later, the coconut rum proved no relief. Blood streamed down Miss Lila's face, and she realized stitches were in order. She abandoned her stash and hastily exited her would-be attic vacation. There would be no escape, only a nice, relaxing evening in the urgent care. No cookies either.
Miss Lila had really been working hard lately. Her job was stressful, her domestic life demanding, and her time to unwind-minuscule. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon. The house was quiet, empty of its male inhabitants. And Miss Lila decided it was time to take a trip, a tropical getaway. She kicked off her shoes, locked the front door, and headed to her special place. Miss Lila slowly worked her way up the old, narrow stairs to the attic. As she neared the top, she made a mental note to bring down Grandma Jane's old cookie cutters. Homemade chocolate chip cookies- hhmmmm...no one would ever question her trip to the attic if cookies were the result. Just inside the door, Miss Lila turned to the blue canvas box she had hidden strategically behind her bound, yellowed-by-the-years church bulletins. She wondered, for only a moment, why she held on to all of those old bulletins. Then she stooped slightly, reaching deep into the blue box, and immediately recalled the cool feel of the glass bottle at her fingertips. Ah, yes, those paper stacks were sooo useful. Just as her mind began to dance off to her island paradise, it happened. She raised her head a bit too quickly, forgetting the thick, heavy beam overhead. Seconds later, the coconut rum proved no relief. Blood streamed down Miss Lila's face, and she realized stitches were in order. She abandoned her stash and hastily exited her would-be attic vacation. There would be no escape, only a nice, relaxing evening in the urgent care. No cookies either.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
THE! Elmo Cake
My sweet baby boy is now one year old. We had a small cook-out the weekend before his birthday. For this occasion, I baked a tiny two-layer round cake especially for him. Brett tore into it. By the end of the evening, he was a chocolate, blue icing mess (an understatement), but his messy happiness was positively contagious.
Well, when Andrew and I decided to invite our family over for a shindig the weekend of Brett's special day, I knew we would just have to have another cake. I already had Sesame Street on the brain when I discovered the Elmo cake pan at Michael's. Luckily (and oh so conveniently), I also had a handy 40% off coupon, too. I spent hours locating the proper preparation materials and cooking-up this work of Elmo art. The effort, time, and energy I expended were all worth it--Elmo came out looking fabulous!
It was so neat for me to do something so different, so out-of-line with my habitual interests. Before Brett's Elmo, I had never even considered decorating a cake. And now? Haha...Don't get too excited. I'm thinking once a year is probably often enough. We shall see!
Well, when Andrew and I decided to invite our family over for a shindig the weekend of Brett's special day, I knew we would just have to have another cake. I already had Sesame Street on the brain when I discovered the Elmo cake pan at Michael's. Luckily (and oh so conveniently), I also had a handy 40% off coupon, too. I spent hours locating the proper preparation materials and cooking-up this work of Elmo art. The effort, time, and energy I expended were all worth it--Elmo came out looking fabulous!
It was so neat for me to do something so different, so out-of-line with my habitual interests. Before Brett's Elmo, I had never even considered decorating a cake. And now? Haha...Don't get too excited. I'm thinking once a year is probably often enough. We shall see!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
My new favorite.
I keep an ongoing list of books I'd like to read, and I love the summer because no school means I have a chance to scratch some of them off the list. I have recently added: The Time Traveler's Wife, The Bridges of Madison County, and The Girl Who Fell From the Sky. There are so many works I want to indulge in, that I sometimes find myself overwhelmed. I'm always thinking: If only my job were to read, read, and read some more. What a profession!
I made a trip to the library last week, picked up a couple of the books listed above (along with Michael Parker's If You Want Me to Stay), and dropped off one of my new favorites, The Prince of Tides. This was my first reading and I will say, like so many others have before me, I felt as if I was reading poetry, rather than prose. I felt, so many times, that I should stop and record Conroy's lines, that I absolutely could not live without them tucked safely away, where I might return to them. I fell in love with the language and the story. I must say I was a bit sad as I sent the old, heavy hardback clunking down the cold, metal book return. I wanted to hold it in my hands, place it carefully on my bookshelf. A book like that doesn't belong in a dark box, waiting for someone to return it to its place. I cannot say I have ever felt this way about a novel before--poetry yes, but fiction? Nope.
What book makes you want to hold on forever?
