Toddlerhood

Our little boy is growing up.  He doesn’t walk very much yet, but I’m pretty sure he is solidly in the toddler phase of life.  I base this assessment on the large path of destruction he can create in a very short amount of time.  I realize that for all of you with kids older than mine these types of events are old news, but it’s a first time adventure for me, so please indulge my story and pretend that you find it as cute and humorous as I do. 

A cold has been making its way through our household.  Today I had an awful headache.  Finally this afternoon I decided that what I really needed was a nap.  So I put my little boy in his room to play and went to lie down.  He was pretty sure that he had been abandoned for life and screamed like it was the end of the world.  This uproar did not help my headache.  So I rescued him from the confines of his bedroom, grabbed some of his toys, turned on some cartoons, and set him down to play in my room.  He settled down and I fell asleep.  20 minutes later I woke up when he pulled the Texan’s night stand down.  My little redhead looked at me and laughed like it was a spectacularly fun game.  I was really glad that he wasn’t hurt and the lamp didn’t break.  I got out of bed to start picking up and discovered that he had been very busy for 20 minutes. 

He had unpacked the diaper bag and spread pretzels throughout the room; unloaded both drawers of my night stand (I'm pretty sure he couldn’t reach those last week); tried to eat our rent check; found a sucker and unwrapped it leaving sticky handprints on the wall and a purple spot on the carpet; unloaded, and unfolded, all of the laundry that I did yesterday; and left all of his toys untouched.  Now it is his turn to take a nap.  

Some Thoughts From this "Holiday" Season

The term Holiday Season used to bother me. It seemed like another concession to the insanity of political correctness. I’ve gotten over it. I do think it’s pretty silly when people try to disguise their Christianity by saying Holiday when they very clearly mean Christmas, but I have also decided that Holiday season aptly describes the November to January festivities that I participate in. This year has seemed to me to be the year of complaining. I have encountered a number of grouchy Christians that, in their effort to preserve the piousness of their celebrations, I think have become quite Grinchish. In addition to bemoaning the atheistic title of the season and objecting to the commercialization of Christmas, they find fault in almost every aspect of traditional American Christmas celebration. I think they are missing out on what could be the “most wonderful time of the year.”

I know that Christ was not born in the winter. I am fully aware that Christmas is in December to coincide with the ancient pagan holidays celebrating the Winter Solstice. It doesn't bother me. I don’t think that makes me less Christian. The fact that pagans thousands of years ago thought that an evergreen tree had mystical properties because it did not die in the winter is interesting. The fact that I choose to think of the evergreen tree as a symbol of everlasting life made possible through the Son of God does not make me an uninformed purveyor of pagan traditions as I place a Christmas tree in my house.

I know that retailers push the beginning of their Christmas observance as early as possible in order to raise profits. I realize that the Thanksgiving holiday was moved a week earlier in order to lengthen the official Christmas shopping season. I have decided that I don’t care. I have been known to put a stocking or two up before Thanksgiving, and I have no rigid date set for the appropriate beginning of Christmas music. Despite the fact that I join the evil corporate monster in beginning Christmas before December, I don’t believe that this makes my own personal observance of Christmas any less spiritual. I like the idea of combining the two holidays. Certainly a day dedicated to gratitude is in no way diminished by remembering the birth of the Savior, for whom I am extremely thankful. And the celebration of Christmas is probably enhanced by adding an element of thanks. So instead of sighing at the lost soul of America as I see candy canes displayed the day after Halloween, I find some peppermint ice cream and start to wonder where my Nativity sets will be best displayed this year. I have spent the last ten Christmases in ten different residences, so it really is a legitimate question that often requires some extensive pondering.

On a much less defensive note: I have a small collection of nativity sets. My favorite one is magnetic. It is my favorite partly because I love all things magnetic, and partly because it goes on my refrigerator door in the kitchen where I spend a significant portion of my life. I like that I don’t have to find a place for it every year. It usually goes up first (before Thanksgiving) because I don’t have to think about where to put it. I also like that I can see it amid meal preparation and dishes. It’s a good reminder to me that I can seek the divine even among the mundane parts of life.

The First Snow

When I was in elementary school, my class made paper snowflakes. I was not any good at it. I always folded the paper incorrectly and/or cut the wrong side. Each time I thought I was ready to unfold my triangle to reveal the beautifully symmetrical design I instead ended up with a pile of scraps on my desk. After several failed attempts my teacher folded the paper for me, and stood next to me while I cut the edges. I placed my scissors and then waited for the approving nod indicating that the intended cut would not completely destroy my project. I anxiously opened up my paper ready to see the long-awaited masterpiece of a snowflake. I was disappointed. Some of the kids in my class produced exquisite and intricate forms. I thought mine was rather boring and, quite frankly, ugly. It was not a shining moment in my life.

