A Hidden Well

potty time

Today's Quote: "Do it now. It is not safe to leave a generous feeling to the cooling influences of the world." — Thomas Guthrie

I was going to say that I haven't felt much like writing lately, but that's not entirely true.  In fact, I have felt like writing.  But every time I try I find myself fumbling to find the right words.  I type, re-think, delete, and begin again.  It feels like trying to tell a story with a bad case of the hiccups.  I can only get a few words out at a time.  I'm not sure what this struggle is all about, but I do know that it's frustrating.  I still identify as a writer, yet I do so little actual writing.  It's disconcerting.  (You see, it's as though I no longer trust myself.  I second guess everything I write.  Immediately after writing that last sentence I went directly to dictionary.com to check the meaning of "disconcerting".  Just to make sure that I'd used the word correctly -- which, of course, I had.)  Can somebody please tell me why I am suddenly doubting my ability to compose a clear sentence?  (It's a rhetorical question.  I don't actually expect an answer.  Although if you think you know the answer, then by all means feel free to share.)

Jack and Chloe are both home from their respective camps.  (Their sleep-away camps, that is.)  They both had a really good time.  Glenn and I often ask ourselves how we ended up with such brave kids?  Neither of us would have willingly gone off to a residential camp hours from home when we were their age.  If I'd even considered going it would have been only on the condition that a good friend were coming along with me.  (And even then it's unlikely that I would have actually gone!)  But Jack and Chloe are completely unfazed by the whole thing.  This was Jack's third year at Ferry Beach, so he knew many of the other campers.  This was Chloe's first time at  Girl Scout Camp, so she didn't know anyone.  But she made friends.  Her favorite part of camp was that she got to ride a dappled horse named Ian.  Her least favorite part of camp was the swimming.  Chloe, of course, loves to swim.  However, at camp they were required to wear bathing caps, which she loathed.  (Bathing caps!  Who besides Olympic swimmers wears a bathing cap anymore??)  Also, after one particular swim she attempted to brush a "stick" from her leg, only to discover that the stick wouldn't brush off.  It was stuck on quite well, because in fact it was not a stick, but a leech.  Eeeew.  Jack apparently awoke every morning at 6:30 AM to take part in Polar Bear Swim.  I'm amazed because at home he seldom gets up before 11:00 AM, and he hardly ever swims in our pool.  I suppose swimming in the ocean super early in the morning with a bunch of friends is different though.  He's spent the past few days emailing and chatting with Ferry Beach friends, all of them lamenting the fact that camp is over.  Chloe started a new day camp today through the Y.  It's called Detective Camp, and I think she likes it, although she complained that the two other kids on her team bug her because "one is a know-it-all and the other doesn't do anything".  Whatever that means.  I guess the verdict is still out.  Next week I am facilitating an art camp at the Y.  It sounded like a great idea when I agreed to it six months ago.  Now I'm wondering why the heck I always manage to get myself into these things!

In other news . . .

• I've been spending a lot of time playing on Face Book.  It's fun!
• I went to Plan B with Jenny tonight.  Finally.  We've only been talking about doing so for the past two years!
• Potty training is not going well.  Don't be fooled by the potty photos.  He might look like he's got it all figured out, but I can assure you that no actual poop or pee have made their way into the potty yet.
• I'm listening to the new David Sedaris book (on CD), When You are Engulfed in Flames, and thus far I'm not impressed.  Too bad.  I normally love David Sedaris.  Maybe my expectations are too high?
• Glenn needs to check his email, so I'm outta here!

 

patriotism

When I was 12 our class had to memorize a poem called "Patriotism", by Sir Walter Scott.  It was a lengthy poem, but we recited it each morning for a month until we all knew it by heart.  (In fact, I can still recite it from memory.)  The thing is, not once did we ever discuss the poem.  We never talked about the poem itself or even the concept of patriotism.  Nobody asked us if we agreed or disagreed with the poem.  Nobody asked how we felt about patriotism.  I suspect that nobody much cared.  Patriotism was just something one took for granted.  If you were an American than you were patriotic.  End of discussion. 

In stark contrast, jump ahead twenty-six years to the present.  Since it was Independence Day weekend, the theme of this Sunday's service at church was patriotism.  Jack, who is 12, was asked to share with the congregation his feelings about patriotism.  Not read a poem about patriotism or sing a song about patrotism, but simply to share his thoughts.  He was one of three individuals who did this, and it was actually a very cool service.

