My daughter is not allowed to have a Facebook account, even though she turned 13. Say what you will, but that is a big, barely controlled universe I don't want my sweet little girl wandering around in.
She is allowed, however, to have her own locked-down little blog. I think it will suit her better anyway. She likes to write and take pictures and it will be a nice place for her to share her creativity with her friends and family.
The name of her blog is Adagio. It's a musical term, pretty much explained by her subtitle: taking life slowly, one note at a time.
Yeah, my kid is totally smart and cool.
Having a child who is closer to adulthood than babyhood can be scary. But it has been real joy for me, as she surprises me everyday with amazing new revelations about the person she is becoming. Sometimes I look at her in wonder: is that my kid?!
She recently tried out for her school musical. As an eighth grader who has perfect pitch and a pretty singing voice, I suspect she felt she could get a lead role. She even turned down running cross country so she could participate. But my dear girl falls apart when performing solo in front of a crowd. She is more suited to orchestras and choirs, as she does not have a ham bone in her body. So she came home in tears because she botched her audition.
She didn't get a lead part. But 2 of her good friends did. And she's been nothing but genuinely happy for them. And she decided to be a team player and stick with the musical, even though she's "just in the chorus." The only negative sentiment she has expressed is disappointment in herself for not doing as well as she could have.
What character in a thirteen year old. Yes, I'm biased. Who cares. I'm still celebrating my girl, who's growing up nicely.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Nothing is Random
This is the message that keeps popping up in my days. It has been uttered from the lips of my pastor, my boss, my co-worker, a few of my friends, and a speaker at a women's gathering. The exact wording might have varied with the speaker, but the theme is the same.
There are many things in our lives that are not coincidence. God often provides us with circumstances that might seem random, and maybe even unpleasant. And it is amazing to realize years later how those seemingly outlying jobs, gigs, meetings, etc. end up as paving stones in our journey, leading us to important things.
I find this comforting. I have had some pretty random experiences, especially in the job department, that seem like a hodgepodge of my lack of direction. I happen to be at a crossroads where all those paths are converging, and I see why nursing school, my bank job, the Hughes High School football dinners, and so on, all had a connected purpose.
Next week, the workshop I will be facilitating for the next 15 weeks begins. As part of the workshop, the participants will draw a map of what life is like for them now. At their "graduation", they will make a life map, illustrating where they have been, where they are now, and where they hope to be. I have been told, and wholeheartedly believe, that the time in the graduation ceremony when they share their maps is very powerful.
Where have you been? Where are you now? It's a nice meditation exercise to take a little quiet time and think about those things and even pray about them. Not only does this connecting of dots strengthen our resolve, deepen our faith, and hone our sense of direction, but it can be very, very inspiring.
There are many things in our lives that are not coincidence. God often provides us with circumstances that might seem random, and maybe even unpleasant. And it is amazing to realize years later how those seemingly outlying jobs, gigs, meetings, etc. end up as paving stones in our journey, leading us to important things.
I find this comforting. I have had some pretty random experiences, especially in the job department, that seem like a hodgepodge of my lack of direction. I happen to be at a crossroads where all those paths are converging, and I see why nursing school, my bank job, the Hughes High School football dinners, and so on, all had a connected purpose.
Next week, the workshop I will be facilitating for the next 15 weeks begins. As part of the workshop, the participants will draw a map of what life is like for them now. At their "graduation", they will make a life map, illustrating where they have been, where they are now, and where they hope to be. I have been told, and wholeheartedly believe, that the time in the graduation ceremony when they share their maps is very powerful.
Where have you been? Where are you now? It's a nice meditation exercise to take a little quiet time and think about those things and even pray about them. Not only does this connecting of dots strengthen our resolve, deepen our faith, and hone our sense of direction, but it can be very, very inspiring.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
What If
She swirled the rich taste of good coffee around her mouth as she looked out on the world evidently trying to escape from winter’s grip. The newly showing grass was nowhere near the brilliant hue it would be in weeks to come, but for now it was a welcome spot of any color besides white or grey. She could barely make out the lake in the distance, its water somehow still sparkling and lovely, even on a sunless day. Amid the aroma of roasting coffee beans mixed with the scent of new book pages, she studied the little person across the table from her, brown hair tangled despite its brushing a few hours before, bottom scooting on and off, on and off the high bar-style chair, mouth with numerous missing teeth silently forming the words of the book she held.
