The Power of Attention

I’m going to take you back to an earlier time in my life, a time before I committed to buying coffee only from local shops.

I used to stop every other day occasionally at a particular Starbucks in my town, specifically the one on Wards Road in Lynchburg. It wasn’t really in my neighborhood, but it was near some places where I shopped, and I was willing to hold out until I arrived there because of a barrista that worked there.  I’ll call him Sam.

On of the first times I saw Sam, he greeted me like an old friend. He smiled warmly and said, “Hi! How is your day going so far?”

His eyes twinkled and the corners crinkled up and he was just so adorable I had a moment of excitement thinking, is he flirting with me??  Though he’s at least ten and more likely fifteen years younger than I, I refused to back down from my belief that he might find me pretty and might also be thrilled with my un-complicated order of a venti, half-caff, peppermint, extra-hot mocha.

I smiled back and answered that my day was lovely, thank you. And then, I couldn’t stop smiling. This kid had looked me in the eyes, grinned, and spoken to me in a familiar way. He was cute and more importantly, he was polite, attentive, and friendly, and that and five dollars will buy you a…well, I’ll tell you what it will buy you.

It will buy you a customer who drives out of her way to spend too much on a cup of coffee. It will buy you a customer who tells her friends about the really nice people who work for you. It will buy you the best kind of advertising there is – personal recommendation.

I left the store that day feeling a little lighter, and way happier. I’m not a sappy type, but having someone genuinely seem interested in me was refreshing and the rest of my day was made a little better for it.

Not long ago, my teenage daughter wanted to stop there so I pulled up and let her run in. When she came out, she was grinning and her eyes were all sparkly. When she sat down beside me I said, “He was in there, wasn’t he?”

“What are you talking about?” she answered.

But I knew why she was smiling. And I smiled, too.

Sharing Means Caring

I was in my neighbor’s house the other day when she came home.  She walked in with all her groceries and was all like, “Uh, what? What are you doing in here?”

And I was all, “Well, I like your house better than mine, and I noticed you were gone, so I thought I’d play here for a while.”

“But, but…this is my house! You can’t just come in here without being invited.”

“But you weren’t using it. See? It was just sitting here and you weren’t using it. So what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that it’s mine! I worked hard and built up a good credit rating and saved money so I could buy it. It’s very special to me, and private, and I’m happy to have you over some time but you can’t just come in whenever you want!”

“But I can’t afford a house this nice, and your stuff is cooler, too. And plus I’m just bored with some of my things and would rather mess with yours. I didn’t do well in high school so I didn’t get into college, so I never got a very good job. I’m a single mom with four kids and you only have three so you have more money. Why can’t you just share?”

“I didn’t do well in high school, either. In fact, I nearly flunked out. I went to college as a single mom, working nights and surviving on four hours of sleep a night so I could get a decent job. Now I’m $20,000 in debt.”

“But you don’t even work now! You must be rich to be able to choose to stay home. So whay can’t you just share your stuff?”

“We are not rich. We make choices that allow me to stay home with our kids because we believe it’s important. We drive crappy old cars and buy clothes at the thrift store. We use coupons, not food stamps. My husband works seven days a week.”

“Oh. Huh. Well, I still think you should share.”

She sighed and, shaking her head, ushered me out the door. I don’t see what the big deal is. I’d give it back after I was done.

You Might

You might know a boy who seems like trouble, who drives wrecklessly and punches walls.

You might know a girl who thinks she is too fat, or too awkward, or too uncool, and it bothers her more than you think is realistic.

You might know a man who drinks like a frat boy though he’s ten years too late for it, who is running from some pain or anger over a deep hurt.

You might know a woman who struggles with fears of inadequacy, who has scars that she tells lies to explain, who seeks attention in inappropriate ways, who laughs to cover the damage from something she can’t even remember.

All these people are around you.  Sometimes you see it, and sometimes you pass it off as being irresponsible, slutty, childish.

Those are just words meant to hide from the truth of what life and people can do to someone.  Life is so hard.  Trust is shattered, spirits are squashed, bodies are damaged, relationships are forever broken.

