As I was preparing for my son's first sleep away camp experience with the boy scouts, one item leapt out at me and triggered a now humorous memory from my childhood. That item was "mosquito netting" and here's the tale.
I am a third generation girl scout, and camp is an integral part of that experience. As soon as I was old enough, I wanted to go. My mom, a single parent with no help from my dad, scraped together the money all year long, probably relishing the week of peace and quiet. Luckily for her, I LOVED camp. Loved, with all capital letters.
When I first attended camp, we lived in NW Indiana. I went for probably three years in succession to camps in Wisconsin before we moved with my grandparents to Chicago so my mom could finish her degree. Back then, that meant changing Girl Scout councils and attending a different camp in the summer. The new camp was in Michigan. Mosquito netting was an item listed on the supply list for this camp.
As a single parent with little income, my mom often had to make instant decisions between "needs" and "wants" in a cruel, definitive, cut it off at the knees kind of way, because not everything could be afforded. She determined mosquito netting was not a need, because here I was an old hand at camp, and I'd never needed mosquito netting before. Off to camp I went, sans netting.
At camp in the 70s, there really weren't any mirrors. There were vague tinny things in the bathroom area that let you know you were looking into them, and you knew you were a female since you were at girl scout camp, but any other details weren't readily apparent. I loved camp so much, it really wasn't until bedtime that I'd itch. And itch. But I was exhausted, so I fell asleep quickly, despite the itching. It wasn't until a rainy day when we were confined to our platform tents that I truly realized I was serving as a mosquito buffet during my sleeping hours. My camp mates counted somewhere over 200 mosquito bites on me. This was the day before we left for home.
My mom told me before I left that as a special treat, she'd pick me up off the bus, and we'd go out to dinner so I could tell her all about camp. When I stepped off the bus, I noticed my mom had the oddest look on her face. I know now, it was a mix of horror at what I looked like and shame that she'd caused my lumpy looks by eschewing the mosquito netting. She asked me at least ten times if I still wanted to go out for dinner. Sure! I wanted non-camp food! It wasn't until I went to the bathroom and looked in a REAL mirror I realized I looked like a leper. Oh, well, I was already there, might as well stay. I did notice they seated us in an out of the way, poorly lit booth. I wonder how many people I scared that day.
The REALLY funny part is, when I saw "mosquito netting" on the list, for a split second, I wondered if that was a truly necessary item. Yes, I've become my mother.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Get Funky!
I'm doing some work in my office and just realized my daughter has flitted through with her third wardrobe change of the day. It's 10:30am. Now, this can mean a multitude of things from "there's a basket of clean laundry, and I want to experience as much of it as possible" to "don't go in the bathroom, as I've brought about Armageddon and it's best if you don't see." Because forewarned is forearmed, I inquired as to the change.
Her answer? "Mom, I just wasn't funky enough. This? This is FUNKY."
She's wearing a tank top and flannel jammie pants with snowflakes on them. I know. I KNOW.
Her answer? "Mom, I just wasn't funky enough. This? This is FUNKY."
She's wearing a tank top and flannel jammie pants with snowflakes on them. I know. I KNOW.
Friday, June 8, 2012
When did this happen?
Yeah, I know I'm getting up there. Let's try to stay away from the term "middle-aged" if we can for now. I'm about to sound hopelessly and helplessly like an old fogey, lamenting the state of youth today, but when did stripper shoes make it into pleasant society?
Exhibit A!
The only people who are able to walk in these things are strippers! You know why? Because they have their feet in the air, legs wrapped around a pole. These shoes are NOT meant to be worn in public! Oh, and as a public service announcement, those who attempt to walk in these ridiculous things? You look like you're three and borrowed your mom's heels.
I blame Snookie and her ilk for the downfall of western society.
There, I said it.
Exhibit A!
