silver lining

When we moved, we lost our silver.  

It was an heirloom set, albeit incomplete, passed down from Mr. Kenobi's grandmother.  We had carefully packed it in its wooden box, but as we unpacked items in our new home, it remained missing.  I couldn't fathom somebody stealing it, especially since I carefully labeled the box without indicating valuable silver inside.  No items seemed to be missing, but that silver was never found.  In any case, silver place settingsis not something we can afford to replace right now, so we've had a few holiday dinners here with our fine china and everyday mismatched silverware. 

It felt odd losing something, without choosing to let it go.  Still, that loss has sometimes empowered me to send other things (often of less value) out of my home.  If I can do without 3-generation silver, I can do without a Johnny Jump-up, right?  

Today, I felt like purging things from storage.  We had some baby items that need to go.  While I'm not claiming to be done having babies, I don't think I need to keep everything we've had - especially if some things remain basically unused from the first two Kenobis.  We were typical first-time parents, and purchased or received tons of bottle supplies, plastic plates & "sporks" for little hands.  Not only did many plans and ideas change, but Obi-1 turned out to be quite resistant to bottles.  In fact, most of our collection of this stuff remained unused.  

So, I decided the baby bottles and other similar stuff should go to somebody who needs it now, and I'll worry about replacing or borrowing items if and when I need them some day.  I was tempted to take the whole thing to a charity or friend, but thought better of it and went through items to make sure I didn't give away something I actually wanted to keep.  I hauled out the box labeled "baby kitchen items," and started loading a paper bag with things.  Suddenly, I looked into the bottom and saw a familiar wooden box.  Our silver.  There, under rarely used baby cups and plastic ware was rarely used sterling silver.

My aunt used to tell me to look for reasons to use my nice dishes & silver.  "Make a celebration, if you need to," she'd say.  "Just use that because you'll feel good about it and good about the reason you're celebrating."  

It's good advice.  Perhaps finding the box of utensils can be my reason this time.  Maybe it's the fact that I'm finally moving forward and letting go of baby life.  Maybe it's because my baby is turning five next week.   Whatever the reason, it's time to bring out the nice dishes and make a new recipe.  What was lost has now been found.

school choice

I went pre-kindergarten school supply shopping today.  For every parent who has children in "real" school, I only got a glimpse of your life right now.  Still, the glimpse brought me back to nearly five years ago, and it wasn't pretty.

When Obi-1 was born, I had planned to enroll him in daycare and continue building my career.  I remember visiting the daycare while I was pregnant, and I noticed all the wonderful, stimulating details of the environment.  I saw the program that would teach my youngster everything important - like colors, letters, and sharing.  I observed the routine followed for all babies - changing on certain hours, feeding on routine, holding each one equally, etc.  These things impressed me.

Then, a few months passed, and I was holding my baby in my arms.  Like many parents, I suddenly became aware of all the germs riding around on friends and family - especially those little children we loved - and I shuddered to imagine my bumpkin ever contracting one of those gross runny noses or awful coughs.  We enforced "hand-washing" campaigns on every one who visited.  If you were one of those, I'm sorry. 

I looked at the childcare center, and I couldn't get past all of the chances for my child to get sick.  The place followed standard cleaning routines - including bleach wipes and all, but I only saw toxins in those wipes and dozens of children we didn't know.  I started calculating missed days due to staying home with a sick child, and got a little paranoid.  I saw the feed-on-schedule and routine and realized my son would be one of many babies.  It wasn't just sanitizing wipes & routines of a large-center childcare that changed my mind about working, but I'll honestly admit that "health" is one factor in to my decision to stay home longer, work different schedules, and eventually phase out of the paid workforce.

Obviously, just a few things have changed since then.  Obi-1 has had (and probably shared) his fair share of illnesses.  As any parent of siblings can attest, whatever illness one child endures will likely be shared, worsened, and passed along throughout the family.  I'm glad there were far more (better) reasons we used in making such large life decisions for our family.  

