Running Stitch

We’re coming up on my four year blogoversary at the end of October. Last year I decided to declare this week, guest post week at Running Stitch and I loved it so I’m doing it again. After all it’s my party!

Enjoy
-brit

When Brit asked me to do a guest post, I was thrilled. Who doesn’t want the opportunity to guest blog for such a fantastic woman? I asked her if there was anything she wanted me to write about specifically, and Brit, in her infinite generosity, said that I could write about what’s on my mind.

I have very little on my mind these days except for the looming vote in California about Proposition 8. Prop. 8 seeks to revoke the right to marry of any adult Californian, instead restricting it to one man and one woman. And I could argue forever about the rights and wrongs of what “traditional” family means, the separation of church and state, and whether this would all go away if we just took out the word “marriage.” I’ve made those arguments, and I believe in those arguments, and I find that proponents of Prop. 8 (those who are voting to revoke the gay marriage rights) are still rallying behind the battle-cry of “But think of the children!”

The thing is, I AM thinking of the children.

I am thinking of those who are gay who grow up in households where they hear that they are an abomination and unworthy of equal protection under the law. I am thinking of the high suicide rates among gay teenagers that occur because of this. I think about these kids who grow up believing that, because of who they are, nobody (not even their parents) loves them.

I think about the children from “non-traditional” households, whatever that might mean. I think of the children of single parents who are told that their family is not “ideal,” or that they will grow up to be delinquents or worse because they do not have the proper feminine or masculine guide.

I think about the children who need to be adopted and loved, those who are considered “undesirable” because a parent had a drug problem or there is a mental or physical handicap. I think about how there are loving gay couples who would jump at the chance to give these kids a life and a chance, but are denied because they are same-sex.

I also think about the kids who are already the children of same-sex couples, and I think about how their futures are not secure because the law does not guarantee it. I think about how, if a parent dies, that child could be taken away from the remaining parent, from the life he/she knows, simply because others could not be loving enough to see that gay marriage takes nothing from heterosexual marriage. I think about the fear that must arise from that lack of security, and the pain that results.

I think about the children all the time.

I realize that parents worry that their kids might be taught things at school and in society that are contrary to the values cherished at home, and I understand wanting to protect one’s kids from viewpoints contrary to what a parent thinks is right. (And to be clear, Prop. 8 has nothing in it about education. The point is even moot because in California, a parent can remove his/her child from any lesson for any reason.) But I also think that the best that a parent can do is exhibit a loving example toward his/her children and all people.

Acceptance of all people begins with the teachings of parents. My wife, Merideth, recently wrote the following in an email to my mother:

Leave it to moms [and dads] to be able to clearly get that all their children deserve the same protections under the law…that none is second to or less than any other. Now if only all the parents will just apply that logic to all the nation’s children, we’ll be in business.

Other links of interest:
One (straight) mother’s letter to the Mormon church about its support for Prop. 8.

A balanced article that includes the sadness a mother feels when community feeling is not accepting of her gay son.

We’re coming up on my four year blogoversary at the end of October. Last year I decided to declare this week, guest post week at Running Stitch and I loved it so I’m doing it again. After all it’s my party!

Today’s post is by Kelli (aka Cagey) most days she can be found posting at Rancid Raves.

Enjoy
-brit

I am always flattered when Brit trusts me to run around in her space. I promise to leave it clean, Brit.

I love Halloween – the spookiness of it all, dressing up and of course, the High Fructose Corn Syrup Factor. Just hand me a syringe of insulin and be done with it. YUM. When I was a kid, we lived in or near small Kansas towns and when we went trick or treating – we did the whole damned town. No joke! My dad would creep along in the car and wait for us as went from door to door. And no, we did not actually know all the folks we were approaching – the town was not that small.

I feel very lucky that I live in a neighborhood where I feel perfectly okay taking my own precious progeny on a yearly Candy Crawl. However, the media has always, always made parents feel paranoid about doing this. Even in the 70s, in my childhood, you always heard about the “razorblade in the apple” legend. Frankly? I think that added a special, scary element to whole thing that made it even more gooeylicious fun. No?

One of my favorite sites, Free Range Kids has an interesting take on this. In her aptly titled post, “Let Them Eat That Unwrapped Candy!“, Skenazy writes:

Parents worry their kids will be abducted, of course, or seduced inside for some Satanic rite. They worry the kids will come home with a big, shiny apple and fail to notice the big, razor-sized gash in its side. Most of all, they worry about unwrapped candy – as if any killer really bent on poisoning moppets would be stupid enough not to carefully glue-gun shut his tainted Snickers.

