Someone else's words

For all you hopeful and struggling folks on an adoption wait list, I found this article rather timely and encouraging; we are not alone!

Of Shakespeare and travel

I am a huge fan of staying home, not that I don't like to go places and see things and visit people, but the hassle that goes into traveling sometimes doesn't make a vacation much of, well, a vacation!  There's all the packing and planning that goes into it before your departure, not to mention dealing with the concerns of all that you are leaving behind (plants, dog, mail, kids…) and the little matters you need to make up at work or home or school for the time you will be gone.  Then you get there and settle in for a few days then pack up and go home and play catch up for all you missed, and the clean up and unpacking besides.  If I had minions to pack everything up, deal with all the mundanities of life, and then unpack when I get home, and maybe even do the driving, then maybe a vacation would actually be a vacation, but as the immortal bard puts it, most vacations are truly, 'much ado about nothing.'  Let's just stay home and watch Shakespeare on the small screen instead!

Coloring outside the lines

The letter is still on my desk, the note that says my child needs to be rescreened in the fall for the special preschool for children with learning issues because he just might qualify.  The screening actually went much better than I thought it would, I thought he would refuse entirely to cooperate, but only the poor hearing lady was so afflicted, the others he cooperated to some degree, but not enough to escape the label of a potential learning disability.  The little boy that can pitch balls to his father waiting with a bat or kick a ball with peculiar accuracy barely hit the wall with his bean bag, let alone the circle he was supposed to aim for.  He only jumped up and down on one foot once rather than for a full five seconds, though he spends his days in like exertion.  He could care less about counting and colors and actually said the wrong letter intentionally, smiling impishly all the while.  He couldn't identify an umbrella, we don't own one and as it rarely rains here, neither does anyone else.  When asked to twiddle his thumbs, he just looked at the lady wondering why she would ask him to do something so silly.  He didn't cut on the line as he'd much rather do it his own way.  He doesn't pronounce his words quite right, and when corrected he actually tries to convince you that it is your pronunciation that is lacking.

He can tell you about tractors and the various breeds of cattle and all types of construction equipment, but he really could care less about the ABC's.  He can ride his trike backwards and stop on a dime, just don't ask him to do something silly like jump on one foot.  He likes to color and draw and cut, just not inside the lines.  He hears just fine, but chooses what he actually listens to.  I don't worry about his brain, his ability to learn or concentrate, or even his grammar and pronunciation, I know he understands, that he is a quick learner, and a rather sharp little chap, at least in what he is interested in or thinks is worth his while.  He dots his t's and crosses his i's on purpose or refrains from doing anything at all, just because he feels like it.  But he doesn't fit into 'the box,' as it were; he doesn't score well on 'the test,' and therefore there must be a problem with him, rather than how they are measuring his capabilities.  But children are not computers that should perform to certain factory specifications, each one is different and unique.  His value and brightness are not assessed solely on his ability to 'compute' as the government or social scientists or whoever decides he must.  They are a hammer and he is a screw, but all they can see when they look at a child is that he ought to be a nail, not comprehending that there is more to his being than what is on their list.

I was thought a slow child, they stuck me in the bottom half of the kindergarten class that wasn't taught to read until a year later.  They threatened special education classes and I remember at least a year of summer school.  Years later I have my doctorate and over all the long years of school (21 in all) I was always in the top of my class (save in handwriting).  It wasn't that I was dumb or slow, I had had a wretched home life and had no social skills, I was shy and awkward and I had been told I was stupid so much I believed it, even later in life with straight A's; I also had a bit of an attitude akin to that of my son: if I thought something was dumb or stupid or not worth my while, I just didn't do it; they mistook won't for can't.  My little boy can be either very stubborn or shy when it comes to strangers, but once he warms up, he is the life of the party.  His is a happier home than ever mine was and he exudes a confidence I'm not sure I've ever possessed, but so too is his will a thing of iron.  He will excel in those things that interest him and disappoint in those areas that don't.  He too might wear the label of ignoramus, but it will be no more true in his case than it was in mine; he will learn what he must, even if it isn't in the time or order 'they' think he must.

I look at that letter and smile, for I don't care what 'the system' labels my son, for I know the truth, but it makes me wonder how many other kids are in a similar situation and lack an understanding advocate, who spend the entirety of their childhood thinking themselves stupid because their unique shape doesn't fit nicely in 'the box' and I wonder what the repercussions are for their self worth and their future lives.  Chilling thought indeed!

The modern cynical mother?

I used to peruse a popular and often humorous 'mommy blog,' where moms could share and laugh over their struggles and know they weren't alone on their strange and wonderful journey, but I have abandoned it in recent months, as it has descended into a cynical and snarky pit of criticism and negativity, wherein political fads push the agenda and all the writers seem to think motherhood is a tortuous form of trench warfare wherein martini drinking is the only solace from the barbarous heathens with whom they are forced to cohabitate for the next 18 years, bemoaning how it has ruined their looks and social lives and how they never 'signed up for this!'  They have forgotten how to laugh, nay, even to smile, and have resigned themselves to the gallows and hope to make the most of their self-imposed martyrdom.  I kept going back, hoping it wasn't so, but each hopeful check only revealed the sad truth that it was indeed the new modus operandi of the site and thus my flight and search for a more realistic alternative.  For what they knew as motherhood was an alien and hostile world to me, their very view of life tainted and twisted.  But all hope is not lost, at least if you stay off that site, I ran across this refreshing article on the truth about motherhood and modern culture.  Enjoy!

An artistic conundrum or a botanical disaster?

My blue flax has an orange mold problem (very possibly 'rust'), and besides for the contrasting color dilemma, it is wreaking havoc on one of my favorite plants.  I tried some nasty stuff in a can that the previous owner left in the shed but that didn't do a thing.  But pinterest assures me that a little baking soda in water will do the trick.  I've used it on my bathroom ceiling with good results, it is cheap and harmless, so why not?  I've been applying the 1/2 tsp/cup of water twice daily and the mold seems to be in retreat (the afflicted leaves are also dying off) but is it that the mold has run its course or that the magic concoction is working?  There are a few more newly affected stems, but not near so bad as it was at the start, of course the weather isn't half so moist either.  The scientist in me demands honesty, and honestly, I can't tell you if it's working or not, at least plants don't have the placebo effect to further complicate matters!  At least it makes me feel like I'm doing something…there must be some catchy name for that too or maybe I'm the one suffering from the placebo effect?  This is getting way more complicated than it should be!  I'd better go pull weeds or make bread or something otherwise violent and thoughtless…or spray some more mold...