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July 9th marked the third birthday of this blog. I forgot to mention it then, so I figured I'd share it now. (I need to pack for vacation, a chore I am trying to avoid. Posting random facts in my blog is a wonderful form of procrastination.)
Plus, I just like birthdays.
As proprietor of A Hidden Well, I will be accepting birthday wishes on its behalf. Please send any and all gifts and greetings to my attention. :-)
Today's Quote: "The only normal people are the ones you don't know very well." — Joe Ancis
I am feeling guilty because I've been neglecting this blog in favor of the more novel and simpler Facebook. I'm sure that eventually the novelty of Facebook will wear off and I will once again attend to this blog on a more regular basis.
This summer is a busy one and, for the most part, a good one. I am doing nearly all the things I hoped to do, with the exception of spending time with friends. I got off on the right foot by meeting Jenny for dinner several weeks ago, but my energy just sort of fizzled out after that. My intentions are sincere, they truly are. I long for the joy and satisfaction I derive from connecting with others. I just can't seem to make myself carve out any time for it. Although it's neither fair nor reasonable to always depend on others to initiate plans to spend time together, the reality is that often that's what it takes to get my butt in gear. (Aren't I particularly eloquent tonight?)
I haven't been to the gym since mid-June. The result? Five uninvited pounds. Bleh. It's really a shame that I loathe exercise so much, since there's no getting around the fact that if I don't work out (regularly and aggressively), I don't lose weight. It also doesn't help that I've been in "vacation mode" all summer, meaning that in my mind pretty much every day qualifies as a vacation day, which basically means eating whatever the hell I want because "hey, it's vacation!" Yeah. It's a problem.
I've been attempting to keep the house tidy. (It's a lost cause.)
I've also been doing a fair amount of reading. I'm currently reading the memoir of Elissa Wall, a young woman who grew up in a polygamous sect in Utah. She was forced to marry at 14 years old. As I'm reading I keep having to remind myself that her story takes place in the present. Not 40 or 50 years ago, but in late 1990 - 2006. It's really hard for me to wrap my mind around it.
For a while I was attempting to get Casey potty trained. (This also feels like a lost cause.) My efforts met with such complete and utter failure that I decided it was best to put potty training on the back burner for a while. However, the start of school is looming in the not so distant future, and I'm feeling pressure to get the child out of diapers and into big boy underwear. Thus far stickers, lollipops, and m&m's have done little, if anything, to motivate him. In theory offering candy as an incentive for using the potty is a good idea, but with Casey it inevitably leads to a full blown temper tantrum. He just doesn't seem to "get it". It's like he really isn't making the connection. He hears candy and assumes he's going to get some, no matter what. I don't think he's just being a brat -- I really do suspect that he's not understanding the whole "if you do this, then you get that". So it's frustrating for both of us. I also attempted just putting him in underwear and periodically having him sit on the potty. I started off really patient and encouraging, just like the experts advise. But by the hundredth time he'd peed on the floor I'd had all I could take and out came the diapers. I think I hate potty training even more than exercise. (And I really hate exercise.)
The Wizard of Oz is over. Casey, however, is still singing Ding Dong the Witch is Dead. (He was simultaneously fascinated and frightened by the Wicked Witch and her green skin.) Jack was a great Uncle Henry and Chloe was an adorable and enthusiastic Munchkin.
