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.

Everyday is Earth Day

Earth Day is like Valentine's Day to me. Do we really need a day to go rah rah and ignore the hearty issues the rest of the year? It's like being treacly sweet and clad in pink lace to woo your man one day of the year and check the hubba hubba off your list. I don't get it.

One day does not a habit make.

Everyday is Earth Day in my house. I need a T-shirt that says so.

Bird and Deal are in on it, and I love when they follow Mac Daddy to the trash and bust him tossing junk mail in there and yelp for him to put it in the recycling bin. Nowadays our trash can is practically empty while our recycling bin overflows. I am a nutso, recycling clothing tags and all bits of cardboard that pass through my fingertips. And yes, paper towel and toilet paper rolls can be recycled too, folks! We also save all sorts of "trash" in the art project box to craft into various nifty creations. Egg cartons are a big hit. Ditto for wrapping paper tubes...except that no matter the project at hand, those turn into swords or light sabers.

I happen to love Earth Day and get jazzed by all the attention it gets. Earth Day totally kicks Arbor Day's ass. It's kinda a shame since Arbor Day is all about the trees and all. Earth Day is the only holiday that espouses Love Your Mother. I happen to dig the double entendre.

Oh Earth, how do we love thee. Let me count the ways...

1. Our garden is planted: lettuce, chard, spinach, cucumbers, beets, green beans, tomatoes, all sorts of peppers, mint, basil, sage, lavender, thyme, cilantro.
2. We're the last family in North Carolina to turn on our air conditioning and the first to turn it off. Also, it's set at 80. Heat is set at 67 in winter. Mostly we rely on open windows and ceiling fans. And if you visit us in winter, pack extra socks. Pack scantily when traveling here in summer.
   
3. We ditched plastic water bottles. Thermoses are all the rage.
4. Mac Daddy packs lunch for the boys in reusable containers. When we do use plastic bags, we wash them and reuse them. Over and over and over.
5. When we take walks, we take along garbage bags and pick up trash. And wow is there a heap of junk littering our walkways, waters, and wildlife.
6. No dog poop is left behind.
7. Most of what we eat is organic (and local!).
8. All our appliances are energy efficient. And yes, we explain what that means to our kids.
9. Hand-me-downs rule. So do thrift stores and girlfriends' closets.
10. All our cleaning products are green. No bleach and icky fumes that make you go ewwwww...
11. Even our toothpaste is chemical free.
12. Deal collects rainwater in sand buckets to water the garden.
13. We embrace our clovered, creeping charlied "lawn." No ChemLawn here. And no, I'm not fooled by the rebranding to TruGreen.
14. I don't vacuum often. This saves electricity, right?
15. I turn my underwear inside out to double the wear. KIDDING! You know the neatnik in my couldn't stand for such a gross violation of grooming.
16. Rain organic vodka is the bomb.
17. If I used FourSquare or TriOut or any such location blabbering tool, I'd be the mayor of the public library.
18. Our cars, while not hybrids or electric, are not behemoths.
19. Front load washing machine. Double the load, half the energy and water.
20. We talk to our sons about the environment and our responsibility to it.
    

My family doesn't take drastic strides to be green. We value our planet more than we value a pristine lawn. That's about values, not sacrifices. Every one of us is a visitor here, and we owe it to our children (and theirs) to leave the earth a better place. Cliches ring true for a reason.

Everyday is Earth Day.

At least it should be.

The Day My 6 Year Old Asked Me About Abortion

I drive by a particular Catholic church in my neighborhood almost every single day for one reason or another (mostly because that route leads to Target and Trader Joe's). Normally I'm a big believer in letting people believe whatever they want. While I am a vehemently opinionated soul, I do not use my breath to spew my ideals to anyone who will listen (As for this blog, you choose to come here, right? No prodding or payment from me. No payment for me either, for that matter.). I don't believe in proselytizing. I don't believe in incendiary messages spouted from soapboxes. I don't believe in subjecting children to hideously complicated adult paradigms.

What I believe is it is my job, my duty, my honor, to protect my children.

Please check out my post on Deep South Moms about what has me up in arms about what this particular church is doing to pollute precious, innocent minds.

Here's a hint:

No mother of a six year old should have to answer the question, "Mommy, what does 'abortion kills babies' mean?"

