Last summer was the summer of “pink butts” for us. One of my daughter’s best friends had visited the zoo and discovered the lovely pink bottoms of the baboon. She had come home and immediately began talking about their “pink butts” and then making a correlation between those of the baboon and her own little pink bottom. Her bottom affectionately took on its own identity as “my little pink butt,” We all got a chuckle out of it until finally her Mother declared that “pink butts” should no longer be a topic of conversation. It still occasionally crept in with the adults displaying that funny expression that ensues when you are trying to remain serious as you scold the children for saying “pink butt” while inside you are roaring with laughter.
Last week, during the heat wave that overtook Denver, we accompanied our friends to the zoo. It was not only a holiday but also “free day” and that combined with the 70 degree weather meant that everyone from Denver to Boulder and Colorado Springs was visiting the zoo. As we became a part of the human wave that flowed from animal to animal we finally came to the baboon area. Immediately, our adorable children began chanting “pink butt, pink butt.” My friend and I turned away for a second to hide our chuckling only to turn back around to see our “little pink butt angel” pressing her naked little pink bottom up to the glass of the baboon viewing area in an attempt to engage the baboon in a game of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She was positioned in complete mooning stance while my daughter stood seriously taking it all in beside her. “Pull your panties up right now” echoed throughout the area. The child innocently turned to her mother not fully comprehending the deed that had led to such a prompt reprimand.
As the seconds ticked away like hours, I glanced into the habitat to catch a glimpse of the baboon. I swear I saw him stick his gloriously large pink bottom up in the air in response to the scene before him and sashay away in a very arrogant manner that screamed “take a hike.” I probably just imagined that, but at that moment I wished that monkeys were a bit more like humans so that we could get his reaction.
With this whole episode, monkey see, monkey do took on a whole new meaning for us.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Kindergarten Crusade
I had read about it in several light-hearted, comical novels, two come to mind: The Nanny Diaries and Admissions. At the time, I laughed at the hilarity, contemplated the reality and basically convinced myself that under no circumstances would I ever partake in the ridiculousness, even to a small degree. Of course, at that time, I had a baby or at most a small toddler. It was inconceivable to me.
I now sit here and ask myself: is this really happening? I mean really. Am I really stressing myself out about my child attending one of our two neighborhood public kindergartens. Am I really waking up in cold sweats after a nightmare in which she is behind all of her peers, doesn’t have any friends with whom our family connects and becomes a wallflower in the game of life? Well, it isn’t quite that bad but I have to tell you that choosing a kindergarten for my 4 year old is certainly not the piece of cake I expected. I wanted a simple chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing. Instead, I have turned it into a triple chocolate caramel pecan with dulce de leche double cream frosting.
And, it isn’t just us. It is the same with multiple of our friends. And, I am guessing, this is a contagious disease that pontificates the more true feelings are exposed. Last week, in an effort to give our children every opportunity imaginable, we trotted our little darlings down for a test for advanced kindergarten. One of my friends described the ascent into the building well: “Hilary, I tell you as I approached the door, my heart started beating fast and I could just feel the anxiety creeping up my throat. My pace quickened and I grabbed little Trixie’s (name changed for privacy) hand and pulled her faster towards the room entrance (embellished a bit to create a vibrant picture).” I knew what she was talking about. It was as if we were entering the courtroom for a trial which would determine the direction of our life forever.
We left the little ones in a room among their peers with a group of evaluators who would be overseeing a multitude of activities including what appeared to be color block matching, writing, coloring, counting and ABC awareness for the next hour to determine the fate of our children in the next year. Of course, the minute the facilitator asked the Mommies and Daddies to exit the room, my child burst into a helpless plea of “No, Mommy, stay…Mommy stay.” Immediately, it was as if super glue had been applied to my daughter’s arms as they quickly became attached to my legs. I tried to engage the woman assigned to my daughter by saying, “Look this nice lady is going to sit with you. Let’s find out her name. This is my daughter….” The lady had nothing of it. She didn’t even glance our way as she busied herself in making certain all of the tables were in order and children appropriately assigned. I looked around in desperation as the other test overseers sat and kindly approached their little students. One of them looked at me in pity and remarked, “She’ll be ok.” Well, I knew that, but it was just our luck to get the type A, process-oriented test leader who was distracted by her other test-related duties.
