Wednesday, June 29, 2016

The Bubble

This week, the Teenager is away on a church mission trip to another state, where the group appears to be working on home repairs.  I've talked to her once, and I've seen her in a photo on Facebook.  I also know she bought ice cream on Sunday, because I checked on her teen checking account debit card balance (yes, the Mom of No was spying!).

I hope that she is having a good time. I hope that she's practicing ladder safety, and wearing her work gloves and safety goggles when appropriate. I hope that she's learning some useful skills, like how to repair drywall, paint the exterior of a house, or replace flooring.  I hope that she's growing spiritually, and learning some new things about herself and her faith.  I hope she's eating more than ice cream, and drinking enough water.

I'm also hoping that she's realizing that she lives in a bubble.

We live in an area where it is the norm for people to have big houses, nice cars, and attend good schools.  People talk about going to Europe on vacation, or cruises to the Caribbean on spring break.  We have plenty of restaurants to choose from, because people like to go out to eat.  The grocery stores are always fully stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables.  You can walk down the street with a realistic expectation that you will be safe, and we have great parks and community pools, so kids can go outside and play.

We also live in an area where people are struggling to survive, but that isn't as easy to see.  A few years ago, I was on a committee charged with developing a vision for our local school district (it was much more exciting than it sounds).  During a workshop, I found out that our community has homeless teenagers.  Quite a few of them, in fact.  I probably should have known that, but I didn't.  I was in a bubble.  

I've travelled around a bit, and I know very well that I am more fortunate than most, but when you live in a bubble in which everyone is at least projecting the appearance of affluence, that affluence is your reality.  If your friends are going on cruises to the Bahamas, then getting to drive a few hours to see Grandpa and go to his beach doesn't seem that impressive in comparison.  Never mind that there are many people out there who can't afford to go anywhere on summer break because they can't take the time off work, or they don't have a car that can drive that far.

It can be a challenge to get my offspring to realize that, while they are not nearly as fortunate as some, they are more fortunate than many.  They are both healthy. When they get sick, they go to the doctor.  They live in a decent house (although not a very big one) with electricity.  No one has to hike three miles to get water out of a well or a creek; the clean water comes to us, which puts us ahead of much of the world right there.  They can attend school through 12th grade.  They get three meals a day, although they may not always like what's on offer.

However, some of that bubble whining has started to creep in.  Even when you're being told that you have it good compared to many others, it's hard to own that when you're surrounded by people who appear to have much more than you.  I can't even blame it on youth; I have to remind myself of that sometimes and I'm no whippersnapper. When you tell your offspring, "people don't always get what they want, so suck it up", the perception that they're the only ones sucking it up affects your credibility.

I respect the teenager for her willingness to take a week of her very short summer and spend it doing hard labor. As she approaches adulthood, I am also really hoping that the teenager comes back with a new appreciation of what she has, and a true understanding of how so many other people are struggling and surviving on much less.  If that happens, it will truly be a week well spent.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Problems Naturalists Have

Hello, Mr. Skunk.  I see you there. 


1.  You have no more storage space on your iPhone because you have too many nature identification apps. 

2.  You have two hundred pictures of fungi on your mobile device, and two of your daughter going to her band banquet.

3.  Out of necessity, you've tried every poison ivy remedy known to humankind.

4.  When you see a snake or a skunk, your first instinct is not "Run away!" but "Let me see if I can get close enough to get a picture for iNaturalist!".

5.  You spent more money on your birding binoculars than you did on your first car.

6.   You once came in last in a 5K because you stopped to see if a bird was a scissor-tail flycatcher.

7.  People tag you on Facebook to identify spiders that they find in their yard, even though you don't really know that much about spiders.  That's okay though, because you know someone who does.

8.  Your kids are used to you pulling over to the side of the road to take pictures of road kill.

9.  You spend way too much money at REI.

10.  You spent six months researching what kind of hiking boots to buy.

11.  You can't use your dining room table because it's covered with fungi spore prints in progress.

12.  When deciding where to go on vacation, a prime consideration is "what great birding spots are nearby?".

13.  You get into intense debates with other people about identification.

14.  You have run out of room on your book shelves for your hard-copy field guides.

15.  When you say things like "I'm going out to the nature preserve; I'll be back in 2 hours", no one actually believes this.

