Nostalgia, More

At the time, I was trying to take a picture -- a normal, every day sort of picture capturing a keystone event: Scarlett's first day as a preschooler at JJ Hill and Stryker's entrance into the real ranks, first grade.

I can't remember why, but for some reason Scarlett was mad at me (the neatly coiffed hair may be an indicator, though) and refused to smile. Check out that glare.

As for Stryker? Knowing I wanted to mark the day with a photograph, he decided to stick a suction cup to his forehead first.

Prodigal Daughter

My Mom came up for brunch on Sunday. Eating at a restaurant with my mother has sort of a culinary Russian Roulette quality. There's always some fatal mistake that someone (usually me) makes. You just never know what triggers her disapproval: wrong bread choice, too much salt, not enough gravy? I thought I'd get all kinds of goodies to use on the blog.

Instead, as I was packing up the children and looking for my coat, she said, "You're not invited."

But she did bring treats for the dogs.

I Made Stryker Read This

In Sunday's New York Times, this caught my eye: In Korea, a Boot Camp Cure for Web Obsession.

Seems like half the country is addicted to online games, which didn't much surprise. But this did: "It has become a national issue here in recent years, as users started dropping dead from exhaustion after playing online games for days on end."

Dropping dead!!?

So I google "Death from online games" and it appears that people do indeed, drop dead. Exhaustion, dehydration, general foaming at the mouth.

Of course, Stryker had a hard time focusing on the article, which I literally held to his face. Why?

A) Full House was on the television (we own five seasons and this was the really riveting episode in which Michelle loses her memory).

B) He was online, reading about the Game Boy game Zelda and the Phantom Hour Glass.

C) He was playing Zelda and the Phantom Hour Glass on his Game Boy.
D) Green Day's "American Idiot" was streaming (loudly) from the computer.

Sadly,

E) All of the above

Parents Are Better People

I had intended to write a straight-up proclamation (or defense) but then I remembered Q.

Q and her boyfriend had a baby girl, Gigi. Q and boyfriend engaged in routine screaming matches, nicely timed to start around 1:00 am. Oh, and one would be in a car screaming and the other in a house. They traded spots sometimes.

Q has a way with words. I learned this phrase: "you small dick bitch."

If Gigi bounced a ball into the street or put a stick in her mouth, Q screamed at her, too. And those midnight fights also seemed to be the official custody switch. Four am? Certainly, time to bring the kid to her father.

Just after midnight one Minnesota winter -- way back when, when things were actually cold -- I was brushing my teeth and happened to look at the window. There was Q, getting out of a car and quite carefully drawing out . . . . a pit bull puppy ( ! ), which she started gently carrying to the house.

For one stupid second I was relieved. Until Q looked back and screamed: "COME ON."

Diapered, barefoot and not quite two, Gigi staggered out of the car and after her mother, who carried the dog.

I didn't have children of my own yet. Just the memory makes me want to run outside and scoop up that baby. She's over ten now and we've long left that corner.

If I'm going to return to that initial impulse--parents are better people -- it's gotta be good parents are better people.

Now I can defend myself.

For me, good parenting means (some of but not limited to at least always) this: remember when you fell in love? Head over heels, obsessive, in love? Heady times, when body language and inflection matter-- you tend to the beloved. You give up the last piece of cake, the best cut of meat, and leave the last sip of cream for her coffee.

Good parenting mirrors that state, that complete willingness to understand the needs of another: are you happy? sad? need a sweater, a snack, a ride? what can I do? who are you? what do you want in life? what are you thinking? let me look in--even if I don't like every last thing, I'll love you.

I like people in that state more than I like people wound tight in their own lives, in narrow concerns. Expand toward someone else -- you're a better person.

Maybe it's just real love of any sort that does the trick. I hope Gigi found some.

Have Dinner With Me and I May Repeat Your Stories

Commenting on the psychological status of the in-laws, a friend told me: "I learned two things from my mother-in-law---how to set a nice, formal dinner table and how to grab someone by the head and shake Satan out of them."

Wonder which came in handiest?

Who Took My Rose Colored Glasses?

Scarlett took the whole Halloween UNICEF job seriously—she didn’t just fill up that bright orange box, she went on-line to learn more. I’m sorry but next time I’d rather she stumble across a porn site. Way easier damage control: “Uh, some people just like to exercise naked?”

The day she clicked must've been particularly dark because the home page offered up rape, child abduction, HIV-Aids, death by homelessness, starvation or measles. Quick, click on ‘Voices of Youth,’ and you’re steered from despair toward cheerful primary-colored pages meant for the younger set. Whew, finally—blogs from HIV positive 15-year olds and fun links like What Would You Do, an “interactive game that explores real life situations with regards to HIV/AIDS.”

Okay, okay—this is clearly meant for teens, but if I’m scraping my fourth-grader off the floor, you know others are too. After all, UNICEF deploys millions of elementary school children as fundraisers every October 31. You can bet more than one went to the web site (and yes, with parental permission).

For those of us lucky to have enough, how much, how soon and to what degree do we let our well-cared for little ones know about the cruelties of the planet? Don’t get me wrong (I stand so far to the left that my heart actually does bleed) I strongly believe that it’s imperative we raise a generation that cares more about peace and social justice than stock portfolios. But if I’m still lying about the tooth fairy and Santa, can’t I lie about the state of childhood, globally, just for a little longer?

Sadly, Funny

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