Her daughter. Usually, this child seemed like a ubiquitous presence in her life, a kind of extension of herself. Today, in this place, she saw Claire as one sees an actress picked to play the part of a well-known role. Familiar, but yet able to be played by an array of possibilities. Only one actor is chosen to play a part in one run of a play, though, never to be performed again in the same way, in the same place, at the same designated block of time. She was playing the role of Claire’s mom.
She was a good mom. She did most things moms were supposed to. Made lunches, kept clean clothes in the drawers and closets, put meals on the table, attended various events her children were a part of, was generally available for the past 12 years of the first one’s life. She was a good wife. Dependable, keeping the house in order, shouldering the care-taking of the kids and buying of family birthday gifts and impressing the necessary dinner guests. She wondered if her family, her family who she dearly loved, knew she felt like an inadequate phony.
She was a strange fit for this life of ordered domesticity. At heart, she was a wanderer. Becoming anchored and dependent, she found herself beating back depression at times. She liked to be spontaneous, enjoy the moments life presented, and answer to whims. Her favorite memories of motherhood were times when she set the baby up in a backpack and wandered for hours. Her babies always seemed content at those times, as long as she had stashed enough snacks and diapers in the backpack too. It was if their little hearts could sense their mother’s peace, and they knew they could be at peace too. Even little Claire, her fussy, stormy, strong-willed child, would gleefully kick her little legs until she lost a shoe when going on lazy adventures with Mama.
Now, looking over the bewitching lake that was one place still able to cause her to grab her children for a stolen afternoon of reading on a picnic blanket, she was beckoned to consider the path not taken. What if?
She allowed herself to see the single and young version of herself, renting one of those rooms over the quaint little shops lining the street. She could perch up there in a small space furnished just the way she liked, or not, with a cup of tea, experiencing the changing personality of that lake over the seasons. She could live her life in this town with all of its interesting treasures. Why hadn’t she done that? Why had she not taken an adventure when she was young? Picked a place to live because she fell in love with it, working nights and weekends at a little place just like this bookstore/coffeeshop. She could see her younger self, long hair swept up and back, chatting with interesting customers on a busy night, being fueled by the energy and inspiration of the place, the live music, the writers. Now it was too late to go living in an apartment over a storefront, working nights and weekends. Wasn’t it?
Please. She was nearing what was probably the exact middle of her lifespan, and she was expected to have “real” commitments. A nice career when the last child was in school, a nice house in a nice suburb. She was married to a doctor, for goodness sake. She was living the kind of life she was supposed to.
She had always lived the kind of life she was supposed to. She had listened to her parents and stayed close to home. She got the kind of job they told her girls are supposed to get while waiting to marry and have children. A secretary or bank teller or something. She had done the bank thing and vowed she would never do it again. When she felt as if she were suffocating, she used to take off from her parents’ house and just drive for hours, wondering where she could go, knowing she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
She married a nice guy. She wondered if that would have changed. She fell in love, after all, was still in love to this day. He factored in all the versions of her daydreams and alternate longings. Maybe she would not have married him, but from the time they had started getting to know one another, she knew in her heart that they would be in each other’s lives, in some way, for the rest of her life. He was so unlike her, but he was as much a part of her being as her children. No matter what scenario of her life she imagined, her family could not be written out of her soul.
She suspected they all knew. Everyone probably did. She was a person who wore her heart on her face. The kids, after all, were most at ease when she was off script. Perhaps all those things she and her husband and society thought they needed weren’t so necessary after all. What about her husband? He seemed to like his job. He was an ambitious guy. But what if he had the freedom to do exactly what he wanted without any financial obligations? There were times the two of them were in the same room, struggling with some aspect of their separate obligations, when she sensed they each just wanted to look at the other and say, “To hell with all this.”
She watched Claire leap down from the high stool and onto a nearby couch, unaware of anyone else in the room watching her, her words now audible, her whole six year old self involved in a drama of her invention. She smiled, remembering what it was like to be Claire’s age, hoping Claire would stay like this longer than she herself had. Would she allow Claire to do that? Or was she forcing things upon Claire she thought she should. What if twenty-something Claire wanted to rent a room above a store and write and wait tables?
Little Claire was now directly in front of her, her intense blue eyes narrowed, “Am I going to be late for school?” Her hands were on her hips and her heart-shaped mouth puckered into a frown. She reached out and touched Claire’s still baby-soft, slightly-chubby cheek. “We’re fine, Claire. Would you like to leave now, just to be sure we make it?” In answer, Claire began to gather up her jacket, her new book, and her half-full bottle of lemonade.
