I don't always look before I leap. I don't always watch my mouth. I often say things I wish I could take back. I often email messages I should have read more carefully. Hence why I will never run for public office. I want to jump into this health care debate, but I am having reservations about do so. And here is why. I have no idea what it would take to provide an answer that would make sense and be fair to enough people.
If you polled (you know we're so fond of polls in this country. Apparently you can figure out any right answer just by taking a poll) the American people in general, you would get similar answers across the board on health care. What I don't understand is why no one with representative power is listening. Why spend the money on the poll if you're just gonna toss out all the responses? Maybe to make the American people stop paying attention long enough to get this bill passed and go home so you can start campaigning for 2010? Perhaps I'm too cynical. Last time I checked though, it's all politics all the time. Which is why a satisfactory answer to health care is not going to come any time soon.
I've come to the conclusion there is no way to run a true issue-based campaign anymore. For one thing you still can't win (on a grand scale) as a third party candidate--it's too expensive. And in order to find "consensus" you have to sell your soul to Satan. Believe me I'm all for our Republic. After all, town hall democracy only works in town halls. For a country this large and this complicated, you have to have a representative republic. It's the best way to diffuse power grabbing and to slow single interests that may not be in our best interests. That's why it takes so damn long to get any laws passed. This is a good thing, truly. However, the downside to our Republic is that we've high-jacked ourselves by special interests and two party politics. Most representative Republics are multi-partied in general... but back to health care. I guess I'll jump in the fray while I'm on a roll.
If we are truly TRULY interested in reforming health care, we have to decide what we are going to reform. Are we going to reform the way we practice medicine? Are we going to reform the way we reimburse expenses? Are we going to reform our insurance system? What exactly are we going to change? And of course, how are we going to pay for it? I think the problem with health care reform (and I've said this before) is that we are talking about health care as if it is a single problem. Health care is so multi-faceted it's no wonder the current bill is 1000 pages. Excessive yes, but not surprising. Here are some questions that might make the next bill a few pages shorter, and maybe a bit meatier:
1. How do we create a system of preventative care available to all citizens? I think this is the fundamental question that is up for debate when we are talking about providing universal health care. Meat and potatoes medicine. Well visits, vaccinations, health screenings, blood work, basic cold and flu. Insurance companies don't make any money of off this kind of medicine, but people without insurance don't have access to this type of medicine in a way that is affordable to them. Health departments and ERs and walk-in clinics pick up the slack and are OVERRUN with people without the money to pay for basic routine care. This is one area I think is imperative that we figure out.
2. How do we create a system pool that spreads the risk of all these health problems that doesn't cost a gazillion dollars? I don't think we can. I think a pay as we go system is ultimately the only way we're going to be able to go in the end. I'm in a minority with this opinion, but it's what I think. Pretty much you pay as you go in other countries who have socialized medicine now. The universal bit is the preventative, basic stuff. If you want treatment above and beyond you go to the States. Insurance is basically a scam on healthy people that disproportionately favors people with health issues, that is until they lose a job, or move, or can't pay the premium anymore. If we're going to commit to a system that helps everybody we're going to have to put limitations on what helping everybody means. And we don't like to do that in America--at least not on camera. The way we work it now is to allow insurance companies to perform criminal acts like hiking insurance premiums to levels that people can't pay, dropping people unnecessarily without warning, and enacting the pre-existing condition clause whenever the mood strikes them. I think these above-mentioned practices are worse than a pay as you go system. It leaves people in a lurch, without hope, and in debt beyond what they will ever be able to pay. If you get kicked off your insurance policy or you can't pay the premium anymore, can you get a refund on all those months you paid that you didn't use the system? Now that would be exciting. But that would be like expecting a social security check when you're 67.5 years old if you were born after 1960.
3. How are we going to pay for research? We love the research. We love the potential cures. We love the fact that so many ugly things have been wiped out or are now manageable with drugs. It's part of what we do in America. I'm all for it. Someday I may need it. But it costs money. LOTS of money. There isn't an R&D budget in the country that could satisfy an immunologist or a pathologist. That's what they do. They search for a better way. It doesn't come cheap. It's not because they demand huge salaries, it's because what they do is very expensive. Did you really think a cure for cancer would be cheap? Do you really think AIDS will go away if we throw enough money at it?
4. How do we pay for an aging population? This is a serious question that is only going to get more serious. We walk a fine line in this country when it comes to saving people and helping people live longer. Think of all the degenerative diseases out there can last half a lifetime for people. Alzheimer's comes to mind right out of the box. Think about how early we save preemies in this country--24 weeks now. Not only do we "save" the very old indefinitely, but we "save" the very young too. I write the word "save" in quotes because sometimes I wonder what kind of life we are saving people for. I would rather take a bullet than spend my remaining years in a hospital bed in a skilled nursing facility. And there is a reason a human baby takes 40 weeks to make. Please don't misunderstand me. I don't mean to be callous, uncaring, or insensitive. I would never do that on purpose. If it was my child or my parent I would want heroic measures taken if I thought there was any chance the measures would work. We've made such huge strides in modern medicine in the last 100, 50, 25, even 10 years that there is every reason in the world to try to save a person. Doctors are successful alot of the time. That's what makes medicine so hard and why I'm not a doctor. How do you make rational decisions about life and death? I tend to emote more than rationalize. I wouldn't be good at medicine. Medical decisions from routine to cutting edge costs lots and lots and lots of money. And we want to pay for everybody. Everybody. Everybody.
5. How are we going to pay for it? Please please please don't say rich people. I'm over that answer. Wealthy Americans already pay a disproportionate amount of the bill already. I'm not sure when America (the place people STILL to this day come to be all they can be and make a better life) decided that rich people are the devil. Not only is it oxymoronic, it's demoralizing and frankly unjust.
While I'm harping on tired old rhetoric, the lines about how criminal it is that the richest country in the world has people who are poor, who don't have this, that, and the other is growing thin and tiresome. Did anyone ever take a moment to think that not everyone wants to be saved? Has anyone ever tried to determine what poor means? Did anyone ever take a moment to think about whether or not it is the fiscal responsibility of the rest of us to take care of everybody?
Conservatives run into problems when they try to answer the question of fiscal responsibility. It isn't that their logic is wrong, they just can't sell the response. 1) No it is not every person's fiscal responsibility to take care of everyone else. But there are many people out there who are in serious need by no fault of their own. 2) It may not be our fiscal responsibility, but there is a pretty powerful argument that we have a moral obligation or personal conviction to take care of those who cannot take care of themselves, or those in a spot of trouble, or who could use a hand up. Some people call that American patriotism. Some people call that Christianity in action. But then again, our President just spent a great part of his first 6 months convincing the world we aren't a Christian nation, so I'm not sure about that argument anymore. Last time I checked we didn't have an official religion or language, but I'm pretty sure we are a tolerant, Christian nation with a healthy dose of religions represented who worship in peace within the borders. I could be wrong.
