Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 1

Accidentally leave ornery children in the naughty corner 

long enough for comatosity to set in...

Previous Post: Simone's First Day of Pre-School
Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 2

Simone's First Day of Pre-School

Simone looking smart in her First-Day-of-Pre-School outfit.

*DISCLAIMER:  If the sight of small children crying rips your heart out, then you should probably stop watching the clip at the 3:15 mark.

Previous Post: My Baby Starts Kindergarten!
Next Post: Stuff Mommies Do: Volume 1

My Baby Starts Kindergarten!

I've changed her dirty diapers, tolerated her temper tantrums, and showed her how to dress herself.  Now, another milestone is upon us:  tomorrow, my baby will embark on her first day of kindergarten. We're nervous, excited, and we have no clue of what to expect.

I'm very anxious about preparing her for this new phase of life. Since registering her in June, not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about ways to ease the stress of first day jitters. There has been pre-packing of backpacks, triple checking her big debut ensemble, pencil sharpening and re-sharpening.   And that's just what I've been busying myself with.  

So, what is my baby worried about on the eve of her big day?

If you're playing along at home, and you guessed the absence of a nap-time routine, then you get the gold star for the day. Ironically, neither does Sadia take naps at home, nor does her new school endorse a nap-time policy, so this will be the least of her worries.

We were excited to learn that Sadia's new school arranged a "Meet and Greet" for today. Parents and students were encouraged to attend the event as a way to minimize some first-day stress .


Here is a picture of the family anxiously awaiting Principal Roach's (real name) address incoming Kindergartners and their families.


Sadia introduced herself to Mrs. Smith, her teacher. Meeting her teacher in advance helped to take away some of the mystery of the unexpected.

Sadia was tasked with finding the desk housing a packet, that displayed her name.

After carefully inspecting the names on a few of the packets,

she excitedly found her desk.

This activity helped relax her fears about inclusion, calmed her nerves about 

knowing where to sit, and gave her some independence 

in finding her way around the classroom.

There is something about seeing your name proudly displayed throughout 

the room that gives you the sense of ownership and of belonging.  

Here is Sadia's section of the writing wall.

Immediately, I began to see the calming effect that this function had on Sadia

as she bravely explored other parts of the classroom.

Indeed, she is growing right before our eyes, and the growth is significant.

Dad even helped her read the subtly displayed "Rules Chart".  

Knowing how Mrs. Smith governs her class, helped set behavioral expectations.  My baby found no surprises here, since the experience reinforced the qualities she learns at home.

Even though tomorrow will be filled with lots of excitement and new adventures for my baby, I am confident that she will be ready, because we've done a lot to help her enjoy her first day.

Now....

 .... if only there were some type of orientation to help THIS  big baby accept Sadia's new milestone.

Previous Post: Health Care Reform: It's Ugly, Scary, and Completely Harmless

Health Care Reform: It's Ugly, Scary, and Completely Harmless

I have been completely taken aback by the recent surge of emotional instability exhibited by some objectors to health care reform over the past few weeks. The sheer number of people going off the deep end has really baffled me, and the extent to which some have plunged is alarming.  Dissenters are reaching new lows in this country by the minute.  The last time I saw someone fly off the handle in this vein, was when my four-year old became completely unglued the other day because of something ugly, scary and completely harmless.

I was putting the girls down for a nap yesterday afternoon, when Sadia's routine was broken up by a visit from a June-bug hovering just outside the window beside her bed.   It scared the bejesus out of her, to the extent that she refused to get into bed. 

"AAAAAH!  MOOOOOOM, ITS GOING TO EAT ME!  DON'T LET HIM GET ME!"

She flipped.  The thought of that huge bug remotely near her was paralyzing.  The beastly sound of its wings flapping feverishly in the air gave her the willies.  She's not used to an insect producing such a hideous racket.

I often wonder why people get so frightened by  these beetles.  Perhaps their characteristically clumsy flying makes them appear aggressive, but they're actually very gentle creatures.  Still people often react disproportionately to the beetle's presence.   

