Naan Pizza

We have a friend sleeping over, and it's Make-Your-Own Pizza Night.  We used whole-wheat naan bread as the base (perfectly sized for the big girls to eat their entire individual pies):  easy, yummy, and healthy.  They chose from pepperoni, ham, red onion, fresh garlic, artichoke hearts, basil, pineapple, and sliced tomatoes for toppings.

Parents' Pizza:  Pepperoni for him; ham for her

It's a gorgeous Memorial Day Weekend, so we ate outside.  One of us ate her pizza in the wagon:

Yay for summer!  So close.  

The Effect of Kindergarten on the Five-Year-Old Brain

Before

After

Thank you, Mrs. G., for making the magic happen!

List: Where I've Been

It's one of those months when activities and obligations and distracting flybys conspire to make me feel as if I am hardly keeping my nose above water.  You know, the end of the school year!  For example, "I just found out" (code for "I wasn't paying attention") that tonight is our daughters' school's Open House.  So we'll fit that in between work events and dentist appointments and if the kids are lucky, dinner. 

Here's where I've been spotted recently:

1. The Prom.
I can report that "Baby Got Back" is still a crowd fave.  Big butts haven't even needed to make a comeback--they transcend time! 

Heartwarming moment of Prom 2012:  a graduating senior with special needs brought his adult sister to the Prom with him, and requested Celine Dion's "Because You Loved Me" as a surprise tribute to her.  Our students cleared the dance floor for their peer and his sister's slow dance, and then joined him in a tear-jerking love fest. 

We have one 'P' down now, and two to go:  the Pep Rally and Powderpuff.  Okay, and maybe the Prank (eeek)... 

2. Signing up for Summer Camp.
Unfortunately, not for myself. 

There's a cartoon about boat ownership that cracks me up; it depicts a man running up and down a dock with carts full of cash he unloads into the hull of his boat.  That's how it feels to arrange for childcare/meaningful experiences for the kids for the parts of summer when they're off and I am not.  Every time I lay out dollars to have my children supervised while I work, I wonder how families with fewer means make do.  Can we do a better job of supporting families through affordable childcare, huh, USofA?  For the good of the whole?

3.  Deleting Election Messages from the Answering Machine.
Leave.  Us.  Alone.

4.  Gearing up for No Big Change.
If you asked me in September, I would have predicted that by this time of year I'd likely have a new baby or a new job.  Alas, neither was meant to be.  On the bright side, I love my job and my life as it is.  And this summer I won't be overwhelmed by the advent of new responsibilities:  disappointment replaced by relief! 

5. Sopping up Water Pooling in the Fridge.
We don't know why we have water pouring from a mysterious source into our crisper and deli drawers, but the repairman who told me it was my fault for overloading our freezer was wrong, wrong, wrong (Ha!  I would get more pleasure out of being right if I didn't already pay the sanctimonious Fridge Doctor $200 to NOT solve the problem).  Meanwhile, we have a rotation of cold, wet towels if you need any. 

6. A Few Award Ceremonies.
My favorite ceremony at the high school is the Faculty Commendation Tea, in which staff members can commend students for ANYTHING:  having a cheerful smile, being profound, demonstrating improvement or perseverance or keeping a stiff upper lip through tough times.  Forget GPAs and scores and stats; this kind of recognition is where it's at. 

7. Blow-Drying Lotion-Laden Hair.
So, we had lice.  And at this point I am pretty sure everyone has lice.  Yes, you!  What makes you think you don't have it?  Have you even checked?  Because those buggers are so hard to get rid of, even if you're a nit-picking Mama like me, that it's a wonder we don't all just cry uncle and be like sharks, happily swimming around with their hitchhiking remora.  But here's where you point out that remora offer some benefit to sharks, and I HAVEN'T YET DETERMINED ONE BENEFIT OF LICE beyond bringing me and my daughters ever so much more closely together.  So, yes, we resolved to fight the fight and I do believe we're victorious.  Paranoia allows for a hint of doubt, though, so we are investing in some Overkill Treatments. 

According to lore, as well as the Brave Moms willing to admit that they've had a louse in the house (fie on you non-disclosing parents!  You are not helping the team!), the most effective treatment is the "Nuvo Method," which involves soaking the hair in lotion, combing most of it out, and then blowing the lotion-y hair dry.  The last step seems so utterly impossible that after thirty minutes of blowing gummy hair I wondered if this was some Super Evil Person's plot to further torture a parent already brought to her knees by Pediculus humanus humanus. 

8. Making Lasagne.
I may be feeling the overwhelm of end-of-year events, but that won't stop me from volunteering to make lasagne for the Staff Appreciation Lunch at daughters' school!  What it will stop me from doing is putting it on my calendar, so that I mistakenly cook a giant gourmet lasagne a whole week in advance.  We celebrated Family Appreciation that evening.  And then I made another one this week.  Thank goodness for no-boil noodles.