It probably really wasn’t that bad but as my child wailed amidst a sea of otherwise calm children, I perceived the situation as dire. I could just picture our chances of entering our school of choice dwindling to zero. At that point, I quickly employed one of my mothering tactics often criticized but secretly applied which I reserved for only the most critical of circumstances: “If you stay and do this, we will go for ice cream later.” That immediately lessened the degree of wailing and I was able to quickly dash out of the room. However, I only exited to the hallway as I had promised that I would stay out there until she was finished. As the other parents dashed to their cars to partake in a few moments of freedom and errand running that can only be described to those who don’t have children as winning the lottery, I sat firmly in place on the cold linoleum floor with the clock ticking away the seconds. I reached for the book in my purse only to find I had unloaded it to decrease the crushing weight of my purse (if you can call it that – I prefer to think of it as a “purcase” which if required weighing to board an airplane would probably waver slightly above or below the fifty pound limit).
I really was quite proud of myself. I allowed myself only two peeks in the window during the first ten minutes only to see my little angel pulling one of her usual avoidance tactics: head bent to the side with the look of a wayward puppy meaning that it was unlikely she was cooperating. I quickly scolded myself and developed the appropriate punishment – or maybe it was a saving grace: no more peeking in the window. Besides, I didn’t want anyone to catch on to just how neurotic I had become.
The other parents returned about ten minutes before the test completion and I became engaged in conversation with some familiar faces. By the time my daughter exited, my anxiety level had plummeted after discussions of the crumbling real estate market and other topics reserved for those few moments when I could be in a 1:1 discussion with another adult.
She approached me with a smile on her face, the first words uttered, “when are we going for ice cream?” She then proceeded to say, “Mommy, I didn’t know a lot of that stuff.” Well, believe it or not, I had spent the entire hour on that linoleum floor practicing Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now and had diffused some of my neuroses even if it was just for that day. The thought that advanced kindergarten or even a particular school would determine my child’s entire fate had diminished a bit although not enough for me not to ask, “Well, what didn’t you know honey?” I quickly found out that she didn’t know all of her letters, nothing that came as a surprise to me. After all, she is only 4. If you had asked her to recite the entire storyline for any Princess movie, should would have aced it but letters…hmmm.. not exactly the most interesting topic for my own little Princess. We exited the building in a much more relaxed state than we came in and after a quick stop at her preschool spent the afternoon doing Mommy and daughter activities – the type that bond us for life and are the secret ingredient that really determine the future fate of our little jewels.
I have to tell you that even after a relaxing weekend in the mountains that followed our little advanced K testing foray and much time for reflection on how ridiculous we have made this whole process, we still rushed home yesterday to attend an open house for a potential back-up school. And, I swear Grayer/Grover from The Nanny Diaries was there with his parents. Luckily, I had had enough reflection to actually enjoy the simple pleasure of watching my daughter twirl ferociously with glee smack in the middle of the parent Q&A. Concurrently, a ping of sadness ensued as Grayer/Grover in his perfectly preppy ensemble (think Ralph Lauren) looked at his parents longingly only to be met with what appeared to be a Botox-infused eyebrow raise which quickly pushed Grayer/Grover back into his cationic state. Hopefully the end of the Denver version of the story will mimic that penned by Emma Mclaughlin and Nicola Kraus.
I can’t tell you our kindergarten fate yet as we won’t know anything until March! However, I can tell you that I daily think about what others told me during my near brush with a full out breakdown during potty training: “Hilary, whatever happens, you can be guaranteed that she will not walk down the aisle or get her diploma in diapers.” My current translation: When she is 18, she will certainly have attained some acumen in reading, riting and rithmatic.
As an aside, as I was performing research for this story, I actually came across a book that is written to help you get your child into the school of their choice: The Kindergarten Wars: The Battle to Get into America's Best Private Schools by Alan Eisenstock. We will not be running out to purchase, however, I provide for your enjoyment. This is not an endorsement or recommendation of the book.
I now sit here and ask myself: is this really happening? I mean really. Am I really stressing myself out about my child attending one of our two neighborhood public kindergartens. Am I really waking up in cold sweats after a nightmare in which she is behind all of her peers, doesn’t have any friends with whom our family connects and becomes a wallflower in the game of life? Well, it isn’t quite that bad but I have to tell you that choosing a kindergarten for my 4 year old is certainly not the piece of cake I expected. I wanted a simple chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing. Instead, I have turned it into a triple chocolate caramel pecan with dulce de leche double cream frosting.
