New Rules

“Were you scared?” I asked her.

“Well, maybe a little. But the good news is, I thought, is that I was in the computer room, which is waaaaaaaay at the back of the school, and I figured that if anyone got into the school, he probably wouldn’t get all the way back to us there, so we were probably fine.” 

She went on: “We hid under the computer tables, which was gross because people stick their gum under there. So we had to lie there and stare at old gum. So I pulled out a book and started to read so I wouldn’t have to stare at the gum.” 

And a little later: “My teacher didn’t get underneath anything though. She just kept walking around. Shouldn’t she be safe too?”

I agreed with her that yes, her teacher should be safe too.

This is the conversation I had with my daughter recently, after her school experienced a lock down. The episode was brief: the lockdown was triggered not by anything dangerous happening at the school but by police activity in the neighborhood. It was a routine precautionary procedure, and was resolved quickly. However, the automatic text that went out to families only said: Lockdown at XX School. Receiving that text was anything but routine.

Tallulah is 12. When I was twelve, I was thinking about music, goofing around with my friends, and circling the clothes I liked in catalogues. I was not calculating the likelihood that I would get shot at school or picturing in my head what might happen to my teacher if she didn’t duck down under the tables with me, my classmates, and the old wads of gum.

I wish she didn’t have to think like that. I wish this were not normal for her. She was incredibly matter of fact when she was describing her predictions that a gunman wouldn’t make it to where she was huddled underneath the gum. That hurt a little to hear.

Sometimes, I feel a little hopeless about the gun debate in our country. It seems so obvious to me, a bleeding heart liberal, that the answer is gun control, but I know that for many conservatives the answer is more guns. It feels like never the twain shall meet, and we will only ever be angry with each other for not seeing the world the way we do. The problem with the gun debate is the same problem we are having with every policy debate: we cannot listen to the people on the other side. We demonize the people on the other side. That is what needs to stop.

I think we need a massive, communal reset, with new rules. Here are a few suggestions:

• Don’t say anything mean about the people you disagree with.
• Talk to people you disagree with. Ask a minimum of 10 questions to learn more about them personally and about why they hold certain views.
• If you’ve never talked with someone on the other side of an opinion you hold strongly, see if you can change that.
• If you have never met an immigrant, a Muslim, a rural voter, a gun rights enthusiast, a tax and spend liberal, a trickle down conservative, or anyone else you think of as “other,” if you’ve never tried to understand their point of view, put that on your bucket list instead of a trip to Bali. Or maybe in addition to.

What makes a difference in any person’s life? What makes a difference in yours? Relationships. Connection. Community. Expression. Being known. Those are the things that transform individual people, individual hearts. Those are the things that make us peaceful. That is where every policy debate needs to begin, with seeking community and connection. We may not agree (um…we definitely don’t agree). But we can still talk to each other, hear each other’s stories, and put ourselves in each other’s shoes. I think that’s what’s missing in our civic lives these days.

These are just random, somewhat weary thoughts as I think about the Tree of Life and the grocery store in Kentucky, and I worry about what is happening all around me. My daughter is safe, for now; but I’m scared that tomorrow, or the next day, or next year, she won’t be. I’m trying not to lose faith in this country, but it’s hard. 

Who wants to talk? Who wants to listen?

Kelly Corrigan, on illness

Kelly Corrigan has done it again: written something that resonates loudly and beautifully.

Take a moment to click through and read what she has to say about illness and what it wants from us.  She has indeed made herself useful with her words:

Click here to continue reading.

Thank you Kelly!

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Words To Live By

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Good Policy

Grandparents have all the good ideas.

Little T emerged from Papa's studio on Sunday, came over to me with a stumped look on her face, put her hands out to her sides with the palms facing up and announced:

Papa doesn't answer WHY questions!

And off she went.

Do you know what this means?  It means he found the off button!

Unfortunately, it's a single user button.

Darn.

* * *

ps: I did ask her if she asked him why.  She just looked at me like "Really?" and walked away disgusted.