Sure, beetles are ugly and scary looking, but the bottom line is they are completely harmless. Sadia's reaction seemed erratic.  She jumped, she screamed, she flailed her arms in hysteria. She went berserk.., over a bug.., on the outside of the window.  Her reaction was excessive, but I hesitate to become too critical.  Her experience awaken my own traumatizing childhood encounter with an insect.

I was thirteen or fourteen-years old.  One night while bathing, I got an unexpected visit from a spider.  I was completely caught off guard after I looked up to find the pest dangling from the ceiling just above my head.  The thing looked hideous and I was afraid of it.  To this day, I still get a good start when I see the hairy creatures.  (If you need additional proof,  just check out my reaction to this guy.)  

My imagination got the best of me.  I entertained notions that the small spider would jump at me and attack me.  Steven Spielberg's 1990's horror movie, "Arachnophobia" contributed to my irrational fear, and as a result seeing this hairy menace gave me visions of spiders overtaking the neighborhood.  Without a second thought, I yelled at the top of my lungs:  

"AAAAAHHHH!  HE'S GOING TO GET ME!  DAD, HELP!  HELP!  SOMEBODY HELP ME!  I bellowed while fighting back a fit of  hyperventilation.

It wasn't long afterwards that my father arrived beating on the door, struck by fear that my life was in mortal danger. And who would blame him; fear only produces more fear.  He turned the door knob eratically.  I locked it earlier to ward off my pesky little sister, who was at that awkward invasion of privacy stage of adolescence.  

"Unlock the door!" came his troubled voice as he frantically pulled on the knob.

"I CAN'T OPEN IT!"  I freaked.  I was so frozen with anxiety that I couldn't move a muscle.

My father stood on the other side of the door faced with a worst case scenario.  His daughter was trapped in a locked room screaming bloody murder, and he was gripped with terror of the unknown.   A  visceral reaction to the madness incited my dad to bust the door off its  hinges, knocking it completely off the wall and onto the bathroom floor.  And in his mind at that moment, the ends justified the means.

As the dust and the crackling and snapping of the door's exposed interior settled, two things had occurred to me: 1) Perhaps I should have specified that the spider was the object of my fear; 2) I had no idea that my reckless actions could lead to such brute force.   

Sadia's knee-jerk reaction to the June-bug this afternoon was immobilizing.  My overdramatic response to the spider over twenty years ago was at best excesive, and dangerous at worst. We behaved in a way that most people would expect of fool-hearty youth.  

In hindsight, our overblown reactions to the bugs, were probably fueled by the illusion of danger rather than the insects themselves. We had been sucked into the drama of it all. My fear was elevated thanks to the magic of Hollywood, and Sadia's fear had been intensified by fantasy born out of youthful imagination.  But whether the threat that both Sadia and I faced was real or imagined, our reactions aren't unique. 

 

Have you ever been afraid of something that you didn't fully understand? What fueled that fear? Lately, our country has been tinged with anxiety surrounding the health care debate.   Fear has reared its ugly head and people have gotten unglued.

I'll use the case of William Kostric as an example.  He brought a loaded handgun to protest a town hall meeting on health care reform.  A bit extravagant, no?  Not convinced, huh? Well, the gun touting protestor also showed off a sign that read, "It is time to water the tree of liberty,"  which is actually a reference to a Thomas Jefferson quote that reads in full: "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of tyrants and patriots."

Loaded guns and handmade signs alluding to violent rebellion is over-the-top and reckless.  Suppose someone else who opposed his views had shown up with a loaded gun as well?  It's not completely implausible, after all carrying a holstered loaded weapon is legal in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  Suppose all of the protestors had arrived bearing arms to demonstrate their disapproval.  Since guns are used primarily to kill, it is safe to assume that the result would have been violent.  Or perhaps that was the intent.  You can read more about his story here.   

While others may seem less demonstrative, their words are no less reckless.  With accusations like murderer  flying around, there's no wonder people are responding with paranoia.  You don't yell "FIRE" in a crowded theatre, because fear motivates people to freak out.  The hysteria results in panic, and panic can be dangerous.

