LizaWasHere

Hoyt Fowler

My last living grandparent, Gran'papa, died today. He was my maternal grandfather. I think he was 95 years old; he might have been 94. I remember celebrating his 90th birthday, but I don't seem to have a grip on exactly when that was. My thoughts are so scattered that I'm not sure this post will make a lot of sense. But in no particular order:

• The story of how he and my Gran'mama met was very funny. She had dinner plans with one of his co-workers, a family friend, who apparently forgot about the date and left work early. When she showed, up, Gran'papa called the guy, and said, "Introduce us!" Then he insisted on taking her to dinner. Gran'mama had been working like crazy and her boss ordered to take the afternoon off from her job and relax, so she'd been horseback riding before going to dinner. She was so hungry that she ordered the largest steak on the menu and ate it with such gusto that he immediately decided this was the woman he was going to marry. (That she was a Texas redhead and was Vogue model pretty probably didn't hurt.)
• He was so tall.
• My parents had a complicated relationship with my maternal grandparents. But when I was a kid, they all did a great job of making sure that they kept any tension from us, so that I could just love both my grandparents and my parents.
• I spent my 21st birthday with my grandparents, at Disney World. Really. Except for the part where the only vegetarian food available in the Magic Kingdom at that time was a cheese plate in the futuristic section, it was great.
• I'm glad he got to meet Noah a couple of years ago, and Josie. Even if he didn't understand who was there, or maybe even know that anyone was there.
• I'm glad Josie and I came down here, and that we did all this crazy shit to get down here yesterday instead of today.
• I have to go to sleep.

I don't know. And I'm too cranky to figure it out.

I don't know why my blog suddenly looks different. It wasn't my plan, I don't like it, and I don't know how to fix it. Not only that, but I am feeling tired and cranky and sad and I don't have the brainpower to even come up with a plan for how to fix it later. Threevil meltdowns aside, we had a nice weekend, with visits to Grandma & Grandpa's house, a pancake breakfast at school, church, and the dinosaur museum. I got a fabulous bonus visit with an extremely dear friend who lives in Virginia, but was here for a quick weekend trip. I also got the strange experience of discovering that her 9 year old daughter has no memory of me. The same 9 year old who was the flower girl in my wedding, with whom we spent the Christmas I was pregnant with Noah, and whom I first met when she was 3 weeks old. And whose brother I met when he was less than 24 hours old. Annual-ish visits are not enough. I am also sad and cranky and feeling unsettled because my grandfather is dying. He is my last remaining grandparent. My paternal grandparents died a few weeks apart from one another when I was a junior in high school, and my maternal grandmother died in 2002. Grandpapa has had Alzheimers, and been in ever worsening shape over the last few years. He was a cheerful, functional, and very sweet man who had no idea who I was, or who Noah was, when we visited him 2.5 years ago. A few years before that, he came to my sister's wedding, and had a great time. I'm not sure he knew exactly who we all were, but he'd grown up in Manhattan and I think he liked being back in his boyhood home area. And a few years before that, he celebrated his 90th birthday with a dinner and dancing cruise in Tampa. He loved the dancing and all the pretty girls, and I think he knew us, at least some of the time. But this last year, especially, has been rough. When Grandpapa was recently hospitalized for pneumonia, and a lung biopsy revealed lung cancer, we all feared for the worst. I bought tickets to take Josie down to Florida tomorrow. Even that might be too late, says Mom, who called a few minutes ago to report that his blood pressure and breathing have both taken a very serious downturn. AND on top of all that, we still don't know whether or not Jill has to go on a "work detail" out of state for 4 weeks, starting MONDAY. So we haven't done anything to prep Noah for it, not wanting to falsely alarm him. But hello? What kind of company can't tell people things like that say ... 2 weeks in advance? Grumble grumble crank seethe.

