My biggest concern about going to the Caribbean was getting bored. On a list of things I value about vacations, probably two of the last are relaxing and water. As near as I can tell, those are exactly what people go to St. Maarten to enjoy. After a day of lounging by the pool to move to lounging by the beach and back, I was ready to spend some cash in order to get out of the resort and go on an adventure.
We could rent a Mini Cooper and drive around St. Barths! Whoa, for...way too much money. In the end, the tour desk in the resort lobby offered only one affordable package, which is how Lindsay and I found ourselves in Phillipsburg with twenty other people waiting for a boat that would take us snorkeling at three different islands.
As we walked along the dock, our hostess directed us to two different boats. "Oh my word," I murmured when I caught sight of the second boat's captain. "Lindsay," I hissed. "Look."
"That is the most attractive man I've ever seen," she breathed. Behind us, a woman on her honeymoon leaned in to us and added, "I hope we're on his boat, huh?"
A group of five party girls strode eagerly toward him, but our hostess directed them to the other boat. At their sounds of dismay, she assured them, "You'll see Sander again, don't worry. Family of five, you're with the girls. Everyone else, you're with Sander."
Lindsay and I exchanged grins. Sander, a tan tall man with blond hair falling to his chin, smiled at our approaching group. "Climb on in," he said.
"His accent," I whispered.
"Where are you from?" Lindsay asked.
"I'm Dutch," Sander answered.
"Oh, I. That's great." His face and his voice combined were too much for anyone to react to in anything resembling calm.
Sander got us settled into seats and fetched drinks for everyone. He explained what bays we were in and what houses overlooking the water were owned by which celebrities. He grinned as he drove faster over the waves, bouncing us through the green and blue waters. I spent 80% of my mental faculties trying to look at him without looking like I was looking at him.
"He took off his sunglasses!" I groaned at Lindsay.
"Oh my--he has Zac Efron eyes!" she answered after sneaking a glance.
"I can't handle this."
"Well, then you definitely won't handle this. He just took off his shirt."
We docked in a cove with no beaches. Sander explained that this was our first snorkeling destination. He talked about different kinds of fish we might see, and purple eggs, and probably something else, but I was fixated on the fact that we were in fifteen feet deep water. I'd assumed we would always be wading in from shore, not dropping off the side of a boat.
"Lindsay," I whispered. "I can't swim."
"What!?"
"I mean, not well. I don't know if I can do this."
The rest of the people on our boat were passing around scuba masks and flippers. I took a set and swallowed bile. Some of our fellow passengers jumped off the side, and some eased themselves into the water from the ladder in the back. I saw two women grab pool noodles for floatation devices, but they weren't snorkeling.
Sander looked at Lindsay and I. "Are you ready?" he asked, smiling with his stupid Dutch teeth.
"Yes," I said, and took his hand. I let him walk me over the back seats until I was by the water. I climbed in and mimicked Lindsay's actions as she put on the mask and flippers. She pushed away, and I glanced at Sander. I was not going to stay on the boat like an idiot and make his tan friendly face fall in disappointment. I took in a breath, and meant to push away from the boat. Instead I blurted, "Could I have a noodle!?" Sander tossed me a pink one. Face burning in shame, I took my noodle and slowly followed Lindsay toward the cove.
She showed me how to breath through the mask as I clung to my safety noodle. "Let's go!" she said. I breathed in my fear and then let it out, putting my face below the water as though it wouldn't kill me. And then it didn't. I let myself dead man float and found that the mask actually kept water out of my eyes and lungs. I wasn't dying--I was snorkeling! I kicked my flippers and found myself swimming, noodle to the side and almost unnecessary.
Once I was confident I wasn't going to immediately drown, I actually noticed that I was looking underwater. There were fish there, darting into the rocks, shining purple and yellow around the edges. "This is so cool!" I yelled, and inhaled salty water. I came crashing to the surface, clinging once more to the only thing keeping me from drowning, spitting out the breathing tube in horror. Lindsay surfaced beside me. "Um, don't talk when you're underwater," she said. "Here, pour out your tube like this. Got it? Okay, let's go!"
I did eventually get the hang of things. I gleefully swam through a school of tiny fish and tried to touch them unsuccessfully. We saw a big needlefish swimming near the ocean floor, and urchins dotted the sand and rocks around us. I found myself comfortably twisting in the water, reveling in the grace and confidence that floating enables. We made our way back to the boat when we noticed people packing up. I handed Sander my noodle and pulled off my mask and flippers.
"Let me help you," he said. "The ladder moves."
It was rather wiggly, and his strong Dutch arm was reaching out in front of me, so I clasped his hand and pulled myself onto the boat. It was slippery, so naturally I had to hold on to him a little longer than necessary, just to be totally safe.
"How was it?" he asked.
"It was beautiful," I said, meaning the water, the sealife, and his face.
"Great!" he said, and piloted our boat to our next destination as I grinned into the ocean spray.
Showing posts with label random stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random stories. Show all posts
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Friday, July 18, 2014
St. Maarten Stories: Concessions
While we were walking along the St. Maarten beach, Lindsay asked me if anyone had ever kissed me. I coughed out a laugh and admitted, no, no one had. She sighed and said I was lucky, which elicited another painful laugh from me. After silence stretched too long, I said, "I would ask when your first kiss was, but honestly, I don't want to know. I'm feeling bitter, and I wouldn't appreciate it."
So it was fortuitous that Jordan flirted with me at the resort's chocolate buffet immediately after we returned.
Lindsay had pointed him out as the cutest guy at the resort that afternoon. She called out to him and carried on a conversation that I mostly observed, wondering when she would finish so we could go to the room. Unwilling to look totally anti-social, I made a few comments, but I internally rolled my eyes when she invited him to meet us later.
I might have been pissed at her extroversion, but I wasn't going to risk hanging out with a hot guy unarmed. I dressed up and painted my eyes darker than usual. It was nothing, nothing, but you know. Just in case.
He did find us, practically running up, begging for our help in escaping a girl who had been following him around during his weekend at the resort. The three of us talked until his friends appeared. Lindsay had already met them, and Jordan moved to sit at the edge of the group next to me. I should mention he was an absolutely delightful asshole. He made horrifically racist and sizeist comments with a grin, and I couldn't help laughing. He was a good ol' boy from Georgia, and I found it easy to fall into the role of being shocked and appalled at the things falling from his lips. "You say the most horrible things," I told him. "I know," he grinned, leaning into my shoulder.
Confident assholes. My weakness.
Everyone else had left the chocolate buffet, and the workers had turned off the spotlights. "Let's go inside to the bar," his friends suggested. Lindsay said she was tired, but I convinced her to go in for just half an hour. Jordan pulled up a semi-circle of chairs and made sure we sat beside each other. He put his knee on my chair so I could press my hand against it if I wanted. I did.
Half an hour came and went, and his friends glanced between us and said they were going upstairs. Lindsay again said she was tired, but I convinced her to stay. I felt dangerous. I wanted--I wanted to give up. Here I was in another country with a cute boy who I was pretty sure wouldn't say no to anything I suggested or allowed. For so long I've loved boys who said no, who said, "oh, but I like her," who put up walls that I couldn't get past. Jordan was wide open, and I desperately wanted to take advantage of that opportunity.
"What's your favorite band?" he asked.
"Mumford and Sons, probably."
"Ugh! You're a hipster!"
"Haha, yeah, I guess I am. I like my men in skinny ties and suspenders."
Jordan grabbed my arm and smiled close. "That's horrible. I would never be caught dead in a skinny tie."
"That's your loss," I grinned.
"I'm going to bed," Lindsay said.
I could already picture what would happen if she left us alone. A new story, one I would probably regret. But at least I would finally have an answer to the question, "Has anyone ever kissed you?" I would look back on whatever happened with sadness and guilt and a deep satisfaction.
"I'll go up with you," I told Lindsay.
Jordan leaned in again and said, "I'd really like for you to stay here with me a little longer. I'm leaving in the morning."
Well. I smiled and said as meaningfully as I could, "I would really like that, too." I turned to Lindsay. "Alright, I'm ready."
We went upstairs. I washed the makeup off my face and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. I said goodnight, slid under the covers, and turned off the light. I stayed awake for over an hour regretting my decision. I could still go back down. I could find him again. I could have my secret, and I would hate myself for a while, but I would feel desired and complete in a way I am increasingly desperate to experience.
It's hell, sometimes, fighting to hold onto hope.
So it was fortuitous that Jordan flirted with me at the resort's chocolate buffet immediately after we returned.
Lindsay had pointed him out as the cutest guy at the resort that afternoon. She called out to him and carried on a conversation that I mostly observed, wondering when she would finish so we could go to the room. Unwilling to look totally anti-social, I made a few comments, but I internally rolled my eyes when she invited him to meet us later.
I might have been pissed at her extroversion, but I wasn't going to risk hanging out with a hot guy unarmed. I dressed up and painted my eyes darker than usual. It was nothing, nothing, but you know. Just in case.
He did find us, practically running up, begging for our help in escaping a girl who had been following him around during his weekend at the resort. The three of us talked until his friends appeared. Lindsay had already met them, and Jordan moved to sit at the edge of the group next to me. I should mention he was an absolutely delightful asshole. He made horrifically racist and sizeist comments with a grin, and I couldn't help laughing. He was a good ol' boy from Georgia, and I found it easy to fall into the role of being shocked and appalled at the things falling from his lips. "You say the most horrible things," I told him. "I know," he grinned, leaning into my shoulder.
Confident assholes. My weakness.
Everyone else had left the chocolate buffet, and the workers had turned off the spotlights. "Let's go inside to the bar," his friends suggested. Lindsay said she was tired, but I convinced her to go in for just half an hour. Jordan pulled up a semi-circle of chairs and made sure we sat beside each other. He put his knee on my chair so I could press my hand against it if I wanted. I did.
Half an hour came and went, and his friends glanced between us and said they were going upstairs. Lindsay again said she was tired, but I convinced her to stay. I felt dangerous. I wanted--I wanted to give up. Here I was in another country with a cute boy who I was pretty sure wouldn't say no to anything I suggested or allowed. For so long I've loved boys who said no, who said, "oh, but I like her," who put up walls that I couldn't get past. Jordan was wide open, and I desperately wanted to take advantage of that opportunity.
"What's your favorite band?" he asked.
"Mumford and Sons, probably."
"Ugh! You're a hipster!"
"Haha, yeah, I guess I am. I like my men in skinny ties and suspenders."
Jordan grabbed my arm and smiled close. "That's horrible. I would never be caught dead in a skinny tie."
"That's your loss," I grinned.
"I'm going to bed," Lindsay said.
I could already picture what would happen if she left us alone. A new story, one I would probably regret. But at least I would finally have an answer to the question, "Has anyone ever kissed you?" I would look back on whatever happened with sadness and guilt and a deep satisfaction.
"I'll go up with you," I told Lindsay.
Jordan leaned in again and said, "I'd really like for you to stay here with me a little longer. I'm leaving in the morning."
Well. I smiled and said as meaningfully as I could, "I would really like that, too." I turned to Lindsay. "Alright, I'm ready."
We went upstairs. I washed the makeup off my face and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. I said goodnight, slid under the covers, and turned off the light. I stayed awake for over an hour regretting my decision. I could still go back down. I could find him again. I could have my secret, and I would hate myself for a while, but I would feel desired and complete in a way I am increasingly desperate to experience.
It's hell, sometimes, fighting to hold onto hope.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Coward
As a struggling-to-reform perfectionist, I try pretty hard to be vulnerable and okay with weakness in front of Anju and Ketan, both of whom are well on their way to being full-blown neurotic perfectionists. This means freely telling them, "I didn't know that," and "I was wrong," and "Whoa, that made me nervous!" I also tell them about all the things I'm scared of, from failing to heights to spiders.
When they both started reading Divergent, we naturally began categorizing each other into factions. We have had this conversation approximately twenty billion times.
Anju: You're definitely Amity, Miss Trish.
Me: Yeah.
Ketan: And Erudite!
Me: Yup.
Anju: But not Dauntless. You're scared of everything. Haha, you're such a coward!
So I clench my teeth and nod and admit that, yeah, I'm scared of a lot of things. I do not, no matter how badly I want to, point out that she is scared of infinitely more things than I am, because I am (barely) above comparing myself to a seven-year-old. And when Ketan boasts that his nickname would be Three, thereby claiming to be braver than Tobias, I hold my tongue and do not mention how he sometimes cries himself to sleep.
