Inertia

One of the very best things about summer is that we don't have a schedule driving our every move. During the school year, the clock is always ticking. I get up at 5:30 am and I'm in nearly constant motion until 9:30 pm, when I pause to consider how much more I need to finish before I can call it a day.

I'm a teacher and a single mama and a lot of my days are about looking out for the needs of others. I'm not complaining (in fact, I dearly love what I do), but sometimes it takes its toll and there are days when I am beyond exhaustion. On a daily basis, I have two tools to keep my sanity: reading and working out. The third tool in my bag of tricks is summer vacation. Summer offers nearly 3 months to rest and restore. That prospect keeps me going when I get over-whelmed during the school year.

Come June, I'm ready for some down time. I feel that I've earned it. Though I consider it essential to my well-being, I am also aware that it's a luxury. And I'm always amazed at how quickly our active and busy lives slide into hours and hours of inertia. Though I get up at 8 am, last week I was hard-pressed to get out of the house in time for JT's swimming lesson (a five-minute drive for a lesson that doesn't begin until 10:45). Some days, getting my workout in during the morning means starting to run just seconds before noon; it's not at all rare for me shower in the afternoon.

I am okay with that.

New and Improved!

The other day, seized by the spirit of cleanliness and order, I emptied out the linen closet on the second floor of my home, culled the weaklings, organized and folded the lot, and presto! A much-improved, well-organized linen closet.

The top shelf: beach towels, swimsuits, and some white bath towels.

The middle shelf: more bath towels, hand towels, and washrags

Down below: sheets and pillowcases. Lots and lots of incredibly-soft pillowcases. I am a pillowcase softness artist. And, of course, a side of makeup and my corner of the pink ghetto.

There are no 'before' photos because my shame was great. The job took a smidge more than 30 minutes to complete. The feeling of ordered virtue will likely last a whole lot longer than that.

JT, generally unimpressed by such order, did allow that it "looks nice." Then he recommended that I re-organize his dresser.

Real Life Conversations with JT: Ironic Slacker Edition

The backstory: Summer's relaxed schedule has taken hold around here but the other day I decided to get in my workout before heading off to swimming lessons. We leave for swimming lessons at 10:30, so that wasn't exactly a tall order. Around 9 am, just as a certain young man in pajamas was ready to consider his breakfast options, I headed upstairs to put on my workout clothes. When I came back downstairs, we had a conversation as the boy slouched in front of the telly, armed with a Pop Tart (yes, I'm one of those mamas):

Mama: I'm working out now.

JT: It's 9:15; you'd better hop to it. No slacking, Mama.

Who's the slacker now?

Independence Day: Can't Never Does Edition

The backstory: For all of my life, when I would announce that I couldn't do something, my father would respond, "can't never does." For years, I found this Dad-ism tiresome and annoying. But grudgingly, I came to understand that it was also true. As a parent, I have repeated the "can't never does" lesson to my son. JT knows the phrase well.

At the community pool to which we belong, there is a slide. It's no water park, but it's a pretty impressive looking slide, and JT has been fascinated with it since we joined the pool. The catch is that potential-sliders must demonstrate swimming competence. If you want to slide, you must be able to swim the length of the pool. You must swim on your belly, demonstrate some command of a stroke, and you may not touch the bottom of the pool as you swim those 50 yards.

It's a high standard and JT has never met it. In fact, in previous summers he's never even tried. Though he's had plenty of lessons, swimming never came very easy to him. His skills have steadily improved but he's not always been confident about what he can accomplish.

Last summer, when his California cousins visited, we took them to our pool and they passed the swim test in seconds. JT was impressed, but he still wouldn't try the test himself. I let it be, hoping that he would grow more confident.

Yesterday afternoon, we went to the pool with his buddy B. JT and B have been friends for years; earlier that day they had completed their two-week swimming lesson class.
In the afternoon, they announced that they were going to practice and see if they could pass the test. And then they set out to swim the length of the pool, cheering one another on. B's mom and I watched and speculated about this process. JT doesn't much care to take risks and his fear of failure is sometimes greater than his willingness to take a chance. I know exactly how this feels so though I wanted to provide him encouragement, I also wanted him to own his potential success.

Within the hour, JT decided that he could pass the test. He sat on his towel, nervously resting and plotting his next move. Then he hopped up, found an off-duty lifeguard and asked her to supervise him as he swam the length of the pool. He jumped in the pool and started swimming. I watched with my heart in my throat, thrilled that he was willing to try, willing him to keep on swimming, and crossing my fingers that he would succeed.

He did.

With a new confidence in his step, he took his pool card to the front desk, got it stamped for slide privileges and then had a fingernail painted so that the lifeguard at the top of the slide would know he was good-to-go.
And then he enjoyed his new privilege.
At the end of the day, as I tucked him into bed, we admired that painted fingernail one more time. I told him how proud of him I was. I said I was pleased that he had passed the test and that I was incredibly proud that he had been willing to take the risk; that he bravely handled the whole process like a pro. He smiled and said, "The whole time I was swimming that lap, I kept thinking about how great it would feel when I succeeded. Can't never does I thought.....but this time.....can did it, Mama."

Indeed.