I made a trip to the library last week, picked up a couple of the books listed above (along with Michael Parker's If You Want Me to Stay), and dropped off one of my new favorites, The Prince of Tides. This was my first reading and I will say, like so many others have before me, I felt as if I was reading poetry, rather than prose. I felt, so many times, that I should stop and record Conroy's lines, that I absolutely could not live without them tucked safely away, where I might return to them. I fell in love with the language and the story. I must say I was a bit sad as I sent the old, heavy hardback clunking down the cold, metal book return. I wanted to hold it in my hands, place it carefully on my bookshelf. A book like that doesn't belong in a dark box, waiting for someone to return it to its place. I cannot say I have ever felt this way about a novel before--poetry yes, but fiction? Nope.
What book makes you want to hold on forever?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Please join me in celebration!
I felt I must redeem myself after the post on my lousy cheeseburgers. Tonight I baked, for the first time EVER, a homemade cake. Today was Andrew's birthday. He requested a pound cake. Naturally, I just had to add blueberries. And yes, my friends, it looks fabulous and tastes great, too. I know, I know....I'm still in shock.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
my first time... with the grill
I thought I would do something awesome all by myself, as they say. I did something alright. I attempted to make dinner on our charcoal grill. I worked with hamburgers and hot dogs-- nothing fancy. I figured, every Memorial Day weekend almost every family across America grills hamburgers and hot dogs, right? I didn't expect the operation to be so difficult. Less than half of the meat was actually edible, and that tee-tiny amount was pretty frightening. Check out the pictures. Need we say more?
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
the funeral home visit... ahem, I mean nursing home
Connor recently informed me that his class would be taking a field trip to the funeral home. Really? Okay, that's weird. Turns out he actually paid a visit to a local nursing home in celebration of Child Abuse Awareness Week. Well, shortly after the trip, I discovered that while visiting and making crafty pinwheels with the senior adults, the children spotted a lady with no teeth and proceeded to gather around her, inspecting her empty oral cavity.
Anyone who has ever spent a significant amount of time around children knows that they call em like they see em. By nature, children are brutally honest and they aren't born knowing appropriate social interactions. We have to teach them what's appropriate. This is where things get tricky.
Apparently my child (it would be my child) became overly excited by the toothless woman and could not contain himself. He had to spread the news that this lady had no teeth. I cringed as his teacher shared this with me. I mean every mother wants her child to be sweet and respectful of his elders, and she doesn't exactly daydream about the times he'll shout, "Hey look! It's a little mommy, and she has crocs just like me!" or ask the lady in the grocery store what color her skin is. I certainly wasn't waiting for the moment Connor would embarrass his teachers at a nursing home, of all places.
When I confronted Connor about making fun of the toothless lady, he denied that he meant any harm. He said, "Mom, I would never make fun of somebody like that. We were just trying to figure out why she was crying."
This is when my heart broke. He made her cry? Good gracious! What am I going to do?
Then he went on with his explanation of the event: "Hunter said she was crying because she just wanted to go home and be with her family. I said she was crying because she didn't have any teeth left."
I giggled to myself and gave him a big squeeze. How could I be angry with him after that? I'm slowly learning how to facilitate opportunities for Connor to grow intellectually and socially. We won't always be hand-in-hand, so I must prepare him as best as I can. We have definitely used this field trip as a learning experience. I have found myself wondering, though, if a toothless lady at the funeral home would have been any easier to explain.
Anyone who has ever spent a significant amount of time around children knows that they call em like they see em. By nature, children are brutally honest and they aren't born knowing appropriate social interactions. We have to teach them what's appropriate. This is where things get tricky.
Apparently my child (it would be my child) became overly excited by the toothless woman and could not contain himself. He had to spread the news that this lady had no teeth. I cringed as his teacher shared this with me. I mean every mother wants her child to be sweet and respectful of his elders, and she doesn't exactly daydream about the times he'll shout, "Hey look! It's a little mommy, and she has crocs just like me!" or ask the lady in the grocery store what color her skin is. I certainly wasn't waiting for the moment Connor would embarrass his teachers at a nursing home, of all places.
When I confronted Connor about making fun of the toothless lady, he denied that he meant any harm. He said, "Mom, I would never make fun of somebody like that. We were just trying to figure out why she was crying."
This is when my heart broke. He made her cry? Good gracious! What am I going to do?
Then he went on with his explanation of the event: "Hunter said she was crying because she just wanted to go home and be with her family. I said she was crying because she didn't have any teeth left."