Steaz, Please

I've been drinking.

I recently got some samples of a new beverage hitting store shelves. While it's not of the alcoholic ilk to fit right in with 5:00 Fridays, it's a dandy drink nonetheless. And let me be clear here in the interest of disclosure: I got these samples for free, with no obligations to write a darn thing. You know that being the opining foodie and mixologist that I fancy myself to be, I like to share the little things that I discover and dig.

With that being said, as soon as I took one sip I tweeted that I want to marry this company.

I don't generally drink anything but water, coffee, wine, beer, and whatever I'm serving up at 5:00. We don't have soda in the house, and there aren't iced tea fixins to be found (reason enough to kick me out of the South...Shhh...mum's the word). My children get the choice of water or milk with the occasional juice (that I dilute with water). We do indulge in fresh apple cider in the fall and egg nog as soon as it lands on store shelves (sans brandy for the boys, natch). But this new stuff has just expanded my thirst quenching repertoire.

Well, I suppose by now you want to know the nectar of which I speak.

Steaz.

It's an all natural, fair trade, organic iced tea. Iced tea. Here comes another gonna-get-me-kicked-out-of-the-South confession: I am not a fan of sweet tea. But Steaz has an ever so slight hint of sweetness that is neither treacly like Bojangles tea nor nauseating in that carcinogenic, fake sweet way that the aspartame/Splenda crowd tastes. The flavors of Steaz are amazing. I think the pomegranate with a hint of lime is my favorite. I wouldn't normally be so gaga over a lousy iced tea, but anything that is all natural, fair trade, organic (and tastes good) totally speaks my language.

Let me be clear. Steaz is no big brand disguised as a newbie. Steaz is the consummate little fish in a big pond story. Make that a little fish in a Michael Phelps kind of way. Did I mention that you can buy Steaz in the ultimate of brand distribution hot spots. If you guessed Target you hit the bullseye! Happy dance that I can easily find this delectable refreshing treat that comes in a great big ole can!

But let's be clear, this stuff is so good, I might not share. Lucky for you there's a buy one get one coupon deal going on right now.

And don't be surprised if I try Steaz with a shot of some Rain organic vodka one of these days.

Food Safety: Caveat Emptor

"Caveat Emptor: is one of the many phrases I remember from my early days of Latin in the esteemed Dr. Larrick's class. (Sidebar: Every student should have been lucky enough to have had Dr. Larrick. He continues to inspire students in ways few can. Teaching is a gift. One that he keeps on giving. And for that we are thankful.) Anyhoo, "Caveat Emptor" is of course the commerce principle that means the buyer assumes the risk. It translates to "Let the buyer beware." We generally think of this in terms of purchasing cars, property, and pretty much anything from eBay, Craigslist, or the classified section (that is, if anyone still lists and buys stuff that way these days).

I never thought Caveat Emptor would apply to the food I buy.

We take leaps of faith everyday. We trust that the drivers among us will stop when the light is red. We trust our children's schools are secure. We trust that the bank protects our money. We trust that our municipality's water reading is accurate. We trust our cribs are tested and our toys lead-free. We trust the food stocked upon market shelves is safe.

Thanks to the likes of Stewart Parnell, the infamous Salmonella Peanut King, consumers can no longer afford to take a leap of faith when it comes to food purchases. The FDA has long been riddled with powerlessness and plagued with inefficiencies. Food safety, and in effect consumer wellness, has been on the back burner. It seems to me that we as a nation have focused more on making a buck and pulling a fast one on consumers than protecting public health. I'm thinking of the policies and attitudes of a certain eight years in the all-too-recent-past. Ahem. The FDA, through years of neglect and failure to modernize itself, has floundered in protecting us.

Well finally, in a bipartisan leap, the food safety bill looks like it's making headway to overhaul the FDA. Despite the fact that the Senate looks like it will wait until next year to address it, the bill is still getting some much deserved attention. It's at least a starting point. Slow but steady, right? The FDA, the government organization upon which we rely to ensure the food we consume is safe, has had puny resources to actually to its job, making us take leaps of faith in the grocery aisle, off restaurant menus, and in school cafeterias without even knowing it.

Spinach. Peanuts. Cookie dough. Ground beef. Chicken. Pet food.

Pretty basic items on any grocery list, right?

