Kindness: Part 1

I was watching the news the other day.  There is a man who has become quite adept at purse snatching at a local day care.  In the time it takes a mother to walk inside the building and retrieve her child he can emerge, break the car window, remove the purse, and disappear.  I guess he is extremely successful. 

Stories like this are common.  And they are followed by a consistent dose of government stalemate, international discord, and large scale disasters.  As many have observed and lamented, the news might be more aptly named the bad news.  Despite the deluge of negative press, I have found people to be generally kind, generous, and polite.  The small acts of kindness I frequently witness will almost certainly never be considered worth reporting.   I, however, am not a news outlet of any scale, and I don’t care what is newsworthy.   And so, this is the first in what I hope becomes a very long series of posts in which I intend to chronicle the small and seemingly insignificant moments of kindness that I frequently experience. 

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Friday was errands with Mom day.  We woke up early and packed a breakfast of cheerios, raisins, and string cheese.  We dropped the Texan off at work so that we could have a car for the day.  Our first and most important errand was a visit to the pumpkin patch.  It was a lot of fun, and we spent much longer there than I anticipated.  It was well after lunchtime when we left. 

The next errand on the list was grocery shopping.  I’m still pretty new to the whole mom thing, but one thing I am fairly certain of is that taking two hot, hungry, and tired toddlers to the grocery store is a very bad idea.  Another thing that I am acutely aware of is that once I get two hot, hungry, and tired toddlers home to be cooled, fed, and rested, the chances of me getting back out for more errands are quite slim.

We decided to go to Costa Vida.  (That would be the Royal We.  The junior redheads don’t really get a vote in such matters.)  The fact that it shared a parking lot with the grocery store was really the determining factor.  As it turns out, Costa Vida has a much different lunchtime clientele than Chic-fil-a.  Rather than the mommy crew I found myself surrounded by the left-the-office-for-a-quick-lunch crowd.  And while Costa Vida does have a children’s menu, I found them to be conspicuously lacking high chairs.

This was not the first, and I do not expect it to be the last, meal I have eaten with a small child on my lap.  It is one of my newly acquired talents.  We were quickly situated, and soon both of my children were happily chewing on a quesadilla.  Just as the group sitting next to us got up to leave my little girl decided that black beans would probably make excellent face paint.  After smashing them quite thoroughly in one hand, she shifted them to the other in a demonstration of her ever improving dexterity.  Then she smeared them on her cheeks and accidentally put a few in her mouth.  Eating the food was clearly not her intention and she angrily sprayed the stray beans out of her mouth at her brother.

On his way out the door one man looked back and noticed her antics.  He came back in and told me not to move.  He brought us a handful of napkins and stopped for a minute to chat.  He told me a little bit about his five year old son.  He took some time to say hello to my kids and play some peek-a-boo.  He told me they were adorable.  Then he went back to work leaving me with two well-fed and cheerful kids that were ready to go grocery shopping. 

Therefore, I conclude that the world is not full of purse snatching jerks.  

Merry Christmas

When I was growing up the Easter Bunny visited our house Friday night.  I think ideologically it was because my parents had no objection to hidden eggs and chocolate bunnies, but wanted to spend Easter Sunday focused on the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  I think pragmatically it was because getting to church on time was difficult enough without hunting eggs first. 

I don’t remember how my parents explained the altered schedule of festivities.  I do remember that since I received a basket of goodies earlier than any of my classmates I assumed that my family had our very own Easter Bunny.  And my childhood mind concluded that if we had our own Easter Bunny we must have actually had an entire complement of magical characters specific to our little family.  I was certain that there was a tooth fairy assigned to us exclusively.  And, of course, we had our very own personal Santa Claus.  I believed that our Santa had a north pole, a sleigh, flying reindeer including Rudolph, and an army of elves in a workshop making toys.  But it was all just for me, my parents, and  my siblings.  Other people had a different Santa.  I never wondered how Santa made it to all the houses in the whole world in one night because our Santa had only one family to visit

As I look back I am convinced that my childhood fantasies were the height of narcissism.  

Discoveries

I am very liberal in my usage of bathroom tissue. Actually, I don’t know that for sure. My consumption of toilet paper could be unremarkably average. Since bathroom habits are neither a frequent nor polite topic of social conversation I don’t really know how I compare to the rest of the population. What I do know is that toilet paper is not something that I make an effort to conserve. I use as much as I want whenever I need. My financial situation has never been so dire, and my concern for the environment never so great that I have felt the need to count and curb the number of squares I use. The Texan however, maintains the toilet tissue habits that he learned while living in Africa. When we got married he was rather surprised to see the regularity with which toilet paper made its way onto the shopping list. Now that the little red head has discovered toilet paper, I find that I am purchasing it at a frequency that seems excessive even to me.

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.