We took our completed snowflakes into the hall where the teachers had covered the wall with a large calendar of the rest of the year. We each guessed when the first snowstorm would be and placed our snowflake on our forecasted date. The assignment indicated with acute clarity that I did not have a future as either an artist or a meteorologist. Despite the dismal failure of my snowflake cutting and weather predicting ventures, I enjoyed the project. I minimized my embarrassment by writing my name in tiny letters on the back of my snowflake so that no one would know that the unsightly ill-placed prediction was mine.

When I started teaching in Texas I was saddened to learn that snowflake cutting was not part of the standard elementary school curriculum. I thought this oversight left a severe gap in my high school students' education, and set out to rectify the matter. Armed with a few more years of life experience and a Bachelor of Arts degree, I took to the internet and searched for paper snowflake instructions. I hid alone in my bedroom to work. When I felt competent enough, and didn't fear that it would be utterly humiliating, I moved to the kitchen where my roommates could supervise the effort. After a few attempts in my kitchen I mastered the skill to the point that I could explain it to the kids.

The day after Thanksgiving break I started each of my classes with cutting snowflakes. The kids did an excellent job and did some amazing work. Every single one of them put my childhood attempts to shame. There isn't really a first snow (or any snow) in Texas, and I didn't think the administration would approve of my making the hallway wall into a calendar, but I felt that their accomplishment should be displayed in some way. I called a friend and we spent the hours after school hanging almost 200 snowflakes from my classroom ceiling.

Now we live in Idaho, and we spend nearly six months of the year covered in snow. Despite the length of the winter I still think that the first snow is magical. It is simultaneously peaceful and exciting. Although snow signifies the beginning of shoveling the driveway and salting the sidewalk, for a moment everything seems calm and still. The dying grass suddenly looks as though it has been sprinkled in glitter, and the trees take on an icy angelic look. The dropping temperatures make me wonder how I will keep a hat on my infant when we need to venture out into sub-freezing weather, but I still enjoy sitting inside with some hot chocolate and watching the silent precipitation.

September

This year I have decided that September is the perfect month. This may be partly due to the fact that I am not pregnant (read: throwing up) and have finally recovered from a stage 4 tear and subsequent infections and complications. The world really is a better place now that I can successfully walk across my living room without pharmaceutical assistance. Medical accomplishments aside, September is also the prefect month for a host of yearly recurring reasons.

The school supplies go on sale. There is just something magical about a brand new box of crayons, or a set of perfectly sharpened colored pencils. And nothing is quite the same as the pristine paper and unbent corners of a new notebook. My joy and excitement over new school supplies are significantly increased when they cost less than a quarter.

Open window weather. September is the enjoyable combination of fallish summerness. The days are warm and pleasant, but I can bake without my house approaching 90 degrees. The evenings cool off, but are not yet bitterly cold. I pretty much keep my windows open all day and all night. This practice fills my house with a pleasing breeze and the occasional sound of birds.

Sunflowers. I love sunflowers, and in September I see them everywhere. They grow along the side of the road, around parking lots, and in open fields. The ubiquitous growth of these bright and cheerful flowers somehow indicates that all is right in the world. This year is especially nice because I planted my own sunflowers. Now I don't have to go around town to appreciate some bright yellow foliage. I have had fresh flowers on my kitchen table all month and it makes me happy to know that they came from my backyard. I feel quite accomplished even though all I did was put some seeds in the ground and then ignore them for a couple of months. The awesomeness of my homegrown centerpiece is compounded by the fact that I planted two varieties of sunflowers so I have both yellow and orange blooms to enjoy.

The kids in the neighborhood sell pumpkins. It's the fall incarnation of the lemonade stand, and it makes me smile. Although I have never stopped to purchase a cold beverage from a neighborhood child, I am a sucker for a six year old selling pumpkins.

Fresh produce. Not the "fresh" produce from the store, but real fresh produce from our [neighbor's] garden. Despite my inexperience our own garden is doing quite well. We successfully grew everything required for homemade salsa. This accomplishment made up for the rather disappointing crop failure of our green bean experiment. I've also quite enjoyed eating corn on the cob minutes after it has been harvested. And our rather large and aggressive squash plant that is trying to take over the entire yard has finally set some squash. I am hoping it reaches maturity before the first freeze.

This year's September is especially perfect because I purchased some Nutella. I don't know why I have never done this before. It's chocolaty nuttiness has dramatically increased my enjoyment of life.