16.  When you're considering selling your house and the realtor comes over to look at it, the first words out of her mouth are "the skull collection will have to go".

17.  Other people post pictures of their kids, or their dinner, or their feet on Facebook.  You post pictures of lepidoptera.

18.  When you hear rain at night, you think "fungi in the morning!".

19. Your kids know all about how critters make more critters.

20.  You have to buy bug spray in bulk.

Friday, June 24, 2016

Down by One

This week, and next, the Household of No is a much more sedate place:  this week, the Son of Never Stops Eating is visiting the Grandparents of No, eating their food instead of mine.  The day after he returns, the teenager leaves to go on a church mission trip in another state for a week.

For once, they both agree on something: neither one misses the other.

Actually, that isn't entirely true.  The teenager doesn't miss her brother, or if she does, she doesn't share that information with me.  However, after two or three days, my son will usually 'fess up to missing his sister, although there is usually a lot of "YAY, NO SISTER!" prior to that admission.

One definitely noticeable impact: less food is consumed.  Far less food. It is a mathematical mystery how two kids can eat about 4 times the amount of food that one kid can eat.  The same seems to apply to laundry. 

Also, the dog gets a little sulky.  I'm not sure if she misses her people, if she's sad because there is one less person in the house offering treats and walks, or a combination of both. 

Instead of endless bickering, and statements like "Someone clogged the toilet and didn't plunge it!" and "Mom! She drank all the chocolate milk!" and "Get out of my room!" and "Why are you staring at me?" and "Don't put the hamster in my hair again!", the house is blissfully peaceful.  When my son is away, it's also the one week out of the year we can walk in the house without fear of stepping on Legos with bare feet.  It's awesome.

It's also.....really, really, quiet.

Perhaps because in two years, one of mine will likely be gone for good, except for holidays and maybe summer, it seems a bit bittersweet.  I want to enjoy the quiet times.  It is much easier to manage with only one teenager in the house.  But it's just so quiet.  It's foreshadowing of what is to come.

I've started noticing threads on Facebook, and even saying things myself, like "In two years, I'm finally going to get new flooring!" and "Once these kids are gone, I can cook whatever I want for dinner without having to listen to whining!", and "Once the kids are gone, one of those bedrooms is becoming my craft room!" (that's not me; I don't do crafts), and "Once they're gone, I'm turning a bedroom into a library!" (that one might be me).

I won't have to go to the grocery store five times a week to buy milk, or listen to arguments about whose turn it is to feed the dog or unload the dishwasher. 

For years, I thought, well, the teenager will leave, but my son will be with us for awhile.  Then the other day, I asked him where he wanted to live as an adult.  I have this conversation with him periodically.  Usually he says, "I want to live with you".  This time, however, he said "I might want my own house".  When I asked him why, he said it was so that he could have his own rules and have more than one hamster (we have a strict "one hamster at a time rule" in the House of No).

That's a good sign.  He wants to be independent, just like his big sister.  But it also means that one day, the quiet will be permanent, not temporary.  Blissful, peaceful, quiet.

I'm not sure that I'm really ready for it.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Success

When I was in my twenties, a co-worker and I would often sign up for 5K races on the weekends.  Our inside joke was that we would be happy just to not be last, but we were in pretty good shape and we were young, so we never actually finished last.  Now, at 46, when I run (more like walk really fast... the knees, you know) the occasional 5K, sometimes I actually am last.  And, you know what, I am totally fine with that.  Someone has to be last, and sometimes that person is me.  I consider just finishing to be a success.  Three miles! I walked three miles! And I'm alive!

I was thinking about success and how we define it two weekends ago, as the Household of No struggled to survive a plumbing crisis.  The plumber couldn't come until the following Wednesday, and we couldn't use our dishwasher, our washing machine, or the sink.  The dishwasher I was fine with, since I have teenagers that can perform the same function, but the kitchen sink- well, that's a challenge. The water came in, but it wouldn't go out, and someone (who shall remain nameless) kept pouring chocolate milk down the drain that wouldn't drain.  At that moment, the most important person in my life was a plumber I didn't even know.