On Sunscreen, Race, and Preschool Literalness

This morning, Noah decided that it was vitally important to take his large bottle of sunscreen with him in the car to school. After we worked through why you CAN NOT put the bottle cap into your mouth, because sunscreen is good for the outside of your body, but bad for the inside of your body, we started discussing what sunscreen is for. "Noah, you and I have very pale skin. When the sun is bright, it can burn our skin, so we have to wear sunscreen when we play outside in the summer." Yes, I know that skin cancer does not discriminate, and that even dark skinned people should wear sunscreen. But friends, almost no one with medically normal skin will sunburn faster than me. I have been described on more than one occasion as "the whitest white person" someone knows -- and not only culturally, but physically. That almost-glow-in-the-dark pale skin is part of Josie's and Noah's genetic legacy from me. "My skin is pink!" "Yes, it is. So is mine." "Darius's skin is brown." We play a lot of "what else is like this? what else is like that?" identification games in the car, so I step cautiously into the game mode. "Yes, that's true. Who else has brown skin?" "Miss Pat!" "That's right." "Jack at my Atlanta school has pink skin. Avery at my Atlanta school has brown skin." "What about at your school here?" "Ava has pink skin. Miss Cathy has pink skin." Pause. "What color skin do you like, Mommy?" Pause. "I like all colors of skin, Noah. Everyone's skin is a little bit different." In the ordinary course of our games, I am supposed to ask the same question back. Pause. "What color skin do you like, Noah?" "YELLOW!" "Who has yellow skin, Noah?" "I don't know." I pause again, and then pick up discussing friends with different skin tones, and how everyone looks different. And I wonder, am I using his literal views of the world to push off trying to explain why pink people are called white and brown people are called black, unless they are certain shades of brown, in which case they might be called Latino or Asian or Indian? It is so interesting to watch the social construction of race, as it happens, in the mind of a little boy. Please, oh please, let us do a good job of helping him not to grow up racist, but to grow up as someone who challenges racism.

Mayhem!

Returning from dropping off Noah and Josie at their respective school/day care situations, I noticed that the street near my house was full of industrial vehicles, heavy equipment, and burly men. This is not the ordinary state of affairs for my street. They had almost parked Jill's car in, which I thought might make her head explode. "Do you need me to move that car?" "Oh no. We're fine." I came in, got the keys, and moved the car. The heavy equipment trucks instantly converged more closely on my front yard. (Thankfully, we are renters, so I can observe without terror.) "What's up?" I asked the nearest burly man swathed in protective clothing and gear." I noticed his multiple piercings and tatoos under the industrial work-wear. He grinned, and replied, "Mayhem!" I laughed. "I can see that! Could you be more specific?" All of the shrubs in our yard are coming up, except maybe 1 which he will deal with in better weather. The stumps will be ground up into pulverized tree particles. Chain saws will be frenetically wielded. Loud noises. Flying decimated shrubbery. You know, perfect work from home conditions.

Blog Reader Appreciation

One of my favorite bloggers, Robin of The Other Mother, organized a very cool event last week: Blog Reader Appreciation Day. Unfortunately, I'm late to the party, but I still really wanted to acknowledge you, my amazing readers. Because of you, I've had a fantastic run so far -- I've been writing this blog for almost 4.5 years. I have no intention of stopping any time soon! You have spurred me to think about things in new ways, challenged my assumptions and stereotypes, made me laugh, helped me on my job search, allowed me to help you, and let me into your lives. You've helped me to become a better writer, and a better person. You've given me confidence, friendship, and support. Thank you. You are the best.

Bonus Letter to Josie

Dear Josie, It isn't time for your 8 month letter yet, but today, I just have to write to you. I am blown away by your determination. You may be the most fiercely determined child I have ever met. You've finally gotten interested in solid foods, but ONLY, and let me just emphasize that a little bit more, O.N.L.Y. if you get to feed yourself. If we try to keep hold of the spoon, you arch away and close your mouth firmly, as if we were trying to feed you poison. You are equally curious, checking out every object within reach. But especially faces -- mine, This Mommies, and most especially of all, Noah's. Also, I just can't get over how beautiful you are. You look like an illustration of a baby in a storybook. You have this lovely skin, and huge beautiful eyes, and a perfect, cupid's bow mouth. Your smile lights up everyone around you, and makes all of us not only smile, but want to work to keep you smiling. This is who you are. It is part of the core of your personality. I pray you will read or remember this and draw something of value from it when you are an adolescent. Or older. love, That Mommy