7 Quick Takes: Volume 50

Happy Friday, happy day
Thanks for stopping here to play.

Read a post, or read a few
Won't you leave a comment, too?

Visit our host, the lovely Jen,
Click on some links, now and again.

Here are my 7 Quick Takes.
Thus endeth my turn at being Shakes.

~1~

I am totally prepared for Lent this year: I have created detailed, catalogued lists for my family members of all the ways they can be better people.

What, isn't that the whole point?

OK, OK, so that's not the point. It's a temptation, though, to pick things for my kids to do or to give up. It's pure fantasy to pick things for my husband to do or give up. But really, what I want is to mark the season, give it its due. So I will begin Lent 2012 with a few words from my spiritual mentor:

“To keep united to God through the suffering Humanity of His son–that is the aim of Lent. “— Dorothy Day

Suffering is unpleasant business. It's ugly, difficult, hurtful. Usually, we avoid such stuff. But we do suffer. Everyone does. Listen to the news each day, and you'll find a surfeit of suffering. Watch what happens on the school yard and you'll see some there, too. Consider your family, under your roof or far flung, and I think not one of us can do that without recognizing a painful experience or two or several.

It is around us. There is something about Lent that invites us to sit with the suffering, to acknowledge and maybe even embrace it, to pay attention to what it happening around us and to respond with our humanity. So perhaps the point of giving something up is to get rid of the distractions that keep us from really seeing things around us.

As vague as this is, and even though I'm not entirely sure how this will play out in the next 40 days, my Lenten goal is to weed out the distractions in my life so that I can see the people I love ever more clearly and can respond to them out of greater and greater love.

That's on page 7, highlighted in gold, of the catalogued list I made for the kids, too, right after Do Your Darn Chores The Way You Are Supposed To.

That wasn't a very quick Quick Take. Sorry.

~2~

I can't believe I'm going to admit to this, but here goes. I have posted before about how the latch on my washing machine broke. I even had a cute little quiz about it. I discovered a solution that did not require a repairman to come into my home.

Well, the other day, I decided I was tired of hoisting weights on and off the top of my washer just to make the damn thing run and I finally called a friend of ours who does "fix it" jobs. He's helped us before. He was here for maybe half and hour and charged me a measly $25 bucks, and now my washing machine works without the help of two large coffee table books and two extremely heavy landscaping rocks.

Now for the part I can't quite believe and don't want to face. I just looked up, on my blog, the post in which I wrote about the washer breaking in the first place. It was late May. I have been lifting weights for eight and half months, multiple times a day, just for clean socks and chonies. And all it took was a phone call and $25 to fix it.

When. Will. I. Learn. That 90% of the time, things are much easier than I fear they are going to be?

What have you waited far too long to take care of? Come on: public embarrassment loves company.

~3~

Another confession: I hate Target. I hate shopping at Target. I hate the lights, the smells, the noises, the endcaps, and the shoe department. And I want to know why I feel like the only woman in America who harbors such antipathy.

But I do need to go there today to buy a bunch of stuff. I need a Target mantra to get me through the experience. Any suggestions?

~4~

Two of my daughters got pink eye last week. It was gross. Pink eye has got to be one of the icky-est parenting things ever.

Did I give them the appropriate amount of love and sympathy? I don't think I did.

Here's how I know. I got it this week. And let me tell you, if I had known how utterly miserable pink eye is, I would have been a whole lot nicer to them.

This makes me wonder how many other things they go through that I don't fully empathize with. And it gives me a renewed sense of appreciation for how well they do under icky circumstances. AND it makes me feel like a very large wimp, because I just want to stamp my feet and whine about how unfair it is that I got this stupid ickiness in the first place. They are a lot more mature than I am!

~5~

Baby birdies update: A few days ago, I posted about discovering a hummingbird nest in our garden. Well, after we were gone all day on Monday, my son went out to the backyard to check on the babies, and they were gone. The nest was knocked down on the ground, but completely intact. 