And, it isn’t just us. It is the same with multiple of our friends. And, I am guessing, this is a contagious disease that pontificates the more true feelings are exposed. Last week, in an effort to give our children every opportunity imaginable, we trotted our little darlings down for a test for advanced kindergarten. One of my friends described the ascent into the building well: “Hilary, I tell you as I approached the door, my heart started beating fast and I could just feel the anxiety creeping up my throat. My pace quickened and I grabbed little Trixie’s (name changed for privacy) hand and pulled her faster towards the room entrance (embellished a bit to create a vibrant picture).” I knew what she was talking about. It was as if we were entering the courtroom for a trial which would determine the direction of our life forever.
We left the little ones in a room among their peers with a group of evaluators who would be overseeing a multitude of activities including what appeared to be color block matching, writing, coloring, counting and ABC awareness for the next hour to determine the fate of our children in the next year. Of course, the minute the facilitator asked the Mommies and Daddies to exit the room, my child burst into a helpless plea of “No, Mommy, stay…Mommy stay.” Immediately, it was as if super glue had been applied to my daughter’s arms as they quickly became attached to my legs. I tried to engage the woman assigned to my daughter by saying, “Look this nice lady is going to sit with you. Let’s find out her name. This is my daughter….” The lady had nothing of it. She didn’t even glance our way as she busied herself in making certain all of the tables were in order and children appropriately assigned. I looked around in desperation as the other test overseers sat and kindly approached their little students. One of them looked at me in pity and remarked, “She’ll be ok.” Well, I knew that, but it was just our luck to get the type A, process-oriented test leader who was distracted by her other test-related duties.
It probably really wasn’t that bad but as my child wailed amidst a sea of otherwise calm children, I perceived the situation as dire. I could just picture our chances of entering our school of choice dwindling to zero. At that point, I quickly employed one of my mothering tactics often criticized but secretly applied which I reserved for only the most critical of circumstances: “If you stay and do this, we will go for ice cream later.” That immediately lessened the degree of wailing and I was able to quickly dash out of the room. However, I only exited to the hallway as I had promised that I would stay out there until she was finished. As the other parents dashed to their cars to partake in a few moments of freedom and errand running that can only be described to those who don’t have children as winning the lottery, I sat firmly in place on the cold linoleum floor with the clock ticking away the seconds. I reached for the book in my purse only to find I had unloaded it to decrease the crushing weight of my purse (if you can call it that – I prefer to think of it as a “purcase” which if required weighing to board an airplane would probably waver slightly above or below the fifty pound limit).
I really was quite proud of myself. I allowed myself only two peeks in the window during the first ten minutes only to see my little angel pulling one of her usual avoidance tactics: head bent to the side with the look of a wayward puppy meaning that it was unlikely she was cooperating. I quickly scolded myself and developed the appropriate punishment – or maybe it was a saving grace: no more peeking in the window. Besides, I didn’t want anyone to catch on to just how neurotic I had become.
The other parents returned about ten minutes before the test completion and I became engaged in conversation with some familiar faces. By the time my daughter exited, my anxiety level had plummeted after discussions of the crumbling real estate market and other topics reserved for those few moments when I could be in a 1:1 discussion with another adult.
She approached me with a smile on her face, the first words uttered, “when are we going for ice cream?” She then proceeded to say, “Mommy, I didn’t know a lot of that stuff.” Well, believe it or not, I had spent the entire hour on that linoleum floor practicing Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now and had diffused some of my neuroses even if it was just for that day. The thought that advanced kindergarten or even a particular school would determine my child’s entire fate had diminished a bit although not enough for me not to ask, “Well, what didn’t you know honey?” I quickly found out that she didn’t know all of her letters, nothing that came as a surprise to me. After all, she is only 4. If you had asked her to recite the entire storyline for any Princess movie, should would have aced it but letters…hmmm.. not exactly the most interesting topic for my own little Princess. We exited the building in a much more relaxed state than we came in and after a quick stop at her preschool spent the afternoon doing Mommy and daughter activities – the type that bond us for life and are the secret ingredient that really determine the future fate of our little jewels.
