Lights Out at Project Enlightenment

Project Enlightenment's lights are out. Not literally, though they might as well be. It seems that those rumors flitting about in March about Project Enlightenment's budget cuts that the school board was squashing were actually right on. At the time the board told us to lighten up. John Tedesco, the board's most vocal newcomer and staunch conservative who's confusing politics with public service, even stated how much he values and supports Project Enlightenment.

Yet with a zip of a box cutter the budget's been slashed.

This isn't about politics. Let's not muddy what's best for children and families with political gain and pretenses of martydom and bootstraps and other such cliches. Children aren't political pawns. Education is a community value.

Hop over to Deep South Moms where I've continued my venting.

Wordless Wednesday: Active(ist).

Wake County School Board Has Me Fired Up...and Worried

Our school board has bullied, bushwhacked, and axed a wedge clear through the county, and it reeks of party line politics. I'm up in arms, fancying myself an activist these days. Read on to see what has me so irate.

Here's a hint: Diversity isn't just about color.

Read Read, It's Good for Your Heart

I remember when Bird was born some people from the church we had joined threw a baby shower for us. Being the most clueless of mothers, I asked the pastor at what point we should start reading to our son. She emphatically charged, "NOW! It's never to early. Read now. Read often. Rejoice." And so from that point on we have cuddled our son in the crook of our laps and read to him. All the classics and treasures and gems from Indian folklore to add a bit of culture to our repertoire. Thank you, Pastor Julie, for your sage advice.

Fast forward several months. Norman, ranking among the kindest, most generous guys I know, gave me and Mac Daddy one of our most favorite gifts to welcome baby Deal into our family: Honey for a Child's Heart.

We loved flipping through this book pointing out our childhood favorites. Sadly, one my favorites isn't listed, and it's not available at my local library. I'll give you my firstborn* if you can get your hands on Andrew Henry's Meadow. I can still picture the tattered lime green cover and ink illustrations. I remember never tiring of that book and daydreaming about escaping to my own meadow. Honey for a Child's Heart speaks to the value in reading aloud to your children and really creating a reading culture in your family. Setting an example is key. Read here about the example I set for Bird. I have about three books on my nightstand at any given time. I carry a book with me practically everywhere (Note: I need an eReader to lighten the load.). My kids see me reading All. The. Time. Reading trumps TV in this house (because we have DVR to watch stuff later).

When I was a child, life at home was rather tumultuous. I craved an escape but had nowhere to go. Books were my light, my savior, my sanity. My most happy times were when my nose was pressed into a book. Then, and now, I was careful not to bend the spine, maintaining the primness of the books I held so sacred. I've lately been reliving my childhood through books that moved me way back when. So far I've read the likes of A Wrinkle in Time, The Borrowers, Sounder, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Bridge to Terabithia, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. It is remarkable to see these tomes through my 41-year old eyes. Most remarkable is that I still love those stories. I cried at the end of Sounder even though I knew the ending and had been anxiously anticipating it through the whole book. Bird just finished a couple Roald Dahl books -- Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Danny Champion of the World. Tonight he embarked on the ambitious journey of the first in the Harry Potter series. I applaud him!

You have no idea how proud I am to see my Bird read. His first experience of "the book was better than the movie" was with The Indian in the Cupboard. Throughout the movie he kept remarking how it had taken liberties with the book. Well, he didn't phrase it that way, but you get my drift. I swell with pride at the very sight of Bird curled up in what we call the comfy chair with a book. He stays up late with his nightstand lamp illuminating the words that beckon him to dreamland. He recounts tales to us at the dinner table and on a good day, he reads to his little brother. The beauty of those two little boys nestled shoulder to shoulder in the comfy chair makes my heart pitter patter and my pride gleam.

Deal, while only four, loves books too. He can sit quietly for ages with his face pressed to a book. At a glance he'd fool you into thinking he's actually reading. He could spend everyday at the library, and they know us by name there. Once, when given the choice of the library or the park, both boys screamed "Library!" in unison. You have no idea how proud I was. Deal and Bird both love when we read aloud to them. Even though Bird can read on his own now, he still relishes that lap time when he gets to hear the words leap from the pages in our character voices. Our laps are getting smaller, but our love for books is growing deeper.
Read on.