E. coli. Salmonella. Listeria.

I bet those aren't on your shopping list.


So where do we go from here?

Until our government gets rolling on passing and implementing this new food safety bill, it behooves us all to exercise Caveat Emptor in every food purchase we make. Even buying local, organically produced food does not guarantee it's safe for consumption.

Note that I write this a mother, a cook, a consumer. I'm not a pundit, a biologist, a lawyer, a lobbyist, or a politician. And my bet is that if you're not either, you too don't care about the in-fighting. We simply want to trust that the food we serve our children is not tainted. Food is sustenance, and should not be suspect.


Check out these resources for more information.
Safe Tables
@SafeTables on Twitter
Sign up for eAlerts about food recalls.
FDA food safety


PS
Thanks to Senator Dick Durbin of Illinois, Mike Taylor, advisor to the FDA Commissioner, Safe Tables and the fine bloggers (@GloPan, @punditmom, @morningsidemom, @soapboxmom, @jippert) who joined in on an informative call last week about food safety. Cheers to good health instead of just wealth!

Marriott is a Disgrace: A Loyal Marriotteer No More

Marriott has always been one of my favorite brands. It was a staple on my T & E reports from way back in the day when I traveled regularly for business. A bunch of us crashed at a Residence Inn somewhere near Alpine Valley all those years ago when we road tripped annually to Jimmy Buffett shows. Mac Daddy and I choose Marriott brands over any others on our family trips. Mac Daddy prefers a stay at any one of the Marriott family of hotels when he travels for work, which is more often than not. Even in my marketing consulting business I refer to Marriott as the gold standard of stellar brand architecture. I have been a loyal Marriott patron, investor, and fan. A veritable Marriotteer.

Once I even got a call from the office of JW Marriott himself after he received a letter I wrote condemning another hotel's lack of safety, cleanliness, and hospitality, while praising Marriott's. The call was timely and personal and cemented my love affair with the Marriott brand.

The love affair is over. And it is beyond repair.

Marriott is a despicable disgrace.

Bile gurgles up the back of my throat as I even say the brand name.

A woman, a mother of two, was raped in a Marriott parking garage. In front of her 3 and 5 year old children (THE SAME AGE AS MY SONS!). This mother was raped at gunpoint, with the rapist threatening sexual assualt against her children if she did not comply. That could have been me. Or you. Any one of us.

Instead of issuing an apology, offering counseling, or financial retribution, Marriott blames the woman for her own rape. Marriott recently issued a statement saying how there has been a grave mistake that has led the public to think it is unsympathetic to the woman, her children, and victims of violent crime. Read the full statement here...and prepare to dry heave.

I'm not buying it, assholes.

And that little blurb on your website about the Marriott culture, core values, and social responsibility. Bullshit.

Here's an excerpt:
"Marriott's reputation for superior customer service rises out of a long tradition that started with J. Willard Marriott's simple goal for Hot Shoppes to provide "Good Food and Good Service at a Fair Price"

• "Do Whatever it Takes to Take Care of the Customer"
• Pay extraordinary attention to detail
• Take pride in their physical surroundings
• Use their creativity to find new ways to meet the needs of customers"

"Attention to detail" and "the customer is always right" are mentioned in the company's core values.

Like I said, Bullshit.

I am so sickened that I can hardly write this post coherently. I shudder and feel slightly like vomiting every time I read another news story. And if I were to actually upchuck, I would package it up and mail it to Stephen Brown, one among many of Marriott's cadre of lawyers, and all the fat cat C-suite executives. Stephen Brown got paid big bucks to rape this woman again.

Apparently the safety and security of Marriott's guests is not paramount. And if a woman is raped by a lurking lunatic who had been hanging around the hotel parking garage for days (days!), the rape is clearly her fault. I mean, rape is always the woman's fault, right? Oh, those teetering high heels, itty bitty mini dresses, decolletage baring halters, gold hoop earrings, seamed lacey stockings, and such other attire that act as a sexual assault billboard are just asking for trouble, right? I mean, really, a woman should know better; that's what Puritanical bonnets and calico print rompers are for. We should all look like the queen of the Duggar clan, no? I mean really, wholesome women who are alert and responsible for their own safety are not raped. Only women who are negligent, preoccupied, or otherwise irresponsible can claim culpability for her own rape. The simplest and most natural sashay could send the wrong message and rightfully land a woman in the ER with a rape kit (for those counties that even have them!). We must really walk like androids just to be safe. Or so the Stephen Browns of the world would have you think.