I have to tell you that even after a relaxing weekend in the mountains that followed our little advanced K testing foray and much time for reflection on how ridiculous we have made this whole process, we still rushed home yesterday to attend an open house for a potential back-up school. And, I swear Grayer/Grover from The Nanny Diaries was there with his parents. Luckily, I had had enough reflection to actually enjoy the simple pleasure of watching my daughter twirl ferociously with glee smack in the middle of the parent Q&A. Concurrently, a ping of sadness ensued as Grayer/Grover in his perfectly preppy ensemble (think Ralph Lauren) looked at his parents longingly only to be met with what appeared to be a Botox-infused eyebrow raise which quickly pushed Grayer/Grover back into his cationic state. Hopefully the end of the Denver version of the story will mimic that penned by Emma Mclaughlin and Nicola Kraus.
I can’t tell you our kindergarten fate yet as we won’t know anything until March! However, I can tell you that I daily think about what others told me during my near brush with a full out breakdown during potty training: “Hilary, whatever happens, you can be guaranteed that she will not walk down the aisle or get her diploma in diapers.” My current translation: When she is 18, she will certainly have attained some acumen in reading, riting and rithmatic.
As an aside, as I was performing research for this story, I actually came across a book that is written to help you get your child into the school of their choice: The Kindergarten Wars: The Battle to Get into America's Best Private Schools by Alan Eisenstock. We will not be running out to purchase, however, I provide for your enjoyment. This is not an endorsement or recommendation of the book.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Midweek Funny
We have come accustomed to traveling on Christmas Day. Typically, there are fewer crowds, we can enjoy Santa at home and we still have the chance to spend time with family on this special day. This year, we headed out at about 3:30 p.m. set to arrive in San Jose at around 5:30 p.m. Our flight was fabulous; free drinks, quiet time for reading while Eva engaged in her DVDs. At the airport, our bags came within 15 minutes and skies were clear as we headed outside to catch the rental car shuttle. We re-affirmed our belief in Christmas Day travel.
We pulled into the rental car complex and headed straight for the car. Tony takes pride in his preferred membership which allows the simple luxury of bypassing the rental booth. We were feeling a special elation in the fact that we were getting a free weekend due to his past travel trends. With anticipation, we approached our row. What would it be this time. A Pontiac LeBaron, Hyundai Sonata, Ford something another (I know nothing about cars).... As our footsteps sped closer and it came into view, it was as if someone hit the slow motion button. Our strides become longer and the pace slowed to that of a turtle until Tony halted in an abrupt stop. A Crown Victoria, the ultimate in cruisers stood before us. "I am not taking that car", he stated. "What's wrong with it. It looks roomy and comfortable", I declared. I can't remember exactly how he responded. I'd like to say it was something like "It is a gas guzzler and I am not driving it," but since we own a Navigator purchased when we thought we would have two children and visiting grandparents to haul around, I doubt that was his response. To this day, I am not certain exactly why the Vic was rejected but rejected it was as he made his way in the dark to the rental booth. Eva and I hastily took cover in the car until he returned.
Now, for those of you who have never been to the rental car complex in San Jose, allow me to paint you the picture. First of all, it houses several car agencies so there are MANY car slots. Second, typically the lot is empty, except in economic slumps during which the high techs have cut travel allowances. Third, it is operated by gentlemen that I believe are of the Sikh religion and do not appear to be originally from an English-speaking country. I point out this fact only as it relates to the gentlemen running the car agency and their varying degree of competency with the English language (which will become important later :). They are always very kind but you aren't always certain they are grasping what you are saying.
After about ten minutes sitting in the deserted lot surrounded by what seemed thousands of empty cars, Tony comes trudging out not looking like a satisfied customer. "You aren't going to believe this. The only other car they have is a such and such." Well, at that I had to laugh. "You've got to be kidding me. There are like a thousand cars here. How is he justifying that," I bellowed. "He says they are all dirty." At this, I just started laughing. To me, it was comical. To Tony, it was not. He believes in loyalty and the perks that result and consequently, feels that only having two choices of cars in a lot of thousands is totally unacceptable. I saw his point but sitting in the dark, cold lot with a 4 year old was enough for me and I wanted to get the heck out of dodge. "Well, I took down his name and number. I have had it with this car agency," he declared.
We uttered not a word as we loaded our luggage into the new car and got settled. I for one thought the Vic may have been more comfortable but honestly I didn't really care. Tony continued to grumble about the experience and was not finished with his tirade as we approached the check out booth. Clearly, he was going to re-state his dissatisfaction and try to get the respect that a loyalty member perceived that he was owed.
