Well, if today is the 25th anniversary of the Challenger exploding, I'm guessing Monday or Tuesday is the anniversary of all the fifth graders asking one another, "What does NASA stand for?" and everyone answering, "Need Another Seven Astronauts".
Makes me wonder what Jake's first in-school live-televised disaster will be and how the kids will deal.
1.28.2011
1.22.2011
resolutions
My son has a rather unique
idea of
relationship with
theory regarding
God.
I don't contradict anything he believes to be true about God. I don't tell him anything I believe to be true about God. We don't go to church together, nor do we read the Bible or the Torah or the Koran together.
But he has this
idea of
relationship with
theory regarding
God.
He tells me about God. About what God tells him. About what he feels in his heart to be the truth. And I listen.
I never contradict him. Or tell him what other people believe. All I ask is that he shares his beliefs with me when he feels moved to do so and request that if anyone tells him that what he believes is false that he tell them to go shove it. In gentler terms, of course. But I don't want him to feel that what he thinks that God is telling him is wrong. Because the stuff he says God tells him? Is pretty damned mindblowing. Or, not damned. I think that's probably a poor word choice.
Jacob's basic theory is that God is the energy present in the whole wide universe. The energy that our souls are made of, the energy that makes the grass grow, the energy that keeps the planets spinning and the universe expanding. And here on Earth, every thing that we do and feel contributes to the energy that is God. And if we do and feel good things, God is able to send good energy back our way. If we do and feel shitty things, the shittiness comes back to us. In order for there to be a healthy and loving Earth, there has to be a healthy and loving God. In order for there to be a healthy and loving God, there has to be a healthy and loving Earth. Each one makes the other.
He uses those words to describe it, and he shows what he means by linking his hands in a twisty yin yang ball thing.
He came up with that- rather- "God told him that". A little over a year ago. When he was three.
And I think it's genius. So that's what God is in our house. Because it's
better than
as sensible as
just as believable as
anything I've ever heard regarding the subject.
Jake has a bevy of ways to talk to God. He says that God talks directly to him, but there are also a few "dead people" who are go-betweens. Sometimes Jake calls them "spirits" or "ghosts" or "angels", but sometimes they are just "the dead people". When I asked who they were, he said that they (and I quote) "aren't people exactly, but voices that make up his subconcisous", that "it's easiest to hear God when you listen with your subconscious so all the other stuff in the world doesn't get in the way".
Okay.
Sure.
Run with it.
Why not?
Last week Jake waited up late for me to come home from rehearsal and asked me to come up to his room. He asked me to sit down and he held my hands and he said that we have to start taking excellent care of each other and the people around us because things are going to get real weird because God is dead.
Then he gave me a hug and told me that things are going to be okay. That everything always turns out to be okay, but sometimes it takes a really long time for things to work out.
He explained to me the next day that the dead people told him that God isn't totally dead, but the good parts of him are dying. That there wasn't enough love in the world and people aren't taking care of others both inside and outside of their families and we all aren't taking care of nature and the energy that we are making on Earth is destroying the energy that makes God. And once that energy turns bad, things get really scary here. And up there. Out there. Where ever.
The dead people told him that we can turn things around by being kind to one another and taking care of the Earth. That we can make better energy here and with God by doing and feeling better things. And they would appreciate if we helped out making the Godenergy a more pleasant place to be, because that's where a person's energy goes after we die.
So.
Whether you prescribe to the testament of Jacob or not, maybe do what you can to make things a little bit better?
Because my poor boy's heart is broken over all this.
And I don't know what to tell him to make it all better.
Whether it's the word of God or the overactive imagination of a little boy, it seems like a good thing for us all to work on.
idea of
relationship with
theory regarding
God.
I don't contradict anything he believes to be true about God. I don't tell him anything I believe to be true about God. We don't go to church together, nor do we read the Bible or the Torah or the Koran together.
But he has this
idea of
relationship with
theory regarding
God.
He tells me about God. About what God tells him. About what he feels in his heart to be the truth. And I listen.