We went to Six Flags today, and I hate roller coasters, which combine two stupid things: heights and falling. That lurching feeling in your stomach that makes you think you're going to die? I am totally fine going throughout my day without intentionally afflicting myself with it. I want them both to know that it's okay to say no, that no matter how many times they whine at me or tease me, I'm allowed to say no and peer pressure isn't going to change that.
I mean, I'm like really saintly towards these kids. They had better look back some day and think, "Wow, Miss Trish actively and lovingly shaped us into confident, self-accepting human beings." But if they keep needling me about how big of a coward I am, one of these days I'm going to pull a Severus Snape and scream, "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" before fleeing into the Forbidden Forest.
When they both started reading Divergent, we naturally began categorizing each other into factions. We have had this conversation approximately twenty billion times.
Anju: You're definitely Amity, Miss Trish.
Me: Yeah.
Ketan: And Erudite!
Me: Yup.
Anju: But not Dauntless. You're scared of everything. Haha, you're such a coward!
So I clench my teeth and nod and admit that, yeah, I'm scared of a lot of things. I do not, no matter how badly I want to, point out that she is scared of infinitely more things than I am, because I am (barely) above comparing myself to a seven-year-old. And when Ketan boasts that his nickname would be Three, thereby claiming to be braver than Tobias, I hold my tongue and do not mention how he sometimes cries himself to sleep.
We went to Six Flags today, and I hate roller coasters, which combine two stupid things: heights and falling. That lurching feeling in your stomach that makes you think you're going to die? I am totally fine going throughout my day without intentionally afflicting myself with it. I want them both to know that it's okay to say no, that no matter how many times they whine at me or tease me, I'm allowed to say no and peer pressure isn't going to change that.
I mean, I'm like really saintly towards these kids. They had better look back some day and think, "Wow, Miss Trish actively and lovingly shaped us into confident, self-accepting human beings." But if they keep needling me about how big of a coward I am, one of these days I'm going to pull a Severus Snape and scream, "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" before fleeing into the Forbidden Forest.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Supervision
It's so great having a counseling supervisor who knows my flaws and gently makes fun of them. It's great because it means 1) I don't have to hide my flaws, and 2) Acknowledging them is the first step to healing. When I find myself in a relationship like this, I'm tempted to create a Facebook status that says something like, "I love when people make fun of my flaws!" but inevitably some rando will "jokingly" insult me, and I am reduced to frowning at my screen because someone didn't understand. The difference is that I have to feel safe with the person who is insulting me.
Supervisor makes me feel safe because he says things like, "I can counsel a pedophile, but ask me to answer the receptionist's phone, and I'll run screaming in the other direction," and "The majority of your married clients will be here because the husband cheated--ugh, men." (And before any reader who is overly invested in my love life starts arching their eyebrows, Supervisor is married. I like to envision our relationship as wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. Please view all these stories through that lens.)
Next week Supervisor is going to make Other Intern and I do a two-hour art therapy session. I say "make" even though I suppose I could technically refuse. Today he said,
Supervisor: Good work today. And next week you can take another step!
Me: Ugh. Another step?
Supervisor: You get to express emotions!
Me: ....Gross.
Supervisor: But it's your favorite thing!
Which is funny, because three weeks ago I was feeling a lot of emotion in supervision, and it was so embarrassing. I finished up with my clients and burst into Supervisor's office.
Me: Am I allowed to be mad at a client??
Supervisor: Um, I think you are mad at a client.
Me: No! Well, yes, but I mean to their face. Can I yell at someone in session?
Supervisor: Oh. No. You shouldn't do that.
Me: Well...can I have a Bullshit Button? I know other sites have those. Can I just obnoxiously press it every time he lies?
Supervisor: You know, I had one, but I think I threw it away. I think you'll just have to learn to empathize with him.
Me: UGH, NO.
Thus began a half hour conversation about why this guy had made me so furious, by the middle of which I had substantially raised my voice, was sitting on the edge of the couch, gesticulating wildly, heaving deep angry breaths. Suddenly I noticed Other Intern looking (nervously?) at me out of the corner of his eye. Oh, no. I had become carried away with emotion! I clutched at my head and said, "Ugh, I am so angry I can't think properly." Suddenly I had a mental image of me, a female wearing a dress, clutching her head while two men watched her emotional breakdown. I sat up straight and mentally freaked the hell out. I do not want to be that person.
The person who feels emotions.
So art therapy next week will be really interesting. I tell that story in horror, but I'm also super proud of myself. There are a lot of things I wish Therapist could have helped me learn, but I am really pleased that together we unlocked my anger. For the first twenty-four years of my life I thought I was somehow immune to anger. Turns out I just bottled it all up and let it flow inward, feeding my depression and self-hate. It was actually a huge accomplishment for me to let myself get so angry in front of two co-workers.
It is such a joy to work somewhere that allows me to be my worst and, in fact, celebrates my honesty in letting it out. Especially since I'm not so much working as learning a trade, and I can't imagine a safer environment for me to struggle and triumph and fail without worrying about anyone else's opinion. I could not ask for a better place to work than one where I am greeted with,
Supervisor: Are you moving? Because I had a dream last night that you were and you needed my help to move your collection of shopping carts. You had one from Korea and one from Japan, and we were, like, pushing them down the freeway.
Me: Well. I'm not moving, but I do have a collection of shopping carts.
SEE. Wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. It's totally a thing.
Supervisor makes me feel safe because he says things like, "I can counsel a pedophile, but ask me to answer the receptionist's phone, and I'll run screaming in the other direction," and "The majority of your married clients will be here because the husband cheated--ugh, men." (And before any reader who is overly invested in my love life starts arching their eyebrows, Supervisor is married. I like to envision our relationship as wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. Please view all these stories through that lens.)
Next week Supervisor is going to make Other Intern and I do a two-hour art therapy session. I say "make" even though I suppose I could technically refuse. Today he said,
Supervisor: Good work today. And next week you can take another step!
Me: Ugh. Another step?
Supervisor: You get to express emotions!
Me: ....Gross.
Supervisor: But it's your favorite thing!
Which is funny, because three weeks ago I was feeling a lot of emotion in supervision, and it was so embarrassing. I finished up with my clients and burst into Supervisor's office.
Me: Am I allowed to be mad at a client??
Supervisor: Um, I think you are mad at a client.
Me: No! Well, yes, but I mean to their face. Can I yell at someone in session?
Supervisor: Oh. No. You shouldn't do that.
Me: Well...can I have a Bullshit Button? I know other sites have those. Can I just obnoxiously press it every time he lies?
Supervisor: You know, I had one, but I think I threw it away. I think you'll just have to learn to empathize with him.
Me: UGH, NO.
Thus began a half hour conversation about why this guy had made me so furious, by the middle of which I had substantially raised my voice, was sitting on the edge of the couch, gesticulating wildly, heaving deep angry breaths. Suddenly I noticed Other Intern looking (nervously?) at me out of the corner of his eye. Oh, no. I had become carried away with emotion! I clutched at my head and said, "Ugh, I am so angry I can't think properly." Suddenly I had a mental image of me, a female wearing a dress, clutching her head while two men watched her emotional breakdown. I sat up straight and mentally freaked the hell out. I do not want to be that person.
The person who feels emotions.
So art therapy next week will be really interesting. I tell that story in horror, but I'm also super proud of myself. There are a lot of things I wish Therapist could have helped me learn, but I am really pleased that together we unlocked my anger. For the first twenty-four years of my life I thought I was somehow immune to anger. Turns out I just bottled it all up and let it flow inward, feeding my depression and self-hate. It was actually a huge accomplishment for me to let myself get so angry in front of two co-workers.
It is such a joy to work somewhere that allows me to be my worst and, in fact, celebrates my honesty in letting it out. Especially since I'm not so much working as learning a trade, and I can't imagine a safer environment for me to struggle and triumph and fail without worrying about anyone else's opinion. I could not ask for a better place to work than one where I am greeted with,
Supervisor: Are you moving? Because I had a dream last night that you were and you needed my help to move your collection of shopping carts. You had one from Korea and one from Japan, and we were, like, pushing them down the freeway.
Me: Well. I'm not moving, but I do have a collection of shopping carts.
SEE. Wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. It's totally a thing.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Friends and Presents
I have to keep a journal for practicum, so sometimes I forget that this blog exists. And also I sometimes think about not blogging, because someone who craves intimacy but also runs away from it? That person can find an easy out in blogging, and I'm not sure I want an easy out.
But I do want to give an emotional update, because this latest bout of introspective sadness is mostly over, I think. And how? My word, through intimacy, who knew. (My therapist knew.) I've found friends with whom I can be honest, and who even value my honesty, of all things! Learning to let my frustrations and sadnesses and desires exist without constantly pushing them down, down, down has been so freeing! So that's very lovely.
But also I feel better because of gifts. Today Ketan kept giving away what he wants to buy me for Christmas, despite our NUMEROUS talks about how I love surprises and would he please shut up?
Ketan: I know what I'm going to get you!
Me: Good. I don't want to know.
Ketan: But should I get you one? Or two, three, four, five, six, and seven?
Me: KETAN! Now I know!
Ketan: No you don't. What is it?
Me: The new Harry Potter books with the awesome covers.
Ketan: Oh. Yeah.
Ketan: I'm going to get you TOMs for Christmas.
Me: Well, now you can't, because you've told me.
Ketan: What color would you want? Oh, green, right?
Me: Yeah.
Ketan: They don't have green. What about red? Or black?
Me: Sure. But Ketan, TOMs are expensive. They're like, $45.
Ketan: That's not expensive.
Ugh, it's going to be pleasantly mortifying if the kids I nanny spend more on me for Christmas than I spend on them.
But also! I hung out with Libby and Mike Stroh last night. I've been so blessed to have a Married Couple as friends in each city I've lived in. I can be extremely cynical about marriage, and I think God has put people like Lindsay and Nathan, Jennie and Dusty, and Libby and Mike in my life to remind me that marriage can also be silly and warm and encouraging. Hm. That is a whole separate thought to be dissected.
The Great Ice Weekend pushed even my introverted limits, so when I asked if I could hang out at their house and we three could play Risk and they said yes, I happily crashed and ate their desserts and bared my soul about all sorts of things they are gracious enough to ask about.
Mike has started watching Doctor Who, which is the happy result of a month of wheedling on my part.
Libby: You started without me!
Mike: You...wouldn't like it yet.
Me: Yeah, the first few episodes are kind of...awful. Silly and awful.
Mike: In the first episode, a garbage can eats a person and then burps. It's that kind of show.
Mike and I giggle at the memory. Libby grins and rolls her eyes.
Libby: I'm so glad there are at least the two of you in the world to like that sort of stuff.
And we played Risk! I've wanted to play it for FOREVER, but no one acknowledged my subtle hints. Finally, success! Except I lost, only it was fine because Libby and Mike are so fun to play with. AND THEN they gave me a present! Key to my heart, all the time, every time. A Jack Handey book, because they know my twisted sense of humor! AND a book of Mike's short stories, with a handwritten front page saying that some of them are changed for the better because of my editing! Imma frame that and make people look at it once he's a famous author.
The moral of this blog post is: When sad, give me friends and presents. The end.
But I do want to give an emotional update, because this latest bout of introspective sadness is mostly over, I think. And how? My word, through intimacy, who knew. (My therapist knew.) I've found friends with whom I can be honest, and who even value my honesty, of all things! Learning to let my frustrations and sadnesses and desires exist without constantly pushing them down, down, down has been so freeing! So that's very lovely.
But also I feel better because of gifts. Today Ketan kept giving away what he wants to buy me for Christmas, despite our NUMEROUS talks about how I love surprises and would he please shut up?
Ketan: I know what I'm going to get you!
Me: Good. I don't want to know.
Ketan: But should I get you one? Or two, three, four, five, six, and seven?
Me: KETAN! Now I know!
Ketan: No you don't. What is it?
Me: The new Harry Potter books with the awesome covers.
Ketan: Oh. Yeah.
Ketan: I'm going to get you TOMs for Christmas.
Me: Well, now you can't, because you've told me.
Ketan: What color would you want? Oh, green, right?
Me: Yeah.