The gentleman in the booth quickly took the paperwork to review the required information. Tony immediately begins his speech about loyalty membership and how "this is the worst experience I have ever had with a car rental agency." And, "how is that you don't provide greater customer service." And, "can you believe that I am being treated this way?" Clearly, Tony was looking for some acknowledgment and confirmation of our plight and how we of course were in the right as we were customers.
After about 30 seconds to a minute of one-sided dialogue with little to no movement by the gentleman in the booth, Tony looked at him and asked, "Have you heard a word that I have said?" At that, the gentleman turned to us and said, "Would you like the gas option?". For about 2 seconds, you could hear a pin drop; until I started roaring. Well, Tony is actually a pretty laid back guy and the roar became infectious. He himself quickly donned his most adoring smile, grabbed the paperwork back through the window and screeched out of the lot laughter filling the night. We are still laughing about it to this day.
Moral of the story:
"Don't take life too seriously; you'll never get out of it alive."
-- Elbert Hubbard
We pulled into the rental car complex and headed straight for the car. Tony takes pride in his preferred membership which allows the simple luxury of bypassing the rental booth. We were feeling a special elation in the fact that we were getting a free weekend due to his past travel trends. With anticipation, we approached our row. What would it be this time. A Pontiac LeBaron, Hyundai Sonata, Ford something another (I know nothing about cars).... As our footsteps sped closer and it came into view, it was as if someone hit the slow motion button. Our strides become longer and the pace slowed to that of a turtle until Tony halted in an abrupt stop. A Crown Victoria, the ultimate in cruisers stood before us. "I am not taking that car", he stated. "What's wrong with it. It looks roomy and comfortable", I declared. I can't remember exactly how he responded. I'd like to say it was something like "It is a gas guzzler and I am not driving it," but since we own a Navigator purchased when we thought we would have two children and visiting grandparents to haul around, I doubt that was his response. To this day, I am not certain exactly why the Vic was rejected but rejected it was as he made his way in the dark to the rental booth. Eva and I hastily took cover in the car until he returned.
Now, for those of you who have never been to the rental car complex in San Jose, allow me to paint you the picture. First of all, it houses several car agencies so there are MANY car slots. Second, typically the lot is empty, except in economic slumps during which the high techs have cut travel allowances. Third, it is operated by gentlemen that I believe are of the Sikh religion and do not appear to be originally from an English-speaking country. I point out this fact only as it relates to the gentlemen running the car agency and their varying degree of competency with the English language (which will become important later :). They are always very kind but you aren't always certain they are grasping what you are saying.
After about ten minutes sitting in the deserted lot surrounded by what seemed thousands of empty cars, Tony comes trudging out not looking like a satisfied customer. "You aren't going to believe this. The only other car they have is a such and such." Well, at that I had to laugh. "You've got to be kidding me. There are like a thousand cars here. How is he justifying that," I bellowed. "He says they are all dirty." At this, I just started laughing. To me, it was comical. To Tony, it was not. He believes in loyalty and the perks that result and consequently, feels that only having two choices of cars in a lot of thousands is totally unacceptable. I saw his point but sitting in the dark, cold lot with a 4 year old was enough for me and I wanted to get the heck out of dodge. "Well, I took down his name and number. I have had it with this car agency," he declared.
We uttered not a word as we loaded our luggage into the new car and got settled. I for one thought the Vic may have been more comfortable but honestly I didn't really care. Tony continued to grumble about the experience and was not finished with his tirade as we approached the check out booth. Clearly, he was going to re-state his dissatisfaction and try to get the respect that a loyalty member perceived that he was owed.
The gentleman in the booth quickly took the paperwork to review the required information. Tony immediately begins his speech about loyalty membership and how "this is the worst experience I have ever had with a car rental agency." And, "how is that you don't provide greater customer service." And, "can you believe that I am being treated this way?" Clearly, Tony was looking for some acknowledgment and confirmation of our plight and how we of course were in the right as we were customers.
After about 30 seconds to a minute of one-sided dialogue with little to no movement by the gentleman in the booth, Tony looked at him and asked, "Have you heard a word that I have said?" At that, the gentleman turned to us and said, "Would you like the gas option?". For about 2 seconds, you could hear a pin drop; until I started roaring. Well, Tony is actually a pretty laid back guy and the roar became infectious. He himself quickly donned his most adoring smile, grabbed the paperwork back through the window and screeched out of the lot laughter filling the night. We are still laughing about it to this day.
Moral of the story:
"Don't take life too seriously; you'll never get out of it alive."