She sighed and drained the last drops of coffee from her mug. She saved the file, but paused a moment before she shut her laptop down. She looked at the words on the screen, wondering if they would stay there forever, or would escape and become a possibility. She wondered if she would show her husband tonight, if they would have the conversation that hung silently in the air around them so many times, but never found form in their voices.
“Mama!”
She snapped the computer shut, slid it into her bag, and followed Claire out.
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Poor We Will Always Have With Us
News came out last week that the U.S. poverty rate is higher than it has been in years. And the working age poor have snagged the record share of that percentage. Unemployment has something to do with that. It must be noted that the majority of the 8 plus million families in poverty in the U.S. have a member of the household working full time. In one of the articles I read, an interviewee noted that the working poor will be with us for a long time. The trend will not fall away; it will gain momentum.
Underemployment is a stealthy and deadly predator of families.
My current position has me in direct relationship with many families who fall into this category. I hear stories of how the American dream is out of reach for a certain group of grasping women in Syracuse, New York. In another blog I write, I asterisk potentially controversial posts. Asterisking now applied.
*I cannot count how many times I have heard biting criticism of single, African American mothers who live in urban areas and are on public assistance. Some nasty adjectives are swung around, and sweeping conclusions. "Why don't they just get a job," is a favorite expression of many. "Lazy" is a mean word I hear too often.
We attack other women ... why? To make us feel better about ourselves? "Look how hard I work! Look what a successful woman I am!" Is there some comfort in thinking we have the answer as to why another mother has trouble feeding her children on her income? If we can assign it to that woman's flaws, do we feel safer from the big scary system that could knock us off our feet too?
Feminism cannot be only a movement of professional women who want to arrange the world so it more comfortably makes room for their careers. And Christians, if Jesus walked among us again he would choose to sit next to that lady with 5 kids, no husband, in debt, and on food stamps and TANF. We need to occasionally remind ourselves that "middle class" is an abnormal blip in the realm of human history. Most of the time, there's poor and there's very wealthy. And there's a whole lot more poor than very wealthy. We also need to understand that if the entire world population lived at the current middle class American standard, we would need to colonize 6 other Earth-type planets to provide the raw resources to sustain that. How many missed paychecks stand between any of us and poverty? How protective is our psychological insulation?
Is life, then, about being as comfortable and financially secure as possible? Would we be better served sealing ourselves off in our middle class elevator to the top or allowing ourselves to enter into a sisterhood of all kind of women?
Another thing I hear a lot is that there always have and always will be poor people: why work to end poverty? From a feminist standpoint, the bottom line is that we are not satisfied with any kind of status quo where oppression exists, where our fellow humans are suffering. Jesus, who understands the scope of human poverty better than any other, explicitly addresses the way we treat our brothers and sisters in poverty; however we treat them, consider it how we are treating him.
What does Jesus say when someone asks him why he just can't get a job?
Underemployment is a stealthy and deadly predator of families.
My current position has me in direct relationship with many families who fall into this category. I hear stories of how the American dream is out of reach for a certain group of grasping women in Syracuse, New York. In another blog I write, I asterisk potentially controversial posts. Asterisking now applied.
*I cannot count how many times I have heard biting criticism of single, African American mothers who live in urban areas and are on public assistance. Some nasty adjectives are swung around, and sweeping conclusions. "Why don't they just get a job," is a favorite expression of many. "Lazy" is a mean word I hear too often.
We attack other women ... why? To make us feel better about ourselves? "Look how hard I work! Look what a successful woman I am!" Is there some comfort in thinking we have the answer as to why another mother has trouble feeding her children on her income? If we can assign it to that woman's flaws, do we feel safer from the big scary system that could knock us off our feet too?
Feminism cannot be only a movement of professional women who want to arrange the world so it more comfortably makes room for their careers. And Christians, if Jesus walked among us again he would choose to sit next to that lady with 5 kids, no husband, in debt, and on food stamps and TANF. We need to occasionally remind ourselves that "middle class" is an abnormal blip in the realm of human history. Most of the time, there's poor and there's very wealthy. And there's a whole lot more poor than very wealthy. We also need to understand that if the entire world population lived at the current middle class American standard, we would need to colonize 6 other Earth-type planets to provide the raw resources to sustain that. How many missed paychecks stand between any of us and poverty? How protective is our psychological insulation?
