pocketknife manicures and other boy behavior

Boys are weird...I mean..err..different.  Yes, different.  They do some pretty stra- I mean, interesting, things.  I've started taking note.  Here's some of what I've observed:

• They think it's cool to blow things up.  Anything.  Anywhere.  Anytime.
• They're pretty obsessed with their own body and all its functions.  And they like to tell you all about it.  The grosser, the better.  Try not to gag.
• They give themselves manicures using their pocketknife.  Cuticles and all. 
• They will hold their forks like shovels and eat bites of food the size of shovels too.
• They are fascinated with fire, even setting themselves aflame.  Don't tell them you have any old furniture you're throwing out.  They'll want to burn it in some epic bonfire.  Don't mention old Christmas trees either.
• They think holding you in a headlock and tickling you until you almost pee your pants qualify as showing affection.
• They love us, even when we do weird things* too.

*eating half a pan of brownies in one night, obsessively reapplying chapstick, changing clothes 8 times before leaving the house (just to name a few)

you are what you read

I am frequently asked by friends and family, with a sense of disbelief and dread, "What is happening to the youth of America?"  I suppose, being an educator, I should be some sort of authority on the subject.  I spend more time with kids than adults in a typical day and since kids are pretty transparent, I suppose I am an expert on a rather easy target.  The inquirers are usually particularly focused on the apparent crumbling of morals and ethics in our children today, as the news is swamped with stories of bullying and other violence among young people.

This question came to mind today as I previewed with my students some of the most current children and teenage literature.  As we learned about each book I noticed a common theme - violence.  Every book or series that was discussed had it and many were entirely consumed by it.  Now I am all for kids being excited to read.  The more they read, the better readers they become.  But I'm actually more interested in my students becoming positive people, people who work to create a safer, more peaceful world than the one they currently occupy. 

So if our children are filling their minds and time with stories and visions of violence, through books, video games, and let's face it, the common media, should we really expect anything different than the results we are seeing?  What if we taught our kids that true heroes don't need violence to overcome enemies or to feel empowered?  What if our kids idolized people like Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, and Nelson Mandela, who all refused to be consumed by the injustice surrounding them, and instead resisted through peaceful measures, never compromising their sense of right?  And what if they didn't even need to look to larger-than-life historical figures, but instead just across the dinner table or the classroom or the playground to see heroes who stand up for their beliefs without violence?  Imagine that world, when people would ask the question, "What's happening to the youth of America?" and the question would instead be filled with hope.

puppy love

I have a little plaque in my bedroom that says "The more boys I meet, the more I love my dog."  I bought it a few years back when I was feeling particularly annoyed by the opposite gender and their inability to realize just how wonderful I am.  Since that purchase, however, I have actually found a decent boy, whom I love just as much (maybe even a teensy bit more) as my two pups.  But my dogs continue to be a great source of joy and love in my life.  So seeing as how it's Mother's Day, and since I consider myself a mama of sorts with furry babies, I thought I'd tell you a little bit about the two mutts I share my cozy home and crazy life with.

Lucy was my first dog of my own.  I adopted her from the Kansas City Animal Shelter the summer after I graduated college.  When I found her she was snuggled into the back corner of a metal cage and she looked at me with chocolate-colored eyes that melted me immediately.  She still uses that sad look to her advantage.  Now here's the thing about Lucy: she's smart.  And not just with commands, but with intuition.  You see, Lucy knows your mind almost as well as you do.  She can tell when I'm upset or angry and she responds accordingly with either a head on my knee or hiding in her crate.  She knows when I'm going to leave, that it's time to be fed, and the sound of certain people's vehicles.  You almost get the sense that she is just another furry little person living in your house, but you know, one who just happens to chase squirrels and bark a lot.  She is also the protector of the house.  She stands guard at any open window and is the first to notify me if any stray animal or person dares to use the sidewalk out front.  I have no doubt that if a stranger were to ever attack me that Lucy would tear off their leg in an instant.  It's a nice sense of security to have.  Lucy's nickname is the Enforcer.  She barks when people hug, when Mac does something naughty (which is often), or if I laugh too loud.  She has a very strict sense of the rules and she expects everyone else to fall in line.  She may be a bit uptight, but she's fiercely loyal and a warm comfort in hard times.