-- Elbert Hubbard
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Politics Day - January 20, 2009
Wait - I don't mean it really. Allow me to explain. I had the deep honor of watching the history making inauguration today with a Kindergarten class from my neighborhood school. When I entered the classroom, to be completely honest, I wasn't thinking too much about today and what was happening in Washington D.C. I knew I would be able to catch up on the festivities when I got home through TV, Radio and the Internet (especially through my friends on FB). I was most concerned about what the school and the class were doing so that I could evaluate it for my little girl.
However, I had the superb luck to enter a classroom in which the teacher realized that today, a day in which our generation will speak for the rest of our lives, a day in which we all should be stopping our daily activities to provide the attention and the dedication that is so deserved, a day in which television is ok in the classroom, a day in which the subject matter is important to all of us, especially the bright, eager young minds of kindergartners, today is a day that is so special that it transcends the importance of reading, writing and 'rithmatic. Hats off to Ms. Baumann for allowing the children and allowing me to partake in what can only be described as a monumental day in the history of the United States of America, but more importantly, the world.
My visit began with a circle that brought tears to my eyes. We hadn't yet entered inauguration mode although the tv was quietly playing in the background. I learned about what each child had done that weekend and watched in awe as several would sign the appropriate phrase for "connection" meaning that they too had done something similar. I became introduced to each one as they greeted the student to either side with a morning salutation that demanded eye contact. I tried to find my place as they quietly went in groups to perform their jobs during their work cycles; each dutifully accepting the challenge of each task while still seeking his/her individuality in its completion. I was re-assured as I watched these young children go about their work on the academic principles upon which we rely on our schools and our teachers to impart. I was humbled on this day to see the respect, commitment, ethic and virtue that makes our country great illuminated in the actions of every child in the classroom and so much re-enforced by the teacher and her aide.
As 10 a.m. approached, snack was distributed and we all came together in front of the TV. When Ms. Baumann asked what we were doing, one child promptly responded "It's Politics Day" and Ms. Baumann elaborated in a massaging manner with a syllabic clapping of "In-aug-ur-a-tion" day. "Yes that is five syllables. Very good."
I have to say that the Cheetos were probably the most interesting topic for the children that morning. I noticed several comparing shapes and all garnering the beautiful orange mustache that can only come from truly partaking in the finger licking, lip smacking enjoyment of a bag of Cheetos. However, a calm ensued, be it short lived, as the President took his oath. It is my guess that all of them will remember Politics Day and the true monumental achievement and hope that exists for us, the proud citizens of the United States of America. Thank you Ms. Baumann for allowing me to experience history in a location that I truly believe was the most fitting - among the beautiful children of today and the leaders of tomorrow.
Politics Day, The Inauguration of Barack Obama, the 44th President of the United States of America, January 20, 2009
It will be taught for infinity as one of the great moments of time,
A day in which the land of opportunity was again defined,
It is so much more than the first African American President,
Although that in and of itself to history will be lent,
It is about a man who has restored faith in a country evolving,
During a time in the world where many things are revolving,
It is a day in which politics seemed inconsequential,
A day in which Americans, regardless of religion, politics or belief, recognized again our potential,
A day in which we once again were reminded of the virtue of "the land of the free"
A day that we all hope the realization of our dreams we will see,
And by "our", it is not meant mine or yours,
But those of our collective which opens the greatest of doors,
"Hope, unity, faith, mindful, grateful"...words that inspire were spoken today,
As well as a promise to keep evil, terror, greed, thoughtlessness at bay,
A true leader stepped forward and on that we should all be able to agree,
Barack Obama, we stand with you and are ready to continue making history!
However, I had the superb luck to enter a classroom in which the teacher realized that today, a day in which our generation will speak for the rest of our lives, a day in which we all should be stopping our daily activities to provide the attention and the dedication that is so deserved, a day in which television is ok in the classroom, a day in which the subject matter is important to all of us, especially the bright, eager young minds of kindergartners, today is a day that is so special that it transcends the importance of reading, writing and 'rithmatic. Hats off to Ms. Baumann for allowing the children and allowing me to partake in what can only be described as a monumental day in the history of the United States of America, but more importantly, the world.
