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My Peaceable Kingdom

This week, the A&E television network is regaling me with stories to make me so damn glad to be a mom. First was the documentary about mothers killing children, then one about teachers seducing students, and today’s documentary was on a kid accused of killing his mother.

I’m fairly certain that I’m not going to kill my children. If you’ve ever heard them at each other’s throats, you’d understand the qualifier. Even so, it’s still not in me since mostly they are charming, wonderful kids who are a pleasure to parent. I don’t have to worry about the teacher thing just yet since teachers tend to go for the 14 and over crowd. Also, I’m pretty much a hover mom with a solid evil eye. I don’t think my kids would kill me – at least not until they can drive themselves around town or discover the mystery of how beverages get poured into a cup. Like that will ever happen.

I could wind up an A&E investigative report, but I don’t think so. Not if my pets are any indication. They have turned out exceptionally. Boris tops the list of dogs anywhere. I’m not sure we can take credit for how wonderful he is. He may be nothing short of a gift from God. Even so, Jesse has trained Boris well. Boris minds, he is a fierce protector, and nary was there a more loving pet. He even tolerates the cat.

Sister Princess, or “Cessy”, is a solid cat. She allows the children to love her excessively. She is a fierce hunter who nabs the sewer roaches and chases the mice and lizards out of the house. Unfortunately, her predatory behavior extends to the little birdies outside. I don’t like this habit of hers, and I worried about how she would torture the hens. As this photo is my witness, I needn’t have given it a second thought.

Cessy likes to lay outside, even on the hottest of Tucson summer days. This patch of cool dirt used to be a wildflower garden. The hens have some sort of agreement with the cat, apparently, that they share. Five of our six hens are in this photo with Cessy. Big Momma, our white hen, was hanging around at my foot wondering what sort of goody I had for her. The hens are well reared too, though the Krause-Brashears have more to do with that than I do. Proof at the least that I’m an adequate foster mom. On the other hand, we only got two eggs today. Poor hot birdies. I didn’t lecture them as yesterday we got five.

And when did Arts and Entertainment turn into “Real Life. Drama.” with this cruel programming at a time when they know we are trapped inside our homes with our summer crazed kiddos? That’s corporate sustainability! They are attempting to inspire us to provide them with more salacious stories. They’ll get none here. Ours is a peaceable kingdom.

WOW Review Premiere


Worlds of Words proudly announces the premiere issue of WOW Review: Reading Across Cultures. WOW Review is an electronic journal of critical reviews on children’s and adolescent literature that highlight intercultural understanding and global perspectives. The review journal is one of two online publications offered by WOW and made available to you without subscription, membership, or fee requirements.

(Disclosure – I work for Worlds of Words and believe in their mission. On the other hand, the organization and/or its partners may not share my views as expressed here.)

Who’s Funding this Reportage?

My plan to blog about my peaceable kingdom must defer to my annoyance at dot gov. They must be kidding me with this report. Why is the focus on revenue for road maintenance? Less traffic means less wear and tear on the road. Less traffic means there’s not so much of a need for road expansion. With costs like those decreasing, the need for revenue decreases. I’ve been trying not to obsess, but I can’t help it. Why take the encouraging news that we could be a less oil/gas dependent country with cleaner air and turn it into crap? Even the Today Show took the baited hook this morning!


(About 2 min 30 sec in)

Having nested next to a busy road where people routinely drove their vehicles right up the curb and into our wall, living with the noise and particulate poisoning, cleaning road grime from inside my home, I think the fewer miles driven are a blessing. Perhaps kids living near highways will have less asthma, attention deficit, and whatever else comes with miserable traffic. You could google innumerable articles on it, but common sense would tell us not to suck on a tailpipe unless death is the goal.

Plus, the oil and gas companies are running a bunch of “you must be a dufus” ads. “You think you don’t own a gas company? You do if you have any sort of financial investments.” In between the lines they say controversial drilling and imported (stolen?) gas will put money in your pocket. Also, are we really supposed to think the warmth created by gas pipelines that attracts caribou is a good thing? I might be convinced that some off shore drilling is needed or even that we need to open up ANWR, but you have to give me a better argument that what I’ve heard so far. Cheap gas isn’t convincing because you get what you pay for.