The problem with the "who deserves help argument" is 1) the government does not discriminate between deserving and undeserving. If it did, no one would ever get a fair shake in the judicial system. Vigilante justice would prevail. Our founding fathers guarded against derailing a fair process by eliminating a deserving/undeserving argument as much as they could. 2) When money stays local, it's easier to discern the best use of funds to reach the most people. Now the government wants all that money and local sources of discernment are drying out. 3) Many of those we help cannot be put to the test because they are either children, victims of circumstance, or disabled. The part I can't figure out is how I am to help the people I am morally obligated to help when all the money I would use to help them goes to a morally reprehensible group of people located inside the beltway about 8 hours north of here under the guise of the IRS and some misguided notion that it is my patriotic duty to pay more because I make more.
So anyway, I hope Congress can figure all this out before the Summer recess. I'd hate for the momentum of insanity to be stopped by any serious questioning of voters. How on earth are we supposed to find serious, even-handed, long-lasting answers when we're rushing to pass a bill that no one has read!?!?!?! I tried to read it. I didn't make it all the way through. My husband thinks I've read more of it than most Congress members. He may be right, but Congress does have staffers to do that sort of thing for them. I urge you to contact your representatives and talk to the latest staffer about your questions on health care legislation. At least leave a message saying how you feel about it.
Meanwhile, I'm going to keep tossing up these random questions even though the firestorm of responses from some of my friends will reign down upon me. Somebody has to ask the unpopular questions right? It's not like I'm running for office. I couldn't ask these questions if I had serious designs on an elected office. What does that say about us as voters? If I were to campaign on the serious, untouchables of politics I couldn't get elected at all. Hmm, definitely a blog for another day.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Celebrating Independence?
In honor of the 4th of July, I decided to write about my latest experiences with Independence. My boys are 5 and 2. These ages are in and of themselves difficult, trying, interesting times. The juxtaposition of these two ages is not only entertaining, but eye opening. I have forgotten much about how my 5 year old got to be 5 and I'm watching my 2 year old do all those 2 year old things for the first time (for him). It's so interesting!
Both of my boys can be clingy, whiny, all about the mamma boys from time to time, but mostly, they are fiercely independent little creatures with their own minds about how things should go. The difference between the two, is of course, that the 5 year old is much better at articulating how things should go and he's bigger so he can make things go his way more often. The 2 year old however, is not far behind.
Someday, my 5 year old will most likely be a hostage negotiator. I've never seen a child negotiate for what he wants like he does--with me, his father, his brother, his grandparents. Sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's frightening. Sometimes it's just plain annoying. Mostly I don't do negotiating unless it's something that doesn't pop up on the mom radar. Sometimes the order of what is done isn't so important as long as it's done. Sometimes, one more movie is okay with me. Sometimes I think he just likes to line it up in his head. My 5 year old is very methodical, highly anxious, and very focused. Maybe he'll be an air traffic controller.
The 2 year old, well, he's just so darn laid back he gets his way just by grinning that sweet smile and saying "cheese" for please. Those big old apple cheeks and dimples with that tow head of hair get me every time. He'll probably be a movie star or something. We should have named him Ham. "No" has been a favorite word for a while now. And when he's really really pissed about something he'll screw up those little eyes and turn his head and get all red in the face. WATCH OUT. He's also become quite the slugger. I'm waiting for the day he takes down big brother. Then it will be game on.
Anyway, about that independence thing. My boys buck authority about as good as any kids I know. I don't quite know what to do with that. Do I celebrate their desire to do it their own way? Should I be secretly glad that I can't lead them around by the nose? Is this muscle flexing a testosterone thing that they don't know how to deal with yet? I'm asking a serious question because the way I've been dealing with it isn't working. The sass is getting bigger and the spanking pretty much entices them to hit back--on each other. It's pretty stupid logic to whack your kid and say "don't hit your brother". But I'm telling you after about 3 minutes of a constant stream of whine and back talk, you just about have to tie my backhand down. I'm learning that forcing my hand is not the way I want to go about this. It doesn't provide me with any satisfaction because a) the lesson wasn't learned, and b) it's pretty obvious I'm not a good example of self-control.
So, HELP! All you mammas with kids who lived to be 6, let me know what worked for you. In the mean time, I'll continue doing my dance and praying for perseverance. If I don't keel over from my own anxiety attack, I'm throwing myself a party when the baby turns six.
Both of my boys can be clingy, whiny, all about the mamma boys from time to time, but mostly, they are fiercely independent little creatures with their own minds about how things should go. The difference between the two, is of course, that the 5 year old is much better at articulating how things should go and he's bigger so he can make things go his way more often. The 2 year old however, is not far behind.
Someday, my 5 year old will most likely be a hostage negotiator. I've never seen a child negotiate for what he wants like he does--with me, his father, his brother, his grandparents. Sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's frightening. Sometimes it's just plain annoying. Mostly I don't do negotiating unless it's something that doesn't pop up on the mom radar. Sometimes the order of what is done isn't so important as long as it's done. Sometimes, one more movie is okay with me. Sometimes I think he just likes to line it up in his head. My 5 year old is very methodical, highly anxious, and very focused. Maybe he'll be an air traffic controller.
The 2 year old, well, he's just so darn laid back he gets his way just by grinning that sweet smile and saying "cheese" for please. Those big old apple cheeks and dimples with that tow head of hair get me every time. He'll probably be a movie star or something. We should have named him Ham. "No" has been a favorite word for a while now. And when he's really really pissed about something he'll screw up those little eyes and turn his head and get all red in the face. WATCH OUT. He's also become quite the slugger. I'm waiting for the day he takes down big brother. Then it will be game on.
Anyway, about that independence thing. My boys buck authority about as good as any kids I know. I don't quite know what to do with that. Do I celebrate their desire to do it their own way? Should I be secretly glad that I can't lead them around by the nose? Is this muscle flexing a testosterone thing that they don't know how to deal with yet? I'm asking a serious question because the way I've been dealing with it isn't working. The sass is getting bigger and the spanking pretty much entices them to hit back--on each other. It's pretty stupid logic to whack your kid and say "don't hit your brother". But I'm telling you after about 3 minutes of a constant stream of whine and back talk, you just about have to tie my backhand down. I'm learning that forcing my hand is not the way I want to go about this. It doesn't provide me with any satisfaction because a) the lesson wasn't learned, and b) it's pretty obvious I'm not a good example of self-control.