The only people who are able to walk in these things are strippers! You know why? Because they have their feet in the air, legs wrapped around a pole. These shoes are NOT meant to be worn in public! Oh, and as a public service announcement, those who attempt to walk in these ridiculous things? You look like you're three and borrowed your mom's heels.
I blame Snookie and her ilk for the downfall of western society.
There, I said it.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
I'm SO behind the times, but I know what I like!
Ok, so everyone is aware I'm an insanely busy mom, with two kids in scouts (leader for one), a full time job I'm blessed to do mostly from home, and a husband who works nights and isn't around for the vast majority of kidlet fun--by which I mean homework, mealtime, bathing, the stuff that's hard--and all this is a SERIOUS drain on my social life. Me and my dvr? Best buds. Netflix? Close second. I watch tons of stuff while sewing on badges, grading on my laptop, etc. Problem is, while I watch stuff, I'm not necessarily CURRENT on my viewing choices. But I recently saw a movie that wasn't really paid much attention that I simply must share, because I thought it was great.
I like all kinds of films, but a good ghost story gets me every time. I like horror, but I need a good story to go with it. A simple hacker slasher won't do, unless the back story keeps me hooked. I recently saw a movie from 2010 called Let Me In that was simply genius. Part of it was the casting. Chloe Moretz of Watchmen fame played a glorious child vampire--since this is a 2010 movie, I don't think I'm giving any grand secret away--and I tell you, people need to watch for her in the future. She is a fabulous actress with quite a range. Kodi Smit-McPhee, the main character, was equally fabulous in the title role of a bullied outsider. There's violence, to be sure, and there's no shortage of fake blood used in this flick, but this is not a movie without a serious emotional payoff.
The far and away gem of the film is the life Kodi Smit-McPhee's character leads. His recently shattered family life is mired in an absent dad, a religious zealot of a mom, and a general feeling of lost-in-the-middle malaise that's only exacerbated by his school experiences as the punching bag of choice for some nasty middle schoolers. His inner landscape is echoed in the bleak mid-winter setting where most of the action takes place. His daily interactions with a vampire child become the brightest spots in his life, and she echoes that sense of enjoyment.
This movie is so much more than a vampire horror movie. It's about finding a kindred spirit and simply keeping one's head above water emotionally and the choices we make--good or bad--when we make personal connections. I highly recommend it!
I like all kinds of films, but a good ghost story gets me every time. I like horror, but I need a good story to go with it. A simple hacker slasher won't do, unless the back story keeps me hooked. I recently saw a movie from 2010 called Let Me In that was simply genius. Part of it was the casting. Chloe Moretz of Watchmen fame played a glorious child vampire--since this is a 2010 movie, I don't think I'm giving any grand secret away--and I tell you, people need to watch for her in the future. She is a fabulous actress with quite a range. Kodi Smit-McPhee, the main character, was equally fabulous in the title role of a bullied outsider. There's violence, to be sure, and there's no shortage of fake blood used in this flick, but this is not a movie without a serious emotional payoff.
The far and away gem of the film is the life Kodi Smit-McPhee's character leads. His recently shattered family life is mired in an absent dad, a religious zealot of a mom, and a general feeling of lost-in-the-middle malaise that's only exacerbated by his school experiences as the punching bag of choice for some nasty middle schoolers. His inner landscape is echoed in the bleak mid-winter setting where most of the action takes place. His daily interactions with a vampire child become the brightest spots in his life, and she echoes that sense of enjoyment.
This movie is so much more than a vampire horror movie. It's about finding a kindred spirit and simply keeping one's head above water emotionally and the choices we make--good or bad--when we make personal connections. I highly recommend it!
Monday, February 13, 2012
We walk the walk up in he-ah!
That's right, we don't just pay lip service to equal rights in MY house, oh no. Here, girls take out garbage and boys do laundry. It all just depends on what needs doing and which kid is closest to me. I'm hoping this will make them self-sufficient (read and NOT living with me when they're 30) in the future.
