AWARDS AND ANTIDOTES

Today I attended the 5^th grade awards ceremony.  Kids piled in carrying chairs, seated themselves, then squirmed, smirked, applauded, for the couple of hours that followed.  Parents, too. As a grand finale, the principal switched from authoritative order giver to nurturing mother hen, and belted out a song about being "better for having known you." Some things lend themselves to parody. Particularly when mid song the voice cracks with emotion, while 5th grade boys fart in their chairs. But if that's not funny, it's also not nice.

My oldest son raked in the awards this week: Highest Academic Achievement Award, Presidential Award, on top of his top in his class mathematics award (which he brought home folded in half and crumpled in his back pack. "why did you fold this, luke?" "because i had to get it home." fair enough.) and Quiz Bowl participant award.  

I flashed back to a scene some 5 years ago. “Is he having an affair” the half balding white male attorney asked me casually in a deep south carolinian accent. After attending a year of marital counseling alone (yes, it really does take two people to achieve any results in marital counseling), I found myself in a dimly lit, heavily furnished, family law attorney's office, to pay $300 and explore my options. The act alone felt risky, scandalous, bold, blasphemous, sacriligous.  I answered him, without emotion, attempting to make absurdities appear logical, as had become my habit “No I don't think so, because I usually know who the object of his affection is, and at this time can't name anyone.” A slight head tilt, squinting of the eyes, he continued, “look for hairs on his shirts, the faint lingering aroma of perfume, lipstick on collar, and condoms in his car.” 

In the fog, “impossible” I thought. 

He then offered me a condescending warning I will never forget “you know, ma'am, let me be clear, single mother's children end up using drugs, leading a life of crime, dropping out of school, getting pregnant in their teens...”  


whoa whoa whoa. hold on just a minute, mister.  


You can expose infidelity, you can suggest divorce, you can throw out ridiculously high numbers for legal fees, you can patronizingly explain the way the world works...BUT YOU MAY NOT CURSE MY CHILDREN. Back straightening right up, stone cold defiant gaze, looking right into his soul, "THAT, sir, will not be our fate. Excuse me, I will be leaving now."

So, today we celebrate the end of another school year. Ava graduating all smiles, shiny blonde hair, delicate lilac dress, snaggle toothed grin, reading and writing daily. Leif, recommended for the upcoming GT program next year, capturing every teacher's attention with his creative writing and illustrations. Luke, devouring every academic activity in sight, like candy.

Obviously, the teenage years lay ahead, so I'd be a fool to give advice, as if retrospect could be had beforehand. But, there are antidotes to the typical societal ills accompanying single parenting, that start with young kids. Here are my top three: 1- Severely limit television time. NO MATTER WHAT. Even if you have a final the next day, even if you are sick with pneumonia, even if you are exhausted at the end of a long week.  It is a habit that changes the way children perceive free time. 2- Eat supper together at the table at least 3x a week. NO MATTER WHAT. Even if the meal is a frozen pizza. Even if you get home at 5:30, starving. Even if you are exhausted at the end of a long week. This is the time of day when conversation is most natural.  3- Play outside with your kids.  NO MATTER WHAT. Even if it's 90 degrees, add popsicles and water to the mix. Even if it's drizzling, be ready to strip down and wash a load of dirty laundry. Even if you are exhausted at the end of a long week. This is when your kids will laugh, a lot.

OLD SOUL

the afterlife. from black to glowing white, with lacy wings.

"you are an old soul," i've heard a few times, from trusted sources. what really is an old soul? so, i googled it. taking a 10 question online quiz to find out if one is an old soul seems to prove one is not. wouldn't an old soul know what an old soul is? one link provides a quiz, question number 7 asks "Do you like to go out in nature and observe all the activity that is normally not noticed by others?" and another site "I always say that an old soul can walk into a room full of people and without even saying a word, three others will adore them and three hate them instantaneously." Naturally, my "research" prompted thoughts of insects, because every time I see a bug, I stoop to take a closer look. And what creature (other than snakes) gets such a violent reaction from others---stomped, crushed, sprayed, cursed, swatted, whacked.

saturday, to pause from the activity of the day, the kids watched Microcosmos, a delightful documentary on insects. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76R2EKEnoJQ.  have you seen this film? incredible shots of the secret world of the little things. it is one of my favorites.  i have loved insects as far back as i can remember. in costa rica as a young child, i would collect already dead ones and pin them to cardboard with straightpins. the particulars of the first walk through the rainforest, at age 8, remains alive in my memory still, every inch of terrain teeming with life. once, while i cheered, my sister recklessly climbed up a second story iron terrace to chase a rhinoceros beetle. 

