The Bucket List

This morning, my eight year old daughter told me she needed to write a bucket list. After I got over being stunned that she even knows what a bucket list is, I asked her why she felt she needed one.

“The end of the world is coming on 12/21/21. There are a lot of things I need to get done before then,” she said, very seriously.

I am proud that I didn’t laugh. I tried hard to look pensive, considering her words for a minute, careful to answer in a way that didn’t dismiss her feelings or statement. “Yes, I can see where you’d have a lot to do if the world was ending then.” Boy, that Mayan calendar really has her concerned. “Are you afraid?” I asked.

“No, just worried that I won’t get everything done in time,” she said.

“Like what?” I asked, really curious about the contents of her bucket list.

Without missing a beat, Natalie rattled off the items that she needed to get done before the world ends at the end of this year. She’d clearly given this some thought:

Go to Stanford. (I told her she wasn’t old enough to go to college yet. She amended her statement and said, “Go to a summer program at Stanford.”)

Get married. (Again, I reminded her of that age thing…she shot back, “Fine, a crush…”)

See Paris, tour China, and eat pizza in Italy. (I told her those were all great, but that I wasn’t sure we’d have time to fit all that in over summer vacation.)

Go on a shopping spree. (I cringed a little at the materialism, but then figured, hey, shouldn’t she have one visit to the mall where the sky’s the limit? I mean, if the end of the world is coming, why not go out looking one’s very best ? I did remind her that if for some reason, the Mayan’s prediction didn’t come true, those bills would have to be paid. She said she’d worry about that later.)

Adopt 3 more dogs and 6 children. (I started to tell her that she was too young to adopt children and that we don’t have space for more than one dog, but then I realized I was being a downer and simply told her it was admirable to want to help other people and animals.)

After she’d completed her list, I mentioned that in 2000 everyone worried that chaos would ensue when the clocks flipped over on New Year’s Eve because (as they warned) the computers and other tech devices were not prepared to change from the 1900s to the 2000s – the infamous Y2K. I told her how the media and everyone else talked about the awful things that would happen – all computer data being lost – bank accounts, investments, anything important that was kept on computer; the financial, transportation, and healthcare systems coming to a stop because of their reliance on computers; and prison doors popping open and allowing criminals to roam free because the prisons had computerized security systems. What they pretty much described was the end of the world as we knew it. There was great consternation in some circles. In others, we just backed up our computers and printed out vital documents in case the system went down temporarily. Well, Y2K was a big nothing, I told her. Not a thing bad happened. She considered my story, then said with more confidence than an 8 year old should have, “I want to get these things done…just in case.”

So Natalie is writing her bucket list and planning for our end of the world party on 12/21/12. She asked if we knew any Mayans to invite to the party. I told her I’d work on it.

See you on 12/22/12.

Birthdays and Other Things in Common with Mass Murderers

One of the things I love about kids is that you can fall into conversations with them that you would never have with adults. There are some things in life that kids just haven't learned about yet…although that never stops them from talking about it. I had one of those conversations yesterday.

Characters:

Natalie - 8
Nicole - 11
Dawn - young enough to have seen Star Trek in reruns, old enough to know not to list her age

Time:

In auto line for after school pick up

Place:

Dawn's car, aka momuv, aka place where kids leave their 1/2 eaten sandwiches and empty gum wrappers in the cup holders.


Dawn surfs her phone, leaving the car on (and draining her battery) so that Natalie can wear headphones and entertain herself by singing along with some inane pop tune on Radio Disney.

Nicole hops into the car, tosses her backpack into the seat.

Nicole: Hiya!

Dawn: How was school, hon?

Nicole: Really exciting…

Natalie: (talking off her headphones, interrupting) …exciting…what?

Nicole: Today in class we learned that Max, Becca, Dee Dee, and Hitler all have the same birthday.

Natalie: Who names their kid Hitler?