I never contradict him. Or tell him what other people believe. All I ask is that he shares his beliefs with me when he feels moved to do so and request that if anyone tells him that what he believes is false that he tell them to go shove it. In gentler terms, of course. But I don't want him to feel that what he thinks that God is telling him is wrong. Because the stuff he says God tells him? Is pretty damned mindblowing. Or, not damned. I think that's probably a poor word choice.
Jacob's basic theory is that God is the energy present in the whole wide universe. The energy that our souls are made of, the energy that makes the grass grow, the energy that keeps the planets spinning and the universe expanding. And here on Earth, every thing that we do and feel contributes to the energy that is God. And if we do and feel good things, God is able to send good energy back our way. If we do and feel shitty things, the shittiness comes back to us. In order for there to be a healthy and loving Earth, there has to be a healthy and loving God. In order for there to be a healthy and loving God, there has to be a healthy and loving Earth. Each one makes the other.
He uses those words to describe it, and he shows what he means by linking his hands in a twisty yin yang ball thing.
He came up with that- rather- "God told him that". A little over a year ago. When he was three.
And I think it's genius. So that's what God is in our house. Because it's
better than
as sensible as
just as believable as
anything I've ever heard regarding the subject.
Jake has a bevy of ways to talk to God. He says that God talks directly to him, but there are also a few "dead people" who are go-betweens. Sometimes Jake calls them "spirits" or "ghosts" or "angels", but sometimes they are just "the dead people". When I asked who they were, he said that they (and I quote) "aren't people exactly, but voices that make up his subconcisous", that "it's easiest to hear God when you listen with your subconscious so all the other stuff in the world doesn't get in the way".
Okay.
Sure.
Run with it.
Why not?
Last week Jake waited up late for me to come home from rehearsal and asked me to come up to his room. He asked me to sit down and he held my hands and he said that we have to start taking excellent care of each other and the people around us because things are going to get real weird because God is dead.
Then he gave me a hug and told me that things are going to be okay. That everything always turns out to be okay, but sometimes it takes a really long time for things to work out.
He explained to me the next day that the dead people told him that God isn't totally dead, but the good parts of him are dying. That there wasn't enough love in the world and people aren't taking care of others both inside and outside of their families and we all aren't taking care of nature and the energy that we are making on Earth is destroying the energy that makes God. And once that energy turns bad, things get really scary here. And up there. Out there. Where ever.
The dead people told him that we can turn things around by being kind to one another and taking care of the Earth. That we can make better energy here and with God by doing and feeling better things. And they would appreciate if we helped out making the Godenergy a more pleasant place to be, because that's where a person's energy goes after we die.
So.
Whether you prescribe to the testament of Jacob or not, maybe do what you can to make things a little bit better?
Because my poor boy's heart is broken over all this.
And I don't know what to tell him to make it all better.
Whether it's the word of God or the overactive imagination of a little boy, it seems like a good thing for us all to work on.
1.14.2011
I am in flux.
Flux at work.
Flux of the body.
Flux with the child going to school this week.
The only thing that isn't in flux is my hometime and I want to curl up and hibernate and wait for everything to settle down and work itself out.
We got new doors yesterday. Now that they are in I feel comfortable telling you that our back door has been held shut by various implements such as trashbags, recycling bins, Coleman coolers for the past year or so. It was so bad that the lock didn't work and the catch didn't catch and if a bird flapped it's wings the sheer force would blow the door right open. It wasn't even a real exterior door. It was something that you'd put in a breezeway or veranda or something. It was probably 40 years old. It was bad. Ugly. Not safe.
So, we got one of those industrial strength security doors and a big old super-insulated steel door that I would call a "man-door" but that just seems to be a term local to where I grew up because no one says "man-door" out here in these parts and a new super-insulated steel door for the front that I wouldn't call a "man-door" because it's sort of pretty with it's four little cut-out windows up top.
Staying home while the men come in to do the work is always uncomfortable for me. The just walk in and out of the house with their big old boots and tools and stuff and I don't know whether to look up and smile or just ignore them or what. I go for the ignore, and then ask them if they need anything when they seem to be slowing down.
Then there's the matter of the tip. I always tip. Especially when it involves strange men who have access to the keys to my house.
