First Days of School

First Grade (Dolly stayed home, but sparkly skirt definitely got to go.)


Preschool


And blowing off steam afterward.

Whining

I've been ill, more or less, since we got back from vacation early this month. It's getting annoying. I've had an abdominal thing, an abysmal cold, and strep throat. Here's hoping for a nice, clear, healthy fall to come!

My wonderful husband is finally starting to fight a cold himself. Yesterday he said that while he's glad to pitch in more, he hopes I won't stay sick forever. That makes two of us! (And probably more.)

Day three of antibiotics is starting off well for me, so here's hoping the trend continues.

For Ellie, however, today was traumatic starting the moment I notified her that she was indeed expected to continue to attend first grade. Days 1 and 2 went well, but were apparently novelties and she didn't think she'd have to go yet again today. Alas.

Ever Been Sprayed by a Fire Hose?

(Note: not all of these kids are mine.)



Well, they're clean puddles, right? Right?!

Next Friday should include pictures from the first day(s) of school. Wow.

Family Photo

Little One wouldn't smile at the camera for anything; this was the best take - of 10 - and it looks like I'm biting her head.

FEAR

Several years ago, my dentist had a heart attack. He was still young at the time, and many people asked questions of his wife. Does he have a family history of heart disease? Does he eat a lot of red meat? Does he exercise? Is he under a lot of stress?

No, no, yes, and no. My dentist is an otherwise healthy, fit guy who eats well and jogs regularly. But people who hear what happened to him are looking for some reason the same thing can't happen to them.

Similarly, whenever anything goes wrong with a child, many people are quick to blame the parents. Reading the online reader responses to any St. Louis Post-Dispatch article about an accident involving a child is a harrowing experience and not for the tender-hearted.

Not only is any accident the cause of parental neglect, but most likely it was a result of intentional malfeasance.

Recently a four-year-old Illinois boy drowned at a park three blocks from his house, where he was playing with a few other children, one of them 12-years-old. The child's parents were charged with felony child endangerment for allowing the him "to leave home without adequate supervision." The couple's other children were removed from their home.

Now, I don't know anything more about this case or this family. Perhaps there was other clear evidence of neglect. But based on this story alone the parents have been called "nitwits" and "idiots" who should be "sterilized."

As it turns out I don't let my 3- and 6-year olds go to parks without me or another adult. Then again, I don't have a 12-year-old handy and I don't live in a particularly walkable neighborhood. As a 12-year-old myself I did a lot of babysitting for other people's children. And my daughter's first regular babysitter was twelve when she started sitting for 2-year-old Ellie. (She's now in high school and is still an amazing, resourceful, responsible girl.)

In a Facebook discussion about this situation - in which I suggested that 12 isn't a crazy young age for responsibility and 4 isn't infancy - a former classmate of mine said that parents who think that other kids are "adequate supervision" should be "fried." And even under controlled situations (e.g. at a child's home) having a 12-year-old babysitting is not good parenting.

A couple months earlier a friend of friends blogged about "competitive mothering" and I nodded along as she discussed how awful it feels when parents teach their kids to be afraid of every little thing (and every nearby male) in the name of safety. Then she responded to a post on my blog (via Facebook) a few days later, disagreeing with something I said and adding that if I am willing to risk my child's life by XYZ, well, that's my choice. As long as I'm willing to accept the consequences of my actions. We'll probably all survive anyway. But there's risk and for what it's worth her kids will never . . . etc. Competitive mothering!

(Incidentally, I wasn't proposing undertaking any dangerous activities with my children, just starting a conversation about the way FEAR is legislated onto us as PROTECT THE CHILDREN FIRST without always allowing common sense and science into the discussion.)

I get this. We so afraid of something terrible happening - dying of an early heart attack, harm befalling our children - that we convince ourselves that we're immune. The precautions we've taken will protect us. And our children.

But this peace of mind comes at a steep cost when we blame other victims for the tragedies and unfortunate accidents that befall them.

Poking My Head In

We're back from vacation and all is well. I've been conscripted to co-lead the pre-school cabin at Camp Kirkapresqua, an indoor, mornings-only ecology-themed vacation Bible camp. "RENEW. Grow in faith. Have fun. Change the world." I was initially reluctant but am now having a great time.