When schools talk about measuring success, often it's in terms of how many graduates go on to college.  Even better, how many graduates go on to big, well known, influential colleges.  That perception of success doesn't work for every student.  Some kids just aren't ready for college, or they don't want to go.  They'd rather do something else.  Their abilities might not be academic in nature.  But no one says anything about measuring success in terms of how many kids go on to become auto mechanics, or electricians, or plumbers.  

When your kids get to the point where they are considering what they want to do after high school, it feels good to say something like "oh, she's going to go to (big name college) and major in electrical engineering or pre-med".  That's parenting success, right there.  People are impressed with this.  Having a kid who is planning on entering a trade, well, that just doesn't have the same cachet.  You don't see high schools saying "50% of our students became carpenters, plumbers and HVAC technicians".  It's all about that prestigious university.

But, two weekends ago, I was seriously wishing I had a plumber. In my kitchen.  Fixing my plumbing issue.

School success seems to be defined by test scores and college enrollment rates. I was in a meeting not too long ago in which one topic of discussion was "how do you measure a school's success?". The discussion kept going back to "how many kids graduate and go to a top university?".  If that's the only definition of success, lots of kids are unsuccessful.

I have a kid who will probably go to college and do very well.  I have another one who hates school.  He struggles with academics.  His goal is to work at a pet store taking care of hamsters.  When I tell people this, sometimes they tell me about adaptive programs at universities.  I think these programs are great.  But I get the idea from my son that isn't his thing.  If he gets a job at a pet store, and he's happy, and being productive and contributing to society, isn't that success?  If you're a plumber, and you're good at what you do, and you have a thriving business, isn't that success?

The world needs all kinds of people- doctors, pet store workers, auto mechanics, salespeople, nurses, artists, writers,  computer experts,  police officers,  hair stylists, and plumbers.   When we talk about what makes a school successful, we should recognize that a student who decides to become a plumber (or a pet store worker) and works hard towards that goal is successful just like a student who decides to become a doctor and works hard toward that goal is successful.

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

His Own Money

The Son of Never Stops Eating is something of a budding artist, and recently he decided to have an "art sale" to raise money for "summer fun" because the Parents of No won't fork over the cash for water park passes, unlimited snow cones, and Lego kits.  He was actually successful in selling some of his art, and he was well on his way to making enough to buy a season pass to his favorite water park.

Then, on a rainy, errand-running day, we took a trip to Target to buy a bathing suit, because he grew.  Again.  I guess that is what happens when you are a 13 year old boy and you drink a gallon of milk a day.

Target is not just a big box store filled with amazing things to buy; it is a money trap for the unsuspecting parent.  You would think, being an experienced mother, I would have gone in prepared for the following, but I was distracted by several things that day.

Son: Mom, I'm going to go look at Legos.
Me:  Ok. I'm not buying anything
Son: (eye rolling) I know, Mom! I know! You say that every time!
-ten minutes later-
Son: Mom, do you have my art money?
Me:  Yes......why? (slowly, suspicion starts to dawn)
Son: I want to buy the fire station Lego kit.

He'd been telling me for a couple of weeks that he wanted that water park pass. He wanted it so badly! He wanted it more than anything! It was his heart's desire! Now he was changing his mind.

Me: I thought you wanted water park passes.
Son: The Y pool is okay. Plus it is going to rain all summer (sigh of resignation).
Me: Are you sure? Because you don't have enough for both.
Son:  Yes, Mom! I am sure! Besides, it's my art money, not yours!

I know- and if you are a parent, you know this too- the satisfaction from acquiring the fire station Lego set will last only a few weeks, at most.  Then he will have a new heart's desire.  I could have put my foot down, I suppose. I am the Mom of No, after all. I know that in a week, he will be talking about those water park passes, once the rain stops and it's blazing hot outside.  But he was right: it was his art money, not mine.  So I let him buy the Lego set. 

It can be hard to watch your kid make a choice that is different from the one you would have made. It will be a valuable lesson for him in a couple of weeks if he realizes that he did, actually, really want those park passes.  I can't say this was a mistake, because he was thrilled with his purchase. That Lego fire station set has been on his wish list for a long time.  He spent all afternoon putting it together and was quite happy.  It just wasn't what I would have done. 