I giggled to myself and gave him a big squeeze. How could I be angry with him after that? I'm slowly learning how to facilitate opportunities for Connor to grow intellectually and socially. We won't always be hand-in-hand, so I must prepare him as best as I can. We have definitely used this field trip as a learning experience. I have found myself wondering, though, if a toothless lady at the funeral home would have been any easier to explain.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
My kind of day...
What a weekend, what a weekend! Andrew and I went to bed Friday evening promising each other we would definitely have dinner together (minus little boys) Saturday night. So many weekends we make plans, then wave them off when we feel we're too tired or there's just been a lot going on. But the truth is, there is nothing more important than keeping that alone time as part of our routine, especially when things get crazy.
So Saturday morning Drew went off to do his thing and I decided to clean the house. At about 10:30, I hear Connor screaming like I've never heard him scream before. I'm thinking something is horribly wrong. Our conversation went something like this:
Connor (wailing in absolute terror): Mama, Mama! I did something so, so bad. Please don't be mad at me! Please, please, please!
Me (puzzled and thinking, wow, he must have a really great conscience): Well, Connor, what's wrong? What exactly did you do?
Connor: I did a bad thing. I put the tissue in the candle in the bathroom.
Me (hesitantly moving toward the bathroom): Okay, Connor. Calm down.
I proceed to stick my head into Connor's bathroom only to find the contents of his waste basket engulfed in flames. I survey the situation and decide, without thinking, that I have to do something. I pick up the plastic bin, throw it into the bathtub, and turn the faucet to on. All the while, ashes are flying into my hair and face. I look around to find black chunks of debris all over the tub and floor. But, the fire is out.
After I successfully extinguish the flames, I find Connor crying on his bed with a burnt little thumb. My heart immediately broke for him. I had never seen him so sad and scared, and on top of those horrible feelings, he was hurt, too. I hugged him, put some aloe on his thumb, and of course, followed up with a very long talk about candles and fire safety.
Ten minutes later the phone rang.
Drew: So, I've got some bad news.
Me: Oh, great. What now?
Drew (so calm, cool, and collected): Well, I guess I didn't fully engage my e-brake and the jeep ran into another car. Uh, safest accident I've ever been in. I wasn't even in the car.
Me: Are you kidding me?
Seriously, if it can happen, it will happen to us and all of it will happen in the same day! Aren't we lucky?
Well, the day goes on without event and just as we're walking out the door to go eat, we get a call that Andrew's poor grandmother has had to make a visit to the emergency room. Of course, we head that way, too.
And, at nine o'clock when I was starving and ill about all of the events of the day, I was thinking, forget the date, let's just go to bed and pray tomorrow's better. But, Andrew, being the level-headed one (he didn't even get excited when his driver-less Jeep hit a car) reminded me that we both had to eat anyway and couldn't let life get in the way. It's so true, sometimes we just need to clear our heads, eat, and simply be together. Whether plans go as expected or not, an evening when we stop to appreciate and enjoy the company of one another is almost always perfect.
So Saturday morning Drew went off to do his thing and I decided to clean the house. At about 10:30, I hear Connor screaming like I've never heard him scream before. I'm thinking something is horribly wrong. Our conversation went something like this:
Connor (wailing in absolute terror): Mama, Mama! I did something so, so bad. Please don't be mad at me! Please, please, please!
Me (puzzled and thinking, wow, he must have a really great conscience): Well, Connor, what's wrong? What exactly did you do?
Connor: I did a bad thing. I put the tissue in the candle in the bathroom.
Me (hesitantly moving toward the bathroom): Okay, Connor. Calm down.
I proceed to stick my head into Connor's bathroom only to find the contents of his waste basket engulfed in flames. I survey the situation and decide, without thinking, that I have to do something. I pick up the plastic bin, throw it into the bathtub, and turn the faucet to on. All the while, ashes are flying into my hair and face. I look around to find black chunks of debris all over the tub and floor. But, the fire is out.
After I successfully extinguish the flames, I find Connor crying on his bed with a burnt little thumb. My heart immediately broke for him. I had never seen him so sad and scared, and on top of those horrible feelings, he was hurt, too. I hugged him, put some aloe on his thumb, and of course, followed up with a very long talk about candles and fire safety.
Ten minutes later the phone rang.
Drew: So, I've got some bad news.
Me: Oh, great. What now?
Drew (so calm, cool, and collected): Well, I guess I didn't fully engage my e-brake and the jeep ran into another car. Uh, safest accident I've ever been in. I wasn't even in the car.