Costa Rican rhinoceros beetle

last year, i traveled to nyc, from arkansas, and returned home with a glass shadow box of framed butterflies, purchased from a street vendor. it hangs on my wall, a focal point for my gaze.

so lovely

 the grasshopper says good morning.

i met a fella one sunny day at a seed exchange. he noticed insects, too. filming and photographing them,  he charmed me with his mind's eye. captured these little creatures and brought them to my bare walls.  grasshoppers, caterpillars, spiders, flies...the photos have a cartoon quality, as if circus music and dancing could ensue any time.  his short film set to music "bugs, bugs, bugs" grabbed my attention http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-VlgXLumQY. how kind of life to bring me a friend, even if briefly, who shared my curiosity.




many years ago, one night, following my legal separation, during the week my children were away (joint custody: children gone a solid week every other week. growing accustomed to the silence was one of the unexpected hardest experiences post separation), i was awake, alone.  surrounded by a pile of law books, laying on the floor in the minutes following midnight, the silence moved throughout the room so incredibly loud it reverberated through my ears and down my spine to the empty hollow of my heart...i felt the roach before i saw him...he was that big. as if his feet pattered, a vibration that moved across the carpet. and then i heard him, too. scurrying like a mouse.  my first conscious thought, with a bit of crazy tinged joy, came out an exclamation "i'm not alone!" ...and then i killed him. roaches demand respect---they never die. but sometimes they die, like at 2:33 a.m., when they jump you in a dead sleep, running down your elbow, being flung across the room, redoubling their efforts and five minutes later scurrying down your sleeping back. not even an old soul dreaming in 300 count bedsheets, can meet a survivalist roach pre dawn and mistake it for a soulmate.  

He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious. - Sun Tzu, The Art of War. c.400-320 b.c.

I WAS AN INTERN FOR SOUTH CAROLINA LEGAL AID

September 2007 through May 2010, I worked my way through law school as an intern with South Carolina Legal Services, in the telephone intake department. We sat for hours in cubicles in a basement, wearing a headset, answering phone call after phone call after phone call, screening clients for income requirements and legal issue categories. I loved this job, and hated it, too---it entertained me hour by sweet b'jesus laughing hour, but, my god, was it exhausting.   

                        http://www.sclegal.org      

ONE DAY, THIS:

boss is out on vacation, so the pecking order has changed, and older lady is riding the donkey of any slight authority she can wrangle in for the week....this has expressed itself w loud prolonged dealing w Staples delivery man over why we received two boxes of toilet paper instead of one box of toilet paper and one box of paper towels..."we dont have any evidence of an order for two boxes of toilet paper"....this conversation led to phone calls "upstairs" to inquire whether they were to receive a box of toilet paper, or if they had "evidence" of said order...

meanwhile

caller wants a divorce...he doesnt know why, as he yawns into the phone.. i inform him we only file physical abuse divorces...which prompts the story about his wife "vacuuming him up" while he was sleeping (midday), his pants, his shirt...why am i laughing?????   i tell him about pro se divorce, that it's cheap, easy way out...and then try to give him the number to call...he yawns and says "nah...im really sleepy right now...i'll jus call u back"....really? okay, i say...talk to ya later, pal.

meanwhile

old lady mentioned above puts callers on hold and shouts while slamming fist on table "what part of no dont u understand, b*tch! damn idiot!"  then releases the hold and restates "NO" louder this time....

meanwhile

i am dreaming of salsa dancing, and the closest i can get to that mirage right now is my puerto rican co-worker who continues to giggle w me and exchange frustrating phrases like "ay, dios mio!" "que porqueria!"....while checking out salsa club websites....

AND ANOTHER DAY, THIS:

Woman just getting out of prison for assault with a deadly weapon, explained to me her version of events: "I tossed what was in my hands. in his direction. it happened to be a knife. scratched him up a bit."

FINALLY, THIS, April 2010:

Me answering call: "Legal services. What county are you calling from?"

Ass on chair, in the nut house, the dungeon of drama, this beige basement, windowless, fluorescent light and computer glow…headset. Ring ring ring…

Me: “What is your legal issue?” caller: “I got me drama. Baby mama drama.”

Door opens with a gust of air and loud squeak. Why can’t we fix the squeak. Does anyone notice the squeak. Less of a squeak more of a screech, like a hawk on prey. When it rains, the carpet slops with water, the air wreaks of mold.

Ring ring ring…

Me: “i need a physical description of her. What color are her eyes?” 

caller: “her eyes? Her eyes be every which way”

me: “every which way, sir?” (how does this answer the question)

caller: “yeah. Every which way.”