So, HELP! All you mammas with kids who lived to be 6, let me know what worked for you. In the mean time, I'll continue doing my dance and praying for perseverance. If I don't keel over from my own anxiety attack, I'm throwing myself a party when the baby turns six.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Why I love the 4th of July
Yes, it sounds like a sixth grade essay title doesn't it? Maybe I'll think of something snazzier as I write. I'm leaving in a couple of hours for North Carolina to celebrate the 4th of July. I love this holiday. It's just so dang American. I have to say I have always always made a point of celebrating the 4th. Perhaps because tradition in my family dictates it, or maybe just because I have a thing for fireworks. I don't know. As far back as I can remember we have always celebrated the 4th. And almost every year of my life, I've celebrated it at Badin Lake. Of course, that was before I got married and moved away. This year though, we're going to Badin. I'm pretty excited about it.
When I was younger, we'd spend the entire week before cleaning up for our friends or family to come. My mom would cook and peel and slice and stock until her hands were about to fall off. My sister and I would clean the boats with Fantastik and 409 until we turned black on our arms and legs. My dad would get under the pier and knock off the fish eggs and attempt to de-slime everything. We would go all over the lake borrowing life jackets so we would have enough for everybody.
By midmorning of the 4th we were ready! By lunch time our friends (or in the early years our extended family) would arrive. It was such a great time. I would drink about 8 or 9 Dr. peppers in about 24 hours--which thrilled me to the core, because I wasn't normally allowed to drink that much coke (or soda whatever y'all call it). We'd cut about 6 watermelons and eat them on the pier (my dad would come behind us and toss buckets of lake water on the dock to clean it off). We'd sneak out later and toss the rinds in the woods.
About dark when we were all exhausted, sunburned, tired, and well-fed, those of us left would jockey for the best seat on the boat and head out to the fireworks. Inevitably I was always the one who had to ride in the back and hold the light (it wouldn't work unless you held it a certain way with your mouth open). Spitting bugs and spitting mad, I would hold the light while we drove. It was always me, because I was the older kid, I would do what I was told, and my arms were the longest (never be the oldest, most obedient, and tallest girl in the group).
Now that I'm grown and I have my own kids. The last 10 or 12 years I've been accumulating newer 4th memories. There is the one I spent with my best friend in Boston. Fireworks and Pops on the River was an awesome experience, plus her family is something else. We had a great time. Then there is the one I spent at Patrick Henry Village near Heidelberg, Germany (a military base of sorts). I was determined to find a place to celebrate the 4th properly while abroad! Then there was the one in Iowa City. We covered our 1 month old (at the time) with mosquito netting and set out for the city ball fields for the fireworks. So I celebrated with Middle America once too! The last 3 years we've celebrated here in our small town by watching the town parade with friends and going to the Lion's Club barbeque at the town park. Then we return to the fairway on number 7 to watch fireworks at night. It's a big block party on the golf course complete with contraband beer, lawn chairs, bug spray, and really tired toddlers running around in glow-in-the-dark necklaces so we kind find them later.
Anyway, the 4th of July is one of my favorite sense memories. It's more of a collective memory over about 30 years worth of memories. I am excited to be going home (while I didn't grow up on Badin itself, I went there all summer all my life at home). I hope my boys will have as much fun as I did. I plan too! And if you're at Badin this weekend, y'all come.
When I was younger, we'd spend the entire week before cleaning up for our friends or family to come. My mom would cook and peel and slice and stock until her hands were about to fall off. My sister and I would clean the boats with Fantastik and 409 until we turned black on our arms and legs. My dad would get under the pier and knock off the fish eggs and attempt to de-slime everything. We would go all over the lake borrowing life jackets so we would have enough for everybody.
By midmorning of the 4th we were ready! By lunch time our friends (or in the early years our extended family) would arrive. It was such a great time. I would drink about 8 or 9 Dr. peppers in about 24 hours--which thrilled me to the core, because I wasn't normally allowed to drink that much coke (or soda whatever y'all call it). We'd cut about 6 watermelons and eat them on the pier (my dad would come behind us and toss buckets of lake water on the dock to clean it off). We'd sneak out later and toss the rinds in the woods.
About dark when we were all exhausted, sunburned, tired, and well-fed, those of us left would jockey for the best seat on the boat and head out to the fireworks. Inevitably I was always the one who had to ride in the back and hold the light (it wouldn't work unless you held it a certain way with your mouth open). Spitting bugs and spitting mad, I would hold the light while we drove. It was always me, because I was the older kid, I would do what I was told, and my arms were the longest (never be the oldest, most obedient, and tallest girl in the group).
Now that I'm grown and I have my own kids. The last 10 or 12 years I've been accumulating newer 4th memories. There is the one I spent with my best friend in Boston. Fireworks and Pops on the River was an awesome experience, plus her family is something else. We had a great time. Then there is the one I spent at Patrick Henry Village near Heidelberg, Germany (a military base of sorts). I was determined to find a place to celebrate the 4th properly while abroad! Then there was the one in Iowa City. We covered our 1 month old (at the time) with mosquito netting and set out for the city ball fields for the fireworks. So I celebrated with Middle America once too! The last 3 years we've celebrated here in our small town by watching the town parade with friends and going to the Lion's Club barbeque at the town park. Then we return to the fairway on number 7 to watch fireworks at night. It's a big block party on the golf course complete with contraband beer, lawn chairs, bug spray, and really tired toddlers running around in glow-in-the-dark necklaces so we kind find them later.
Anyway, the 4th of July is one of my favorite sense memories. It's more of a collective memory over about 30 years worth of memories. I am excited to be going home (while I didn't grow up on Badin itself, I went there all summer all my life at home). I hope my boys will have as much fun as I did. I plan too! And if you're at Badin this weekend, y'all come.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Is it Funny or do I need Super Nanny?
So I haven't written anything funny in a while. My funny meter has been hovering around 5% funny. In retrospect I suppose most of what happens to me is entertaining on some level, but while it is happening it isn't so funny.
Like this morning on the way to Aquarium Camp my 5 year old from the back seat, says "Mom stop talking!" I said, "That's no way to talk to your mother." And he said, "Do you want a spankin' mom? 'Cause if you keep talkin' you're gonna get one."
Why me? Because I talk too freaking much! Every morning I pray to not yell and to watch my mouth around my children. It's not working. Either I'm too damned hardheaded to listen to God or God finds me entertaining.