Is life, then, about being as comfortable and financially secure as possible? Would we be better served sealing ourselves off in our middle class elevator to the top or allowing ourselves to enter into a sisterhood of all kind of women?
Another thing I hear a lot is that there always have and always will be poor people: why work to end poverty? From a feminist standpoint, the bottom line is that we are not satisfied with any kind of status quo where oppression exists, where our fellow humans are suffering. Jesus, who understands the scope of human poverty better than any other, explicitly addresses the way we treat our brothers and sisters in poverty; however we treat them, consider it how we are treating him.
What does Jesus say when someone asks him why he just can't get a job?
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Gratuitous
Your line is "Awwwww - isn't she adorable!" :)
The benefit of having a blog is that you can put whatever propaganda you want on it. And I am shamelessly flaunting the cuteness of our new family member. Because that's what aunts do.
And we are a group that celebrates baby girls, are we not?! And you should meet the newest member of the Ourselves, Reinvented community. Although, technically, Jovie was just invented. I don't think she needs reinventing yet.
This is really kind of a Friday post. Celebrating girlyness. But I felt like celebrating on Tuesday.
I've got more excuses where those came from;)
Monday, September 12, 2011
Shaking The Hand That Feeds You
Now that I have crossed over to the world of working outside my home again, the posts might not be as frequent. At least not during the adjustment period.
It's been crazy to wrap my mind around. One day, I suddenly am getting pulled into brainstorming meetings and writing newspaper ads and grants and designing posters and planning classes and wearing high heels all day. It sounds a little glamorous.
Who out there works for/has worked for a non-profit? You know what it's all about then. All that (minus the class prep) is a fancy front for
begging.
For a noble cause. A wonderful cause. But really, it's all professional begging. I'm a professional beggar.
In many ways, this is a dream job. I have always wanted to work for a non-profit that works to end poverty in the community. I am really not a poster child capitalist. I can't believe I just put that in print. But, props to the people who make a lot of money and are super duper generous with it.
I have personally been touched by the generous giving of the uber-rich this week, and I mean, outside the job. If you don't know, my oldest daughter is a rather good violinist. Last year she played for the Syracuse Symphony Youth Orchestra, which is comprised of youth from all over the region who had to audition for a spot on this elite musical ensemble, a subsidiary of the Syracuse Symphony. The Symphony went bankrupt, and the kids had no orchestra. The community was having none of that. The professional musicians sadly still have no orchestra to employ them in Syracuse, but the kids were rescued by the board at Syracuse University, and other private donors. So my daughter gets to continue becoming a better musician, in the company of other amazing youth musicians. (If you click on watch video - my kiddo is in the back row, just above the conductor's head).
My daughter also ran track last season. Track is a modified sport (people who aren't in NY might not know what I'm talking about). Because of hard economic times, the modified sports program in our district was going to be cut.
A nice older lady thought this was terrible. She lives in our district and raised a group of boys who played sports and thought something should be done for the kids. She sent her son a newspaper clipping. Her son, who happens to be Alec Baldwin, contacted the fundraisers and said that if we could come up with $50,000, he would donate the last $25,000 needed to keep the program going. I'm not making this up.
The kids have their modified sports program again.
It is really nice when people work for very little money to work for good causes. But it is also really nice when people give big sums of money to those good causes and help them keep going. Because sometimes, whether we like to admit it or not, money is what keeps our non-profits, those that benefit other people and those that benefit our own families, up and running.
Tashmica always says this, but often times people's generosity is amazing. Today I approached a guy who I was told had access to free movie passes, something I needed for an incentive program for our clients. I was a little nervous, but the man said, "How many do you need?" Just like that. I didn't even know what to say. I didn't think I had a proverbial blank check. I hadn't even planned for that. I assumed I was going to have to grovel.
Sometimes when you focus on change, it is easy to demonize things like big business. I just thought I needed to say thank you to all of the business owners who care about their communities enough to fund the great things going on in them.
It's been crazy to wrap my mind around. One day, I suddenly am getting pulled into brainstorming meetings and writing newspaper ads and grants and designing posters and planning classes and wearing high heels all day. It sounds a little glamorous.
Who out there works for/has worked for a non-profit? You know what it's all about then. All that (minus the class prep) is a fancy front for
begging.
For a noble cause. A wonderful cause. But really, it's all professional begging. I'm a professional beggar.
In many ways, this is a dream job. I have always wanted to work for a non-profit that works to end poverty in the community. I am really not a poster child capitalist. I can't believe I just put that in print. But, props to the people who make a lot of money and are super duper generous with it.