Ketan: They don't have green. What about red? Or black?
Me: Sure. But Ketan, TOMs are expensive. They're like, $45.
Ketan: That's not expensive.
Ugh, it's going to be pleasantly mortifying if the kids I nanny spend more on me for Christmas than I spend on them.
But also! I hung out with Libby and Mike Stroh last night. I've been so blessed to have a Married Couple as friends in each city I've lived in. I can be extremely cynical about marriage, and I think God has put people like Lindsay and Nathan, Jennie and Dusty, and Libby and Mike in my life to remind me that marriage can also be silly and warm and encouraging. Hm. That is a whole separate thought to be dissected.
The Great Ice Weekend pushed even my introverted limits, so when I asked if I could hang out at their house and we three could play Risk and they said yes, I happily crashed and ate their desserts and bared my soul about all sorts of things they are gracious enough to ask about.
Mike has started watching Doctor Who, which is the happy result of a month of wheedling on my part.
Libby: You started without me!
Mike: You...wouldn't like it yet.
Me: Yeah, the first few episodes are kind of...awful. Silly and awful.
Mike: In the first episode, a garbage can eats a person and then burps. It's that kind of show.
Mike and I giggle at the memory. Libby grins and rolls her eyes.
Libby: I'm so glad there are at least the two of you in the world to like that sort of stuff.
And we played Risk! I've wanted to play it for FOREVER, but no one acknowledged my subtle hints. Finally, success! Except I lost, only it was fine because Libby and Mike are so fun to play with. AND THEN they gave me a present! Key to my heart, all the time, every time. A Jack Handey book, because they know my twisted sense of humor! AND a book of Mike's short stories, with a handwritten front page saying that some of them are changed for the better because of my editing! Imma frame that and make people look at it once he's a famous author.
The moral of this blog post is: When sad, give me friends and presents. The end.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Vignettes
Yesterday Anju was trying to tell Ketan and me a story, but we kept interrupting, and eventually she threw herself on the couch and cried. I went over and asked what was wrong.
"You wouldn't let me talk! You know how adults always say 'Oh, if I knew it upset you, I wouldn't have done it' but you did!"
"Anju, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was upsetting you."
"No one likes to be interrupted!"
Well, she had a point. "I'm sorry. You're right. I was focused on being funny and I wasn't thinking about how that might make you feel. If it ever happens again, and it probably will, just tell me to stop interrupting."
She was looking up at me now. "That won't work."
"You're probably right." I put her face in my hands. "Then just grab my face like this and look in my eyes and say, 'Stop interrupting.' That should do it."
She reached for me and I flinched away. She giggled. "I'm not going to hit you!"
"I thought you were going to smack my cheeks."
She giggled again. "I was."
And all was well.
___
Ketan has been taking a buttload of time to read House of Hades and he keeps trying to tell me things ("I promise it's not important!" "Ketan, I want my reading experience to be a blank page--I don't want to know anything!") and it's awful. He has to do a fantasy book report next month, and I tried to convince him to read something new rather than sticking with HoH.
"You could read The Hobbit! I have it; you could borrow it."
"Oh, I want to!" he said. "We could do a book swap! I'll give you House of Hades, and you'll give me The Hobbit."
"That would make me so happy."
___
Today I gave Ketan The Hobbit, and he reacted with just the exact right amount of excitement. I turned up the radio and sang, and eventually the backseat devolved into an argument.
"Anju, are you crying?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Will you tell me why?"
"I was trying to talk with an English accent, and Ketan gave me a really mean look, and everyone likes Ketan better than me! He's funny and outgoing and everyone likes him! But I'm shy, and I can't be funny around people I don't know, and even my friends always talk about Ketan!"
"Oh, Anju. That's a lot." I reached behind my seat to squeeze her leg. "First, I like you and Ketan the same."
Ketan chimed in. "Yeah, it's just that Miss Trish talks to me more because we have more in common."
"That's not helping, Ketan," I said. "I don't want Anju to think we're ganging up on her, so please let us have this conversation. I don't think I talk to Ketan more than you, Anju."
"You do!"
"Well. I'm sorry. We can talk more. I love talking with you! We can talk whenever you want."
"...I don't know what to talk about."
"I don't mean right now! Whenever. And hey, I totally get your frustration with being shy. I am so the same way. I feel like I'm awesome, but I'm scared to show people, and so they don't see it. But I see you, and you are awesome. But I know it's hard. I've been there."
We pulled into their driveway, and I called them over to me. They grumbled, "Whaaaat"s because sometimes I pull them in for Deep Meaningful Moments and they pretend to dislike them.
"We're going to have a group hug," I announced, and pulled them both in. They grinned and squirmed away after a minute.
"You hugged Anju more than you hugged me," Ketan said with a grin.
I swatted at him as he ran away.
"You wouldn't let me talk! You know how adults always say 'Oh, if I knew it upset you, I wouldn't have done it' but you did!"
"Anju, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was upsetting you."
"No one likes to be interrupted!"
Well, she had a point. "I'm sorry. You're right. I was focused on being funny and I wasn't thinking about how that might make you feel. If it ever happens again, and it probably will, just tell me to stop interrupting."
She was looking up at me now. "That won't work."
"You're probably right." I put her face in my hands. "Then just grab my face like this and look in my eyes and say, 'Stop interrupting.' That should do it."
She reached for me and I flinched away. She giggled. "I'm not going to hit you!"
"I thought you were going to smack my cheeks."
She giggled again. "I was."
And all was well.
___
Ketan has been taking a buttload of time to read House of Hades and he keeps trying to tell me things ("I promise it's not important!" "Ketan, I want my reading experience to be a blank page--I don't want to know anything!") and it's awful. He has to do a fantasy book report next month, and I tried to convince him to read something new rather than sticking with HoH.
"You could read The Hobbit! I have it; you could borrow it."
"Oh, I want to!" he said. "We could do a book swap! I'll give you House of Hades, and you'll give me The Hobbit."
"That would make me so happy."
___
Today I gave Ketan The Hobbit, and he reacted with just the exact right amount of excitement. I turned up the radio and sang, and eventually the backseat devolved into an argument.
"Anju, are you crying?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Will you tell me why?"
"I was trying to talk with an English accent, and Ketan gave me a really mean look, and everyone likes Ketan better than me! He's funny and outgoing and everyone likes him! But I'm shy, and I can't be funny around people I don't know, and even my friends always talk about Ketan!"
"Oh, Anju. That's a lot." I reached behind my seat to squeeze her leg. "First, I like you and Ketan the same."
Ketan chimed in. "Yeah, it's just that Miss Trish talks to me more because we have more in common."
"That's not helping, Ketan," I said. "I don't want Anju to think we're ganging up on her, so please let us have this conversation. I don't think I talk to Ketan more than you, Anju."
"You do!"
"Well. I'm sorry. We can talk more. I love talking with you! We can talk whenever you want."
"...I don't know what to talk about."
"I don't mean right now! Whenever. And hey, I totally get your frustration with being shy. I am so the same way. I feel like I'm awesome, but I'm scared to show people, and so they don't see it. But I see you, and you are awesome. But I know it's hard. I've been there."
We pulled into their driveway, and I called them over to me. They grumbled, "Whaaaat"s because sometimes I pull them in for Deep Meaningful Moments and they pretend to dislike them.
"We're going to have a group hug," I announced, and pulled them both in. They grinned and squirmed away after a minute.
"You hugged Anju more than you hugged me," Ketan said with a grin.
I swatted at him as he ran away.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Practicing Piano
I've been working on putting together a resume to send out to counseling offices in hopes of snagging an internship for next semester. In job experience, I completely blanked on describing my achievements as a nanny. How do you say, "The kids are stronger and more emotionally intelligent than they were a year ago, and I think it's because of me." All I've got are stories.
A month ago Anju would break down crying at the piano because practicing was too hard and she couldn't figure anything out. I would sit with her and go note by note until she was abusing my time and wanting to play more than practice. Then I would remind her of a couple rules of thumb and tell her to figure it out on her own. Cue breakdown #2. One time in particular she ran to her room in tears, and after a couple minutes I followed her to talk about it.
Did she understand why I wanted her to practice on her own? No. Well, I think it's valuable to learn to do things on your own. I think she's totally smart enough to go note by note, to figure out hand positions. I know it's frustrating and takes forever, but I see her do it with me, and I know she can do it by herself. I want her to try because I think she will feel SO GREAT if she figures out a song on her own. Did she understand? Yes. Did she like it? No.
Fast forward to today. Anju called for me from the piano room, and I walked her through an admittedly difficult piece. But she was doing the heavy lifting herself. "Okay, play it twice more," I said as I walked out. "Pleeeeease stay with me!" she begged. "Nope. You can do it. Call me in on the third time, though, and I'll listen." She did, it was awesome.
Two seconds later, "Miss Trish! I need help with another song!" I was helping Ketan with his homework (these kids! So codependent! They can totally do stuff, but they want someone to watch them do it) so I yelled back, "Try on your own for two minutes, then I'll be there!" Way more than two minutes went by, but when I made my way to the piano, she was playing the song slowly but correctly. When she hit the last note, I attacked her, tickling and poking her and saying, "ANJU, that was so good! You did that all by yourself! HOLY COW, look at you!" And she was so proud, her little face. Ugh.
Alright, so that story? It's totally boring. Who wants to read about some nanny teaching a kid to play the piano on her own? No one, but it was a massive achievement for Anju, and honestly, for me too. But you can't put that on a resume.
A month ago Anju would break down crying at the piano because practicing was too hard and she couldn't figure anything out. I would sit with her and go note by note until she was abusing my time and wanting to play more than practice. Then I would remind her of a couple rules of thumb and tell her to figure it out on her own. Cue breakdown #2. One time in particular she ran to her room in tears, and after a couple minutes I followed her to talk about it.
Did she understand why I wanted her to practice on her own? No. Well, I think it's valuable to learn to do things on your own. I think she's totally smart enough to go note by note, to figure out hand positions. I know it's frustrating and takes forever, but I see her do it with me, and I know she can do it by herself. I want her to try because I think she will feel SO GREAT if she figures out a song on her own. Did she understand? Yes. Did she like it? No.
Fast forward to today. Anju called for me from the piano room, and I walked her through an admittedly difficult piece. But she was doing the heavy lifting herself. "Okay, play it twice more," I said as I walked out. "Pleeeeease stay with me!" she begged. "Nope. You can do it. Call me in on the third time, though, and I'll listen." She did, it was awesome.
Two seconds later, "Miss Trish! I need help with another song!" I was helping Ketan with his homework (these kids! So codependent! They can totally do stuff, but they want someone to watch them do it) so I yelled back, "Try on your own for two minutes, then I'll be there!" Way more than two minutes went by, but when I made my way to the piano, she was playing the song slowly but correctly. When she hit the last note, I attacked her, tickling and poking her and saying, "ANJU, that was so good! You did that all by yourself! HOLY COW, look at you!" And she was so proud, her little face. Ugh.
Alright, so that story? It's totally boring. Who wants to read about some nanny teaching a kid to play the piano on her own? No one, but it was a massive achievement for Anju, and honestly, for me too. But you can't put that on a resume.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
I'll Take My Fall Break Now, Thanks
Fall semesters at DTS are the worst; we begin mid-August and don't get a break until mid-November. That is an excruciatingly long time to do readings and papers and presentations. Having learned from last year, I planned my own mini-Fall Break, and here at the end of it, I declare it a resounding success.
It helps that my Thursday classes went surprisingly well. I walked into practicum at 7:45 a.m. and told Dr. Dickens, "I've been nervous all week anticipating your role playing! Angry clients are what I fear most!" He laughed and said, "I'm really tired today. I probably won't manage to be very angry." So I volunteered to counsel him first, and it was crazy frustrating, but he complimented me when it was over. More importantly, there are nine more classmates to go through before I take another turn, so I won't have to be nervous for at least two more weeks.
On Friday in the airport, I thought about my counseling sessions. Cathalina says I'm very hard on myself, and I realized that I've taken even positive things about myself and twisted them so that they're negative. Lately I've thought of traveling as escaping, and what an immature move that is. I still think traveling is my escaping, but now I'm not so sure escaping is bad.