Lessons on the Homeless

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The kids and some friends and I took a trip to the ballpark tonight. The Sidewinders are moving to Reno due to low attendance. On the one hand it’s unfortunate that we are losing this wholesome family opportunity, on the other it’s the low attendance that permits me to give the kids free range in a pubic arena. I could see them at any given time – almost.

They asked if they could ride the kiddie train and I said okay. At one point along the way, they saw “a very nice homeless guy” who said hello to them and gave them the peace sign. The kids hurried to me to ask for a dollar so that they could give it to him.

I can’t say that Jesse and I have been positive role models in terms of our giving. We do have our responsible cash charities that we don’t discuss with the kids. What they do see us do is give food to the beggars on street medians and Jesse will frequently throw MREs to the loiterers at the park. They also have seen us give cash without question to folks on the street. As an aside, Jesse and I went to see Gat Rot the other night, and on the way to the car we gave $5 to a local who promised to “only spend it on weed.”

Regardless of how Jesse and I enable those meekest of God’s addicted, crazed, poor, or otherwise afflicted children, I cannot condone my babies and their pal approaching a homeless guy, no matter how nice he seems, to give him a dollar. “Then you come with us to give it to him,” suggested my little problem solvers. “Uh, aren’t you guys thirsty? How about you go get some water?” It was $1.75 more than their charitable intention and highlighted my obvious laziness, but also my expertise at diversion.

The kids went on a final train ride to see their homeless pal. The boys waived peace signs; George yelled “HEY, YOU’RE NICE!” Isn’t that almost as good as $1? Plus, the guy was enjoying the game from the other side of the fence for free, so it was a good night for him already. Leaving the park after the game we drove along the fence where the homeless man had been enjoying the game. Disappointed in not seeing the guy, the kids embarked on a discussion during which my son said, “And all he wanted was peace. Homeless people are like that. They just want peace.”

Now for another aside. All this goodwill came from three kids who spent the bulk of their post-homeless guy waiving time engaged in verbal fisticuffs with two other kids at the ballpark.

Kookies

Kamp Kookakid is a cooperative of sorts started by a few friends and myself. The idea is that we can have fun this summer with our kids and each other at low cost. We’ve had a good time so far and are just getting started. One parent came up with the idea of touring the Phoenix Mars Mission facility (it’s free!) and another set it up. Here’s the result:


KVOA coverage of Phoenix Mars Mission tour

I can’t get the video to embed. I had trouble even making the link, but I’ll keep trying.

I probably shouldn’t talk about kids other than mine on this blog, so I won’t except in general terms. The tour begins with a presentation and the presenter engaged the audience with lots of questions. I was impressed by the extant knowledge of our campers. Additionally, the kids’ focus interacting with the exhibits was enviable. Lastly, their retention about the science facts exceeded my own. Friends and kids and Mars are pretty cool.

Bock Bock Chicken Licken

The Krause/Brashears have moved to Amherst leaving their flock of six with the Ballengers. The first thing you need to know about this family is that they have some major cool going on. Betsy, as you will remember, treated me to a glass of wine on her birthday. Chris is a musician as is their daughter Hollis. Their son, Luca, increased my son’s hep factor by making it okay to say “dude” in a context that didn’t include cattle. Their flock is no less cool.

Introductions
All the hens came with names, which we will honor, but Sailor Moon will just have to be Big Momma to me. She is soft and lovely and at the top of the pecking order near as I can tell. Don’t think that the bantams can’t rise up against the bigger hens. Fireball or Flower, I’m still getting to know those two, hen pecked Daisy over some watermelon today. The other members of the flock are Persephone and Buttercup.

Sweet Digs
Jesse and the kiddos worked together to build an awesome coop with two roosts, four nests, and a slanted roof that will shed rain water onto our water hungry citrus tree. You’ll notice the tin can flowers made with Anna then given to and stolen from Molly. Also, there’s a 1919 license plate over the door. I expect we will continue to decorate and modify our coop. For now, the chicks dig it.