Listen to me, and listen closely. Women are never to blame for the violence inflicted upon them. Being raped is NEVER a woman's fault. Under no circumstances. If you disagree, I beg you to read the moving, poignant, candid, and often frightening stories posted at Violence Unsilenced. These women, like this woman, are someone's mother, daughter, true love.

There is no going back to the way things were for victims of violence. There is an earthly shift. I know this much is true.


If you'd like to share your $0.02, please send your comments to Thomas Marder, the lucky bastard who gets to manage all inquiries regarding Marriott's vile actions. I encourage you to stand up against violence. If you are close to 5 women, chances are one of them has been raped.

thomas.marder@marriott.com

When Social Media Becomes a Social Cause: Twestival 09

This is no Twestivus for the Rest of Us kind of faux affair. A group of dedicated, savvy volunteers have leveraged Twitter's microblogging power to host Raleigh's own Twestival on Thursday, February 12. Here are the deets. This a the grand dame of Tweetups, with charity at its heart. Our goal is to raise money to provide access to clean drinking water to people around the world.

H2O. The same stuff we flush away without a care. The same stuff we waste down the drain as we let hoses run amok and taps drip to their own deafening cadence. The same stuff we mindlessly guzzle from bottles, fountains (or bubblers as they say in Wisconsin), refrigerators, Brita pitchers, faucets. Charity: Water.

Thursday's soiree promises to be fun and above all, uplifting. Food, cocktails, Wii, networking, and best of all, meet your favorite tweeple face to face. Tickets are only $11.40 if you purchase tickets online in advance, or $14 on day of, $20 at door. Did I mention the awesome chow and cocktails that are included in that ticket price? Did you catch what I said about the cause we're supporting? Clean dirnking water, people. The stuff we take for granted every. single. day.

On Thursday 12 February 2009, Twestival is going global. The flagship event will be
rocking out in London, with simultaneous events happening in major Twitter cities around the
world. Look at us, little ole Raleigh. A major Twitter city!

Here's some more information from Twestival's official website:

charity: water - Everyone in the world deserves safe, clean drinking water.
Right now 1.1 billion people on the planet don’t have access to safe, clean drinking water. That’s one in six of us. Unsafe water and lack of basic sanitation cause 80% of all sickness and disease, and kill more people every year than all forms of violence, including war. Many people in the developing world, usually women and children, walk more than three hours everyday to fetch water that is likely to make them sick. Those hours are crucial, preventing many from working or attending school. Additionally, collecting water puts them at a greater risk of sexual harassment and assault. Children are especially vulnerable to the consequences of unsafe drinking water. Of the 42,000 deaths that occur every week from unsafe water and a lack of basic sanitation, 90% are children under 5 years old. The same as my Bird and Deal.

charity: water and how they work:
charity: water is a non profit organization bringing clean, safe drinking water to people in developing nations. 100% of the money raised goes to direct project costs, funding sustainable clean water solutions in areas of greatest need. They also work to raise awareness of the water crisis through events, fundraising exhibitions and other public awareness campaigns.

Since it’s foundation in 2006, charity: water has funded the construction of more than 600 wells that, when completed, will provide clean drinking water to 250,000 people. And they are just getting started.


I have seen firsthand the effects of lack of clean water. Scratch that. Make that the effects of polluted, foul, smelly, diseased water. Images of those villagers haunt me still. It is heartbreaking to see people, fellow mothers and fathers and children, succumb to desperation and illness just because they lack the one basic thing our bodies need, the very thing that comprises 75% of our very being.

Can't snag a sitter or sneak away from work to join us at Raleigh's Twestival? Fret not, my friends. You can simply click here to make a difference. Imagine if it were your child dying from a simple lack of water. Imagine not doing anything at all.

Tweet. Meet. Give. We're going to change the world one tweet at a time.

A Letter to America

Dear America,

Don't let me down. It is a cold, dreary, rainy day in North Carolina. It's the kind of day that calls for tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It's the kind of day that calls for hot chamomile tea, fluffy slippers, a chenille blanket, and a good long read. It's the kind of day you'd rather make a kitchen sink dinner than go out to the grocery store. It's the kind of day you even feel bad making the take out guy leave his van. It's the kind of day that you just know will leave you will the sniffles tomorrow.