Blatant Plagiarism: Cat Blogging

On Fridays, one of my favorite political writers, Kevin Drum, takes a break from the usual political blog postings for a little cat blogging. It's a dose of sensible feline philosophy in the midst of the political discussions. Tiger and Lucy are smarter than the average cat and they read the cat blog every week. They are demanding equal time. So I have decided to blatantly copy the idea.

Here's Tiger, hoping that someone will bring him the remote-control so that he can watch Animal Planet on the TV.
And that would be Lucy enjoying some quality cuddling time (and Spongebob) with a certain young man of our mutual acquaintance.

First Pickings

This little bowl of lilies represents the first floral harvest from my garden. They are lovely and they smell great. And, perhaps most importantly, they grew in my garden because I planted them. That makes me happy.

July 1st: Hosta Day

All of the hosta patches in my garden are literally days from blooming. The garage hostas are prepared to play their role in the garden show.
This point in the summer is always gratifying; nearly every plant in the garden is at its verdant best. Thus far, the garden season has been incredibly wet (though not particularly hot). The hostas have flourished and provide a spectacular display when I sit on the back deck to admire the green.

Assigned Reading

There's been a lot of talk about the aid that the federal government is providing to American automobile manufacturers. Like virtually everyone else, I have an opinion. But nothing brings home the reality of the situation as well as this terrific article published in the New York Times magazine last weekend. It will be assigned reading for all of my classes when I return to school in the fall.

You should read it as well.

Then send it to your friends and ask them to read it. I'll warn you now: author Jonathan Mahler isn't going to provide easy answers. But he will make you think with both your head and your heart. And it strikes me that at least a few more of us could use that combination as we approach the making of public policy.

Progress

I planted my garden as early as possible this year, in anticipation of an early tomato harvest. I was secretly hoping to bring a plate of sliced tomatoes to the neighborhood 4th of July block party. Then we had an unseasonably cool and wet June; a reminder to me that Mother Nature will not be hurried along.

A few weeks ago, the tomatoes began to bloom. One evening, I counted two and then three yellow flowers on my tomato plants; soon there were too many to count. Promising.

But the rain and the cool temperatures continued (I haven't had to water my garden with the sprinkler since late-May); my basil plants long for warmth; the peppers are puny. The zinnias are barely knee-high. Nothing is thirsty, but the absence of warmth shows. Sigh. I figured that I wouldn't enjoy cut flowers or a warm tomato sliced-fresh for the supper table until late July.

And then this weekend, in my daily walk through the garden, I saw two tiny green tomatoes.
The zinnias are about to deliver a flower.
The Jack-be-Little pumpkin vine is looking incredibly fertile.
The hydrangea has been busy.
This is what I love about gardening. You work and work (and that alone is satisfying) and then all that hard work begins to pay off. No matter how hard-earned it is, the pay off always feel sudden. One afternoon's walk in the garden reveals that things are coming along. And then the next day there are two tiny, green tomatoes on a plant.

Success.

A Good Read

When I was in the 3rd grade, I started reading the Little House books. I was a late-blooming reader, and the Little House in the Big Woods was one of the first real books that I was able to truly read on my very own. I loved those books and read them all over and over. At times in my life, both happy and sad, returning to those books has brought me a deep and abiding pleasure.

When I gave birth to my son, I experienced a passing regret: he would never love the Little House books. I just assumed that the books would only appeal to a little girl.

I underestimated my 21st century boy.

In the 3rd grade, JT and his classmates read the Little House in the Big Woods and they learned about pioneers. They explored every corner of the pioneer world as they read that book. I came to JT's class every week and read Farmer Boy to the 3rd graders. That book is the only one in the Little House series that isn't about the Ingalls family. It's the story of Almanzo Wilder's childhood. As the book opens, Almanzo is 8 years old and attending school for the first time. Almanzo doesn't mind school, but what he really loves is life on the farm and the prospect of his own pony to train. Though the story takes place in the 1860s, it resounded with the 3rd graders, boys and girls alike.

JT and I talked often about Almanzo and Laura and the world in which they lived. Appropriately enough, this son of a history teacher is fascinated with history. Books with that theme engage his imagination and interest and provide fodder for many a conversation between the two of us.

Last week, JT discovered old Little House on the Prairie episodes on television and he recorded a few for us to watch. I remember the TV show (indeed, I was the target audience for that show), but it never captured my interest like the books. But JT was interested and we watched a few episodes of the show together. When I explained to him which parts of the show were real (the dreaded Nellie Olson, for example) and which weren't (Laura never ran away from home), he asked about the books.

I still have my collection of Little House books. And last week, I was delighted when JT set aside an enormous collection of Indiana Jones stories in favor of reading Little House on the Prairie. Within a chapter, he was hooked, chattering excitedly with me about packing the covered wagon to head west. We have since taken to reading the book together in the evening, taking turns reading out loud.

It is a deep and abiding pleasure for me to share these books with my boy. Last night, as we read about the Ingalls family building their home on the prairie, I was struck again at the rich detail of these stories. At the spirit and independence of a family who would set off seeking opportunity in a place distant from all that they knew. No matter how many times I read them, there is a familiar comfort to be found when I return to the fold of these stories that I have loved for nearly all of my life. And to now be sharing them with my child is even better than I had anticipated.