Some have even gone so far as to compare the health insurance reform bill the Hitler's health care plan of the 1930s.  I guess anyone with a Crayola marker and the ability to scribble a Hitler mustache can make this divisive statement. What is supposed to be a strategy meant to show strong conviction, really boils down to just an immature attempt at getting an emotional response.  Lessons learned from genocide should be held in high regard and not trivialized when adapted to health care reform by indiscriminate protestors.

It just doesn't seem like all people are doing is protesting the bill.  There isn't that civil exchange of ideas that America and its citizens are always flaunting in front of  the world.  Agitators have blown this issue way out of proportion, and in so doing have lost credibility. People are shouting, "HE WANTS TO KILL ME! OBAMA WANTS TO KILL ME!" and seemingly without regard for the resulting collateral damage.  

For the most part, some fear is healthy.   It is our most instinctive and primal aversion to things that are new, things that are ugly,  and things that are scary.  To ideas.  But it sometimes gets an unnatural hold on us, darkening and narrowing our perspective. 

In Sadia's case, the June-bug was not the enemy.  In my case, the spider wasn't the obstacle. In the case of Mr. Kostric, the threat of change was palpable.  Fear is the real monster and the path to overcoming fear is sober thinking and understanding.

Previous Post: Stop Trying and Move Maggot
Next Post: My Baby Starts Kindergarten!

Stop Trying and Move Maggot

(Photo found at caica.org)

The poem...

The Sergeant 

drills off-beat maggots on the cadence

yelling, You have fallen off the Pine!

Grab your crutch, lean, and toe the line!

With my kids

I step back, look straight ahead, and try

not to move a muscle.

The change....

I've had a change in perspective over the last few days.  It's been a gradual change; like tick, tick, tick, a-ha!  I've thought a lot about being a mom. Confession. Reflection. Rehashing.  Feeling insecure all over again.  But it ran it's course, so I was "over it".  Then it became clear, like your vision the first moments after you wake. The view comes into sharper focus after you wipe the haze from your eyes.

The process....

As a mother, I get so much unsolicited parenting advice from well-intentioned people. It's as if there's a sign taped to my back that reads: HELP! I'm a Newbie, and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing wrong.

Maybe the fact that I am constantly second-guessing my own decisions makes it seem that other people are more critical of me than they actually are.  But despite the fact that I'm doing my best sometimes I get the sense that I am being nitpicked, and that some people are just being downright nasty. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm in mommy boot camp, and that my insecurities signal that I need a refresher course in basic training.  My naiveté becomes a welcome matt on which nit-pickers perch and bark orders.

The new direction....

In these moments the criticism is debilitating, and all I want is the strength to stand up for myself and say, "Thanks, but no thanks," then set my sights ahead, and begin moving my feet in a more positive direction; down a path that does not involve getting beat-up over imperfection.  From this stand point, I am fearless.  I can tackle any parenting obstacle that comes my way and do it with reassurance that God is able, my best is enough, and I am enough.

HOORAH!

Previous Post: Sadia Says the Darndest Things: Volume 1

Next Post: Health Care Reform: It's Ugly, Scary, and Completely Harmless

Sadia Says the Darndest Things: Volume 1

Sadia had a doctor's appointment a few months back, and the trip involved a updating immunizations. There was no way to mentally prepare Sadia for the 5 shots she would receive. I resorted to bribes: the promise of stickers and candy if she didn't make a big scene in the exam room.

However, I couldn't compete against the five huge needles the nurses had lined up on the examination table, the two nurses that were sent in to hold her down in case she got jumpy, and the less than personable nurse who administered the shots in succession instead of combining some of the inoculations in one needle (which is a common practice). It was as if they were inviting her to have a huge meltdown. I wasn't particularly satisfied with the level of care we had received.

What you'll see in the clip is Sadia's impression after the appointment.  Here is Sadia with her definition for the term doctor's appointment.  Please pay close attention to the way she pronounces the phrase:

It doesn't matter how often I pronounce the words doctor's appointment-- careful to enunciate each syllable for her-- this is what she hears. Sadly, I fear that her interpretation may well become the first of many phrases in her lexicon of health care disappointments.