We had another opportunity lately to prove our commitment to equality when we put a male babysitter into our regular rotation. We've got some FABULOUS girly babysitters we lucked into, but they're all seniors in high school, are very involved in their activities, and have become increasing unavailable. I needed to do something, because I had a function to attend with Brownie, leaving Cubby at home. I found out an older brother of Brownie's friend was staying home for college, so I contacted him for a boy's night. It turned out so great, we put him into the regular rotation.
As I said, he's got a younger sister exactly Brownie's age, so he's used to younger girls too. He showed up at our house, much to Cubby's delight. He'd had enough of our very nice, but very girly-centered, female babysitters. All had a wonderful time, and so did we.
The REALLY funny part, though, happened the next day. As I do whenever we have a babysitter, I asked what they did, if they had fun, and I slip in some questions about phone use and such. Brownie's alternate name is "The Informer" and she's about as good at intel as the CIA. During this conversation, Brownie said "Mom, do you think Babysitter is cute?" Hmm. How to proceed? Do I say "no" and get into a long conversation about "why not?" or do I say "yes" and get myself into a bigger mess? I went with "yes, just like I think you're cute and Cubby is cute and Dog Bone is cute." Tragedy averted (I thought). Her response? "Yeaaaaaaah, but did you SEE the muscles on Babysitter?! Dad doesn't have muscles like THAT!"
Those crickets you hear? They were chirping while I imagined myself in another ten years forcibly dragging my beautiful daughter out of a bar while a man a decade older than she tries to ply her with alcohol. I've really got to get into better shape, because I don't think I'm going to survive her adolescence.
We had another opportunity lately to prove our commitment to equality when we put a male babysitter into our regular rotation. We've got some FABULOUS girly babysitters we lucked into, but they're all seniors in high school, are very involved in their activities, and have become increasing unavailable. I needed to do something, because I had a function to attend with Brownie, leaving Cubby at home. I found out an older brother of Brownie's friend was staying home for college, so I contacted him for a boy's night. It turned out so great, we put him into the regular rotation.
As I said, he's got a younger sister exactly Brownie's age, so he's used to younger girls too. He showed up at our house, much to Cubby's delight. He'd had enough of our very nice, but very girly-centered, female babysitters. All had a wonderful time, and so did we.
The REALLY funny part, though, happened the next day. As I do whenever we have a babysitter, I asked what they did, if they had fun, and I slip in some questions about phone use and such. Brownie's alternate name is "The Informer" and she's about as good at intel as the CIA. During this conversation, Brownie said "Mom, do you think Babysitter is cute?" Hmm. How to proceed? Do I say "no" and get into a long conversation about "why not?" or do I say "yes" and get myself into a bigger mess? I went with "yes, just like I think you're cute and Cubby is cute and Dog Bone is cute." Tragedy averted (I thought). Her response? "Yeaaaaaaah, but did you SEE the muscles on Babysitter?! Dad doesn't have muscles like THAT!"
Those crickets you hear? They were chirping while I imagined myself in another ten years forcibly dragging my beautiful daughter out of a bar while a man a decade older than she tries to ply her with alcohol. I've really got to get into better shape, because I don't think I'm going to survive her adolescence.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Innocence Lost
I'm not a big Pollyanna or anything, but I try to see the best in people. That can sometimes lead to disappointment, but I try. I teach my kids people are inherently good, even if that particular day is making me bite my tongue until it bleeds.
Maybe it's because I grew into an adult way too young that I try to shield them as best I can from the fact that--and I believe this--there are some people who are truly, at their core, evil. I explain with the least amount and most gentle facts I can terrible events. Now that my children are 10 and 7, that's becoming more and more difficult to do. When we'd talk of my mom's passing, it was framed with she's living in heaven, and it's SO beautiful, and God needed her, lalalalala! When, in kindergarten, my son learned about Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, it was civil rights for all! Happy day! with no mention of pesky assassinations, lalalalala! September 11th? Bad people crashing into buildings. Crazy individuals, no need to fear, lalalalala! That's why it was one of the hardest things I ever did to stand back and watch my daughter realize there's evil in the world I can't fix.