*You shall get my firstborn when he is in the throes of disobedience and defiance, not to be returned until he is docile and ducky in demeanor.

Project Enlightenment Saved My Family

I posted this to Facebook this morning when I read about the drastic cuts proposed for Project Enlightenment.

"My family was in crisis when our son was 3. Not medical or financial crisis. Behavioral crisis. It is no hyperbole that we would not be who and where we are today without Project Enlightenment's support and care. Without those counselors and programs, our son would not be thriving in first grade now. The impact of that experience fixed what was a potential shattered relationship with my son at that tender young age. I'm emotional even harkening back to that time. These programs are not just for those people whose paths you don't cross. "Those people." These programs are for ALL of us. And they work."

My fingers quiver on the keyboard as I conjure up the memories of when Bird was 3. He had violent raging temper tantrums. I'm not talking the I-Want-Candy variety. He'd overturn furniture and fling books out of his bookcase in a head spinning rage. He would yell like a banshee and writhe in fits of fury. 15 minutes would pass. Then 30. 40. Most rages lasted 45 minutes to an hour. Full on screaming, flailing, kicking, hitting. Deal was an infant then, cradled snugly in my arms for fear he'd be in the path of Bird's destruction.

Destruction.

Not just his room and his belongings. Our family. Our relationship.

I sat in tears, quaking with stress, worry, fear, resentment. I never knew what would tip the scale to make Bird fly into a tantrum. I tiptoed and spent every waking moment anxiously awaiting the rage to begin. He saved it all up for me. Bird didn't demonstrate this behavior at school. Whatever he corked up at school came gushing out at me. He spewed all his emotional venom and bile upon me. We spent many hours huddled in his room sobbing. Feeling helpless. Alone. Defeated. Guilty. And just terribly sad.

All while tending to an infant.

I was alone. No family support. A husband at a new job.

Bird's tantrums were escalating. It was as if he were possessed. Seriously out of control and a danger to himself. I began to resent this behavior. To resent my own son. Do you know how that feels? I feel ashamed admitting it now. My heads hangs, my whole being awash of guilt. I defied all truths of motherhood; suddenly I was rewriting what unconditional looked like. I loved Bird, of course, but I didn't want to be around him. I didn't want to cater to him and fear him. I wanted to instead protect the sweet baby Deal who was innocent and vulnerable. And yes, easy. Easy to love. Easy to care for. Easy to adore. Then I was swept with such guilt for feeling so that I mentally collapsed.

Once, just once, I slapped my son.

In the midst of one particularly violent rage I slapped Bird across the cheek thinking I could get him to snap out of it. It didn't work. He didn't even take note of my hot hand on his wet cheek. I still feel the sensation of my sweaty shaking palm making contact with his tear streamed soft skin. His face. I literally shake my hand to get rid of the sensation as if it were an EtchASketch. My eyes well with tears and a coal-like lump rises in my throat as I write this. I've never said this before. I never talked about what hell it really was. For all of us.

But that afternoon I called Mac Daddy. I told him I couldn't do it anymore. I wasn't fit to be a mother. I was overwhelmed and under supported. In retrospect I am most certain I suffered remnants of undiagnosed and untended-to post partum depression. I was the camel, and my slapping palm was the straw.

We called Project Enlightenment.

Our counselor saved us. Saved me. Saved our son. Saved our relationship. Without the skills and insights and therapy we received....

I'm afraid to even think what might have been.

Project Enlightenment gave us specific tools, words, exercises to manage Bird's tantrums. We learned how to handle anger, fear, anxiety, in him and in ourselves. We learned how the parenting we were a product of made us the parents we were becoming. We learned how to repair what was shattered. Just yesterday I opened my Project Enlightenment file to get a quick refresher on how to teach empathy to my sons.

That file has sat atop my desk for almost four years. Its contents are dog eared and highlighted. Those resources have given me my son back. Project Enlightenment served a need, a desperate need, that no doctor or grandparent or teacher could have filled. Or fixed.

