Thursday Poem (Haiku Sox Version)

National anthem:
Take me out to the ballgame
Ringing in my ears

Jury Doody

It was a painful seven hours.

One might think being without kids in a quiet room for an unlimited time might be a good thing. It’s not so much; at least it wasn’t so much for me.

In a crowded room of a cross-section of people hearing the dire and depressing tales of criminals and supremely unhappy people, one really gets the message: count your fucking blessings.

Count 'em. Right now.

Your life is good.

More Teachable Moments (Not)

Early evening. Unseasonably warm night. Sitting on steps outside, breathing fresh air, sipping ice cold beer and recouping from the day at Jury Duty (more on that later). Giant Three Year Old bursts outside, animated and excited.

He: Mom! Mom! The moon!

Me: I know, I see it. Say hi!

Silence.

Me: He sees you. He’s seeing you! Say hi.

He: But he doesn’t have a face.

(Wait? Not everyone sees the face in the moon?)

Me: Sure there’s a face. See the two eyes and his mouth. See it?

(Thoughtful silence while looking at the moon.)

He (sheepishly): Hi moon.

(Pause.)

He: But, he’s – he’s not talking to me.

Me: Well, he’s too far away. Maybe he is talking to you and we just can’t hear him. But he can see you and you can see him. So it’s good to say hi.

He: Maybe he’s sleeping.

Me: Well, maybe.

He: Why is he sleeping?

Me: Well, I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know if he’s sleeping. Maybe he’s awake and not talking. Just say hi moon! Goodnight Moon!

(B & R clamor outside. Simultaneous chatter about who-knows-what, all urgent and extreme.)

Us: BLAH BLAH YADA YADA.

(Back inside to clear plates, pick up noodles off the floor, explain long a’s and long o’s, negotiate bedtime vs. TV time. etc.)

(Then, later...)

He: Is he snoring?

Me: What? Who? What? Who’s snoring? You mean the moon?

He: Is he snoring? LIKE YOU.

Me: I don’t hear it.

(He pokes head outside.)

He: OK. WAKE UP! WAKE UP ... DAMMIT!

Me: Nooooo, K, nooooo. Not niiiiice.

He (running away): HAHHAHHAHAHHHAAAAAAA!

Me (plaintively): But, but, it's the mooooon. We like the moon.

(Deep breath.)

Me: TIIIIIMMMMME FOR BEEEDDDDDDDDDD!

Thursday Poem

It Goes Like This:

I put on my bare feet
to dance better:

the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing
the music and the writing:

I feel all the crumbs of the day,
everything I was meant to brush away,

gone.

A good song,
a lyric,
a string of pretty words;

sweeping
waits.

Soccer Mom Seeks Advice

Try-outs for the Under 10 soccer travel teams happen this weekend. I’ll be there to help out -- half out of volunteer guilt and half out of complete interest. How good is good, I wonder? How competitive is competitive?

I’m of the parenting philosophy that disdains the “everyone gets a medal” theory. I have no problem with straight-forward winner/loser competition. Most kids are remarkably resilient and hopefully, getting a part in the play or making the team is not the end all be all but just one of a bunch of things kids do for fun.

(Which I hope includes dodgeball -- kick ass, knock-em-out dodgeball.)

So, anyhoo, my own daughter is desperate to try out. And this is a conundrum.

She is on the younger side of U-10, just barely eight years old and she is a feather-weight to boot. She sometimes still runs like a chicken flapping its wings. She trips a lot. Over nothing. Sometimes she tries to kick a ball and just misses it: I mean, totally misses it. She hassles me every moment of practice -- wants me to be the mom when I am there to be the coach.

On the flip side, she’s pretty fast, knows where to be on the field, understands some of the (dare I say) physics of the game, can be fierce and feisty, and mostly, really, really wants to be good.

But she's not quite yet "travel" team material. (I think.)

I explained the odds of making a team to her (there are four travel teams from our town; what’s up with that? There was ONE when I was a kid) with salt shakers on the kitchen counter: 1 out of 3. Understanding that, knowing that, she still wants to go for it.

So, should I put that kid out there for something she might not be prepared for and catch her when she fails, if she does, which odds are, she will? Should I shake off her desire to try-out with pat little Mommy excuses that she might not buy anyway?

And what’s with all this anxiety I so obviously have (and she doesn’t seem to): am I afraid that I might be the sad one if she doesn’t make it? And what if she does make it: it means dragging my kids in way more directions way too many days (and nights) of the week, and wait, shoudn't I be opposed to that?

The try-outs are putting all my loud mouth “thoughts” (rants?) on raising kids to the test (see MOMiifesto).

To try-out or not to try-out? That is the question.

Your “answers” go below.

Ode to Teachable Moments

Late afternoon. SUBURBS.
My three children, discussing a group of foreign women:

B: They are not Spanish! They are Pork-e-gese.

R: They are wha? Por --? They are… what? Chinese?

B: No! Pork-e-gese.

R: Oh. Well, they sure are from another world!

B: Yep.

Giant Three Year Old: THEY ARE FROM PORK-E-GESE WORLD!
(Sword slashing for effect.)

R: Maybe that’s why they are brown.

Me: No! Wait! They are many people of all kinds of colors who are from this world, I mean, American -- people who were born here. All kinds of people, you know?

Silence. Awaiting meaningful teachable moment. More silence.


B: Well anyway, all I smell right now is grass. I think I might fart.

Halloween Thought Number Two

This video has encouraged me to dress my kids as speed bumps for Halloween. Or maybe ghosts, in extra long sheets without eye-holes. In the interest of safety, this woman has turned her child into a character from "Eyes Wide Shut" or the "Davinci Code" or worse. But the look on her concerned face with regard to the mask is mine almost every day with regard to everything -- "huh? somethings just not right here.."
My mother sent me out for Halloween when I was 8 or 9 (in the 70s) as a scarecrow with a blunt edged stick strapped over my shoulders that held up fake, straw stuffed arms. Pretty sure I either blinded or knocked out a kid or two every time I turned around. But man, I looked hot and got some serious chow that year. Thanks mom!

Halloween Thought Number One

In Target, the pumpkin pot-holder met all the criteria for purchase: so cute (with emphasis), useful (I need it!), and cheap (how can this possibly affect the bottom line). I swooped it up triumphantly, if not a little smugly, and took it home to hang on the handle of my sleek stainless steel oven.

Now?

Its’ toothless grin leers back at me every day, all orange and taunting, as if to remind me: yes, this IS the woman you have become.

A woman with holiday-themed pot-holders.

What’s next? A Christmas sweater that lights up and sings carols? Cookies baked from scratch? Permission slips returned the next day with “An Apple for Your Teacher” sticker smacked on it?

It’s a good thing I consider Halloween pretty much a National Holiday or else I might have grabbed that stinkin’ pumpkin and stuck both our heads in the oven.