Two of the things I love about traveling are 1) being alone in a crowd, and 2) being surrounded by people speaking a language other than English. As an extremely self-conscious individual, it is freeing to be alone, to be allowed to ignore people and not worry if I ought to say something or contribute to the conversation, to wander off in my own head without offending someone with my silence. It's freeing, I realized. It's peaceful. I felt utterly at peace sitting in seat 27F, gazing out of the airplane and watching earth fall away beneath me.
We flew through forests of clouds, this ridiculously beautiful display of Neverland-quality whimsy. I've always been in love with the sky, and this was stunning. In the peace and beauty, I felt like I clicked back into step with God. I was effusive in thanksgiving, and I smiled, "I could die right now, God, this is all I need." Then we hit three minutes of turbulence, and the smile turned into a grimace of, "Not that you have to kill us, okay?" We didn't crash.
I went to Maryland to visit Elizabeth. She was the roommate of my best friend from college. I saw her pretty frequently since I was at their dorm a lot, but we've never hung out alone. I was a bit nervous, actually, but that turned out to be unfounded. During our drive from the airport through DC and on to her apartment, we talked about depression and introversion and marble buildings and pets and fast food and jobs. At her apartment I gravitated toward her bookshelf, and we spent the night exchanging book recommendations and watching Modern Family.
On Saturday we visited F. Scott Fitzgerald's grave. We honored America's greatest writer then rode into DC to honor England's greatest writer at the Shakespeare Museum. We lucked into a tour of the reading room, where we stood amongst beautifully old books and dark wood with people unashamedly in love with academia. We wandered toward Capitol Hill, taking in the unique and adorable houses and the trees changing colors in their yards. We grabbed sandwiches and meandered through a street market. I bought mahjongg tile earrings in honor of the computer game I so often played with my grandpa as a kid.
We found a house converted into used book store, every space covered in towers of books, piled to the ceiling, sitting in stacks on the floor. Books went horizontal and vertical, stacked two-deep in endless bookshelves. Elizabeth and I separated and gawked and perused, reuniting to exchange book finds and ask, "Did you see that note taped to the middle shelf in the back of the second floor next to the cookbook section?"
After fortifying ourselves with nutella lattes, we rode back to Elizabeth's car. In planning our evening, we decided for a laid back evening of entertainment.
Elizabeth: I thought we were going to watch Doctor Who.
Me: We were?
Elizabeth: Yeah, that's what you said when we were planning this trip.
Me: I did? You're okay with that?
Elizabeth: Yes!
Me: This. Is the best. Trip. Ever. Where should we start!?
Before space-traveling Time Lords, we bought food for dinner. I told Elizabeth about my repeated visits to Uwajimaya in Seattle. "We have a lot of Asian supermarkets here. Would you like to go to one?" she asked. "Yes," I replied. "I'll buy us mochi ice cream for dessert." "I've always wanted to try that!" she said. "We are the same person," I marveled.
Stuffed with chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and mochi, we watched four episodes of Doctor Who, one from each of the four seasons. We definitely watched the episode with Martha and Shakespeare, happily quoting the woman who gave us the tour, "I like to think Shakespeare and his earring were rather dashing!"
Sunday morning led to office visits and lazy Starbucks breakfast, over which we discussed Harry Potter, the salvation of animals, and Joshua Harris's church. We took the scenic route to the airport, and I flew away from vacation back to reality. I had escaped, and in escaping I had learned to breathe. I had an absolutely lovely time with a new old friend, and I was given the emotional capacity to return to DTS and kick the last half of the semester in the butt.
It helps that my Thursday classes went surprisingly well. I walked into practicum at 7:45 a.m. and told Dr. Dickens, "I've been nervous all week anticipating your role playing! Angry clients are what I fear most!" He laughed and said, "I'm really tired today. I probably won't manage to be very angry." So I volunteered to counsel him first, and it was crazy frustrating, but he complimented me when it was over. More importantly, there are nine more classmates to go through before I take another turn, so I won't have to be nervous for at least two more weeks.
On Friday in the airport, I thought about my counseling sessions. Cathalina says I'm very hard on myself, and I realized that I've taken even positive things about myself and twisted them so that they're negative. Lately I've thought of traveling as escaping, and what an immature move that is. I still think traveling is my escaping, but now I'm not so sure escaping is bad.
Two of the things I love about traveling are 1) being alone in a crowd, and 2) being surrounded by people speaking a language other than English. As an extremely self-conscious individual, it is freeing to be alone, to be allowed to ignore people and not worry if I ought to say something or contribute to the conversation, to wander off in my own head without offending someone with my silence. It's freeing, I realized. It's peaceful. I felt utterly at peace sitting in seat 27F, gazing out of the airplane and watching earth fall away beneath me.
We flew through forests of clouds, this ridiculously beautiful display of Neverland-quality whimsy. I've always been in love with the sky, and this was stunning. In the peace and beauty, I felt like I clicked back into step with God. I was effusive in thanksgiving, and I smiled, "I could die right now, God, this is all I need." Then we hit three minutes of turbulence, and the smile turned into a grimace of, "Not that you have to kill us, okay?" We didn't crash.
I went to Maryland to visit Elizabeth. She was the roommate of my best friend from college. I saw her pretty frequently since I was at their dorm a lot, but we've never hung out alone. I was a bit nervous, actually, but that turned out to be unfounded. During our drive from the airport through DC and on to her apartment, we talked about depression and introversion and marble buildings and pets and fast food and jobs. At her apartment I gravitated toward her bookshelf, and we spent the night exchanging book recommendations and watching Modern Family.
On Saturday we visited F. Scott Fitzgerald's grave. We honored America's greatest writer then rode into DC to honor England's greatest writer at the Shakespeare Museum. We lucked into a tour of the reading room, where we stood amongst beautifully old books and dark wood with people unashamedly in love with academia. We wandered toward Capitol Hill, taking in the unique and adorable houses and the trees changing colors in their yards. We grabbed sandwiches and meandered through a street market. I bought mahjongg tile earrings in honor of the computer game I so often played with my grandpa as a kid.
We found a house converted into used book store, every space covered in towers of books, piled to the ceiling, sitting in stacks on the floor. Books went horizontal and vertical, stacked two-deep in endless bookshelves. Elizabeth and I separated and gawked and perused, reuniting to exchange book finds and ask, "Did you see that note taped to the middle shelf in the back of the second floor next to the cookbook section?"
After fortifying ourselves with nutella lattes, we rode back to Elizabeth's car. In planning our evening, we decided for a laid back evening of entertainment.
Elizabeth: I thought we were going to watch Doctor Who.
Me: We were?
Elizabeth: Yeah, that's what you said when we were planning this trip.
Me: I did? You're okay with that?
Elizabeth: Yes!
Me: This. Is the best. Trip. Ever. Where should we start!?
Before space-traveling Time Lords, we bought food for dinner. I told Elizabeth about my repeated visits to Uwajimaya in Seattle. "We have a lot of Asian supermarkets here. Would you like to go to one?" she asked. "Yes," I replied. "I'll buy us mochi ice cream for dessert." "I've always wanted to try that!" she said. "We are the same person," I marveled.
Stuffed with chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and mochi, we watched four episodes of Doctor Who, one from each of the four seasons. We definitely watched the episode with Martha and Shakespeare, happily quoting the woman who gave us the tour, "I like to think Shakespeare and his earring were rather dashing!"
Sunday morning led to office visits and lazy Starbucks breakfast, over which we discussed Harry Potter, the salvation of animals, and Joshua Harris's church. We took the scenic route to the airport, and I flew away from vacation back to reality. I had escaped, and in escaping I had learned to breathe. I had an absolutely lovely time with a new old friend, and I was given the emotional capacity to return to DTS and kick the last half of the semester in the butt.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Having a Cat
Rory has been here for two weeks, and I've yet to talk about it! Sad. Here's the deal about owning a cat:
1) My cleaning-that-can-wait tendencies are being stretched to the limit. I've got a little cat nook in my room, which means litter, food, and water frequently escape their boundaries because Rory likes to fling things around. I usually try to ignore it as long as possible, which is, I'm told, gross.
2) The paranoia! I live upstairs, and there's a ledge along the hallway from which you can overlook the wooden staircase. Halfway along the stairs, up high, is a window. One day I walked upstairs and saw that Rory had jumped from the ledge to the window. When he saw me, he meowed piteously and moved foreward and backward, sometimes leaning toward jumping, sometimes a paw slipping. I stood underneath on the stairs but couldn't reach him. I leaned over the ledge toward the window but couldn't reach him. I beckoned him to jump, then ran to my room to hide my face because what if he didn't make it and then he splattered on the stairs ten feet below him? FINALLY he jumped, and I thought, thank God, now he's learned his lesson and we'll never have to suffer through that heart attack again.
Five minutes later he jumped up there AGAIN. Well, that was it, because even if it didn't bother him, it bothered me. I locked him in my room and looked up ways to keep him from perching there. Aluminum foil, apparently, but we didn't have any, and it took two days for me to buy any. Eventually I covered the ledge with the stuff and tentatively allowed Rory to experience life outside of my bedroom. I went downstairs, and soon I heard him jump up, heard the crinkle of the foil, heard him jump down and race to my room.
He hasn't jumped up there since. But also, now the ledge overlooking our staircase is covered in aluminum foil.
3) He is one of three person-centered cats, and since I am home more than anyone, they all flock to my room. I assumed this would be adorable, but since Rory is not entirely comfortable with either of them (more so Nash than Billie), it mostly means listening to cats hiss or dart around me. Occasionally they will all be tired at the same time, at which point it is adorable, but most of the time I just kick out the other cats and ignore their whining at the door.
4) I'm a user; I admit it. I wanted Rory for his cuddles. And he is so good at them. Evening is when he is more playful and crazy, but as soon as I turn off all of the lights, he curls against my legs and goes to sleep. Sometimes he crawls up to lay on my chest and purr in my face, which is my favorite. Sometimes he curls up by my neck and I bury my face in his fluffy fur. It's incredibly adorable.
5) Rory is stupid smart. In the mornings, he likes to lick my face. Which, if you are familiar with cat tongues, is not exactly comfortable. I saw online that it's a thing cats do if they really like you, if they think you are their cat friend who needs grooming. But still, it hurts. So whenever he starts licking my face, I push him away. But now he knows that if he licks my face, my hands will come out from under the covers and he can turn my pushing into petting.
I have yet to solve this puzzle. Beaten by a cat, how embarrassing.
1) My cleaning-that-can-wait tendencies are being stretched to the limit. I've got a little cat nook in my room, which means litter, food, and water frequently escape their boundaries because Rory likes to fling things around. I usually try to ignore it as long as possible, which is, I'm told, gross.
2) The paranoia! I live upstairs, and there's a ledge along the hallway from which you can overlook the wooden staircase. Halfway along the stairs, up high, is a window. One day I walked upstairs and saw that Rory had jumped from the ledge to the window. When he saw me, he meowed piteously and moved foreward and backward, sometimes leaning toward jumping, sometimes a paw slipping. I stood underneath on the stairs but couldn't reach him. I leaned over the ledge toward the window but couldn't reach him. I beckoned him to jump, then ran to my room to hide my face because what if he didn't make it and then he splattered on the stairs ten feet below him? FINALLY he jumped, and I thought, thank God, now he's learned his lesson and we'll never have to suffer through that heart attack again.
Five minutes later he jumped up there AGAIN. Well, that was it, because even if it didn't bother him, it bothered me. I locked him in my room and looked up ways to keep him from perching there. Aluminum foil, apparently, but we didn't have any, and it took two days for me to buy any. Eventually I covered the ledge with the stuff and tentatively allowed Rory to experience life outside of my bedroom. I went downstairs, and soon I heard him jump up, heard the crinkle of the foil, heard him jump down and race to my room.
He hasn't jumped up there since. But also, now the ledge overlooking our staircase is covered in aluminum foil.
3) He is one of three person-centered cats, and since I am home more than anyone, they all flock to my room. I assumed this would be adorable, but since Rory is not entirely comfortable with either of them (more so Nash than Billie), it mostly means listening to cats hiss or dart around me. Occasionally they will all be tired at the same time, at which point it is adorable, but most of the time I just kick out the other cats and ignore their whining at the door.
4) I'm a user; I admit it. I wanted Rory for his cuddles. And he is so good at them. Evening is when he is more playful and crazy, but as soon as I turn off all of the lights, he curls against my legs and goes to sleep. Sometimes he crawls up to lay on my chest and purr in my face, which is my favorite. Sometimes he curls up by my neck and I bury my face in his fluffy fur. It's incredibly adorable.