Anyway, I was trying to put a name on why I haven't been blogging much lately. "I have no time." True, but that's never stopped me before.

"I just don't have anything to say." Again, that's never stopped me before. (Creating an interesting story from or unique angle on the everyday is where it's at for me as a reader and what I aspire to as a writer.)

It's not that nothing is happening in my life, it's more that I'm not presently narrating it as I walk through each day. I'm just letting this phase of my life unfold as it will and I'm putting as little pressure on myself as possible. I'm trying to enjoy the moments rather than labeling and prioritizing and shaping them with my words and reactions.

That plus it's too durn hot to do anything ambitious.

Wyoming - Part I

We all spent a couple of days at Paul's parents' house, then Paul and I disappeared for a couple of days on our own. We returned this afternoon for a couple more days here all together before we head back east. Or, rather, to the Midwest.

Wyoming is a state that produces coal, oil, and natural gas. But on our little side trip Paul and I saw large wind farms, a few hydroelectric dams, and some solar panels. It turns out that geothermal is an possibility here, too.

We stayed in Saratoga and drove through the Medicine Bow National Forest, pausing to hike a couple trails. At the end of the Lakes trail I added a little bit of the trek to Medicine Bow Peak in the Snowy Range but Paul made it much farther - probably to the summit itself.

It wasn't the altitude (my lungs, my legs) that did me in. It was more a combination of: the lack of visible path, loose rock to climb over, smooth snow face to cross, knowledge that every foot I climbed up I'd have to climb back down, and a complete lack of conviction for why I should put myself through all that in the first place. Besides, I was equipped for an "easy hike" with running shoes, khaki shorts, and a t-shirt. No water, no climbing gear, no experience.

Where I stood on top of a boulder over-looking a series of crystal clear lakes stair-stepping down in altitude below me, the view was incredible. I was content.

Soaking my feet in the hot springs later that night soothed both my physical reminders of the hike and my emotional distress over a day of sliding around hairpin turns up and down mountains on a single track dirt road. As the passenger.

Wyoming Highway 130, a paved "Scenic Byway," crosses Medicine Bow National Forest but is only open from late spring or early summer until October. Sometimes the road opens for the season in JULY. We saw lots of snow along the road in addition to at higher reaches on our hike but were quite comfortable in our summer attire. All road markers, signs, and reflectors were topped by tall sticks to mark the way for snow plows.

On our way back through the forest we decided to take a less well-traveled dirt road. We made it safely, and that's about enough said about the trip. More later.

Note: I'm in the first photo and took the second. (Look for my blue shirt.) Paul took the first photo about halfway back to the car park along the Lakes trail. I took the second photo after scrambling back down from Medicine Bow Summit, in the pass between Medicine Bow and SugarLoaf peaks.

How To Exercise in Summer Heat

If you bike fast enough, the breeze will cool you down.



As an added incentive we took turns in the trailer (behind Paul's bike) and on the trail-a-bike (behind mine), offered the kids LOTS of water, and stopped along Grant's Trail to meet the Budweiser Clydesdales. Plus there's a park at the end.

Roomates

It occurs to me that there's something sort of major I haven't mentioned here.

Paul's sister, her husband, and their three-year-old moved in with us this summer.

They'll probably stay with us for several months, until they've sold their house in Maryland and purchased one here in Missouri.

So far it's going great!

But I do have to fight a constant sense of being on vacation. It's summer! We have house guests! Doesn't this mean I should sit and visit rather than being productive? Take them out to all our favorite restaurants? Make special dinners and snack on whatever I want? Eschew exercise?

Sadly, no. And they don't expect it! So I just need to get over this fiesta feeling and get some stuff done. (Rob and I played Nintendo during nap time this afternoon. Oops.)

On a related note, now that we have others living in our house I can tell you in advance when we're going out of town. So here goes: we're headed out to Wyoming for a week at the end of this month. Woo hoo! And I might not schedule posts while I'm gone! But know that our house will not be vacant in our absence so you can't help yourselves to our elderly farting television.

(Picture above taken at Ted Drewes while eating frozen custard. Yum.)

In-Laws Reunion

Last weekend we traveled to Iowa with Paul's family (his parents, his sister, her husband, and their three-year-old) to stay with extended family for an annual reunion weekend.

While away from wireless coverage we slept in a camper. A really, really nice camper. The camper was so roomy the girls got lonely and wanted to snuggle with Mommy at bedtime.



