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.

Interrogation

I spend a lot of time with my sons. I'm a chatty one so we talk. I figure I've got a captive audience until they're at least eight so I babble and ponder and regale. Plus both boys are chatty, so we all fight for air time. We are in the car running to and fro an awful lot. And when we're not staging a singalong to Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride, Robot Parade, Shake Your Booty, or anything by Barry White, we are chatting. Mostly I tell them stories, real tales or fabrications of what strike me as better antidotes to the truth.

And there are the questions. Geesh, the constant questions that boggle my mind, wrench my gut, tickle my funny bone, squash or propel my inner cynic, depending on the inquiry. The questions range from the deep to the absurd and back 'round again.

And it all starts with, "Hey, Mommy?"

There's the God/Jesus/Bible line of questioning:
Whom did you talk about school, Jesus or God?
Is God the same as Jesus?
How old is God?
Was God poor?
Where does God live?
How old is Jesus?
Why does the Lord want to take us away and keep us?
Why don't we have a Bible? Why don't we read it before bed?
Did those gods really have all those arms and blue skin? (a nod to the Indian folktales we read)
Who hears our prayers? Is someone listening?
Who are the angels?

And the baby questions that offer no easy way out:
How does the baby get out of your belly?
How did the baby get in your belly?
How does the baby know when to come out?
What does the baby eat?
Where does the baby poop?
Do daddies have babies?
Did you know that we start out the size of a sprinkle? (my personal favorite quip)

Biology, the body, and the like:
Why is Daddy hairy? (not on the back, mind you, for that's a deal breaker)
Do you really have eyes in the back of your head?
Why does your belly touch your belt buckle when you sit down? (badge of motherhood, I say)
Why do we have a belly button? Can it do anything?
Babies drink milk from there?! (guffawing ensues)

And the random deep thoughts, Jack Handey style:
Will our next pet die?
Who's the oldest person on earth? (for a while the boys' debate was between my dad and my brother until I squashed that)
When will I die?
Who invented seeds?
What was the first seed? (Adam's?)
What language would people speak if everyone from around the world met?
How long ago was "back in the day?"
You mean we don't just take some meat and sew up the cow?
Do we kill animals when we eat them or are they killed before they're on our plate?
Why does hair grow crooked? (perhaps because it's cut that way to begin with)


I entertain Mac Daddy every night with tales from the car. We lie in bed cracking up, feeling the oozing warmth of love and pride and amazement that the mantle of parenthood carries. For some reason Bird and Deal don't pepper Mac Daddy with such questions. I guess they realize that Daddy is the fun, wrestling, Super Hero, magic epee wielding playmate, while I am the erudite omniscient one. Or they're simply trying to get me to stop singing Can't get Enough of Your Love off key.

Race Relations & Gender Equality, as Explained to a 5 and 3 Year Old

I have been having some heavy conversations with my sons lately. Racism. Race relations. Sexism. Gender equality. Heavy stuff for any age, but even more so with a five and three year old. Admittedly not the typical fare for car pool lines and kitchen conversations everywhere. But my sons sit perched at the breakfast bar while I cook dinner, and we talk. Mostly they ask questions, and I wrack my brain coming up with an honest yet meaningful answer that will make sense to their innocent blank slates. I tread lightly, knowing this will likely be the beginning of their developing self awareness. So what's the catalyst for such heady talk at our house?

Barack Obama.

You see, my children are mixed race first generation Americans.

My husband is a born and bred Midwesterner from a town of 500 people. I am an Indian girl who was born in Calcutta, a city of 16 million people. I say it's kismet that brought us together 31 years after our birth.

My sons are starting to recognize that we look different from each other, and that I look different from other moms. The beauty of childhood is that they view these differences with no judgment, no preconception, no expectations, no bigotry. Some call it naivete. I call it bliss.

I spent the better part of 2008 campaigning for Barack Obama in my home state of North Carolina. Political chatter surrounded us, and we tuned in the children when we felt it was appropriate. Granted, they were Obama walking billboards sporting their "Yes We Can" T-shirts. My husband and I told them about this historic election, and pointed out the significance of the Clinton vs. Obama primaries.