Previous Post: Sadia Says the Darndest Things
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Sadia Says the Darndest Things

If you have kids, you know that they speak the God-honest truth, and sometimes to a fault (a painfully embarrassing you-don't-have-to-broadcast-the-fact-that-the cashier-looks-really-really-old fault).  They say the first thing that comes to their minds, without mincing any words; they lay it all out for you in no uncertain terms.   No masking.  No sugar coating.  No editing. No faking the funk!  They tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  If you really don't want to know--you probably shouldn't ask a kid.

Sadia is constantly surprising us with her colorful sayings.  I find that with every day, I am growing more and more interested, while at the same time fearful to hear what she'll say next. She does in fact say some of the darndest things.  I have posted a few of her candid moments here and here, but I didn't really feel like my anecdotal writing did these scenarios much justice.

Inspired by an old TV series called Kids Say the Darndest Things, I've decided to record these interactions to give you a glimpse into her insights, her bright young mind, and her innocent heart.  This is an introduction to (hopefully) many more posts, where I attempt to pry into Sadia's beliefs, experiences, and reactions to life.  I treasure these moments because they seem to represent things of little consequence to me, but are close and meaningful to her as she is learning more and more about this big world around her. 

I will affectionately tag these posts:  Sadia Says the Darndest Things.

Previous Post: An Open Letter to Barack Obama
Next Post:  Sadia Says the Darndest Things

An Open Letter to Barack Obama

Dear Barack,

Something unusual has happened to me over the past few days. To be frank: you have been the subject of my dreams. That's not unusual, you might be thinking. Women dream about me all the time.

Yea, well, it's not those kinds of dreams that I'm talking about here. The truth is, I've encountered lots of discrimination this summer and lately the topic of acceptance is always churning in the back of my mind. I went out on a limb and blogged about my deepest insecurities brought on by bigotry here and here, which opened my eyes to a world of self discovery. I love the intentional visibility of your love for Michelle in such a public forum.

Just recently, my need for public acceptance resurfaced when I saw this intimate portrait of you and your gorgeous wife Michelle here:

At first glance, someone might wonder what you could possibly be whispering in Michelle's ear. But a closer look revealed what I believe to be at heart of this candid moment:

As I look at the expression on Michelle's face, immediately something deep inside me was stirred. My first thought was....there is no pretending here. This is the face of a woman that is loved. And desired. And romanticized. And her delight is being broadcast for all to see. Michelle's expression partially resonates with me.  I say partially because while at home I live these emotions daily, but sadly the world lags in embracing black love publicly. 

My husband is the most sentimental man I know.  He is very romantic and I experience great fulfillment through his expressions of love, which begs the question: If I am so fulfilled at home, why am I dreaming about you? 

Well, I am an attractive brother? You might be thinking. Nope. You're fine and all, but that ain't it. Then it must be my power and prestige? No, that isn't it either. Your presidency is so deeply personal to me because in my experience, being dark-skinned in America and being desirable in America are two mutually exclusive ideas. Your publicity puts man's desire for black women at center stage and it flies in the face of conventional thinking.

As a child, I experienced a lot of public ridicule both within the black community, as well as in the mainstream. Even at a tender age, I was always aware that I was black. I don't mean black as in African American. I mean black-black, which is the kind of black that is inexcusable for that grade of desirable folks in America: those who are pretty to a point of pain for young dark-skinned women like me.

When I was a little girl, being called ugly by my peers was an everyday experience, and for others like me who didn't exactly pass the brown paper bag test. At school (dressed up in my nicest clothes, my braids tightened in neat cornrows) no one ever noticed me. Instead, I was relentlessly taunted and called names like Tar Baby or African Booty-Scratcher by the very people whose acceptance I sought (it's a shame what we put each other through).