But these people are not broken in any way that is unfixable.  They might just not understand that they are worth fixing.

A few years ago, a group of people became determined to help a friend who needed it. They began a story, a movement, that is still playing itself out in our world.

The movement is love, and it goes by the name  To Write Love on Her Arms.

There’s nothing I can say any better than they say it themselves.  Many of you know why this organization is so close to my heart.  As a surviving friend of more than one suicide, and someone who has tried to make an early exit herself, any group that recognizes how much people hurt and how much they – how much we all – need help, deserves my support.

Every single time I see one of their tshirts, or get a Facebook message about their recent activities, I tear up.  I see those words and I think – someone understands.

To write love on her arms. To write it on her arms, where she used to write the hatred and fear and brokenness.

So I’m asking for you to consider the people around you. Is there someone you know well, or maybe barely know at all, that you think is suffering?  Can you see through the craziness and outrageous behavior to what is the heart of the matter? That we are all people, inadequate and struggling without always knowing how or why?

Reach out.  Tell someone you love her and she matters to you and why. Tell someone you appreciate the value he adds to your life.  And if you simply can’t, consider supporting a group that does.

Fear and Courage

As I am prone to do now and again, I’m going to break character here and post something serious.

I’m going to tell you something incredibly embarrassing in order to make a point.  And I hope the point leaves you so affected, you’ll forget all about the incident that prompted this little lesson.

We have a rat. I don’t mean a tattletale, a scoundrel, or anything other than Rattus norvegicus. He came into our home via one of the myriad holes or wide open spaces, likely to get at the birdseed in the basement. Then he began exploring.

He was caught and disposed of brought to a beautiful farmhouse where he will live happily ever after, but ever since I have been what you might call skittish.

The other night I was downstairs watching the idiot box when I heard a noise. Everyone else was gone, and I was just sure it was another little beastie. I wanted desperately to get upstairs and close the door to the stairs so I could feel “safe.”

It took every last bit of my courage to force myself to get down from my position standing on the sofa and make the run for the upstairs.

I know you’re all laughing. I would be too if I wasn’t too busy being embarrassed, both about the fact that I have a rat in my house (!) and that I’m such a sissy about it.

When I finally made it past the place where the noise appeared to be located, I started thinking about how dumb I felt and why in the world was I scared of a little f@#$ing rat anyway? And what would I do if I had to muster the will to walk past real danger?

My husband knows what he would do.

My little freak out session made me imagine how I might feel if I was facing the possiblility of sniper fire or RPGs.  And I imagined what my husband must have felt when he accompanied convoys in Iraq, not that I can even begin to know how that feels.

I understand all the arguments for and against this war, or wars in general. I can sympathize with both sides, really. And my husband does what he does because he believes our country and its ideals deserve protecting, not just becuase he didn’t have options after high school, or because he likes playing with guns.

He trained coalition forces over there. He made friends with Turks and Russians and Iraqis. He lost friends, too.

So let’s suspend what you may believe about dealing with other nations and diplomacy and how wrong you think this war is. There are arguments to be made on both sides.  Let’s think instead about what it takes to stand up for what you believe in and put yourself in harm’s way to do it.

Would I be able to face that kind of fear for what I truly believe is the greater good?

Would you?

Who Is That Masked Knitter?

I have an odd assortment of friends and acquaintances, and it is ever more apparent to me as I read the variety of posts from friends on Twitter and Facebook.

I have attachment parenting friends, cloth diapering friends, Christian friends, liberal friends, libertarian friends, far right wing friends and far out friends.  Some are republican, some democrat, some are Gemini and some couldn’t care less.  I have dared post on political things only once, and I sort of hedged my bets by not stating my position clearly.

I often steer clear of issues because I know one or another of my readers, possibly even my friends, will balk or be surprised or will try to argue me out of my beliefs, or someone will hurl insults and I’m just a damn lousy catcher.

But I’m kind of tired of pretending to be nothing, or something that will make everyone happy, and I’ve decided to let the record straight on some stuff that I’ve been too awkward proud to admit.

