Who's Worth Saving?

Everywhere I turn the same mantra is spewed forth "You are responsible for no one's happiness but your own." 

I call BULLSHIT. This is a cop-out too often used by our fellow man to selfishly do what they want with no regard to how they affect those around them.

Watching someone in pain is hard - seeing injustice is frustrating, so, too often, we look away...

Then we wonder, why did that young adult kill himself? How did violence become so prevalent in my neighborhood?

There was a time in my life when I was difficult to love shocking I know or even to be around. A bleakness had nested itself so deeply in my soul that I was incapable of experiencing the joy that is at the center of life. 

This pain is messy - sobbing in great gulps with snot running down your lip messy. It can be cruel - biting words meant to cut deep and quick. Explosive and painful to everyone in the vicinity. It isn't easy to bear witness to this type of pain and the idea of wading into it to pull someone out can be daunting. How convenient then, to claim yourself absolved of all action since you are not responsible for another person's happiness.

Many people leave. Off to enjoy the company of those quick to laughter and eager to revel in the moment. And whether or not the person suffering understands the lure, the outcome is the same - she is alone. 

While was I was blessed to have support enough to get through and stellar insurance coverage many do not. 

So, yes it is absolutely my responsibility to be a humane being. It is yours, too.

Say something to the kids you hear taunting a child in the park - they will listen. Sure, they may talk smack when you turn your back - do you care? But they will stop picking on the kid, and unify in their distaste of adults. So be it. In some little way you have told them that injustice will not be tolerated.

You won't change the world by yourself. But think what can be accomplished if we all created the world in which we want to live. This will never happen if we are only concerned about our own happiness. We must be focused beyond ourselves. 

As Gandhi said, "Be the change you want to see in the world." (or watch it tear apart)

The Blessings of Relativity

You're only as old as you seem relative to the population of your area. Which is one of the perks of living in Sunnyville. We have a healthy population of young families - the schools are full, the restaurant scene is diverse - but we have A LOT of retired people. The average age may well be in the 70's year-round with a jump to the late 80's in Snow Bird season.

Some people believe living among the elderly is full of negatives. And while I grant you driving is precarious - it is also good for your reflexes. You never know when some tiny 90 something using a double layer of cushions to see over the dash is going to stop at a green light or drive the wrong way (especially near construction cones - orange seems to scream "Go the wrong way!" when you achieve a certain age). This is just the thing to keep you focused and using your reflexes, a great way to stay young at heart if it doesn't stop entirely when you realize someone is coming at you head-on in a construction zone.

Driving dangers aside, there are perks too .Take yard care for example. I am not one to obsess about the grass and you won't see me edging and trimming daily heck not even weekly but I do appreciate the lush greenery that a well maintained yard brings to a neighborhood. Thank goodness for the dedicated gardeners on my street. They are out there with the sun - fertilizing, watering, and whatever other withchcraft they employ to keep the thickest, greenest grass. It adds to a neighborhood - especially since Sunnyville grass spreads out to the neighboring houses making us all look better - yea us!

But the best perk of all is the relative age. I am old all day for 5 days a week - a downfall of being around kids all day. But all around town I am young. Just this morning I took a rare solo trip to the grocery store. I wasn't in a particular hurry, so I took the time to share a few friendly good morning's as I passed my elder counterparts in the aisles. Typically, they would smile and say "good morning, dear." These encounters are pretty standard in a civilized society. How Sunnyville differs became clear as I bought eggs. There was an older couple studying the available types or more likely prices, so I went to the side to pluck a carton from the case. I opened the lid giving a cursory glance and a little shake as I turned toward my cart. Just at this moment a gentle hand reached over my shoulder and toward the carton. In confusion I turned toward the source to see the woman of the egg-studying-couple. She began to gently jostle each egg individually. As she continued through the carton she explained to me, "You have to check each egg by moving it just a little. If one is cracked at the bottom it will stick, so you will know." Of course I know this - hence the shake I gave the entire carton - but I kept it to myself. I smiled and thanked her. It isn't everyday that I am made to feel so young and inexperienced while grocery shopping for a family of 6! Ah - relativity - ain't it grand?

Funny in the Flu

"Tis the season to be laid low by cold and flu. Sunnyville is not immune to the season. In fact, it is my belief that all the vacationers arriving daily to our fair town bring their germs from far and wide, exposing us all only after they have distilled in the petri dish that is air travel. So, it comes as no surprise that Youngest is currently home sick.

There are many things about sick children and spouses that are no fun. I could write woeful tales of dealing with the crankiness and tears that preclude illness - before you have any idea there is a problem and wonder what alien or demon is inhabiting your child and how to get her back, or the adventure that is stripping and cleaning beds when the upset tummy has exploded in projectile vomit - at 2 in the morning, but why dwell? Each bout of the flu brings its own form of entertainment, and happily this outbreak has brought more comical moments than misery.