Mac came along just this past year.  I wanted a companion for Lucy, thinking it would be good for her to have another dog around during the day when I am gone to work.  She tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted.  I adopted Mac from a local organization, Gateway Pet Guardians, that rescues stray dogs from the streets of East St. Louis.  It was Mac's ears that won me over.  They are huge.  And I don't mean just a little over-sized.  I mean satellite dish, bat wing, sailboat huge.  They are wonderful and every time he points those radar detectors in any direction, I can't help but chuckle.  Now, Mac is Lucy's opposite, which I think makes them more compatible, and Lucy feels just makes him more obnoxious.  Mac is all puppy.  Still.  A year later.  He is the essence of pure joy in life, with favorite hobbies ranging from tearing apart trash with abandon, digging impressive holes in the backyard, leaping from one piece of furniture to the other, and un-making my bed.  He does it all with enthusiasm.  Lucy and I could learn a lot from him.  He may not be as intelligent and intuitive as us, and he may cause a good deal of trouble and clean-up around the house, but he lives with an inspirational freedom and love of life that I could only hope for.

They are very special mutts, indeed.  So to all of you who have your own furry kids at home, give them a good belly scratch and a doggie biscuit from me, and thank them for loving you, even when others didn't know what they were missing.

                                                               Lucy         and       Mac

If you want to find out more about adopting a dog, or another pet, please visit one of these websites:
Missouri Humane Society:  http://www.hsmo.org/
Gateway Pet Guardians:  http://gatewaypets.com/

restoration

I have a deep love for my neighborhood. It's got little 60's ranch houses.  It's got massive oak trees.  It's got people who wave when they drive by and tell you that your dogs are beautiful (they really are, no bias).  Sure, it's not the trendiest place to live, but it's my home in every sense of the word. 

Last week my beloved neighborhood took a beating from a rather nasty tornado.  I'll spare you the details of the damage.  By now you have seen it in the news.  My cozy little house is just one block south of the storm path.  Yes, too close.  Yes, I am very fortunate. 

The past seven days have been a mixed bag of emotion.  My first reaction the night of the storm was defeat - and that was before I saw the true devastation down the road.  The next morning as I rounded the bend of my shady little street I stopped in utter disbelief.  The homes and lovely ancient trees I passed daily on my walks were in ruin.  As I continued through debris and the sound of chainsaws, harsh reality began to sink its claws into my heart.  And then came grief.  The loss.  Loss of homes, loss of possessions, loss of that sense of security that "these things really only happen to other people".  I cried.  Right there in the street.  I mourned the loss of what used to be. 

But as I let the sadness wash over me, the next wave was hope.  From all the loss, there was one enormous victory.  One thing that had been saved, far more precious.  Life.  There had been no loss of life.  And surrounding me I saw life at its most beautiful.  People drawing together, leaning on one another, helping each other to begin the long process of clearing and cleaning and rebuilding.

The timing of this storm was fated, I believe.  It ravaged my neighborhood, and many others, on the evening of Good Friday.  The day they nailed our savior to a cross and death and destruction had its momentary victory.  But in the following days came hope as the light of the world was resurrected, bringing with him a new life and a new beginning for God's people.  As the sun rose on this Easter morning, I remembered how he has brought us out of the depths and freed us for eternity.  He has given us a future of hope.  And now in the days following the storm, as I walk down my once shady lane, dodging brush piles, with the sound of axes and hammers ringing through the air, I still remember.  We will be restored.



If you would like to help with the tornado relief effort in the St. Louis area, or aid our brothers and sisters in the South who have recently experienced tragedy that far exceeds our own, please consider giving your time or money to the American Red Cross.  You can find more information at www.redcross.org.

perplexities

Lately I've been prepping my students for the big state standardized test (more thoughts on that monstrosity later), which means daily I am spewing out things like "What is 3/5 + 7/10?" and "What tool do you use to measure force?" (the answers to which are 1 3/10 and a spring scale, respectively, in case you were curious).  All of this rapid-fire review has given rise to some questions of my own that have been plaguing me for some time and to which I have not yet found satisfactory answers.  Perhaps you can help...