Dawn bursts out laughing, uncontrollably, realizes that Natalie doesn't know who that is. Guess third grade hasn't covered world history yet.

Nicole: Hitler isn't in our class.

Natalie: Then why were you celebrating his birthday?

Nicole: We weren't!

Dawn, now laughing too hard to intervene, tries to calm herself, can’t. The conversation continues to veer off course.

Nicole: We wouldn't celebrate his birthday…

Natalie: But you said Max, Dee Dee, Becca, and Hitler all have the same birthday…did they bring cupcakes?

Having just calmed herself, the cupcake comment sends Dawn back into another wave of laughter. Dawn tries to explain between laughs.

Dawn: Hitler is not in their class, Natalie…Nicole, she doesn't understand…

Nicole: Oh God, no, Natalie, he's bad.

Natalie: Whose class is he in?

Dawn laughs harder, tears in her eyes, unable to catch her breath.

Nicole: Natalie! He's not a kid…he's a bad guy in history…They were just all born on the same day.

Dawn: You were studying history today?

Nicole: Yeah, and Max pointed out that they all had the same birthday.

Natalie: (Disappointed) So there weren't any cupcakes?

Dawn starts laughing again.

Natalie: (Sincerely upset) Why are you laughing, Mommy?

Dawn: (Between laughs) I'm sorry. It's not funny. He was a bad guy who hurt many people.

Natalie puts her headphones back on in a huff, suspects she's being lied to.

Natalie: I didn't think anyone would name their kid Hitler.

Nicole: Does anyone want to hear about my day?

Dawn starts another laughing jag as they drive off.

Behind Closed Doors

There is a street a few blocks over from my house that is very pretty. Tall palms trees and sidewalks usually filled with dog walkers and kids rollerblading. Impromptu games of hockey are played in the street. Doors are left open during the day as children run from house to house visiting their friends and there always seems to be someone sitting on a lawn chair enjoying a soda and chatting with a neighbor. There is even one of those portable basketball nets that someone has moved to the curb where their trash cans would normally be, inviting anyone with a ball to shoot some hoops. At Halloween, the neighbors on that street go all out, elaborately decorating their homes, dressing in costumes to hand out candy to the kids and drinks to the adults and so many people flood the block from the surrounding streets that you feel as if you're part of a Mardi Gras crowd. They are no less festive at Christmas. Most of the street put up light displays, winding long strands of white lights up the tallest palm trees or wrapping them around the trim of their homes. On the Fourth of July mini flags are posted on the lawns and kids decorate their bikes with red, white and blue and follow a fire truck up and down the streets in a makeshift parade. It feels like a happy street, not unlike the one I live on - only with better coordination on their holiday celebrations. Last week, a woman on that block tried to commit suicide at six in the morning. She misfired and shot herself in the face. A surgeon friend of mine told me they often see that in the ER because despite how determined someone is to commit suicide with a gun, they often flinch when pulling the trigger and instead of firing into their mouth, they shoot up or to the side, causing a non-fatal (but still awful) injury.

I'm up at 4am on most mornings. Not by choice. But I find it is the only time of day where there is true quite in my life. My family is asleep, most of my friends back East are still snoozing or just waking up and going to work so I can't even distract myself by calling another time zone. I write from 4 to 6 before I start my day. I heard the ambulance cut through the silence of my early morning work time. Its sirens where loud but brief, followed by two police cars which raced to the scene. I didn't find out where they were going or know what had happened until I read a small article in a local digi-paper, not even an article really, more of a police scanner report describing the incident on the lovely little street a few blocks over.

I asked friends of mine who live on the street if they knew who it was and how she was doing. But none of the three I asked were even aware it had happened. They were asleep in their beds or in the shower or listening to talk radio while getting ready for work. They didn't hear the ambulance which was gone long before they left their houses for work or to take their children to school. No one on the street had told them about it. It happened and it was over.