I have personally been touched by the generous giving of the uber-rich this week, and I mean, outside the job. If you don't know, my oldest daughter is a rather good violinist. Last year she played for the Syracuse Symphony Youth Orchestra, which is comprised of youth from all over the region who had to audition for a spot on this elite musical ensemble, a subsidiary of the Syracuse Symphony. The Symphony went bankrupt, and the kids had no orchestra. The community was having none of that. The professional musicians sadly still have no orchestra to employ them in Syracuse, but the kids were rescued by the board at Syracuse University, and other private donors. So my daughter gets to continue becoming a better musician, in the company of other amazing youth musicians. (If you click on watch video - my kiddo is in the back row, just above the conductor's head).
My daughter also ran track last season. Track is a modified sport (people who aren't in NY might not know what I'm talking about). Because of hard economic times, the modified sports program in our district was going to be cut.
A nice older lady thought this was terrible. She lives in our district and raised a group of boys who played sports and thought something should be done for the kids. She sent her son a newspaper clipping. Her son, who happens to be Alec Baldwin, contacted the fundraisers and said that if we could come up with $50,000, he would donate the last $25,000 needed to keep the program going. I'm not making this up.
The kids have their modified sports program again.
It is really nice when people work for very little money to work for good causes. But it is also really nice when people give big sums of money to those good causes and help them keep going. Because sometimes, whether we like to admit it or not, money is what keeps our non-profits, those that benefit other people and those that benefit our own families, up and running.
Tashmica always says this, but often times people's generosity is amazing. Today I approached a guy who I was told had access to free movie passes, something I needed for an incentive program for our clients. I was a little nervous, but the man said, "How many do you need?" Just like that. I didn't even know what to say. I didn't think I had a proverbial blank check. I hadn't even planned for that. I assumed I was going to have to grovel.
Sometimes when you focus on change, it is easy to demonize things like big business. I just thought I needed to say thank you to all of the business owners who care about their communities enough to fund the great things going on in them.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Team Effort
I have a good friend who is a really, really good mom. (Well, I have quite a few of those....) Ami and I have gotten close over the past year or so, and our families have become friends too. Jeff and I have a lot of affection for Ami's girls, Ellie and Katie. Ellie is one of Anna's BFF's, and the friend she was baptized with. They have a special bond. Watch out - they are gonna change the world:) Katie will be a 5th grader, and Jeff and I volunteered to be 5th grade Sunday School teachers this year. So we get to have Katie (and some other fantastic kids too - we picked a good year!) in our class.
Katie is amazingly smart. She's precocious and full of energy. She is full of hugs and questions and spunk. She endeared herself to us pretty quickly. But I know that Ami and her husband Rob have had lots of challenges because of Katie's diagnosis. I have witnessed their amazing tenacity. They work tirelessly to do what's best for their daughter. Their love and devotion to their family is obvious to everyone who knows them.
Autism spectrum disorders have affected other friends and acquaintances in my life and in yours. You have probably been touched by their stories too. We don't often know how to ease the burdens of friends, or support them in what they do, but sometimes little ways come up.
For those of you who know Ami (or are touched by her story), her family is raising money for Autism awareness and research through the Autism Speaks walk. I asked Ami if I could post this link but she didn't know what I was going to say:) I hope I didn't embarrass her. Ami, I wanted to honor your wonderful family. Love you! Check it out if you would like to contribute a little something to the cause or send the La Ducs some love.
Go Team Katie! :)
Katie is amazingly smart. She's precocious and full of energy. She is full of hugs and questions and spunk. She endeared herself to us pretty quickly. But I know that Ami and her husband Rob have had lots of challenges because of Katie's diagnosis. I have witnessed their amazing tenacity. They work tirelessly to do what's best for their daughter. Their love and devotion to their family is obvious to everyone who knows them.
Autism spectrum disorders have affected other friends and acquaintances in my life and in yours. You have probably been touched by their stories too. We don't often know how to ease the burdens of friends, or support them in what they do, but sometimes little ways come up.
For those of you who know Ami (or are touched by her story), her family is raising money for Autism awareness and research through the Autism Speaks walk. I asked Ami if I could post this link but she didn't know what I was going to say:) I hope I didn't embarrass her. Ami, I wanted to honor your wonderful family. Love you! Check it out if you would like to contribute a little something to the cause or send the La Ducs some love.
