Bump In The Night

The summer after graduation was particularly warm, even for Southern California, and people kept their windows and screen doors open more often and more casually than usual. Which is how Richard Ramirez, the “Nightstalker,” walked right into a dozen houses, wreaking unimaginable havoc. Everyone was scared, I was terrified. For hours every sleepless night, the only way I could get any rest was to creep into my brother’s room and curl up on his floor--my younger brother, to give you some perspective. So, when my usually harmless prankster boyfriend got what he thought was a funny idea, he should have reconsidered. One night when I thought he was home, he snuck to my house and hid near the front door. Home alone, I felt like I kept hearing something outside but dismissed it as paranoia. Finally, when I was too scared to stay by myself any longer, I decided to brave the six foot distance between the main house and my brother’s space in the converted garage so that I would have company. As I stepped onto the porch, the mischievous boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly jumped out of the bushes and I started screaming. And screaming. Screaming until I had no voice and was blind with panic. Poor boy was so contrite I doubt he ever tried to scare anyone ever again. In the Berenstains’ In The Dark, Brother gets more than he bargained for when he tries to scare Sister. Hopefully, everyone learns their lesson from these things.

http://www.amazon.com/Berenstain-Bears-Dark-First-Books/dp/0394854438

http://www.berenstainbears.com/

Different Strokes

Dads are different than moms. And while there is a ton of research to demonstrate all those differences, anyone who has ever had or been a parent didn’t need proof. We know this instinctively (mostly) and experientially (sub-consciously) from the time we get here, and have it reaffirmed continually throughout our lives. We know that dads overwhelmingly tend to play more physically and have a much higher bar for what circumstances warrant sympathetic nurturing. We know that dads are more likely to expect (and therefore often get) performance that is beyond what age and skill would suggest a child is capable of. Maybe, since dads are statistically far less informed about childhood development, they just don’t know any better. So, it’s like the bumblebee school of parenting--the kids don’t realize they can’t do what’s being asked, so they fly anyway. Kids who have involved dads tend to have more confidence, fewer social-navigation challenges, and a more active lifestyle. But, let’s face it, they are also far more likely to have wardrobe challenges on dad days. Yesterday, Scarlett was going out to have fun with her Daddy--who also chose the day’s ensemble of red Spiderman shirt, orange pajama pants, purple fancy socks, and pink-glitter, too-big, hand-me-down Sunday shoes with the toes scuffed off. To be fair, it’s what Scarlett would wear and perfectly suited to the activity at hand, but sheesh! In the Berenstains’ Life With Papa, Brother and Sister know that Papa is different. That’s why he’s so much fun.

http://www.jacketflap.com/bookdetail.asp?bookid=B0006R8ZY0

http://www.berenstainbears.com/

Nothing But The Truth

I can’t lie. Oh, I’d like to be able to, but my body won’t let me. If I try to be untruthful, I trigger such a massive “She’s lying!” physiological response that people can sense the utter ridiculousness of believing me. Lying is so mysterious to me that I find those who do it smoothly (unless they are parenting, sleeping with, formerly married to, or come from me) fascinating. The cool demeanor of the practiced liar is like black magic--dangerous and yet captivating, too. I would make a terrible double agent or ex-husband or customer service representative, ’cause those folks make a point of lying all the time. It’s in the job description, for heaven’s sake. No, lying is not something I can do, which is ironic since, as a college instructor, it’s something I’m exposed to every day. Like the student whose toddler-voiced girlfriend called me pretending to be his mother telling me that he was on the East Coast for a funeral and wouldn’t be able to attend class…and then made the mistake of going to the local copy center, where he bumped into me. Or the student who couldn’t make it to school because of a case of mono…and then posted “Off the hook!” pictures of himself doing body shots off a sorority girl the night before. And so many others. In Stan and Jan Berenstain’s The Truth, Brother and Sister Bear figure out what everybody has to learn eventually--mothers know everything so lying just wastes time.

http://www.amazon.com/Berenstain-Bears-Truth-First-Books/dp/0394856406

http://budsartbooks.com/prod.cfm/pc/CHIPH/cid/43

School Days

I love school. Apparently so, since I never left it, but it’s more than just a career choice. I love going to classes, perusing new textbooks, and learning things I never knew I didn’t know. The feel and smell of new school supplies are like a hit of some highly addictive drug, without all the prison time. Every September (back when school administration had not lost its ever-loving mind and school still started in September) was electric with unlimited potential. I am a big summer fan and hated to see it go, but the school bell was an irresistible siren song. Even as a teacher the start of a new semester lightens my mood. Before I had enough seniority to teach summer classes, I would get really nasty near the end of August. I was restless, crabby and uncomfortable in my own skin without being able to define what the problem was--until the first day of class. I would walk in, begin reading a new class roster, and feel like I took my first full breath for three months. No wonder I was in such a bad mood being oxygen-deprived for so long. Admittedly, not everything was or is perfect about school, but, if I could, I would go to school full-time every semester and take every class they’ve got. Sister Bear is feeling some trepidation about starting kindergarten in Stan and Jan Berenstain’s Go To School, but gets over it right away. Maybe she truly is a sister bear.

http://www.amazon.com/Berenstain-Bears-School-First-Books/dp/0394837363

http://www.frontiernet.net/~bmariska/bears/bio.html

Creatively Coping

Can carrying a colossal cache of concern cause a character to crack? It certainly can. In Stan and Jan Berenstain’s “C” is for Clown, the title character, Clarence, is under a lot of pressure. In order to be successful, his act hinges upon his ability to support an increasingly heavy load without collapsing. Since that scenario is the thematic thread of my life, and most likely everyone else’s, I know just how he feels. I wonder sometimes why I feel so stressed out, until I take a look at just my recent history. In the last five years, I’ve been a military wife with a foreign-deployed spouse, had a messy and protracted divorce, fought an ongoing custody battle, had two surgeries, one of them major enough to require updating my will, had no less than two jobs at any time and sometimes as many as four, moved the entire household twice, turned forty, had my brand new car totaled, had a fourth baby, got engaged, got married, and lost both of my grandparents. And everyone I know has a list that long with different, but no less overwhelming, stuff on it. Not that we have it so much worse than our historical counterparts, and in the case of modern conveniences far better, but it’s no wonder none of us can sleep. So, much like Clarence the Clown, we juggle each new thing that gets thrown at us, trying to give each the attention it deserves and demands…hoping we don’t CRASH!

P.S. Happy Birthday, Kristin!

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0001714422/frugalreaderc-20

http://www.kidsreads.com/authors/au-berenstain-jan-stan.asp