I brought my boys to the voting booth with me. Bird, my kindergartener, even filled out the ballot for me, proudly marking Barack Obama's name. It's no surprise that "Obama" was one of the first words he could read on his own. On November 5 I showed a picture of the past 43 presidents to my sons and asked what they noticed about the people. First they said, "There are no girls, Mommy." Home run! Then Bird said, they all look like Daddy. They are pink." I explained that the terms we use are white, black/African American, to which he animatedly replied, "But we are brown, Mommy. And no one is white. They are pink!" How could I argue with such logic?

And then came Lily Ledbetter .

I happened to flip on the TV during Obama's press conference about signing the Lily Ledbetter Fair Pay Act . The boys shouted for me to move so they too could see the TV. Obama! Obama! We all sat mesmerized as he spoke, with a tenacious and victorious Lily Ledbetter at his side. They were particularly excited when Obama mentioned his daughters in his speech. They love to hear about kids in the White House (which we just visited recently). I explained that when Mommy and Daddy met, we both had the exact same jobs (Yes, an office romance!), but Daddy got paid more money than I did. I told them that I had actually been in the job longer, but Daddy earned more money. "No fair!" they shouted in unison. I regaled them with the tale about me marching into our manager's office demanding an explanation...and a raise. My next pay stub reflected a significant bump in pay that equaled my husband's. Whether it was my gumption or my boss' fear I'll never know. I explained to my sons how many, many women earn less money than men doing the same things. I told them that that lady standing next to Obama got fed up, and America finally listened.

As the mother of boys, I hope to raise them in a manner that debunks gender biases. My three year old's favorite color is pink . My five year old loves to draw and paint. My husband often cooks spectacular dinners, and he has breakfast duty on weekends, for which he spoils us with creme brulee french toast and the like. We share duties as primary care givers. My goal is to raise my sons as open minded citizens who see the worth in all people, regardless of race, gender, or anything else that adults deem worthy of judgment. And I hope, as their mother, that the world grants them the same respect.

This original post is cross posted to Deep South Moms Blog.

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.

Get Your Kids Involved

I am not ashamed to admit that I use my children as my personal billboards. After all, they wear the Polo horse, my alma maters, Mac Daddy's favorite football team, global warming garb, and Disneyland attire. Why is a political shirt any different? The boys are a reflection of us, in actions, values, beliefs, words, grace, looks, hardheadedness, mannerisms, and overall constitution.

Since my boys were babies I have taken them, swaddled in the stroller, to walk to the polling station. They each wore a bib that read "Mommy loves me too much to vote Republican." They also have donkey shirts and Yes We Can shirts. And you know what? They wear them with pride. We make quite a sight with them in their shirts, Mac Daddy sporting the donkey, and me in my Obama Mama shirt.

My point here is this: We are involving our children in politics. We have been reading Duck for President since before Obama stepped foot at a primary pedestal. We vote for what to have for dinner, where to spend our Sunday mornings, ice cream or popsicles and other such incidentals time to time. My kindergartener has kids voting at his school. My preschooler knows all the candidates by logo and face. Don't get me wrong, I will be devastated if my boys think rebellion means turning into Alex P. Keaton. But Mac Daddy and I are trying our damndest to teach Bird and Deal about our political systems, our rights, our freedom, our responsibilites, our priviledges.

Caroline, my soul sister whom I am convinced was separated at birth from me (pshaw to the many years between us!), wrote a lovely post about this very topic. It would behoove you to read it.

In case your thumb is sore from too much clicking, I'll also copy and paste it here. I don't think Caroline will sue me.

Ways to Involve Your Kids in This Election
There are only a few weeks left until we vote for our next President. Along with many other parents and citizens, I am nervous but hopeful about election day. But in the midst of all of this political chatter, how much do your children really understand about our upcoming election? Do they know who our candidates are? Do they understand our priveledge and right to vote? Would you even know how to engage them in a conversation about the election? I certainly wasn’t very sure, so I went hunting for some resources - and I would like to share them with all of you.

