Household Happiness: Carved Wood Snowmen

Last spring, I wrote about the hand-carved wooden bunnies I collected when I lived in Nebraska.  I have a collection of snowmen carved by the same artist.

 

When a certain young man was little, the snowmen were stored on a shelf high enough to protect them from childlike (over) enthusiasm.  These days, the real danger comes from our four-legged friends, as can be seen in this up-close photo of my favorite snowman, removed from the shelf and placed on the dining room table to have his picture made.  Tiger was interested.

Come December, the five snowmen take their rightful place on the mantel shelf, a reminder of  happy Christmases past and a promise of at least a few Christmas surprises for the future.

Happy Packages

One of the things I enjoy the most is wrapping up pretty packages.  All year long, I collect paper, ribbons, and tags for Christmas packages.  I prefer simple designs on my wrapping paper and I like boldly colored ribbons and bakery twine.  I wrap lots of packages in brown parcel paper; it's a lovely background for fancy ribbons and it's useful all year long.  Etsy gift guides are essential to this process.

Pictured here are some of the packages I wrapped for JT's advent calendar.  They are a big part of making the month special for JT and that makes it happy for me.

Pesky Returns

Regular readers will recall that there is a very sassy squirrel who lives in my backyard, where he regularly taunts my cats and generally lolls about on the back deck.  For some time now, he has helped himself to my neighbor's trash, bringing the best items back to my yard for a wildlife buffet.

On Monday, Pesky hit the mother lode: frozen carrots, which he carefully stored in a cubby in the tree.  I know the carrots aren't mine, because I don't buy bags of frozen veggies.  And I know they aren't JT's because he doesn't eat veggies, frozen or otherwise.  The cats don't store extra food in the tree.......so it must be Pesky who is responsible for this development.

Though I felt bad about it, I cancelled Pesky's gravy train by collecting all of his trash and disposing of it.  Then I stood on the back deck and issued a stern warning to Pesky and his friends: no more garbage in my back yard.  In the chilly silence that followed, I'm pretty convinced that Pesky flipped me the bird.

Family Politics

Each year, I ask my American Government students to engage in a little personal history research.  The assignment is to talk with members of their family about their political memories.   Individuals often receive their first political cues from their families and so the project serves the purpose of personalizing my students' understanding of the political socialization process.

It's also a nice way to urge my students, all of them seniors about to head off to college, to talk with the grown-ups in their life.  In my class, I treat them as citizens; as full-fledged members of the polity.  I want them to see themselves this way and I want them to engage the adults they love and respect as fellow citizens.  I know from experience that these conversations can be enlightening.  Students learn that their loved ones lived through real political events.  In a school like mine, with an incredibly diverse population, those political events can represent a variety of experiences in a range of other countries.  My students have talked with family members who fled oppression, who lost loved ones in wars, who came to the United States in search of opportunity.  Europe, Asia, Africa, North and South America all turn up in these projects.  The project also encourages the students to understand their family's history.  And since we read one another's projects, we are also learning from one another.

Even before my own family imploded, I was careful to take account of the many different ways families could be constructed.  I never assign the students to talk with Mom and Dad.  Instead, I asked them to talk with "the folks"; "aunts and uncles in name"; "your parents"; and sometimes I'd say "the people who give you lunch money and the car keys."  I word it this way for lots and lots of reasons.  When I first began to make the assignment I was careful of language because my own child had a non-traditional family; one composed of two moms.  I knew that other children came from similarly different families.  And whether a child has two moms (or none), lives with adoptive parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, single parents or step-parents, I want to recognize and value the many ways our families can be organized.

When I became a single parent, I was more aware then ever of the ways in which talk about family could be loaded for children from non-traditional homes.  I experienced first-hand the pain it causes a child when he has to discuss his family and he's unsure just how to explain the fact that he only lives with his Mama now, because his Mommy left.

I've gotten so used to being inclusive in my language about families, that I am taken aback when others are not so careful.  This year, my son's class is involved in a project about family history.  JT has been at this school since he was three and he has never experienced an untoward comment about his non-traditional family.  I am proud of that fact.  But when he was assigned to fill-in a family tree, it caused problems.  First, there was the place to list his father.  He doesn't have one.  So we carefully crossed-out father and wrote "Mommy" instead.  That same assignment asked for a family picture, no small request for a child whose parents are no longer friends with one another.  Should he use a picture from the time when his family was intact?  Should he leave the space blank?  Both notions are painful for a 9 year old.  JT chose a sensible solution: he simply drew a very small picture of the three of us, with me on one side and my ex on the other and a tiny little boy bridging that gap.   JT has classmates with parents who have died.  It couldn't have been easy for any of those children (or the adults who care for them) to include a family picture.  It seems to me that a more more inclusive family tree would be less gendered in its language and would include a space for family pictures, in plural, thus letting each child (and the adults who love them) determine who should be included.

Later this week, the students will reveal their projects and share them with one another and their families.  It's a day designed to understand and celebrate their heritage and their families.  I'll be there, of course.  I can't speak for everyone, but I know that I will be careful to recognize that for some families, this day of celebration is also bittersweet.