$25 in exchange for not raping me and leaving with my trust that they aren't coming back unless I need them and my assumption that they didn't take anything while they were here.
Maybe it would have been $30 if the one didn't pee on the seat (I know it was him because I cleaned the seat before they got there) and the other didn't put his used coffee spoon down on the counter rather than on the napkin I provided expressly for that purpose. He could have at least licked the bottom like I did that morning. Right before I stuck it back in the loop on the sugar bowl, hours before he used it.
What?
In an effort to feel that Yes! I am capable of making a difference in the world! And every little thing I do matters! I'm reading The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. I've only recently ever even heard of Malcolm Gladwell and I haven't read any of this other stuff, but this is pretty interesting. Being a connector and collector of people myself it's fun to read about what someone else has to say on the subject. Who knew being that was an actual concept? Who doesn't love something that makes them feel self-important?
I'm on the fence about buying a Kindle/Nook/whatever. I think it's definitely a space saver, and a paper saver, but I don't love buying one more thing that will end up in a landfill forever once it's done for. I mean, paper at least recycles.
But is all the energy required to make and distribute a paper book multiplied by all the books I read greater than the manufacturing and recharging and disposal of something the size of a scientific calculator?
And I like passing my books along to someone else after I'm finished. Is there a pass-along option on these things?
I have my own tiny laptop, and I'm sure that I can download the free reader apps, but I don't lug my netbook around with me. Battery life isn't very long and I get a headache from the screen.
This is why my life is so hard.
This is why I find myself in various stages of flux.
Because nothing is ever simple.
Flux at work.
Flux of the body.
Flux with the child going to school this week.
The only thing that isn't in flux is my hometime and I want to curl up and hibernate and wait for everything to settle down and work itself out.
We got new doors yesterday. Now that they are in I feel comfortable telling you that our back door has been held shut by various implements such as trashbags, recycling bins, Coleman coolers for the past year or so. It was so bad that the lock didn't work and the catch didn't catch and if a bird flapped it's wings the sheer force would blow the door right open. It wasn't even a real exterior door. It was something that you'd put in a breezeway or veranda or something. It was probably 40 years old. It was bad. Ugly. Not safe.
So, we got one of those industrial strength security doors and a big old super-insulated steel door that I would call a "man-door" but that just seems to be a term local to where I grew up because no one says "man-door" out here in these parts and a new super-insulated steel door for the front that I wouldn't call a "man-door" because it's sort of pretty with it's four little cut-out windows up top.
Staying home while the men come in to do the work is always uncomfortable for me. The just walk in and out of the house with their big old boots and tools and stuff and I don't know whether to look up and smile or just ignore them or what. I go for the ignore, and then ask them if they need anything when they seem to be slowing down.
Then there's the matter of the tip. I always tip. Especially when it involves strange men who have access to the keys to my house.
$25 in exchange for not raping me and leaving with my trust that they aren't coming back unless I need them and my assumption that they didn't take anything while they were here.
Maybe it would have been $30 if the one didn't pee on the seat (I know it was him because I cleaned the seat before they got there) and the other didn't put his used coffee spoon down on the counter rather than on the napkin I provided expressly for that purpose. He could have at least licked the bottom like I did that morning. Right before I stuck it back in the loop on the sugar bowl, hours before he used it.
What?
***
Jake is loving school by the way. Today is pool day, and I'm hoping it makes him tired and cuddly this evening. He's done a bit of regressing, as I expected he would. It makes bedtime a bit trying, but it really isn't so bad. He sticks his thumb in his mouth now. He was never a thumb sucker ever before in his whole life. He whines. But hey, he was doing his fair share of that before school. The best part is that when he goes to sleep he wants to "sleep on my belly" which I secretly love. So, just about every night this week he has fallen asleep with his head in my neck, telling me all about how happy his heart is when it is beating against mine and how nice his dreams are when he can smell my hair. That kid. I tell you.
Oh, and he hasn't picked up any bad words or nasty habits from his classmates. Three cheers for that.