Now, what inspired me to look for these election resources exactly? The other morning I took a stab at explaining this election to my 5 year old. We were watching some highlights of an Obama rally on CNN. My son was clearly thrilled that I had not switched over to Playhouse Disney. To try and peak his interest some I said “Do you know who that is?” “No.” His bored tone told me he was anxious to learn more. “Well, let me tell you.” I tried to explain what our president does, who the candidates were and how I will be voting on election day. Blank look. So I simply said to him, “Do you know what you should call me? An ‘Obama Mama’.” Finally a smile and then a giggle. “Obama Mama! That’s silly! Obama Mama, Obama Mama, Obama Mama. … Can I have some Kix?”

This wasn’t this first time I have tried to explain the election to my son. Granted, he is only 5. He is simply trying to figure out the politics of kindergarten - certainly, our complex presidential election may be a bit out of reach still. But it got me thinking. What resources are there for parents with children interested in learning more about the election? If you have been trying to engage your children, check out the following sites. My son might be a little young still, but yours may not be!

PBS Kids, The Democracy Project: PBS does a fantastic job of putting together a fun, interactive website where kids can learn about becoming a president for a day and how our government works. It also allows kids to get into the voters booth and share what issues matter to them.

Kids Voting USA: While more of a website for teachers, it offers election information for children in grades ranging from K-12.

Scholastic.com: Scholastic does a wonderful job with their election website. Kids can vote for president, meet the candidates, read campaign news, read blogs written by kids, or even launch their own campaign for president.

Brain Pop: Looking for a straight forward video to explain the election to your kids? Check this site out.

TIME for kids: TIME magazine has a fun website with campaign games, information about the issues and even some pretty cool kid reporters sharing their own campaign experiences.

Would you like to make this election real for your kids and put together your own election and voting booth? Visit “ABC Teach” to find ballots, worksheets and directions to make your own voting booth.

The White House: The White House website offers further information for kids about our past presidents, the White House itself and even the presidential pets. Maybe you feel like coloring a president? Get out your crayons and print some of them out here!

Rock the Vote: And for your older children, sit them down to Rock the Vote. MTV makes it cool to get involved with this election.

Finally, I saw a bumper sticker the other day that read: “Kids Don’t Vote, but Moms Do!” (If you want one, please visit Momsrising.org.) That statement truly inspired me. Our children and their futures matter. However, as moms, we carry the responsibility to be their only advocates. And during this election, it is no different. Our children count on us to elect their leader. Please don’t forget to register yourself to vote. And then, consider bringing your child to vote with you - what better way to learn about this historical election than to have them truly experience it for themselves!


Caroline's post is cross posted at Type A Mom.

I'm Booked.

Over Labor Day weekend Mac Daddy and I heard a thumpity-thump-bump-CRASH one night while we were busy vegging on the couch with a bottle of pinot grigio (a farewell to the lazy days of summer wine, none of that white stuff in the fall and winter months will do). We shrugged it off as a book falling off of Deal's bed, a common occurence considering he goes to bed with a veritable library cache of reading material. It was the CRASH that stirred us from our pre-kid-like vegging euphoria. We rushed upstairs to discover two snuggly sleeping boys. One freaked out 16-year old cat whose hair would have been standing up had we not gotten her shaved recently, and a bookshelf toppled in my office, books littering the floor.

Sigh. Labor Day was indeed a day of labor.

I just reorganized all the book shelves in my office. I purged (not in the Sarah Palin sense) and boxed up some goodies to share with my book club and put some in the Goodwill pile. It took me longer than the average bear to reorganize because I found myself flipping through the dogeared, marked up pages, checking out my changing handwriting (I always write my name inside the cover of my books.), admired the unbroken spine (One of the byproducts of my self-diagnosed OCD is that I cannot stand for a book spine to be creased or bent, requiring me to read very gingerly. This is why my friends just buy me a new copy of a book instead of returning the trashed spine book they borrowed from me.), and even burying my nose into a few, the smell taking me back to Ms. Smith's English class or Mr. Harrison's British poetry class.