Me: Are you kidding me?
Seriously, if it can happen, it will happen to us and all of it will happen in the same day! Aren't we lucky?
Well, the day goes on without event and just as we're walking out the door to go eat, we get a call that Andrew's poor grandmother has had to make a visit to the emergency room. Of course, we head that way, too.
And, at nine o'clock when I was starving and ill about all of the events of the day, I was thinking, forget the date, let's just go to bed and pray tomorrow's better. But, Andrew, being the level-headed one (he didn't even get excited when his driver-less Jeep hit a car) reminded me that we both had to eat anyway and couldn't let life get in the way. It's so true, sometimes we just need to clear our heads, eat, and simply be together. Whether plans go as expected or not, an evening when we stop to appreciate and enjoy the company of one another is almost always perfect.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Nico, the new creature
We have a new visitor at the Johnston home. It's the same story every time.
I come home from work, walk up the front steps, and everything goes down hill from here.
Me (to myself): Do I hear barking? [my pulse quickens, my face reddens, and I clinch my fists]
Me (aloud now): Andrew!!!!! Is there another dog in my house?
Drew (through shaky laughter): Uh, yeah.
Me: Why do you keep bringing dogs home?
Drew: You never let me keep them.
Me: Because you keep bringing them home!
We usually carry this conversation full circle a couple of times before I storm off, screaming, "You do not respect me!"
This week's lucky puppy is a two year-old Yorkie named Nico. He's pretty cute, I guess. He is badly in need of a hair cut, though. I think it's safe to say he's fairly normal. Although, he is a licker. I'm not so fond of lickers, really. According to Andrew, licking issues or not, Nico is sticking around. I can't help but wonder: if I give in, when will the madness stop?
I suppose things could be far worse. We have had some special dogs over the last five years. I'll attempt a recap.
1. India, the crazy yellow Lab
2. Some old Shih Tzu, blind as a bat--deaf, too, if I remember correctly, escaped under the fence the very first day at our house
3. Sheba, the Chinese Crested peed everywhere
4. I think there was a chocolate lab puppy somewhere in here. I don't recall a name.
5. Bennett, the Maltese puppy who had Parvo and loved rolling around in his poop
6. Grits, the mutt brother of Biscuit and Gravy(?), thought he could scale my shower curtain. I had a breakdown over this one.
7. Diego came next! (He had a broken leg.)
8. Savannah, the Doberman with a broken leg
9. Mr. Al, the black Lab who did not like to be touched
10. Champ, the black Lab who was terrified of thunder and once jumped on my head during the middle of the night
11. and now, Nico
It is likely that I've forgotten a few names here and there. It really is difficult to remember them all. The top ten, though, they'll stick with me, I'm sure.
I guess, for now, I'll just pray, for the preservation of my own sanity, that Nico remains mentally and physically stable and that my dear, sweet husband does not feel inclined to foster any more creatures any time soon.
I come home from work, walk up the front steps, and everything goes down hill from here.
Me (to myself): Do I hear barking? [my pulse quickens, my face reddens, and I clinch my fists]
Me (aloud now): Andrew!!!!! Is there another dog in my house?
Drew (through shaky laughter): Uh, yeah.
Me: Why do you keep bringing dogs home?
Drew: You never let me keep them.
Me: Because you keep bringing them home!
We usually carry this conversation full circle a couple of times before I storm off, screaming, "You do not respect me!"
This week's lucky puppy is a two year-old Yorkie named Nico. He's pretty cute, I guess. He is badly in need of a hair cut, though. I think it's safe to say he's fairly normal. Although, he is a licker. I'm not so fond of lickers, really. According to Andrew, licking issues or not, Nico is sticking around. I can't help but wonder: if I give in, when will the madness stop?
I suppose things could be far worse. We have had some special dogs over the last five years. I'll attempt a recap.
1. India, the crazy yellow Lab
2. Some old Shih Tzu, blind as a bat--deaf, too, if I remember correctly, escaped under the fence the very first day at our house
3. Sheba, the Chinese Crested peed everywhere
4. I think there was a chocolate lab puppy somewhere in here. I don't recall a name.
5. Bennett, the Maltese puppy who had Parvo and loved rolling around in his poop
6. Grits, the mutt brother of Biscuit and Gravy(?), thought he could scale my shower curtain. I had a breakdown over this one.