About a month ago, we went with a girl scout group to Springfield. Not having been there in quite some time, it was a nice trip. We had the nice comfy bus, pleasant chatter, saw the capitol building, the old capitol, all good. Then we went into the Lincoln Presidential Library. They have done an AWESOME job of it, and if you haven't seen it recently, I highly suggest it. The shows they have are stunningly done, and there are life size replicas of many points in Lincoln's life. Do not touch, however, as many, many alarms go off, and you will be searched (don't ask me how I know this for a fact). There's even a play area where kids can play dress up and experience toys of the era. Really big fun, could have spent all day there. One of the best things was seeing how the Civil War fit into the scope of Lincoln as a president and a family man, even if the face of a cabinet in near full opposition. It was a truly enlightening experience.
It was the fact that there were so many exceedingly lifelike wax sculptures of people that gave my daughter pause. We'd talked about slavery in bits and pieces, since many of the posters and textual areas of the library mentioned it. She knew there were once people who thought it was ok to own others like property, and they were bad for doing so. I think she thought of "owning" someone really as more like roommates, but I don't know for certain. At one point we turned the corner, and there it was. On a stage was a complex wax sculpture. It depicted a kind of town square, where slave auctions were being held. It was obvious a family was being broken up. Whomever decided on the actual placing of the sculptures did it in a way that anyone would understand but that was also most apt to pluck at people's heartstrings, especially my 7 year old daughter's. See, whenever I've seen pictures of this particularly heinous act, I've seen the big, strong Black men being sold. Reason and logic say slave owners would want a strong pair of hands if they're buying slaves, leaving the women and children, as they pose too much of a burden on a plantation budget without the reward. This depiction was different. There were the slave owners or auctioneers on stage. There was a man and a woman and a young boy all sobbing and reaching out to one another. But in this case, the boy was with the man, and the woman, the mother, was being taken away. The mother was being led away. While her child screamed out for her. While her husband reached out for her and cried too.
As adults, we know this is not an uncommon story. We find sadness and empathy and heartsickness in this horrible page out of history. This was my daughter's first brush with the up close and personal details of history. I couldn't do a thing to shield her from it. Had I hustled her away, my little quiz master would have asked questions about it all day. Even as I stepped back and watched her little face, I expected questions in her rapid fire way, one after another, before the first one was even answered. She said nothing. Her eyes darted back and forth, and a frown formed on her face, as she tried to figure it out. After a while, she asked "why can't the boy be by his mom?" I had to remind her what this was a depiction of and then I knew I had to tell her this boy probably wouldn't ever see his mom again. I've never seen a more terrified look on her face.
She recovered from her shock and terror, and she asked a few more questions that I answered as best I could. Later, she was playing like her regular self. In the weeks that have followed, I know she's thought of that day, because she's asked me other questions I can tell she's been mulling about in her head. I know this isn't the roughest thing she'll ever learn, and I know there are so many moments to come where bad things will happen or have to be explained. I don't live in a bubble and think nothing bad will ever happen, or I can make all the bad stuff go away. But as a parent, to stand helplessly, while my child goes through anything difficult, even learning a concept or idea, is torture beyond measure. I'm sure the real-life counterpart of the wax statue of the mother would say of her situation that watching her child experience a moment of pain was far, far worse than the lifetime of sorrow she endured. I think that's the saddest part of this whole thing, the knowledge that mom can't make everything better, because kids should always believe moms can change the world.