On our way out of Aquarium camp after pick up, I started cussing the car in front of me. I stopped myself just in time. "What's F mom?"
"Nothing, buddy I just stopped myself from saying something ugly."
"No you didn't. You said F. So you really did say it." Honest to Pete, can I get a louder conscience?
I love my son. But he drives me bananas. He's always on his own time table. He never listens to me unless I'm at the top of my decibel register. AND he's a parrot. EVERYTHING I have ever said to him comes back to me--and a lot of stuff I haven't said that he picked up on.
Like this morning, he asked me why I was doing something and I said, well because I like it and he said, "You're just odd mom." WTF?? I didn't know he knew that word. Did he get the context right by accident? Seriously.
And to top it all off, I have another little smarty britches in training, my almost two year old really didn't like my singing along to his nursery tunes yesterday. "Yush! yush! YUSH. Mama YUSH!" he yells from his carseat in the back.
"Tell me to hush one more time you little snookums and I'm gonna pull this car over and give you the what for." I said laughing. I couldn't help myself. But I don't know that it was really funny that my 2 year old told me to hush.
Maybe I need to duct tape my mouth closed for a day and see what happens. Between my hot temper and my mouth with no check on it, I'm in deep doo doo. And I'm so sick of these parenting books that tell me to stay calm and think rationally and count to ten. WHO DOES THAT? And not get on their level--obviously the people writing these books either have some sort of St. Theresa mommy gene or else they never spent the day with two wild boys who are really fast and really damn smart.
Maybe I should never have had children. After I get done yelling and they get done yelling, we all feel much better. We get a snack and move on. It's fine. This is probably not a good thing, but I am me and me is loud and me is short tempered and me is one hell of a holy yeller, hand slammer, thing thrower. I cannot for the life of me put a stop to it. The boys just look at me with big eyes and wait for the storm to pass. Is it any wonder my two year old is terrified on thunderstorms? (Of course I'm a big wuss when it comes to storms, so maybe he inherited it, I don't know.) I've been trying for 5 years now to put a lid on it, but it's like trying to jam a frying pan lid on a stock pot. They aren't interchangeable lids. I'll try harder. After all, like my 5 year old says, "It's okay mom, we'll just try it again tomorrow, right?"
Bless them. They forgive 70 times 7 and then some.
Like this morning on the way to Aquarium Camp my 5 year old from the back seat, says "Mom stop talking!" I said, "That's no way to talk to your mother." And he said, "Do you want a spankin' mom? 'Cause if you keep talkin' you're gonna get one."
Why me? Because I talk too freaking much! Every morning I pray to not yell and to watch my mouth around my children. It's not working. Either I'm too damned hardheaded to listen to God or God finds me entertaining.
On our way out of Aquarium camp after pick up, I started cussing the car in front of me. I stopped myself just in time. "What's F mom?"
"Nothing, buddy I just stopped myself from saying something ugly."
"No you didn't. You said F. So you really did say it." Honest to Pete, can I get a louder conscience?
I love my son. But he drives me bananas. He's always on his own time table. He never listens to me unless I'm at the top of my decibel register. AND he's a parrot. EVERYTHING I have ever said to him comes back to me--and a lot of stuff I haven't said that he picked up on.
Like this morning, he asked me why I was doing something and I said, well because I like it and he said, "You're just odd mom." WTF?? I didn't know he knew that word. Did he get the context right by accident? Seriously.
And to top it all off, I have another little smarty britches in training, my almost two year old really didn't like my singing along to his nursery tunes yesterday. "Yush! yush! YUSH. Mama YUSH!" he yells from his carseat in the back.
"Tell me to hush one more time you little snookums and I'm gonna pull this car over and give you the what for." I said laughing. I couldn't help myself. But I don't know that it was really funny that my 2 year old told me to hush.
Maybe I need to duct tape my mouth closed for a day and see what happens. Between my hot temper and my mouth with no check on it, I'm in deep doo doo. And I'm so sick of these parenting books that tell me to stay calm and think rationally and count to ten. WHO DOES THAT? And not get on their level--obviously the people writing these books either have some sort of St. Theresa mommy gene or else they never spent the day with two wild boys who are really fast and really damn smart.
Maybe I should never have had children. After I get done yelling and they get done yelling, we all feel much better. We get a snack and move on. It's fine. This is probably not a good thing, but I am me and me is loud and me is short tempered and me is one hell of a holy yeller, hand slammer, thing thrower. I cannot for the life of me put a stop to it. The boys just look at me with big eyes and wait for the storm to pass. Is it any wonder my two year old is terrified on thunderstorms? (Of course I'm a big wuss when it comes to storms, so maybe he inherited it, I don't know.) I've been trying for 5 years now to put a lid on it, but it's like trying to jam a frying pan lid on a stock pot. They aren't interchangeable lids. I'll try harder. After all, like my 5 year old says, "It's okay mom, we'll just try it again tomorrow, right?"
Bless them. They forgive 70 times 7 and then some.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Let Learning Be Cherished...
I'm on my education soapbox again. I came across a draft of this blog post today that I never published. Granted school's out for summer, but I thought this draft worth polishing and publishing. I've been dry in the lengthy op-eds lately anyway, so here goes...
My Alma mater's motto, Alenda Lux Ubi Orta Libertas. Translated "Let Learning Be Cherished
Where Liberty Has Arisen."
My Alma mater's motto, Alenda Lux Ubi Orta Libertas. Translated "Let Learning Be Cherished
Where Liberty Has Arisen."
The problem inherent in the above argument is that we miss the point entirely. When as a community (or district, or state, or nation) we don't accept the challenge of cherishing education for everyone, we diminish the value of educating anyone. While we can work on rectifying the state of our schools on any number of levels--spending, restructuring, and rethinking, the fundamental questions remain the same: do we cherish the opportunity to educate our children? What is it we want every child to learn?
There are many problems in this world that are not the fault of children--divorce, single parenthood, neighborhood crime, drugs, lack of money for infrastructure, lack of money for salaries, lack of jobs in poor neighborhoods, the list goes on. However, we can certainly hold our children and each other accountable for their success. Part of our education system's failure is that we no longer hold children accountable for their own success or failure. We blame the system, the neighborhood, the lack of parental supervision. If the child isn't successful, it's the teachers fault, or the curriculum's fault, or there are too many kids in the room, or the bus ride is too long. I've seen schools twist themselves into pretzels trying to offer extra help, homework hot lines, free supplies, after-school programs, extra credit, more time, extensions, the list goes on. For what? What happened to taking away the car keys, cell phone, the xbox, the Internet, the TV, pocket money? And in the absence of those things what happened to grounding or restriction? We've let parents off the hook too. And what about the community? There was a time in my life when my parents knew what happened at school before I could get home to tell them. I wish we had a school rule handbook for parents to remind them that public school isn't a birthright, it's a privilege. A privilege paid for by a lot of people in America because they believe that learning should be cherished.
