Be a Rebel

It’s one of my favorite weeks of the year:  Banned Books Week.  I do not take for granted the fact that I can read whatever I want without having to hide it.  The list of the most frequently banned/challenged books is always so absurd, banning a beautiful, emotional, hope-filled story because of the word “damn” or something similarly ridiculous. 

When I was in middle school I went to check out a book (Fade by Robert Cormier) from the school library and the librarian (yes, really, the librarian) took it away and said she meant to pull it from the shelf because it wasn’t appropriate.  Thanks for guaranteeing that I would read the book, crazy librarian.  I went to the public library and checked out a copy.  It was scandalous.  I still love to read scandalous books.

So pick up a banned book this week and enjoy it.  Here’s a list of the books that were banned or challenged in the last year.  Celebrate your freedom to read!

Bonus

Last week was my first visit to Houston’s annual children’s used booksale.  If the regular book sale is a fourth grade teacher who walks the whole class to the convenience store and buys everyone a coke or a giant red popsicle that you can use to pretend you’re wearing lipstick, the children’s book sale is a third grade teacher who gives you a mark if you ask to go to the restroom.  In all instances the end result is the same –knowledge- but some paths will be more enjoyable.

Actually, even in a gymnasium with a broken air conditioner and some seriously pushy and unfriendly shoppers, the book sale was still better than third grade.  I had both boys in the wagon –not a great plan, see unfriendly shoppers note above- and I just kept cramming books in with them until there was no extra room.  Then I put Tate in the sling so we could add more books.  We came home with a big, fabulous stack.  So fabulous in fact, that for the first time I had the trophy wife thought that I should never let my husband find out how much I spent.

I’m going back next year.  The night before the sale Trent asked if he could help pick out the books we were getting rid of to make space…but it doesn’t really work that way with books.  Luckily I have some new bookshelf ideas in mind…

The Halster

There’s this crazy made up rule that girls need everything to be pink and boys need everything to be blue.  It’s okay for girls to play with cars, if the car is a Barbie Ferrari.  I have seen a pink child’s lawn mower.  Boys clothing not only has to be blue, but also feature a dinosaur, football, or bulldozer.   Boys need to like trucks (which don’t get me wrong, mine do – do I need to describe the difference between an excavator and a front end loader and a backhoe to prove how much I know about them?)  But as a little tiny kid, Rush also enjoyed pushing babies around in strollers when we went to play at houses with little girls.  It’s logical, as his dad has pushed him in the stroller many, many times, so he’s modeling the behavior of his strongest male role model.

I’m not the kind of crazy that makes me dress my sons in pink clothing, but I’m not buying into these strict stereotypes.  Rush and Tate are finding their way to most of them on their own (just driving past a construction sight is Disney World level excitement), but they’re also allowed to branch out.  Besides the train set and the garbage truck, one of the most loved and coveted toys at our house is Baby Hallie.

 

Because Rush likes pushing strollers and because we thought it would be a good idea to get a baby doll around the house before our actual new baby arrived, Trent and I picked out a doll and stroller for Rush last Christmas.  In typical fashion, there were no boy dolls in the store and only pink strollers, which makes perfect sense because all babies are girls…?  We had a brief moment on the toy aisle when we had to decide:  are we the kind of parents who are afraid to buy a big pink box with a girl doll and a pink stroller for our son?  We passed our own test and bought it.  She was quickly christened Hallie after the beloved baby on our street and now is one of the top three fought over toys.  Tate is only playing with her here because Rush was sleeping.

One of the saddest things I’ve ever heard is a family who took the pink crayon out of their son’s crayon box because they thought he was using it too much.  That’s just insuring that in 20 years there will be some very wealthy therapists.  My message to my sons:  Be who you are, kids.  Play with whatever. 

The Haircut

I got a haircut today and waited about fifteen minutes before starting to stress out about it  It wasn’t a bad haircut, but it wasn’t what I wanted and all of a sudden 70% of my deep insecurities started to hit the surface.

I wanted the haircut I had a few months ago, before I waited too long in between trims and my hair grew into a vague, longish, scraggly mess.  My mom, who very kindly went with me today, informed me that I didn’t give enough information to the stylist, but I’m never sure what to say beyond showing the length I’m looking for and mentioning layers.  It really doesn’t seem polite to say, “I’d like layers, but I don’t want to look like I’m 43 and it’s 1996.” 

My hair appeared to be fine in the chair, but it usually does.  It’s always in the car mirror that I start second guessing.  My mom was supportive in that she told me I could either go right back to the salon or I could stop talking about it.  It was pretty clear that she maxed out on post-haircut meltdowns after getting two daughters through middle and high school and she just wasn’t putting up with that shit ever again. 

I spent most of the afternoon close to tears, not crying only because I never had enough privacy to cry and crying about a decent haircut in front of your children is a bit much.  All I could think about was that the stylist gave me the haircut for the person she saw, which was evidently a frumpy, boring mother of two who doesn’t mind looking old.  It just built and built from there – is that how I look to everyone?  Is that what I am now?  Old and boring?