5) Rory is stupid smart. In the mornings, he likes to lick my face. Which, if you are familiar with cat tongues, is not exactly comfortable. I saw online that it's a thing cats do if they really like you, if they think you are their cat friend who needs grooming. But still, it hurts. So whenever he starts licking my face, I push him away. But now he knows that if he licks my face, my hands will come out from under the covers and he can turn my pushing into petting.
I have yet to solve this puzzle. Beaten by a cat, how embarrassing.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Teaching Kids About Feminism
I love the movement of educating young men not to abuse and rape women rather than the usual practice of educating women on how not to get raped (ex: wear modest clothes, don't go out after dark, lace your keys through your fingers while walking through parking lots but do not talk on your phone, wear your hair in a bun not a ponytail, always check your backseat before getting in your car....see, I'm educated and terrified). But I never quite knew what that looked like other than telling someone, "There will come a day when you will want something from a woman but she will not want to give it. In that moment, please do not force her to give it to you. That's very bad."
But today an opportunity arose! Anju screamed from upstairs, so I went to investigate. She was crying, and when I asked what had happened, she said, "I tried to shut my door, but Ketan wouldn't let me, and I kept telling him to let me shut it, but he kept holding it open!"
Not a huge deal, right? But like I said, an opportunity!
Me: Ketan, will you open your door, please?
Ketan: What?
Me: What just happened?
Ketan: I didn't do anything!
Me: Then why did Anju say something did?
Ketan: I just wanted to tell her something!
Me: Oh yeah? What?
Ketan: Just something.
Me: Okay. Look, here's the thing. You're older than Anju and you're a boy. You're stronger than her, and if you want to keep her door open, you can because you're stronger. But if a girl ever tells you to stop doing something repeatedly, you have to stop. That's your responsibility, okay? You've got to learn self-control and start respecting girls when they tell you to stop. Okay?
Ketan: Okay.
Me: I'm disappointed, but I'm not angry. I know you're awesome and you'll remember not to use your strength to your advantage.
Ketan: Okay.
He was super upset that I'd called him out on something I disapproved of. These kids, so desperate for perfection. I know nothing of that instinct, hah hah.
I was super excited to have had this conversation. I'll turn Ketan into a feminist yet, especially since a few days ago we had this conversation...
Ketan: What's J.K. Rowling's first name?
Me: Joanne.
Ketan: Why isn't it written Joanne Rowling?
Me: Because she was told that she would make more money if she sold her books under a name that could be assumed she was a man. Books authored by men make more money than women authors. Now it doesn't matter because she's so famous, but in general women are seen as less successful at things. The world often doesn't respect women.
Ketan: I respect women.
Me: I know. That's one of the things I love most about you.
But today an opportunity arose! Anju screamed from upstairs, so I went to investigate. She was crying, and when I asked what had happened, she said, "I tried to shut my door, but Ketan wouldn't let me, and I kept telling him to let me shut it, but he kept holding it open!"
Not a huge deal, right? But like I said, an opportunity!
Me: Ketan, will you open your door, please?
Ketan: What?
Me: What just happened?
Ketan: I didn't do anything!
Me: Then why did Anju say something did?
Ketan: I just wanted to tell her something!
Me: Oh yeah? What?
Ketan: Just something.
Me: Okay. Look, here's the thing. You're older than Anju and you're a boy. You're stronger than her, and if you want to keep her door open, you can because you're stronger. But if a girl ever tells you to stop doing something repeatedly, you have to stop. That's your responsibility, okay? You've got to learn self-control and start respecting girls when they tell you to stop. Okay?
Ketan: Okay.
Me: I'm disappointed, but I'm not angry. I know you're awesome and you'll remember not to use your strength to your advantage.
Ketan: Okay.
He was super upset that I'd called him out on something I disapproved of. These kids, so desperate for perfection. I know nothing of that instinct, hah hah.
I was super excited to have had this conversation. I'll turn Ketan into a feminist yet, especially since a few days ago we had this conversation...
Ketan: What's J.K. Rowling's first name?
Me: Joanne.
Ketan: Why isn't it written Joanne Rowling?
Me: Because she was told that she would make more money if she sold her books under a name that could be assumed she was a man. Books authored by men make more money than women authors. Now it doesn't matter because she's so famous, but in general women are seen as less successful at things. The world often doesn't respect women.
Ketan: I respect women.
Me: I know. That's one of the things I love most about you.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
A Day With Anju and Ketan
Ketan and Anju's grandparents have gone back to India, so after a month and a half, I finally have them for full evenings, straight through to bedtime. Jennifer, my new roommate, reacted incredulously when I told her I'd been with kids for eight hours, and I responded, "Oh, well. I actually like hanging out with them." These experiences made me want to record a day in the life with Anju and Ketan.
In the morning I took them to camp, but we were all tired, so they read in the backseat and I sang along to music up front. In the afternoon I picked Ketan up first. He had gotten a Mavericks poster, so he quizzed me on their names, which went really well since of course I know none of them.
Ketan: Starts with an S.
Me: Sam!
Ketan: No.
Me: Susie!
Ketan: What? No. S-h.
Me: Shhhh--Shane!
Ketan: No. S-h-a.
Me: SHANE.
Ketan: No. S-h-a-w.
Me: Shaw!
Ketan: No.
Me: Shaw...dolington.
Ketan: No!
Me: Shawt? Shawr? Shawn? Shawn!
Ketan: Yes. Wow.
Me: HAHAHAHA I never knew how bad I was at guessing names.
Ketan: Yeah, that was awful. Next one starts with T.
We picked up Anju, who proudly announced that she had only two more chapters left of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Ketan kept talking, which distracted her, which made her yell, which made me say, "Guys! Talk to each other with patience, okay?" We got to piano, Ketan started his lesson, and Anju realized her bookmark had fallen out.
"You're at the place where Harry says Dumbledore is the only wizard Voldemort ever feared, and then Tom Riddle says that Dumbledore fled at the mere memory of him." She looked at me with wide eyes, said, "Oh yeah," and found her page. Then her bookmark slid to the floor, and she burst into tears. "This is the worst day ever!" she yelled. "Sounds rough," I said. "Will you give me a hug?" She pouted and shook her head. "It will make me feel better," I said, and she glumly sat on my lap so I could wrap my arms around her. From my seat, she got distracted by the artwork and was soon happy.
After piano lessons, we went home to eat snacks and change into capoeria clothes. They made fun of me for eating an avocado, and I made fun of them for not eating an avocado. We went to cap, they did their thing, and after we drove to Chick-fil-a. No one was in the parking lot, and when we got to the door, we saw a sign saying they were closed because of a power outage. "Where else should we go?" I asked. "In-N-Out?" They didn't like that, and finally we settled on Sonic next door, which, when we got there, was also closed because of the power outage. Our third choice was Torchy's, so we drove there, got tacos, argued about soda vs. water, and ate.
Anju had to go to the bathroom, so Ketan and I sat on a bench near the door. We accidentally played a no blinking game.
Me: Oh! This reminds me of a Doctor Who episode. It was soooo creepy; I watched it at night and it scared me to death. There are these angel statues, and they can't move if you're looking at them, but as soon as you turn around, they move closer, and it's awful!
Ketan: Let's do that.
So I stared at him, then turned my head away and back really quick. He had moved infinitesimally closer. I looked away a bit longer, and when I glanced back he had raised his arms and was making an awful face less than a foot away. I shrieked, then we both fell over laughing, and I hit his leg because he had actually scared me. Anju finally returned with a horror story about how the light had turned off in the bathroom and she had fallen over.
When we got back in my car, Anju and Ketan debated whether or not Dumbledore or Gandalf were older. "Gandalf is somewhere between 95 and 2,992 years old," Ketan said. I laughed, and he continued, "You told us that, Miss Trish!"
"I know, but that was months ago! I'm surprised you remember. But I think it was 2,772." He disagreed, so I pulled the car over and made him get out to look at my license plate (Gandalf's age is my trick to remembering my number). "Radioactive" was playing on the radio, and Ketan has started doing this thing where he sings one word ahead of the song, but to the right melody. It is both impressive and annoying, so I let him go for awhile before reaching back to punch him in the knee and tell him to stop. Then I turned on "Sidekick" from the Very Potter Senior Year, and we all sang along loudly.
"Do "Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts"!" Anju requested, so I did. When the chorus kicked in, I yelled back at them, "This is perfect for you guys!" because they had been complaining a lot about wanting school to start. Ketan sang, "Gotta get back to St. Monica!" and we all laughed until I pulled in at the house. They took showers, I put them to bed, and Anju showed me that she had finished Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in the car.
"I love the part when you find out Tom Riddle is actually Voldemort," I told her. "The first time I read it, I was all WHOOOAAA. It was great. Now you get to read about dementors!"
I raised my hands above my head and made a creepy face, which caused her to fall over in bed screaming. I fell on top of her, hugging her and apologizing.
"Don't make a scary face again!" she said. I agreed, and smiled, and she screamed again.
"Hey, that was my normal face! Don't scream at my normal face--that hurts my feelings." She giggled, and said, "I thought you were going to do it again."
"Do you want me to do it again?" I asked. She nodded mischievously, so I did, and she screamed and laughed. I got up, handed her the third Harry Potter book as she was sitting up, and smacked her in the nose with it. She crumpled, crying, and I covered her face with my hands, apologizing and asking to see whether it was bleeding. It wasn't. "Man, we need to make sure there's a lot of space between us at all times, huh?" I said. I back three feet away from the bed. "Is this good?" She giggled again, I handed her the book delicately, said goodnight, and went downstairs.
Sanjay came home and told me he appreciated my good influence on the kids by setting an example by reading a lot. "No problem," I said, as if I could do anything else.
Sanjay: Pretty soon they'll be reading stuff that you're reading!
Me: ...
Sanjay: I guess they already do that, huh?
Me: Yeeaaah. We pretty much read the same things.
And that was yesterday.
In the morning I took them to camp, but we were all tired, so they read in the backseat and I sang along to music up front. In the afternoon I picked Ketan up first. He had gotten a Mavericks poster, so he quizzed me on their names, which went really well since of course I know none of them.
Ketan: Starts with an S.
Me: Sam!
Ketan: No.
Me: Susie!
Ketan: What? No. S-h.
Me: Shhhh--Shane!
Ketan: No. S-h-a.
Me: SHANE.
Ketan: No. S-h-a-w.
Me: Shaw!
Ketan: No.
Me: Shaw...dolington.
Ketan: No!
Me: Shawt? Shawr? Shawn? Shawn!
Ketan: Yes. Wow.
Me: HAHAHAHA I never knew how bad I was at guessing names.
Ketan: Yeah, that was awful. Next one starts with T.
We picked up Anju, who proudly announced that she had only two more chapters left of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Ketan kept talking, which distracted her, which made her yell, which made me say, "Guys! Talk to each other with patience, okay?" We got to piano, Ketan started his lesson, and Anju realized her bookmark had fallen out.
"You're at the place where Harry says Dumbledore is the only wizard Voldemort ever feared, and then Tom Riddle says that Dumbledore fled at the mere memory of him." She looked at me with wide eyes, said, "Oh yeah," and found her page. Then her bookmark slid to the floor, and she burst into tears. "This is the worst day ever!" she yelled. "Sounds rough," I said. "Will you give me a hug?" She pouted and shook her head. "It will make me feel better," I said, and she glumly sat on my lap so I could wrap my arms around her. From my seat, she got distracted by the artwork and was soon happy.
After piano lessons, we went home to eat snacks and change into capoeria clothes. They made fun of me for eating an avocado, and I made fun of them for not eating an avocado. We went to cap, they did their thing, and after we drove to Chick-fil-a. No one was in the parking lot, and when we got to the door, we saw a sign saying they were closed because of a power outage. "Where else should we go?" I asked. "In-N-Out?" They didn't like that, and finally we settled on Sonic next door, which, when we got there, was also closed because of the power outage. Our third choice was Torchy's, so we drove there, got tacos, argued about soda vs. water, and ate.
Anju had to go to the bathroom, so Ketan and I sat on a bench near the door. We accidentally played a no blinking game.