Go Team Katie! :)
Monday, September 5, 2011
What a Girl Wants
My daughter just turned 13. In case you missed the news.
She's a great kid. She is relatively level-headed and not much of a drama queen. She is not too grown up.
But she is a teenager now. She wants to walk to the park down the hill with friends. By themselves. She wants to shop in that great big mall all by herself with her friends. She wants a Facebook account. She wants to wear make-up.
The thought of make-up on my daughter used to cause me to feel a little bit sick to my stomach. Too grown-up! She's beautiful the way she is - she does not need make-up! Now she's 13 and I realize that a little mascara is nothing compared to all the creeps in the world who might want to be her friend on Facebook. And all of those frightening nooks and crannies at the mall ... we'll take that eyeshadow in all colors possible, please.
Plus, make-up is fun to girls of a certain age. I have to remember that it used to be for me too. It used to be fun to spend my allowance on a shiny new lipstick. Now I get a q-tip and wrestle every last smudge out of a 10 year old tube of Clinque lip gloss that was the bonus accompanying the foundation I used to wear 10 years ago. I decided to let my daughter experience that same old junior high make-up fun. Besides, at this point, if I say no to make-up, we all know there will be a secret stash in her BFF's locker that she will apply every day before the homeroom bell.
This kid is cautious and moderate. She was chattering to me about the goings on of a recent slumber party where the girls were all doing each other's faces up, and she mentioned that she thought several of her friends wear too much make-up. "It doesn't look good," she confessed, "and when they put it on me, it looked awful."
Today, I arranged for little sister to stay with Dad (imagine not wanting your precocious 6 year old sister who is not good in Target to accompany you on your first cosmetics purchase!) and she and I went to get some new make-up for her. And some junk food for dinner tonight. We girls were having a little party of sorts. She made some nice choices. A pretty palette of shadow for blue eyes, and some mascara of the clear variety. Her friends already purchased her some tinted lip gloss. And she decided that face make-up might clog her pores even more.
After the junk food fest (ohh, bad idea I am so paying for at the moment) and movie, little sis went to bed and she and I pulled out the new make-up and practiced. She looked really nice. Not made-up at all. And then we had a friendly little Just Dance competition. Let's just say ... Can't Touch This! ;) And we talked about all kinds of things that 13 year olds want to talk about.
The decision to bestow my blessing upon the make-up wearing of my eighth grader may come with the kind of judgment I used to get in Meijer when I let my littlest get one of those movie carts. (Grocery store peace was so worth a dollar and some stink eye!) Honestly, I don't think she is learning anything damaging. She knows that I am not of the persuasion that a woman does not walk out of the house with a fully made-up face. She knows that for me, make-up is a sometimes thing. It's for dressing up. Sometimes I put on just a little when I am dressing professionally. I hope I'm sending the message that make-up is not something I or any other female needs to be attractive.
I have mentioned before that in mothering, one constantly reinvents oneself. Or maybe, more accurately, evolves. You learn which battles you want to fight, and that you certainly can't fight them all. You realize that you really can't keep your baby in a bubble. You begin to learn to trust your gut, and your kid who is, amazingly, maturing quite nicely. You learn not to beat yourself up over everything and stop taking yourself so seriously. There is "ideal" and there's "real," and along the way we begin to detect the difference between the two.
I am not a perfect mother. Not even be a great mother. I have a good 13 year old daughter (and a 6 year old one too), though. And tonight was a blast. We weren't eating organic, nutritious, wholesome food. We were rotting out our minds in front of a TV screen. We were indulging in a vain activity that might send the message that girls need to make themselves attractive to others. And we loved every minute of it. Bonding with daughters is so worth selling out and getting some stink eye;)
She's a great kid. She is relatively level-headed and not much of a drama queen. She is not too grown up.
But she is a teenager now. She wants to walk to the park down the hill with friends. By themselves. She wants to shop in that great big mall all by herself with her friends. She wants a Facebook account. She wants to wear make-up.
The thought of make-up on my daughter used to cause me to feel a little bit sick to my stomach. Too grown-up! She's beautiful the way she is - she does not need make-up! Now she's 13 and I realize that a little mascara is nothing compared to all the creeps in the world who might want to be her friend on Facebook. And all of those frightening nooks and crannies at the mall ... we'll take that eyeshadow in all colors possible, please.