For what it’s worth:

1. I sometimes feed my kids McDonald’s.

2. I grocery shop at Walmart. Often.

3. I have spanked my children.  By accident.  Once.  Okay, those last two things are lies, but it was only in desperation and I never imagined I could ever do that.  I’m ashamed of it, because I believe it shows an unwillingness to find a better, more compassionate way of doing things. It shows impatience and laziness on my part.  But I did it.

4. I am a Libertarian.  Straight up, yo.  I want the government to have as little to do with me as possible.  ”Establish justice and provide for the common defense” is pretty much where I draw the line.  

5. I belong to all kinds of birth advocacy groups and almost everyone in them believes that government funded health care is the way to go. I completely disagree. I’m pretty sure School House Rock didn’t sing about health care (see above quote).

6. I believe in taking care of the people around you so the government doesn’t have to provide charity at the point of a loaded tax gun, but I also believe in personal responsibility.  

7. I believe this list is getting way too serious, so I’ll throw in a knock knock joke.  You start.

I’m waiting…

Forget it.

8.  I believe in medication for mental problems.  Lots of it.  But not for everybody.  Just for me.

9. I co-sleep with my two sons.  Their mattress is on the floor beside our bed, but they always end up with us.  Sometimes we play musical beds and if one of us gets too crowded we go to the little bed.  I really want to get rid of our furniture and just put mattresses all over the floor, but the huz won’t let me.

11.  I don’t recycle glass and metal.

There, I said it.  Let the onslaught of vicious, opinionated people begin.

Why My Confidence Does Suffer So: 15%

15%

she tries to get things
out of men
that she can’t get
because she’s not
15% prettier

-Richard Brautigan

Somehow I came across this delightful site the other day, and I sat transfixed while clicking on photos of celebrities before and after Photoshopping them into fantasy land.  Just click on Portfolio, then on each photo.  When it pops up, it’s retouched and reverts to the original when you mouse over it.

No one is named, but it’s obvious who some of them are, and I found myself shocked and wondering, “Can you really make Halle Berry and Penelope Cruz more gorgeous?”

Yes.  Yes, you can.

You can make someone who’s a little tubby (in a cute way) a bit tighter and narrower (witness the girl in the purple shirt leaning against the door); you can take someone who has that “rode hard and put up wet” look and make her look thirty-something and wide awake (the pink sweatered hag).

And as a little aside, what’s up with Julia Stiles’s shirt?  I swear to Oz (props, Tannerleah) I hate that if I wore a shirt like that, which has the potential – nay, the probablility - of showing boobage, it would totally be fine, but if I should, say, discreetly sneak a boob out to feed a kid, air raid sirens would sound and everyone would start to vomit from the Oh! Offensive!! 

I confess I’ve longed for the ability to Photoshop my body in real life, in ways that the 30 Day Shred just can’t manage.  But also, I have more important things to worry about.  There was a time that my body and face could get me what I wanted; now I’m stuck relying on my brain, and it turns out, that might be a pretty effective means of getting where I need to be.

Anyway, maybe it should make me feel better about things like my freckles and my less-than-spectacular figure.  I guess I didn’t believe that it’s a never ending thing, this quest for perfect beauty.

And maybe the Brautigan poem isn’t really me, after all.

It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad…um…yeah.

I had a few (relatively) quiet minutes the other morning, so I clicked around trying to catch up on my blog reading.

BIG mistake.

First, I learned about “the neg.”  Didn’t that used to be called something like “Pride and Prejudice?”  And then it morphed into the “bad boy appeal,” then became “codependency,” right?  How delightful to take something old and make it fresh and new again.

Here is a succinct overview of “the neg” by fellow blogger Ozma:

The neg’ is a pickup technique where a man both insults and compliments an attractive woman. For example, “I like your haircut. Why do you wear it so short?” “Interesting shirt. What’s with the buttons?” I’m no expert on the neg, but I think it has to be ambiguous and yet undermine the woman’s sense of herself. It is supposed to be used on beautiful women. I’m not sure if it only works on them.

I’m not one to brag, but it’s been known to work on me.  For what it’s worth.