As a young woman in college, I dated a few black guys. In these relationships I found myself conforming to something that was not quite me: I began straightening my hair; adding long silky extensions to it. But pretending to be that girl wasn't really my thing, and most brothers weren't ready to accept me for who I was, so I shrank from the world and for years went unnoticed.

That is until I met my husband. Teddy loves the black out of me. Through his love, I feel secure in embracing my blackness--bushy hair and all.

He relishes me. I am awakened by his love. And there is nothing more sexy than my man, who romanticizes over wholly me.

So, why have you been the subject of my dreams for the past few days? Because you have displayed before the world what I have experienced in a private context. Your affectionate candor for your lovely wife, somehow quenches my own personal thirst for public acceptance. There is no mistaken; you are completely in love with Michelle--a black woman-- and I have a great appreciation for a man who desires dark-skinned women.

Barack, you are a tall glass of water.

Sincerely,
Dionne Sincire

Previous Post: Low Supply Draws Suspicion
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Low Supply Draws Suspicion

"Mom, are you wearing one of MY Pull-Ups?" 

--Sadia

Previous Post: Tracking Life: Where I Stand
Next Post: An Open Letter to Barack Obama

Tracking Life: Where I stand

Teddy and I watched this incredibly corny movie last night called "The Wedding Weekend". Perhaps its one redeeming quality is the fact that Molly Shannon adds some much needed comedic relief from beginning to end. Also, I was introduced to this little nugget. I wanted to share this neat little chart from the movie in the spirit of accentuating the positive.

David, played by actor David Harbour, introduces this graph after reuniting with his college buddies. The chart plays a significant role in illustrating some much needed perspective on how their lives have progressed (or in some instances regressed) since their college heyday. For those of you who follow my blog, you know that I am a visual person, so I tweeked the chart a bit.

David's chart is based on and 80 year lifespan, which is accurate. In the recent census, the US Census Bureau estimated the average lifespan for Americans to be about 78.1 years. Whereas my chart is based on an 84 year lifespan (I needed a number that was divisible by 12 to make adding the other reference points quick and easy). Also, I added a watermark.

To read the chart, you simply plot your age on the life line, then draw a vertical line down from that reference point. In doing so, three other reference points are created to measure against the 84 years of your life: one year; one hour; and one minute. So, if you're 42 years old, you'd be approaching the summer or midday of your life.

I liked this exercise for two reasons.  One, it provided three unique lenses through which life can be viewed, which raised some interesting questions for me. At this stage in my life, I'm looking at the woman I've become and wondering if I am journeying in the direction that I really want to go. I am questioning whether some of the tentative decisions I've made are becoming permanent before I really want them to.

Two, it made me recognize how grateful I am for God's presence in my life, because the closer I get to God the more obvious the answers to these questions become. The more I learn about God's character, the more I understand my need for His divine guidance. Through this lens of relationship with God, a more important question emerges: Am I willing to entrust my life in the hands of Almighty God, so that I can enjoy the maximum possibilities of my life?

Previous Post: You get on my nerves!
New Post: Low Supply Draws Suspicion

You get on my nerves!

We've read from Rebecca's blog about laughter as a stress reliever, but what if relief were as simple as exercising a little sass?  Maybe a little backtalk can alleviate a real pain in the neck caused by an irritating person.

This evening, Sadia embarked on a scientific study to show whether a smart mouth may serve an important function in relieving pain.  In a modest experiment, she monitored her pain-in-the-butt tolerance while being insolent toward her father.  

Even after her dad repeatedly asked her not to touch anything on the shelves at Blockbuster, Sadia continued to take candy from the rack.  She even put a wrapped Snicker bar in her mouth.  Teddy directed Sadia to stand in front of him with her hands to her side.  

"You get on my nerves," she said aloud in line.  Teddy, infuriated by her temporary insanity, asked her to repeat herself, to which she replied, "I said, you get on my nerves!"  Only this time she added emphasis to the words "said", "get", and "nerves".  Early results from her study seemed favorable; Sadia reported an instant release after mouthing off to her father.

In a related study conducted by her father, results confirm that smart-mouthed children are twice as likely to experience more actual pain in the butt than their well-mannered counterparts.