Take diagnosis - completing this with a pre-k child is a tricky business. They aren't so great at sharing symptoms, a condition that is clearly seen in Youngest coming to us with flushed cheeks and shivering with cold while radiating heat like a space heater to ask, "Am I still sick?" Hmm, let me think - yes!

And when asked where she feels bad I am just as likely to receive a full accounting of her small scratches - we adopted a kitten at Christmas - as I am to hear, "My neck hurts" or "My water tastes too funny today." From this I conclude cold with sore throat.

Then an intermittent cough appeared, so we revisited symptoms. When asked how she was doing I was told, "My breathing isn't going so well." Huh. That's a new one. So, I applied more Vapo-rub and tucked her into my bed to watch a movie - thank you TV programmers for choosing this weekend as a Disney movie marathon making the need to hunt for DVD's unnecessary.

However, even watching movies can be too much when you are a sick child. At least that is the only conclusion I can draw from her wandering into the kitchen as I prepared dinner to tell me, "My eyes aren't working when I lay down on the pillows." That's called sleeping, dear. 

And when she looks at me with watery eyes as I tuck her into bed mentally preparing sub plans for the next day, I do my utmost to avoid her breathing on me only to be foiled by a sneeze in the face as I lean down to give her a good night kiss. ACK! Get the sanitizer! 

A Day in the Life

It's Friday. Believe it or not, I don't usually count the days until Friday, but this week has been an unusually chaotic one and it is with relief that I look toward the end of my day. Until I realize a good 80-90% of the chaos in my life is at home!

Take Tuesday for example. After work there was a dentist appointment for Tween - which pushed the typical schedule back bit. Yet, a positive mindset prevailed and prompted me to ask for dinner input from the kids once I was home. Loaded with intel I set my mind to cooking - only to discover the kitchen was not set to rights. This of course prompted me to begin lecturing and nagging asking Tween and Boy to take care of their responsibilities. At this point Youngest interrupted to announce the toilet wouldn't flush. *sigh*

I considered, briefly, rousing my husband from his sick-bed to tackle the chore - but empathy prevailed shocking but true. After the usual grossness - which Tween watched with a mixture of horror and awe - the clog unstuck. Released from that focus, I tuned into my surroundings. Horror now furrowed my brow as I noted the state of the children's bathroom. Tween scurried off to retrieve some cleaning supplies and a brief - but thorough cleaning ensued.

Once everything was disinfected especially me I started pulling out the ingredients - glancing through the window to watch Youngest enter the guinea pig castle in the back yard. She was back in record time like spices just pulled from the pantry time and telling me "Harry Potter Pig is very tired! He's still sleeping!"

Insert mental eruption of a volcanic stream of 4 letter words here as I turned toward the child and her stiff, furry, glassy-eyed pet. You can imagine what ensued. Consoling murmurs to ease Youngest and Tween as I carried the rigid little form hither and yon in search of a why can I never find one when I need one? shoebox. As we still had no food, I placed the deceased on the front porch to await his final resting place, disinfected - again - and tried to continue continued the dinner prep. Tween was angst-filled and speculating on the health of the others, as well as blame. So of course, she went to retrieve the other 2 pigs to give them and herself reassurance. This led to an unscheduled check-up - preformed by yours truly to check nails, coats, teeth etc. An urgent need for more vegetables and fruits was proclaimed - by Tween - and I set to work to chop and dice - for the pigs - not the people.

Once everyone was settled, Boy - conspicuously absent to this point, came out to say he was hungry. - Huh. Ya don't say. - Youngest went to get the mail - her favorite job - and I scoured myself and shifted gears from meatloaf  to burgers.  There was a knock, I called come-in, and my friend came in with the stiff little beast in her hands and a questioning look on her face as Youngest protested behind her "Hey! I was just going to show -- my Harry Potter! He's waking up now!" UGH. Return the critter to his make-shift coffin, scrub down myself and Youngest, pass crying child off to her dad, etc etc. you get the idea.

Eventually all this was handled. The kitchen was tidied, the food was ready, the washer & dryer were running, and I was ready to crawl into bed. I settled for changing into clean PJ's - at 7pm - and encouraging the children to use their digital babysitters for a bit. Cast no stones! You know you would do the same Then, PJ clad, I answered the door again - we are so popular! - to another neighbor who received a summons about the ticket Boy got while dog sitting. But that's a story for another day...

Can't Fool Her

If my house were an ongoing episode of Sesame Street with elements of various family dramas thrown in for interest then we recently had a special segment on the sense of smell. 

The Mr and I sat watching a movie on a weeknight! gotta love vacation. Tween and a friend could be heard creating new smells with a perfume kit. They were trying to perfect a manly smell - which apparently is best achieved with a cross between minty menthol, woodsy pine, and musk. So, sweaty guy at a campfire with sore muscles may be how men smell to tween girls everywhere. The Mr and I were employed periodically in the smell tests, but largely left to enjoy The Hobbit the Battle of the Five Armies in peace while the pork simmered on the stove soon to be pulled, spiced, and made into tamales.

