School (sigh)

Yesterday my youngest was home from school. Sick. Again. While he lay on the couch blowing his nose, he said, "I'm glad I'm not at school. Mrs. Jones never lets us get more than one tissue per class."

WHAT?

As a parent, this is the kind of tidbit that can put you over the edge. I mean, seriously? When your nose is running like a faucet, you're only allowed to get up one time per class period for a tissue? (And I should mention that at the beginning of the school year each student has to provide several boxes of tissues -- along with many other supplies -- for the class to use throughout the year.)

I understand it's tough to be a teacher. Classroom control can be a big issue, but wouldn't it be better to risk the loss of "control" for the sake of germ control? I'm fairly certain that students wiping their noses on their hands and sleeves is not in the CDC guidelines.

Have I mentioned that Mrs. Jones reminds me of Angela from The Office?

And speaking of The Office...here's another little school tale for you. Son1 was recently chastised by his foreign language teacher for using the word retarded. I guess the class was nearly over and the students were allowed to talk quietly with each other -- and that's when the offending word was used. He was taken to task for it, and rather than simply saying, "Yes, Mrs. Smith, I apologize for using that word," a discussion ensued. And eventually he explained his position by quoting Michael from The Office: "I'd never call a retard, a retard." Ugh. I assure you that when he told me about that, I did not feel an ounce of pride. (Though I may have laughed out loud, just from the surprise of it. Yup. I think I did. Which was definitely a mistake. Definitely.) Not my proudest parenting moment by a longshot.

Proud Papa

Most mornings, if you were to get a sneak peek inside my house, you'd find me with the first half hour of the Today Show on. I catch glimpses of it as I make lunches and remind people to actually get up and eat breakfast in time to leave for school. Somehow, a strong cup of coffee along with their brand of "news" and their little dose of morning cheerfulness helps to orient me to the world on weekday mornings. Not sure how that happened.

Last week when I was watching, Meredith and Matt had a brief chat with the new Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. As they rolled a clip of her writhing on the beach in her impossibly small bikini, she was explaining how wonderful it was to hear her father tell her how incredibly proud he was of her to have made the cover of Sports Illustrated.

Umm. Yeah. Not exactly the reaction I would have if she were my daughter and I were her father.

So that got me wondering, what would make me proud as a parent? I love my boys and I receive a lot of joy from watching them do the things they love to do...but I don't know that I necessarily feel proud of them when they get an A, make a goal, get a hit, or do a great job on stage. I feel happy for them, of course. But I don't think I feel proud.

Of course, it's a strange phrase anyway. What is it to be proud of someone else? I had to look up the word proud in the dictionary to get an idea of what it really means in this context. One definition for proud is "much pleased" and that must be how it's being used here.

I know for sure I wouldn't be "much pleased" to have a daughter displaying her body for cash. No matter how substantial the paycheck or how great the fame.

What makes me feel proud of the boys -- what makes me feel much pleased -- is when they choose to act compassionately or express love for others, particularly those less fortunate than themselves. A few years ago Son3 was honored in chapel with a medal because his classmates chose him as the one who was most Christ-like in their class. That afternoon, he got in the car and told me he'd received a medal. His brothers clamored to see it, but he told us he didn't have it. He'd given it away to a kid in his class -- a boy who is kind of a sad case who really wanted the medal for himself. Son3 gave it to the boy, and his brothers berated him for it. I wasn't proud of his brothers for lambasting him, but I was definitely proud of him. He's a kindhearted little fellow, and that pleases me.

And my other guys have done things for others that have astounded and pleased me. I'd like to tell you, but for whatever reason it just doesn't seem right to share the details. But their hearts are generous and good. This makes me proud. Not that I feel I can take any credit for it. I actually don't. But I do feel much pleased. I feel grateful that I get to be their mom.

Anyway, I'm just wondering what would make you feel proud of your kids or your nieces or nephews or whomever. Do you feel proud of their accomplishments? Their grades or their goals in soccer game? Is it strange that I don't?

And if your daughter grew up to become a swimsuit model for Sports Illustrated, would you feel proud of that? Don't worry...if you say yes, I won't blast you for it. Or not too badly anyway...