If he does decide he made a mistake, however, and says something to me, I will admit that I will take a small bit of pleasure in telling him "I told you so".  Just a wee bit.

Monday, June 13, 2016

Hiding in a Cave

I am wondering how many of my friendships are going to survive the upcoming election season.

I, for one, am not looking forward to it.  I already know who I am voting for, and I don't plan on changing my mind unless something completely unforeseen happens, but it's promising to be such a wild and crazy campaign that conflict will be unavoidable.  I had thought about hiding out in a remote cave in a wilderness area until November, but my boss said that I couldn't telework for five months and I lack that much vacation time, plus I have teenagers that constantly require groceries and new shoes. Therefore, that plan clearly won't work.

These days, the conflicts come fast and furious.  That is probably true for most of history, but now we have social media, which seems to exacerbate the rate of extreme interpersonal conflict. Pick any subject and given the right environment, a discussion involving it can escalate quickly into chaos.  Mentioning the word "vaccine" in any group of autism parents, for example, can be like setting a forest fire.  I've learned to give that topic a wide berth, and that saddens me because even though the other person and I might have so much to agree on, that one topic has been given the power to negate any common ground as autism parents that we might have.

This past weekend, another horrible tragedy happened in Orlando, Florida.  It is a crisis that deserved at least 24 hours of solidarity with the victims and their families and loved ones, quiet reflection and prayer.  However, because it involved three issue that on their own can be inflammatory (guns, Islam and LGBTQ), and everything moves so fast on social media, it seems that within seconds, the arguments started right up on Facebook.  It seems so disrespectful after such a great loss.

We are all typing so fast at each other but we are not listening to each other.

I will admit that I have un-followed people on Facebook, mostly because their posts on one subject or another got to be too much.  I'm sure that other people have done the same to me.  I consider myself a mostly reasonable person, although like most people I do have issues I feel strongly about.  I want to think that I am willing to consider others' views and perspectives, and am willing to concede when I am wrong about something, although I suspect that this may not always be true.  However, I don't want to be screamed at by meme, or sent volumes of articles from extremely questionable and slanted news sources about controversial issues.  Those have the exact opposite of the intended effect on me.  However, I also wonder if I am contributing to the communication problem by isolating myself on a digital island with other inhabitants that think just like I do.

I'm quite sure that if I were as extremely open about some of my beliefs on my Facebook wall as some of my friends are, I would lose friends.  I tend to stick to wildlife pictures and stories about my offspring.  Maybe that makes me a bit cowardly, but I find it hard to have intense discussions about controversial issues online, where you can't see the body language of the other person, or hear the inflections in his or her voice.  Perhaps that is also part of the problem- if those of us who are moderate (ok, maybe a little left-leaning) in our views stay quiet, then the extremes on either side appear to be normal.

Facebook is good for a lot of reasons, but it is not good for addressing major societal issues.  That requires, at a minimum, actual dialogue with other people. You know, talking.  Talking to people you don't agree with.  Listening to what they say in return for their listening to you.  The old timers used to call that a "conversation".  Not yelling.  Not responding with tired memes that oversimplify the issue.  Not de-friending people you disagree with.

I don't know what the answers are; that is way beyond the Mom of No's area of expertise.  But I do know that we will never reach any consensus by isolating ourselves in little groups and giving others the cold shoulder because we don't agree.

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Twenty Minutes

In two years, I will be sending the teenager off to college.  I will admit to you that I have some fears about this.  I think the teenager is a responsible person although she has procrastinator tendencies, and hopefully she has good ethics and morals and judgment and knows when something is a bad idea and should not be followed through on, but stuff happens and I'm her mom, so I will still worry. 

I will worry about things like whether or not she's eating healthy foods, and getting enough sleep.  I'll worry about her getting into a car accident, or getting the flu two days before a final exam.  I'll worry that she'll mess up her laundry, or fail an important course, or that she'll go out on a boat without wearing a life jacket.  I'll try to back off and let her solve her own problems because that is what becoming an adult is about, but I'll probably also be guilty of depositing an extra $20 in her checking account on occasion to take care of some of those minor problems that a bit of money can solve.