Here is what he said:

When Reverend Josh asked me to write something about patriotism for the service, quite frankly I was a little surprised.  I never really considered myself a patriot.  But then I started thinking underneath it all maybe I am patriotic.  As many people know, I have strong opinions on matters of government and our country.  Although I am not a fan of labels, you could say I'm a Liberal.

My definition of patriotism goes along with my opinions.  I don't think that patriotism means doing whatever your country says is right, especially if that means to go to war and kill.  I think this goes for any war, not just the notorious ones like Iraq and Vietnam.  As Americans, as human beings, we should do what we think is morally right.  That's what patriotism really means to me:  doing what I feel morally compelled to do and being willing to do so even if it contradicts government policy.  It is a part of the Unitarian Universalist principles and it is one of the beliefs that this country was founded on.  The founding fathers wanted the people of America to be happy, free, and able to believe what they want.

I think that in times when our government is less than perfect and so many people are dying in wars, that we sometimes shape our values to fit our state of national security.  I don't think that patriotism is wearing our nation's colors on the fourth of July, nor is it waving a flag around and setting off firecrackers.  I think that patriotism is respecting others beliefs, saying believing and writing what we want, and being able to make change.

We should feel grateful for the rights that we have as Americans.  As Americans we should have pride, but we should also be humble.  We should not believe that as Americans we are morally or socially superior to the rest of the world.  Instead of singing God Bless America, why not sing God Bless the Entire World, No Exceptions?

a cool picture of Chloe

murphy's law, or whatever

Lately everything that possibly can go wrong, DOES go wrong.  I can't decide whether it's just a random string of bad luck or if it's bad karma coming to kick me in the butt.  Or maybe it just has something to do with me being too busy to think straight.  In any case, I'm a mess these days.  On Saturday morning we drove to Maine to drop Jack off at camp.  The plan was that we would then head to North Conway, hit some of the outlets, spend the night in a hotel, and go to Story Land on Sunday.  Casey's mood was absolutely horrendous -- perhaps the worst I've ever seen him -- and so outlet shopping was about as much fun as camping in the rain.  I managed to spend about ten minutes in the Hanna Anderssen outlet and found a bunch of great stuff for Chloe, including a pair of bright magenta Merrells discounted to $20.  It wasn't until I got home Sunday night that I realized I never actually purchased the shoes.  I thought I had, but somehow managed to leave without them.  But I'm getting ahead of myself. On Sunday morning we woke up to pouring rain. And thunder and lightning.  Story Land was still open, but who wants to walk around in the rain?  And even if we had been willing to, it was also freezing cold, and we were not at all appropriately dressed.  I'd packed shorts and tank tops. It was 80 degrees when we left CT, and I guess I just anticipated the warm weather would continue.  The kids were disappointed, but we made the best of it by stopping at Yummies for candy and paying a visit to Auntie Di and Uncle Ron.  We'll have to reschedule Storyland for later in the summer. And today I am at my parents' house in RI.  I'm sitting here at my mom's lap top, waiting for AAA to show up and unlock my car, since I so cleverly locked my keys in the vehicle. We are supposed to be at the fabric store choosing material so that my mom can sew a pinafore for Chloe to wear as a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz.  We'll get there eventually, I hope.  Now I have to go change Casey's diaper before the smell knocks us all out. (Oh yeah, add that to the list of things not going well.  Casey got a spot at the new Montessori Magnet School opening in September, however he has to be potty trained before he can start, and he is sooooo not interested in using the potty.)

few words, mostly photos

Today's Quote: "It is the soul's duty to be loyal to its own desires.  It must abandon itself to its master passion." -- Rebecca West

Been busy having fun.

According to Casey, "Me and Jackie are the Jonas Brothers."  Too much Disney Channel me thinks.

I'm all over the place today.

Tomorrow is the last day of school.  Jack has to take one exam and then will be dismissed at 9:30 AM.  Chloe has school until 1:00, although I'm not sure what they'll be doing all day.  If I were a teacher I don't think I'd even attempt anything remotely academic.  I think I'd bring in cleaning supplies and let them clean stuff -- desks, book shelves, the ceiling, whatever.  Cleaning spray and sponges can keep a kid entertained for a good long time.  Then I'd show a movie and keep the popcorn plentiful.  Then I'd take them outside and let them play until they got hot and tired.  After that I'd bring them back inside for pizza and whatever party fare the parents sent in.  And then I'd send them home.  Of course, I'm not actually a teacher, so there might very well be some huge flaw in the plan that I just can't see.  And that's why I'm not a teacher -- because I'd want everyday to be about playing with sponges, running around outside, and eating popcorn.  My students would really like me, but they'd probably get lousy scores on the Connecticut Mastery Test.