My visit began with a circle that brought tears to my eyes. We hadn't yet entered inauguration mode although the tv was quietly playing in the background. I learned about what each child had done that weekend and watched in awe as several would sign the appropriate phrase for "connection" meaning that they too had done something similar. I became introduced to each one as they greeted the student to either side with a morning salutation that demanded eye contact. I tried to find my place as they quietly went in groups to perform their jobs during their work cycles; each dutifully accepting the challenge of each task while still seeking his/her individuality in its completion. I was re-assured as I watched these young children go about their work on the academic principles upon which we rely on our schools and our teachers to impart. I was humbled on this day to see the respect, commitment, ethic and virtue that makes our country great illuminated in the actions of every child in the classroom and so much re-enforced by the teacher and her aide.
As 10 a.m. approached, snack was distributed and we all came together in front of the TV. When Ms. Baumann asked what we were doing, one child promptly responded "It's Politics Day" and Ms. Baumann elaborated in a massaging manner with a syllabic clapping of "In-aug-ur-a-tion" day. "Yes that is five syllables. Very good."
I have to say that the Cheetos were probably the most interesting topic for the children that morning. I noticed several comparing shapes and all garnering the beautiful orange mustache that can only come from truly partaking in the finger licking, lip smacking enjoyment of a bag of Cheetos. However, a calm ensued, be it short lived, as the President took his oath. It is my guess that all of them will remember Politics Day and the true monumental achievement and hope that exists for us, the proud citizens of the United States of America. Thank you Ms. Baumann for allowing me to experience history in a location that I truly believe was the most fitting - among the beautiful children of today and the leaders of tomorrow.
Politics Day, The Inauguration of Barack Obama, the 44th President of the United States of America, January 20, 2009
It will be taught for infinity as one of the great moments of time,
A day in which the land of opportunity was again defined,
It is so much more than the first African American President,
Although that in and of itself to history will be lent,
It is about a man who has restored faith in a country evolving,
During a time in the world where many things are revolving,
It is a day in which politics seemed inconsequential,
A day in which Americans, regardless of religion, politics or belief, recognized again our potential,
A day in which we once again were reminded of the virtue of "the land of the free"
A day that we all hope the realization of our dreams we will see,
And by "our", it is not meant mine or yours,
But those of our collective which opens the greatest of doors,
"Hope, unity, faith, mindful, grateful"...words that inspire were spoken today,
As well as a promise to keep evil, terror, greed, thoughtlessness at bay,
A true leader stepped forward and on that we should all be able to agree,
Barack Obama, we stand with you and are ready to continue making history!
Monday, January 19, 2009
City Slickers
I grew up on a farm. Well, sort of. I grew up in a home that was a couple of miles from our farm. There were often baby lambs nursing in our kitchen during winter. Mud tracks across the floor on a daily basis. And, John Deere logo-d caps that were not worn for a fashion statement but rather for blocking the sun sitting upon the old time radiator. Farming was our livelihood. However, despite it's all importance in our lives, the country culture surrounding farming was NOT a part of our life. My grandmother was a cowboy culture discriminator.
However, despite all of my grandmother's best efforts to set us apart from those "country bumpkins", I still got a taste as my grandpa and I bumped across the hilly roads to the tunes of a country 8 track in the stereo. Of course, grandma would have been horrified had she known that I was exposed to country crooners but that was Poppy and I's little secret. Nothing like a lollipop, with the dog in the seat us cruising to good ole Johnny Cash.
Despite my farm-inspired roots, I went off to college and then became an urban dweller where I have remained ever since. I long for the action of the city; the hustle bustle, man-made attractions, latest hot spot and the most important, the people from all walks of life. I quickly and without any regret, left the farming life and never looked back.
However, this weekend, I was transported into a culture that only lived in my childhood dreams with Poppy. That of the swaggering, Wrangler encased cowboy. We, like many Denver families, packed up our SUVs with our mini Boden encased children and headed over to the attraction of the week - the National Western Stock Show. It was as if we were transported to a different planet.
I knew I was in for a treat when we stood in line and behind us was Miss Rodeo Cowgirl or something to that effect. She had on her Rhinestone encrusted cowboy hat, her Rhinestone encrusted button down all the way to her Rhinestone encrusted cowboy belt. I knew I had arrived at something special.
For the next three hours, I glanced around in awe at an American sub-culture that is invisible to us city dwellers. Cute, young, bow-legged cowboys had on their best never been worn Wranglers mimicing Harry Connick Jr. from Hope Floats. Some exuded the excitement and energy that is only possible after a much adrenaline-filled activity such as rodeo'ing. Loretta Lynn lookalikes had on Wild West t-shirts, tight Levi's and ostrich boots. Young cowgirls and cowboys donned their chaps, cowboy hats and even little spurs in anticipation of taking down a little doggy. Around you were drawls of thank ya M'am or excuse me M'am. You felt like putting on your dancing shoes for a little two-stepping at the weekly square dancing social.