Why are doors to doctor's offices always so heavy?  Aren't people generally there because they feel unwell?  And when you are ill isn't pushing heavy objects pretty much the last thing you want to do?

Why is it acceptable for my dog to lick me and I think it's adorable "kisses", but if another human were to lick me I would be a little freaked out?  And perhaps not want to be around that person quite so much...?

Why does every green thing on the planet grow in my backyard, but very little grass?  And can you really call clover/violets/dandelions/weird green leafy mystery bushes a lawn?

Why do birds try to run from things?  Don't they remember they have wings...and that whatever is chasing them can't fly?

Why does the local carwash have a "best wash" but also offer a step up called an "extreme wash"?  Isn't the whole meaning of the word "best" that there isn't anything better?

Why do men love ugly chairs so much, even when compared to equally comfortable stylish options?  Why do they always gravitate toward nail-studded leather or marshmallow-puffed recliners?

Why do we have eyebrows?  And if they serve no function why didn't we decide years ago to just start shaving them off completely?

Let me know if you have any reasonable explanations to the above perplexities, and if perhaps you have some of your own.  I may be able to help, but only if it's a topic on the fifth grade test.

pound cakes and lessons learned

I am in awe of anyone who bakes successfully.  There is something about baking that has always eluded me and I have never been very good at it.  My cookies are too flat, my cakes are too dense, and don't even get me started on the praline fiasco of Christmas 2010.  Baking is a technical art and there is little room for error.  Perhaps that is why I seemed doomed to failure. 

Last night I felt domestically inspired and pulled out a recipe from my grandmother for Cream Cheese Pound Cake with Strawberry Filling.  Well, to be exact the recipe itself came from Better Homes and Gardens, one of many issues my grandmother piled into my arms on my recent visit.  I think she was trying to tell me something.  Well anyway, the recipe didn't call for anything too unusual and it sounded manageable.  As long as I used the right ingredients in the right amounts and followed directions exactly, I should end up with a delicious cake just like the one in the picture.  Antique cake plate, strawberry garnish, festive linens and all. 

What I ended up with, however, was an oozing, somewhat mushy mess on a dinner plate.  I'm not quite sure exactly where I took the wrong turn.  I know I measured the sugar wrong at first, but I caught my error and added more later.  I know I used a bundt pan and not a tube pan, but they're practically the same thing right?  And I know my oven bakes at a deceptively higher temperature than its setting, so I turned down the heat.  But that's the thing about baking.  One small detail can be off and things just don't turn out.  Add your sugar too late, use the wrong pan, or crank your heat a few degrees too high and you could end up scraping strawberry lava from the oven floor. 

I am so glad the rest of life doesn't follow this pattern.  It's so reassuring to know that I can make a little mistake here (Hello, bangs?) and a little error there (What do you mean you can't put potato peelings down the garbage disposal?) and things will ultimately balance out.  And often what seems like a misstep at the time, actually turns into something quite beautiful.  (So I quit my job and packed my things but now I can't move to Seattle after all?  Kansas City here I come!)  Even the daily hiccups and little catastrophes are a part of a wonderfully complex masterpiece we call life. 

So don't be afraid to throw some ingredients in a bowl, mix it up, and bake it at some mystery temperature.  That mess you call a failure?  It's just one more lesson learned. 

fresh

You may have noticed that things look a little different around here.  I reformatted, renamed, and reworked this tired blog a bit.  The new title is based on my recent obsession with the sparrow.  You see, faith is a hard journey for me.  I find it difficult to trust God for my needs and for the desires of my heart.  But His Word says that he cares and provides for even the smallest sparrow.  These brave little birds live in the moment - gathering only what they need for the day - knowing in full confidence that God will still be God tomorrow. So I see myself, and what I hope to be, in these tiny creatures, and I want to use my own sparrow call to share my personal navigation through this messy life. 

See you in the sky!