Previous Post: One Year of Potliquor

Next Post: Tracking Life: Where I Stand

One Year of Potliquor

Quintessence...sounds like a first-class, grade-A, crash course in snobbish jargon 101, doesn't it? Well, it was showcased as today's Word of the Day on Wordia. More importantly, it embodies the theme of my first anniversary post.

Thanks to a nudge from my good friend Diane, I published Potliquor one year ago today. In an effort to capture the essence or substance of my blog, I spent a lot of time reflecting on my first year of internet journaling. In anticipation of this milestone, I looked to my blogger family for ideas.

I stumbled across a post by the Projectionist, which I stalk quite often. It's a tumblelog that draws me because I love being challenged by experiencing something new. I'm also a visual person, so I really like what he does with his "Four Years of Projectionist" post. I am sad that I can't build something like this on Blogger, but his post led me to try and illustrate my journey.

A few months back I was introduced to Wordle through a link on Jen's page. I get excited by all things creative, so I was immediately taken by the chaotic yet artistic possibilities provided on this site. Words seem to take on a meaning of their own in that space. I simply uploaded the text from my blog. The site then used word frequencies to generate a tag cloud that emphasizes the most popular words in the source text.

I wanted to visualize the topical content revealed by this objective art form. What common themes would emerge from my blogs? What insight about the substance of my writing would this rendering point to? Here's the result: The Quintessential One Year Potliquor Post:

(Click to enlarge.)

What stands out to you?

It has been a great journey. Thanks to my blog family and all of my readers for taking it with me!

Previous Post: My Black Belt Ranking System  
Next Post: You get on my nerves!  

My Black Belt Ranking System

A bit unorthodox, I know, but if you're playing along at home here's the gist...

A.  Sandan or third degree black belt: current ranking

B.  Shodan or first degree black belt: ranking before I had Sadia 

C.  Nidan or second degree black belt: ranking before I had Simone 

D.  Yondan or fourth degree black belt: ranking I wish to achieve in the next year

Ironically, little discipline is required to get a black belt these days and anyone that's ovulating is guaranteed to matriculate through the levels fairly quickly.  I am currently accepting applications at my McDojo .  Incidentally, you'll also receive a small box housing a kimono and a cute plastic primary-colored toy with your registration.

Previous Post: Whale Watching Wednesday    

Next Post: One Year of Potliquor

Whale Watching Wednesday

Okay, that's enough alliteration for one day! Teddy pleasantly surprised the family by planning a whale-watching day trip! Our three hour excursion left port from Shoreline Village in Long Beach (insert corny Gilligan's Island theme song here), on Wednesday at 3:30 pm. The weather was gorgeous and I couldn't have asked for a more picturesque backdrop for our family adventure on the high seas. 

The journey began with a rocky start, but I won't blog about the events that almost led to our missing the trip entirely, or the ticket fiasco at the wharf, or Sadia's embarrassing Public Restroom Announcement, or the adorable young couple who delayed our trip, or the meltdowns that nearly ruined our experience, or the gas shortage that could have ended with the family hoofin' it to the nearest gas station. No, I'll save that for another post, so suffice it to say that despite all minor set-backs, Teddy did a wonderful job at pulling it all together!



Here is a photo of the family at the end of the tour as we're getting ready to dock. I am making a more conscientious effort to get family pictures on our trips, because what generally ends up happening is either Teddy or I end up taking all of the pictures and the result is usually this:


Lot's of great pictures of Teddy and Sadia or....


...of me and Simone or....


...of just Simone or....


...of just Sadia, and in many cases...


....of Sadia and the new friends she's made on our trip.

Ironically, we didn't manage to get any really great pictures of whales. I have this huge inferiority complex when it comes to taking pictures on these kinds of nature trips. I so want to get a great shot that captures our whole experience.



However, as you can see I failed miserably. If you can't tell (honestly I wouldn't blame you if you can't) this would be a picture of a blue whale's blow hole...



... and this would be a picture of a blue whale's dorsal fin. I was going to label these pictures for you, but I think that only would have belabored my point. These are BAD pictures.