Individual responsibility for your life belongs to you and you alone--that's liberty. What you choose to do with opportunities you are given is your choice--that's liberty. We are no longer teaching this ideal to our children. We lay the responsibility of success or failure at the feet of teachers, tests, administrators, everybody but the child. Granted children must be taught responsibility, must be taught to value things, must be taught to cherish things. But how do we teach these principles if we do not apply the principle of accountability? I'm not saying public schools don't have rules. I'm not saying public schools don't have accountability. I am saying that there has been a dangerous trend over time to reduce the amount of accountability for the student from "I matter therefore my choice to participate matters" to merely showing up and staying quiet in his or her seat. Showing up, keeping your head down, and not making noise doesn't make a roomful of successful children ready to cherish learning.
There are many different kinds of education; life lessons, book lessons, cooking lessons, self-help lessons, financial lessons, love lessons, survival lessons. I understand that many children in our country live in places in which surviving super cedes any other form of learning. I also know that modeling reliance on self can be a great lesson--in any culture, in any place, at any time. In the absence of family, it is up to us as community to model self-reliance, love of learning, and how to place value appropriately regardless of where we live and often times, in spite of it.
Do you ever watch those movies about extraordinary individuals who went in and turned around a school, a class, a group of people, fought the system, etc. etc? Besides the warm fuzzy those movies give us, there are reasons why those folks accomplished the extraordinary. They demanded accountability from everyone. When leaders demand accountability from followers, synergy happens. Giving a human being freedom over their lives by making them important enough to be responsible for their own choices creates an atmosphere of inspiration. Instilling the idea that "I matter" is essential in cherishing an education.
What do I think it means to "let learning be cherished where liberty has arisen?" School rules that make sense and are enforceable. Bend the rules for exceptions if you know you are right. Give teachers back the command of their classroom. Make the students accountable for their work, for their behavior, for their attendance, for their success and even for their failure. Give them the opportunity to fail. Nobody gets a free ride for anything. If you want it, you gotta work for it. You can't cherish something you haven't worked for. You can't value something that has no value to you. You can't love something in which you haven't invested time and labor.
Teaching is a labor of love. Teaching is an investment in human capital. True teachers cherish learning. They cherish the students they teach. They cherish their students' potential. They value students' work. True teachers aren't just in the classroom--they are at church, at home, in the grocery store, at the post office, on the street, on the television. If we all acted every day the way we would if we were responsible for the education and well-being of all children, imagine what a different kind of place America would be.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Agape
I've been thinking about love. Not sure why. It's just been on my mind lately. The word love is probably one of the most over-used words in the English language. Often I find myself answering "LOVE it" when someone who asks me, "do you like your _____?" or "how do you feel about ____?" Perhaps I over-state?
Love is Action. It's the "do" and "be" in the marriage covenant, "Do you ....take....to be your..." Love is not a feeling. I love my husband. We've been married almost 10 years. While I still get those sharp lightening bolts down my spine every now and then when I look at him, I am pretty damn sure loving him is not that crazy hormonal state I was in when I first met him. That would have been something akin to lust and passion and need. Loving someone takes effort from time to time--hard, gut busting, tear filled, how did I ever marry you, we are never going to get past this, are we still arguing about this issue, work. But using the tools we have been given in love--patience, perseverance, forgiveness, truthfulness, hopefulness, and charity, we can build a love relationship that is almost perfect.
The Greek term agape translates into English as "love", but it means so much more than that. Wikipedia defines agape by referencing well-known author C. S. Lewis. "In his book The Four Loves, lists agape as describing the highest level of love known to humanity—a selfless love, a love that was passionately committed to the well-being of the other." ( Lewis, C. S. (June 5, 2002). The Four Loves. Fount. ISBN 0-00-628089-7. ) Since my husband and I committed to care more about each other than ourselves, our marriage works itself out--most of the time.
Love isn't an easy road. It's fraught with disappointment, loss of trust, selfishness, and human frailty. Sometimes we lose. Sometimes we lose really big. It takes work to build something worthwhile and it takes more work to save something worth keeping. It is hard to love something that doesn't want to be loved. It is harder to forgive someone who doesn't want forgiveness. The amount of time and energy needed to rebuild trust that is lost is almost more than many of us have. It takes effort to extend charity to another person when you don't want to. If love were easy, we wouldn't have to pray "thy kingdom come," the kingdom would already be here. Don't kid yourself, you're going to hit snags. Sometimes your going to fall off the cliff. Sometimes a relationship can't be saved--whether a marriage, a parent-child, or friendship. Those are the most difficult moments.
I think love can also be defined as a natural extension of how you feel about human beings. How do you interact with people in general? Are you a trusting person? Do you have hope for something better out of people? Are you truthful with people? Do you nurture your friendships? Do you forgive easily? Do you give of yourself often? Are we acting out love as Jesus called us to? Do we reach beyond ourselves? Our ability to love is also based on our ability to receive love from others. Our capacity to love is exceeded only by our ability to forgive. Do we seek justice and mercy and honor and forgiveness and charity for others? The greatest commandment was to love one another. But this kind of love takes effort and prayer on your part. A commitment to the well-being of others regardless of yourself is not a mission to take lightly.
I think about love in this way. Love is a cup that is in a constant state of flow. The more love you pour out, the more love fills up your cup. The more love fills your cup, the more you want to pour out your love on others. So even when some acts of love fail, there are other acts of love that refill your cup, so that you will be able to act again. The love of Christ is constantly flowing out to us all the time. All we have to do is stand in the stream of it and let it flow over, around, and through us. We emerge strengthened in agape so that we may in turn practice agape with our spouse, our children, our friends, our community, and our world.
Love is Action. It's the "do" and "be" in the marriage covenant, "Do you ....take....to be your..." Love is not a feeling. I love my husband. We've been married almost 10 years. While I still get those sharp lightening bolts down my spine every now and then when I look at him, I am pretty damn sure loving him is not that crazy hormonal state I was in when I first met him. That would have been something akin to lust and passion and need. Loving someone takes effort from time to time--hard, gut busting, tear filled, how did I ever marry you, we are never going to get past this, are we still arguing about this issue, work. But using the tools we have been given in love--patience, perseverance, forgiveness, truthfulness, hopefulness, and charity, we can build a love relationship that is almost perfect.