Me: Oh! This reminds me of a Doctor Who episode. It was soooo creepy; I watched it at night and it scared me to death. There are these angel statues, and they can't move if you're looking at them, but as soon as you turn around, they move closer, and it's awful!
Ketan: Let's do that.
So I stared at him, then turned my head away and back really quick. He had moved infinitesimally closer. I looked away a bit longer, and when I glanced back he had raised his arms and was making an awful face less than a foot away. I shrieked, then we both fell over laughing, and I hit his leg because he had actually scared me. Anju finally returned with a horror story about how the light had turned off in the bathroom and she had fallen over.
When we got back in my car, Anju and Ketan debated whether or not Dumbledore or Gandalf were older. "Gandalf is somewhere between 95 and 2,992 years old," Ketan said. I laughed, and he continued, "You told us that, Miss Trish!"
"I know, but that was months ago! I'm surprised you remember. But I think it was 2,772." He disagreed, so I pulled the car over and made him get out to look at my license plate (Gandalf's age is my trick to remembering my number). "Radioactive" was playing on the radio, and Ketan has started doing this thing where he sings one word ahead of the song, but to the right melody. It is both impressive and annoying, so I let him go for awhile before reaching back to punch him in the knee and tell him to stop. Then I turned on "Sidekick" from the Very Potter Senior Year, and we all sang along loudly.
"Do "Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts"!" Anju requested, so I did. When the chorus kicked in, I yelled back at them, "This is perfect for you guys!" because they had been complaining a lot about wanting school to start. Ketan sang, "Gotta get back to St. Monica!" and we all laughed until I pulled in at the house. They took showers, I put them to bed, and Anju showed me that she had finished Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in the car.
"I love the part when you find out Tom Riddle is actually Voldemort," I told her. "The first time I read it, I was all WHOOOAAA. It was great. Now you get to read about dementors!"
I raised my hands above my head and made a creepy face, which caused her to fall over in bed screaming. I fell on top of her, hugging her and apologizing.
"Don't make a scary face again!" she said. I agreed, and smiled, and she screamed again.
"Hey, that was my normal face! Don't scream at my normal face--that hurts my feelings." She giggled, and said, "I thought you were going to do it again."
"Do you want me to do it again?" I asked. She nodded mischievously, so I did, and she screamed and laughed. I got up, handed her the third Harry Potter book as she was sitting up, and smacked her in the nose with it. She crumpled, crying, and I covered her face with my hands, apologizing and asking to see whether it was bleeding. It wasn't. "Man, we need to make sure there's a lot of space between us at all times, huh?" I said. I back three feet away from the bed. "Is this good?" She giggled again, I handed her the book delicately, said goodnight, and went downstairs.
Sanjay came home and told me he appreciated my good influence on the kids by setting an example by reading a lot. "No problem," I said, as if I could do anything else.
Sanjay: Pretty soon they'll be reading stuff that you're reading!
Me: ...
Sanjay: I guess they already do that, huh?
Me: Yeeaaah. We pretty much read the same things.
And that was yesterday.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Too Close
There are times in my life when something is said that, though not pointed in and of itself, strikes right at my core. On our roadtrip, I rehashed boy things with Liz, and talked about how so often I live in a fantasy world of "what ifs" and daydreams. Then we listened to this really excellent song that included the lyrics:
"We are the reckless/ We are the wild youth/ Chasing visions of our futures"
I yelled, "NO. That hits too close to home!" at my car stereo.
Today I was once again rehashing boy things with Liz. This time she said something about how maybe there was selfishness inherent in my desire, just kind of in passing, and she kept on listing possibilities. But I stopped, and when she breathed I said, "No no no. You're right. Oh my gosh. I'm being selfish."
She backpedaled and said of course I wasn't, but the (positive) damage was done.
I try to be a pretty self-aware person, so it's weird when someone else speaks truth into my life about myself. But it's good. It makes me realize I am a mystery even unto myself, that there are depths to be explored and hidden motivations. I am fearfully and wonderfully made, basically, so much more complicated than I give myself credit for.
"We are the reckless/ We are the wild youth/ Chasing visions of our futures"
I yelled, "NO. That hits too close to home!" at my car stereo.
Today I was once again rehashing boy things with Liz. This time she said something about how maybe there was selfishness inherent in my desire, just kind of in passing, and she kept on listing possibilities. But I stopped, and when she breathed I said, "No no no. You're right. Oh my gosh. I'm being selfish."
She backpedaled and said of course I wasn't, but the (positive) damage was done.
I try to be a pretty self-aware person, so it's weird when someone else speaks truth into my life about myself. But it's good. It makes me realize I am a mystery even unto myself, that there are depths to be explored and hidden motivations. I am fearfully and wonderfully made, basically, so much more complicated than I give myself credit for.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
#toubabs2013
As an introvert, the idea of spending all day with someone for FOUR DAYS can produce mild panic. Spending four days with twenty people, all crowding in on each other with nowhere to go for solitude, well. It should have been miserable. But somehow the Forsythe's team in Fatick is family, whether or not I have actually met them before.
Liz and I drove to Memphis on Friday, listening to awesome music and talking, which is what we do best. We got to Mallory's apartment and while I never forget that I like Mallory, I always forget just how much (it's a lot). This girl Shannon is doing the Journeyman program in Dakar later this year, and although she knew none of us, she agreed to hang out with a bunch of temporary Senegalese residents. The four of us ate BBQ nachos and took a tour of Mallory's Memphis.
We already had fifty inside jokes by this point, so at the free outdoor concert, we pulled out books to read. Ashley and Stephen came, and we had a wonderful catch-up conversation while not listening to the band. Since it was 9:00 and we still had to drive an 1 1/2 to Jackson, we powered up with coffee, made friends with the barista, and made our way to the Hughes house to spend the night.
Liz's phone went off at 8:15, we snoozed for five minutes until Mallory, who it turns out is a disgusting morning person, bounced on her air mattress and said, "It's 8:20! It's 8:20!" We got up and hung out with Jennie, Dusty, and their kids for a couple hours before heading to Union. Kim met us there; I gave everyone the Tornado Tour and she gave everyone the Kim&Travis Tour. Here is the story of how Kim and Travis met.
*both are walking down the sidewalk with friends*
*Kim notices that Travis is cute*
Kim: Hi!
*Travis ignores Kim*
Kim: HEY. I said hi to you!
*eventually they date, get married, and have four kids*
Words cannot express how much I love their love story.
We arrived at the Forsythe Missionary House Saturday afternoon. I was prepared to dislike everyone I didn't know who had their own Senegal stories that weren't mine, but it turns out everyone was lovely. I think there must be a certain kind of person who chooses, or agrees, to go to West Africa and has a good enough time that they want to reconnect with people who had similar experiences. Because somehow, someway, everyone got along and had fun.
Gloria and Nate had a water wars event planned, so everyone changed into play clothes (I wore a shirt from Jennie and shorts from Gloria--nothing means friendship to me like someone lending me their clothes) and prepared for watery destruction. We had a Hunger Games style battle, but each of us had a particular person we were supposed to kill. I had Lucas, and joy of joys, we ended up in the same safe zone.
Lucas: Do you want to be allies?
Me: Yes! *internally: mwahahaa*
Lucas: How do I know you don't have my name?
Me: You don't.
Lucas: Alright. *runs out of the safe zone*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Ethan: *chucks water balloon at me and hits*
I was out rather quickly, is what I mean. But then all the dead people attacked each other with water balloons and water guns, and it all worked out okay in the end.
Two guys who had gone to Fatick in January had motorcycles, which naturally meant we had to take rides. I borrowed a pair of Nate's jeans to protect my legs, popped on half a helmet, and rode with Biggest Ethan (as compared to the Big Ethan Forsythe) for quite a ways. It was glorious. Until I came back and someone told me he had only been driving a motorcycle for six months and I was his first ever passenger. Everyone else rode with Josiah on a set route with a leather jacket and full helmet. Whoops. At least I'm alive.
For the rest of the afternoon we played games and got to know each other better. Travis and I teamed up for Settlers of Cataan, which made us team T&T. We fist bumped and Nate reminded me we ought to have done a fist explosion, a missed opportunity that I still regret. We also played Quelf, which is guaranteed fun times, especially in getting to know new people. And of course we all arm wrestled, which is how I gauge my relationship with the Forsythe kids. Used to be I could beat Nate quite easily, but now...that is not the case. Even Ethan beat me. Kim got very excited about the idea of leg wrestling, so we moved the furniture in the living room out of the way. I beat her immediately, at which point I was very excited about the idea of leg wrestling. Turns out I've got legs of steel, since I beat Duncan, Ethan, and Nate. I, uh, also lost once to Nate and to Mallory, but we don't speak of those things.
We ordered pizza for dinner, and what with all the cookies and brownies that seemed to never disappear, I had a delicious weekend. However, it turns out that eating so unhealthily takes an iron stomach, something I have lost in Dallas with my avocados and homemade Indian dishes.
Gloria is crazy artistic, and when I found out she can do henna, I practically begged her to decorate my hand. She did a really gorgeous design that didn't stain my hand properly, so I only have evidence in pictures.
We stayed late before heading back to the Hughes house to spend the night. Sunday morning everyone went to church, and....well, I had forgotten it was the Sunday before the 4th of July. It was everything I hate about patriotism within the church, and I might have said, "I hate this" out loud, at which point Liz held my hand and whispered, "Not now. We'll talk about this later." Then they said some more things that made me shaky with anger, and I might have cried during the prayers because all I could think was, "God, forgive me, I'm having a really hard time not hating everyone in here."
I mean, it was bad. Ugh. When the service was over and we got in the car to drive to Subway, I screamed in frustration and Liz and I had a long conversation about everything that so offended us. The upside was that our group took up two whole rows, and when the service was over we all kind of looked at each other and made subtle comments and facial expressions that soothed my heart, because I could not have stood it if my Fatick family had loved the things I had hated.
The other upside is that the rest of the day was wonderful. I almost played Ultimate Frisbee (in Ethan's t-shirt; that's four people I borrowed from if you're counting), but Lucas kind of flipped it in his hands and I flinched so violently that I ran to Liz in embarrassment. Instead I went inside to chat with the other unathletic people, then took a nap. Public napping was one of my favorite things in Fatick, so I like to think I was honoring the integrity of our reunion by sleeping through the afternoon.
When the frisbee-ers came back in, I cuddled against Mallory and had my feet tucked behind Travis, and just--those are the little moments I so loved about the weekend. The comfort that never seems to disappear between myself and these people with whom I shared only five months of my life.
Most of us piled into the Suburban to get Sonic drinks, and when we returned we finally played Fishbowl, which was as entertaining as always, though without any graphic portrayals of childbirth. We ordered Chinese takeout, and Bill and Sally stopped by while we were eating. Nate took me outside to learn how to throw a spiral pass. That didn't happen, but Bill joined us, and I had fun being awful. At one point the football bounced down the front lawn. I grabbed it, and Bill yelled some kind of encouragement. I tossed my hair, said, "Yes, well I'm just so graceful," and twisted my ankle. Seriously.
Ethan brought Melanie (his second wife) flowers, bypassing me completely. Half an hour later he came in with a smaller and less complicated bouquet for me. If I had any doubts before, I now know I do not have the temperament to be in a polygamous marriage, even with a sister-wife as lovely as Melanie. However, we did take several pictures of the three of us.
Driving downtown, Nate happened to be sitting between Melanie and me.
Nate: So, is this an all-Forsythe boy thing?
Me: What?
Nate: We are sitting in the same arrangement.
Me: ...Do you want us to kiss you??
Nate: Well.
Melanie: Ethan gave us flowers first.
Me: Yeah, we don't kiss anyone without payment. Oh. We're prostitutes.
Melanie: But they were flowers!
Nate: Romantic prostitutes.
Downtown, the coffee shop I wanted Liz to experience was closed. However, we all walked around and sang a little and took pictures. Liz found a plaque that described how David Crockett had left Jackson after losing an election, at which point he said, "You can go to hell, but I will go to Texas." I am going to try to remember to say this every time I leave somewhere to return to Dallas.
Back at the house, we stayed up late playing games in which we winked at each other to kill one another or made weird gestures at each other in secret. I promise it was fun. By 11:30, Holly and RC were going to head to their hotel, but they stayed another hour as we prayed for each other. It made me cry. It was lovely.