This afternoon Chloe racked up a slew of awards at the school awards ceremony, so she was beyond excited.  I feel really ambivalent about those ceremonies.  Obviously I am very proud of Chloe and am glad that her efforts and accomplishments are recognized. However, I can't help but feel bad for those kids who year after year just sit there watching, seldom receiving recognition themselves.  Once, back in 3rd or 4th grade, Jack said he wished everyone could get an award.  Someone pointed out that if everyone received an award, then the awards would no longer be meaningful.  And that's true enough -- but still.  I still feel bad for those kids, indeed the majority of the kids, who fall right in the middle.  There are awards for outstanding academic performance and excellent behavior, and there are awards for most improved academic performance and most improved behavior.  But I wish there could be a way to celebrate everyone, to truly allow each child to feel proud of his or her individual gifts and achievements.  I realize this may sound trite, but I do believe that every single person is special, and I know that when some people are receiving awards as tangible proof of their "specialness", it can leave those without award certificates questioning their own worth and value.  (Or maybe I'm just projecting my own insecurities!)  Okay I'll just shut up now.

After the ceremony we (Chloe, Casey, and I) went to Rita's, our favorite (okay -- my favorite) ice cream shop to celebrate with a gelati.  Yum.

cutie pie

Last day of pre-school!

I don't know why his fingers are in his mouth.  He never puts anything in his mouth.

Of course, I could be wrong.

The possibility exists that it's not actually a coyote with mange.  It could be a fox with mange.  Or a chubacabra!  Or maybe just a very ugly dog.  But I don't think so.

mange

Today's Quote:  "We have a lot of inhibitions that are thought to be shameful and private and unspeakable.  But to reach another person, poetry has to be as open as possible.  Then we discover that everyone's experience resembles everyone else's."  - Galway Kinnell 

Today is Casey's last day of pre-school.  It figures that he just started to really enjoy it about two months ago.  He was ambivalent in the beginning, indifferent for a while, and only recently began to talk about school with excitement.  I'm definitely going to miss having two mornings a week to myself.  Those two mornings are typically when I go to the doctor, or the dentist, or hair salon, or on errands that are far easier to run without a toddler.

We're in the midst of a heat wave.  Chloe's school let out early yesterday and is doing so again today.  Jack's school is air conditioned, so he doesn't get a break.  However, his exams start tomorrow, so he'll have half days Wednesday and Thursday, and then a 9:30 AM dismissal on Friday.  Friday is the last day of school for both Jack and Chloe.  They are ready for summer, and so am I.  At least I Think I am.

We have a mother raccoon and three tiny babies living in a hollowed tree in our yard. They really are very cute.  I can almost forgive the mother for emptying our garbage cans and making a huge mess when ever we put the garbage out for trash removal.  We also have a bizarre looking animal roaming around the neighborhood.  Yesterday Chloe pointed out the window and said, "Hey Mom, there's that weird fox I was telling you about."  When I saw it I recolied in horror because it's definitely no ordinary fox.  I'm fairly certain it's not a fox at all.  I spent hours google searching for such an animal, which Jack aptly described as a demon creature, and I think I found it.  I think this is the animal strolling through our neighborhood and across our front lawn.

Not the healthy looking coyote, but the ugly one.  It's a coyote with mange.  Great, huh?

old

I'm old.  I know this because tonight Glenn and I went to the movies to see The Strangers, and I was scared out of my mind.  Once upon a time, and not so very long ago, I loved to be scared.  Scary movies, books, tv shows -- I couldn't get enough of them.  Being scared was a rush.  But apparently, without my consent, I've grown just old enough that I no longer enjoy being scared.  Glenn and I were a good 20 years older than everyone else in the theater. I suppose that should have tipped me off to the fact that I'd chosen the wrong movie.  About ten minutes into the movie, just as I was settling in with a box of Reeses Pieces, a creepy guy in a white mask appeared on the screen, and I felt my stomach turn into a knot.  So much for the Reeses Pieces.  I paid $10.50 for an hour and a half of absolute, unadulterated fear.  A few years ago I might have considered that money well spent.  Today, not so much.  I'm old.