Plus, make-up is fun to girls of a certain age. I have to remember that it used to be for me too. It used to be fun to spend my allowance on a shiny new lipstick. Now I get a q-tip and wrestle every last smudge out of a 10 year old tube of Clinque lip gloss that was the bonus accompanying the foundation I used to wear 10 years ago. I decided to let my daughter experience that same old junior high make-up fun. Besides, at this point, if I say no to make-up, we all know there will be a secret stash in her BFF's locker that she will apply every day before the homeroom bell.
This kid is cautious and moderate. She was chattering to me about the goings on of a recent slumber party where the girls were all doing each other's faces up, and she mentioned that she thought several of her friends wear too much make-up. "It doesn't look good," she confessed, "and when they put it on me, it looked awful."
Today, I arranged for little sister to stay with Dad (imagine not wanting your precocious 6 year old sister who is not good in Target to accompany you on your first cosmetics purchase!) and she and I went to get some new make-up for her. And some junk food for dinner tonight. We girls were having a little party of sorts. She made some nice choices. A pretty palette of shadow for blue eyes, and some mascara of the clear variety. Her friends already purchased her some tinted lip gloss. And she decided that face make-up might clog her pores even more.
After the junk food fest (ohh, bad idea I am so paying for at the moment) and movie, little sis went to bed and she and I pulled out the new make-up and practiced. She looked really nice. Not made-up at all. And then we had a friendly little Just Dance competition. Let's just say ... Can't Touch This! ;) And we talked about all kinds of things that 13 year olds want to talk about.
The decision to bestow my blessing upon the make-up wearing of my eighth grader may come with the kind of judgment I used to get in Meijer when I let my littlest get one of those movie carts. (Grocery store peace was so worth a dollar and some stink eye!) Honestly, I don't think she is learning anything damaging. She knows that I am not of the persuasion that a woman does not walk out of the house with a fully made-up face. She knows that for me, make-up is a sometimes thing. It's for dressing up. Sometimes I put on just a little when I am dressing professionally. I hope I'm sending the message that make-up is not something I or any other female needs to be attractive.
I have mentioned before that in mothering, one constantly reinvents oneself. Or maybe, more accurately, evolves. You learn which battles you want to fight, and that you certainly can't fight them all. You realize that you really can't keep your baby in a bubble. You begin to learn to trust your gut, and your kid who is, amazingly, maturing quite nicely. You learn not to beat yourself up over everything and stop taking yourself so seriously. There is "ideal" and there's "real," and along the way we begin to detect the difference between the two.
I am not a perfect mother. Not even be a great mother. I have a good 13 year old daughter (and a 6 year old one too), though. And tonight was a blast. We weren't eating organic, nutritious, wholesome food. We were rotting out our minds in front of a TV screen. We were indulging in a vain activity that might send the message that girls need to make themselves attractive to others. And we loved every minute of it. Bonding with daughters is so worth selling out and getting some stink eye;)
Friday, September 2, 2011
the help
I feel like I need to start with a list of facts. I first read this book a year ago. I have a terrible memory, so I felt like I needed to read it again and I just finished it. I haven't seen the movie yet. And I recently read a couple of articles about the story.
I read the articles before I reread the book. The articles suggested that the story made the white person the crux of the changes. That, not blatantly, but subtly, many movies and books set in the era of civil rights in the south suggest that whites were necessary for the advancement of civil rights.
So I started off with a bit of a bias. Maybe I should have reacted differently to the book the first time I read it? Maybe I was reading from my white perspective and missing the way the story was slanted?
But I changed my mind.
Yes, Skeeter is white. Yes, without her interactions with Elaine Stein in New York, there would not have been a book. Yes, Skeeter starts off with only her own interests in mind. She wants a job in the publishing industry. This seems like an idea a New York publisher likes. She went after it. For herself. Even Minnie bemoans the fact that a white woman is the driving force behind this book.
But that was a different Skeeter than the one that emerged. Aren't we all thankful we've shed our slightly-too-small skins and grown into different and better people? Isn't Aibileen as much the author of the book as Skeeter?
I also started the book thinking, what do I have in common with these women? In our other selections, I've felt that, despite the differences in age, culture, experience, I could quickly connect with something I saw in the female characters. Friendship, motherhood, fear of aging.
At first, I couldn't find that. I didn't grow up in the South. I was neither a maid nor had a maid. The Civil Rights movement has always been a history topic to me. I've never had to call up the kind of courage it took to go against such a strong set of cultural norms.
And then I read: Wasn't that what the point of the book? For women to realize, We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I'd thought.