So we are left to wonder. Is it more likely that the birds got big enough to fly, launched themselves out of the nest and knocked it to the ground in the process? Or is it more likely that a cat got to them? The nest did not look roughed up or harmed in any way. The kids were fearing the worst...but then we all used our brains and decided that perhaps this is just the way of nests and birds...because if the nests didn't fall out of the trees after they were no longer needed, there sure would be a lot of empty nests out there. 

Any bird experts out there who might shed some light on this issue for us?

~6~

Nothing makes me feel more like a cliche than parenting a teenager.

Am I really saying things like "You can stay in the band if you keep your grades up" and "This is the time in your life to learn how to do things you don't want to do, so that later on you have more choices about what you can do" and "It's a question of priorities. If you want to be treated like an older kid, you have to act like one, and not like a 6 year old."

Ai-yi-yi. Much as my teenager is trashing about with his newfound teenagerliness, I am kicking and screaming my way into being the parent of a teenager.

When do I get to stop speaking in platitudes?

~7~

Speaking of teenagers, I saw this gem on Facebook a few weeks ago. To this father, whoever you are, I salute you and I thank you and I want to be just like you when I finally grow up into my Big Parent Shoes.

* * *

Genius

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7 Quick Takes: Volume 35

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Dickens must have been talking about Fridays with small children.

Here are my Quick Takes for today. Please visit the original 7 Quick Takes and visit the links to other people participating today.

~1~

Sissi (pronounced See-See) came to my daughter's soccer camp today and ran the morning session. She was wonderful: playful and energetic with the girls on the field, and generous with her time afterwards, as they asked her to pose for endless pictures and sign an endless parade of jerseys, back packs, soccer balls, cleats, and even ipods. What a treat!

That's how we roll. We hob nob with International Soccer Stars.

~2~

I have up to now avoided one of the true milestones of parenting: the sleepover. My kids have gone on many of them, but I've never hosted one. I'm a slacker. Tomorrow night, all of that will change, as I welcome 8 or 9 little girls into my home for fun and frivolity.

I. Am. Terrified.

I just keep breathing and telling myself: "Pizza and a movie: how hard can it be?"

How scared am I to figure out the answer to that question? Very.

~3~

I need one of those Kill Your Television bumper stickers. Actually, I need several, so I can plaster them on our cars, my kids' bedroom doors, the refrigerator, and maybe a forehead or two.

Because when I left the house yesterday? These things did not get done to my liking:

After I went to all the trouble to write a nice, pretty list, the least they could have done was follow my instructions. Instead, I came home to a messy kitchen, dog poop in the garden, and only one load of laundry folded. (And no, they are not budding circus performers; juggling is a soccer thing.)

Had I added "watch mindless television" to that list, at least their completion percentage would have gone up.

Lists. I have become my father.

~4~

My son is planning to apply to the Oakland School for the Arts next year. OSA is a free, public charter school, but students must apply and be accepted in their chosen area of arts. Now, I may be biased, but if he is not accepted...

...they need to have their heads examined.

~5~

We have been revisiting the words of legendary coach John Wooden in our house lately, in order to teach our kids always to do their best and to see sports as metaphor for life. Here are some of my favorites:

Talent is God given. Be humble. Fame is man-given. Be grateful. Conceit is self-given. Be careful.

You can’t live a perfect day until you do something for someone who will never be able to repay you.

The true test of a man’s character is what he does when no one is watching.

Make every day your masterpiece.

Google "John Wooden Quotes" for more gems.

~6~

Recommended reading with little ones: Bink and Gollie, by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee, and illustrated by Tony Fucile. We -- Lady E, Little T, and I -- have read this book a kajillion times and we aren't tired of it yet. Check it out!

~7~

And here's a little cautionary tale for all you grandparents out there. Lady E shared this with me the other day:

Just so you know, they will rat you out.

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My New Mantra

Mine was not an athletic childhood.