Joining the "Poverty Party" at Bossy's

Hilarious blogger Bossy has inspired me to join her "Poverty Party" post series. I'm not going to tackle posting about how we are budgeting, saving money, or what have you every day -- I don't have that kind of energy. But I will try to tackle them on a weekly basis. Today's Poverty Party is one of those optimistic future pieces. When I dropped off the last check for Noah's school , I asked what our fee would be in the fall when Noah starts half-day state-funded 3-K. To keep him at school for the full regular school day, 8-3, our price will drop to $105 PER WEEK. That's a 40% drop! Less optimistically, if I'm still not working by then, even that might be more than we can manage, and Josie will certainly not be in part-time day care any more. On a related note, I am almost decided that if I don't have a job by the end of May, I will be taking the dive into entrepreneurship. I've been floating and tweaking a business idea to various local friends, and I think the next step is "Business Plans for Dummies." I'm scared of being in business for myself, but I may have to get over it.

The Family that Spits Together....

My second fed ex box from 23andMe arrived yesterday. This one contained THREE spit kits: for my partner, and both of our children. To read more about how I reacted, check out my post in the 23andMe Pregnancy Community! Cross-posted over at my review blog, Things I Like.

Pppptoo-ers, Part II

The original Pppptoo-ers post generated some of the most interesting discussion on the blog of late, so I thought I should follow up. Also, Noah continues to be interesting on the subject. Last night, Noah succcessfully earned back access to his Bristle Blocks (now "Krinkles"). The first thing he made was a vaguely gun-shaped Pppptoo-er, for This Mommy. Then he built a stack of wheels, and told me it was a "Sandwich Pppptoo-er. It pppptoos out sandwiches for you to eat! Eat this ketchup one, That Mommy!"  Noah then pppptooed me 3 peanut butter sandwiches and some mustard. Something tells me I'm going to remain the cook here for a loooong time. "Noah, do pppptooers hurt people?" "No...they pppptoo things at you and you might fall down." "What are pppptooers for?" "Pppptooing." A few minutes later, while coloring with markers, Noah explained to me that he was drawing a "weapon" which was a special kind of pppptooer. It was yellow, and it pppptooed circles. This morning, Noah made a picture of a bubble pppptooer out of bubble stickers that the Easter Bunny gave him. "When you get a bubble pppptooed at you, you have to jump over it!" So, I think there are a few concepts going on here for Noah. When you hear the classic video game/movie "pppptoo pppptoo" sound, it comes from an object. You and I might call it a gun or a weapon, or maybe a laser. Noah doesn't see them exactly the same way, although he may be starting to get that they are related objects. In Noah's world, pppptooers emanate something: bubbles, sandwiches, sounds, circles, things that might make you fall down. But they don't seem to hurt people. This makes me not quite ready to think of them as "toy guns" although they are probably moving in that direction. I have a mix of feelings and opinions about the issue of toy guns, and clearer views about real guns. Let's tackle the easier question first: I would prefer that Noah not play in a house where there are real guns. I definitely don't want him playing somewhere with real guns that are not locked up. I've read too many stories about children -- mostly boys -- who accidentally shoot their friends because they had no idea it was a loaded, real, gun. When Noah gets older, if he wants to learn how to shoot in a safe, controlled environment, ie riflery at summer camp or a similar well-supervised and out-of-the-house appropriate location, I'm ok with that. I think that him knowing that guns are not toys and must be handled carefully and with respect is extremely important. Toy guns are a more gray area. I think a flat out ban is ineffective, much the way Covert, Reno, and other commenters observed. I think it led me to lie about having the squirt gun, not to have no interest in squirt guns. (And by the way, my first with-a-paycheck job was for the Milwaukee Gun Club, a recreational skeet shooting establishment. I never touched a gun while I was there, but I sold ammo, cokes, and beer, and worked as a trap setter and puller. I tell this to illustrate that it also apparently didn't drive me away from guns or "gun people." Whatever that means.) I think that most people, including children, are capable of making the same distinction that Noah is already making: fantasy vs reality. Pppptooers and the myriad of toy objects that emanate things are distinguishable from guns, even if they are shaped like guns and we call them guns. Video games where the object is to shoot something or someone also use pppptooers, even if the pppptooer creates exploding things/dying things results. As Noah gets older and starts to understand what he is "really" pretending when he plays with pppptooers, and most likely stops calling them pppptooers, I think it is important for us to be talking with him about the risks and dangers real guns present. I expect that the mix of literature on violent video games will get some intense review as Noah gets older. Damned if I'm going to let my kid unthinkingly play a game where they get points for sleeping with a prostitute and then ripping her off or killing her -- looking at you, Grand Theft Auto. But I don't want to give those games the allure of the forbidden, either. There may be age limits, time limits, location requirements (the living room where your Moms can interrupt or worse yet play along, springs to mind), and forced tedius and embarrassing conversations with your mother before certain lines can be crossed. And I also think that commenters Eric and Richard make excellent points -- there are a lot of critically important issues that create the environment for many of the risks that guns then tip into crisis. Jen, I think that ties into your excellent points, too. Modeling AND talking about the whole pantheon of our values is important -- critical, in fact -- for what we try to teach him about guns and pppptooers to make sense and to help him grow up into the kind of man we hope he will become. So far, we haven't tried to talk a lot about alcohol, except that when one of us has a beer or glass of wine with dinner, we tell him that they aren't drinks for kids. We've let him sniff the drinks, to which he universally responds with "eeeeeeeuuuuuwwwww! YUCK!" We'll cross the line for discussing responsible drinking when we first see a tipsy or drunk person that he might notice. Same with cruelty, only that's already more hands-on. We don't allow Noah to hit or kick or otherwise hurt other people. We haven't quite sorted out how to handle him pretending to hurt himself to get our attention -- I lean towards ignoring/downplaying, Jill leans towards intervening/stopping.  We model and discuss how to be gentle with Josie, where he an and can't touch her, like not putting his fingers in her mouth, but allowing him to tickle her belly, for example. Like Tammom said in her comments, what it comes down to is giving Noah and Josie the best tools and training we can to help them learn how to make good decisions. Only time will tell if we've done a good job. (On a sort of related note, have you seen all the articles that the US is in a dire ammo shortage, because since November 5, the second amendment fundamentalists have been buying guns and ammo at such an insane rate that police and sheriff's departments can't get what they need??? Does anyone else find it scary to hear that the radical fringe right wing is stockpiling weapons??? On the other hand, maybe the way to keep Noah from playing with guns is to tell him he has to pay for them himself.)