Philosopher in Chief

Things have been crazy busy at my house and when I look at the calendar of events that lie ahead for the month, it's clear that busy will continue to be our theme.

JT and I spent some of our weekend trying to rest and refuel for the week ahead.  We decorated our Christmas tree, we played some games, we read some stories to one another, JT played outside.  But we also had less restful activities on our agenda (the endless piles of laundry, JT's homework, bathrooms to clean, groceries to buy, cat boxes to shovel....you get the idea). 

This morning, as we piled our things in the car to face the first day of the week, I found myself wondering if the boy had  gotten enough downtime over the weekend.  He's got a bit of a stuffy nose; had his brain and body rested enough?  Was he ready for the week ahead?  I wasn't sure.

When we arrived at school, we paused in my classroom to review the list of things we need to do today.  And in that moment, JT sat on my lap and said, "You know, Mama, when I think about the whole world and me in it; me with this whole life of my own to live.  And millions of people just like me but not really like me at all.  It's just amazing to think about."

It fair took my breath away.  I'm still not sure that we're ready for the week ahead.  But I am sure that if I just follow his lead, the boy is ready for the life ahead.  This week, that will do quite nicely.

Tis the Season

On Friday evening, JT and I headed out to fetch our Christmas tree.  He loves this part of the season and we walked up and down the rows of trees, checking out our options, breathing in the pine air, and generally getting very excited.  Dozens of trees were reviewed; sizes were estimated.  Then we finally settled on our tree.  We loaded it into the car to drive it away.  We came home and placed it in the Christmas tree stand and set it out on the porch to shake out over night.

Yesterday, we brought the tree inside and set it in its usual corner.  Tiger and Lucy, who spend their lives indoors, are like junkies when they see and smell the tree.  We know the drill and set out to hang the lights and ornaments, carefully leaving off the most fragile ornaments and leaving decorations light on the bottom third of the tree.  The cats stalk about as we decorate the tree, claiming it for themselves and eager for that moment when we will leave them alone with the tree.

When we head upstairs for stories and bed, Tiger and Lucy join us as usual.  They don't want to miss their share of story-hour petting.  Then the lights go out and quiet descends.  As I lie in bed in the silence, I can hear the cats walk down stairs.  They plan to have their way with the tree.

I've learned my lesson and the tree is securely tied to the stair railing; it can't be pulled over.  So Tiger and Lucy must be content to victimize the ornaments.  And when I came downstairs this morning, the evidence was undeniable; nearly a dozen ornaments could be found strewn about the floor. The cats walked around my ankles while I checked out the damage, as if they are blameless in the carnage on the floor.  They have no idea what happened to that Santa in the coner.  The reindeer probably flew off the tree himself.  The shiny tin candy canes?  Those must have blown off in the storm.  It's a shame, really, what happened to that nice tree.  But they'd like some kibble, please.

Elite, My Ass

I spent the day at the annual History teacher's conference at Princeton University.  The day featured a handful of notable historians talking about their latest projects.  As always, it was interesting and engaging; just the sort of thing that makes me really like what I do for a living.

But I must admit that I spent a good part of the day distracted by fear of personal injury.  The lectures occur in a large, old hall at the university; an auditorium called McCosh Hall.  The hall has lovely old wood student desks.  I sat on the north side of the hall and, as one might expect in a old building, the floor had a bit of a tilt.  Just enough of a tilt that sitting in the smooth wood desk meant a constant struggle to keep from sliding south on that slick chair and landing right on my bootie on the wood floor, where I would surely come across a splinter.

Next year, I'm wearing a velcro skirt.

Subtleties

Today, I took some students to a conference for the empowerment of young women.  Girls from all over central New Jersey attended workshops on topics like cultural identity, body image, dating issues, and gender equity.....basically your standard Girl Power sort of fare.

My students enjoyed the sessions and we had some interesting discussions.  But I will admit that I was a bit taken aback when a young woman from another school rushed over to her friends at their table and yelled: "Why didn't you tell me there is a cute emo boy in the lobby?"

I believe she failed to absorb some of the nuances of the empowerment workshops.

Real Life Conversations with JT: Manly Men edition

The backstory:  JT and I are driving home, having a conversation about Santa is watching, it being the month of December and all that.  Suddenly, JT bursts forth with an impressively loud burp.

Mama:  Dude!  Santa is watching.

JT:  I know.  But Santa is a man and he understands what men must do.

Good to know.  I think.

December 1st: Hostas

It's hard to believe that this tired, dry bed was once lushly green.  But it was, just a few months ago.

Now the last of the drying stems are preparing to blow away in the next chill wind.  And the garden is beginning its winter rest.

Like most gardeners I know, I've got a growing stack of seed catalogs by the side of the bed.  And as I settle into my flannel nest at night I thumb through the pictures, in search of the perfect tomato; the striped zinnia which will look best in my vases; the cutest of the jack-be-little pumpkins.  And as the cold settles in, I console myself with the thought that it won't be long before I can start digging in the dirt.