Liz and Melanie and I shared the bed that night. Melanie apologized for hitting me in the face, which I didn't feel. I apologized for punching Liz, which she didn't feel. Sleeping three to a bed is not something I typically desire, but it was a perfect last night for our family weekend.
In the morning, the remaining athletic people ran to Green Frog. Shannon, Nate, Ethan and I drove there. We all had coffee and breakfast and one last picture. Liz and I were going to leave from downtown, but Travis was not awake to come pick up everyone else, so we carpooled back to the house. We hugged and packed up and left. I immediately started recounting my favorite memories, and Liz and I held on to the weekend by reliving it for as long as possible.
Liz and I drove to Memphis on Friday, listening to awesome music and talking, which is what we do best. We got to Mallory's apartment and while I never forget that I like Mallory, I always forget just how much (it's a lot). This girl Shannon is doing the Journeyman program in Dakar later this year, and although she knew none of us, she agreed to hang out with a bunch of temporary Senegalese residents. The four of us ate BBQ nachos and took a tour of Mallory's Memphis.
We already had fifty inside jokes by this point, so at the free outdoor concert, we pulled out books to read. Ashley and Stephen came, and we had a wonderful catch-up conversation while not listening to the band. Since it was 9:00 and we still had to drive an 1 1/2 to Jackson, we powered up with coffee, made friends with the barista, and made our way to the Hughes house to spend the night.
Liz's phone went off at 8:15, we snoozed for five minutes until Mallory, who it turns out is a disgusting morning person, bounced on her air mattress and said, "It's 8:20! It's 8:20!" We got up and hung out with Jennie, Dusty, and their kids for a couple hours before heading to Union. Kim met us there; I gave everyone the Tornado Tour and she gave everyone the Kim&Travis Tour. Here is the story of how Kim and Travis met.
*both are walking down the sidewalk with friends*
*Kim notices that Travis is cute*
Kim: Hi!
*Travis ignores Kim*
Kim: HEY. I said hi to you!
*eventually they date, get married, and have four kids*
Words cannot express how much I love their love story.
We arrived at the Forsythe Missionary House Saturday afternoon. I was prepared to dislike everyone I didn't know who had their own Senegal stories that weren't mine, but it turns out everyone was lovely. I think there must be a certain kind of person who chooses, or agrees, to go to West Africa and has a good enough time that they want to reconnect with people who had similar experiences. Because somehow, someway, everyone got along and had fun.
Gloria and Nate had a water wars event planned, so everyone changed into play clothes (I wore a shirt from Jennie and shorts from Gloria--nothing means friendship to me like someone lending me their clothes) and prepared for watery destruction. We had a Hunger Games style battle, but each of us had a particular person we were supposed to kill. I had Lucas, and joy of joys, we ended up in the same safe zone.
Lucas: Do you want to be allies?
Me: Yes! *internally: mwahahaa*
Lucas: How do I know you don't have my name?
Me: You don't.
Lucas: Alright. *runs out of the safe zone*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Me: *chucks water balloon at him and misses*
Ethan: *chucks water balloon at me and hits*
I was out rather quickly, is what I mean. But then all the dead people attacked each other with water balloons and water guns, and it all worked out okay in the end.
Two guys who had gone to Fatick in January had motorcycles, which naturally meant we had to take rides. I borrowed a pair of Nate's jeans to protect my legs, popped on half a helmet, and rode with Biggest Ethan (as compared to the Big Ethan Forsythe) for quite a ways. It was glorious. Until I came back and someone told me he had only been driving a motorcycle for six months and I was his first ever passenger. Everyone else rode with Josiah on a set route with a leather jacket and full helmet. Whoops. At least I'm alive.
For the rest of the afternoon we played games and got to know each other better. Travis and I teamed up for Settlers of Cataan, which made us team T&T. We fist bumped and Nate reminded me we ought to have done a fist explosion, a missed opportunity that I still regret. We also played Quelf, which is guaranteed fun times, especially in getting to know new people. And of course we all arm wrestled, which is how I gauge my relationship with the Forsythe kids. Used to be I could beat Nate quite easily, but now...that is not the case. Even Ethan beat me. Kim got very excited about the idea of leg wrestling, so we moved the furniture in the living room out of the way. I beat her immediately, at which point I was very excited about the idea of leg wrestling. Turns out I've got legs of steel, since I beat Duncan, Ethan, and Nate. I, uh, also lost once to Nate and to Mallory, but we don't speak of those things.
We ordered pizza for dinner, and what with all the cookies and brownies that seemed to never disappear, I had a delicious weekend. However, it turns out that eating so unhealthily takes an iron stomach, something I have lost in Dallas with my avocados and homemade Indian dishes.
Gloria is crazy artistic, and when I found out she can do henna, I practically begged her to decorate my hand. She did a really gorgeous design that didn't stain my hand properly, so I only have evidence in pictures.
We stayed late before heading back to the Hughes house to spend the night. Sunday morning everyone went to church, and....well, I had forgotten it was the Sunday before the 4th of July. It was everything I hate about patriotism within the church, and I might have said, "I hate this" out loud, at which point Liz held my hand and whispered, "Not now. We'll talk about this later." Then they said some more things that made me shaky with anger, and I might have cried during the prayers because all I could think was, "God, forgive me, I'm having a really hard time not hating everyone in here."
I mean, it was bad. Ugh. When the service was over and we got in the car to drive to Subway, I screamed in frustration and Liz and I had a long conversation about everything that so offended us. The upside was that our group took up two whole rows, and when the service was over we all kind of looked at each other and made subtle comments and facial expressions that soothed my heart, because I could not have stood it if my Fatick family had loved the things I had hated.
The other upside is that the rest of the day was wonderful. I almost played Ultimate Frisbee (in Ethan's t-shirt; that's four people I borrowed from if you're counting), but Lucas kind of flipped it in his hands and I flinched so violently that I ran to Liz in embarrassment. Instead I went inside to chat with the other unathletic people, then took a nap. Public napping was one of my favorite things in Fatick, so I like to think I was honoring the integrity of our reunion by sleeping through the afternoon.
When the frisbee-ers came back in, I cuddled against Mallory and had my feet tucked behind Travis, and just--those are the little moments I so loved about the weekend. The comfort that never seems to disappear between myself and these people with whom I shared only five months of my life.
Most of us piled into the Suburban to get Sonic drinks, and when we returned we finally played Fishbowl, which was as entertaining as always, though without any graphic portrayals of childbirth. We ordered Chinese takeout, and Bill and Sally stopped by while we were eating. Nate took me outside to learn how to throw a spiral pass. That didn't happen, but Bill joined us, and I had fun being awful. At one point the football bounced down the front lawn. I grabbed it, and Bill yelled some kind of encouragement. I tossed my hair, said, "Yes, well I'm just so graceful," and twisted my ankle. Seriously.
Ethan brought Melanie (his second wife) flowers, bypassing me completely. Half an hour later he came in with a smaller and less complicated bouquet for me. If I had any doubts before, I now know I do not have the temperament to be in a polygamous marriage, even with a sister-wife as lovely as Melanie. However, we did take several pictures of the three of us.
Driving downtown, Nate happened to be sitting between Melanie and me.
Nate: So, is this an all-Forsythe boy thing?
Me: What?
Nate: We are sitting in the same arrangement.
Me: ...Do you want us to kiss you??
Nate: Well.
Melanie: Ethan gave us flowers first.
Me: Yeah, we don't kiss anyone without payment. Oh. We're prostitutes.
Melanie: But they were flowers!
Nate: Romantic prostitutes.
Downtown, the coffee shop I wanted Liz to experience was closed. However, we all walked around and sang a little and took pictures. Liz found a plaque that described how David Crockett had left Jackson after losing an election, at which point he said, "You can go to hell, but I will go to Texas." I am going to try to remember to say this every time I leave somewhere to return to Dallas.
Back at the house, we stayed up late playing games in which we winked at each other to kill one another or made weird gestures at each other in secret. I promise it was fun. By 11:30, Holly and RC were going to head to their hotel, but they stayed another hour as we prayed for each other. It made me cry. It was lovely.
Liz and Melanie and I shared the bed that night. Melanie apologized for hitting me in the face, which I didn't feel. I apologized for punching Liz, which she didn't feel. Sleeping three to a bed is not something I typically desire, but it was a perfect last night for our family weekend.
In the morning, the remaining athletic people ran to Green Frog. Shannon, Nate, Ethan and I drove there. We all had coffee and breakfast and one last picture. Liz and I were going to leave from downtown, but Travis was not awake to come pick up everyone else, so we carpooled back to the house. We hugged and packed up and left. I immediately started recounting my favorite memories, and Liz and I held on to the weekend by reliving it for as long as possible.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Boys Will Be Boys
When I picked up Anju this afternoon, she was watching the new One Direction trailer. I was pleased to see that a minute in, a 40-year-old woman was buying a lifesize cutout of Louis. "That's my future," I thought, and I forgot even to feel ashamed.
The thing is, I freaking love boys. Boys and their boyness. No matter the age.
There's a very particular memory I have from college, when Stephanie and her roommates and Kevin and his friends and I all went adventuring in the woods across the street from campus. It felt like an amalgamation of fantasy lands, so we dubbed the exploring MidNarniWartsLand. After we'd traipsed and jumped and nicknamed each other, we popped out of the treeline into a field. Cameron immediately held up his arms as though defending himself with a sword, and Kevin and whats-his-name charged. They had an epic imaginary duel, and they threw themselves to the ground and acted ridiculous.
I was utterly charmed.
Ever since Roy and Aaron allowed (or were forced to allow) me to accompany them on their forest adventures, I have longed to be in BoyVille. The imagination, the danger, the nature, the silliness. It's wonderful. And even though I love, even though I've done it for most of my life, I've always felt like an outsider. The easy affection between boys (which is mostly why I'm obsessed with One Direction, they are freaking adorable with each other) and predisposition for mockery and punching and smiles--that's what I love, but I never felt like I was supposed to be that way. Because when I ran off to play with the boys, my girl friends stayed back. Eventually I stayed back too.
I don't know why that is, and I hate it, and I'm jealous. But despite my outsiderness, whenever I see boys being boys in that particular way, I just fall in love a little. Because that's how life ought to be, or how I want my life to be.
It's also, I think, why I love books like Bridge to Terabithia, where it's the girl who creates a forested fantasy world, or Beren and Luthien in The Silmarillion, who are Tolkien's original epic couple, but who fight together and love together and lose together and find together. And that's what I want. I want a boy with whom I can be a boy. I hope that makes sense after the entirety of the blog.
Also, I'm totally going to pay money to see that One Direction movie. If only I can convince Anju to ask her mother if she can go with me, but make it seem like her idea...
The thing is, I freaking love boys. Boys and their boyness. No matter the age.
There's a very particular memory I have from college, when Stephanie and her roommates and Kevin and his friends and I all went adventuring in the woods across the street from campus. It felt like an amalgamation of fantasy lands, so we dubbed the exploring MidNarniWartsLand. After we'd traipsed and jumped and nicknamed each other, we popped out of the treeline into a field. Cameron immediately held up his arms as though defending himself with a sword, and Kevin and whats-his-name charged. They had an epic imaginary duel, and they threw themselves to the ground and acted ridiculous.
I was utterly charmed.
Ever since Roy and Aaron allowed (or were forced to allow) me to accompany them on their forest adventures, I have longed to be in BoyVille. The imagination, the danger, the nature, the silliness. It's wonderful. And even though I love, even though I've done it for most of my life, I've always felt like an outsider. The easy affection between boys (which is mostly why I'm obsessed with One Direction, they are freaking adorable with each other) and predisposition for mockery and punching and smiles--that's what I love, but I never felt like I was supposed to be that way. Because when I ran off to play with the boys, my girl friends stayed back. Eventually I stayed back too.
I don't know why that is, and I hate it, and I'm jealous. But despite my outsiderness, whenever I see boys being boys in that particular way, I just fall in love a little. Because that's how life ought to be, or how I want my life to be.
It's also, I think, why I love books like Bridge to Terabithia, where it's the girl who creates a forested fantasy world, or Beren and Luthien in The Silmarillion, who are Tolkien's original epic couple, but who fight together and love together and lose together and find together. And that's what I want. I want a boy with whom I can be a boy. I hope that makes sense after the entirety of the blog.