The Greek term agape translates into English as "love", but it means so much more than that. Wikipedia defines agape by referencing well-known author C. S. Lewis. "In his book The Four Loves, lists agape as describing the highest level of love known to humanity—a selfless love, a love that was passionately committed to the well-being of the other." ( Lewis, C. S. (June 5, 2002). The Four Loves. Fount. ISBN 0-00-628089-7. ) Since my husband and I committed to care more about each other than ourselves, our marriage works itself out--most of the time.
Love isn't an easy road. It's fraught with disappointment, loss of trust, selfishness, and human frailty. Sometimes we lose. Sometimes we lose really big. It takes work to build something worthwhile and it takes more work to save something worth keeping. It is hard to love something that doesn't want to be loved. It is harder to forgive someone who doesn't want forgiveness. The amount of time and energy needed to rebuild trust that is lost is almost more than many of us have. It takes effort to extend charity to another person when you don't want to. If love were easy, we wouldn't have to pray "thy kingdom come," the kingdom would already be here. Don't kid yourself, you're going to hit snags. Sometimes your going to fall off the cliff. Sometimes a relationship can't be saved--whether a marriage, a parent-child, or friendship. Those are the most difficult moments.
I think love can also be defined as a natural extension of how you feel about human beings. How do you interact with people in general? Are you a trusting person? Do you have hope for something better out of people? Are you truthful with people? Do you nurture your friendships? Do you forgive easily? Do you give of yourself often? Are we acting out love as Jesus called us to? Do we reach beyond ourselves? Our ability to love is also based on our ability to receive love from others. Our capacity to love is exceeded only by our ability to forgive. Do we seek justice and mercy and honor and forgiveness and charity for others? The greatest commandment was to love one another. But this kind of love takes effort and prayer on your part. A commitment to the well-being of others regardless of yourself is not a mission to take lightly.
I think about love in this way. Love is a cup that is in a constant state of flow. The more love you pour out, the more love fills up your cup. The more love fills your cup, the more you want to pour out your love on others. So even when some acts of love fail, there are other acts of love that refill your cup, so that you will be able to act again. The love of Christ is constantly flowing out to us all the time. All we have to do is stand in the stream of it and let it flow over, around, and through us. We emerge strengthened in agape so that we may in turn practice agape with our spouse, our children, our friends, our community, and our world.
**The cup imagery comes from the "Companions in Christ" series and a beautiful explanation by my sister in Christ B.J. Neal. While I have adopted it as my own, it isn't my original idea. This imagery continues to sustain me and in using it again recently, I was reminded of this post. I felt I should credit the source, although I'm not sure I know which book the cup is in because we've talked about it in every text for four years now!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Story Time
The Tale of the Pepper Trail
by Marla McDaniel
Dedication: To the Two Brothers with Love
Chapter 1
Once upon a time there were two brothers. The older brother was almost 5 and the younger brother was almost 2. The two little boys lived with their mommy and daddy in a red brick house set way back from the road. One day when the mommy wasn't watching, the older little boy said to the younger little boy, "I have a great idea. Let's make mommy insane today, want to?" The little brother, who loved playing with his big brother just clapped his hands and said "yeah." He didn't have many words, but "yeah" was one of his favorites.
So while mommy was elsewhere in the house for a minute (not on facebook, not checking email, not on the phone--probably taking a much needed pee break, or maybe folding laundry, or taking out the diapers)--the boys started in on their idea.
They waited for just the right moment. The mommy turned on a Thomas movie and gave out a snack and ran upstairs to pull together some things for the boys' Vacation Bible School while the movie worked it magic. Meanwhile, the older brother got down from his chair, pulled the step stool out of the pantry, dragged it to the counter and climbed up on the counter. Looking back at the little brother snugly strapped into the high chair, the older brother winked. He opened the corner cabinet above the counter that held all of mommy's baking supplies. Quick as a wink he pulled out the big tub of sugar, the large refill canister of pepper, the baking powder, the cocoa powder, the canister of grits, the canister of bread crumbs, and the can of coconut. Putting all these things on the counter he quickly scooted down and ran back and forth to his room until everything was in place.
Chapter 2
After the movie, the mommy came back downstairs unstrapped the little one from the high chair and asked if the boys wanted to play outside. "Yeah" cried the little boy. "Sure" said the older boy. So the mommy went out to play with the boys completely unaware that a trick was brewing in the older brother's bedroom. After a while, the phone rang. A good friend was calling and the mommy chatted for a long time. She learned her lesson (or so she thought) previously about phone calls and didn't let the boys out of her sight for more than a minute or two at a time.
Once back inside the mommy indulgently sat on the love seat and watched the boys jump, climb, and otherwise destroy her couch in the living room. It was already beyond repair anyway and she didn't have the energy to harp anymore about not jumping on the living room furniture.
A few minutes later the boys laughing ran around to the older boy's bedroom. The mommy sighed with relief. They were safe in there. The boys couldn't really mess it up. She had taken away all the crayons, markers, pens, pencils, chalk, and any other potential writing utensils.
All of a sudden it was just too quiet in the house. The mommy went to investigate.
Chapter 3
Upon entering the room the mommy found the two little boys happily at play. The youngest was driving cars in six inches of black pepper powder poured out on the carpet in the shape of a road. The older child was giggling as he jumped around and splashed his hands in the bread crumbs, cocoa and grits. The beanbag in the corner had a fine layer of cocoa powder on it. Underneath the beanbag was a large pile of grits. And on the wall were newly formed letters drawn in cocoa powder.
The mommy, being known for her screaming ability was utterly speechless. She managed to hold it together long enough to scoop up the toddler and carry him to his crib. A fine whispering sound followed them as pepper poured out of the creases of his shorts, diaper, and shoes. Placing him not so gently in the crib, she scolded him and told him to stay there indefinitely. Turning off the light and slamming the door behind her, she turned her attention to the older brother. He, smartly, was covering his behind and cowering in the corner up to his ankles in a mixed concoction of finely grained particles.
"Go to the closet. Get the vacuum cleaner and come back." she said softly, but terribly. The little boy ran terrified because his mothers eyes were glowing like Buzz Lightyear's red laser beam that shoots from the arm of his space suit. The boy returned dragging the vacuum cleaner behind him and banging into the wall repeatedly. He stood silently as his mother plugged it in. She turned and said, "Fix this mess. Now."