I was the kid who eshewed Cliffs Notes, even for Jane Austen, whom I loathe. I was the kid who laughed at kids who couldn't get through the summer reading list. I was the kid who was repeatedly told not to bring books to the dinner table. I was the kid who crept under the covers with a flashlight and got lost in Ramona's adventures until the wee hours. I was the kid who oohed and aahed over gifted books at my birthday party. I am still that kid.

I love words. I am in awe of people who can put words together to spin an enthralling tale, paint a vivid picture, mend a troubled psyche, or create a character so real you feel you should add him to your Christmas card list. Words inspire me. Excite me. Tempt me. Poor use of words infuriate me. Words are powerful little buggers, whether spoken or written. They invoke emotion in ways moving pictures cannot because they leave us to our own devices. Words take us on a journey, challenging us to create the pictures and images and people that accompany them. Words are instruments that few people can master.

Books are my escape. Cheaper than a plane ticket, more engrossing than television, often more effective than therapy, and they don't talk back.

The one gift I hope to impart to Bird and Deal is a love of books. So far so good. One of my proudest moments was when Bird was about 3 or so. I offered him the choice of going to the library or the park, and he enthusiastically chose the library. That's my boy, I thought to myself, smiling. Both Bird and Deal devour books of all kinds. Bird's driving force behind his kindergarten excitement is that he will learn how to read. Right now he's memorized a million books so he often sits with Deal and "reads" The Lorax and other such jewels. The bounty we bring home from the library would leave me $64 dollars poorer if I were checking those books on a US Air flight.

My friend Norman gave us one of the best baby gifts ever. Not the standard Goodnight Moon, Mother Goose, or Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. He gave us Honey for a Child's Heart by Gladys Hunt. The book is a clever, delightfully written guide to help choose age appropriate books for your kids. Hunt also writes candidly about topics such as censorhip and what makes a good versus bad book. Honey for a Child's Heart is peppered with the old standbys that I love to read to my boys. The House at Pooh Corner. Where the Wild Things Are. Richard Scarry. Shel Silverstein. Mercer Mayer. Even if you are a voracious reader like I am, this book will serve as a handy guide should you ever need a kick in the pants to actually go to the library with a list.

Oh, in case you are wondering what books Sarah Palin supposedly wanted to ban (rather "purge" since that sounds less like censorship) from her library, wait no more. Check 'em out. Thanks my old buddy Mike for passing this along.

Sarah Palin's Book Club - Asterisks* are by the ones I've read. You'll see that I am clearly a heathen who has no business being a card carrying library book checker outer.

*A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
*A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden
*As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
*Blubber by Judy Blume
*Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
*Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
*Canterbury Tales by Chaucer
*Carrie by Stephen King
*Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
*Christine by Stephen King
Confessions by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
*Cujo by Stephen King
Curses, Hexes, and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
*Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Peck
*Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Decameron by Boccaccio
*East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Fallen Angels by Walter Myers
Fanny Hill (Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure) by John Cleland
*Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes
*Forever by Judy Blume
Grendel by John Champlin Gardner
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
*Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling
Have to Go by Robert Munsch
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
*How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
*Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
* I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
Impressions edited by Jack Booth
* In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
* It’s Okay if You Don’t Love Me by Norma Klein
*James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
* Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence
*Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
*Little Red Riding Hood by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm
*Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Love is One of the Choices by Norma Klein
Lysistrata by Aristophanes
More Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
My Brother Sam Is Dead by James Lincoln Collier & Christopher Collier
My House by Nikki Giovanni
*My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara
Night Chills by Dean Koontz
*Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
One Day in The Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
*One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
*One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
*Ordinary People by Judith Guest
*Our Bodies, Ourselves by Boston Women’s Health Collective
*Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy
Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl
Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones by Alvin Schwartz
Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
*A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Silas Marner by George Eliot
*Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs
*The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
*The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
The Bastard by John Jakes
*The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
*The Color Purple by Alice Walker
The Devil’s Alternative by Frederick Forsyth
The Figure in the Shadows by John Bellairs
*The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
*The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Snyder
The Learning Tree by Gordon Parks
The Living Bible by William C. Bower
*The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare
The New Teenage Body Book by Kathy McCoy and Charles Wibbelsman
*The Pigman by Paul Zindel
The Seduction of Peter S. by Lawrence Sanders
*The Shining by Stephen King
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The Witches of Worm by Zilpha Snyder
* Then Again, Maybe I Won’t by Judy Blume
*To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
*Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary by the Merriam-Webster Editorial Staff
Witches, Pumpkins, and Grinning Ghosts: The Story of the Halloween
Symbols by Edna Bart