Maybe it's because I grew into an adult way too young that I try to shield them as best I can from the fact that--and I believe this--there are some people who are truly, at their core, evil. I explain with the least amount and most gentle facts I can terrible events. Now that my children are 10 and 7, that's becoming more and more difficult to do. When we'd talk of my mom's passing, it was framed with she's living in heaven, and it's SO beautiful, and God needed her, lalalalala! When, in kindergarten, my son learned about Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, it was civil rights for all! Happy day! with no mention of pesky assassinations, lalalalala! September 11th? Bad people crashing into buildings. Crazy individuals, no need to fear, lalalalala! That's why it was one of the hardest things I ever did to stand back and watch my daughter realize there's evil in the world I can't fix.
About a month ago, we went with a girl scout group to Springfield. Not having been there in quite some time, it was a nice trip. We had the nice comfy bus, pleasant chatter, saw the capitol building, the old capitol, all good. Then we went into the Lincoln Presidential Library. They have done an AWESOME job of it, and if you haven't seen it recently, I highly suggest it. The shows they have are stunningly done, and there are life size replicas of many points in Lincoln's life. Do not touch, however, as many, many alarms go off, and you will be searched (don't ask me how I know this for a fact). There's even a play area where kids can play dress up and experience toys of the era. Really big fun, could have spent all day there. One of the best things was seeing how the Civil War fit into the scope of Lincoln as a president and a family man, even if the face of a cabinet in near full opposition. It was a truly enlightening experience.
It was the fact that there were so many exceedingly lifelike wax sculptures of people that gave my daughter pause. We'd talked about slavery in bits and pieces, since many of the posters and textual areas of the library mentioned it. She knew there were once people who thought it was ok to own others like property, and they were bad for doing so. I think she thought of "owning" someone really as more like roommates, but I don't know for certain. At one point we turned the corner, and there it was. On a stage was a complex wax sculpture. It depicted a kind of town square, where slave auctions were being held. It was obvious a family was being broken up. Whomever decided on the actual placing of the sculptures did it in a way that anyone would understand but that was also most apt to pluck at people's heartstrings, especially my 7 year old daughter's. See, whenever I've seen pictures of this particularly heinous act, I've seen the big, strong Black men being sold. Reason and logic say slave owners would want a strong pair of hands if they're buying slaves, leaving the women and children, as they pose too much of a burden on a plantation budget without the reward. This depiction was different. There were the slave owners or auctioneers on stage. There was a man and a woman and a young boy all sobbing and reaching out to one another. But in this case, the boy was with the man, and the woman, the mother, was being taken away. The mother was being led away. While her child screamed out for her. While her husband reached out for her and cried too.
As adults, we know this is not an uncommon story. We find sadness and empathy and heartsickness in this horrible page out of history. This was my daughter's first brush with the up close and personal details of history. I couldn't do a thing to shield her from it. Had I hustled her away, my little quiz master would have asked questions about it all day. Even as I stepped back and watched her little face, I expected questions in her rapid fire way, one after another, before the first one was even answered. She said nothing. Her eyes darted back and forth, and a frown formed on her face, as she tried to figure it out. After a while, she asked "why can't the boy be by his mom?" I had to remind her what this was a depiction of and then I knew I had to tell her this boy probably wouldn't ever see his mom again. I've never seen a more terrified look on her face.
She recovered from her shock and terror, and she asked a few more questions that I answered as best I could. Later, she was playing like her regular self. In the weeks that have followed, I know she's thought of that day, because she's asked me other questions I can tell she's been mulling about in her head. I know this isn't the roughest thing she'll ever learn, and I know there are so many moments to come where bad things will happen or have to be explained. I don't live in a bubble and think nothing bad will ever happen, or I can make all the bad stuff go away. But as a parent, to stand helplessly, while my child goes through anything difficult, even learning a concept or idea, is torture beyond measure. I'm sure the real-life counterpart of the wax statue of the mother would say of her situation that watching her child experience a moment of pain was far, far worse than the lifetime of sorrow she endured. I think that's the saddest part of this whole thing, the knowledge that mom can't make everything better, because kids should always believe moms can change the world.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
I must be a magnet
I have been fortunate in my life to meet a wealth of interesting people. There are SO many I could just sit and chat with for hours on end because I am simply fascinated by their lives and personalities. Yep, I'm a tell me your life story, and I'll sit with rapt attention chat junkie. Always have been, always will be. If you're not late for your next appointment because we were shooting the breeze, there's just something wrong.