***
Next week begins the process for kindergarten admissions. Somewhere along the line from the time we moved to now they switched the cutoff streets for the elementary schools and now we are zoned for a school that Jake will absolutely not be going to. Sucks. But, we would rather him in a Charter School anyway so now begins the blood and the sweat and the tears to make sure the "lottery" works in our favor.
Sure there are always the eighty billion Catholic Schools in the neighborhood, but that isn't really an option for us.
Home school? As a last resort.
I'm not so much the home schooler type.
Moving to a new district?
I'd rather home school than move.
I had two days off in the middle of the week this week. Wednesday was a snow day and I spent it home with Jake. I try. I really do. I try to like staying at home with my child, whom I love more than anything in this world. I tried playing games, going out in the snow, getting stuff done around the house. I just can't do it.
Well, I did. And damned well.
But I just can't love it.
Thursday was the doors day and I got to spend it with my books and Netflix. I got things done around the house. It was glorious. I crave solitude and when I get it I eat up every single moment.
I could be a housewife long before I could be a stay at home mom. That makes me feel shitty, but less shitty than it used to.
I think the balance would be a part time job while Jake is in school. I could run errands and get groceries and prep dinner and do room mother/chauffeur stuff and still log hours in the workforce.
Chances of that all actually happening?
Well, don't bet anything valuable on it.
***
I'm on the fence about buying a Kindle/Nook/whatever. I think it's definitely a space saver, and a paper saver, but I don't love buying one more thing that will end up in a landfill forever once it's done for. I mean, paper at least recycles.
But is all the energy required to make and distribute a paper book multiplied by all the books I read greater than the manufacturing and recharging and disposal of something the size of a scientific calculator?
And I like passing my books along to someone else after I'm finished. Is there a pass-along option on these things?
I have my own tiny laptop, and I'm sure that I can download the free reader apps, but I don't lug my netbook around with me. Battery life isn't very long and I get a headache from the screen.
This is why my life is so hard.
This is why I find myself in various stages of flux.
Because nothing is ever simple.
1.10.2011
Two years ago I would have never thought I would be performing with an improv troupe, getting up on stage in front of people. The mention of the idea would have made my guts wrench. But, here I am.
My stage fright is non-existent. It took me a few months of classes before getting up on a stage and when it was time, I was ready. I don't get clammy, I don't get gassy, I don't get pulsey. It's amazing.
But there was still one thing that I wasn't ready to do, to get on camera. On film, I mean. Oh, I'm okay if our shows are being taped. That doesn't bother me. But to sit down in front of a camera and look into it and open my mouth and say something?
Barf.
Double barf.
Barfing accompanied by lower intestinal distress. Asspissing even.
A case of the P&Ps. The pukes and the poops.
So at practice the other night someone comes up with the idea to take a video of us. A New Years spot that would go out to people who care about us enough to watch a video. An improvised listing of resolutions. Not our real resolutions, of course. But improvised resolutions. Each one of us sitting in a chair in front of a video camera and rambling on and on for a couple minutes to get some stuff out that can be edited in to a short something and put out on You Tube and Facebook and junk. And it just so happened that one of the guys had his FlipCam (is that what those things are called? I'm such a techtard) in his car.
Of course, I was badly in need of a shower. No make up, dirty hair, my favorite sweatshirt that has this way of making me look 6 months pregnant. The way I roll on a Wednesday night. Practice ain't no pageant, that's for sure. And, I was going to be on tape. Face to face with a camera
For what is probably the third time in my natural born life.
Trial by fire.
And you know what? It wasn't bad.
I didn't poop.
I didn't even throw up in my mouth a little bit.
I'm getting a handle on these things.
It only took 34 years.
Progress, my friends.
I am progressing.
Here is the You Tube link
My stage fright is non-existent. It took me a few months of classes before getting up on a stage and when it was time, I was ready. I don't get clammy, I don't get gassy, I don't get pulsey. It's amazing.
But there was still one thing that I wasn't ready to do, to get on camera. On film, I mean. Oh, I'm okay if our shows are being taped. That doesn't bother me. But to sit down in front of a camera and look into it and open my mouth and say something?
Barf.
Double barf.