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Today's Quote: "Person to person, moment to moment, as we love, we change the world." — Samahria Lyte Kaufman
I spent last week teaching art camp at the Y. Although the logistics presented a bit of a challenge, I basically enjoyed it. My hours were 8:30 - 4:30. Casey attended Dinosaur Camp, also at the Y, from 9-12. Chloe came to art camp with me, and Jack was at home. So each morning I'd do a variety of art projects with the kids. Then at noon time my campers (all five of them) would join another group for lunch, I'd pick up Casey from Dino Camp, drive him home to be babysat by Jack, and then I'd eat my lunch in the van while driving back to the Y. I'd arrive back at the Y by 12:30, collect my group, and then we'd do another art project before heading down to the pool for swimming. Swim time was incredibly boring, because it basically just involved standing around in the blazing hot sun watching kids swim. I suppose I could have brought my bathing suit and jumped in the pool along with them, but no. Not happening. The week clarified a few things for me:
I devoted most of my weekend to catching up on the laundry. It's been really hot and humid, air conditioner running all day kind of weather (you should see our most recent electric bill -- ouch.) So I was pretty content to remain in the house where it was cool. I did, however, venture outside once for a quick dip in the pool. (The new bathing suit I'd ordered from LL Bean arrived on Saturday, so I figured I'd test it out.) Sunday we went to dinner with my parents to celebrate Papa Joe's birthday. We also made chocolate ice cream in the ice cream machine, which turned out just okay. It tasted like a Wendy's Frosty which, as everyone knows, will do in a pinch but is certainly no Ben & Jerry's. And that brings us to today. Today I had a pedicure (heavenly), did the grocery shopping (boring), and took the kids to see Space Chimps (silly). Actually, Glenn and Jack went to see Bat Man, which they said was amazing. I took Chloe and Casey to Space Chimps. This was Casey's first trip to a movie theater, and I was worried about how he would behave. We gave him a big pep talk ahead of time, told him exactly what to expect and what rules he needed to follow. (The movie will be on a giant screen. It will be very loud. You'll get to eat a big bag of popcorn. You have to be quiet and stay in your seat. No yelling or running or crawling on the floor or a man with a flashlight will get mad at us and make us leave.) When asked to reiterate what we'd told him, the only part he remembered was, "I'm gonna eat popcorn." Overall his behavior was decent. He was fairly attentive for the first half of the movie, although at no point would I say he was riveted. (But in fairness it wasn't exactly a riveting movie.) At about the half way point he started standing up and climbing in and out of my lap and asking "Where's my 'nother juice box?" and "We going home now?" Fortunately it wasn't a lengthy film, so we were out of there before he could get really antsy. Have I mentioned that Jack and Chloe are performing in the Wizard of Oz this summer? This is tech week, which means they rehearse every night this week from 5 -9. Thursday is dress rehearsal and performances are Friday and Saturday night. Jack is playing Uncle Henry, which is a bit of a disappointment to him as he has grown accustomed to being cast in larger roles. However, he's been a really good sport about it, and it doesn't seem to have impacted his enjoyment of participating in the show. (Of course he will probably read this, roll his eyes, and sigh in exasperation at just how little his mother understands.) Chloe is playing a Munchkin and has talked about little else for the past month. She is absolutely loving the experience. She practices her songs and dances daily and listens to the soundtrack when she goes to bed at night. Seeing as she doesn't have any real lines of her own, she has memorized just about everyone else's lines. She could be just about anyone's understudy! And her Munchkin costume is adorable. (Grammy Jean made her a bright yellow pinafore. I'll be sure to post pictures.) I began writing tonight with the intention of talking about how anxious I've been feeling lately -- about everything and nothing -- but I think I've prattled on quite enough already. You'll all have to wait with bated breath to hear about my anxiety. Bonne nuit.
Today's Quote: "If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague." — Jerry Seinfeld
I'm having a tag sale tomorrow. At the end of every tag sale I've ever had, I've asked Glenn to promise me that he'll never let me have another tag sale again. I make him swear that he'll remind me just how much work a tag sale entails, and how we never actually make any money. But then a year or so goes by and I feel the need to purge the house of clutter, and I invariably decide that we simply must have a tag sale. Glenn tries to protest, but I don't listen. I tell him to stop being such a wet blanket. I encourage him to be more optimistic, because this time I just KNOW our tag sale will be lucrative. And because Glenn is a good guy, he humors me. He helps carry stuff from the basement out to the garage, hangs tag sale signs, goes to the bank to make sure we have coins and small bills to make change. So bright and early tomorrow morning we'll be carting our unwanted possessions out to the driveway for others to peruse and purchase. I've priced everything to sell. (I don't want to have to bring anything back in the house!) Wish me luck.
I have given up on the potty training. Just temporarily. I'm quite certain he's really not ready. He doesn't show any of the signs of "readiness" that the experts tell you to look for. But I do feel a certain pressure to get him trained before the start of school. I figure we'll try again in August, after we get back from Ferry Beach.
FYI, apparently today is Free Slurpee Day at 7-11. I love slurpees.
Today's Quote: "Do it now. It is not safe to leave a generous feeling to the cooling influences of the world." — Thomas Guthrie
I was going to say that I haven't felt much like writing lately, but that's not entirely true. In fact, I have felt like writing. But every time I try I find myself fumbling to find the right words. I type, re-think, delete, and begin again. It feels like trying to tell a story with a bad case of the hiccups. I can only get a few words out at a time. I'm not sure what this struggle is all about, but I do know that it's frustrating. I still identify as a writer, yet I do so little actual writing. It's disconcerting. (You see, it's as though I no longer trust myself. I second guess everything I write. Immediately after writing that last sentence I went directly to dictionary.com to check the meaning of "disconcerting". Just to make sure that I'd used the word correctly -- which, of course, I had.) Can somebody please tell me why I am suddenly doubting my ability to compose a clear sentence? (It's a rhetorical question. I don't actually expect an answer. Although if you think you know the answer, then by all means feel free to share.)