I was caught off guard by how much I was saddened by the incident. I felt badly that behind all those doors on that lovely little street there was someone so sad, so desperate, a woman my age, with kids and a husband and maybe a dog or two, that she would try to kill herself at six in the morning and no one, not her neighbors, her friends, or even her family knew how badly she was suffering. She might be another mom at our school or someone I pass and smile at while picking out ripe fruit at Trader Joe's or wave to when I take my infrequent early morning power walks down her block. It felt like we should have known, shouldn't have missed her pain. But somehow, because everything on the outside seemed as perfect and idyllic as the street she lives on, everyone missed what was going on behind closed doors.

What Parents Shouldn’t Do

One of a parent’s main responsibilities is to keep their under-aged kids out of bars. Yet a few weeks ago, we spent the better half of a weekend trying to sneak our 7 and 10 year old girls into a club where their father’s band was playing.
David invited us to join him for the weekend in Palm Springs where his band had booked a gig at an Indian casino. Rarely do the girls and I get invited along on gigs, and given that there was a free room in a new hotel with a nice pool involved, we drove down and met him there, ready to enjoy.

The first time he mentioned trying to get them in to see him play, I pointed out that he was performing in a club in the casino and that even if the girls were, “…with the band,” their age would not be overlooked. But David got it in his head that he really wanted them to see him play and he was going to “explore” every opportunity to get them in. He asked the front desk to check and see if there was an age restriction in the lounge where they were playing. Of course there was. It was a bar with people kicking back shots and the shots were not smoothies. Then he talked to the sound man and asked if they could stand next to him in the booth. He asked the waitress if there was a dark corner in the VIP lounge (because that’s where you want your kids to be, in dark corners in lounges with bottle service) where they could sit unnoticed for 15-20 minutes. He tried bringing them in during rehearsal while the club was closed and having them sit at the table by the stage. The bartenders and waitresses were fine with it, but when the manager saw my girls sitting ring-side, she quickly informed David that they had to go. He tried to feign innocence, seeming surprised that even with the bar closed, it was off limits to them. I used to waitress in a bar in college. I knew his multiple schemes were not going to work. After all, a liquor license is a terrible thing to lose.

At first, I tried to talk him out of it. Then, I mentioned how (truly) tired the girls were. There are many reasons kids shouldn’t be bar hopping, one very basic one is that they get tired early and want to go to bed. Finally, I told him that I didn’t want to be the one to get yelled at or incarcerated because he wanted me to sneak them into a club to watch him play. Yes, it was important to him, and in many ways his reasons were incredibly sweet and sentimental, but was seeing him worth a criminal record?

As a compromise, I looked around and realized that the ice cream parlor next door to the club lounge was open from 5am until 2am – because every club needs an ice cream parlor next door – and that if the girls and I ordered ice cream and stood directly in front of the ice cream parlor door pretending to read the menu, we had a direct view of the stage from the front door of the club.

So my children got to see their father play without breaking local, state and probably federal laws. I’m glad, because even though it’s holiday time, my idea of a family Christmas portrait is not a mug shot.

Mommy as a Four Letter Word

Okay, so the word mommy has more than four letters, but my point is, I actually heard someone use the word mommy as an insult. And you know what? It was more hurtful than being called a bitch...and a bitch is a female dog and capable of motherhood, too, so maybe his insult made sense. I was at the grocery store and a woman pushing her baby in a stroller and this guy were getting into some conflict concerning produce. I wandered into the controversy after it started, but from what I could gather, the woman had said something to this man about tasting the fruit while it was still in the store and before he had paid for it. A pet peeve of mine as well, but I don't think I'm bold enough (or do I care enough or have enough time on my hands) to worry about whether or not some stranger pulls a couple of grapes out of the bag and tosses them into his mouth. But she did. And after a few real four letter words were exchanged between them, the woman started to push her stroller away and as a parting shot the guy said, "See you around, mommy." He said the word mommy in such a twisted, derogatory way, so mean and hurtful that I could see the woman flinch as his words hit home. The way he used it was so mean-spirited and filled with such contempt that I cringed a little, too.