Anyway, it should make me happy to see "1 large bottle sanitizing wipes" on the pre-kindergarten checklist, right?  It should, but alas, I nearly lost all motivation for sending my boy off to school this year when I had to make that purchase.

Maybe it was the little note at the bottom: "no need to mark items with your child's name - we'll be using them as community supplies." I thought of the kid in my classes who sneezed long, squishy remnants into his hand and wiped them on his jeans before continuing his coloring project.  I thought about the way I loved to keep my crayons sharp and ordered in roy-g-biv sequence.  My son will have a big bucket of crayons, all passing around the same snotty germs to one another, only to be generously shared back home with the rest of our family.

Wipes won't help with that.  Of course, this is the nature of public (or any) school.  This is part of the cost of getting together and learning with other kids.  I get it.  It's just, well....

There's another nutty little thing about that supply item.  My right-wing-conspiracy-theorist friends & family (you know who you are) like to say our town is a haven for "environmental wackos."  I think they include me in that terminology, so it's somewhat endearing.  Nonetheless, sanitizing wipes are rarely environmentally friendly.  In fact, I personally don't think they're good for our health, but that's probably another post.  With the rare exception of biodegradable wipes in recyclable packaging, this is not a great (or even effective) way to clean.  It's also good to note that these enviro-wipes don't come in "large container" size, as was requested on school supply lists.

True to the "wacko" bit, I don't use wipes much in my household.  I even considered suggesting the classroom use some health-friendly spray and good clean cloths.  Thankfully, I didn't say that idea out loud.  I have no doubt that enormous containers of lysol wipes will be carried into the classroom this fall.  I can only imagine the (crazy) impression my suggestion might leave on a preschool teacher.

So there I stood, list in hand, excited son counting crayons and colored pencils, and wipes staring me down from the shelf.  A thought crossed my mind, "maybe we should just homeschool."  It may be a good option for many families - I wouldn't rule it out for my own - but choosing to educate my son at home because I didn't want him using sanitizing wipes might be a little nuts. Seriously.  Nuts.  Let's all agree that this type of decision-making doesn't indicate the sort of wisdom we want in a person teach our children.  

So, we'll deliver our school supplies to the teacher next week, and try to concentrate on how much Obi-1 is looking forward to the whole experience.  And when we get home, we'll wash our hands.

beachy

I simply can't seem to keep up with what I want to write and publish.   That is, at least so long as I'm doing what I want to do!  We just got back from an amazing trip to the coast, complete with a relaxing stay in a beach house, sprawling sand castles, and much wave chasing.  I'd write more about it, but there are parks to visit and bikes to ride and pre-kindergarten preparations to enjoy right now.  

So, here are a few photos to keep you company...

Yes, the water is cold.  Yes, the weather (this day) was cloudy and cool.  That doesn't matter if you're chasing waves!

Sing with me - "Let's go fly a kite..."

Fortunately, we're a family with engineers, hard workers and folks who like to think they know everything, so castle-making offered a role for everyone.  Note MamaToo's freshly pedicured toes in the "project management" position...

It is simply not a vacation without s'mores.  Beautiful sunset from the deck is optional, of course, but much appreciated.

It's a little overwhelming - the power, depth, and vastness of the ocean, and the oh-I-wish-I-could-freeze-this-moment-forever feeling of watching my boys explore.  

There was some debate about east coast vs. west coast.  I say I'd rather have sunsets like this every day.  Mom & Dad think sunrises are beautiful to start the day.   I countered: you have to wake up to see the sun rise.  Ah, yes.

sundance

When we moved, many people prayed for the boys and I to transition easily.  They were wise friends, knowing that the loss of routine can make life difficult.  When and where to get groceries, how to run errands in the shortest amount of time and traffic, where to tune in for weather or news, and many other mundane details of life can provide comfort in a new place.  All of the new details could have easily overwhelmed this young mom of two little boys.  