Barfing accompanied by lower intestinal distress. Asspissing even.
A case of the P&Ps. The pukes and the poops.
So at practice the other night someone comes up with the idea to take a video of us. A New Years spot that would go out to people who care about us enough to watch a video. An improvised listing of resolutions. Not our real resolutions, of course. But improvised resolutions. Each one of us sitting in a chair in front of a video camera and rambling on and on for a couple minutes to get some stuff out that can be edited in to a short something and put out on You Tube and Facebook and junk. And it just so happened that one of the guys had his FlipCam (is that what those things are called? I'm such a techtard) in his car.
Of course, I was badly in need of a shower. No make up, dirty hair, my favorite sweatshirt that has this way of making me look 6 months pregnant. The way I roll on a Wednesday night. Practice ain't no pageant, that's for sure. And, I was going to be on tape. Face to face with a camera
For what is probably the third time in my natural born life.
Trial by fire.
And you know what? It wasn't bad.
I didn't poop.
I didn't even throw up in my mouth a little bit.
I'm getting a handle on these things.
It only took 34 years.
Progress, my friends.
I am progressing.
Here is the You Tube link
Jake is officially a preschooler. I'm a mom with a kid in school. The pre- is just a formality. It's school, for all intents and purposes.
He has a cubby, with his name on it.
It's cubby hole number 7.
When we spoke about his cubby hole (he thought he might be getting a locker) the other day, he said he didn't like the sound of it. I asked him why, and he said something about how a pit full of baby bears doesn't sound like something they should have in a school.
I laughed, he got upset at me for laughing at him.
I would never laugh at him, but I'm often laughing with him. He just doesn't know he's funny.
Yet.
He picked out his clothes all by himself. That generally works out well, everything in his closet matches everything else. Purposely and by design. It's a secret that I learned from an old client. She was addicted to crack, but in a sort of functional way. She hid it for a long time by making sure that her children and herself were never mismatched or messy. The trick is to stick to either black and grey or brown and tan for the base colors and no patterned pants or skirts. Everything matches black or brown, but black and brown and plaid and stripes together can make one look color blind. Or crazy. Or cracky.
Jake is excited about Show and Tell, and wants to take his General Lee.
Jake will not be taking his General Lee.
One because it is loud.
Two because it is loud due to buttons that, when pressed, make a yee-haw noise and play the Dixieland horn noise.
Three because there is a Confederate flag on top of it.
The General Lee will be staying in the house. I've learned my lesson about that one.
He missed Show and Tell anyway. It was last Wednesday. Today they go to the Public Library.
This month focuses on Self-Help skills, like buttoning and zipping and snapping. Jake is a terrible buttoner and zipperer and snapper. He hates those things on his clothes so I respect that by not buying things that button or zipper or snap. But now he can't do that stuff so well. It was something I worried about regarding his going to school. Probably the first thing, actually. I even lost a bit of sleep wondering if they will think I'm a terrible mother because my kid can't zip his coat or if they will think he is somehow mechanically delayed because he only wears elastic waisted pants that don't button.
I do that. I push the normal worry stuffs out of my brain and focus on something irrational or inconsequential so that I don't dwell on the real scary stuff.
They feed him there. Breakfast and lunch. I don't need to pack anything. I am not allowed to pack anything. No more little Rubbermaid containers of Cheerios or asking Jake whether he wants peanut butter and honey or jelly (or on rare occasion, fluff) and him telling me that Charmaine makes him ham and cheese or hotdogs if I don't pack him a sandwich so maybe I can pick what I want with peanut butter and put it in my bag instead so he can get something he actually wants for lunch. The kitchen is on-site, and everything is prepared fresh.
Which is more than I can say for my kitchen.
Dave and I dropped him off this morning, very early. Earlier than we will normally drop him off. Earlier than most kids get dropped off. There were two little girls in the "breakfast room" who were about his age. I'm guessing that they will be in his class. They walked right up to him together and introduced themselves and he seemed okay with the whole thing. I'm glad we were early so he can see the kids as they file in rather than him walking into a full room of kids that already know one another.
The lunchlady- well- breakfastlady was sort of a crank, but it was 7am and I try not to judge anyone before 9.