And now, I am peeling my fingers away from the keyboard to open up my latest crack. Plan B by Anne Lamott. Must see TV? Nah. Not for me tonight.

Kindergarten Tears and Triumphs

Cesar Chavez. Jim Henson. John Lennon. Jane Goodall. Albert Einstein. Pablo Picasso. Mahatma Gandhi.

Those are the faces peppering the halls as you enter my son's school. An international studies magnet school (public! free!) in our homogeneous neck of the woods is a dream. Five foreign languages taught starting in kindergarten. My Bird's gonna learn French! Curriculum designed to cover a global perspective. Again, a dream, considering my children say the words for grandma and grandpa in three different languages. We are the UN of families, and we are not alone as soon as we walk through the brick corridors of my son's school. My. Son's. School.

I have no reason to feel such trepidation. No reason to be anxious. No need to be so scared. So sad.

Millions of parents do it every fall. Most live to tell about it. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

I couldn't.

Let me get one thing out in the open. I cried. More than tears welling up in my eyes with a dumpling stuck in my throat but less than Niagara Falls. I'm saving up my boo-hooing for Tuesday, when school officially starts full time. Five. Days. A. Week. Oh, and when I have Mac Daddy at my side to mop me up. I treated today as a test drive. Denial. They say admitting it is the first step to recovery.

Bird, my Baby Bird, started kindergarten today. A milestone indeed. I suppose this is the stuff that makes people hate and doubt "mommy bloggers." I say fuck you. This stuff is important and has an impact on the human spirit, certainly a mom's spirit. Sending your child to spend more hours with someone else than you is a giant step. We spend so much time wishing away the time that we often forget to enjoy the ride. "I can't wait for him to talk. I can't wait for him to walk. He's making me nuts. When will school start?" Well folks, school has started, and I miss my Baby Bird already. Day One.

I have arranged my work schedule to eat three squares a day with my boys. I also take them to school and pick them up everyday. Now Bird is sitting in some cafeteria eating a ham sandwich and edamame out of his Batman lunch box with rowdy 5 year olds talkin' smack about Star Wars and Bumble Bee. Oh, and some little bully's gonna tease him about eating edamame and other stuff like snap peas and hummus. Bird told me that he met a bully today, in fact. I guess the kid headbutted Bird in the belly. When I asked Bird what the kid's name is, he responded, "I didn't ask, Mommy. I don't care what his name is because I don't want to be his friend." Then he asked me if I thought the bully would beat him up for not being his friend. Gawd, I can't handle the social pressure at the tender age of 5 (technically 4 til Friday!).

Yes, that's right. Bird will be 5 in two days, making him the youngest kid in kindergarten. Yet he makes the cut off. And you know what, he's totally ready. I know he's ready. I know Mac Daddy and I made the right decision to send him to kindergarten. No waffling here. The simple truth is, I'm not ready. As one feels intimate with one's mortality after a tragedy, I feel time slipping away more briskly than I thought possible. I never understood the whole time flies speech from seasoned parents when my guys were newborns. Now I've been initiated into the club. I get it. Every second is palpable. I hear the sands' of time grainy count down. My heart beats to the tick tocking of the clock. I get it. Time is the elusive beast.