Jack and Chloe are both home from their respective camps. (Their sleep-away camps, that is.) They both had a really good time. Glenn and I often ask ourselves how we ended up with such brave kids? Neither of us would have willingly gone off to a residential camp hours from home when we were their age. If I'd even considered going it would have been only on the condition that a good friend were coming along with me. (And even then it's unlikely that I would have actually gone!) But Jack and Chloe are completely unfazed by the whole thing. This was Jack's third year at Ferry Beach, so he knew many of the other campers. This was Chloe's first time at Girl Scout Camp, so she didn't know anyone. But she made friends. Her favorite part of camp was that she got to ride a dappled horse named Ian. Her least favorite part of camp was the swimming. Chloe, of course, loves to swim. However, at camp they were required to wear bathing caps, which she loathed. (Bathing caps! Who besides Olympic swimmers wears a bathing cap anymore??) Also, after one particular swim she attempted to brush a "stick" from her leg, only to discover that the stick wouldn't brush off. It was stuck on quite well, because in fact it was not a stick, but a leech. Eeeew. Jack apparently awoke every morning at 6:30 AM to take part in Polar Bear Swim. I'm amazed because at home he seldom gets up before 11:00 AM, and he hardly ever swims in our pool. I suppose swimming in the ocean super early in the morning with a bunch of friends is different though. He's spent the past few days emailing and chatting with Ferry Beach friends, all of them lamenting the fact that camp is over. Chloe started a new day camp today through the Y. It's called Detective Camp, and I think she likes it, although she complained that the two other kids on her team bug her because "one is a know-it-all and the other doesn't do anything". Whatever that means. I guess the verdict is still out. Next week I am facilitating an art camp at the Y. It sounded like a great idea when I agreed to it six months ago. Now I'm wondering why the heck I always manage to get myself into these things!
In other news . . .
When I was 12 our class had to memorize a poem called "Patriotism", by Sir Walter Scott. It was a lengthy poem, but we recited it each morning for a month until we all knew it by heart. (In fact, I can still recite it from memory.) The thing is, not once did we ever discuss the poem. We never talked about the poem itself or even the concept of patriotism. Nobody asked us if we agreed or disagreed with the poem. Nobody asked how we felt about patriotism. I suspect that nobody much cared. Patriotism was just something one took for granted. If you were an American than you were patriotic. End of discussion.
In stark contrast, jump ahead twenty-six years to the present. Since it was Independence Day weekend, the theme of this Sunday's service at church was patriotism. Jack, who is 12, was asked to share with the congregation his feelings about patriotism. Not read a poem about patriotism or sing a song about patrotism, but simply to share his thoughts. He was one of three individuals who did this, and it was actually a very cool service.
Here is what he said:
When Reverend Josh asked me to write something about patriotism for the service, quite frankly I was a little surprised. I never really considered myself a patriot. But then I started thinking underneath it all maybe I am patriotic. As many people know, I have strong opinions on matters of government and our country. Although I am not a fan of labels, you could say I'm a Liberal.
My definition of patriotism goes along with my opinions. I don't think that patriotism means doing whatever your country says is right, especially if that means to go to war and kill. I think this goes for any war, not just the notorious ones like Iraq and Vietnam. As Americans, as human beings, we should do what we think is morally right. That's what patriotism really means to me: doing what I feel morally compelled to do and being willing to do so even if it contradicts government policy. It is a part of the Unitarian Universalist principles and it is one of the beliefs that this country was founded on. The founding fathers wanted the people of America to be happy, free, and able to believe what they want.
I think that in times when our government is less than perfect and so many people are dying in wars, that we sometimes shape our values to fit our state of national security. I don't think that patriotism is wearing our nation's colors on the fourth of July, nor is it waving a flag around and setting off firecrackers. I think that patriotism is respecting others beliefs, saying believing and writing what we want, and being able to make change.
We should feel grateful for the rights that we have as Americans. As Americans we should have pride, but we should also be humble. We should not believe that as Americans we are morally or socially superior to the rest of the world. Instead of singing God Bless America, why not sing God Bless the Entire World, No Exceptions?