Our Pets Make us Breakfast
The chickens aren’t always in their coop. They like to free range, just like the rest of us. I so appreciate their work de-bugging the backyard. On the other hand, their first day out they ate our prized black Russian tomato that George and I have been carefully tending. It was our only one and there are no flowers promising any future blacks. Even so, I love these ladies. They have produced well for us – especially considering how our family, and Parrish in particular, loves to snuggle. Our first egg was this green one.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a better tasting egg than the ones coming from our flock. Yum, yum, yumm-o! Thanks to the Krause/Brashear family.

I’m Crafty!

I’d love to explore artistic expression, but I’m too cheap to buy the supplies required for such an obsession. Frugality aside, I do not consider myself particularly creative or even artistic. On top of that, I don’t have a point of view that I just have to show the world. Even so, on occasion I can craft when given careful guidance and inspiration.

The Mollyanna Bowl
Some people, like my friend Anna, don’t wait for “someday” to do something that strikes their fancy. I discovered this the pleasant way while lingering at her home. We were perusing books on how to use recycled objects to make crafts with your kids. We agreed that the majority of the materials used in one book in particular were not recycled nor even recyclable. This is a bit of a sticking point since I’m not sure I’d want to keep or give away some of the crap, uh, crafts. I don’t like the idea of craft for craft’s sake because then you wind up with a bunch of JUNK and a house that smells like an old lady’s (that last part is purely conjecture on my part).

We did come across a braided rug technique used to make coasters. It seemed like something we might try this summer with the kids. Unfortunately, Anna had just given away her scraps to the best second grade teacher ever, Molly. We came up with the idea of using plarn (yarn made of plastic shopping bags). As I was still pondering, I realized Anna had already left the room, gathered supplies, and was cutting up shopping bags in strips. Plarn, we agreed, would make for a terrible coaster. We made bowls. This is my Mollyanna bowl full of CSA apricots.

I learned several things on this project.
* Plastic is a pisser to sew.
* Use clear thread and a thimble.
* Don’t prejudge the outcome.
* It’s okay to waste time like this. It has a name: experimentation.

The Art Teacher Utility Apron
Anna (again with the ANNA!) bought a bunch of oil cloth for use as a table cloth for her youngest child’s birthday. I’ve been looking at this material for some time. It’s colorful and functional and fantastic! Here Anna was buying it so casually and comfortably. Actually, what she bought was vinyl with a meshy backing, which is commonly called oilcloth though technically it’s not. Later, I saw a utility apron my friend betts* made for an auction at the school (a mix of traditional and contemporary oilcloth she bought in Mexico). Then betts* announced plans to make another apron for Molly while Anna was securing a Vy and Elle bag. Suddenly, I’m all about aprons and working with oilcloth or vinyl.


One day while sealing tiles for the Borton Environmental Learning Lab’s human sundial, the art teacher talked about how she identified with my son. She mentioned that she found it hard to take risks and get out of her comfort zone, but that she decided to do that this year with clay. Her clay work, well, I can’t express my thoughts on what she and the children did. It was moving to say the least. Plus, that she “saw” my kid out of hundreds and cared about his well-being – again, I can’t express my thoughts on that. After talking with her, I decided to take a risk and get out of my comfort zone. With the expert help of my pal betts* who made sure I didn’t sew the multiple pockets upside down, inside out, and backwards, I sewed this “oilcloth” utility apron for the art teacher. Isn’t it lovely? It took five hours minus buying time, but including the time it took to go home and get the foot pedal I’d left behind.

On this project, I learned:
* Make sure your foot pedal is stored with your sewing machine.
* Pay attention to the instructions, even when instinct tells you something else.
* Listen to betts* when she tells you three times, “don’t do that!” before she begs “please don’t do that.” What she means is, “your pocket may be right side up, but your seams will show.”
* I can top stitch!
* Slow and steady wins the race.
* Perfection isn’t a requirement.

Father’s Day Basket
Thanks to my mother-in-law I have cable (and high speed internet). One of our channels features networks that we don’t get in order to entice us to upgrade. I’ve never been thusly tempted, however, I was temporarily sidetracked from reality shows and Fox News by DIY. I rushed to the computer to look up their projects. Father’s Day was at hand and the kids wanted to make something for their dad. The DIY website provided several possibilities.