It's the kind of day that will make a difference in our world. We will palpably feel that difference as soon as tomorrow. I promise you this.

Please, America, don't let me down.

It's easy to stay home, put up your feet, click on the TV, and bitch about how arduous and awful this election has been. It's easy to think your measly vote doesn't count and no one will even notice. People don't make strides by doing what's easy. One vote does count. In aggregate it all counts. Exercise your most magnificent right to vote. Women especially, exercise that vote armed with the knowledge of the fight it took to get us here a mere 80-some years ago, armed with the knowledge of the fate that awaits our daughters if a certain ornery old man and his renegade neocon take the White House.

In a game of Rock Paper Scissors, Hope will always kick Fear's snarky little ass.

I will not let my mind wander there for even a minute, for it is truly frightening. It would be disastrous, and that is no hyperbole.

Please, America, don't let me down.

Get off your ass, buck up and prepare for the lines, pack snacks and diversions for your kids, wait with your fellow citizens as you have the opportunity to write history. This is more than a front row seat, America, we are all given the plume to write a new story today.

Heck, in Raleigh you can even drop off your kids at Camp Obama at the St. Mary's Street HQ while you vote. Ask a neighbor to watch the kids and then reciprocate. There are no valid excuses today. We need you. Each and every one. Perhaps this post reeks of desperation and weariness. I suppose it is somewhat true. I am tired, on the verge of spent, yet I'll be pounding the pavement again today with my fellow army of volunteers who are making a real difference. I like to think that this post is also filled with the kinetic energy of hope, optimism, delight, and pride.

While rain might be cold and unpleasant and inconvenient, it brings with it the growth of new life, replenishment, rejuventaion, a reminder of the earth's cycle. The dawn of a new day is at our fingertips, America. Grasp it.

Please America, don't let me down.

Sincerely,
A Mom of 2 Boys Who Deserve to Grow Up in the Presence of Grace and Goodness

The Church Quandary

I've been reluctant to post about religion because it is such a volatile subject matter. My friend Morningside Mom inspired me to take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and put my fingers to the keyboard and just write. Take a look here at what she wrote on the topic. She's way more eloquent than I.

Deep breath. Exhale. Blow it out now. Lather, rinse, repeat. Crunch of the knuckles. Ready to roll.

I wrote about my disdain for Sundays once before. Sunday is church day, only not for us. Since moving to North Carolina, I can't count how many people have asked if we've found our church family yet. WTF? I can barely stand dealing with the family I have so why do I need another one? Especially another one that has a gold medal in the guilt relay. And why is religion wracked with guilt in the first place?

I'm not going to wax on about various religions and pass judgment here. Well, I might pass judgment, but it's my prerogative. (Cue tune here. Tell me you don't think Bobby Brown any time you hear the word prerogative.). I'm no theologist, though I did take a whole mess of religion classes in college. Perhaps my searching started there.

My family is Hindu. I don't even know what that really means. I've read some of the stories and took some classes but I wasn't raised going to temple or anything. My mom had a little worship station in our house with little idols and stuff made out of ivory and marble. I used to cup those miniature deities in my hand and marvel at the smoothness of the stone when I was a kid. I waited patiently for her to say her prayers and make her offerings just so I could eat the sugar cube when she was done. That sugar was some sort of offering. Maybe I am indeed Hindu if the gods have such a sweet tooth.

I grew up going to mass with my friend Jenny's family after Saturday night sleepovers. I didn't really get much from it except for a headache from all that incense and a sore back from the constant kneeling and standing. I remember feeling so lost because I didn't understand the rituals and feeling a bit creeped out because the cacophony of all those voices saying prayers in unison sounded rote and lifeless. Plus, my kind of god isn't going to make me don nylons and heels just to worship. As I recall, her parents bitched a lot about changing out of comfy pajamas into a suit and tight high waisted skirt just for the one hour of mass. I'm pretty sure the god I believe in is at least a casual Friday kind of guy...or gal. And he (she?) is cool with me bringing in a cup of java to warm my body while the minister warms my soul.