Goodbye, Judith. You Will Be Missed.

Dear Readers, If any of you grew up going to libraries, reading books that some people might have thought were "too old" for you, or celebrating or otherwise appreciating "Banned Books Week," you probably owe a debt of gratitude to Judith Krug, who passed away on Saturday. Likewise, if in the last 10 years you went to a library and used the Internet, you probably owe thanks to Judith. She and her colleagues, especially in the Washington Office and the Office for Intellectual Freedom of the American Library Association, worked hard to get funding to wire schools and libraries for Internet access. If your Internet use at the library was frustrated by the content having been overblocked by overzealous filtering software, know that Judith Krug fought against the mandatory use of that software in your library. She fought tooth and nail, but Senator McCain won that battle. (He once asked her what he should do if he found a web site about bestiality on the Internet. She memorably responded, "Don't look at it!") I was lucky enough to know Judith personally. She was a sharp, witty, outspoken defender of free expression and especially the freedom of information -- that anyone should be able to go into a library and look up/read information on any topic. Regardless of age. Or parental permission. Or social approval. Judith also gave me -- and my co-authors -- a great honor, by agreeing to write the Forward to our book, Privacy in the 21st Century: Issues for Public, School, and Academic Libraries. There are lots of places to read more about Judith Krug and her contributions, but let me recommend two, a personal blog post by my friend Cindy Samuels, and another by my friend Jessamyn West. Thank you, Judith, for everything you have done to protect our freedom to read and learn. You leave behind very big shoes to fill. If anyone would like to honor her memory, her family has asked that donations be made to the Freedom to Read Foundation. The American Library Association has also created an email address where you can send your memories: rememberingjudith (at) ala (dot) org .