I just don’t see anything new here.  I was asked by my husband (a very super nice guy) what the appeal is about “bad boys.”  My answer was, “You should know.  It’s the same as the appeal of  “bad girls,” which you obviously like or you wouldn’t be with me.”

I’m not saying it’s good.  I’m saying we all have our pathologies.  Do your best (like Ozma did) to make sure being insulted isn’t your kid’s.

Zero Tolerance Drug Policies: No Tolerance, Pleny of Punishment

I got an unexpected call yesterday from a parent of one of my daughter’s friends.  He didn’t realize he knew me at first, he was so absorbed in his purpose.  It seems the city where I live  has a zero tolerance drug policy in its schools, which means if a student commits a drug offense, the student is expelled for 365 days and sent to an “alternative education” center.  I actually found it excedingly difficult to find out exactly what constitutes a drug offense.  Possibly, being under the influence, but it may require actual possession.

That’s not really my issue, anyway.  Here’s the thing:  two other friends of my daughter (not the caller’s child), along with one of their sisters, got high before school.  One child actually carried some into school with her.  Now, whether someone figured out that they were stoned, or someone told on them, or if a teacher saw the actual material, they got busted.

Zero tolerance.  Three hundred sixty-five days out of school.

The parent was calling to urge people to go to the school administration building for a hearing, in order to protest the severity of the sentence.

My feelings on this are mixed.  Yes, I do believe a year out of school is excessive for a first offense, especially for the two students who didn’t have any drugs on their person.

And I can’t help but wonder if being in an alternative school is really a good idea for a few kids who aren’t that bad.  I am not saying they are innocent at all.  In fact, I do think they merit some kind of intervention, and not based on this incident alone.

But if we want to save kids who might be making some missteps, do we want to make the same mistakes we make with petty criminals by sending them to spend time interacting with other kids who are troubled?  And, in light of a local report stating that this particular high school’s drop out rate is higher than the state average, don’t we want to prevent what seems like an open door to dropping out?  A year off track in their regular school might be just the thing that derails them permanently.

I haven’t decided yet what to do.  I can’t help but wonder if a little more parent fervor before this happened, about the choices these kids are making, might be more appropriate than the current action.

I don’t pretend that my daughter doesn’t make bad choices.  In fact, I know she does.  But I also make clear my position on those things, and the consequences, just as the school policy does.  She is old enough to know that when you choose certain things there is a price to pay.  I just hope she sees how dear that price really is.

Reduce, Reuse, Reincarnate

I recycle!  Yes, I do.  In fact, you might say I have a bit of a problem.

I’ve have been asked, and answered with complete seriousness, the question, “Are you keeping this dryer lint for a project?”

I won’t tell you how I answered.

It all started with using wool as a cloth diaper cover.  It worked so well for my heavy wetter, I could hardly believe it.  It became my cover of choice, and with a little research I learned how to take discarded wool sweaters and turn them into rockin’ baby pants with almost no skill involved at all.

Gradually, I realized that I could make more than just pants – I could have matching sweaters!  Hats!  Wool appliques!

It’s easy to see now, in hindsight, how a person with my proclivities might get carried away.  A Goodwill sweater here, a silk shirt from a pile of junk on the side of the road there – you see where I’m going, right?

Before long, I had a stash of historic proportions.  The thing is, the more I bought, the more I realized I could do with them.  I started using the scraps to stuff toys (and knitted breasts, but that’s another post), I use the larger pieces to make little embellishments for hats.  I started buying clothes made from gorgeous fabric and making something I would actually wear.

It’s not that I don’t buy anything new.  My kids have regular clothes, in among the pants that I mended with fabric I rescued from the thrift store and the recycled sweater pants.

But I dress them in cashmere.  I have awesome diaper bags that I made from castoff place mats.  I have a baby bib I made from a Sublime tee shirt.  I have the coolest kids on the block, in my book.

When I walk into a clothing store and see row after row of all that fabric, I wonder where it will end up, and why we think we need so much.  It makes me nauseated, dizzy, the overwhelming choice of it all, when just down the road, if you can spend just a few minutes digging, are bargains waiting for new incarnations.

