bakobama

Somewhere along the way, Pink learned to say "bakobama" by the time our new president was elected in November. We had many political discussions in our house and we do follow political events; however, there was no one name mentioned at home more than any other. And yet that is the only name she picked up on. True, at first she said his name every time she saw a man in a suit on the news. But she still knew the name.

I don't pretend to host a blog worthy of intelligent political discussion. I don't even like to get too deep into debate and my positions, while sincere, are no where near dogmatic enough to make for an interesting read. But that doesn't mean that the significance of last week is lost on me.

I spend my days with students who are fighting to make it to graduation. They are from foster homes, from other countries, and from poor neighborhoods, borrowing our "rich" school to earn themselves a chance. They are here because the counselors at this rich school won't tell them things like, "Don't get pregnant, don't get shot, and maybe you'll graduate." For so many young people, words like that are all they'll ever hear.

But a man came on our TV in our classroom last week, a man who looked like some of them and nothing like others. A man who told them to work hard and to keep on fighting. This man, like none before him, told them what mere words could never express: you will find your dreams, so you'd better aim high.

Maybe Pink's on to something. This man, regardless of political affiliation, will be the first president of whom she's aware. She will no doubt have little understanding of his policies even if he serves until she's ten. But doesn't that detract from the significance of today: she will know only a world in which the US elected a black man for president, and she will be less phased than her mother the next time it happens, for she will not have seen what I have seen. She will know better than what we have known thus far.

"Bakobama, Mr. President, 'Let's roll.'"

to my tall, beautiful girl -

You mix up the placement of modals. That sounds rather English-teacher of me. The mom in me is simply filled with glee every time you say, "It be must hidin'." I almost wish you could keep saying "be must" and "I go can" and other such mix-ups forever.

You have started falling all the time. Not sure why, but you go sailing forth into the wild blue yonder, a blonde mess of hair flowing along behind you, at least a dozen times per hour.

This morning we were having a date at your Dora table, you with your sippie of milk, me with my closely guarded coffee. After you toasted me with a hearty, "cheers," our talk turned to your variety of stuffed animals. You informed me that, yes, you do have many kinds of animals and that they live in your zoo. I never knew there was a Pink zoo!

You're very tall (surprise, surprise), and I regularly tell you that you're a tall, beautiful princess who will grow up to be a tall, beautiful woman, like a queen. Recently daddy came home and picked you up, and patting his chest, you said "daddy's a tall, beautiful woman!" Hmmmm, something like that.

People ask me if you talk a lot yet, and whether or not you have full conversations. I tell them you speak in expositions and descriptive narratives. Full conversations? Try full short stories. All day long. It's pretty cute.

You're cuter than I could've imagined. You're smarter than I expected. Your presence is more of a grace to our home than I can describe. Thanks for blessing us with yourself.

after a baby shower:

Me: "blah, blah, blah, and when we started playing a game-"
Beloved: "-you played a game? What game did you play, x-box?"
Me: "Yes, babe, 20 girls at a baby shower played x-box. What else would we play?"

gotta love him

did you know that the new jack in the box opened?

... said to me on my way home from work, after I mentioned what we were having for dinner tonight. Granted, dinner was going to be about an hour later than normal since I was getting home late. But still. I asked if he was alright with a little-later-than-usual dinner, and this was his response? I'm not sure if I should be offended by the expediency with which he found an alternative or delighted in not having to cook. hmmm...

profundity from a 2 year old

"Mama, I stay wif God."

good idea.

they call this being an english teacher:

I...

* teach bladder management techniques

* erase and/or cover-up artistic expressions of male anatomy drawn in text books no fewer than two times per week

* say "spit it out" at least eight times. On a good day.

* remind young minds that there are actual, honest-to-goodness, dictionary spellings for words such as "before" and "because."

* suggest that they employ these agreed-upon word forms

* admonish young people who are experimenting with insulting language to "use kind words."

* pull the cool people down a couple of notches by pairing them with the uncool and then remind them that their friends will still like them.

* inquire about students' breakfast habits. They have not internalized, after all, that our bodies need fuel other than cheetos, ho hos, and Rock Star (btw, Red Bull is uncool. just so ya know).

* pour into children (who think they are adults) in amounts they will never comprehend, with emotion they will never fully see, with time away from family they can't possibly imagine, and with resources that tap the family budget for all we've got.

The giving, in a sense, seems so unilateral that it drains me to my core.

However, as much as things may seem off-balance, they give to me also, though they are quite unaware of it. Only those who go on to become teachers will one day understand all that they give to me. They inspire me, they challenge me, they build my character, they keep me growing, and they keep me young (I am, you see, practically a dinosaur at twice their age).

Every time I see a newly adorned textbook and ponder, as I erase, the adolescent fascination with male anatomy, I sigh with exasperation. And then I breathe in more life from another one of those very adolescents.

a dandelion, a bird, and a ladybug

Oh, my girl. She dilly-dallies like no one I've even seen before. And today was no exception. After leaving late for work two days in a row, I was a tad frustrated to get out the door late yet again. Granted, we were only going to workout with a friend, but still. Get a move on!

I turned to say something to her and realized she was 30 feet behind me picking a dandelion. "It's for you, mommy, because you're pretty. Dada give flowers to mommy and Pink cuz mommy's pretty."

My reaction? "Thank you, sweetie. Now let's just set that pretty *cough*messy* flower right here so we can find it when we get home, ok? Now, come on and hurry up!"

When we got home, I was collecting our many belongings from the car while she sat in her car seat calling to me. I ignored her. Finally I unbuckled her seat belt and looked over to see the prettiest little bird sitting on some kind of electrical box.

When I mentioned the bird, she smiled with satisfaction and I realized she had been trying to tell me about it all along. I had missed her small voice pointing me toward the wonders of creation; there was too much hustle and bustle in my mind.

After a brief conversation about the bird, we headed for the front door. When I noticed she wasn't standing next to me, I looked over and saw her again about 30 feet behind me, pointing to the grass. With no dandelion in sight, I thought, "Geez! What in the world is so important now?! Can't she see I'm trying to get in the house?!" Frustrated by yet another delay, I walked over to her. She made no excuse for her distraction or delay. She simply squealed, "Mama! It's a ladybug crawling on the grass!"

As I looked down past the sea of blonde curls to that tiny ladybug, it dawned on me: I've been too busy doing laundry, putting away suitcases, buying groceries, hosting family, returning to work, and thinking about putting away Christmas decorations sometime before Easter. I haven't stopped to (carefully) smell the dandelions that grace my lawn, or take in the birds that land near me, or walk slowly enough to see all the little life around me.

What a shame. And part of my mental busyness has been feeling the pressure of some kind of perfect, witty, post-holiday-break blog post. Instead I'm posting about the lesson that a two year old girl with long, flowing, blonde angel hair taught me, and rather than cross off any more things on my to-do list, I'm going to go watch her sleep.

More to come after I've seen a few more ladybugs. Cheers!