Thoughts on Coraline & Other Thoughts, too

Well, one of the great things about homeschooling is that you can get a bunch of work done in the morning and then go see Coraline in the afternoon. Son2 loves movies, and he's a particular fan of stories that reflect the reality that life isn't perfect. I respect that. Artistic and interesting little dude that he is, he's been anxiously awaiting Coraline. I told him to watch it with a critical eye -- that he's going to have to write a movie review.

He'll write his on Monday, but here's my simplistic review: I liked it. This is definitely not a movie for little ones. It's pretty complex and dark. Exploring a child's loneliness and dissatisfaction in an animated film is interesting to me. It seems to me that because it's animated, these ideas can almost be expressed with more honesty yet don't feel quite as heavy. I guess. What do I know? I'm no film critic. Anyway, we enjoyed it. It was thought provoking and interesting to watch. Guess you can't ask for much more.

****

Do you ever wish your eyes were a camera? It would be nice for those moments of striking beauty you happen upon as you're out and about, but I usually find myself making this wish when I see something funny. Yesterday I was in the parking lot at Dunkin' Donuts (I'd just bought a few muffins so Sons 2 and 3 could survive their brother's basketball game) and I looked up just as this man was driving by. He was looking at me, so we made eye contact just as he was taking a huge bite of something (a donut, I presume). A kind of embarrassing moment for him, I'd say.

Anyway, I wish I could have snapped a photo at just that moment. It would have cracked up my husband, which is pretty much my goal in life -- to make him laugh. I know it's his goal to make me laugh, which I appreciate. And he's definitely more skilled in the humor department than I am, so I'm getting the good end of the deal. Here's a for instance. I was having a bit of a pregnancy scare toward the end of this week. And at this stage in life, it is a scare. I have no desire to go backwards. The husband was being a great sport about it, saying all the right things and making me feel better...but I was so stressed about it that I got a killer tension headache in the middle of the night. It was intense and crushing, so when I got up yesterday, I took three advil and went straight to the store and bought a pregnancy test. Negative. Phew! While I was out running around with the kids yesterday, he called me and said, "Do you want to know what I was going to say if the test had been positive?" Of course I did. And he said, "I was going to ask, 'Is it mine?'" And that, in short, is why I love him. Because only he could make me laugh under those circumstances.

"I Need Socks"

I believe socks are the bane of every mother's existence. I know they are the bane of mine. Yesterday afternoon when I urged my 11-year-old to hurry up and get his shoes on so he and his brothers could take the dog to the park, he said, "I need socks." That was probably the fourth time that day that he'd made that announcement.

I am always doing laundry, and we are always running out of socks. How is that even possible? And if we haven't actually run out, then no one has matched them up -- and no one besides me seems capable of matching the many varieties and brands of white ankle socks that we now own. This leaves him always announcing, "I need socks," which is code for "I can't find any socks and I'm too lazy to keep looking."

Truth be told, a certain 11-year-old seems to be the most incapable of ever finding a pair of socks. He is easily frustrated and because that frustration can snowball into excessive emotion over a very small issue and that excessive emotion can then snowball into a migraine...well, you can probably see how I've participated in the development of his small incapabilities. Also, because he is, in general, highly responsible and self-motivated, these incapabilities have sort of slipped in and taken root without me realizing how insidious they are.

So, while it may be time to head to Wal-Mart for a few more bags of socks, it may also be time for me to become a little less involved in helping people find a matching pair. We have friends who dump all the socks into a treasure chest, and it's up to the kids to match them all. Do you think there's a treasure chest aisle at Wal-Mart?

Just kidding. A laundry basket will do just fine.

The Winter Sky

Today was a disgusting weather day. When I trekked outside to get wood at -- yes -- 5:30 this morning, I was greeted by a treacherous layer of ice on top of what would have been some lovely snow. At that moment I couldn't quite decide whether it would be best to let the fire in the stove die out or risk slipping and hitting my head, to be found by my family hours later. I decided it was cold and it would be better not to let the fire die out. That was a good choice, because the day remained cold and wet and gray and altogether unpleasant. Until this evening, that is. The wind started to blow and the western horizon cleared. It was nearly dark, and the sky above held dark gray clouds, but a good stretch of horizon was the deep blue of twilight, tinted with orange at its edges. It was breathtaking.