If our counselor at Project Enlightenment hadn't helped us, my resentment toward Bird would have surely escalated. I know this much is true. I find myself still battling it at the times he's particularly difficult or defiant now. My brain takes me back to those fits when he was three, and I think, "Haven't we been through this? Haven't I paid my parenting dues?" But now I know how to change. Now I know what resonates with him. Now I know. The self loathing I have from that time still haunts me. There are times I want to rewind, words I want to retract, steps I want to retrace.

Project Enlightenment, while unable to magically erase or rewrite the past, has enabled us to walk into a shinier future. Hand in hand.

Bird is now a thriving first grader. He has no behavioral or medical or psychological issues. Well, he does pick on his little brother and talks too much in class, but that's all normal, right? My Bird is bright, curious, eager, and awfully funny. He knows he is loved and adored. I still call him my first baby when I kiss him good night. We exchange Eskimo kisses, butterfly kisses, and lip kisses. Then he blows me a kiss from his bed, and I pretend to catch it and put it on my cheek. This is our ritual.

And we have Project Enlightenment to thank.

Join the Facebook Group here.
Send an email to the school board. You'll find their contact information here.
Write to the paper.

Raise your voices, people. Cutting funding for early childhood development and education will prove to be disastrous, and expensive. Our children are an investment, not an expense.

Sit mens sana in corpore sano

The Spartans believed in a healthy mind in a healthy body. Shouldn't we embrace that basic tenet as Americans?

Mushy brain in a mushy body is more like it.

Michelle Obama's Let's Move Initiative and Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack Have Me Fired Up

Tater tots, while funny in Napoleon Dynamite, are not the stuff of healthy lunches.

Green beans with no crunch and the slightly tinny taste of a can. I'll pass.

Cole slaw bathing in mayonnaise. Not the best way to dress the otherwise healthy cabbage.

Hot dogs full of nitrites, sodium, and um, meat parts perched in a bleached white bun. Gag.

Ketchup and french fries deemed vegetable servings. You've got to be kidding me.

Fruit cocktail in which the cherry is more the color of a mustang convertible than what grew on George Washington's tree. Gotta be FD&C Red #3 Erythrosine.

Chocolate milk. Strawberry milk. Soda vending machines. Looks like the Wiggles need to teach all youngsters to Gulp Gulp drink some water.

Such are the "healthy" options deemed appropriate for school lunches. The very institution that enriches our children's minds poisons their bellies. No matter how gifted the student, he'd be hard pressed to properly pronounce the ingredients and additives that comprise his lunch.

Propylene glycol.
Sodium nitrite.
High fructose corn syrup.
Monosodium glutamate.
Potassium bromate.
Butylated hydroxyanisole.
Butylated hydroxytoluene.

Sounds more like the chemistry lab than the school cafeteria. What a ghastly disservice to our kids. Some of those kids only get a "nutritious" meal at school. Some of those kids don't have produce drawers stocked with snap peas for munching and bowls of washed fruit within reach. While we're pumping our students' brains with reading, fractions, history, and the arts, shouldn't we add a healthy dollop of nutrition and activity? How many school districts do you know of that have reduced or all together axed their PE programs?

We as a nation of partisan bureaucratic greed mongers, choose to fail our children. This is not a byproduct of government snafus; this is a conscious choice. It's no cliche that children are indeed our future. Our future is starting to look bleak.

We see childhood obesity rise while test scores plummet. We sit back and nod our heads to news that for the first time a generation's life expectancy will be shorter than that before it. We cross our arms and ignore the rapidly rising rates of childhood diabetes. We are incredulous that children have high cholesterol. We wonder why health care costs soar to jaw dropping peaks.

Corn subsidies and continued policies that put the value of a buck over the value of a child are why we see such a drastic increase in childhood obesity. Look around, people. What you see ain't pretty. Chunky babies are cute; portly preteens not so much. While their bodies fail them their self-esteem gnaws away at their core. Eating disorders ensue. Yo yo dieting perpetuates health concerns. Broken self-esteem leads to grave insecurity and depression.

In the case of my childhood friend, poor eating literally lead her to the grave. Dead of anorexia at age 16. She battled weight her whole life, having been poked fun of as the chubby kid one too many times.