The thing that’s really spooky about all these fears is how gullible the parents are. I spoke with Joel Best, a sociologist who has studied post-Halloween newspapers going back to the 1950s, searching for stories of kiddie crimes. As far as he can tell, no child was EVER poisoned by a stranger’s candy on Halloween. It’s an urban myth. And in fact, the evidence was so convincing to him, he never looked through his own children’s candy before he let them eat it. (Or, for that matter, before he ate it himself.)

Bravo. Skenazy has a valid point. Besides, it is far more likely that melamine laden candy from China is lurking your neighborhood than it would be Freddy Krueger trolling around.

Neil Arunstrong and the Witches of East Olathe

We’re coming up on my four year Blogoversary at the end of October. Last year, I decided to declare this week, guest-post week at Running Stitch and I loved it, so I’m doing it again. After all, it’s my party!

Today’s post is by Lals most days she can be found posting at La Casa de Laroosh.

When I received the email from Brit asking if I would be a guest blogger this week, I hit “reply” faster than I’d ever done before. I gushed, “Of course! I’d be honoured!” For I knew that it was with this invitation, that I was finally a blogger and not just some girl putting her thoughts to keyboard every once-in-a-while. All that aside, here’s my post for the day…

I’m not a mum. I love kids, but I don’t have any of my own yet. I do, however, have a niece and nephew whom I can play with, spoil rotten, and then return to their parents when I have had my child fix. It is all the fun without any of the responsibility. For this phase of my life, nothing could be better.

Earlier this month, I spent the weekend with my niece, the Rat (“Wat”, in her speak) and nephew, the Bug, in Southern California. It was fabulous — two days at the beach to build sandcastles, jump in the waves, and fish out seaweed. All of this in SUNNY, WARM weather! I was seriously in heaven!

As an Auntie, I was so pleased to have the opportunity to help foster the innate curiosity of my niece and nephew. The Wat is 3 and the Bug is 5. Neither of them have have any great awareness yet of what society dictates as normal “girl” or “boy” behaviour. It’s pretty fabulous. The Bug still plays with his sister’s dolls. And the Wat’s best “friends” are snails. She picks them up, places them on her arms, and lets them leave their slimy trails on her. To me, it’s pretty dang gross! But I do love the fact that she is so entranced by something that others (like me!) would deem disgusting. So it is with seaweed. Both the Wat and the Bug are fascinated by it! They want bigger and bigger pieces fished out of the ocean so they can play with it and eventually take it home. We spent countless hours looking, like pirates, for “treasure” (ie. seaweed). And whenever someone spotted good “loot”, it was up to me to fish it out of the ocean. Usually, it resulted in me being drenched and the kiddos doing happy dances and songs about their new-found treasure! It was priceless, really. And certainly well-worth the wet clothes — besides, I dried out quickly in the warm sun!

Here is the Bug showing off his plentiful “loot” and the Wat running and dancing with her seaweed:

As an Auntie who is also a scientist, I was so pleased to see that both the Bug and the Wat are interested in the world around them. “Where does seaweed come from?” “What else is in the ocean?” “Do whales/seagulls/crabs/clams/etc… eat seaweed?” Their innate curiosity astounds me! To me, they are already little scientists! I couldn’t be prouder.

We’re coming up on my four year blogoversary at the end of October. Last year I decided to declare this week, guest post week at Running Stitch and I loved it so I’m doing it again. After all it’s my party!
Today’s post is by Zoot most days she can be found posting here

Enjoy
-brit

Childhood Horrors Make Great Parenting Tools

Some time last week I was talking to my 13-year old son and a few of his friends. Someone in the group had a terribly embarrassing moment they wanted to share but were too embarrassed to even speak it. I decided to break the ice by telling one of my many many embarrassing moments from my childhood. I told them all about being in first grade and being irrationally afraid of Big Kids. I didn’t have older siblings and didn’t even have any regular interaction with Big Kids, so they were quite a mysterious group of people. I had somehow taught myself that Big Kids are mean and bullies and to be avoided at ALL COSTS.

