Last night Flipper and I came home from the pool and my attention was immediately caught by a round, tan, shiny glob of poo on my carpet, doubtless from one of the dogs. I gathered paper towels, prepared to pick it up...when I discovered that in fact is was a rock covered with Scotch tape. WHAT??? Why is my house covered with rocks both large and small? They are wrecking my dryer, my vacuum cleaner, and now my sanity. And the poor dogs almost took the fall! I cannot understand her obsession with rocks, both large and small, but usually small. All of them are pretty, even the blue-gray driveway rocks, all have some sort of potential (in her eyes) to be valuable geodes or diamonds in the rough. The VERY rough, might I add. While I typically love and embrace any signs of a budding "collection" because I know that her passion will be fleeting, the rocks-love has been going on for months and months. Please make it stop.
I can't tell you how many rocks I have gotten out of the washing machine, which has become some sort of de facto tumbler that an elderly rock hound might use, how many stones I have chucked off the deck after finding them in the most bizarre places; the bathroom, the crayon box, the dog beds. It never stops. When I ask Flipper about them, she looks at me as though I am the crazy one, that anyone normal and rational would spend many minutes every day picking up rocks and stashing them in pockets to be admired later. BUT...in a few weeks' time we will be heading to the Linville area for some camping and exploration of nearby attractions, one of which is Gem Mountain, a "find-it-yourself" gem mining attraction where I can plunk down money for a bucket of gravel and let her search to her little heart's content. I am hoping this experience can actually show her the difference between a driveway rock and something a little more special. Train her eye to look for the very best, as it were, although I don't have high hopes for garnets and emeralds in Bolin Creek. But you never know. Perhaps her love of rocks will lead to a career in geology, or something like that. Or perhaps she will be as lucky as the woman that found a 1000 karat ruby last summer at Gem Mountain, and I will embrace the rocks on every windowsill. Until then, we'll just keep checking pockets and saving for a new vacuum cleaner. And dreaming of big, big rubies.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Pleasure (and treasure) delayed is...
...pleasure intensified, at least according to my father. This is one of his favorite quotes. He has several of these "character building" life mantras, but I remember the delay-of-pleasure one the most. It never sank in for me, me who craves(d) instant gratification and was unable to wait for ANYTHING as a child. I got much better with age, and have even swung around to embracing the "wait for what you want" philosophy, and "pleasure delayed is pleasure intensified."
This streak of impulsiveness and instant gratification that was-and occasionally still is- so strong in me seems to be skipping a generation.
Flipper lost her first tooth Saturday at the evening fun in Saxapahaw. Unwilling to look at it jutting from her gum at a right angle, I yanked it out. It was so ready to fall that it barely bled at all. She was BEYOND thrilled, happy, excited...all of those emotions that accompany the loss of a tooth. Except that she is willing to delay the arrival of the Tooth Fairy for several weeks. Why? She wants to take the tooth, currently living atop a satin pillow in a small box-to Colorado. Apparently, she thinks my sister, her beloved Aunt Kathryn, is just frothing at the mouth to see a tiny, square white tooth. With a tiny bloody stump where it was connected to her mouth.
Flipper is convinced-and rightly so-that the Tooth Fairy can find her wherever she is, and whatever pillow this tiny tooth finally decides to rest. But I do find this amazing, that she can willingly and eagerly wait-and wait and wait-for the Tooth Fairy to show up, even at 9000 feet in the San Juan mountains on southwest Colorado.
Now I have to remember to take whatever it is the Tooth Fairy will leave!
This streak of impulsiveness and instant gratification that was-and occasionally still is- so strong in me seems to be skipping a generation.
Flipper lost her first tooth Saturday at the evening fun in Saxapahaw. Unwilling to look at it jutting from her gum at a right angle, I yanked it out. It was so ready to fall that it barely bled at all. She was BEYOND thrilled, happy, excited...all of those emotions that accompany the loss of a tooth. Except that she is willing to delay the arrival of the Tooth Fairy for several weeks. Why? She wants to take the tooth, currently living atop a satin pillow in a small box-to Colorado. Apparently, she thinks my sister, her beloved Aunt Kathryn, is just frothing at the mouth to see a tiny, square white tooth. With a tiny bloody stump where it was connected to her mouth.
Flipper is convinced-and rightly so-that the Tooth Fairy can find her wherever she is, and whatever pillow this tiny tooth finally decides to rest. But I do find this amazing, that she can willingly and eagerly wait-and wait and wait-for the Tooth Fairy to show up, even at 9000 feet in the San Juan mountains on southwest Colorado.
Now I have to remember to take whatever it is the Tooth Fairy will leave!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Unchanging.