9.  Cheering at Lacrosse Games
What a cool sport.

10. Being Alternately Speechless and Outraged over the State of our State's Budget.
Our friends--librarians, nurses, teachers with years of experience--are losing their jobs. Class sizes are increasing and programs are being lost. Who will step up to educate the next generation of children? Why would young people today be motivated to pursue a career in schools with such bleak forecasts? Dismay.

Healing My Heinie

In another justification of my fear of falling, I fell down hard on ice rather than run over Big Sis at the rink and suffered a tailbone injury that is like WOW OW OW OWWWWW I WILL NEVER TAKE MY FANNY FOR GRANTED EVER AGAIN.  I've had a pain in the patootie for three weeks with seemingly no end in sight, and I am happy to whine to you about it.  Or to squirm uncomfortably when I am seated in your presence, so you wonder about my exaggerated leg crossings and weirdly earnest elbows-on-knees-chins-in-palms posture.  I seem both inattentive and then overly so, all in the same meeting. 

People who have hurt their heinies are not helpful.  I've heard, "Oh YEAH...(eyebrows raised)...that takes MONTHS to feel better," and, "You know what?  That happened to me YEARS AGO, and when it's cold or damp out or I sneeze, my arse STILL hurts!" 

Whoopee!  As in, cushion?  Forever? 

No, I'm not going to the doctor, because Doc Google implies, what are they going to do anyway, not put my caboose in a cast, duh, so it doesn't matter if it's cracked or fractured or broken or just bruised.  The only remedy is rest.  Unless, of course, after eight weeks I still can't even bend over or stretch to grab something off a high shelf, in which case maybe they need TO SURGICALLY REMOVE MY TAILBONE, which doesn't sound like a convenient cosmetic procedure.  All of this only leaves me wondering what we're doing, humans, with this wacky vestigial organ that seems to get in the way of the soft landing otherwise offered by my derriere.

I've spent all these months recently strengthening my core with P90X (previously I only strengthened my legs, by running), and I am here to tell you that despite the fact I have appreciated the fruits of my efforts, you can forget your abs, your obliques, or your whatevers, because Your Core is actually Your Butt.  Paris could have taken down Achilles with an easy arrow to the tush instead of aiming for the heel, because it all relates back to the hind end, no matter how rippled your six pack.  Weak abs do not prevent you from driving your car.  Or from walking.  But ruin your rump, and you will not sleep. 

I like unimpaired butts, and I cannot lie.

Do me a favor today, and give your posterior some appreciation.  Kiss your own ass, if you will.  It's doing good work, even when it's just sitting around.

Portrait of a Third Grader

"It's not easy being green," my father would acknowledge to me and my siblings, invoking Kermit the Frog's familiar lament whenever one of us was experiencing a rough phase or facing the reality of some temporary or permanent state of being. 

We'd heard third grade was a seminal year in terms of development; eight-year-olds gain social consciousness, better understand life and death and other abstract ideas, and are challenged to make significant academic leaps at school (hello multiplication tables and cursive handwriting!). 

What I didn't know was how like thirteen, or thirty, would be third grade.  It isn't easy being eight. 

It is a landscape of deep heavy sighs and merry peaks of giddiness.  The emotional currents shift swiftly; I think of the lyrics to a Crowded House song I love:  "Even when you're feeling warm/The temperature could drop away/Like four seasons in one day." 

When I watched this video--a time-lapsed compilation of footage recorded by a father of his daughter, birth to 12 years--I reflected on just how complex humans are from the very beginning.  Papa Hofmeester captures such a wide range of his daughter's expressions in a video with no sound; we see her plaintive and contemplative and triumphant and pouty and pained and teary and resolute and ecstatic--a celebration of the privilege of hosting the growth of a human from birth. 

We wonder if the videos continue past his daughter's twelfth birthday.  I am particularly interested in knowing what permissions he has from Lotte, the subject of his video.  I promised Big Sis I wouldn't post the photo above without her permission.  We had lots of discussions about trust and sharing of confidences before she agreed I could publish this post.

Because third grade means more privacy.  It means defining comfortable boundaries in every domain:  with language, relationships, the truth, actions, her body, with laughing out loud in class. 

The emergence of insecurities makes us wince.  She is appraising, already, her appearance, and her actions.  We've watched her replay scenarios and review them, as well as her own behavior and that of others, in a quest to understand and become a better person in her own eyes.   She is balancing her sense of justice with her fear of peer reprisal.  She's paying close attention, and she's exhausted. 