I played a little basketball, and my most vivid memory of that experience is that there were not enough black uniforms for all the girls on the team, so I wore a black leotard instead. That was fine with me.

I played a little soccer, and have no vivid memories of that whatsoever.

I played some Little League baseball, and I remember two things. First, my sister and I were on the team with our two best buddies, twins Jennifer and Heather. The four of us had a great time, mostly centered around eating as much candy as possible without getting caught.

And second, I remember my hit. Yes, my one hit. It was near the end of the season, might even have been the very last game, and I was sick and tired of striking out. My skinny little 8 year old self decided I was hittin' that ball, no matter what. At my next at bat, I stood there thinking about all the batting advice I'd ever heard, about watching and waiting for the right pitch, keeping my eye on the ball, having the proper stance and swing. I swung and I missed. Twice. And then a ball was coming towards me, way too high, not in my strike zone at all, and in a split second, I decided I didn't give a hoot, I was going to hit that thing. So I raised the bat straight over my head, elbows pointing to heaven, and karate chopped with everything I had. I hit the ball and it was wonderful. Terrible, awful form, the very antithesis of perfect execution, but I made contact. Running to first base was like flying. In my decidedly unreliable memory, the crowd went wild, and I felt like a star.

Alas, it ended there. I didn't play Little League the next season, and I didn't care. I could eat candy with Jennifer and Heather any old place, and I just wasn't a natural athlete.

My daughters, on the other hand, are competitors. All five of my kids are already athletes, with four of them playing soccer and Little T playing at life, which for her is pretty much a contact sport she intends to win.

What I love about sports is how much it can teach a kid about life in general. And not having experienced this as a child, it's like I'm figuring out sport for the first time. Soccer provides so many fantastic opportunities for us to talk to the kids about life, hard work, devotion, team-work, committment, sportsmanship -- you name it and we've talked about it in the context of sport. (We tease Rick that he can make soccer a metaphor for anything. But it's true, he can because it is.)

And it is a particular joy to watch my girls play, and play hard. I love that they know what it's like to be strong and aggressive, to challenge themselves physically. I love that they will grow up with this as a norm, as something as natural to them as the endless artwork they create at the dining room table. And I love watching them play.

The other day, we got the girls some t-shirts that capture their love of sports. Lola made her own version at the dining room table that night:

Isn't that fantastic?

It's perfect for my girls, but it turns out it's perfect for so much more as well! A day or so after we got the shirts and Lola made the poster, I was talking with a friend about a difficult conversation she needed to have with a guy (see what you put us through dudes?), and out of my mouth came the perfect advice: "Play like a girl!" In other words, be tough, because you know you are.

So it turns out that my daughter's t-shirts are teaching me a thing or two about life.

Don't want to tackle my to-do list?

Feeling daunted by raising my teenager?

Unsure how to get that next project done?

Lacking a little confidence?

Play like a girl, Mama Monica! Get in there and play hard! You can do it! Take 'em down! (Sometimes, that last one is truly necessary.) I think we big girls need to make that our new mantra, our new rallying cry. It's all in there, all the courage and confidence anyone could ever need.

Looks like I need to go back to Target and see if they make those shirts in adult sizes.

* * *

Sad and Wrong on So Many Levels

We are a great and powerful country.

We have a grand and proud history.

We stand for human dignity.

We stand for freedom.

Apparently, that freedom includes the freedom to do really, insanely stupid things in the name of capitalism. Exhibit A:

Further evidence that maybe we should all adopt the following motto: Just because you can do it doesn't mean it's a good idea.

I'm sorry I stumbled on this because now I can't get back that 60 seconds of my life; I thought I'd share with you all so I wouldn't have to suffer alone.

* * *

Wise Words for 2011

"Consult not your fears

but your hopes and your dreams.

Think not about your frustrations,

but about your unfulfilled potential.

Concern yourself not with what

you tried and failed in,

but with what it is still possible

for you to do."

–Pope John XXIII

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