What about calling her mommy was an insult? I'm sure she loves her kids, just as much as I do. And I'm betting all the grapes in that bag that she's proud of being a mother. But in a way, I get his insult and I've felt it's sting myself. No matter how much this woman may have accomplished in her life - she might be a two time Nobel prize winning scientist with degrees from multiple ivy league schools, fluent in French, a skilled jazz pianist and sit on the board of several charitable organizations, but to some, no matter what she has accomplished or even dreams of accomplishing, it will always be overshadowed by one thing - her kids. And sometimes let your mom-side be paramount in your life isn't such a bad thing. But by calling her "Mommy" he reduced her (perhaps not for the first time) to a person who has no other identity -- and that's hurtful, scary and a feeling that most mothers seem to battle with from time to time.

I've talked with moms who were lawyers or surgeons and they complain that they feel like they are getting dumber by staying home to take care of their children. As much as they enjoy staying home it and chose to do it, they feel like they are losing a large part of themselves which had once been defined by work. They feel as if they are losing track of knowledge in their fields, and have been redefined by their peers and accorded less respect because of having children - even if they went back to work. They feel as if being a mother is crashing in on them. And sometimes it does.

I saw a conference presentation recently, an analysis of a novel called Cane, by Jean Toomer, which I remember reading years and years ago. I didn't get it then, but today it resonated with a depth that surprised me and reminded me of the woman in the grocery store I'd seen almost reduced to tears earlier in the week. The premise of the book was that words are incapable of fully describing identity. And in a way, he's right. No one word can ever truly capture a person's identity and it is painful to try to find your identity when there is no all encompassing way to describe it. Words as labels can attempt to describe parts of who a person is, like the woman in the grocery store being called a mother, that is her identity, but she is so much more. And the inability of that word to encompass all the things she is - all the things a mother is - lifegiver, caregiver, teacher, researcher, chef, nutritionist, entertainer, CFO, COO, supervisor, driver, domestic engineer, gardener - on top of whatever career or aspirations defined her before having kids.

Perhaps it is the collision of identities that people struggle with or how our identities morph over time - whether we want them to or not - that is the most difficult for people to accept. I had a strained phone conversation with someone recently, and as he struggled for something positive to say to me, all he could come up with was, "You're such a good mommy." The word mommy stung me. It came out as a put down. It came out as something he said because he didn't know any other part of who I am, so he chose that word to define me. And in his mind, no matter what I've done or what I might do in life, I was nothing more than a mommy. His words made me mad. At first I felt funny for being upset by what was supposed to be a compliment, for being upset for being called something I enjoy and am proud to do. But I realized that I was angered because I knew that I, like the woman in the grocery store, had more going on than that, but to him,the word, mommy, was my only identity.

So I tried to think of what I would have said to the man in the grocery store if he had tauntingly called me a mommy. I came up with several not so clever come backs (something I am notorious for in my family - ah, yet another identity - bad comedian), and then I struck on my favorite, a few choice words to define his identity, at least partially, in a way that told him exactly how I felt about him. If he had called me a mommy, I would have said, "Have a nice day, grape stealer!"

Information Overload

“Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense.” -- Gertrude Stein, b. 1874, d. 1946.

That was Gertrude’s rant and she died about forty years before fax machines became popular, cells phones invaded all our waking hours, and just about everything in the world from sex to sippy cups could be purchased over the internet. Gertrude’s face was never booked and her thoughts were never tweeted. People didn’t get pissy at her for not responding to a text within seconds of it being sent. She did not have the option of watching news (with additional news crawling across the screen under the news) on over 300 channels of television or online or from her iPhone. And yet, she complained about how being bombarded by too much information could make you lose your common sense. Girlfriend, you have no idea…

My husband and I are at parenting odds over how much is too much information for our daughters to consume. When they were younger, I was fairly strict about what I let them watch on TV and listen to on the radio, what websites I would let them surf and what movies I’d take them to see – if it wasn’t G or maybe PG – their eyeballs weren’t getting anywhere near it. I recognize that “different families do different things” and it is a phrase I am constantly throwing at my kids when they try to get me to let them see something that one of their other friends has been allowed to see, so much so that they now taunt me with the phrase whenever they can. But I constantly find myself searching for the midline of how much information/media/stimulation makes sense for my kids to be exposed to.