With greater understanding of the world comes greater depth of feeling.  Over the past year we've watched our daughter mourn.  We've watched her fret.  We've observed her manage strong feelings coming her way as well as confusing feelings she has for others.  We are watching her sort it out.

Yesterday she squealed with glee. Tonight she's wiping tears.  Tomorrow she'll skip down the sidewalk, or...?  We'll see. 

We're along for the ride.

Is That a Poem in Your Pocket, or...

As you know, I have a penchant for poetry, and I am prepping you for something portentous, pals:  tomorrow is Poem in Your Pocket Day, part of National Poetry Month (Hey!  How are you celebrating April??  You best be getting your O'Hara, Gioia, Oliver, and Collins on, to name a contemporary few). 

The premise of Poem in Your Pocket Day is to pack your pocket with lyrical lines and pass on a little literary love.  Don't be afraid of poetry, people!  If you need a primer, peek at Poetry 180 (Say, when is Alliteration Day?  I am prepared to participate). 

Little Sis is on board--she wrote her own haiku to give out to friends and teachers at school.

Big Sis is pondering her poetic participation.

As for me, I have 700 copies of this rhyming refrain to ration tomorrow:

Literary Lint



When you want to give a gift,
And make somebody’s day
Show you care, provide a lift,
You have to find a way.


But you don’t need a wallet
And you don’t need a purse
Here’s how I would call it:
Write a poem, give a verse.


Your pocket’s full of thoughts, you see
Just waiting to be shared
And words are always free
To distribute everywhere


Words don’t need to rhyme
To be deep or true or funny
You only need a little time
For lines worth more than money


It’s “Poem in Your Pocket” Day,
And here is mine for you
In hopes that other people may
Find inspiration too


Let's bomb the world with ballads, buddies!

Heart of a Whale

Yesterday I spent the day with thirty students and a few colleagues in an experience our high school hosts called Human Relations Day.  The aim is to bring together students from diverse groups and grades and engage them in activities and dialogue that help them build community and see one another differently--or for the first time at all, in some cases.  The facilitators are teachers and counselors, and by the end of the day there's been soul-baring, tears, lots of laughing, and vows to go forth and make a difference. 

One of the most powerful games we played was "Cows, Chickens, and Ducks."  Each participant was given a slip of paper with the name of an animal on it, and we were directed not to reveal our species.  The task was to roam the room acting out and/or making the sound of our animal, and we were forbidden from using words to give hints or ask anyone explicitly if they were what we suspected. 

I was found by my fellow dolphin in no time, despite the fact that I sounded like a strangled kitten.  It was my diving--apparently spot on. 

But not every animal had a partner.  And not every animal communicated his species clearly enough to find his pair, either.  We had two separate whales at the end, one who thought the other was a bird.  The two pigeons were among the last to find each other (that pigeon noise is a hard one to make), and a single, lonely seagull.

And that's where the metaphor started kicking in.  What if you're a whale who doesn't know there's another of your kind in the community?  What if you are a whale who sounds like a bird, and that really throws off the other whales, who don't see themselves in you?  But then, what if you are a whale who is actually for the birds?  That works if the birds accept your birdy whale-ish-ness. But if you're a whale mistaken for a bird, at what point do you reveal your true identity?  It's no wonder the birds assumed our chirping whale was one of them--there were lots of birds around.

One observant student noted that it was a mistake to assume the only interest in the game, and in life, was finding one's own kind.  He admitted to feeling sometimes, as a dog, that he wished he could fly.  He admired other animals' abilities to "breathe" underwater.

He also argued that if you're a wolf looking for your pack, it doesn't help to wander around murmuring growls.  Wolves who embrace and celebrate their inner and outer dog and who howl and bark wildly are more likely to draw other wolves to them.

He apologized to those animals in the room that he ignored.  If you're a cat, for example, he might have only given you a cursory nod.  "No offense," he reassured, "it's just that you're meowing, and I'm looking for someone who woofs.  It doesn't mean I don't respect you, even if others assume we're opposites."

I thought about our students and the troubles and worries and identities they share with trusted adults behind closed doors.  And how we attempt to reassure them there are others who've experienced similar pain and understand, on some level, who they are.  I think of the whales I know who have been mistaken for birds, or who pretended to be birds for the sake of safety or sanity or stage of their development, or who needed to really be birds although somehow manifested in a whale's body.  Or who waited too long to hear someone else recognize and say, "I know you're a whale.  And I love whales."

It's not as simple as sorting ourselves in a room by species.  Even whales distinguish themselves from one another--some seem more like dolphins, others like sharks.  We've got to avoid over-generalizing our categories and characters.

Here's to the whales among us--with the largest hearts of any animal--who sound like birds.  And who might dance like gerbils and look like elephants and feel like monkeys.  We each have to be our very own kind of whale.  Because as Oscar Wilde said, "Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."