I was fortunate to participate in a conference call with Tom Vilsack, Secretary of Agriculture. He shared his personal tale of childhood obesity and the indelible mark it left on his psyche. He shared his vision of keeping our children safe and well. We talked about Michelle Obama's initiative Let's Move and how she, as a shining paragon of health, can help shape our nation's food policies and school programs. Fingers crossed!

The goals of Let's Move are simple:

• Give parents the support they need.
• Provide healthier food in our schools.
• Help kids be more physically active.
• Make healthy food affordable.

Do I hear an AMEN?!

And while I find packing lunches the most tedious task in my nightly routine, it's the most important one. I might fail my sons in multiple ways, but through their bellies ain't one of 'em.


For more of my food rants and raves, check out:
Foodie Mama
GoAskMom

Things I Didn't Say When I Was 5

My Bird is teetering on the cusp of 6. He just finished kindergarten and is warming up for first grade. First grade! Bird is a smart one. I realize that statement holds no credibility, considering they are borne from the keyboard of me, his mother. But trust me, he is a smart cookie. I imagine he takes after me. Ahem. Bird's precocious in a way that is charming and often alarming.

I wish I could hook him up to a tape recorder, if such a thing still exists, so I could capture the funny, crazy, silly, ridiculous stuff that he blurts out. I am amazed at the way his brain works, not only as a testament to the inner workings of his very being, but the sheer shift in how times have changed.

Just a sampling of things I know I did not say when I was 5-years old:

1. This one time, in Chinese class...
2. My German teacher said...
3. That water is zu heiss!
4. I think we need surround sound.
5. Whale is a three-way homonym.
6. But's a homonym too.
7. That hair is called blonde, not yellow, Deal.
8. I'm a LEGO architect.
9. Actually, Mommy, that is a crustacean.
10. My brain must be smart because my head is hard, not mushy.
11. Take my picture! Now can I see it?
12. Can you please pause the TV while I go to the bathroom?
13. Can you please fast forward through the commercials?
14. More proscuitto, please.
15. I'd like to have mussels for dinner tonight.
16. Do those popsicles have high fructose corn syrup in them?
17. The guy in that Hummer thinks he's so cool.
18. That huge car is bad for the environment.
19. Here are my plastic sandwich bags to wash and reuse.
20. Every animal has a job to do on our earth.
21. Sometimes you don't know who's a man and who's a woman because boys can have long hair and earrings.
22. We need some more olives.
23. Smoked salmon for breakfast? Only if we have capers?
24. Super heroes don't exist. Someone just made up the stories to teach us stuff about being strong and respectful.
25. That house is obnoxious!
26. Today in school we learned about nanotechnology.
27. Don't forget to pack the beer for the grown ups!
28. Sometimes the truth makes people feel bad.
    
29. Are you going to blog about that. Mommy?
30. Are you going to tweet what I just said?

So tell me, what are your kids saying that floor you?

Summer Slide

I love summer. I work fewer hours so I can be home with Bird and Deal while school is out (the biggest perk to running my own marketing consulting business!). Since Bird is perched on the cusp of first grade, I especially love the time we have together over the summer. He often feels left out when, at the end of the day, an anxious Deal who has patiently waited for his big brother to get home from school, sputters on and on about our adventures and escapades from the day. Bird shrugs it off, but I can tell he feels like he never gets to join in our reindeer games.

Our weekend jaunts are markedly different from the places we frequent during the off hours Monday to Friday. We rarely go to the same places with the boys over the weekends because a warehouse full of jumpy houses is utter mayhem. A stress factory. So I suppose Bird does get ripped off. I promised him that our summer would be chock full of adventures, popsicles, Happy Meals, matinees, swimming, exploring, duck feeding, and general frolicking. The boys have half-day camp one week a month, all by design. There's no need to over schedule kids, for childhood is precious. Bird, Deal, and I spend our days relaxing and romping.

We stay in our pajamas until lunch time.
We eat pancakes and waffles and breakfast sundaes.
We build LEGO vehicles and race them down the hallway.
We watch Ace of Cakes.
We make Playdoh cannolis.
We paint.
We make popsicles.
We eat store bought popsicles because we are too impatient to wait for ours to freeze.
We rock out to Mamma Mia.
We build ramps and catapults.