There were a couple dozen of us there but what made the trip, as always, was quality time with cousins:



Well, that and the food!

The Things I Think About

I don't use a iPod when I run and people sometimes ask me how I distract myself.

I ponder deep questions like this:

If there are so many baby harp seals that we should club them to death (but not until they're at least 12 days old; earlier would be too cruel) and polar bears are starving to death in some of these same seal "hunting" countries, couldn't we work out some sort of compromise by which excess seals are relocated to polar bear territory? Seriously, I think environmental groups would donate money for this. Win-win!

Image credit: Encyclopaedia Brittanica's Advocacy for Animals, ASPGreenteam Blog and HowStuffWorks. (Note that I didn't post the gory shots.)

Bad Mommy . . .

. . . no Facebook during lunch.

One day lunch ran a little long. I had long finished my meal but the girls were still chatting happily so I slipped away for a moment.

I heard pouring. A cabinet opening and shutting. More pouring.

So I walked back into the kitchen.

Ellie said, "Uh oh."

Ada politely wiped her face with a napkin hoping to distract me from her masterpiece on the table . . .


My water. Ada's milk. The remains of someone's sandwich. And a whole lot of fresh raisins from the cupboard.

Fourth of July

A family project.

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout

This month for Barrie Summy's Book Review Club I'm discussing Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout.

I first learned about this novel in book club.  We were listing our all time favorite novels and one reader mentioned this one, then chose it for our next read.  Because of my impressions of the woman who selected the book and the context in which we were discussing it, I assumed Olive Kitteridge was an older novel, perhaps something she'd read in college.  I thought it would have a prominent religious message.  I thought it would be quiet and probably a little conservative or at least conventional.

None of those assumptions proved accurate.

Olive Kitteridge is a novel, though it doesn't seem like one.  It's actually a volume of short stories, many of which are completely unrelated to each other.  Quite a few of the characters show up only in one story and then are gone from the book forever.  This breaks all the rules of good story-telling.  But it works for this narrative, and the one consistent thread is Olive herself.  

She appears in every story, either as a main character - as when her husband is the narrator - or merely as someone who walks through the room in which someone else's story unfolds. 

This works in large part because of the author's skill, but also because of Olive herself, who is complicated, fascinating, and nothing at all like I expected her to be. (The series of stories ends up telling one larger story about Olive's life, which makes it feel like a novel, in the end.)

Are you intrigued yet?  I hope you are.  Because I loved this book and want you to go read it too so we can talk about it.

(And after that, perhaps you can point me to a good grammar tutorial on using an awkward word like "assumptions.")

P.S. "Elizabeth Strout’s most recent work, Olive Kitteridge, a novel in stories, won the 2009 Pulitzer Prize, was nominated for the National Book Critics Circle Award, and was a New York Times Bestseller. She is the author of two previous novels, Abide With Me, a national bestseller, and Amy and Isabelle, also a New York Times Bestseller."

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Walk

I haven't done anything more productive than cleaning my bathrooms but I'm so tired I can't think. In lieu of current creativity, here's a glimpse into my past.

The oldest file in my My Documents folder is a 13 year-old poem:

Walk

A man went down to Sandy Beach to see what he could find.

But all he found were paper trash, hypodermics, and an orange rind.

So he walked a little further, to a nearby store

Where he found rolling papers, condoms, beer, and little more.

When he was feeling nice and relaxed he decided to try again.

So he walked up to his church to confess his sins.

But the priest was busy, out, they said, praying for the dead.

Like Me, thought the man, and blew off his own head.

I've never been much of a poet, but even I can see that the meter needs a little work.  Interesting first draft.  I don't remember writing it, though I remember writing the jump rope rhyme saved on the same page.

No Offense Intended

with all of our celebrations yesterday, Great Britain.


I thought we'd BBQ alone as a family last night as the quiet before the storm this week (more on that later).

Instead a couple of friends came over. But these are the best kind of friends - the kind we don't have to clean house for, or cook a special meal for, or change clothes for, or put on lipstick for. The kind we can talk about whatever with. The kind we've known for a long time. Good friends, lovely evening.

A lovely whole day, actually. I ate way more than I should have of foods I should never have eaten. But since I ran four miles the night before, this didn't feel so terrible. Also, two people I see all the time didn't recognize Paul and me from a distance due to our updated silhouettes and that felt great.