Co-worker drops box heavily on ground. Excitedly “y’all come get some coffee.” Coffee? I love coffee. I need coffee. Coffee now. Free coffee? Coffee in a box..huh?...

Me: “let me put you on hold.”

Where’s the coffee? Co-workers circle around box, chairs exhaling with relief, feeling hundreds of ass pounds lighter… “man was throwing this in dumpster outside. I said, uh uh uh. Give it here. Why you wanna dump out perfectly good coffee….”

To us, “y’all take some” sifting through box, lifting bagged coffee into air, shaking it, squeezing it, turning it…

mental note: people don’t throw out boxes of perfectly good coffee…mental note: don’t disrupt the flow…mental note: check date on bag later…

I grab a bag “thaaaaanks”…back to seat, toss coffee by purse.

Me: “thank you for holding.”

(home later, check date, November 2006…NOVEMBER 2006…coffee in trash, quickly, shaking head knowing co-workers will slide into work tomorrow, next day, day after, wondering why their coffee tasted like liquid shit and they're dragging like snails, heavy eyes slipping into coma…)

7 screens open on computer…researching laws, social networking, looking for jobs… looking for jobs? Am I looking for jobs on the job? I am looking for jobs….

caller wants a divorce on physical abuse grounds.

Me: “and then what happened?” caller: “well, the police pulled me over for swerving. I stepped out of car. While I was stumbling toward police officer, my husband gunned the car and tried to run us over. Twice. He tried to run us down. Me and the police officer. Missed us by an inch. Officer pulled his gun and shot him in the head. Head falling off, he smashed into a tractor...yeah, he survived. he's still alive.”

Mental note: and YOU are the one claiming physical abuse?

this morning, eyes open quickly from dream, bracing myself for more drama, voices, accents, shouting, cursing, babies, dogs barking, allegations, tv’s blaring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring…….

Wait. Stop. STOP. Hold it...

today’s Friday. ..is it Friday? It is Friday…adrenaline stops pumping…heart rate slows, slower, slower…sigh…sigh again…NO PHONES ON FRIDAYS…no answering phones on Fridays…head clears…slowly, ceremonially, step out of bed…the last Friday of my 2.5 year internship at the south carolina legal services telephone intake line office… 

THE CAKE MATTERS

Six weeks out from their birthdays, I start asking the kids what kind of cake they want. That is how the birthday planning begins. The cake has always been the starting point for the party's theme. It's not that the cake itself matters, it's just that the cake provides a tangible sensory object for me to gauge who my child is becoming. And who my child is becoming determines what kind of party best suits the year--what kind of party will be the defining memory in their own personal timeline, relived over supper for years to come.

And like the cake, it's not that the party itself matters, it's that the party leaves my child feeling happy and individually loved. That is why the six week mark is important. You see, the first answer to  my "what kind of cake do you want?" usually involves a whim, whatever pops into the mind at the moment. Ava, hands in the air depicting a deep and wide scene "a pirate cake!... with a princess wearing a beautiful sparkle pink dress on a ship and a eye patch pirate swinging on a rope across tow boats, holding a sword...and and...and a shark! coming out of the water.. a whirpool over here...and a skull and cross bones and mermaids! beautiful mermaids with flowing red hair fighting the shark and a talking parrot flying over" hands down. smiling. nodding.

oh! i see! that is a fantastic idea...for a cake?

A week later, the same question prompts a different answer "an iceskating princess holding a baby penguin." Week three, we move from the realm of possibilities to narrowing down a concept within the confines of actual cake-making/cake-decorating. We do this by extrapolating a common theme, (my thousands of dollars of legal education put to its most useful work) in this case---princess, pink, sparkle. The theme becomes a mantra we begin to repeat in week four--"a pink sparkle princess birthday cake!"  You see, by doing this, we have created a desire that can actually be fulfilled. A wish I can deliver. And I assure you, that this seemingly overdone "method" of choosing a birthday theme year after year x3, is worth every bit of planning involved. So few desires in life are actually fulfilled, no? the old proverb knows "hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." Delivering a birthday cake, then, that matches expectations, provides the most effective and consistent way to trick fate. To play a joke on life. Take this, life---the child is happy-we win!

          My favorite cake ever: 2008, Leif wanted "a big black spider cake with long legs and two big white eyeballs"

The thing about my oldest son, Luke, though, is this:  the kid answers the first time "a Patriot's cake" (the child is a die hard New England Patriots fan), and never, not once, changes his mind. Last year, six weeks out---" a Patriots cake." This year, six weeks out---"a Patriots cake."  This is not boring to him, nor dispassionate. It is simply his truest readily stateable desire.  (Again, insightful into who my child is becoming---prefers the world to be consistent, predictable, sensical.)

