The Living Tree

First of all, my apologies to Shel Silverstein. I really do love "The Giving Tree"; it is among my favorites. Yet, as I walked my dog recently, this "parody" came to me, and I have found that I cannot let it go. And so, here is my first draft. Perhaps this will be just the first of a series of drafts of this poem. Perhaps this will be enough to get it out my system. Perhaps it is simply a writing exercise that would best be forgotten.

For those of you not familiar with the original story, please go read it. Click here to view the Amazon page of the book, which also has some good reviews. That this story is so controversial is wonderful, because to me, that means that people are reading (hopefully; I know the 'Harry Potter' bans at many schools were spearheaded by individuals who had never read the stories). I disagree with the first reviewer that the story should not be read to children younger than 10; my kids are perfectly capable of learning my values, and discussions about such from a young age seem to me to be logical.

So after adding the above discussion, I almost feel bad about writing this poem...
but not really.

The Living Tree

Once there was a tree
And she loved a little dog
And every day the dog would come
and he would pee on her trunk
and chew on her branches

and the tree was happy

And on this tree there lived a squirrel
And the tree loved the squirrel
For every day the squirrel would come
and it would climb up her trunk
and pick her acorns
and look for food in her shade
and store them in her trunk
and it would run on her branches and play

and the tree was happy

But then there were those times
when the squirrel would be out
and the dog would come to visit
and the dog would chase the squirrel
and the squirrel would run up the trunk, and onto a branch
and chirp angrily at the dog
while the dog barked angrily back

And the tree would drop a branch and say
"Come, dog, pee on my trunk,
Chew on my branches,
And be happy."
But the dog could not hear the tree
for trees cannot really talk
and the dog was barking far too loudly anyhow
and when he wasn't barking he was growling
just so he wouldn't have to hear the squirrel's taunting chirps.

So the tree would shake its branches and say
"Come, squirrel, gather some acorns,
Run on my branches,
And be happy."
But the squirrel would not listen
and would dig its claws into the trunk
to keep from falling off
the crazy shaking tree

And this hurt the tree,
so she shook instinctively
and the squirrel fell to the ground.
The tree could only watch
As the dog saw the squirrel,
forgot the tree,
and chased the squirrel.
Around and around
Side to side
The dog's large frame
attached to a leash
was no match
for the quick maneuvering
and strong survival instinct
of the stunned squirrel.
The tree watched
as the dog wandered away
and the squirrel ran up
another tree
...for now.

The Talk

When my first-born was a year-and-a-half old, I attended a parenting class following the book 'How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk' by Adele Faber and Elaine Maislich. It was a good discussion, the videos were suitably dated and cheesy, yet the messages were still valuable and insightful. And I'd like to think they've helped me to be a better parent (although perhaps not so much lately, but I'm getting back). But what I remember most about that time - what I remind myself of - is the reason why I took the class. Yes, it was being taught by a friend who has always inspired me as a parent, and if she was teaching a class about parenting, then I was going to attend. But in addition to that, I actually went in thinking I would master the skills before I needed them, so that when these situations actually arose (because I did at least acknowledge that handling a child who is barely talking is much different than parenting an elder kid), I would already be an expert. HA!!! Let me repeat. HA!!!

In high school, I came across an excerpt from Ralph Waldo Emerson's 'Self Reliance', which I photocopied and taped to my bedroom wall:

"In every man's education, there comes a time when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better or worse as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed upon that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents.
...
Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist. He who would gather immortal palms must not he hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it he goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world.
...
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood."

There's so much to this essay that I like, that I just couldn't narrow down the selection, but I want to bring out a single quote (which I recently misquoted):

"Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said to-day."

And why not?! If all that you regret later in life is your strong conviction of a previous age, then great. I like to think back at myself from those days, and laugh at my ignorance and innocence, but it also reminds me of my hope, my ideals. That I could be a parent that could talk to my kids rationally instead of just yelling like crazy.

Just this morning, when one kid was so exhausted he wouldn't get ready, yes, I had to drag him out of bed and give him a bath, all while he was crying, but I didn't lose it (completely). I felt for him, and I did what I could for him to make him feel better (and get ready on time).

But anyhow, back to "the talk." A month or so ago, I went to another parenting lecture discussion, this time about how to talk to your kids about sex. And again, I went in thinking it's way too early for me to think about it, but I may as well start getting prepared. Not so that I'd be an expert and know exactly what to say, but so that I'd have a couple of years (ha!) to get used to the idea before it came up.

Besides, the kids already know some of it; when we're driving home close to bedtime, sometimes the stories they ask about are about when they were born (not too detailed or gory, but I add a little more detail all the time). But even then, there just seems to be so much that needs to be explained, and honestly, my memory of my lessons on the subject don't seem to be particularly helpful.

But this book, What's Happening to Me, has been incredible. It's written in a way that is approachable to my son. We read it as his bedtime story - just the two of us, after his brothers have gone to sleep - so it's a familiar, comfortable setting. And as everything is scripted out, I don't have to worry about figuring out the right words to say. It's quite thorough, but since I am just reading, I don't have to worry about being uncomfortable (because not knowing the "right" thing to say is the hard part, right?).