While there were many sightings of whales on our trip, I was very disappointed not having gotten any good shots of whales. You know the kind of picture I'm talking about, something dramatic like a great blue leaping out of the water doing a gynormous back splash and dousing the boat with salt water (something like what you might find at a theme park). I would have even settled for a sort-of okay shot of a whale ushering up gallons of water onto the bow of the boat with its tail.

At one point I even secretly anticipated this type of manufactured experience with each whale that surfaced. I wasn't the only one with visions of state-of-the-art choreography by these magnificent mammals. There was a collective buzz in the air; a corporate sense of readiness shared by all of the passengers on the boat for a truly breathtaking experience also fueling the frenzie. The suspense was so thick you could cut it with a filet knife. I think at one point I could actual hear the soundtrack for Shamu's "Believe" promo playing in my head.

A bit looney, I know..,but I blame National Geographics with award winning shots like this one:


and Sea World for spectacular killer whale promo's like this one:

for my unrealistic expectations and diminished capacity for taking a half-way decent photo of a blue whale on our trip.

Previous Post: Best Wedding Invitation of ALL Time
Next Post: My Black Belt Ranking System

Best Wedding Invitation of ALL Time

Previous Post: Argiope-aurantiahobia
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Argiope-aurantiahobia

Check out the fancy web action she's got going on in the center.

Imagine that while walking down the street one beautiful summer morning, you approach a low hanging branch, where nestled in between the thickets you find THIS! We stumbled across this hairy black and yellow orbed lady, also known as a Garden Spider, as we were walking home from the park this morning. She was just hanging out in the sun probably trying to snag herself some breakfast. Perhaps the promise of a small bird or a careless rodent peaked her appetite enough to lure her out of the shadows and into the sun.

I might be exaggerating about spidey here's breakfast menu, but I don't want to understate her size.   My picture doesn't really do her justice, so to give you some idea of the scale of this thing, picture her abdomen ranging close in length and width to your thumb from tip to the first joint. Her legs stretch out to about the width of a toddler's palm. I read online that female Garden Spiders can grow up to 3 inches in diameter (with legs included). Since males are thin-bodied, I'm assuming our find is female cuz baby's got curves!

While I was taking this picture, I was hemmed in at the hip and feet by Sadia's arms and legs. Meanwhile, her nails dug and clawed into my skin. Her tacit signals clearly pointed to beating a hasty retreat in the opposite direction. Truth be told, my imagination did start to get away from me as I was taking this picture. I kept envisioning this black and hairy beast jumping out at me and giving me the heebeegeebees, as I crept in closer to the shrub where she hung. Even though Wikipedia deems her completely harmless, judging by her size and over all creepiness I can see why these guys can't catch a break in popular media outlets.

Previous Post: Pouring Part 1: Conjuring Newfangled Things!
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Pouring Part 1: Conjuring Newfangled Things!

A few weeks ago, I blogged about our experience with inadequate childcare, which prompted a summer of my pouring into the girls. You can read more about that here. One aspect of the pouring involves reigniting their playful nature. So, I thought what better way to add some levity, than to indulge them in silly childhood clapping games! Now, this little song is a bit different from the way I remember singing it when I was their age, but I think we accomplished our goal none-the-less.

Remember those hand games we used to play as kids? You and your girlfriends or-- if you were as fortunate as I was-- your sisters would sing a song accompanied by rhythmic clapping and hand gestures.  For example, here the girls are singing a novel chant that goes:  Down, down, baby;  I can do karate. Down, down, baby; I can call my mommy.  Down, down, baby; I can eat salami.  Oops!  I'm sorry.  I'm not sorry.  Peek-a-peek-a-boo!  Peek-a-peek-a-boo!

These silly hand games have a way of making them revisit their silliness in ways that nothing else can.  They can't keep from giggling when playing these games.  It doesn't matter that the songs they chant don't make any sense or that they butcher the rhythm.  There are no age or ethnic pre-requisites. In this space of innocence all that matters is that everyone is laughing and having fun! I think everybody should do this every once in a while with their kids.