I used to hold rank in this school when the organization that runs the building and the programs was under the contract that I work for, but they are no longer part of my program. Everyone who I've had any contact with over there knows what I do, and that's good because it gives me a bit of an insider's edge.
Not that I'd ever pull that card, but it's in my back pocket if I ever need it.
Why does that matter? It doesn't. I know that this place is super and one of the best around.
But just in case.
Not that there should ever be a case.
I think I'm okay with all this. It's exciting. We're all ready. There were no tears. Not from Jake, not from me. A lump, perhaps. But maybe I'm just coming down with something.
He has a cubby, with his name on it.
It's cubby hole number 7.
When we spoke about his cubby hole (he thought he might be getting a locker) the other day, he said he didn't like the sound of it. I asked him why, and he said something about how a pit full of baby bears doesn't sound like something they should have in a school.
I laughed, he got upset at me for laughing at him.
I would never laugh at him, but I'm often laughing with him. He just doesn't know he's funny.
Yet.
He picked out his clothes all by himself. That generally works out well, everything in his closet matches everything else. Purposely and by design. It's a secret that I learned from an old client. She was addicted to crack, but in a sort of functional way. She hid it for a long time by making sure that her children and herself were never mismatched or messy. The trick is to stick to either black and grey or brown and tan for the base colors and no patterned pants or skirts. Everything matches black or brown, but black and brown and plaid and stripes together can make one look color blind. Or crazy. Or cracky.
Jake is excited about Show and Tell, and wants to take his General Lee.
Jake will not be taking his General Lee.
One because it is loud.
Two because it is loud due to buttons that, when pressed, make a yee-haw noise and play the Dixieland horn noise.
Three because there is a Confederate flag on top of it.
The General Lee will be staying in the house. I've learned my lesson about that one.
He missed Show and Tell anyway. It was last Wednesday. Today they go to the Public Library.
This month focuses on Self-Help skills, like buttoning and zipping and snapping. Jake is a terrible buttoner and zipperer and snapper. He hates those things on his clothes so I respect that by not buying things that button or zipper or snap. But now he can't do that stuff so well. It was something I worried about regarding his going to school. Probably the first thing, actually. I even lost a bit of sleep wondering if they will think I'm a terrible mother because my kid can't zip his coat or if they will think he is somehow mechanically delayed because he only wears elastic waisted pants that don't button.
I do that. I push the normal worry stuffs out of my brain and focus on something irrational or inconsequential so that I don't dwell on the real scary stuff.
They feed him there. Breakfast and lunch. I don't need to pack anything. I am not allowed to pack anything. No more little Rubbermaid containers of Cheerios or asking Jake whether he wants peanut butter and honey or jelly (or on rare occasion, fluff) and him telling me that Charmaine makes him ham and cheese or hotdogs if I don't pack him a sandwich so maybe I can pick what I want with peanut butter and put it in my bag instead so he can get something he actually wants for lunch. The kitchen is on-site, and everything is prepared fresh.
Which is more than I can say for my kitchen.
Dave and I dropped him off this morning, very early. Earlier than we will normally drop him off. Earlier than most kids get dropped off. There were two little girls in the "breakfast room" who were about his age. I'm guessing that they will be in his class. They walked right up to him together and introduced themselves and he seemed okay with the whole thing. I'm glad we were early so he can see the kids as they file in rather than him walking into a full room of kids that already know one another.
The lunchlady- well- breakfastlady was sort of a crank, but it was 7am and I try not to judge anyone before 9.
I used to hold rank in this school when the organization that runs the building and the programs was under the contract that I work for, but they are no longer part of my program. Everyone who I've had any contact with over there knows what I do, and that's good because it gives me a bit of an insider's edge.
Not that I'd ever pull that card, but it's in my back pocket if I ever need it.
Why does that matter? It doesn't. I know that this place is super and one of the best around.
But just in case.
Not that there should ever be a case.
I think I'm okay with all this. It's exciting. We're all ready. There were no tears. Not from Jake, not from me. A lump, perhaps. But maybe I'm just coming down with something.
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