We made this basket out of old grocery sacks. You have to see it live on his mail table to fully appreciate it’s beauty. It looks great and when he’s tired of it, it’s totally recyclable. Our plan was to paint it, but as it was this took us three days.

I learned much with this project too.
* You need more than three days to weave and paint a basket with your kids.
* Rotary cutters make quick strips.
* It’s okay to BUY Dad a gift.

My future crafting goals are to make oilcloth lunch bags for my kids, sewing a shirt, and learning pottery from Mechelle and Anna. I’m giving myself years as a deadline for achieving any part of this as I still have an eight year quilt in the closet, a latch hook rug, and a cross stitch pillow turning to dust in the hall closet.

Unremarkable

I posted these on my other blog, but thought I could share it more broadly. Maybe my folks want to be updated on my medical status.

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Otorhinolaryngology. I didn’t even make up that word. I’ve been trying to see an ear, nose, throat (ENT) doctor for 20 years now. Mostly I was un- or underinsured for it. Then I got insured, but an ENT requires a referral and how am I gonna get that if I can’t even see my PCP when I have been hospitalized? Fortunately when I’m illin’, I’m crafty!

While being seen for pneumonia at the “same day” clinic, I complained about my ears. I went into my big ol’ long history of ear trauma and pathetically asked for my referral. Then I breathlessly insisted on it at my follow-up “same day” clinic appointment. I couldn’t walk for long distances or stand up, but I was highly motivated even in my decrepit state. If I survived flu, cocci, and pneumonia, by gum I was going to hear!

Oh, the world of difference between the office for poor sick folk and the office for rich people who can afford hearing aids! The primary difference is the big yellow sign in all caps reading, “YOU WILL NOT BE SEEN WITHOUT YOUR CO-PAYMENT, CURRENT REFERRAL, AND VALID INSURANCE CARD [sic] THANK YOU.” They are all about money. Other signs warned about service charges for bounced checks and processing fees if you left without making a co-payment. Lots of advertisements for hearing aids were on display. “TV Ears saved our marriage!” I had the vague fear that better hearing may negatively impact mine. I know for sure that Jesse’s artillery ear has helped us avoid fights after I’ve muttered grumbley grumbles under my breath, behind Jesse’s back, in a different room.

The secondary difference is that the specialist’s office is plush. They had a television and it was on Paula Dean. There were magazines. The wait was only 20-30 minutes. Of course they both had special signage, welcome windows, and time slots for drug reps. Next time I get sick, I am going to make a drug rep appointment rather than trying to see a doctor for my health.

Long story short, the ENT looked into my ears and said I had a hole in my eardrum – not the head, just the ear drum. Then he sent me for a hearing test, which I failed. DUH! But my hearing loss had the pattern of a brain tumor or something that sounded like “manure’s disease.” I’ll say. I’m real sick of all this manure about the best health care in the world. What he actually said was “meniere’s disease” but I couldn’t hear him because of the hearing loss. I later found out that Van Gogh likely had this disease and that’s why he chopped his ear off. So either my brain is screwed or I’ll soon lose my ear. Alternatively, and this is my own personal diagnosis, I’m perfectly healthy and it’s just a hearing loss related to that hole in my ear drum. I suspect the hole is the result of an ear drum that tired of bursting and rehealing in the absence of a doctor’s care and figured it might as well be permanently busted.

In the meantime, it’s a hearing aid for me and an MRI. More on that later, but as way of a preview this story ends happily for everyone except my children’s empty bellies. I’m currently teaching them the request, “More porridge, please.”

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Last Thursday was my make-up MRI. Of course it required a needle and “contrast”, which set me right off to the water fountain. I was going to be hydrated to the max to ensure my veins were pumped up and therefore less vulnerable to multiple puncture wounds. I didn’t want a repeat of the hospital horror leading up to the CT scan. The radiologist assured me the kind of needle used was different and “the dye isn’t nearly as dangerous.” How trustworthy is someone who radiates people for a living?