Summertime here in the Triangle exemplifies (for me) the old adage, "The more things change, the more they stay the same." Or something like that. First, that which has stayed the same for 35 years or so:
The pool. Hollow Rock, to be exact, where I spent many, many hours as a kid on the swim team, then as a ne'er do well teen-ager, and now as a magazine-reading grown-up, with my own little fish in attendance. I have said it before: I cannot imagine living in the brutal heat of the summer without a pool or two or five to jump into.
Boredom. It has set in, although Flipper is bearing up well. The last few days have been pretty icky, weather-wise, and so we have been a bit housebound. No matter: art supplies galore, plus we made a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough for eating, not for baking. She has her little Tupperware full of dough, and I have mine, Although "full" is rapidly vanishing. Flipper has some years to go before no school is a feeling of joy, not sadness.
Travel. Week-end jaunts to the mountains, the beach, and points in between. A week in Colorado, hopefully a 4 or 5 day sailing trip, although my father's boat has gone from the fun and easy Hobie Cat towed behind our massive 70's van to a 35' Tartan, which means trips can be overnight, to points a little farther away than Kerr Lake. So that is how things-for me at least-are very much the same as they were years ago.
Now, for how things aren't the same...
Day camp. I am not sure it even existed back in the Dark Ages when I was young; in truth most mothers stayed home all summer and the kids ran wild, hopped upon Kool-Aid and paper-cup Popsicles. Now, there are a million choices here, for any and every conceivable interest a child might have. I see this as a boon for parents and kids alike. Flipper will attend two day camps, one at Pickards Mountain Eco-Institute, and one at her former kindergarten teacher's house.
Friends. Now her friends aren't in our neighborhood, they live scattered across a few counties. Much, much more effort is made by me to coordinate playdates and cook-outs than my mother did; for us it was "go outside and play" and now it is a strategic social schedule.
Food. The Farmer's Market. Locavore. Slow food. Organic. Biodynamic. Farm-to-table. Never before has it been so easy to eat so well and with such healthy choices available. When I was young, my mother bought eggs at a horrifying chicken-processing plant in downtown Durham, now we go to the Carrboro Farmer's Market every Saturday and fight our way through the crowds in search of the homemade doughnuts.
The changes I embrace, the traditions I hold tightly. But one more thing that hasn't changed-and probably never will is the countdown from the last day of school to the first.
The pool. Hollow Rock, to be exact, where I spent many, many hours as a kid on the swim team, then as a ne'er do well teen-ager, and now as a magazine-reading grown-up, with my own little fish in attendance. I have said it before: I cannot imagine living in the brutal heat of the summer without a pool or two or five to jump into.
Boredom. It has set in, although Flipper is bearing up well. The last few days have been pretty icky, weather-wise, and so we have been a bit housebound. No matter: art supplies galore, plus we made a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough for eating, not for baking. She has her little Tupperware full of dough, and I have mine, Although "full" is rapidly vanishing. Flipper has some years to go before no school is a feeling of joy, not sadness.
Travel. Week-end jaunts to the mountains, the beach, and points in between. A week in Colorado, hopefully a 4 or 5 day sailing trip, although my father's boat has gone from the fun and easy Hobie Cat towed behind our massive 70's van to a 35' Tartan, which means trips can be overnight, to points a little farther away than Kerr Lake. So that is how things-for me at least-are very much the same as they were years ago.
Now, for how things aren't the same...
Day camp. I am not sure it even existed back in the Dark Ages when I was young; in truth most mothers stayed home all summer and the kids ran wild, hopped upon Kool-Aid and paper-cup Popsicles. Now, there are a million choices here, for any and every conceivable interest a child might have. I see this as a boon for parents and kids alike. Flipper will attend two day camps, one at Pickards Mountain Eco-Institute, and one at her former kindergarten teacher's house.
Friends. Now her friends aren't in our neighborhood, they live scattered across a few counties. Much, much more effort is made by me to coordinate playdates and cook-outs than my mother did; for us it was "go outside and play" and now it is a strategic social schedule.
Food. The Farmer's Market. Locavore. Slow food. Organic. Biodynamic. Farm-to-table. Never before has it been so easy to eat so well and with such healthy choices available. When I was young, my mother bought eggs at a horrifying chicken-processing plant in downtown Durham, now we go to the Carrboro Farmer's Market every Saturday and fight our way through the crowds in search of the homemade doughnuts.
The changes I embrace, the traditions I hold tightly. But one more thing that hasn't changed-and probably never will is the countdown from the last day of school to the first.
Milo and Otis and Sadness and Tears. Or, Movie Night.