My Bird, in the end, fared exceptionally well today. He took a good 10 minutes to let go of my leg and squeeze past the book shelves in the library to join the throng of kids. He refused to sit at a table with other kids, choosing an empty table instead (totally unlike his gregarious personality). Bird and Deal (who was also stressed, sensing it from us, no doubt), proceeded to color and draw rocket ships, aliens, and such. When it was time to get in line, Bird grasped my legs again. I silently willed him to break away lest I cry. My tears would have exacerbated an already tender situation. Alas, I realized I left my keys by the bookcase and had a legitimate excuse to step away. Those wily teachers took that opportunity to whisk him away. I took an extra long time to gather my keys (and umbrella that I would have forgotten on this soggy day) so I could do some quick yoga breathing and put on a happy face for Deal.

Deal and I spent the day as we usually do: gym, Starbucks, Target (2 1/2 hours!). In fact, at Starbucks, Deal insisted I buy an extra Horizon vanilla milk for Bird to enjoy when he gets home from school. That's my sensitive boy. I'll be too much of a wreck to blog when my baby goes to kindergarten. Now I know what my mom means by the "baby of the family" mess she blabbers on about when she refers to me. Even pushing 40, I'm still a baby.

My poor Bird spent 30 minutes of his first day of school with his head under a desk because we had tornado warnings in our county. Apparently the teachers and staff operated with aplomb. Teaching is tough enough without Mother Nature stumbling in the path. And let's face it, all the other mothers are probably more challenging to deal with.

When I picked up Bird from school, he greeted me with a gigantic grin and an ecstatic, "Mommy, my day was awesome!" At dinner his thank you for the day was that he got to go to kindergarten.

And so it goes. Once again my children are the ones teaching me a life lesson: Children are way more flexible and resilient than we give them credit for. Moms are another story. At least this mom is. I'm torn between tears of sorrow and tears of pride.

Bad Influence

I think I am a bad influence on my children. Others are starting to notice too. Complete strangers give us looks of disdain, acting as if we should be embarrassed and shamed. Sometimes when Bird and Deal are with me they start writhing about in wild ways, blabbering uncontrollably, flailing about like octopuses on speed. They jump and scream like David Archuleta-crazed school girls at times. This is exponentially amplified when maracas and other such instruments make their way into the scene.

All because of KC and the Sunshine Band.

They can totally tell the difference between Boogie Shoes, Shake Your Booty, and That's the Way I Like It. Bird thinks he is my own personal Boogie Man. Deal's all about gettin' down tonight. They both know all the words to Give it Up. Granted, there are only four words that keep repeating in that song. Come on now, sing it with me. I know you are in your head right now.

Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na,
Baby give it up
Give it up, Baby give it up

Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na,
Baby give it up
Give it up, Baby give it up

Man, that's gonna be an ear worm.

I have held my boys' innocent little hands and personally escorted them over the deep end. I can only imagine the shame Bird will feel in music class when he starts kindergarten this fall. The other kids probably rock out to Coldplay and Zeppelin.

Bird and Deal are in desperate need of better musical company. An intervention even. I have clearly done them a disservice in the musical taste department. For the record, they also love Barry White (But what's not to like?!), Neil Diamond (think Sweet Caroline sung LOUDLY by two preschoolers), and Magical Mister Mistoffelees (I even took Bird to see Cats!). Other moms are ordaining their kids into the world of shows and concerts by taking them to Rain or James Taylor. Nope, not me.

If I'm not careful, my boys are going to have my same guilty pleasures on their iPod equivalents that will probably be microchips of music implanted in their brains one day. Trust me, my taste in music is impossibly bad. Not to be emulated. And so here goes, but a small sampling of my list of really, really, BBBBBAAAAAADDDD songs that I know all the words to and secretly LOVE:

Summer Nights - Olivia Newton John (Find me one person out there who doesn't love Grease!)
Don't Stop Believin' - Journey
Too Much Time on My Hands - Styx
Rock Me Gently - Andy Kim
Let the Music Play - Shannon
Rhinestone Cowboy - Glen Campbell (Just like bloggers...getting cards and letters[and comments] from people they don't even know)
Top of the World - the Carpenters (Karen rocked!)
Mandy - Barry Manilow
Knock Three Times - Tony Orlando (with or without Dawn?)
Unbelievable - E.M.F. (I also love me some E.L.O.)
Heaven is a Place on Earth - Belinda Carlisle
Don't Cha - Pussycat Dolls
Paradise by the Dashboard Light - Meatloaf (Mac Daddy *abhors* this song. It's a wonder I married him.)
Summertime and Gettin' Jiggy Wit It - Will Smith (He's on my *list.*)
Girlfriend in a Coma - The Smiths
Waitress in the Sky - The Replacements (Mac Daddy and I still sing this whilst chuckling on every single flight we take. Some jokes don't get old.)
Surrender - Cheap Trick (SO GOOD LIVE in Memorex!)
Urgent - Foreigner (Will always remind me of Chad Londeree, who gave me Foreigner 4 for my 13th birthday.)


I really need my brother or Tony to come intervene.

And don't go thinking I'm all uncool and dorky. I can hear your snarkiness right now. Snort snort...."That Dirt & Noise chick is so not hip. My dead great aunt is so much cooler." Perhaps the cast of Young at Heart is cooler than I am. Yeah, I'm tragically unhip. Cheesy also comes to mind. So what? Sure, I might be stuck in the 60s, 70s, 80s, but not today, but you won't recognize a damn thing on Tony's mix tape either.

So what's the verdict? Can the damage to Bird and Deal be undone?

What's on your iPod that you're willing to fess up to?

Anatomy 101

I have boys. Boys have penises. Boys love their penises. For that matter, men love their penises too.

I recall a time in seventh grade math class (It was dummy math since I am the only Indian in the world who is bad at math and science.) when this kid J.T. was called to the blackboard to solve an equation. The teacher kept calling J.T.'s name, but J.T. just sat and sat and sat with a startled stare in his eyes that made me think he had made it all the way through sixth grade without knowing English. This would explain why J.T. was never in my other classes, which were at a much higher level than the math I was demeaned to take because the understanding-of-the-basic-concept-of-empirical-value gene skipped me in a rare genetic mutation. After a few very uncomfortable moments, J.T. arose. In light of something else that arose, said moment was exponentially more uncomfortable. J.T. scrambled to untuck his kelly green Polo shirt (upturned collar, of course, it was 1981) from his baggy Duck Head khakis. He hobbled up to the board and proceeded to fumble his way through the problem. I can still vividly remember seeing him try to steady the chalk in his quivering hand, face abashedly crimson.

At the time, I had no idea why the room was suddenly filled with a din of snickering. My parents neglected to explain any birds and bees details to me so I had no concept of boys' bodies, or of my own for that matter. After class, my dear friend Cat explained the gory details to me. Her mom worked for an Ob/Gyn so she had the benefit of candor and honesty in place of the shame and the if-you-don't-talk-about-it-it-isn't-real mentality I faced at home. Come to think of it, I learned an awful lot from Cat.

So now when my boys inquire about their penises, I think of J.T. and how clueless I was. I'm trying to equip them with as much information and honesty as their 4 and 2-year old minds can handle. For starters, we call "it" a penis. Not a willy. Not a wee wee. Not a johnson. We call an arm an arm so why should private body parts be any different? When Bird first learned that girls don't have penises, he would randomly go up to girls at the playground and inform them that, "You don't have a penis because you are not a boy." To him it was no different than saying "Today we had waffles for breakfast." Just a fact with no baggage or editorial attached to it.

Now the questions are becoming a bit more challenging. For instance:

"Is a girl's penis thing just behind all the hair?"

"Why is my penis up sometimes? Why won't it go down?"

"Why can't I play with my penis on the couch?"

"What do girls pee out of?"

My answers:

"No, girls don't have penises."

"Because sometimes it feels good and happy. If you let go of it, it will eventually go back down."

"Because that's private. And it's rude to have your hand down your pants. Now go wash your hands."

"A vagina."

Then I change the subject or leave the room. Perhaps I'm not ready to be as thorough as Cat's mom was. But it's an improvement. And for the record, Mac Daddy never gets these questions. He is far better equipped to answer them, no?


This post is dedicated to my niece, Nic, who has a 3-year old boy who loves his penis.