Let me clear here. I do believe in god. The miracle of feeling those babies swim in my belly is testament to a power far higher than anything I can comprehend. And yes, I also believe in science. I get the whole sperm/egg thing that made those babies in the first place, but there must be something greater than that to have created the system in the first place, don't you think? Come on, god created babies as a result of sex! It could have just easily been from a high five, but god gave us mortals something really awesome instead. Rock on, god! Oh, and I realize I am not capitalizing "god" here. I believe in the concept of a god, just not a definitive one and only God. And is god Christian? Hindu? Neither? I dunno. I don't think I really care how god is categorized. Therein lies the problem.

And that's as far as I've gotten.

Not enough to teach my children about spirituality. By the way, being spiritual is possible without being religious. I'm not a fan of organized religion. Mac Daddy and I actually joined the Unitarian Church in town and really enjoyed the services for a while. The minister was a fabulous raconteuse who was inspirational, funny, and honest. Her candor about her shortcomings made her so damn human. I felt like I was learning something and getting a sense of peace each week; I never felt preached to. I left feeling centered and happy, not confused and guilty. Then she moved away, and the subsequent ministers sucked. A bad minister can kill a service just like a great teacher can make math exciting (Thanks, Mrs. Kovatch!).

Mac Daddy and I left the church soon after we had kids. Contrary to common practice, I know. We've been on sort of a hunt ever since. Well, not really an active hunt. It's been more a passing conversation when all our friends are at church and can't go bike riding with us on Sunday mornings. We would like to equip our boys with a sense of spirituality and teach them about both Hindu and Christian principles. The thing is, we're not really into teaching about Jesus and the Bible. Well, unless it's thumbs up Jesus. That Jesus from Dogma was way cool.

There, I said it. Commence the stone throwing now.

Oh, and let me go ahead and offer full disclosure. We do go to church (Unitarian) at Christmas. I just love the tradition of Christmas and the peacefulness and giving that goes along with it. Yeah, I know it's all about Jesus. But hey, even in India, the birthplace of Buddhism, Christmas is celebrated, embraced even. But baking a birthday cake for Jesus? That's too far for me, even if I did bake.

My kids go to chapel at their preschool, and it's been a wonderful experience. They are learning about universal principles that transcend religion. I hate to break it to you, but Christianity does not own the principles of honesty, patience, honor, and virtue. Am I a heathen because I believe in ending this disastrous, shameful war, because I want to preserve the earth, because I believe in equal rights regardless of gender, race, religious, or sexuality? I think not. The ten commandments are pretty good rules to live by, Christian or otherwise. Likewise for karma. Does the saying "what comes around goes around" sound familiar? One more thing, Republicans don't own religion. Being progressive and being spiritual are not mutually exclusive, my friends. Since when did liberalism = paganism. Just because I'm a Democrat doesn't mean I need to be saved. Just save me from the Bible beaters who lurk in my neck of the woods! Separation of church and state, people!

So, Bird and Deal are starting to ask questions about God. At the beach the boys asked me who made the ocean. I confidently answered, "Nature. Nature invented the ocean." "Oh, you mean God?" remarked Bird. I was stumped and pointed out the baby seagulls pecking at the scattered Kix cereal on the beach as a distraction. Let it be known that Bird still thinks Jesus' name is Cheesus. He says he has a lot in common with Cheesus because he loves cheese too (chalk that up to his Wisconsinite father). Mac Daddy and I roar with laughter at this but are a tish embarrassed when he says this stuff in the hallways of school around the other church going parents. Lighten up, I say! Is it just me or do the church going ilk often have their panties in a tizzy?

We do, however, owe it to our children to teach them about religion and equip them to find their own path. In a way I am envious of people who blindly and unequivocally Believe. It's like Polar Express except with Jesus standing in as Santa. A whole different ball of wax that I'm not about delve into. Mac Daddy and I want Bird and Deal to have a spiritual upbringing. The question is how to do so without bringing Jesus into the picture? Can't we just teach the parables from multiple religions? My hunch is that there are more similar moral standards and shared stories than dogma that separate us all. Is it possible to teach spiritual religion without a deity to worship? We thought the Unitarian route was the answer so maybe we'll give it a go again.

In the mean time, I'm considering home churching.

Come on, if people can take the entire curricula of K-12 and teach it from home with total acceptance and accredidation, why can't I do Sunday school from home? I'll start with the lesson of love thy mother. Do I have any takers?