In fact, they did for a little while.  I couldn't find a bulk grocery section like the one I was used to shopping in Seattle.  The freeway system crisscrossed the rivers and bridges in a confusing muddle.  The library was home to rowdy teenagers after school.  The church search - well, that was long and lonely.  And of course, all of our friends were three hours away.  More than a couple times that I sat on my steps and cried over the loss of "normal."

Then, a month of so into our move here, I went to a different place for our Monday grocery trip.  Within steps of our parking spot, life got a little sunnier.  We met Sundance, and he helped us make this place home.

Week after week, Sundance has greeted us as we headed into our grocery adventures.  At times, we stop and visit on the way in, slowly getting to know this remarkable man and his story.  I've heard about his college baseball scholarship and completed bachelor's degree.  I listened to how his sister took care of his parents, and how he'd see them around the holidays.  I've heard tidbits of the struggles he had faced in life and decisions that had lasting impact on his life.  When the boys are impatient or rambunctious, he's reminded them to "listen to their mother" as we turned in through the automatic doors.  When they are modeling for best-kid-of-the-year brochures, he says something like, "your mom must have taught you well."  I think we often all needed those little notes of humor and genuine compliments in our morning.

My friends have teased that I must take that song, "Who are the people in your neighborhood...?" pretty seriously.  Perhaps - I admit that I go to that grocery store because of Sundance, Anastasia "the samples girl," and Suzie "the checker."  There are closer, maybe even better, places to get our groceries.  These people make the trip for milk and sundries something we actually look forward to.  Who can say that about grocery shopping with little kids?

One our way out of the grocery store, we often stop to buy a paper from Sundance. Occasionally, when his short poems were published, he'd point them out with contagious confidence.  I love reading his creations, little excerpts of his personality in short, poignant lines.  When we don't buy a paper, we often pick up a little something in the aisles for Sundance.  The boys take turns getting to carry Sundance's favorite strawberry cereal bars or a tall water bottle as I push the cart past the flowers and out the door.  Sometimes we'll stop and visit some more, and other times we have to leave with a little wave and, "see you next week, Sundance!"  

"God bless you and all your loved ones," Sundance always says with a smile.  At first, I smiled and nodded, but it wasn't long before I struck up a conversation with him about his beliefs.  What did "God" mean to him?  Sundance was unashamed to answer, "I'm a Christian.  I've been following Jesus for a long time, and that's just the way I live."  His beliefs were solid pieces of his character, and his tolerance of differences was far-reaching and sincere. Every person who knew him, regardless of their own beliefs, is blessed with his signature goodbye.

Sundance's life is simple.  He once described the room he rented for $20 a day.  "I'm simple, but happy," he'd say confidently.  "I don't have a lot of the things that cause stress for people.  I don't care if gas prices rise - I don't have a car.  I love my work, and live my life."  His one little luxury is a small tv that brought various baseball games to his room in the summer.  Far from regretting what might have been, had injury not dashed his possibilities of a long pitching career, Sundance was quite content and peaceful with his life.  Once we talked about how he'd tried to apply for various other, higher paying professional jobs.  However, at his age, with some of his past mistakes, it was difficult to find an employer willing to invest in him. He wasn't bitter or even disappointed, though.  His life was blessed, and he loved the people and work he encountered each day.  Blessed, he assured me, didn't mean easy, however.  Some seasons are better for street paper vendors, and others are more difficult.  Nearing 60 years old, he knew he would probably continue newspaper sales every day for the rest of his life.  There would be no retirement, just years of days of work.

Sundance has always noticed if we missed a Monday morning at the store.  As we rounded the corner and stopped to say hello, he'd ask about our recent trips or vacations.  I've watched many conversations where he patiently listened to 3 and 4-year old boys relay their adventures.  He always seemed happy to see us back on routine.  I've been amazed and humbled thathe would know our habits so well, but I also appreciated that things had become "normal" and comfortable enough in our routine.  Finally, it seems, we have a little community in the errands and grocery trips of life.