So, take a walk down memory lane with your kids today. Sing some nonsensical song from childhood. Laugh! Clap! Recite away, as loud as you can or as fast as your hands can slap! And when you realize that you've just chanted a bunch of stuff that makes absolutely no sense at all, sing some more nonsense! Pat your thighs, touch the ground, and conjure some other newfangled thing!

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Where God Left His Shoes

I watched Where God Left His Shoes last night.  It's about a young family that gets evicted from their apartment in New York at Christmas time.  They have nowhere else to go but a homeless shelter.  It is an awesome portrayal of family sticking together during the darkest time in their lives and it touched my soul. This movie redefines family survival in this world , and reminds me how suffering--while universal--can also be relative.  This isn't a feel good movie. It cleverly side-steps your typical Hollywood ending and I highly recommend it to everyone.   I'd like to know your take on the movie. Share your thoughts.

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Children Gone Fishing....

The Chinese proverb goes:  Give a man a fish and you will feed him for a day. Teach him how to fish and you will feed him for a lifetime.  Well, a small altercation between the girls this afternoon seemed to imply that I could add a parental twist to update this old expression-- saying something like: Give your children fish and you will feed them for a day.  Give them time to fish and you will give them the ability to sustain long-term relationships exercised in love through reconciling sibling fish, while simultaneously saving mommy fish's energy by ensuring that the fish habitat remains ordered.  Or something like that.  I won't butcher the saying any further, but my experience this afternoon amounted to a lesson in fishing.

There was lots of housework waiting for me after a busy 4th of July weekend.  Laundry was first on my list of priorities.  So, I purposed to plop the girls in front of the TV ,to nourish them with a "Curious George" DVD, then --and with great determination-- to vanish up the stairs, and tackle the mountain of laundry flowing over the sides of the dirty clothes hamper.  About 15 minutes into my chore, I overheard a ruckus brewing between the girls downstairs.  

And then a few seconds later, a "MOM..., MOOOOOOOOOOOM????!!!" bounced off the walls of our narrow stairway.  Simone's cries for intervention grew louder and louder.  My first instinct was to plunge down the stairs to investigate the matter.  However, in that moment I experienced a hesitation kindled by what I can only describe as the Holy Spirit guiding me.  My repose could be measured by the hunched-over position of my spine as I eavesdropping on their candid argument. 

Normally, in a situation like this one I want to race down the stairs in an effort to avoid a more serious altercation, which is generally born out of these types of tiffs between the girls.  An overwhelming burst of adrenaline fuels the need to uphold a sense of order in the house. Certainly, ripples of discord is a true enemy to order in our small pond.  For this reason, I like to exercise a routine of rules reinforcement, followed by an allocation of consequences, and then wrap it all up with lots of love.  Yet in spite of this, I remained still.., and at the top of the stairs..,  and poised to listen.   

Ironically, amidst the disharmony there I found myself perched and a calm fell over me. A few minutes later there was an exchange of words between the girls, and then quietness. The arguing stopped, and almost immediately I heard God's voice clearly speaking to me.  His words were punctuated by a peace that overcame the whole house and it was literally fish food for my soul.  

He said, sometimes what's needed is not exacting judicial scrutiny, but rather an opportunity for the girls to work out their own differences.  In other words, I don't always have to be the instrument for conflict resolution.  It didn't matter who instigated the fight or whether rules were enforced (as is the status quo).  Rather what was most important was that they had an opportunity to work out their disagreement without my intervention. This idea seems so rudimentary as I journal about it now, but weighing it amidst the girls' dispute was a tough worm to swallow.

Reflecting over the matter, I can't say for sure what the girls discussed in the brief exchange that preceded the quiet, but of this I am certain:  Whatever transpired between them must of required a lot of love expressed through forgiveness, which is a learned quality.  Sadly, I don't often allow the girls either space or opportunity to practice what they've learned while working out their own differences.  I get so caught up in giving them fish, that I never afford them the opportunity to practice fishing by themselves.

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