And that's all before lunch.

But the lazy days of summer can go too far. Education is not folly.

Three months of no teachers, schedule, routine, or homework can be detrimental. Imagine doing your job after a three month hiatus. I don't want my kids to spend the first two months of school re-learning everything they accomplished. Bird ended his kindergarten year as a pretty strong reader and mathy kid. One month into summer vacation has killed it. He loses a brain cell for every firefly that lights up its glowing bum. The adage "practice makes perfect" should not be reserved for the September to June months.

Now I'm not a believer in summer tutors, ruler-on-the-knuckles study time, or any such Draconian measures, but I do think summer is a time to keep the ole noggin fresh. And I ain't talkin' a certain "preschool on TV" variety.

And so I traipsed off the to Teach Me store to stock up on school supplies. Bird has some workbooks to complete, and Deal has letter writing to practice. They actually enjoy their "school" time, and they'll never admit to this, but they like the break from running around like banshees. Deal learns an awful lot just from watching and listening to Bird. Bird likes to engage his brain and thrives on taxing himself. He's a creative, energetic, precocious kid who loves T-Ball and Transformers. But he gets jacked up on learning too. What a disservice it would be to take that away from him. We don't have formal study hall or anything and we don't even pull out the pencils everyday. But we do have workbook time throughout the week, and I squeeze in a seat at the kitchen table to chat, explain, and help.

I know naysayers are out there grumbling the whole "they're only kids once" drivel. I echo that with an emphatic yes, they are only kids once. We owe it to our children to teach them about balance, education, discipline. The Spartans believed in a sound mind and a sound body. I think those toga clad dudes had it right. Learning and Fun are not mutually exclusive. At any age.

So if you're looking for ways to engage your kids, come up with clever crafty ideas, or just figure out what to do about swimmers ear, check out Shine from Yahoo. And get yourself a subscription to Family Fun magazine. Oh, and here's my secret to making reading seem like a video game...BrainFlips online flashcards. There are tons of fun ways to exercise those blank slate kiddie minds. A little laughter tossed with a little learning will go a long way.

Here's to "Summer Slide" referring to just the playground equipment and a kicky pair of sandals!

Contact is the Secret

Does anyone else remember this show? I used to love it when I was geeky youngster. It fed my love of science, even if my grades didn't reflect it.

Spelling Lessons

Bird is learning to read. We are very proud. I love to read too. Bird is also learning to spell.

"F-A-R-T"

"Fart! I spelled fart! Fart! Fart! Fart!"

Laughter, guffawing, chuckling ensues.

Boys will be boys, as they say. And by boys, I mean anyone with a Y chromosome. Apparently fart jokes don't get stale at any age. Mac Daddy, at the ripe age of 40, was busting a gut. He was trying to hide his over zealous amusement, but I totally nabbed him.

What's next on the list of life lessons a father teaches his son? Pull my finger? I guess that's all I can expect from the Old Fart.

Help Kids Get Classroom Supplies. Please.

Bird has the privilege of going to a top notch school. Public school. He has a gecko in his classroom. And some pretty cool snails that require his teacher to have special snail certification. He has books galore, comfy nooks to curl up in, a microscope, dozens of Legos, crayons, markers, pencils, glue, glitter, construction paper, notebook paper, newspaper, bubbles, baubles, and building blocks. Those schools want for nothing. Well, the teachers probably want more money, and I cannot blame them.

Robeson County is North Carolina's poorest county. The median income is $13,244 (I could spend hours poring over Census data!). Now imagine feeding, clothing, protecting, transporting, and nurturing your children for that amount. And that's not to mention healthcare and insurance. Or god forbid birthdays and holidays. This is a place where parents hope their kids don't lose their baby teeth because the Tooth Fairy is flat broke.

I'd like to do my part to help those kids get a more enriching education. And to equip those dedicated teachers to give those kids every opportunity my Bird has in kindergarten. It's the least I can do.