David wants very little to filter down to them, whereas I think that as they get older, they need to be more connected to what’s happening in the world through news, the internet and the media. So we started by letting them spend more time on the web than the 1 hour a week they were currently logging. We got a few emails from them that were sent just for the novelty of sending. They checked out a few new websites – mostly puppy and fashion related sites – although when I walked by the computer in the family room and saw Nicole typing in something like Hot Games for Girls, I had a moment of panic about what would pop on the screen. Go figure, it’s a girl’s fashion designing game site!

Then we started to expand their access to additional information by letting them see more than the usual DisneyNickCartoonNetwork shows. Of course, David has selective snobbery about what he deems acceptable for them to see…in other words, if it is a show he wants to watch, then it’s okay if the show has some of the offending elements that he usually wants to keep them from – gunfire, bloodshed, an errant curse word here or there.

“It’s a fun show,” he’ll say in his own defense, “and I don’t let them see it all.”

Instead of offending fiction, I figure if their brains are going to be exposed to the ugly in the world, I want them to see current events. And even though these days the lines between fiction and reality are permanently blurred, I started letting them watch the morning news, which had both good and bad results.

I tried starting with local news, but then my oldest, Nicole, kept asking me about the proximity of the robberies, water main breaks, and political rallies they kept reporting on. She started sneaking off and putting the deadbolt on the front door and checking to make sure the burglar alarm was on even during the daytime. I wasn’t sure if she was afraid of a break-in or a visit from our congressman. So then I switched to the national network news, thinking that if the events were farther way, she wouldn’t feel so directly threatened by the stories. However, that particular week seemed to be wall-to-wall coverage about missing, kidnapped children, parent-child murder-suicides and workplace shootings. Great! My six year old daughter, Natalie, who is the tougher of the two and strives to be fearless, kept asking me questions about the news, trying to analyze the happenings rather than being traumatized by them. Turns out, I was the one who was traumatized. Ever try explaining child abduction and stories about parents who take out their whole families because of emotional distress in non-threatening, matter-of-fact, informational terms that a six year old can understand? It’s harder than having to come up with an answer for “Where do babies come from?” Natalie seemed comfortable with the news stories and satisfied by the answers I stumbled through.

“Tough kid,” I thought. “See, David is wrong and I am right…when there is all this information floating around in the world, kids need to be informed, aware, it helps them make sense of the information overload.” Yeah, right.

About a couple of days after my little news exposure experiment, Natalie reverted to getting in our bed at night…but only after waking me up first at 3 am to let me know she was crawling into our bed. Then a few minutes later, Nicole would follow her in, also waking me to let me know that she was climbing into bed or getting into a sleeping bag at the foot of our bed (for me to trip over in the morning.) This went on for a week, with us trying at first to follow all the parenting books and their advice about how to train your kid to sleep in their bed by getting up and walking them back to their rooms. That only worked twice. After that, David and I were too tired to bother and let them crowd us out of our queen-size bed. Several days of sore backs and sleepless nights, I realized that too much information, too young, was not good. They don’t need to be that aware, do they? At least not so aware and scared that it interrupts my REM cycles.

In my effort to have them take advantage of our new digital age and expose my kids to all the wonderful opportunities on the information superhighway, I lost my common sense. I overloaded them, worried them, and worst of all ruined all of our sleep. Like Gertrude said, there are too many ways to get information these days and honestly, maybe a little SpongeBob Squarepants is all we need.