The frightful weather of the past few days has kept us out of the pool and trapped in the house, with regular breaks for dog-walks and firefly-trapping at dusk. But boredom has set in, and in a moment of weakness I traded DVDs with a friend: my Fantasia for her Otis and Milo. I had medium-high hopes for Otis and Milo, for a child that lives in a TV-free household, ANY video viewing is a huge treat, even old You Tube bloopers. I mean, what could be more hilarious to a 6 year-old than someone falling off a dock? I had no worries about Flipper experiencing any kind of distress at the animals and their adventures; this is the kid that chirpily tosses the "It's nature's way!" in the direction of my fleeing back as I hastily depart from an elephant documentary that shows the death of a baby elephant.
I, however, was wrong: movies like this one, The Incredible Journey, etc., anthropomorphizing animals to a degree that generate emotions. They have to, or the movies wouldn't work. But I was wrong: by the second (brief) encounter with a bear she was tearfully hiding her head under a pillow; by the time the little pug was just about to give up the ghost in a blizzard scene that looked like a page from a Jack London book, she had had enough. Tears, tears, tears, cry, cry cry-distressed at the implied snowy Popsicle the dog was about to become, but more upset at how long good buddies Milo and Otis had been apart. Poor Flipper!!! My consoling words fell on deaf ears, and ultimately I just snapped off the lights and let her fall asleep. Maybe we'll try again in a few years; until then, You Tube "funny cats" might be as close as she gets to The Incredible Journey.
Note: Yes, she does like Fantasia-but not the terrified, stampeding dinosaurs.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Endings.
Kindergarten for Flipper ended yesterday. She has spent two years with the same teacher, and many of the same classmates, five days a week, 4 and 5 hours a day, week after week, month after month. Unlike the high school students-most of whom are beyond thrilled to flee-Flipper has been teary and tormented and angst-ridden at the sight of her freshly emptied cubby, reluctant to both stay and go all in the same moment.
Yesterday the class had their last circle, where the children all sat on one side of the room and listened to a story about moving onward, and then, one by one, each student received a stone for wisdom, an orange for nourishment, and a flower for beauty as they move into their new life as a first grader. I am quite sure, in your mind's eye, you can imagine the utter preciousness of this little ritual.
Then the teachers said a few words, tears fell, and we went outside for a potluck lunch. Flipper was so unbelievably overwrought that she fell apart and cried every ten minutes about absolutely nothing. So we came home. And I forced her into a nap for the first time in months. Blessedly, she awoke in a much better mood, and we continued on our day.
And so yet one more milestone has been reached for Flipper, and for me as well. We look to fall-which feels very far away-with excitement and trepidation. And we look back to kindergarten, a teacher that defines the word amazing for me, and say good-bye. Again. And hello to the future.
Yesterday the class had their last circle, where the children all sat on one side of the room and listened to a story about moving onward, and then, one by one, each student received a stone for wisdom, an orange for nourishment, and a flower for beauty as they move into their new life as a first grader. I am quite sure, in your mind's eye, you can imagine the utter preciousness of this little ritual.
Then the teachers said a few words, tears fell, and we went outside for a potluck lunch. Flipper was so unbelievably overwrought that she fell apart and cried every ten minutes about absolutely nothing. So we came home. And I forced her into a nap for the first time in months. Blessedly, she awoke in a much better mood, and we continued on our day.
And so yet one more milestone has been reached for Flipper, and for me as well. We look to fall-which feels very far away-with excitement and trepidation. And we look back to kindergarten, a teacher that defines the word amazing for me, and say good-bye. Again. And hello to the future.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Loose
SOMEONE has a loose tooth.
SOMEONE ELSE has breaking heart!
I think you can guess what belongs to who! Flipper has been eagerly anticipating losing her first tooth, and not for any sort of monetary prize doled out by the "tooth fairy" but because she is one of the last kids in her class to lose a tooth. All my rational explanations as to the fact that her baby teeth arrived a little late, which makes losing tooth happen a little late fell on deaf ears. But now all is well. A bottom tooth is wiggly, and seeing it shift beneath her finger-which she cannot keep out of her mouth, is a bit stomach-turning (to me, that is). It is an endless source of delight for her. For me, it is YET ANOTHER bittersweet moment as the baby in Flipper gets moved even farther back as the (not so) little girl eagerly takes the place of that baby.
So now the debate begins-bear in mind that this, like all debates, is an internal one-just what should the Tooth Fairy bring? Do I save her teeth? They seem too precious to throw away, and yet, years from now, what exactly am I going to do with them? Bronze them like those old white leather shoes? Turn them into some sort of jewelry? Or let them quietly molder away, forgotten in a dresser drawer somewhere, buried beneath old socks?