However,  one of the big things that I will worry about happened to a young woman in California back in January of 2015, and I cannot get it out of my head.  If you have paid attention at all, you know about the swimmer and his pathetic six month sentence, and you have probably read the letter the father wrote, trying to excuse his son, saying that he should not be punished so harshly for "twenty minutes of action".  When I read that letter, this is what popped into my head:

My daughter is not someone else's twenty minutes of action.

No one's daughter is someone else's twenty minutes of action.

No woman is someone else's twenty minutes of action.

No human being is someone else's twenty minutes of action.

That letter was just the most pathetic and disgusting whining bit I have ever read.  Diminishing someone else's entire existence down to "twenty minutes of action"- well, that's repulsive. I can't even write about it without getting really mad.  I have steam coming out of my ears right now  (figuratively, not literally).  

So here is the bind I am in, as the mother of a soon to be junior in high school, a wonderfully independent and intelligent young lady who will, in two years, be off on her own, a young adult away at school: how do I prepare her to be on guard for that person who views her as nothing more than "twenty minutes of action"?

I'll be honest: part of me wants to wrap her up in bubble wrap and not let her leave the threshold of our house.  That won't work, though.  The world beckons and she has every right to be out there spreading her wings.  Teaching vigilance without fear; that might be a difficult thing to do.  I hate, hate, hate that I will need to impart wisdom that in effect will clip those wings a bit: all the standard well-meant guidance that puts the burden on her to not make a single mistake or error in judgment and thus end up as someone's twenty minutes of action. 

It cannot continue to be so.  It must change.

So I am going to say this loud and clear, one more time, so that we all understand. The woman who was so horribly violated is not twenty minutes of action. I am not twenty minutes of action.  My daughter is not twenty minutes of action.  No woman, anywhere, is twenty minutes of action.  My sisters, we deserve better than this.

*****

After reading the father's letter, I read the letter written by the victim. It brought tears to my eyes, and I could hardly finish, but I did, and I am glad.  Unlike the father's letter, it spoke to the heart. It offered strength to every girl and woman out there.  I am in awe of the young woman who wrote it. May she find peace and healing.






Monday, June 6, 2016

Summer Reading

The other day, the teenager posed a question that is impossible for me to answer: Mom, what is your favorite book?

I can't answer this question.  I have too many favorite books.  Even if you asked me to name five favorite books, or ten, I'm not sure I could do it without feeling badly about the books I had left off my list.  Some books I love because they're just really good stories- Stephen King's The Stand, for example, which I have probably read about sixty times, or the entire Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon.  Because I was also a park ranger, I feel an affinity for Nevada Barr's Anna Pigeon books;  a few years ago we went on a family road trip down the Natchez Trace in Mississippi over spring break, and when I realized I was standing on the same ground as Anna Pigeon had in Hunting Season, it was almost a spiritual experience (yes, I am aware that Anna Pigeon is a fictional character).

See why I can't name just one favorite book? 

Some books I love because they speak to my nature loving soul- A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold is at the top of that list.  Every now and then I go back and read Jane Austen, just because her whole take on English society at that time makes me laugh- if you have five thousand pounds per year, you are quite the catch on the marriage market. If you have nothing, forget it.  I would be doomed.  I'd probably end up as a governess in some remote English village, unwed forever. 

Summer vacation, to me, always meant more time to read.  I happily spent hours reading, oblivious to anything else that was going on around me.  I could stay up until 2 AM reading science fiction books I'd checked out by the dozen at the library without having to sneak a flashlight under my bedspread to read in secret.  Later in life, I knew I was on the right track to parenting success when I caught the teenager doing exactly the same thing.   I would lay out in the back yard or at the neighborhood pool, slathered in suntan oil in the futile hopes of acquiring that summer tan, while reading anything I could get my hands on.  I wonder what the librarians at the local library thought when I returned books that were somewhat damp on the bottom and had sticky pages from popsicle juice fingerprints.

Now that I'm a grown-up, I can't stay up all night reading, although I would like to.  Ok, scratch that last sentence.  Sometimes I do (although by "all night", what I really mean is 11 PM) and the only thing that gets me through the next day is a huge mug of coffee and sheer willpower. 