A couple weeks ago, I went to get groceries and missed Sundance.  No other paper vendor stood out there and I assumed he must have been sick - or perhaps lucky enough to get tickets to a baseball game - that particular day.  It was unusual for him to miss a moment of his work, but I didn't worry too much about it.  I just missed him, and the boys missed giving high-fives out the side of the shopping cart and picking out strawberry bars.  I actually looked forward to the next time we'd see Sundance, so I could let him know we had missed him and remind him that he's appreciated and noticed.  

As it turns out, I won't get to tell him.  As I walked from our car last Thursday, I was greeted by a new face selling papers.  Sundance, he reported, had passed away a week-and-a-half earlier.   He had evidently gone in his sleep, or while watching tv.  

Stunned, I entered the store and tried to navigate the cheese options while I processed the news.  I've written before about minivan theology.   It's the seminary of life - where the beliefs we hold meet the questions and challenges of young minds.  It's living out my faith in the presence of little eyes, ears, and lives that soak it up and imitate me, for better or worse.  It's answering "why" to the things that seem most important, yet most difficult to articulate.   In a grocery store, between samples of hummus and various scents of dish soap, minivan theology took a new turn.  What happens when somebody dies?  In particular, what happened to Sundance?

I am so grateful for the conversations I had with Sundance over the past two years.  With confidence I could explain how his death is sad for us, but actually happy for Sundance.  I could hold back my own tears in order to let my children hear how Sundance is with God forever.  I could remember that this man, nearly sixty years old, will never have to work through old age, trying to pull together the daily rent and food costs of his simple life.  I could acknowledge that death, however gaping in loss to us, is the end of pain and loneliness, of standing in the cold rain to sell papers, of accepting the judgements of those who don't recognize the human blessing before them.  I could look at my children, and agree with them that it was "so nice" to have had him as a friend, even if we're very sad now to lose him.

Sundance was a remarkable human being.  He was a gift to that store, to every customer he greeted on that side of the automatic doors, to every ear that heard, "God bless you and all your loved ones."  He gave a new face to my understanding of working poverty - one of strength and gratitude, of love and discipline, of compassion and confidence.   

I will miss him.  I will grieve the change on that entrance to the grocery store.  I will continue to process the loss with my boys, who daily ask about Sundance's life and God's decisions.  Most of all, I will be thankful, selfishly, for the friendship and comfort I found in our weekly visits.  He helped me find "home" in this new place, and now his Maker has taken him home forever.

oh brother

Well, it's only been a scant few days, but little Obi-2 wasn't waiting around to catch up on the biking adventures.  Last weekend, we caved to his persistent requests to have his training wheels taken off.  Within moments, I was running behind him, holding on, and thinking of my dad.  

Since he's only three, I was surprised he had the balance to ride.  Riding and pedaling were no problem, but he was unable to get started and stopped on his own.  While we knew these were important skills, Obi-2 wasn't going to be convinced without experiencing it himself.  Doubting Thomas, I suppose.

So, a few skinned elbows later, we convinced him to remove the pedals.  With the seat lowered completely, he could touch the ground with flat feet and push himself along on the bike.  Once he got some momentum, he'd pull his feet up and see how far he could go without putting his feet back down for balance.  If you're teaching a child to ride without training wheels, this is definitely the way to go - at least if you want to limit their risk & frustration.

This evening, he got going the width of a city lot with ease, so we agreed that he could have his pedals back.  It was quick moving from there, as he took off and rode away, just as he had seen his brother do.  Within moments he was trying to go down hills so he could get more speed, and he quickly figured out how to turn with great control.  My nervousness increased as I watched Obi-1 and his friends try to skid their bikes into complete turns.  So, I took the opportunity to double-check our health insurance policy and confirm we have AFLAC.   

We spent the evening watching all neighbor kids ride bikes.  I'd say it was "into the sunset," except they're only allowed to go a few houses down before turning and heading back to the east.  However, by the time it started to get dark we had to remind them that when the sun goes to bed, so do they. 

It looks like I will need to watch out for the building of ramps and jumps that is sure to follow the Kenobi boys. Congrats, Obi-2, for making our home an official "training wheel free" household.  I'm excited to ride into the next adventure.