And one of the questions I had had was about if a sperm comes from a man, and an egg comes from a woman, and you need both to have a baby, "then what about when someone has two mommies? Because that happens, you know."

I have to say, that is one of my proudest moments. I don't have to teach him tolerance, because different lifestyles are just normal. He accepts them as readily as other relationships, so he doesn't have to be taught to "tolerate" them. It has been a lesson I have been trying to build up to, mentioning it offhand when it came up but not sitting the kids down and explaining it to them until, well, I figured around when I was having "the talk." Nice to know that one's already taken care of.

This is the same boy who, a few years back, complained that his brother was playing with something the wrong way, that he was doing it "the Michigan way". Hmmm... I guess prejudice is learned after all, isn't it? And I suppose it should say something that I was pretty proud of him then, too.

All in all, I'm sure I've alienated and pissed off several readers (both homophobes and Michigan fans alike), so I'll have to be sure to check my friend count on Facebook and see how that number changes.

Go Mo!

So I just watched Mo Williams shoot an 80 foot shot (give or take) for 3 right before the end of the half. Sweet shot. Nice game, so far.

But my only problem with Mo Williams is that as a mom, I keep thinking of Mo Willems when I hear his name. For those of you not in the know, Mo Willems wrote such books as 'Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus', 'The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog', and 'Knuffle Bunny.' Kids love them. Check them out.

But he is not a basketball player, he does not make awesome shots as the clock runs out for the half, and I very much doubt they look alike. Besides, my husband is tired of correcting my pronunciation when I talk about the Cavs player.

Anyone else have the same problem?

Abdicating the Throne

I had a rough afternoon today. An evening shift for the hubby meant I was playing zone defense against my 3 boys. And since it started off with Thing One throwing a tantrum when I asked him to put away some dishes - to which I responded with putting my foot down, which totally didn't work. In the end (with my husband's interaction), Thing One put away the dishes, but the cloud hanging over my head stuck around. I was being a little bull-headed, a little childish, but I couldn't let go of my grudge.

So at dinnertime, when the kids wouldn't stop talking, and weren't eating, and right after Thing Two's dirty sock landed in my food bowl (which was a few minutes after his other sock hit me in the head), I resigned. I explained that they were in charge I grabbed a magazine, put Thing One in charge, and sat down in the living room to read.

A little while later (after Thing One had finished eating), the diners dispersed. Thing Three wandered into the living room to sit with me. I ignored him (dark cloud still hovering) and kept reading. At some point, they all wandered into the room, and I explained that they were in responsible for cleaning up after dinner and getting ready for bed. They ran upstairs and returned in their pajamas, teeth brushed.

I eventually got up and saw that Thing One and Thing Two were taking care of the dishes. Only, when I showed up, they stopped. I cleared up their misconception and kept them at it. Thing Two was directed to finish his food and then clean the table. The others had wandered down to the basement for game night, after enjoying cookies that I had managed to bake before I went postal.

We made it upstairs, dashing Thing One's hopes for a game night ("But it's only 6:50 and bedtime isn't until 8," he argued, to which I replied that it takes that long to get to sleep by 8).

Upstairs, Thing Three played with water at the bathroom sink instead of brushing his teeth; Thing Two whined about not being able to make his bed by himself; and Thing One lay on the floor making up a complex point chart (to be sure to get his due share of points for being in charge for the evening; in lieu of an allowance, we're offering points, which can be redeemed for video game time, television time, or other "prizes"; One of these days, I'll have to actually start keeping track of these. They also can lose points for misbehavior, but I prefer to overlook those - or at least just tell them they're losing points. And really, since I'm not actually keeping track of them, it's not particularly negative, right?)

Tangent: For a while, I kept a "good deeds" chart on a dry-erase board on the side of the refrigerator. On this board, I would write down the good deeds that each child had done for the day. I would ignore the bad stuff, and just keep reinforcing the good. It actually works really well for my boys, and I bet it would have helped me out today. It forces me to focus on the positive and not linger on the storm cloud.

In the end, I only had to return upstairs once to discipline them. And I really can't keep thinking about how rough they made my evening, because really, they did well. Maybe this was more useful for me because I needed to let go. My kids will not do chores if I don't leave them a chance to do them. I've been in hyper-control mode, keeping to my strict schedule (which hasn't left time for the mudroom project, or for fixing the window I broke, or anything else because I have to protect my evening relaxation time). And it really doesn't suit me. I'm stressed, and I take it out on my kids. And I hate to admit it, but I can tell that I'm going to have a bad day when I start my thoughts by thinking about me. "Look what he did to me", "It's not fair to me", "I deserve..", "I wanted..." Yeah, some days suck. But the way that my boys pulled through and got to bed sooner than if they were with anyone other than me (ok, so maybe I wasn't quite as hands off as I thought) make me realize that I am lucky to have these guys in my life.