Donors Choose helps teachers make requests for specific items they need to supplement their classrooms and curricula. I'd like to help out a teacher in Robeson County and I'm asking my readers to give a dime or ten too. Literally one dollar would help. Like with exercise and with voting, every little bit helps. In aggregate we are more powerful than as one.

Just click on the Donors Choose little widget thingee in my lefthand sidebar. It's fast and easy to donate. And it'll feel better than those warm fuzzy slippers tucked by your nightstand.

His Future's Not Bright, Take Off the Blinders

I do not wish for a future like Levi Johnston's for my sons. The Republicans are saying "Life happens." In my world, Levi's situation feels more like "shit happens."

Take a look at Levi's MySpace page. He sounds like a typical uneducated, smart ass, punk, jock of a guy. Not the kind of gracious souled gentlemen I want my boys to become. I realize boys will be boys. The saying does not proclaim, however, that boys will be heathens. And if I had a daughter, hell if I'd want her to marry a guy like Levi. Take a look for yourself.

Excerpted from his MySpace page, Johnston boasts, "I'm a fuckin' redneck" who likes to snowboard and ride dirt bikes.

"But I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing, shoot some shit and just fuckiin' chillin' I guess."

"Ya fuck with me I'll kick [your] ass," he added.

He also claims to be "in a relationship," but states, "I don't want kids."

His folks must be whiz bang proud. Yeah, I'm hip like the cool kids saying things like "whiz bang." I'm just happenin' like that, ya know.

I happen to know a few 18-year old boys. They are gracious, ambitious, polite, witty, and charming (not in an Eddie Haskell way). They have bright futures. The boys I knew when I was an 18-year old myself were as randy as the rest, but none would have sounded as egotistical, rude, and plain neanderthal as Levi Johnston. Nope, not son in law material for my girl (Granted, I don't have one.).

I'm simply saying that as a mother, I am appalled. Granted, perhaps naive too. When I read that MySpace page my heart jumped with a tinge of shame, worry, embarrassment, and even empathy for Mrs. Johnston. I am certain that she envisioned a different future for her son, as I do for mine. I am just struck my his seeming lack of empathy, brute ruggedness, and gross display of testosterone. What insecurity lurks behind all that machismo? I do not think those statements necessarily make the boy, but they sure lay one hell of a foundation.

Oh, and so much for not wanting kids. Is this guy really ready for fatherhood? I find it so unfair that we don't choose our parents. This child will come to the world with many strikes against him/her. Love is critical, yes. But what life lessons can a teenage mother and father impart when they have yet to experience life themselves? Cliche, perhaps. True, indeed. I write this without political motivation. I write this as a mother. As a 35-year old first time mother who still found herself floundering, hormonal, overwhelmed, awestruck, confused, excitable, moved, and impressionable.

Teaching abstinence in schools is plain irresponsible. The people who believe that teaching abstinence equates to taking the moral high ground might as well move to the lush savannahs of Africa and put their heads in the ground among a flock of ostriches.

Kindergarten: Beginning or End?

I wrote about the unofficial start to kindergarten last week. Today was the real deal. Does today's milestone mark the end of a beginning? The beginning of an end? Is it an end of sorts or simply a new beginning?

Bird was a champ, even humoring me, posing for photos. He was silly, excited, anxious, and delightful. I think his Batman lunchbox gave him super special powers.

Me? I should win an Oscar for Best Performance by a Mother Dropping Her Son Off for the First Day of Kindergarten.

Mac Daddy, Deal, and I accompanied Bird to school. We drove separately since Mac Daddy had to leave to head out of town. The boys rode with Mac Daddy, leaving me with nothing but NPR to distract me. That was a tall order for BBC News Hour today. I silently wept to myself, not even wiping my tears with the back of my hand. Not the full blown heaving cry, but tears that trickle and sobs that whisper. Five years flashed before me in a nanosecond, which is about the amount of time it seems has passed.

I spend much of my time butting heads and wills with Bird and I admittedly threaten to put him on Ebay an awful lot (I have said that I would pay someone to take him. Mother of the year, material, I know). I even put him in time out on his birthday, but that's another story. However, at the end of the day, he is my kindred spirit. I feel his pains and joys like they are my own because he is me. I see myself in his every action, word, grimace, sneer, chuckle, pang, aha moment.