The Secrets of the Fire Swamp

We recently visited Texas because summer is the best time to visit the land of triple digit temperatures and record setting humidity. We used the same excellent decision making skills to determine that we should make the cross country trip in our car.

The Texan did most of the driving, and I did most of the entertaining the child in the back seat. However, one night an errand involving diapers found me behind the wheel. Driving in Texas is unlike any other place I have ever driven. When I first moved there, I was absolutely convinced that Texas traffic would be the cause of my final demise. I was particularly offended that I had to merge to get both on and off the freeway. My roommates and I referred to mastering navigation on Texas roadways as learning the secrets of the fire swamp. At a fairly recent point in my life I reasonably proficient in the secrets of the fire swamp. However, my current stint in farm town Idaho has quickly eroded my Texas driving skills.

I briefly coveted my infants five point harness and wondered if I should locate a helmet before facing the extreme peril ahead of me. I buckled my seatbelt, turned on the GPS, and set off on my diaper finding quest. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to recall the rules of Texas driving.

1. He who hesitates will never ever ever get on the freeway. Assertiveness is required. Unfortunately, the freeway is unavoidable. Texas has an abundance of freeways, and every car trip will involve at least one of them.

2. Traffic will never let up. For some reason thousands of cars have a dire need to be traversing Texas at eleven o’clock at night, or at three in the morning, or at one in the afternoon. There is no predictable or avoidable rush hour. Similar to the line in the women’s restroom, traffic in Texas is a Grand Law of the Universe.

3. Frequent lane changes are required. The Texas department of transportation is rather proud of their twelve lane highways. They have laid the roadways out in such a way that all motorists must utilize every lane. Without warning the right lane abruptly becomes the left lane, and the center lane is suddenly labeled exit only. It’s almost as though Escher was the city planner.

Milestones

The little redhead has had a busy six months. Among other things, he has discovered his hands, learned how to spit, rolled over (both directions), been vaccinated against polio, eaten a banana and some squash, and outgrown all of his clothes twice. He is currently learning to sit up on his own, and there is a distinct possibility that he is working on his first tooth.

This week he encountered a major milestone in the life of every redhead: he is experiencing his first sunburn. I would like it noted that all appropriate parental precautions were observed. But sometimes no amount of sunscreen and shade can compensate for fair skinned genetics when at a water park. Our little boy has accepted his lot and is taking it like a champ. In fact I’m not sure he even knows that his face and arms aren’t supposed to sting. He hasn’t fussed or whined about it. All he does is blink a couple of times when we try to wipe the peeling skin off from under his eyes.

High School Patriotism

It is the policy of all public schools in the state of Texas to dedicate a portion of every day to the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance followed by the Texas pledge (yes there is such a thing) and a moment of silence in which "students may reflect, pray, meditate, or engage in any other silent activity that does not interfere with or distract others." It is the policy of many teenagers in the state of Texas to refuse to stand during this ritual. I spent the majority of my short teaching career asking defiant students to sit down. But without fail, when it came time for the Pledge of Allegiance, no one wanted to stand.

I can appreciate religious exception. It wouldn't bother me if a Jehovah's Witness didn't want to stand for the Pledge. I don't have the same belief, but I can respect it. I could even understand an atheist refusing to stand because they were uncomfortable with the acknowledgement of deity.

I am aware that the United States is a country based on protest. If my students were refusing to stand as a form of political demonstration I wouldn’t object. In fact, I would be rather excited that they actually had an opinion that was strong enough to compel action (albeit a very passive action). I would be behind them completely. But when a student refuses to stand just because they are too lazy to get out of the chair, I get irritated.

One day a particularly insubordinate student insisted, “Miss, you can’t make me say the Pledge of Allegiance.” I’m relatively certain that she was referring to my actual physical capcity to influence her speech, and not to the legal restrictions imposed upon public educators in a 1943 Supreme Court ruling (West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette). I thought about pointing out that I wasn’t asking her to say the Pledge; I merely wanted her to stand while someone else said it. I briefly considered acknowledging that if she could articulate a reason for declining to stand I would concede the point and allow her to remain seated. I decided that neither approach would do anything for my classroom management. It was time to end the argument. I asserted my redheadedness and declared “I can’t make you say the Pledge of Allegiance, but as your History teacher I can require you to memorize it. The quiz will be on Friday.”

On Friday I asked each student to take out a blank sheet of paper and write down the Pledge. It was a more difficult task for them than I had anticipated. Their responses were both depressing and entertaining. My personal favorite came from a relatively well-behaved student:

“I pledge a legion to the flag of the United State of America
And to the public four witches’ stand
One nation under God
With invisible liberty and justice for all”