The little boy got to vacuuming. But he was too little to manage the attachment on the vacuum cleaner. So his mother took the attachment off and handed the hose back to him. The boy went back to work. It was odd, but he seemed to delight in the opportunity to be of help to his mother. He chatted about his work and how well he was helping clean up. All of a sudden the vacuum cleaner died.
Upon inspection the mother realized that the bag was full of small tiny granules from the floor. Wordlessly she left the room, got a new vacuum cleaner bag, changed the bag and gave the hose back to the little boy again.
"Finish," was all she said.
Chapter 4
The mother sighed and took the full vacuum cleaner bag to the kitchen. As she pushed the foot pedal to open the trashcan, she saw it. Dropping the bag in the trash, she bent for a closer look. On her brand-newly painted kitchen wall above the trashcan was an autograph "OwenMcD". She rubbed her eyes.
"There must be some mistake," she thought. The child just received the punishment of a lifetime last week for drawing on every wall in the playroom and the bedroom. Had she not spent an afternoon with him scrubbing his very own walls with a Mr. Clean magic eraser? Large black Os had been written across the wall in his bedroom and on the carpet. Shaking her head, the mommy looked for the offending ink pen and found it on the floor under the cabinet.
"How did it get there?" She really thought she had removed every writing utensil in the house.
Slowly she walked to the older son's room. "Come out here."
"Did you write this?" she asked, barely concealing her anger.
"Oh yes." said the older son matter-of-factly.
"Why?" she spit out.
"Because I wanted to." he said defiantly, raising his chin a bit.
"I don't understand. I know that you know that we don't write on the walls." said the mommy breathing heavily to keep a lid on it and her arms locked behind her own back.
"Well, but ..." the little boy began to falter.
"Don't you but mamma me." said the mommy, a little louder this time.
"I just..."the little boy began to squirm and the hands shot to his bottom again.
"What are you doing that for? I'm not going to spank you. What's the point?" the mommy raised her voice again.
"You take this pencil eraser and you make that disappear. If it doesn't come off my brand new kitchen wall, you owe me three thousand dollars. And you better hope I don't tell your daddy. He will end you." the mommy said loudly, but without yelling. Casually she walked away.
The young child got to erasing. Lucky for him it all came off. He would live another day.
"I think you better go to your room and stay there," the mommy said when he finished.
"For how long?" he asked petulantly.
"For as long as it takes. Do not speak. Do not call me. Do not even let me know you are alive in there," said the mommy without moving from her watchful post by the sink.
The little boy ran for his life.
Chapter 5
Meanwhile the younger son had been crying the entire time. The decibel level was reaching epic proportions when the mommy returned.
"Dry it up!" the mommy shouted as she entered the room. Immediately the small boy stopped crying. The occasional whimper escaped while the mother stood there trying to keep it together.
"You may get down, but you will stay in this room," she said in a more controlled tone. The mommy picked up the little boy and set him down. She handed him a book, his truck, and the blanket from the crib.
"Do not come out of this room," said the mommy. She turned and closed the door.
The little boy had been growing and learning and figuring things out of late. He was quite capable of opening the door. In fact he had been practicing on that pantry door for a long time. The mommy however had found him out and placed a call to the daddy for a lock for the pantry door. Undeterred he began working on all the other doors in the house. Over the next hour, the little boy opened his bedroom door and peaked out at the mommy at least 30 times. She was too good. Every single time she seemed to be right there.
"You close that door." she would say and he would close it back. The poor little boy thought he would never get to leave that room. Meanwhile he was wondering what had happened to his older brother. They always played together. This separate room thing was no fun.
Chapter 6
Presently the daddy came home. He and the mommy weren't speaking. He had called on the way home and it had not been a pleasant phone call. Full of remorse for his unkindness and total lack of understanding (after all he has an office full of assistants to help him keep an eye on things), he apologized gracefully to the mommy. She accepted his apology rather un-gracefully and turned back to the stove. Silently, the daddy went to the bedroom to deal with the older son.
The mommy quietly put the toddler back in the high chair and dished up the dinner she had been trying to make for the last two hours. It was a silent meal for the three of them. The older son was wailing in his room because he was being denied dinner with the family and yet another stay in his room. After dinner, the mommy--still not speaking to anyone--quietly cleaned up the kitchen. When she was finished, the mommy opened the refrigerator, took out two Michelob Ultras, grabbed her purse and keys, left a note for the daddy, got in her car and drove to her bookclub.
Epilogue
All's well that ends well. The little boys miraculously recovered after an evening with daddy. The mommy miraculously recovered her ability to speak with the father. After a few beers and a few hours of moral support from her friends, the mommy's eyes and voice returned to their natural state. Everyone slept through the night in the red brick house set far from the road. The next morning the sunshine came, and all was right with the world.
by Marla McDaniel
Dedication: To the Two Brothers with Love
Chapter 1
Once upon a time there were two brothers. The older brother was almost 5 and the younger brother was almost 2. The two little boys lived with their mommy and daddy in a red brick house set way back from the road. One day when the mommy wasn't watching, the older little boy said to the younger little boy, "I have a great idea. Let's make mommy insane today, want to?" The little brother, who loved playing with his big brother just clapped his hands and said "yeah." He didn't have many words, but "yeah" was one of his favorites.
So while mommy was elsewhere in the house for a minute (not on facebook, not checking email, not on the phone--probably taking a much needed pee break, or maybe folding laundry, or taking out the diapers)--the boys started in on their idea.
They waited for just the right moment. The mommy turned on a Thomas movie and gave out a snack and ran upstairs to pull together some things for the boys' Vacation Bible School while the movie worked it magic. Meanwhile, the older brother got down from his chair, pulled the step stool out of the pantry, dragged it to the counter and climbed up on the counter. Looking back at the little brother snugly strapped into the high chair, the older brother winked. He opened the corner cabinet above the counter that held all of mommy's baking supplies. Quick as a wink he pulled out the big tub of sugar, the large refill canister of pepper, the baking powder, the cocoa powder, the canister of grits, the canister of bread crumbs, and the can of coconut. Putting all these things on the counter he quickly scooted down and ran back and forth to his room until everything was in place.
Chapter 2
After the movie, the mommy came back downstairs unstrapped the little one from the high chair and asked if the boys wanted to play outside. "Yeah" cried the little boy. "Sure" said the older boy. So the mommy went out to play with the boys completely unaware that a trick was brewing in the older brother's bedroom. After a while, the phone rang. A good friend was calling and the mommy chatted for a long time. She learned her lesson (or so she thought) previously about phone calls and didn't let the boys out of her sight for more than a minute or two at a time.
