The sun, black holes and such

It has rained for two days straight. The sun finally came out today. Any length of time spent indoors, with it raining outside, sends me right back to my seasonal affective disorder days in Alaska. This is not a good thing. It's a little like PTSD. Only I didn't get shot at or anything. But it is why we left Alaska.

So the sun came out and I took a walk with Yellow Dog, who pulled and pulled on the leash because she hadn't been on a walk in two days. We almost walked right into an accident that looked as if it had just happened. A dog was under a car, not quite pinned by the tire. Another car was stopped and the two drivers were talking and looking distressed. The dog was dying. I guess he'd just been hit. Yellow Dog and I changed course and walked further rather than turn where I'd planned. I cried as I walked. Sent a prayer out for all involved, but especially hoped the dog would be spared any further pain. Yellow Dog romped and played in the park, swimming  in the full creek, and on the way back to the house we saw another dog owner with a cute little chocolate lab puppy biting on her leash. I felt better.

This week included the birthday (January 8th) of physicist Stephen Hawking and I read a quote of his in my daily email from The Writer's Almanac. (I love this program with Garrison Keillor and highly recommend it.) Expecting something profound from this guy who has written A Brief History of Time and figured out black holes and such, I was shocked and immensely pleased to read this:

Asked in a recent interview what he thinks about most in a day, Hawking responded:

"Women. They are a complete mystery."

This made my day. Hell, it made my week. Here's this man who has spent his life pursuing a "Theory of Everything" - (that's right. EVERYTHING), and what does he think about most in a day? Women.

Wow. It made me feel more normal. It made me think of Aquaman as more normal. It made me feel connected to all the men and women out there who are just stumbling through this life, trying to love each other and be loved.

And it made me think, once again, about Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl.

This amazing little book and the man who wrote it have popped up in media again recently because the new year always brings new year's resolutions and book recommendations from the previous year, which inevitably brings links to the best books of all time. This one always makes the list. I read it and agree. And I take comfort in this small quote from his work:

A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the "why" for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any "how."

This just gets me. In particular, this: "...a human being who affectionately waits for him..." Because that's what it's all about, isn't it? Only I'd say, "another living thing who affectionately waits for him" since I think a dog or other animal certainly fills this role for people in plenty of circumstances. 

The thing is, I think that's what we all want - someone waiting for us. Knowing that they will wait for us. Knowing that they want to wait for us. That's what makes life a bit easier. Gives us some purpose. Makes us not obsess over the millions of small things that can derail you forever, but instead focus on what matters. Some living thing waiting for you affectionately matters. And that means you matter.   

So I try to focus on the sun. And stay away from the black holes.

The Christmas Shrew

Beef and cheese is a whole lot better than what I smelled.

My throat is sore. Not from cold or flu, but from yelling.

A recent morning began with me entering The Redhead's room and saying, "My God! It smells like you've been farting in here all night!" A grunt was the only response I received as I retreated from his room. It doesn't typically smell good, but this smell was horrendous. It was way beyond the musty, body odor of a middle school teenager that usually wafted from behind his closed door. He, unlike me, was suffering from a cold and so couldn't smell anything.

Waking the boys up has gone from being a nice ritual to being something I dread. They are grumpy and whine and protest anything I say or do. It is no longer a pleasant way to start the day. But I have persisted because I felt it was my job, as their mom. As is making their lunches. And buying the groceries that go in those lunches.

Only since they've all joined middle school (Thing 1 and Thing 2 turned 12 this fall and The Redhead is 13) they've become moody. Sullen. Picky eaters. Complainers. Cry at the drop of a hat. Fight each other. Argue nonstop. Refuse to wear deodorant. Never want to bathe. Don't brush their teeth or clip their nails. They are, quite simply, pigs. I know of which I speak because we share one bathroom (but that's another story for another day).

So when you pair a sullen attitude with slovenly behavior, you have a recipe for mom repulsion. And irritation.

That's mostly how I feel towards them lately. Irritated and repulsed.

But I went about my school morning duties, making macaroni and cheese so they'd have something hot in their lunches (and because there were no other lunch fixings in the house), putting a load of laundry in the dryer that would probably not be dry in time for them to wear anything from it to school, and trying to check my work email with a faulty internet connection. You can see how this is shaping up, can't you?