A weird little outgrowth of my deep interest in humanity, however, is that I get into the ODDEST conversations with people. I'm not saying these people are odd--well, any more than I am--but for some reason, people feel compelled to bare their odd little details. I'm always interested, don't get me wrong, but afterwards, I'm thinking "well, how did we get THERE on that conversation path?" Like the time my new pastor and I had a conversation about his daughter. . . and, um, porn.
Yes, that's right. This great church, with great people that we're officially going to be members of this weekend had a family picnic recently at one of the longtime members' homes. They have a fabulous pool. This meant my behind was stuck next to said pool while my children refused to come out for love or money. At one point, the pastor sat down and started a conversation. He's a great guy, and I'm not one of those who thinks clergy can't be regular folk, but I'm a reformed Catholic, y'all. I'm still weirded out that he's got kids. Grown kids, in fact.
He has kids, I have kids, we start talking kids. He tells me his oldest is a junior film producer in California, and she's actually got a bit of cache now, because she's worked on some popular network shows and a successful documentary. She's now moving to get that "junior" off her title, and it's exciting. His pride in his daughter's achievements was obvious. He did share with me that times were not always so great for her, and she once lamented that there was a guy in her apartment complex who made really good money and kept offering her gigs, but she wouldn't take them, and she was afraid some day it may come to taking him up on his offer of production work. Apparently, it was a year or more before she admitted to her dad that this quasi-friend was a producer for a different kind of industry (and this is where the story nearly stopped, he started stuttering, until I had a brain buzz, leaned over and provided in a whisper tone the words "adult erotica"). He--beet-faced agreed and recovered his composure--and apparently from then on, whenever things were really bad with his daughter, and she was crying on the phone about how she'd never make it in this business, he would respond with, "well, dear, there's always porn."
Did I mention I LOVE these people?!
A weird little outgrowth of my deep interest in humanity, however, is that I get into the ODDEST conversations with people. I'm not saying these people are odd--well, any more than I am--but for some reason, people feel compelled to bare their odd little details. I'm always interested, don't get me wrong, but afterwards, I'm thinking "well, how did we get THERE on that conversation path?" Like the time my new pastor and I had a conversation about his daughter. . . and, um, porn.
Yes, that's right. This great church, with great people that we're officially going to be members of this weekend had a family picnic recently at one of the longtime members' homes. They have a fabulous pool. This meant my behind was stuck next to said pool while my children refused to come out for love or money. At one point, the pastor sat down and started a conversation. He's a great guy, and I'm not one of those who thinks clergy can't be regular folk, but I'm a reformed Catholic, y'all. I'm still weirded out that he's got kids. Grown kids, in fact.
He has kids, I have kids, we start talking kids. He tells me his oldest is a junior film producer in California, and she's actually got a bit of cache now, because she's worked on some popular network shows and a successful documentary. She's now moving to get that "junior" off her title, and it's exciting. His pride in his daughter's achievements was obvious. He did share with me that times were not always so great for her, and she once lamented that there was a guy in her apartment complex who made really good money and kept offering her gigs, but she wouldn't take them, and she was afraid some day it may come to taking him up on his offer of production work. Apparently, it was a year or more before she admitted to her dad that this quasi-friend was a producer for a different kind of industry (and this is where the story nearly stopped, he started stuttering, until I had a brain buzz, leaned over and provided in a whisper tone the words "adult erotica"). He--beet-faced agreed and recovered his composure--and apparently from then on, whenever things were really bad with his daughter, and she was crying on the phone about how she'd never make it in this business, he would respond with, "well, dear, there's always porn."
Did I mention I LOVE these people?!
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