This was difficult because I went to a very small school that was K-8. Therefore, I shared the halls and bathrooms with kids as old as 13. And if you’re six? 13-year olds are VERY BIG. This meant that I had to face my fear several times a day as my class walked the halls past those giants in the 8th grade. I managed to survive those scary encounters because I was usually surrounded by my class and accompanied by my teacher. Who I felt confident would defend me if need be.

One day I had to go pee. To put it bluntly. But it was quite a long time before the next schedule full-class bathroom break. I knew I could ask for a pass, but the thought of possibly running into an 8th grader without the protection of my teacher? Terrified me. I just tried to hold it as long as I could because there was no way I was going to walk those halls alone.

Long story short? I couldn’t hold it. And eventually, some girl in my class yelled, “Mrs. Pucker! Kim peed on the floor!” Because – you see – I lost control of my bladder AT MY DESK. I didn’t even have the foresight to do it somewhere in the class that could be blamed on someone else. Nope. I did it at my desk. As she yelled this to the teacher I panicked. What do I do? What do I say? How do I pretend it wasn’t me? Well…I simply said, “I didn’t do that.” Which – you know – kinda lame. Really? Then who did pee UNDER your desk there, Kim?

Luckily, my teacher saw the fear and shame in my eyes and quickly diverted the classroom’s attention somewhere else and helped me to the office. The rest of the day is a blur, but I do remember my teacher explaining to me that the 8th graders at our school are VERY nice and kind and nothing to be afraid of.

************
My son and his friends thought that was the funniest story (especially since they’re 8th graders) and then felt comfortable enough to all share their own embarrassing moments. It turned out to be quite a hilarious group chat as we all laughed hysterically at each other’s misfortune. When everyone was done sharing I made sure to tell the group, “See? All of those horrible moments you’ve told us about? Will one day be used to get your own kids to open up to you some day.”

Or, as my son said, “Mom. I’ll probably just use your story. That way I don’t have to re-live my own.”

Great. That plan backfired in my face as the legend of my childhood incontinence will now be passed on to future generations. Oh well. Lesson learned.

We’re coming up on my four year blogoversary at the end of October. Last year I decided to declare this week, guest post week at Running Stitch and I loved it so I’m doing it again. After all it’s my party!

Today’s post is by Juls. Most days she can be found posting on Keeping Pace.

In celebration of Running Stitch’s blogoversary, I was invited to be guest blogger on her site. This, in and of itself, shows just how trusting a person she is. I wonder who else she asked to guest-blog…

It was only a year ago when I first met Brit. I was actually worried that we might not have a lot to talk about. 4 hours later, we parted out of time constraints. It seems that we had no shortage of topics to cover. I felt more comfortable talking to her than many people I’ve known all my life.

The blogosphere has a way of bringing complete strangers together in an amazing way. I realize that people read my blog for a variety of reasons. Although Brit and I have running in common, she had admitted that running is perhaps not the reason that she frequents my site. As a mother of children who are much older than Brit’s, I was surprised to hear that it is my adventures in parenting that brings her back for more.

She writes, “Sometimes as young mothers I think we get caught up in ‘if I can just get to kindergarten everything will calm down’ but in reality as I read your blog I see that the balancing act, goes on and on and…probably on.” I laughed (out loud) when I read that. I remember thinking that. And then, just as BoBo was entering kindergarten, Tom decided that he didn’t need a condom.

One time – that’s all it takes. 9 months later, YaYa entered the family just as DD was heading off to college. I discovered that returning to the baby-stage did not impact my daily life as much as BoBo moving into the school-age stage. Homework, organized sports (karate, basketball, soccer, baseball…), play dates, and school were just a few of the many activities that encroached upon my calendar. Tom just smiled when I complained and asked if I wanted to head upstairs and create another one.

My children are truly thought of as gifts of the love that Tom and I shared, but they are work. IF you think that it gets easier as they get older, you are wrong. In my experience, it just gets busier and busier.

This is for Brit, to cure her of ever believing the myth that she will once again have endless free time once her children are off to school. Indeed, life remains busy with the arrival of school age, however the busy just changes flavor…

This weekend was just another busy day in the life and times of Juls. Aside from having my first date (non-date) in 20+ years, my weekend activities also included a 2 1/2 hour football practice on Saturday, the football game with 1 1/2 hour snack shack duty (before the game) on Sunday. There were the routine weekend shopping trips (which was abbreviated), laundry (which was deferred to a later date), taking the garbage cans out, and one very important task — my son’s Halloween costume.