Post sleep over-- the guests have all gone home--stinky, tired, happy, dirty.  I overhear Luke sigh as he plops on the couch (i can tell he's smiling) ""there's nothing like doing nothing!" A welcome follow-up to the preceding 16 hours as follows:

Luke is second from the left

Smear the queer (a term that despite all presidential proclamations, pc movements, and liberal minded mothers, is alive and well in the vocabulary of young boys in backyard arkansas):  the boys moved like a swarm of bees around the yard, laughing, shouting, piling, dropping, tossing...One kid, running full speed, ball in hand, long straight dirty blonde hair flopping...arm to the neck, clotheslined abruptly---hair swinging left, grimace shifting right, body lurching sideways...never dropped the ball. Atta boy!

Boxing. Pull out the exercise mat, the tae kwon do sparring gear-helmets and gloves, circle the chairs around, lay out the ground rules: "light touching. no blows to the face. the first person to get even slightly hurt means we're removing all the gear, shoving it in the bags, sliding the mat back into the garage, turning off the music, and sitting quietly in isolation for a few minutes. so, you decide how long you want to play by how hard you punch. make good choices...got it?" okay "GO!"

Water gun fight: matted dripping hair, the clicking of pumping water guns, in a matter of minutes, gains momentum and a system, a track, if you will, that circles the entire house...for, literally hours, the boys (and ava trailing along) chase each other down and spray h2o lasers at each others ears, eyes, knees, backs, teeth..."children at war" my sister's wry commentary right on cue.

"Children that spend more time with their fathers develop a more adventurous spirit"  an article I read once offered. "NO" I said to the words on the page. No. Not because the statement isn't true, necessarily. (And cheers to the dads who cultivate a roaming wild curiosity in their children.) But because it felt like a welcome challenge to me, a mother.

ON LEAVING RUSSELLVILLE, AR

If you find yourself on an extended stay in Russellville, AR, that turns into years, and you have school age children, these are the things I've found to do:

1- Rent kayaks by the hour or half day at Lake Dardanelle. The older kids can manage their own, the younger kids can ride in a tandem with an adult.  The rental comes with a life jacket and the whole lake to explore.  You can park your kayaks in the coves and search for mussels in the summer, or hike through the woods in the winter.  We did this in September--hot! and in January--cold!  You can even bring snacks in a pack or cooler. Of course, if you own kayaks, skip the rental and just hit the water.  All of this unfolds with the backdrop of the nuclear plant cooling tower ever puffing out billows of white steam.

2- Camp on Mt. Nebo, hike the rim trail, then spend the afternoon at the swimming pool, which even has a swirling slide! The view of the valley is spectacular. On a partly cloudy day you can watch the shadows move across the green meadows below, and the occasional speck of a boat drift along in Lake Dardanelle.  On a stormy night camp, we watched the fog roll in, fast, mysterious and blanketing everything in an opaque nothing, beckoning awe. 

3- Spend a friday night at the Jump Place on Main Street. For $8 the kids can bounce, jump, run, flip, scream, flop, twist to their sweaty heart's content, making bedtime a welcome reprieve for all.

4- Run or bike the Serendipity trail at the Bona Dea, a 3.5 mile winding path that circles around a swamp. You are sure to see a snake or two on every run. On a breezy afternoon the leaves above rustle as if to applaud your champion efforts as you round the umpteenth turn.

5-Order a corona, a queso blanco, and "carnitas" at la Huerta next to ATU. The service is fast, the cheese dip thinned to perfection, and the atmosphere more energetic than customary around here, as the waiters are mostly young latino males. The carnitas (pork tips) literally melt in your mouth in a salty fatty flavor explosion that only hot pig can provide.

6- Attend a midnight Christmas Eve mass at All Saints Episcopal Church. Under twinkling lights, cellos, violins, flutes, clarinets, lift your spirits to the wooden rafters, where choirs of angels must certainly be singing the praise of a baby king.  The faint aroma of earlier swigs of champagne, scotch, whiskey or wine wafts hopefully, among the smiling faces, good cheer abounding.

7- Buy a goldfish at Davis Pet Store and a cigar at the adjacent tobacco shop. A talking parrot greets you from atop an empty cage, and the poignant smells of ferrets and tobacco take turns burning your nose.  Dust off an underwater decoration of a sunken treasure, and pick a bag of colorful rocks to brighten your home acquarium.  The owners are always happy to answer questions such as "my crab committed suicide. is this particular to him? or are all crabs morbid escape artists?"