It was around this time that one of the twins (searching for a missing shoe) was assaulted by the horrific smell coming from The Redhead's room and went to investigate. He discovered that Yellow Dog had pooped on the carpet, in two places. I don't know how I'd missed this. One pile was behind the door and had been smeared and dragged underneath the door when I opened it.

When he reported this to me in the kitchen, I said, "Well, I can't clean it up! I've got all this other stuff to do!" Just as quickly, Aquaman said, "Not it!"

It was then that the Christmas shrew arrived. And by shrew, I mean me.

I freaked out and started yelling. The Redhead fled the house with no notification, without lunch or his band instrument, to avoid being yelled at (and to avoid cleaning poop). He was at the bus stop thirty minutes early. Now we had a missing shoe and a missing boy, along with Aquaman attempting poop cleanup while retching. I finally got the internet connection working, made sure there were no urgent work emails, and went to finish shit detail before I had vomit detail as well.

Aquaman walked Thing 1 and Thing 2 to the bus stop. I might have screamed at him when he returned about how the boys needed real attitude adjustments and it was all his fault. Then I left to do my work from a coffee shop downtown. Not my proudest moment.

But here's what came of it: I now wake them up - one time - and do not return to their rooms. There are three alarm clocks wrapped and under the Christmas tree, so come December 26th I won't even be doing that. I stay out of the kitchen in the morning and let them make their own lunches. I instead bite my tongue to stop myself from reminding them to hurry and eat breakfast, brush their teeth, take their asthma medicine, put on their shoes and head to the bus stop. It is quite difficult.  I'm pretty sure not one of them brushed their teeth this morning. But my throat is not sore because I'm not yelling anymore.

I've been enforcing the chore chart schedule I began a year ago and have not returned their xBox since they lost the privilege of playing it a week ago because they constantly fight about whose turn it is. Life is just more pleasant without it. Because we're tired of finding towels on the floor after one use, Aquaman suggested we get rid of all towels and give each boy one of a different color. So I bought three plush, brightly colored towels. They are wrapped and under the tree. Each boy gets one. They can only use that one towel. If they leave it on the floor, we know the offender based on the color and they're stuck using it off the floor rather than claiming it is someone else's and getting a new one from the bathroom cabinet.

Instead of reaching down to pick up something on the floor while thinking, "If I don't pick it up, no one else will," I've begun waiting until there's a boy around. I make him do it.

I had a talk with The Redhead about how he can't run away from conflict (and certainly can't leave the house without telling a parent) and that the best thing for him to do when there's a crazy morning with someone yelling is to ask, "What can I do to help?" or even better, "I'll clean up the poop, Mom." I explained that if he didn't want to be yelled at, he should step up and do his chores, get ready for school on his own, and help around the house. I emphasized the point that I could do it all, but that it stressed me out and shouting would probably be involved. He seemed to understand this.

Raising three middle school boys at once is tough work. We visited my brother, who has two daughters of similar ages, recently. The differences that exist between girls and boys was glaringly obvious. My nieces are happy and talkative and animated. When a friend waves to them they smile and wave back. When a friend waves to the boys, they shrug their shoulders and look away. They are moody. They are rude. They are selfish. I know this is normal because I read The Male Brain by Louann Brizendine, M.D.

But it's still hard. And you know what? I refuse to be the shrew. I refuse to be the mom who yells and nags and never lets up. I have taught them about personal hygiene - they just opt not to groom themselves. If it reaches the point that I can smell them, I will inform them that they won't be going anywhere or doing anything until they bathe. They know what chores to do and when, they just try to get out of it. So I'll use the same technique: go nowhere, do nothing until chores are done. On the agenda this afternoon is teaching The Redhead how to do his own laundry.

We'll see how it goes. But I'm done yelling.   

Be gone...before someone drops a house on you!

I'm undertaking a new challenge. I challenged myself, but it requires family participation. Let me explain.