Then onto the scene bursts Youngest. "I'm hungry for dinner now." Hmm, that's a head scratcher since we just finished dinner under an hour ago. After pausing the movie, I pointed this out to the questing child. "OK," she said, "then I am ready for second dinner." Not being hobbits of course - we don't have second dinner, though second breakfast is not unheard of for her but that's another story. 

Following this explanation she promptly transitioned to bloodhound mode. Without missing a beat she tilted her head, nose fully in the air pointing to the ceiling in a perfect scenting-the-prey-pose she proceeded to sniff at the air with exaggerated affect. Three long sniffs. She slowly lowered her head and with a knowing smile pierced us, her unwitting parents, in her gaze and announced, "Someone is tricking me!" Holding our gaze as we both valiantly refrain from bursting into giggles she continued "I smell something delicious. I will eat that!" 

Sadly scent loses out to sight, since she wouldn't touch the completed tamales on a bet.

An Attempted Awakening

Kids are influenced by their environments. I don't think anyone would argue with that. And anyone who has tried to navigate the sea of princesses and superheroes at a preschool playground on Halloween or any other day can clearly see that movies and stories hold much power to shape the imaginations of children. 

Maybe this is why Star Wars holds such appeal to us. As a kid tearing through the neighborhood on bike and foot it was not imagined pursuit of "robbers" that kept me captivated - instead it was an intergalactic kegger, oops wrong franchise chase to capture rebels or evade the dreaded darkside, depending on my role for the day. Sticks morphed to light sabers and blasters - not revolvers meant to usher the bad guy to the hoosegow, and the old monkey bars found a second identity as the famed Millenium Falcon - or Death Star depending on who was at the helm. It was a chance for us to be both the good and the bad guy. Spy, rebel, evil emperor - all shades of good and evil were available.

It was in this world that stories gained complexity and depth. The villain was not conquered easily and the good guys had to persevere through various obstacles. Loyalty was valued and - even among scoundrels - there was a sense of honor. And woven through it all, there was the justice of right overcoming wrong.

Is it any wonder then that the legacy was passed to my children? That as adults my husband and I want our children to explore the galaxy far far away and find the wonder we felt? 

In Sunnyville we have made this happen - with Eldest and Boy anyway. Both were thrilled by the trailers, waited with impatience for the release of 7, and headed to theaters at the earliest opportunity.

Youngest, being in pre-k - is unaffected. But, Tween (MG for middle girl??) is unconvinced. And it's driving the family to odd behavior. Boy has committed to sit with her through a watching of each of the episodes leading to the most current, to better give her a foundation and understanding - in other words to convince her they don't suck, which is how she seems to feel at this time. Both males in my home sat with her for episode 3 - and when the new kitten caused her attention to waver they could be heard to quiz her on the movie: "What just happened?" "You're not paying attention!" "Stop with the cat!"  "This is important!" 

Now, I am not sure this approach is working. Personally, knowing her temperament, I think they should have skipped to 6. I mean a girl easily distracted by kittens is bound to be won over by an Ewok - right? Regardless, I hope she finishes them over the break, as I would like to witness the force awaken for myself before I return to the classroom and have it all told to me by students. 

The Recipe for...

It's December 23 - Christmas Eve eve as my kids have called it and that is a heavy duty baking day in this house. So I found myself pulling down the recipe box - largely empty thanks to the digital age and printers but housing a few family favorites - and sorting through the recipes we will be using today.

They are stained and brittle. Some are written on the backs of notes left for, or by, my husband in the days before texting. Absently pulling a folded slip, I think I should recopy them and organize this box.  Then I recognize familiar writing smudged here and there with a stained and dog eared corner. It's my mother-in-law's - though I never thought of her as that.  She was a friend and confidant. 

The day comes flooding back. Missing her traditional family Christmas dinner of homemade manicotti she called the family matriarch and obtained the recipe - jotting it down on nondescript paper. We spent hours flipping and filling the delicate crepes laughing while we rolled manicotti for freezing. Over the next couple years we perfected the technique and shortened the time. But it was always an evening affair - accompanied by dinner, talking about nothing, and often teasing her son relentlessly. Then she was gone. Too soon. 

But here she is - popping out among the recipes. 

With a more sentimental spirit I look again at the scraps of paper and I see them differently. This one in my husband's hand and obtained from my sister because he had to learn to make her mini cheesecakes. We lived in another house then - much younger but already creating our own traditions. Traditions that we hold today. That one from my mother, written in her hand - a favorite of us both but happily not loved by the children. There are so many more - from friends and family, favorites all. 

A box of old recipes, a day of baking. a few memories shared. That is the meaning of this day for me unlike my children who see it as cookie day. And if Ma is looking down I hope she smiles a bit as I roll my largely imperfect discs into cheesy filled goodness that have become Christmas staple for my family, much as it was for her's. 

Merry Christmas baking day! 
And may your day be filled with memories to cherish in the years to come.