Isn't that the point for not just women, but people? To find our commonality. To step over lines and embrace the image of Christ we find in everyone?
There are so many things in this book we could talk about. I'd love you to all come over and have a cup of coffee while the kids play. We could fill hours, I expect.
One last thing from me, and then I can't wait to hear what you have to say.
Minnie reflects at one point on all the ways that the cause of civil rights is being taken up around her. She knows that she could participate in sit-ins or marches or boycotts. But she purposefully chooses to tell her story as her act of civil rights. Because, she says, what is important to her is how her daughters are going to be treated by white women.
It's so easy for me to look around at the good other people are doing and then feel guilty about not doing those things too. But the truth is, it's a powerful thing to know yourself. To know what is important to you and then do something about that. Guilt separates us from other people because it leads to resentment and jealousy. But to be confident in what we do and what we value, it seems like that frees us to encourage.
What do you want to talk about?
Thursday, September 1, 2011
"If You Want To Say That ..." Changes Everything
Maybe you'd heard, maybe not, but Maya Angelou recently lamented that a new MLK memorial carried only part of one of his quotes, and the clause that was left out made all of the difference. Leaving off "If you want to say that I was a drum major, say that....." changes the meaning of "I was a drum major for justice, etc." Angelou pointed out that it made Dr. King sound arrogant to leave off the beginning of the sentence, and missed the point of the entire sermon that encased it.
If you know Jeff and me, you can probably guess what we did after stumbling across this information. We listened to the sermon. I think I agree with Maya Angelou.
Feminism and Christianity don't only focus on women and people who say they follow Christ, respectively. At the heart of each is not only a yearning to become the best versions of ourselves, and to seek justice and healing and peace for all.
In that spirit, if you have time, I REALLY (note the total emphasis applied) encourage you to listen to Martin Luther King Jr.'s "Drum Major Instinct" sermon. He is an amazing speaker, and this is a powerful message. It never ceases to surprise me how in the strangest ways a Message that I need to hear finds me at the right moment. As was the case with this. It spoke right to me. From 1968 Dr. King ended up right on my street, to use the phrase of a former minister of mine.
The message is timeless as well as timely. Often on Ourselves, Reinvented we have discussed in some way the Drum Major Instinct. The yearning to lead. To not sit down silently, or pass through life unheard. I believe that we all have something we want to share, a mark to leave on the world. We have heard many women speak about things in this space which they are passionate about, how they are seeking justice and peace. We are just as susceptible to all the distortions such as greed, pride, gossip, envy, and so on. And as Dr. King pointed out that Jesus, as usual, showed us a new way to great accomplishment. Serving. Loving. Dr. King brilliantly concluded that this is available to every person, then.
I love that. Every person is capable of great things. Not through money or degrees or connections but by serving others. Seeking justice. Loving one another. It makes me want to hear more MLK sermons, because I feel as if just now the depths of his dream are becoming understandable to me.
We could change everything.
If you know Jeff and me, you can probably guess what we did after stumbling across this information. We listened to the sermon. I think I agree with Maya Angelou.
Feminism and Christianity don't only focus on women and people who say they follow Christ, respectively. At the heart of each is not only a yearning to become the best versions of ourselves, and to seek justice and healing and peace for all.
In that spirit, if you have time, I REALLY (note the total emphasis applied) encourage you to listen to Martin Luther King Jr.'s "Drum Major Instinct" sermon. He is an amazing speaker, and this is a powerful message. It never ceases to surprise me how in the strangest ways a Message that I need to hear finds me at the right moment. As was the case with this. It spoke right to me. From 1968 Dr. King ended up right on my street, to use the phrase of a former minister of mine.
The message is timeless as well as timely. Often on Ourselves, Reinvented we have discussed in some way the Drum Major Instinct. The yearning to lead. To not sit down silently, or pass through life unheard. I believe that we all have something we want to share, a mark to leave on the world. We have heard many women speak about things in this space which they are passionate about, how they are seeking justice and peace. We are just as susceptible to all the distortions such as greed, pride, gossip, envy, and so on. And as Dr. King pointed out that Jesus, as usual, showed us a new way to great accomplishment. Serving. Loving. Dr. King brilliantly concluded that this is available to every person, then.
I love that. Every person is capable of great things. Not through money or degrees or connections but by serving others. Seeking justice. Loving one another. It makes me want to hear more MLK sermons, because I feel as if just now the depths of his dream are becoming understandable to me.
We could change everything.
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