And so I wept for the hiccup of time I had with my son before he turns his wings to glide elsewhere. My wingspan no longer enough for him.

Bird positively galloped down the steps and hung up his backpack as if it were on the hook in our own mudroom. The kid didn't miss a beat. I ran ahead to dutifully fulfill my shutterbug responsibilities. I nuzzled my face into his hair and shed some more tears. Super silent this time, lest I project my anxiety onto him. Bird was hesitant to sit at his table at first, but one look at the gecko eyeballing him from the neighboring table distracted him enough to take a seat and stare back. We hastily gave our kisses, hugs, squeezes, words of encouragement, more kisses, and were on our way. I peeked through the forest of little heads and snapped a photo of Bird cracking up while cozying up to his tablemates. That kid lights up when he has an audience.

Cue Niagara Falls upon my feet hitting the sidewalk. Mac Daddy gave me a hug, said his requisite words of comfort, and left. Truth is, he didn't know what to do with me. Truth is, his world does not change. He'll still see Bird before work, after work, and for the random lunch date here and there. It is my world that changed forever today. It is I who grew the wings and sent them off to fly today.

I swallowed my tears, grabbed Deal up into my arms with an extra hard squeeze, and hit the gym. If there was ever a day I needed Jason to work my ass to a pulp, it was today.

I am not worried about my Bird at all. He will make me proud and have the guts and gumption to be and do more than I did.

And me? I'm anxiously waiting for 3:45.

Environment 101 for Kids: Let Us Edutain You

For some reason I can't get the video file to embed. Click this link instead for a quickie on global warming.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GKZJkYIjvY

A certain generation of terry cloth romper clad kids remembers Woodsy Owl teaching us to give a hoot, don't pollute. I recall those days of the crying Indian, Schoolhouse Rock, and McGruff peppering Saturday mornings. Public service announcements were great then, and I love watching them on Boomerang now. Hanker for a hunka cheese, anyone? Oh, and the joys of rushing home from school to catch some Deenie-esque character struggling for popularity while trying to become a member of the world class mathlete team on the ABC Afterschool Special!

The 70s were great.

I do, however, consider myself a child of the 80s. I guess you could say I came of age in the 80s, with a wild streak inspired by Cindy Lauper and Madonna a la Holiday. And I tell you what, this girl still wants to have fun! But I digress... I stopped watching cartoons in the 80s, focusing my time on valiant efforts such as reading War and Peace. Yeah right. I was busy reading Seventeen magazine, stealing glimpses of Cosmo when I got the chance. No crying Indians or mention of pollution in those rags. Woodsy Owl had flown the coop years before. I have no idea what happened to the keen eye on the environment and our planet's future.

In those early years society had a steely eye on the future, encouraging kids to take care of the planet. That mentality was quickly replaced with the obscene consumerism of the 80s. Some might argue we are still paying for that and have yet to learn our lesson. Yes, I'm talking to you, you money grubbers tearing down houses in my historic neighborhood of 1920s-era bungalows and putting up energy sucking behemoths in their place! Am I digressing again?

So here's my question? What happened? Where did the ad dollars go for all those nifty PSAs? Why has no one done a damn thing to educate kids (and adults for that matter) about the environment? We proved 30 years ago that it is indeed possible to speak to the school age set about heavy topics without sounding preachy, scary, or righteous. We're talking about everyday, simple things that kids as young as 3 can start doing to become conscious and conscientious citizens. Shouldn't we be raising stewards of our planet?

Well, guess what? I've discovered a new children's cartoon series about this very topic, with a timely modern perspective. Welcome to Heartwood USA, where being green is a super power.
In case you missed the link above, you can see it here too. This is a kids' cartoon currently in production, and I think it really has potential.

Think about it, what earthy messages are your kids getting that don't come straight from you? Nothing my kids watch tells a story about being a responsible patron of the planet. Sure, on paper that doesn't sound very fun, but I assure you that an amoeba singing about cheese looked even worse on paper.