I have heard of parents giving their children demented sums of money (twenty dollars??) but it just doesn't seem special enough to mark something that feels very, very momentous to both of us, even though it will happen again and again. And again. A beautiful crystal since crystals and teeth are composed of minerals? The truth is that no matter what I-excuse me-the Tooth Fairy leaves under her pillow, it will be precious and special to her for a few days, then be swallowed up in yet another Special Box holding Special Things in her room. So a crystal or colored stones it will be even though she has them already. Or maybe, as many friends do, a Sacajawea coin, the gold instantly seeming more special and valuable than the plain old dollar that it is. As to her teeth, well, I just don't know. I will probably hang onto them for awhile, and treasure them before they, too, fade away.
SOMEONE ELSE has breaking heart!
I think you can guess what belongs to who! Flipper has been eagerly anticipating losing her first tooth, and not for any sort of monetary prize doled out by the "tooth fairy" but because she is one of the last kids in her class to lose a tooth. All my rational explanations as to the fact that her baby teeth arrived a little late, which makes losing tooth happen a little late fell on deaf ears. But now all is well. A bottom tooth is wiggly, and seeing it shift beneath her finger-which she cannot keep out of her mouth, is a bit stomach-turning (to me, that is). It is an endless source of delight for her. For me, it is YET ANOTHER bittersweet moment as the baby in Flipper gets moved even farther back as the (not so) little girl eagerly takes the place of that baby.
So now the debate begins-bear in mind that this, like all debates, is an internal one-just what should the Tooth Fairy bring? Do I save her teeth? They seem too precious to throw away, and yet, years from now, what exactly am I going to do with them? Bronze them like those old white leather shoes? Turn them into some sort of jewelry? Or let them quietly molder away, forgotten in a dresser drawer somewhere, buried beneath old socks?
I have heard of parents giving their children demented sums of money (twenty dollars??) but it just doesn't seem special enough to mark something that feels very, very momentous to both of us, even though it will happen again and again. And again. A beautiful crystal since crystals and teeth are composed of minerals? The truth is that no matter what I-excuse me-the Tooth Fairy leaves under her pillow, it will be precious and special to her for a few days, then be swallowed up in yet another Special Box holding Special Things in her room. So a crystal or colored stones it will be even though she has them already. Or maybe, as many friends do, a Sacajawea coin, the gold instantly seeming more special and valuable than the plain old dollar that it is. As to her teeth, well, I just don't know. I will probably hang onto them for awhile, and treasure them before they, too, fade away.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Cell Phone Cold Turkey
Do not believe those old drug-terror movies from the 70's: cold turkey isn't that bad. After my debit card debacle back in March, my cell phone bill missed an online payment, I conveniently ignored the ten million phone calls from my company, believing that they would just add whatever was missed to my bill the next time the automatic withdrawal came around. But I was wrong. Instead, my phone was cut off. And so, for the past week or 10 days, I have been cell-phone-less. Bear in mind that I was a JUNKIE. I talked incessantly, and could barely hold myself to 900 minutes a month. Get in the car, talk on the phone. Walk with Ella, talk on the phone. Anywhere, anytime. I was one of those awful people that I hate. Except that it's me, and therefore somehow justifiable. Poor Ella would beg me to get off the phone, "stop talking, Mommy!" It was awful. I fully admit it. (Isn't that one of the first steps, admitting a problem?)
But now, I can honestly report that I have seen the light: I was lame, addicted to not any kind of meaningful conversation, but fully hooked on talking. Now when we leave school at the end of the day I am not talking on the phone. But I am not necessarily having some sort of deep meaningful conversation with Ella either, usually she is just looking out the window and I am driving. But it is very, very peaceful And on our afternoon dog walks: she is still trailing behind, talking not to me but her new birthday doll, and I am just...walking. It has made everything so much calmer in our lives. Easier, more peaceful. I know that I will get it turned back on, I do feel safer driving and traveling with a cell phone, but hopefully I can resist it's siren call when I am in the car, heading home from school, or any other "dead time" that I filled with chattering. Ella doesn't need to fill that time either, we can just be. After all, sooner or later it will be me begging her to hang up and just be with me, not talking to her firends, not tuning out to some sort of incomprehensible music, but just being.
But now, I can honestly report that I have seen the light: I was lame, addicted to not any kind of meaningful conversation, but fully hooked on talking. Now when we leave school at the end of the day I am not talking on the phone. But I am not necessarily having some sort of deep meaningful conversation with Ella either, usually she is just looking out the window and I am driving. But it is very, very peaceful And on our afternoon dog walks: she is still trailing behind, talking not to me but her new birthday doll, and I am just...walking. It has made everything so much calmer in our lives. Easier, more peaceful. I know that I will get it turned back on, I do feel safer driving and traveling with a cell phone, but hopefully I can resist it's siren call when I am in the car, heading home from school, or any other "dead time" that I filled with chattering. Ella doesn't need to fill that time either, we can just be. After all, sooner or later it will be me begging her to hang up and just be with me, not talking to her firends, not tuning out to some sort of incomprehensible music, but just being.
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