A Corner Turned?

I have a rule about the kids' lunches: if they don't eat the "good" stuff, they don't get any sort of treat in their lunch the next day.  A couple days ago, Abe left the carrots I'd packed for him, so I told him at dinnertime that I was putting them back in for the next day's morning snack.  He usually gets something like cheese or crackers for morning snack, but this morning: leftover carrots from yesterday.

This morning we all overslept, so Ted ended up being the one to take the kids to school and in the rush to get out the door, I forgot to tell him to make sure Abe put the bag of carrots on his desk for morning snack.

Well, lo and behold, as I was unpacking his lunchbox from school tonight before dinner, I noticed the carrots were gone.  He told me that he'd remembered himself to put them on his desk for snack.  This was confirmed by his dad.

I couldn't quite believe it.  Our son being this responsible all on his own?  My heart swelled with pride, and I told him that if I had a 'golden ticket' to give him, I would.  

It seems like a small thing: a bag of carrots at morning snack in kindergarten.  But for his parents, the ones ones who wonder when their son will ever grow into a responsible, school-age kid who is trustworthy and mature, well, my goodness, that bag of carrots said a lot.  

I give so much credit to his teacher and the wonderful student teachers she has working with her who are so good at "catching" kids doing the right thing.  Our son got two of these 'golden tickets' last week for being responsible: one for pushing not only his chair under but also his neighbor's chair.  He got another one today for going to the back of the line instead of pushing to be at the front after P.E.  

I noticed my baby boy walking in a different kind of way last week when I was in the class to volunteer.  When he noticed me in the classroom, his eyes brightened and he whispered, "Mom! I got a golden ticket today!"  His face was bright with pride for having been noticed doing the right thing.  Of course, I choked back tears.  

Tonight as Ted came down from putting the kids to bed, he said, "Abe wanted me to tell you that today at school, he helped a girl at school even though she wasn't very nice because his teacher asked him to."  He was proud.  He did the right thing.

I am so thankful that he is in an environment where integrity, truthfulness and responsibility are encouraged and rewarded.  And people, this is public school.  Our tax dollars at work.

We're All in This Together

I've gotten fired up lately over the presidential election.  Talking heads, manipulators of public opinion, selfish egomaniacs.  

Wrong assumptions so quickly made and folks get defensive.

A kid in my son's class last week told him he looks like a girl.  My impulse was to shake this kid.   

People living close up next to each other, rubbing each other the wrong way and getting bristly, some retreat, some lash out.

Listening to this song a lot.  Heard it for the first time performed live while I was walking to the port-a-potties.  It stopped me in my tracks.

It reminds me to be kind since we're all lost and broken anyway, not to freak out when I feel out of sorts and that the wander-lust I was born with that lately has me staring longingly at huge RVs is not something to be ashamed of.

Is that your mom?

Three school mornings ago when the kindergarteners were putting their backpacks away, the loudest boy in class stood next to us and said as a taunt, "Is that your mom?"  

Abe's reaction was to furrow his eyebrows, fold his arms for a second, then shove the boy.  

I took Abe in the hallway to talk about things.  We named all the kids he knows who don't look like their parents.  He agreed they all love each other.  He agreed that the best reaction in the future might be just to answer, "Yes, that's my mom" because really, shoving the loudest kid in class is only going to cause you problems.

I mentioned the interaction to his teacher to give her a heads-up for the day.  She was glad I told her.

The very next day after school, Abe's teacher told me that she had read to the whole class my favorite adoption book A Mother For Choco.  Afterwards, half the kids raised their hands when asked if they knew what 'adoption' meant. 

 She then asked for a show of hands for anyone who knows someone who is adopted.  Abe's hand shot up, and according to the teacher and the student-teacher, he said, "I'm adopted.  I was also chosen."

For any educators out there, this is how you do it.

What the what?  How did my five-year-old become so confident and well-spoken?  You mean, he actually is listening when we whisper these things to him?  The last time I remember using the word "chosen" to describe my son was well over a year ago.  I guess he actually does hear us.