Being the marketing consultant and consumer researcher that I am (really, I am in my other life; people actually pay me to do this stuff in my consulting business!), I conducted my own kids and parents focus groups just for kicks. Everyone I talked to in my very statistically unsound research was delighted with the cartoon. Carson proves to be a real-life super hero, demonstrating to the Hannah Montana crowd that one person can truly make a difference. There's even potty humor to boot, which left Bird asking me what the word "fart" means. OK, so my knock against that word; just use a different term. Surely there's something in our vernacular between fart and flatulate that fits the bill. Cut the cheese, anyone?

The paparazzi's coming...I just know it.

Hey look, Dirt & Noise is famous!

The Big O

This morning Bird was working on writing his upper case alphabet in a little workbook I got for him at the Teach Me store. He was doing a great job, and we had fun cheering and squealing together as he rounded out a perfect G and stayed within the lines on a particularly difficult J.

The next thing I know, he's breezed through a bunch of letters while I stepped away to make blueberry blintzes for breakfast, and I hear, "Here comes the Big O!" He said it with the same sarcastic yet humorous tone that Mac Daddy would have used, so I worried for a moment that Bird indeed understood the context of his exclamation.

Alas, the next thing he said was, "Here comes the Big N!" The way I heard it, however, the N got less fervor than the O.

And speaking of the Big O, you gotta see the T-shirt that I'm dying to muster up the moxie to put on my boys.

Gears in Motion

When Bird and Deal were babies every little burp, toot, or giggle was send-me-to-the-moon adorable. Every new discovery was heart warming and just propelled me to look forward to the next big thing. Sitting up blew me over. Crawling had me clapping my hands in a fury. Walking made me run in place stomping with pride. Talking forced me to shut up to hear my own children's voices. Bird's first word was dog. Ball, for Deal. Mac Daddy and I were swimming in sheer delight at all the things our boys were learning.

Those physical feats got nothin' on the mental goings on in their preschool brains now.

I am amazed every day at the thought processes in those little noggins. I swear, I can see the gears in motion. Bird is full of questions that are sometimes impossible to answer. Deal rattles off observations in a series of non sequitors. Bird is at the early stages of reading and writing, two things I have loved my whole life, so it is particularly amazing to see this learning process unfold before my very eyes. So far, Bird has really developed a love for words. His new quest is to find homonyms, which leaves Deal asking if virtually every word he utters is indeed a homonym. No, firetruck is not a homonym, but plane is. Mac Daddy and I must stop spelling very soon - no more looking at the clock saying it's almost time for B-E-D.

I don't recall my parents being so excited about what I was learning at any stage of my education and development. Perhaps it was cultural, but we were just expected to do well. Reading before kindergarten? Big deal. Paying for grades? No way! I don't recall many instances of pride welling up in the house. To be honest, I don't recall much from my childhood, consciously or subconsciously. I'm not saying my folks weren't supportive. I just don't remember it. Rather, I don't remember how I felt growing up (other than sometimes anxious and stressed since there were hard times in our home). All I recall is my mom and dad going through the motions to care for us physically. I'm not judging or knocking it; I'm simply remarking on the paradigm that's my reality. I'm pretty sure the parenting books back in the day didn't talk about a child's self esteem. I'm pretty sure there weren't a gazillion books available back in the day. And Parent Center was certainly not around!

Mac Daddy and I definitely raise Bird and Deal differently from our upbringing (not that it's not without its mistakes, lapses, and oversights). I hope that as adults our boys will remember the feeling of being loved and appreciated. I hope that they realize, now and later, that we well with pride and glee at the sweet, smart, funny boys they are growing into. I hope we are making them feel and know that they have enriched our lives in ways that words are inadequate to express.

I want them to remember the simple times when we sit at the kitchen table painting letters in pudding or spelling silly words out of Playdoh. I hope they remember all the time we spend nuzzled together reading books - the same books time after time after time; we could recite The Lorax by memory by now. I hope that in some small way, we teach our children about pride, a love of learning, and that there's more fun to be had at home than anywhere else. Yeah, that'll change when their buddies get gaming systems and we still have an analog TV with 3 channels. Or when they discover girls. Egads!