Somehow, for me, tonight's winter sky seemed to carry a poignant message. So many people I know are suffering right now. Job losses. Financial difficulties. Drug and alcohol problems. Marital problems. Major disappointments. All of the above. I, quite frankly, have been having my own particular brand of difficulties lately, which have left me tired and distracted (and not blogging much). Yet tonight's sky seemed so hopeful. The whole day was dreadful, and night was coming on. If the sky had waited a few more minutes to clear, the twilight and the glow of the setting sun would have been lost. But it was not. It seemed to me to be a perfect reflection of a deeper reality.

When I am praying for someone (or for myself) over the long haul -- some ongoing source of pain and trouble -- I usually reach a point where I run out of prayers. Then I'm just sort of hanging on for that person, and I often start to pray in pictures -- because I have no more words.

All hope seems lost in many of these situations that are on my mind, but I know it's not. When I run out of prayers, I will pray tonight's clearing winter sky, the unexpected twilight and the sunset's warm glow. I will remember that sometimes salvation comes long after it even seems possible. Hope has already been lost. But the change comes anyway -- sudden and unexpected, like tonight's breathtaking horizon.

Snow!

Every birthday throughout my childhood, my birthday wish was for a snow day the following day. If I remember correctly, it actually happened one time. Magic.

Well, today is my birthday and I am delighted to report that it snowed today -- a very unexpected two or three inches. Who knew? In this age of the Weather Channel and an overall over-reporting of weather-related news, it is wonderful to be surprised by snow. Usually it works the other way -- excessive hype about something that turns out to be a non-event. I hate that -- the way everyone flocks to the grocery store for milk, eggs, and toilet paper (yes, I spy on people's grocery carts) at the threat of a dusting of snow.

But today the snow was a pure surprise. The boys and I went to Longwood Gardens, and it was a delightful way to spend the afternoon. The flowers were inspirational and fragrant, and outside the windows of the conservatory we could see the trees covered in snow. When it was time to go, they ran and slid down the pathways, and I admired the frosting on the trees. Perfect.

My only complaint of the day: The inability of the state of Pennsylvania to actually clear roadways. What exactly is their problem? We saw three accidents and four cars that had run off the road. The roads were treacherous. It took us more than twice as long to get home as it should have. But when we got into Maryland, it was smooth sailing...they had even cleared the shoulder. Okay, complaint over.

Snow, in some mysterious way, elevates everything. Why is that?

High-Low

I think I better make my way to Wal-Mart and get that bird feeder before I go down the tubes. Where does that expression come from anyway? Down the tubes. What sense does that make?

Anyway, the new year got its start in...well...not the most desirable manner. Two boys came down with the stomach flu on new year's night, and then my husband got it the next night. Son2 has been dealing with a milder version this week -- along with a three-day migraine. Happy new year indeed. Ugh.

All of this has left me feeling a bit drained and a tad...depressed, or something. Thus the need to make the bird feeder a priority. All of this is nothing that a few juncos and chickadees couldn't cure.

January. It's just not my favorite month. April through October, I'm good. November through March, not so much. But, because it's important to look on the bright side, I'm trying to come up with some good things about January. Here's my list thus far (though, I confess, it's short, and a bit heavy on the TV side of things):

1. The start of 24!
2. The start of Lost
3. My birthday
4. The possibility of a snowstorm

Unfortunately, I'm hard pressed to come up with any other good things about January. If you know of any, please fill me in.

The morning of new year's day, we had a big breakfast and we each had to list our high and low of the past year. Here are mine:

Low: The gzillion medical appointments my children had this past fall.
High: The election of Barack Obama. Seriously. I was having trouble identifying the highest high. There were a lot of great days, but I could not come up with The Big Moment. And then my husband looked at me and said, "Election night. Your high was election night." And he was right.

And that leads me to add one more item to my list of good things about January: the inauguration. (BTW, one of the great things about making a list of good things is that once you start doing it, you keep thinking of more. I used to have a notebook full of good things.)

High-Low is one of our favorite things to talk about. I'd love to hear your highs and lows for 2008 if you feel like sharing them.