Because you never know

It was kindergarten orientation at a public school, and you could tell who the first-time kindergarten parents were and who the veterans were.  One mother walking in was searching with wide-open blue eyes at the other families.  She held tightly to her daughter's hand.  They had matching light blond hair.  The parents signed their kids in, and then read with them or drew pictures or just sat there scoping out the other families.  The blond mother was having a very hard time.  

After all the parents were told they could leave, she walked up the stairs with a veteran mother who was also barely holding it together.  They chit-chatted a little and the veteran mother reassured her how wonderful all the teachers are and how emotional these days are.  The blond mom stood perfectly still as her red-rimmed eyes spilled over with tears.  The veteran shyly put one arm on the blond mother's shoulder and then went ahead and hugged her for several seconds, telling her that it was going to be okay.  This caused the woman to cry even more and leave to collect herself in the bathroom.  A few minutes later, the veteran was walking out of the building, and the blond mom came to her and still tearfully said, "I'll never forget you for having my back today."  

The veteran laughed a little because, really, it was an incredibly small thing.  

***

An man in his 80's was doing his grocery shopping and noticed a well-dressed woman in her forties picking out tomatoes.  She turned to him and said, "How are you today?"  The old man rarely gives a straight answer, so he gave his standard reply of furrowed brow and "terrible." 

The woman turned to face him and said, "No, that's not true.  You're beautiful."

I've known this old man for a while now, and I've never known him to be left speechless.  This time he was.  As he relayed the story to me today, he said, "Did you know no one has ever told me that?  I'm 85 years old and have never been told I'm beautiful."  

He saw the woman and her daughter a few minutes later and asked the daughter if she'd heard what her mother said to him.  She had and told the old man that her mother never, ever lies so if she said it, it must be true.   

***

Last night before bed, I changed my profile picture to one of Fred Rogers, one of my heroes.  A woman I know on the east coast wrote this,

 "Loved him. I will brag now that I once sent him an apple pie recipe, and he sent me a Christmas card every year after that."

Can you believe that?  What a special man to be so good at making others feel special too.

I been thinking today about how many people out there could use reassurance from a stranger, even reassurance that involves breaking through the invisible physical barriers we place around ourselves.  There are old men who might emotionally recount to someone with the "promise not to repeat this to anyone!" directive that someone thinks they're gorgeous.  

Well, and Fred Rogers.  I don't think anybody can do what he did.  

As corny as this post is, it's true that I've been inspired today to keep my eyes open to the fragile people in my orbit.

“If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person.”
― Fred Rogers

So Show Me Family

Sunday afternoon I sat on our porch swing reading for hours.  Our kids had friends over and the neighbors were out, and the whole afternoon was pretty blissful.  At one point, Beti walked up and stopped about five feet away from me, staring at me blankly.  I looked up at her.

She said, with zero expression or emotion, "I belong with you. You belong with me."

Our eyes locked on each other, I answered, "You're my sweetheart."

She solemnly nodded, turned and ran back down the steps to play again with her friends.

I could relate so much to this post.  We've come a long way, baby.  

We listen to this song a lot.

Passage of Time

August 2011

August 2012

“Time is a gift, given to you, given to give you the time you need, the time you need to have the time of your life. ”
― Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

"Jesus and the Chicken Fight"

We were out of town for almost two weeks.  I would like to be able to compose a more better written (see?) post about anything really but I'm recovering from this: ever had searing pain behind your left eye and into the left ear that blurs your vision in the right eye, making everything in about fifty percent of your field of vision look as if it was rolling in waves?  It lasted ten minutes, during Abe's pre-kindergarten hearing/vision test.  I had to hold onto the wall and try not to throw up.  It was awesome.  I came home and slept like a log, something I never do in the middle of the day.  

I did not reemerge to write about my strange episode today.  I came here to ask you to read this post about the ever-important chicken divide facing our nation today. She sums up so well how I felt tonight while seeing the photos in my newsfeed from folks who went out today to "support traditional marriage."  Ugh.  Folks, once you've done something real and lasting to love the least of these, alleviate the suffering of the widows and orphans, bring compassion to those in prison and exile, my guess is that Jesus might not be so impressed by your long lines at a chicken franchise today.  Get your chicken-fed selves out there tomorrow to do the real work of Jesus, alright?

Go read "Jesus and the Chicken Fight."