My brother already had me freaked out based on his surmise that if the radiologists had trouble with something as mundane as scheduling that I might really be in trouble when that big magnet was turned on and my brain was pounded. To add to my anxiety, at this point in my telling Jesse the toxic dye story he said, “Of course it’s fatal. Why do you think they call it die?” So I’m waiting for my father, son, or other important male in my life to say something slightly threatening to my life.

Needles aside, I was taken to a large room filled with a larger machine (I recognize that’s not possible). “Do you have anything in your pockets? Do you have any metal objects lodged in your body?” No, no. “Do you have your hearing aid on?” No. “What kind of music would you like to listen to?” Didn’t you just hear me say I’m not wearing my hearing aid? “Are you claustrophobic?”

Then they lay me down on the table. They lock my head in a mask. They give me a bubble to squeeze if I freak out. They strap me down, but insist the strap isn’t to keep me down. I’m pretty sure if I tied my kids down in bed like that, a CPS call would be in order. Then they proceed to blast my brain to what I think could have been Fir Elise. The process isn’t unlike early morning weekend sleep while the neighbors cut down a tree, tear down a storage shed, build another storage shed, or generally find something entertaining to do with power tools.

Halfway through -(dun dun DUN!)- The Needle. They slide the table out and stab me while still strapped down with the Hanible Lecter mask on. My arm goes numb and wonky. “You’re doing fine.” Really? It’s true the needle wasn’t as bad, but it wasn’t all that great either. And what does not doing fine look like? I’m strapped down on a table with my head in a vice, shoved in a giant machine with my brains exposed ala x-ray goggles from the back of an Archie’s Comic.

A week later, today, I get the results. The ENT’s aid calls to tell me “I’ve got good news. The results of your MRI came back and you have brains. Further, there is nothing at all wrong with them.” The gloating on my part was short lived. The letter from the radiologist with the results came in the mail. “IMPRESSION: Brain appears unremarkable….” The bubble bursts.

Who Lives Down There?

For Earth Day I taught 300 Borton children and adults how to determine “what lives down there?” Here I am.

My daughter is the noticeably bored kid in blue. The first language of the kid staring at the ground up front is Kurdish. I’m hoping they don’t represent how miserable everyone else was at the only station in full sun.

For three years, I’ve been visiting the bird sanctuary at my children’s school and staring at a variety of ground holes. The first year, I walked around a couple of times watching Anna and betts struggle with irrigation while noticing the subterranean homes of the desert critters. Jesse was in Iraq and so my attention was divided. Mostly I remember the striped shirt I wore on both visits. The second year was focused on pulling buffel grass and looking at ground holes. I don’t remember what I wore. This third year we’ve worked on getting children and families into the bird sanctuary. Since I’d spent three years thinking of Wonderland down those rabbit holes, I was elected to run a station on ground hole identification. I wore a striped skirt.

Here’s your minilesson:
1) Where is the hole located? Is it elevated or level with the ground? Is it out in the open or under a bush or between rocks?
2) How big is the hole? Is it small for insects or ants? Is it medium sized for a rodent of some sort? Is it large enough to accommodate a coyote? Measure the height/width of the entrance for more precise identification. In general you’ll look for holes smaller than 3 inches, between 3 and 8 inches, and greater than 8 inches in diameter.
3) What shape is the hole? Circular holes typically belong to rodents. You’re likely to find lizards in semicircular holes. Ovular holes will house tortoises, for example.

You can take note of other details too like if it has a silky barrier to it (you can expect a spider in that hole) or whether the homeowner is tidy or messy. Sometimes another animal will move into an abandoned hole. I showed the kids all kinds of photos of animals with their holes, including burrowing owls and kangaroo rats.

At this point, I asked the kids to look around the sanctuary to see if they can guess “who lives down there?” If they wrote down the answers to the three questions I gave them and send a letter to me using the school’s post office, I would help them identify ground holes in their yards or nearby parks. The kids were pretty cool, but the adults giggled when I invited everyone to tell me about their holes. I have received no letters thus far.

Check out more pix of our awesome Earth Day. Sadly, the composting station didn’t get photographed. The kids really got into worm poop.