Somewhat recently, I've discovered audio books, which I listen to during my daily commute.  I tend to talk to the person reading the book, even though I'm sure they can't hear me.  I have to be careful not to get too involved in the story because I am, after all, operating a motor vehicle.  

The other day, I took the teenager to Half Price Books to get some of the books on her summer reading list for next year's English class.  She asked me if I was going to buy anything and I said no, I had enough books already.  She walked out with three books, and I walked out with Edward O. Wilson's Naturalist, a book that had been on my reading list for awhile.  The next day, we went to a friend's house, and while I visited with the other moms and the boys splashed each other in the pool, the teenager sat in the shallow end and read George Orwell's Animal Farm. That one wasn't on her list, she said, she just wanted to read it.

I felt the warm, fuzzy glow of parental joy.  The summer reading tradition has been passed down to the next generation. 

Friday, June 3, 2016

Critters

The other day, I was out for a hike and I came across a fawn laying low in a grassy area.  Mom had hidden her fawn while she went to go browse, and it was simply laying there quietly. The adorable factor of this fawn cannot be exaggerated; I had to stand in the presence for a moment and be one with the cute. I also took a picture as unobtrusively as I could, which does not adequately portray the cuteness.

In the past few weeks, I've also come across several snakes.  Snakes are not as cute as fawns.  When you talk about snakes, people either love them or hate them.  I used to hate them but they're growing on me.  Everyone loves fawns. 

It got me thinking about how we value nature, and the recent situation with Harambe the Western lowland silverback gorilla.  I'm not going to talk about the mother and whether or not she was at fault; every possible aspect of that has been addressed by nearly every breathing person with access to a computer in the United States.

Let me state this right now and get it out of the way:  I love nature (with the exception of poison ivy, feral hogs, rats, mosquitoes and termites). I love observing it, I love journaling about it, and I love photographing it.  I hope that other people come to see its beauty the way that I do, but even if no one else does, I still have a deep-rooted need to be in it.  I'm not interested in judging the mother and I'm not trying to either justify or criticize the zoo's response.  However, I do think the event raises questions about our relationship with nature.

I took an environmental ethics class several years ago.  If you want to torture yourself by pondering emotionally charged and potentially controversial questions that have no single, easy answer, environmental ethics is what you are looking for. One of the questions we discussed was the placing of value on nature.  How do you determine the worth of a critter, or a tree, or an entire ecosystem?  Is it by its utility to humankind, or its cute factor, or by its scarcity?  Do we attach a higher value to Harambe than to a rat snake because silverback gorillas are on the critically endangered list, and rat snakes seem to be, at least in my neck of the woods, everywhere? 

The IUCN critically endangered list includes 26 birds, amphibians, reptiles and mammals in the United States alone.  If one of these critters happened to stand in the way of economic development, would we value it over money?  Would there be a public outcry equivalent to the one over Harambe's death? Or would there be calls to repeal the laws that protect endangered species in the interest of financial gain? 

Why are we all so angry about the death of a gorilla in a zoo, but completely fine when someone kills a snake because they think that it might be a threat, even if it turns out it was a non-venomous snake and it was nowhere near any human being?   What is the value of the gorilla as opposed to the value of a rat snake in your back yard?  Rats love to eat the wiring in your car.  This, I know from experience. If I have a rat problem, and I value animals based on utility, the rat snake is far more valuable to me than a gorilla in a zoo. 

Animals die all the time by human hands, both directly and indirectly. They get hit by cars and shot by landowners.  We eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  We pave over their habitats and then demand that our municipal leaders do something about the "coyote problem".  But when a Cecil the lion or Harambe the gorilla dies, a tidal wave of righteous wrath ensues. Is it because we've anthropomorphized certain animals, giving them qualities they may or may not actually possess: the courageous and loyal lion, the protective and gentle gorilla, the sneaky, wily coyote, the evil, manipulative snake? 

Why are we so angry about the death of one animal, and yet so easily able to justify the continuing destruction of so much of the natural world?

I do not know the answers to any of these questions, but I think it's a discussion worth having.