When YaYa first told me that he wanted to be Alvin of the movie Alvin and the Chipmunks, I figured that it would be an easy costume to make. And if I was Brit, it would have been. But as YaYa started talking of fussy arms, legs, and faces, I began to wonder if the task was bigger than me. I put if off until the task was bigger than I could imagine. On top of that, I didn’t have a lot of time to dedicate to the task. So, I did what any good parent would do.

I went to the costume store soon after the football game ended. Together, YaYa and I perused the available costumes. Even if every costume was available in his size (which was obviously not the case), I still doubt that we would have settled on one. The costumes today are really SCARY. I know it’s Halloween, but come on. I was left with only one choice.

I made the costume.
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Peace, there is not a lot of it to be found here at The Burrow. Not if you mean the Peace that goes with ‘and quiet’. Two small boys aged 2 and 4? They are not still. They are not peaceful. They? Are up at 7am wanting ‘cheerios’! and ‘Tookskini bread!’ (zucchini bread). They are sticking cold feet on your body and prying your eyelids open.

And yet our weekends here are good. Our weeks aren’t bad themselves but there is something about the weekend, that is complete. Mama and Papa Stitch alternating shifts of pirate ship building, zoo cage mending, and of course the ongoing search for Captain Hook’s sword, thrown in amongst meal times, pumpkin carving and baths.

There is a lot of me time in our weekends, the togetherness allows for more centered and complete alone time. Whether it’s Dad in his studio, or Mama in hers. Our time is more our on and less interrupted with the whole family present.

There is always a lot of organizing for the week that goes on, regrouping and planning. Especially for a week with that contains a Halloween party in it. Somewhere in there I find Peace. If not quiet.

Whether it is in the extra winks I got this week, while I let my antibiotics do there work, or the extra push to be organized with this whole working at home thing, and remembering what comes first.

It could just be that our mornings are chilly and our evenings cool, and that they provide perfect big chair snuggle opportunities for reading and relaxing under a pile of boys and blankets.

I’m not sure how weeks that seem hectic and packed full or running and jumping and don’t forget hopping from place to place, end in this moment of Peace. But they do.

I notice Monday mornings are my worst. Coming off the weekend, The Man headed back to work, alone with two bouncing boys. Boys that wake you up at 7:30 with “ged dup!! Eat Cheerios!!” and meet the day full speed. By 9am we were running and biking and watching training wheels roll down the road by themselves.

And then it was 10:30am with a whole week ahead of us. I miss The Man Monday mornings not just as the back up guy but as the guy to talk to about silly things or serious things or things.

Even though we don’t do much that is ‘organized family time’ we spend a lot of our weekend slowly circling each other and moving in and out of each other space. This weekend was about apples. He climbed apple trees with our oldest, and peeled apples and apples and buckets of apples.

While I cooked and canned apples and apples and buckets of apples.

Applesauce: check

Apple pie filling: check

Buckets and buckets of still unpeeled apples. Checkity check

Canned cans of goodies stock our shelves.

There is a certain satisfaction in the floor to ceiling shelves full of food you’ve picked and canned yourself.

That is the food you can keep out of little hands.

Last week when my last pair of jeans split from pocket to seam, I took myself to the store for some new clothes.

I mean after all I have a paying job now. I should be dressing more appropriately. So I bought a nice pair of sweats. I mean who knew that sitting was so uncomfortable? I suddenly have found myself sitting for hours at time, and this is uncomfortable in jeans, and I feel like I should dress up a tad for Neighbor Girl, so pretty brown sweats it is.

And what’s a trip to the store without a good impulse buy? I snagged this new coat for The Wah.

I think Safety Orange is just right for our littlest bear. Don’t you?

Now if I had some socks, without holes. That would be great.

Now is the time to donate. Let your support be known.

Totally and completely stolen from Look Daddy.

*Upper respiratory infection? Check
Blog site crashed last night, leading to much freaking out? Check.
Insert short blog post to pretend like it didn’t happen? Priceless.

I recently received a hand me down curling iron from Lunch Buddy for my new hair do. Short hair is so convenient and even though I never bothered to dry it before, now I don’t have to! My point? Right. So not much with the hair maintenance which makes the following scenario even more strange.

One of our friends left a pink plastic hair dryer here the weekend of the Turtledash. Now I’m constantly having to break up fights over who is doing who’s hair lately.

NOOOO! I don’t want my hair done, I am sooo beautiful.

Boys…will be boys.

*sigh*.