Footsy

I once found a note written by my dad. Or at least I thought it was until I realized the piece of paper was almost six hundred miles away from him. So, who wrote it? After a little investigative work, I discovered that my then-teenaged brother Todd had been the author, but the resemblance of the penmanship to my dad’s was remarkable. Is it possible that something odd like penmanship could be genetic? I understand eye color, height and skin tone, but writing? If that event had not occurred, I would still be firmly in the that’s-not-possible camp, but I’m a believer now. It has taken my husband a little longer to get on board with the idea, however. He had to have a conversion experience as well, I guess. And it came in the form of a little girl with foot issues. Not so much the feet themselves, but stuff on the feet themselves. After years of Nick watching me freak out when I try to work in the kitchen but can’t because crumbs or other debris are on the bottoms of my feet (and thinking I was crazy), he gets to see the same pattern repeating itself in Scarlett. She cannot handle kitchen-yuck on her feet for even a second. Which made me think about how unsuited she would probably be to living on a farm like the animals in Margaret Wise Brown’s Big Red Barn. She might not be a farm girl, but she’s definitely my girl.

http://www.amazon.com/Big-Barn-Margaret-Wise-Brown/dp/0694006246

http://books.google.com/books

Tradition

There’s a commercial where the uncle from “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” plays the role of a professor apologizing to his students for an educational system that has become dysfunctional by being “traditional.” Now, I get it: clinging to archaic notions and methods is often less than innovative and sometimes downright dangerous, and I am definitely not in favor of doing things the way we’ve always done them just because that’s how we’ve always done them, but I can’t help thinking of all the traditions I would be sorry to see go if there was a purge. There is something sad about the idea that the things we have enjoyed together--as families, friends, cultures, and communities--would suddenly become suspect because “traditional” became a bad word. There are songs from church dances I went to as a teenager that still make me feel happy and young for a minute. Here in Chico, nursing moms of the '90s who have never met each other can be brought together by the name of a lactation consultant whose classes saved our sanity. And can I get a shout out for Girl Scout cookies?! Another place it seems we all can meet and stand together for a moment is in our attachment to Margaret Wise Brown’s Goodnight Moon. It seems everyone loves it. I even found my voice getting softer and more nostalgic as we read. And my friend Joanne's adorable son, Nick Kydd, once took an adorable picture with the book that touches everyone.



http://www.amazon.com/Goodnight-Moon-Margaret-Wise-Brown/dp/0694003611

http://www.btd-island.com/MWB.htm

Don't Let The Door Hit You...

There are several watershed moments in the relationship between parents and young children: when they let go and walk on their own, when they learn to say “no,” when they get frustrated enough to yell “I hate you,” and when they decide for the first time that they are outta here because no one appreciates them. I truly think the ways parents handle these moments indelibly define the new relationship created by them. I am not claiming to know the right way to navigate these situations, just that I have seen them play out numerous times in my history as both child and parent. And the memories endure. So far, each of my kids has reached an age where they get just enough comfort with the idea of independence that they pack their precious stuff (different for each child) and make big public pronouncements about hitting the open road…alone…forever…really….never coming back….don’t try to stop them. That is a big parenting crossroads--do you RSVP “no, thank you” to their pity party or do you make your own pronouncements of eternal vigilance in retrieving them? Or something in between? I suppose that depends on the parent, and the child. The mother rabbit in Margaret Wise Brown’s The Runaway Bunny opts for the wherever-you-go-I’ll-be approach, which ultimately seems to be the validation that baby rabbit was looking for (while insisting he wasn’t). I watched Nick read this proclamation of undying love to Scarlett and tried to enjoy the calm before the coming storm.



http://www.margaretwisebrown.com/biography3.htm


http://www.amazon.com/dp/0060775823/?tag=googhydr-20&hvadid=3377702957&ref=pd_sl_57u5rffrdz_b