And my hair is still not Cat Deeley's but I didn't hate it all day long, either.

So, in short, it seems that my mood is on an upswing and I'm heading back to a good place. Hooray for that!

P.S. I finally know how to spell "silhouette" (see paragraph 4 above) because of my friend Amanda's new novel!

Point of View

Paul's parents gave Ellie and Ada a kids' digital camera for Christmas last year. Its resolution is not the greatest, but there's a little view screen and the equipment has yet to be adversely affected by any of its many traumatic events.

Six-year-old Ellie, three-year-old Ada, and three-year-old cousin Arria had a blast on vacation last week and took 116 pictures. Here are a few shots from their perspectives:





Legend: snacks, Ellie, Paul, Uncle Ben, rug, cousin Arria, Ada, Aunt Grace, Ada loves lighthouses, Grandpa (The End).

My Television

If you're reading along you've heard a lot about my writing and working and running and politics. But you might have forgotten that I'm a sedentary starch. Here's a reminder.

My Facebook profile says that my favorite television programs are The Vicar of Dibley and In Treatment (both on DVD). Those are two of the most brilliantly conceived and written shows I've ever seen. In general, I love the well-rounded characters, the well-constructed plots, the beautifully crafted dialogue. I'm all about scripted dramas.

But in the summer, in the summer my tastes take a dramatic turn. Or, rather, a not-so-dramatic turn. And suddenly I'm all about a certain type of "reality" television.

• America's Got Talent (because I love my husband)
  
• So You Think You Can Dance (because he loves me)
  
• Design Star and Last Comic Standing (because my TV and I need a little alone time occasionally)

But as much fun as we have watching people's humiliations and triumphs, my favorite TV night of the summer week is still the one where I get to watch Lie to Me.

Well done, writers, actors, producers. Well done.

What're you watching?

Jogging in Slow Motion

I ran home from a meeting at church tonight.

There's something really powerful about running to or from someplace, rather than just running in a circle for exercise.

There's also something really powerful about running 5 miles in a row without stopping.

(Except for a brief walk up Hillary Step - have I mentioned that I live on the summit of Mount Everest? When it rains and floods I'm very glad of this. When I'm running or walking home I'm not so pleased.)

So I felt pretty good when I got home. Until Paul figured my per-mile pace for me. I've been running for 2 months now and I can run 5 miles with only a brief walk and that only because of a hill I can barely scale without climbing ropes and carabiners. I should be happy with this progress, right?

On the other hand, there's a minimum speed one can go and still be "running," no matter what one's gait looks like.

Seriously, after my first ever 5 miler I felt fine. I felt like I could have kept going (this in itself is probably evidence I should have been pushing the pace a little harder). I wasn't in pain. I won't go so far as to say that I was having fun, but I certainly wasn't miserable.

But I couldn't run a marathon. Because at some point race organizers force slow runners into the sag wagon, close the aide stations, and reopen the city streets to traffic. And I'm slow enough to worry about that.

Long Cut

Last summer my sister-in-law donated 13 inches of hair to Locks of Love and she looked great.

While my in-laws were here visiting shortly thereafter, I took advantage of the free babysitting to schedule things like my annual well-woman visit and my annual haircut.

"How much are you going to have them cut off?" my father-in-law asked, thinking I was going to do something dramatic like Paul's sister just did.

"Actually, I'm planning to ask if she can cut my hair to be 6 inches longer," I said. The last little bit of hair growth, like the last little bit of weight loss, always seems to take the longest.

I came home after my haircut and my mother-in-law looked puzzled. "It actually is longer!" she said.

And it was!

But I didn't get extensions. The stylist just blew it out straight rather than curly.

That was so much fun I decided to treat myself to more than annual haircuts over the past year. In fact, I think I decided that once every 3 months would be nice. I've made it twice since then. Alas. Something always comes up that seems a more compelling addition to the budget than my vanity.

Still, I'm currently reduced to wearing constant ponytails, so I think I really will try to sneak in a hair cut later this summer. Maybe next month, when the in-laws are here. How on earth do other women find the time and money for bi-monthly hair cuts and colorings?

I need to figure that out, because seeing pictures like this one remind me that my hair is not, presently, acceptable.