7. Diego came next! (He had a broken leg.)
8. Savannah, the Doberman with a broken leg
9. Mr. Al, the black Lab who did not like to be touched
10. Champ, the black Lab who was terrified of thunder and once jumped on my head during the middle of the night
11. and now, Nico
It is likely that I've forgotten a few names here and there. It really is difficult to remember them all. The top ten, though, they'll stick with me, I'm sure.
I guess, for now, I'll just pray, for the preservation of my own sanity, that Nico remains mentally and physically stable and that my dear, sweet husband does not feel inclined to foster any more creatures any time soon.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Don Diego, the sleepy chihuahua
I stepped out of the shower this morning to find this sleepy little chihuahua snoozing on my pillow. My first thought was: Aw, how snugly bugly (in case you have yet to notice, a favorite phrase at our house) and cute. Then I was like: Oh, no... wait a minute--there's a dog on my pillow. Gross! Who put Diego on the bed? ANDREW!!(I wasn't fast enough for a picture. When he saw me and I started fussing, he took the hint and jumped off the bed.)
Diego is a pretty cool pooch. He has a wonderful demeanor and a very high tolerance for the boys' shenanigans. But, I digress.
I hate the dog smell--the funky breath and stinky fur. Pretty much every part of a dog stinks. And nobody wants a stinky bed. Am I right?
So next time D. plants his haunches by my bed, whining like a baby because his tiny chihuahua legs won't propel him 3 feet into my cloud of white cotton sheets, Andrew most certainly will not pick him up, strategically placing him on my typically sweet-smelling headrest.
Diego knows better, but I'm still training the man.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Skippyjon is back... and we're loving him!
Every night before sleepy time, we (my sons: Connor-5, Brett-10 months, husband: Andrew, and myself) all snuggle into Connor's tiny twin bed. Connor insist that both Brett and he "be in the middle," even on nights when it's just the three of us (because Daddy's busy) and there can only really be one little boy in the middle. Naturally, though, I agree because as Connor says, "It is more snugly bugly that way."
When we're finally settled and squished together in the most snugly way, I ask Connor which story he'd like to read. He has quite the library--all of my children's books, his uncle's, even some of his Mimi's childhood favorites, not to mention the many treasures resulting from my fast pass to the Scholastic warehouse sale (FABULOUS!). With so many options, it seems Connor can never choose just one book. Thus, every evening I have the privilege of making the choice myself, pulling my favorites from the shelves, fingering their pages, and smiling at the opportunity to share those favorites with my two little guys.
We have certainly acquired some new favorites (thanks to that fast pass) recently. We love all things Mo Willems and David Shannon. As of late, though, Judy Schachner's silly kitty, Skippyjon Jones, has once again topped our list. He's back in Skippyjon Jones and the Big Bones. Who wouldn't adore a tiny Siamese kitten with humongous ears, who aspires to be Skippito the chihuahua of his day dreams? Clever names, playful alliteration, and a sing-song beat make this story enjoyable for kids and grown-ups, too. You'll be on the edge of your bed as you seek to determine the fate of Skippito Friskito in his closet adventures. No spoilers here, though! You'll have to check it out yourself. I will warn you; it has life-altering potential. We are seriously considering changing Don Diego's (more to come on our family's very own chihuahua soon) name to Skippito Friskito. Yes, it's just that good. You'll see.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Princesses don't poop on the playground
What do you do when a three-year-old relieves herself in an outdoor play area while at least twenty other youngsters run circles around the pole she has smeared with her poop? You cry for help, that's what you do! And then, after the hustle and bustle of gloving-up, pitchforking poop over the fence, and wiping down the unfortunate victims of the incident, you ask yourself why in the world anyone would want to poop on the playground.
When you're unable to envision a satisfying justification, you ask the pooper herself, in all her glory. When she doesn't have an answer either, you ask her friends. It is in an attempt to unearth the truth (not exactly consistent with unearthing poop, but close) that you encounter the extensiveness of peer pressure on the preschool playground.
Luckily, one little girl is willing to step up and make her voice heard. She's not afraid of ostracism from her crowd. For her, the answer is simple as she boldly proclaims, "They tried to get me to do it, but I told them, 'Princesses don't poop on the playground.'"
When you're unable to envision a satisfying justification, you ask the pooper herself, in all her glory. When she doesn't have an answer either, you ask her friends. It is in an attempt to unearth the truth (not exactly consistent with unearthing poop, but close) that you encounter the extensiveness of peer pressure on the preschool playground.