I finished my book club book, The Timekeeper by Mitch Albom (Don't waste your time. Ha.) and was looking through my bedroom bookshelves to find something new to read. Perhaps something more satisfying (I really didn't like that book.) I specify my bedroom bookshelves, because we have bookshelves in every room: the living room, every bedroom, the kitchen, the hall...even the bathroom. We are a family of book lovers. Right now, I'm reading The Hobbit aloud to the boys every night so that we can finish it before we go and see the movie. Cause that's how we roll.

So, back to my bedroom bookshelves. I came across a book that my father gave me when I was 16.

Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know by E.D. Hirsch, Jr. You can probably guess that I never read it.

It sounds a bit dry, I'll give you that. But as I flipped through it, I came across this folded and tucked in between two pages.

It reads:

2.19.87

Dear Kate -

     Here is a book I have found to be very helpful to me. The title tells it all. This book will help you a lot.

Love-

Your Father-

Dan Ryan

How could I not read it? (This was typical of letters my dad wrote me.)

I dug in and was amazed that the biggest issues in education facing the country in 1987 are pretty much exactly the same as those in 2012. Namely, that student test scores are going down and their knowledge of the world around them has decreased dramatically. Hirsch calls "cultural literacy" that information that it is essential for us to maintain intelligent conversation with one another and have hope for any progress. He goes so far as to list those things in our culture that really deserve to be taught in our schools. But they aren't. They used to be, but they aren't anymore.

So what would any self-respecting former teacher and wanna be writer with three children do? She would challenge herself to teach her family these very things. She would vow to raise culturally literate children. She would do that by going down the list included in this book, item by item. From Aaron, Hank to Zurich.

I shared this idea with Aquaman who cautioned that it might be pretty hard to do and that the boys might balk at the notion of learning such things when they could be playing xBox. I was undeterred. Especially when I came across this article in The Atlantic. It references President Obama's recent ad lib "voting is the best revenge," a derivation of "Living well is the best revenge" that certain parties warped into a political battle cry of fear instead of the actual meaning.

This morning, a golden opportunity presented itself. As I packed lunches and toasted strudels and signed forms, I dismissed Thing 1(who was only lingering to harass his brothers) from the kitchen with these words: "Be gone. Before someone drops a house on you."

I saw in his eyes that he didn't get it. But The Redhead did - he chuckled. Mostly because he was just part of his middle school's production of "The Wizard of Oz". Thing 1 had already disappeared into the hall, but I called him back. With all three boys sitting at the kitchen table, I announced, "Here's what we're gonna do from now on. Every morning, we'll discuss something that is important for you to know as an American. It's called 'cultural literacy'. It means that you'll be able to speak intelligently about things. And it means that you'll recognize when someone else speaks intelligently and you'll know that they're smarter than the average bear which means they might be okay to hang around. Although not always."

Thing 1 asked, "Like what kinds of things?"

"Just things that you need to know that you probably won't learn in school," I explained.

"Like 'Don't eat yellow snow'?" he asked.

"Good one!" Aquaman yelled from the bedroom.

"Um, no. Not really. No." I was getting frustrated, but decided to press on.

"So let's start with this one. When I just said, 'Be gone before someone drops a house on you' what did I mean? Where does that come from?"

The Redhead jumped right in. "It's from 'The Wizard of Oz'. When the Wicked Witch of the West has found her sister has been killed by Dorothy's house landing on her. Glinda the Good Witch tells her that to get her to leave Munchkinland."

"Exactly," I told him. "The Wizard of Oz is a classic American movie. It is more well-known than the original series of books it was based on. It is part of our culture. And you should know it and be familiar with references to it."

No response. I looked at Thing 1. "Now," I said. "Be gone, before someone drops a house on you."

He scuttled away, unimpressed. Tomorrow? We'll tackle, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

It just might apply to this whole challenge.  

Truthfully, I don't yet know the origin of this saying - but I will tomorrow. My father kept a sticker like this one in the drawer of his Gerstner tool chest. This was where he stashed extra cash. When the cash was gone, the sticker greeted the seeker. Clever, no? 

*On a side note, an occasional reader of this blog remarked, "So, you have Aquaman, The Redhead, Thing 1, Thing 2, and Yellow Dog. Who are you?" To which I replied, "I'm no one. I'm me. The narrator. It's my blog. I don't need an alias." But now that I've had some time to think about it, I think I will be "She Who Must Be Obeyed." How's that?