Once back inside the mommy indulgently sat on the love seat and watched the boys jump, climb, and otherwise destroy her couch in the living room. It was already beyond repair anyway and she didn't have the energy to harp anymore about not jumping on the living room furniture.
A few minutes later the boys laughing ran around to the older boy's bedroom. The mommy sighed with relief. They were safe in there. The boys couldn't really mess it up. She had taken away all the crayons, markers, pens, pencils, chalk, and any other potential writing utensils.
All of a sudden it was just too quiet in the house. The mommy went to investigate.
Chapter 3
Upon entering the room the mommy found the two little boys happily at play. The youngest was driving cars in six inches of black pepper powder poured out on the carpet in the shape of a road. The older child was giggling as he jumped around and splashed his hands in the bread crumbs, cocoa and grits. The beanbag in the corner had a fine layer of cocoa powder on it. Underneath the beanbag was a large pile of grits. And on the wall were newly formed letters drawn in cocoa powder.
The mommy, being known for her screaming ability was utterly speechless. She managed to hold it together long enough to scoop up the toddler and carry him to his crib. A fine whispering sound followed them as pepper poured out of the creases of his shorts, diaper, and shoes. Placing him not so gently in the crib, she scolded him and told him to stay there indefinitely. Turning off the light and slamming the door behind her, she turned her attention to the older brother. He, smartly, was covering his behind and cowering in the corner up to his ankles in a mixed concoction of finely grained particles.
"Go to the closet. Get the vacuum cleaner and come back." she said softly, but terribly. The little boy ran terrified because his mothers eyes were glowing like Buzz Lightyear's red laser beam that shoots from the arm of his space suit. The boy returned dragging the vacuum cleaner behind him and banging into the wall repeatedly. He stood silently as his mother plugged it in. She turned and said, "Fix this mess. Now."
The little boy got to vacuuming. But he was too little to manage the attachment on the vacuum cleaner. So his mother took the attachment off and handed the hose back to him. The boy went back to work. It was odd, but he seemed to delight in the opportunity to be of help to his mother. He chatted about his work and how well he was helping clean up. All of a sudden the vacuum cleaner died.
Upon inspection the mother realized that the bag was full of small tiny granules from the floor. Wordlessly she left the room, got a new vacuum cleaner bag, changed the bag and gave the hose back to the little boy again.
"Finish," was all she said.
Chapter 4
The mother sighed and took the full vacuum cleaner bag to the kitchen. As she pushed the foot pedal to open the trashcan, she saw it. Dropping the bag in the trash, she bent for a closer look. On her brand-newly painted kitchen wall above the trashcan was an autograph "OwenMcD". She rubbed her eyes.
"There must be some mistake," she thought. The child just received the punishment of a lifetime last week for drawing on every wall in the playroom and the bedroom. Had she not spent an afternoon with him scrubbing his very own walls with a Mr. Clean magic eraser? Large black Os had been written across the wall in his bedroom and on the carpet. Shaking her head, the mommy looked for the offending ink pen and found it on the floor under the cabinet.
"How did it get there?" She really thought she had removed every writing utensil in the house.
Slowly she walked to the older son's room. "Come out here."
"Did you write this?" she asked, barely concealing her anger.
"Oh yes." said the older son matter-of-factly.
"Why?" she spit out.
"Because I wanted to." he said defiantly, raising his chin a bit.
"I don't understand. I know that you know that we don't write on the walls." said the mommy breathing heavily to keep a lid on it and her arms locked behind her own back.
"Well, but ..." the little boy began to falter.
"Don't you but mamma me." said the mommy, a little louder this time.
"I just..."the little boy began to squirm and the hands shot to his bottom again.
"What are you doing that for? I'm not going to spank you. What's the point?" the mommy raised her voice again.
"You take this pencil eraser and you make that disappear. If it doesn't come off my brand new kitchen wall, you owe me three thousand dollars. And you better hope I don't tell your daddy. He will end you." the mommy said loudly, but without yelling. Casually she walked away.
The young child got to erasing. Lucky for him it all came off. He would live another day.
"I think you better go to your room and stay there," the mommy said when he finished.
"For how long?" he asked petulantly.
"For as long as it takes. Do not speak. Do not call me. Do not even let me know you are alive in there," said the mommy without moving from her watchful post by the sink.
The little boy ran for his life.
Chapter 5
Meanwhile the younger son had been crying the entire time. The decibel level was reaching epic proportions when the mommy returned.
"Dry it up!" the mommy shouted as she entered the room. Immediately the small boy stopped crying. The occasional whimper escaped while the mother stood there trying to keep it together.
"You may get down, but you will stay in this room," she said in a more controlled tone. The mommy picked up the little boy and set him down. She handed him a book, his truck, and the blanket from the crib.
"Do not come out of this room," said the mommy. She turned and closed the door.
The little boy had been growing and learning and figuring things out of late. He was quite capable of opening the door. In fact he had been practicing on that pantry door for a long time. The mommy however had found him out and placed a call to the daddy for a lock for the pantry door. Undeterred he began working on all the other doors in the house. Over the next hour, the little boy opened his bedroom door and peaked out at the mommy at least 30 times. She was too good. Every single time she seemed to be right there.
"You close that door." she would say and he would close it back. The poor little boy thought he would never get to leave that room. Meanwhile he was wondering what had happened to his older brother. They always played together. This separate room thing was no fun.
Chapter 6
Presently the daddy came home. He and the mommy weren't speaking. He had called on the way home and it had not been a pleasant phone call. Full of remorse for his unkindness and total lack of understanding (after all he has an office full of assistants to help him keep an eye on things), he apologized gracefully to the mommy. She accepted his apology rather un-gracefully and turned back to the stove. Silently, the daddy went to the bedroom to deal with the older son.
The mommy quietly put the toddler back in the high chair and dished up the dinner she had been trying to make for the last two hours. It was a silent meal for the three of them. The older son was wailing in his room because he was being denied dinner with the family and yet another stay in his room. After dinner, the mommy--still not speaking to anyone--quietly cleaned up the kitchen. When she was finished, the mommy opened the refrigerator, took out two Michelob Ultras, grabbed her purse and keys, left a note for the daddy, got in her car and drove to her bookclub.
Epilogue
All's well that ends well. The little boys miraculously recovered after an evening with daddy. The mommy miraculously recovered her ability to speak with the father. After a few beers and a few hours of moral support from her friends, the mommy's eyes and voice returned to their natural state. Everyone slept through the night in the red brick house set far from the road. The next morning the sunshine came, and all was right with the world.
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