By some miracle I finally realized that I needed to pull myself up by my bootstraps (a phrase I use on Trent ALL.THE.TIME.) and take control of my own life.  As soon as Trent came home I headed out for my second haircut of the day, where I was able  to explain that even though I do drive a minivan and have two kids I don’t want to look like that and I really don’t want my hair curling under.  Wonderful Shonta, who I had previously bonded with over our love of caramel iced coffees, saved the day.

It’s shallow that how your hair looks and feels impacts that kind of day you have, but who is going to argue that it doesn’t make a difference to them?  What is it about hair that can sway a good or bad mood?  Even if I’m going to end up with a sweaty ponytail by 10 AM, I want decent hair going into that ponytail.

So for now all is well, I’m happy with my haircut, the earth continues to spin on it’s axis.  Do you know how much time I wasted today on this?  Two haircuts, worry and distraction, typing up a blog entry when I could be reading or asleep?  It’s ridiculous.  Thank you God that I didn’t have any bigger worries today. 

Unraveled

It’s September, so naturally I wanted to start knitting again.  When I found the knitting needles I wanted to use, they were occupied.

Sorry Tate, that hat is never going to fit you.  I finished it anyway, for some future baby, and of course it looks terrible (not pictured).  Knitting is not my thing, but after a long, hot summer it always seems like such a good idea:  sitting outside knitting something beautiful, wearing a light fall sweater while Trent serves his homemade butternut squash soup in pottery mugs. 

The reality is that I can’t seem to follow directions on a pattern or recipe without adding to it, which works for many things, but not knitting.  Here’s 3/4 of a perfectly nice white hat, but I think it would be cute to knit it to a point and then tie that part in a knot.  I mess up the last bit of at least 60% of the hats that I make.  That doesn’t stop me though, because every few projects something turns out okay.  Not perfect or great, but fine enough to keep and probably not give as a gift. 

Also it’s still hot here and Trent’s #1 grouchy trigger is being too hot, so no wearing sweaters or drinking soup on the porch.  But I do like to knit as something to do when I evacuate for a hurricane, so knitting as a fall seasonal craft remains.

Running

Recently I was telling my mom a story about how Tate is constantly on the move and she said, “He may be your active child.”

Let’s clarify: he may be my most active child.  He kicked constantly when I was pregnant, is crawling everywhere, and will dive with equal intensity for lettuce or pizza.  Right now he’s either on his way to the front door or the stairs. 

But Rush isn’t exactly a fan of the coloring book.  Sometimes I send him outside to run laps around the backyard.  Look up his name in the dictionary and an alternate definition is the word “dash.” Remember the son in The Incredibles?

I’m amazed by these two every day.

God Bless America

I was in college at work at the Aggieland Visitor Center; there were probably three or four of us working.  Yvette, another VC employee, called from her dorm room to tell us that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.  At that point we guessed it was an accident, so we generally went about our business while our boss tried to find some information online.  Yvette soon called back to tell us about the second plane.  Every news website was a blank screen, so we took turns walking across the street to the Koldus building to watch the news on a tv near the student government offices.

I was sitting on a couch and there was a woman near me eating those vending machine peanut butter crackers.  They news showed one tower on fire and the other covered in smoke and we watched that for a few minutes.  All of a sudden the news received new footage and we all –the news and the strangers I was sitting with- realized that the smoke we thought was covering the tower was actually covering nothing, and we saw footage of the first tower collapsing for the first time.  The rest of the day was spent watching footage on tvs set up all over campus, seeing the planes hit and the towers collapse over and over on a giant screen in the Flag Room.  I ate corkscrew pasta for lunch with my friend Dave at work.  That night we went to a prayer service. 

I can’t forget hearing about my grandpa turning on the tv that morning, probably after waking up from his post-work-out nap, and wondering what movie was on before he realized it was the news.  Right now so many tv stations are showing 9/11 specials, but I’m not planning on watching.  I still have those images in my head.

So today I’m grateful that I could spend my weekend eating soft tacos in the backyard with my family, watching a rerun of Saturday Night Live (When is the last time I watched that show - 2004? Is this a subconscious shout-out to New York?), getting up early to go to church, and flying the American flag outside my house.  I’m praying for everyone who was desperate for prayers ten years ago and everyone who still needs those prayers today.

Peace.  

Life Abundant

We finally met our new niece, Carolena Michele – welcome little one!

It was a nice long weekend in Austin, filled with snuggling, Blue Bell Tiramisu, fabulous weather, friends, family, and a breakfast at Central Market that will go down in my history as The Greatest Hits Breakfast for including so many of my favorite people all in one place, as well as coffee and fat blueberry-cranberry muffins.

All the kids are great, adorable, wonderful.  They boys were excited about their new cousin and both enjoyed spending time with Carolena.  Tate was schooled in the real world of being the little brother and here he is using that knowledge to steal Carolena’s pacifier.

New life – miraculous.