The Breast Thing I Ever Did

I have been wanting to post for a couple weeks about the Race for the Cure I did with Christy, Kim, and Shell. It's been hard to nail down exactly what I wanted to say and what I wanted you to take away from my experience. If I could just hook up some wires and sensors to my heart, you'd know everything. I'm pretty sure that sort of wackiness is not far off. Trust me, people I used to work with are testing and using such a device as we speak (if you clicked on the link you'll note that the logo looks oddly like the Police's Ghost in the Machine album cover).

The Race for the Cure was amazing, even if it meant getting up and out the door before my children. Oh, and we added a mile to our route because we had to park so far away. Well worth it for my thighs and glutes. We were running late (because of said added mile) and saw an amazing scene unfold before us. 25,000 women lined up, clad in pink, ready to roll. A sea of women with a shared cause. Must be similar to the Filene's Basement wedding gown sale. As we approached the mass of racers, some runners from the earlier race were crossing the finish line to a whole lot of whopping and hollering. I'm talking arms flailing in the air, rock star screaming mania. Contagious. It totally pumped us up to get started.

Women all around sported names of breast cancers victims and survivors whom they honored. I ran in celebration of Team Why Mommy from Toddler Planet, though you can't read it on my sign in the photo. I've shared one her posts here before. Other women wore signs that said, "I'm running for mom, my hero." Overwhelming heart swells. Others wore signs that said, "I'm running for me. Survivor." Still others scribbled names on their shirts...Helen, Elizabeth, Adrienne, Johanna, Meg, Lori, Kaitlin. I don't know those women but I ran for them too.

We ran through a lovely old neighborhood with a canopy of trees and homes with front porches galore. It seemed the whole neighborhood came out to support us. Signs emblazoned on porches. Pink ribbons tied to trees. Sidewalk chalk messages of encouragement. Even the neighborhood kids banded together to squirt us with mega super soakers as we ran by. Other people hooked up fancy flower misters and sprinklers to offer a bit of relief from the heat. Some simply sprayed us with a garden hose. A welcome spot of H2O.

The best site on the route was a well-kept old gingerbread house with a rocking chair front porch. Indeed there was a rocking chair. A gray haired grandmotherly type sat there alone, rocking to and fro with a winsome smile on her face. Occasionally she lifted a hand to wave. A giant banner on her porch read "27 Year Breast Cancer Survivor. Age 88." Blow. Me. Away.

The camaraderie among the racers was unlike anything I've experienced. Smiles, high fives, chants of encouragement, and laughter were easily shared. We chose to make light of an otherwise heavy situation. Everyone there had a breast cancer story to share. Some with happy endings, some with sad endings, some with a pending ending. The deep, deep sisterhood of survivors was palpable. A sorority to which I hope to never be inducted. What floored me was the wide range of women in the survivors' tent. Clearly, breast cancer does not discriminate among the rich and poor, brown and white, old and young, large and small, tall and short. We saw women younger than us, women wearing traditional Arab attire, women with young children, women with multiple generations running side by side. I don't normally see such a diverse crowd in my everyday life. I couldn't help but think "This could be me" at every turn.

There were some pretty funny T-shirts that race teams created. My favorite was a group of firemen. Their shirt had a hottie fireman in all his gear on the front. The slogan said, "Firemen protecting second base." Hardy har har har. That makes me crack up every time. Second base! That's funny stuff! Next year we're putting together a bigger team so let me know if you want to join us. We have a year to come up with something clever for our shirts. Put your thinking caps on!

Bird and Deal were particularly interested in the race. I didn't explain the ins and outs of cancer. I simply told them I was racing to raise money for sick women. They were pretty proud of their mom and took turns trying on my race number. They really wanted to see me burst through the finish line ribbon. I had to explain that the ribbon is only there for the first person to cross the line, not # 24,374.

So each year on the boys' birthdays we take the money in their piggy banks and put half in savings and donate half. We let the boys choose their cause (Mac Daddy and I chose for them based on something significant in our family when they were itty bitty.). For instance, we gave to the Humane Society when Bird was one because his first word was "dog."

I guess my small part in the Race for the Cure had a big impact on Deal. He chose to donate his piggy bank proceeds to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation this year. As he put it, "I want to give money to the mommies you raced for."

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?