The Afshary family did its best to experience all that was offered. We tried to interest Eva in the farm animals however, the largest draw for her was a cute little Corgie that was tied up with a bull the size of an elephant. "Eva, let's take a picture in front of the bull." "No, Daddy, I want a picture of this little dog."
Daddy immersed himself in the attractions however he had really come for the Equestrian event featuring English riding; not western.
And, Mommy, enjoyed the reminiscing with memories of her Poppy and those country roads until her allergies caused her to practically lose consciousness from lack of oxygen due to dust filling her lungs.
It was an evening to remember and one that brought strong affirmations. One, we for certain are City Slickers. We were able to make it one night among the country americana but that is it for now. Second, there is a new and profound appreciation for the cowboy and the culture that surrounds him. One that causes respect but not longing. Third, I have declared that the stock show is a Daddy/daughter activity. And, finally, I believe that you can take the girl out of the country AND the country out of the girl. Well, almost. I've listened to Walk the Line and Country Roads about a hundred times since Saturday night. I even heard Eva whispering to herself..Country Roads, take me home, to the place I belong, West Virginia, Mountain Mama....take me home.
However, despite all of my grandmother's best efforts to set us apart from those "country bumpkins", I still got a taste as my grandpa and I bumped across the hilly roads to the tunes of a country 8 track in the stereo. Of course, grandma would have been horrified had she known that I was exposed to country crooners but that was Poppy and I's little secret. Nothing like a lollipop, with the dog in the seat us cruising to good ole Johnny Cash.
Despite my farm-inspired roots, I went off to college and then became an urban dweller where I have remained ever since. I long for the action of the city; the hustle bustle, man-made attractions, latest hot spot and the most important, the people from all walks of life. I quickly and without any regret, left the farming life and never looked back.
However, this weekend, I was transported into a culture that only lived in my childhood dreams with Poppy. That of the swaggering, Wrangler encased cowboy. We, like many Denver families, packed up our SUVs with our mini Boden encased children and headed over to the attraction of the week - the National Western Stock Show. It was as if we were transported to a different planet.
I knew I was in for a treat when we stood in line and behind us was Miss Rodeo Cowgirl or something to that effect. She had on her Rhinestone encrusted cowboy hat, her Rhinestone encrusted button down all the way to her Rhinestone encrusted cowboy belt. I knew I had arrived at something special.
For the next three hours, I glanced around in awe at an American sub-culture that is invisible to us city dwellers. Cute, young, bow-legged cowboys had on their best never been worn Wranglers mimicing Harry Connick Jr. from Hope Floats. Some exuded the excitement and energy that is only possible after a much adrenaline-filled activity such as rodeo'ing. Loretta Lynn lookalikes had on Wild West t-shirts, tight Levi's and ostrich boots. Young cowgirls and cowboys donned their chaps, cowboy hats and even little spurs in anticipation of taking down a little doggy. Around you were drawls of thank ya M'am or excuse me M'am. You felt like putting on your dancing shoes for a little two-stepping at the weekly square dancing social.
The Afshary family did its best to experience all that was offered. We tried to interest Eva in the farm animals however, the largest draw for her was a cute little Corgie that was tied up with a bull the size of an elephant. "Eva, let's take a picture in front of the bull." "No, Daddy, I want a picture of this little dog."
Daddy immersed himself in the attractions however he had really come for the Equestrian event featuring English riding; not western.
And, Mommy, enjoyed the reminiscing with memories of her Poppy and those country roads until her allergies caused her to practically lose consciousness from lack of oxygen due to dust filling her lungs.
It was an evening to remember and one that brought strong affirmations. One, we for certain are City Slickers. We were able to make it one night among the country americana but that is it for now. Second, there is a new and profound appreciation for the cowboy and the culture that surrounds him. One that causes respect but not longing. Third, I have declared that the stock show is a Daddy/daughter activity. And, finally, I believe that you can take the girl out of the country AND the country out of the girl. Well, almost. I've listened to Walk the Line and Country Roads about a hundred times since Saturday night. I even heard Eva whispering to herself..Country Roads, take me home, to the place I belong, West Virginia, Mountain Mama....take me home.
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