Luckily, one little girl is willing to step up and make her voice heard. She's not afraid of ostracism from her crowd. For her, the answer is simple as she boldly proclaims, "They tried to get me to do it, but I told them, 'Princesses don't poop on the playground.'"
Friday, April 16, 2010
Community, anyone?
What happened to we’re all in this together? No, I’m not talking about the High School Musical hit. Although, it is rather catchy, don’t you think? Instead, I mean community. Where is our sense of social responsibility? Why are we so bent on holding folks accountable for their actions, but so much less willing to lead, mentor, and redirect those folks making poor choices?
I visit a local news channel’s website almost daily. I check the weather (I’m addicted to the forecasting) and occasionally I’ll check out the local news. I’m not a huge fan of this particular site for a few reasons, but mostly because the writing is, well, it’s terrible. Last night, I read a particularly interesting story and proceeded to read the comments that followed. I was amazed by some of the ideas posted. The remarks were full of assumptions and downright ignorant ideas. Naturally, I became angered. And, I know Virginia Woolf would not have approved, but I proceeded, in my anger, to share my thoughts. Today, when I arrived home, I couldn’t help the urge to see if my post had any responses. (I call this the facebook gene-that yearning to keep checking up on things, that need to know what’s being said) I was disappointed. The first line of the first comment triggered OUTRAGE! I found my comments polluted by responses indicating that I have no sense of “personal responsibility and accountability.” One person said, “I just can’t help you.” This started my wondering… How the heck do you know my level of responsibility (which happens to be tremendous, thank you very much) and when the heck did I ask for your help? Crazy people! If I learned anything from this experience, it is to no longer post on this particular news forum. I guess their readers are about as bright as their writers. A little harsh, I know (and I even waited a couple of hours before writing this time).
While my anger simmered down to annoyance, I continued to reflect on the comments. And here is where I arrived: I am shocked by our lack of cohesiveness as a people, by our lack of desire for working together to effect change. Why do people insist that we are only responsible for ourselves? We obviously can’t depend on every person to be a responsible member of society. Are we supposed to evict those irresponsible, unreliable, sick, and needy (and the list goes on) people from our communities? Making them outcasts only worsens conditions.
I’m no longer annoyed, just a bit sad.
I visit a local news channel’s website almost daily. I check the weather (I’m addicted to the forecasting) and occasionally I’ll check out the local news. I’m not a huge fan of this particular site for a few reasons, but mostly because the writing is, well, it’s terrible. Last night, I read a particularly interesting story and proceeded to read the comments that followed. I was amazed by some of the ideas posted. The remarks were full of assumptions and downright ignorant ideas. Naturally, I became angered. And, I know Virginia Woolf would not have approved, but I proceeded, in my anger, to share my thoughts. Today, when I arrived home, I couldn’t help the urge to see if my post had any responses. (I call this the facebook gene-that yearning to keep checking up on things, that need to know what’s being said) I was disappointed. The first line of the first comment triggered OUTRAGE! I found my comments polluted by responses indicating that I have no sense of “personal responsibility and accountability.” One person said, “I just can’t help you.” This started my wondering… How the heck do you know my level of responsibility (which happens to be tremendous, thank you very much) and when the heck did I ask for your help? Crazy people! If I learned anything from this experience, it is to no longer post on this particular news forum. I guess their readers are about as bright as their writers. A little harsh, I know (and I even waited a couple of hours before writing this time).
While my anger simmered down to annoyance, I continued to reflect on the comments. And here is where I arrived: I am shocked by our lack of cohesiveness as a people, by our lack of desire for working together to effect change. Why do people insist that we are only responsible for ourselves? We obviously can’t depend on every person to be a responsible member of society. Are we supposed to evict those irresponsible, unreliable, sick, and needy (and the list goes on) people from our communities? Making them outcasts only worsens conditions.
I’m no longer annoyed, just a bit sad.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Where am I going?
Hi there. If you're reading this, you've already hopped on the train. Yes, you are joining me on a journey--an exploration of my day-to-day adventures as a student, a teacher, a mother, a wife, and not least of all, an individual. I'll share personal anecdotes in an effort to discover where all of my "who am Is?" collide with the development of my professional goals. I hope to, in the future, review my posts and piece together how my current thoughts correlate with my past experiences. One of my goals is to pin point moments in time that work to project me onto my future routes. I hope to interest you in my literary studies by sharing a piece now and again. My plan is to create a multimodal text via this blog; I'll share podcasts, film clips, and link you to my written work. Stay tuned...great things are to come!
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