Even if you can’t sew, there are amazing things to be found in a thrift store.  And I’m not saying you have to buy your under drawers at the Salvation Army, honey. You can buy tee shirts from the dollar bin, cut them up and use them as cleaning cloths.  Make a reusable shopping bag from an old Sex Pistols shirt.  Fly your freak flag with pride.  Or buy that designer skirt you’d never be able to afford in real life and don’t ever tell a soul where you got it.

Buying thrifty is just one way to make a dent in the crazy amount of waste that happens in this country.  It cuts processing, which involves chemicals, as well as transportation and other environmentally damaging parts of the clothing industry.  And when you only spend  a few dollars on an item, you can afford to buy more!  It’s a win-win situation.

Another great way to reduce your impact on our earth is to use environmentally friendly cleaning products.  SC Johnson has developed a new line of cleaners that are designed to actually, you know, work while still retaining their eco-friendly personalities.  They are called Nature’s Source and I can’t wait to try them.  They, along with The Parent Bloggers Network weekly Blog Blast are the reason for this post.  So, uh – check them out.  Right after you send me your wool.

A Wolf in Human Clothing

My friend and coworker Julie challenged me to tackle the octo-mom issue the other day, and I told her I would.

But the thing is, I just don’t think I have it in me.

How can I rant about a woman who only wants more babies to love?  She just has so much to give!

And this despite the fact that when she had a mere six, the police were called to her home because a neighbor reported that the children looked dirty and hungry.  I mean, my children are filthy and they tell me they are hungry all the time. Am I supposed to just believe them?  Everyone knows children will manipulate you to get their way.

I really don’t see what the big deal is, anyway.  It’s not our money that’s supporting her.  It’s the government’s money. Right?  Oh, and the entertainment industry’s money, since I assume she’s getting some kind of swag for being the flavor of the month.  And we all continue to just eat it up.  And you know where the government gets its money.  Um…where do they get it?  Oh, yeah – US.

That’s right.  The “government” doesn’t have any money!  It’s ours!  Yours, mine, the greedy banker down the street and the sweet old lady that has dry cleaned your clothes for the last twenty years.  Oh, except it’s not Octomom’s  money.  Because she doesn’t pay any taxes.

I shouldn’t have to point out that the doctor who performed MULTIPLE in-vitro fertilization procedures on this women violated the Hippocratic oath of first do no harm (I pose that he brought harm to every child born to a woman incapable of providing for even one of them).

This is the perfect opportunity to encourage you to check out the movie Idiocracy, because it might just be one of my favorite movies ever.  It’s not spectacularly beautiful, it’s not moving or sweet or intense.  But it is funny.  Horrifyingly funny.

Take a look around.  Where do you think this country, if not the entire world, is going to end up within the next few generations?  I suspect I would be sniped if I go into the plot of the movie too much, but I highly recommend it if you have half a brain.  If you don’t have even half, well…you won’t get it.

I’m a true believer in natural selection.  Every year I applaud the Darwin award winners for doing us a favor.  The problem here is that if we let people like this fend for themselves, we leave children with nothing.  We can’t very well punish the innocent for the sins of their parents.

So, as I said, I just can’t tackle this problem.  Nothing shocks me anymore.  People are broken in some very real ways that make us behave abysmally.  I don’t have any great hope for a human future.

But I will leave you some food for thought regarding government, and the end of our useful life as a republic.  And then, finally, at the end – a joke:

A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves money from the public treasure. From that moment on the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most money from the public treasury, with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy followed by a dictatorship. The average age of the world’s great civilizations has been two hundred years. These nations have progressed through the following sequence: from bondage to spiritual faith, from spiritual faith to great courage, from courage to liberty, from liberty to abundance, from abundance to selfishness, from selfishness to complacency from complacency to apathy, from apathy to dependency, from dependency back to bondage.     ~Alexander Tyler

from BarelyKnitiPedia:

Democracy…Two wolves and a sheep voting on what to have for lunch.

Republic….Two wolves and an armed sheep.