Also, I'm totally going to pay money to see that One Direction movie. If only I can convince Anju to ask her mother if she can go with me, but make it seem like her idea...
Monday, June 24, 2013
Nothing Coherent
There isn't much to write about today because...it was just a lovely day. Weird how it's harder to write about nice things than awful, huh?
I had breakfast with Libby until nearly lunchtime, which is the mark of a good breakfast if you ask me.
The kids and I started week 2 at the pool, which is turning me quite brown.
Me: I love being in the sun!
Anju: Ugh, it's hot.
Me: Yeah. But it's nice for tanning.
Anju: I'm getting tan, I think. I mean, it's hard to tell.
Me: Yeah, you probably are.
Anju: Why do you like being tan?
Me: Mmm, I just think I look prettier with brown skin.
Anju: I have brown skin.
Me: You're pretty all the time.
Also, it is consistently weird to me, every summer, how people just walk around in their underwear at pools and beaches, and no one is bothered by it. And then five minutes later, I'm not bothered by it either. How does such rapid desensitization occur? The human brain is amazing.
I had breakfast with Libby until nearly lunchtime, which is the mark of a good breakfast if you ask me.
The kids and I started week 2 at the pool, which is turning me quite brown.
Me: I love being in the sun!
Anju: Ugh, it's hot.
Me: Yeah. But it's nice for tanning.
Anju: I'm getting tan, I think. I mean, it's hard to tell.
Me: Yeah, you probably are.
Anju: Why do you like being tan?
Me: Mmm, I just think I look prettier with brown skin.
Anju: I have brown skin.
Me: You're pretty all the time.
Also, it is consistently weird to me, every summer, how people just walk around in their underwear at pools and beaches, and no one is bothered by it. And then five minutes later, I'm not bothered by it either. How does such rapid desensitization occur? The human brain is amazing.
Friday, June 21, 2013
From This Thought to That
1) You know that moment of sweet relief when you admit something that you feel is so strange, and everyone says, "Oh I do that too!"? Well, it's very strange for the opposite to happen, to assume that your experience is universal and then to suddenly find out that it is not. Turns out everyone did not go through the suicidal teenage thing? I thought that was a thing.
2) I used to buy swimsuits in an attempt to cover up as much skin as possible. Now there are ominous strapless dresses looming in my future and the repetitious "no tan lines!" echoing in my head, so I'm stuck emailing Liz pictures of me in the dressing room with the caption "what the hell is the difference between swimwear appropriate and slutty??"
3) I don't actually like the word slutty. I don't like slut-shaming, and the idea that women, and how they choose to dress, are responsible for the actions of men. Slut-shaming is a very short step away from victim-blaming, and no matter what a woman is wearing, she's not asking to be raped. Let's put our focus on teaching boys to respect women and NOT RAPE THEM rather than teaching women how not to get raped.
4) I freaking love Michal Ann, because she sends me links to feminist things, and we talk about it, and it's this huge part of my life that so few people share. Share entirely, I mean. The Interwebs and my brother are huge feminists, and I love that, but Michal Ann is my Christian feminist buddy who sees Jesus affirming the equality of women and loving the way the Bible tells the narratives of women and gives us dignity and sadness and purpose. I want her to stop being in Turkey and start being in Texas.
5) Amy and Liz are having a garage sale tomorrow, and they're selling a bunch of stuff, and this means there is only one more week in which they will be living here. I'm not thinking about this. I'm not thinking about it so hard that I work and sulk and hole up in my room and distract myself with books and schoolwork and TV shows. It's funny how long it took for me to realize that a major source of my flirtation with depression was Liz leaving. But I'm not going to think about that, because denial is a wonderful skillset.
2) I used to buy swimsuits in an attempt to cover up as much skin as possible. Now there are ominous strapless dresses looming in my future and the repetitious "no tan lines!" echoing in my head, so I'm stuck emailing Liz pictures of me in the dressing room with the caption "what the hell is the difference between swimwear appropriate and slutty??"
3) I don't actually like the word slutty. I don't like slut-shaming, and the idea that women, and how they choose to dress, are responsible for the actions of men. Slut-shaming is a very short step away from victim-blaming, and no matter what a woman is wearing, she's not asking to be raped. Let's put our focus on teaching boys to respect women and NOT RAPE THEM rather than teaching women how not to get raped.
4) I freaking love Michal Ann, because she sends me links to feminist things, and we talk about it, and it's this huge part of my life that so few people share. Share entirely, I mean. The Interwebs and my brother are huge feminists, and I love that, but Michal Ann is my Christian feminist buddy who sees Jesus affirming the equality of women and loving the way the Bible tells the narratives of women and gives us dignity and sadness and purpose. I want her to stop being in Turkey and start being in Texas.
5) Amy and Liz are having a garage sale tomorrow, and they're selling a bunch of stuff, and this means there is only one more week in which they will be living here. I'm not thinking about this. I'm not thinking about it so hard that I work and sulk and hole up in my room and distract myself with books and schoolwork and TV shows. It's funny how long it took for me to realize that a major source of my flirtation with depression was Liz leaving. But I'm not going to think about that, because denial is a wonderful skillset.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Why I Like Kids
Okay, real post.
It hit me the other day that I'm getting paid to be a stay-at-home mom (this summer especially, since I'm with the kiddos pretty much all day) and I LIKE IT. Ah! I mean, I guess if I could read theology books and YA books and write a little on the side, I'd be okay with this career move? Also, if my hypothetical future kids are anywhere as awesome as Anju and Ketan.
This is what I like about hanging with kids all the time:
1) They make me think harder. They're always asking why, and I freaking love that game. I will come up with a new and unique answer if it kills me! Only twice in a whole year have I resorted to saying, "Because I said so." Heh heh. Take that, kids, I can totally outlast you. But I'm losing the point. I like having to think through all those steps, but I also like those teachable moments (mostly because the kids are teachable). Today Ketan said Anju was mean, and she got upset.
Anju: He said I'm mean!
Me: Were you being mean?
Anju: NO. I was being nice, but--
Me: Then it doesn't matter.
Anju: What? But I was being nice.
Me: I know. So if you know you were being nice, then what does it matter what Ketan thinks? It's like that episode of Fruits Basket we just watched, right? Haru thinks he's a fool because the cow carried the rat, and he freaks out on Yuki when he first meets him. And Yuki just says, "Well, are you a fool?" and Haru realizes he's not, so he stops being angry.
Anju: Oh, you're right. Okay.
HAHAHAH. I get to use story analysis to teach a ridiculous lesson, and she got it. Best.
2) They love doing annoying things. Anju wanted to go to Whole Foods with me, and she insisted on carrying the basket, and picking out the peaches, and putting them in the scale. Boring stuff! But seeing how excited she was about it made me want to carry the stupid basket.
3) There aren't walls. Kids all the time do and say exactly what they feel. Sometimes this is annoying, like when Anju says, "You have a pimple," and I grit out, "Yes, I do, but remember how I told you people don't like to have that sort of thing pointed out?" And other times it's just endearingly awesome, like when Anju and Alessandra faceplanted the library doors because they were desperate for the place to open. Ketan is right on the edge of gaining self-awareness (bad in this case), so he's coyly sweet, saying, "Well, I don't hate you" or "You were pretty okay at that" which means he loooves me. Both are nice, but I just really love that innocent trust that it's safe to say what you're thinking, and it's okay to do what you want to do. My life involves a lot of flailing because I'm passionate, but far too often I reign in my emotions because adulthood means containing oneself.
On the other hand, when they are hungry or tired, they are pissed. They're smart enough to say, "I'm hungry, so I'm CRANKY" but it's still annoying as hell. And then I act like the hypocrite I am and teach them about maturity meaning knowing when to hold in your opinions and when to let them out.
Alright. So awesome kids are awesome. I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude that the children I nanny are basically my clones, so everything is easy and enjoyable. Most of the time, obviously. So I guess if I were guaranteed to have kids like them, I wouldn't mind being with them all the time. Although would I? Because I'm in school. Eh, whatever. I could probably never for years at a time stay home with kids all the freaking time, but it's not as bad as all that.
(IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm not saying I've thought stay-at-home moms were crazy. I have the utmost respect for them precisely because I thought it would be so stinking hard for me to do the same. Like thinking I would never want to be a pro wrestler, because that looks insane! Now I see that maybe I could, in fact, be a pro wrestler. Er, stay-at-home mom. But I'm still going to study counseling.)
It hit me the other day that I'm getting paid to be a stay-at-home mom (this summer especially, since I'm with the kiddos pretty much all day) and I LIKE IT. Ah! I mean, I guess if I could read theology books and YA books and write a little on the side, I'd be okay with this career move? Also, if my hypothetical future kids are anywhere as awesome as Anju and Ketan.
This is what I like about hanging with kids all the time:
1) They make me think harder. They're always asking why, and I freaking love that game. I will come up with a new and unique answer if it kills me! Only twice in a whole year have I resorted to saying, "Because I said so." Heh heh. Take that, kids, I can totally outlast you. But I'm losing the point. I like having to think through all those steps, but I also like those teachable moments (mostly because the kids are teachable). Today Ketan said Anju was mean, and she got upset.
Anju: He said I'm mean!
Me: Were you being mean?
Anju: NO. I was being nice, but--
Me: Then it doesn't matter.
Anju: What? But I was being nice.
Me: I know. So if you know you were being nice, then what does it matter what Ketan thinks? It's like that episode of Fruits Basket we just watched, right? Haru thinks he's a fool because the cow carried the rat, and he freaks out on Yuki when he first meets him. And Yuki just says, "Well, are you a fool?" and Haru realizes he's not, so he stops being angry.
Anju: Oh, you're right. Okay.
HAHAHAH. I get to use story analysis to teach a ridiculous lesson, and she got it. Best.
2) They love doing annoying things. Anju wanted to go to Whole Foods with me, and she insisted on carrying the basket, and picking out the peaches, and putting them in the scale. Boring stuff! But seeing how excited she was about it made me want to carry the stupid basket.
3) There aren't walls. Kids all the time do and say exactly what they feel. Sometimes this is annoying, like when Anju says, "You have a pimple," and I grit out, "Yes, I do, but remember how I told you people don't like to have that sort of thing pointed out?" And other times it's just endearingly awesome, like when Anju and Alessandra faceplanted the library doors because they were desperate for the place to open. Ketan is right on the edge of gaining self-awareness (bad in this case), so he's coyly sweet, saying, "Well, I don't hate you" or "You were pretty okay at that" which means he loooves me. Both are nice, but I just really love that innocent trust that it's safe to say what you're thinking, and it's okay to do what you want to do. My life involves a lot of flailing because I'm passionate, but far too often I reign in my emotions because adulthood means containing oneself.
On the other hand, when they are hungry or tired, they are pissed. They're smart enough to say, "I'm hungry, so I'm CRANKY" but it's still annoying as hell. And then I act like the hypocrite I am and teach them about maturity meaning knowing when to hold in your opinions and when to let them out.
Alright. So awesome kids are awesome. I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude that the children I nanny are basically my clones, so everything is easy and enjoyable. Most of the time, obviously. So I guess if I were guaranteed to have kids like them, I wouldn't mind being with them all the time. Although would I? Because I'm in school. Eh, whatever. I could probably never for years at a time stay home with kids all the freaking time, but it's not as bad as all that.
(IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm not saying I've thought stay-at-home moms were crazy. I have the utmost respect for them precisely because I thought it would be so stinking hard for me to do the same. Like thinking I would never want to be a pro wrestler, because that looks insane! Now I see that maybe I could, in fact, be a pro wrestler. Er, stay-at-home mom. But I'm still going to study counseling.)
Sunday, June 16, 2013
The Arboretum
Last year, my mom and I went to the St. Louis Botanical Garden for a Chinese Lantern Festival. We got duped into buying yearlong memberships, only we weren't duped, because you can use them at any botanical garden, and I've gone to the one in Dallas four times since moving here. I get in for free, no parking, which saves $25, which means $100 for all the times I've gone (except I wouldn't, not for $25, yeesh). Unfortunately, my swanky membership is over June 30th.
So I went today! Alright, honest shameful admission: I mostly went so I could wear a tank top and get tan. But THEN I walked in and there was nature! And it was beautiful! The flowers were all, "hey, look at me! no, me!" and the sky was all, "my blueness and clouds make you want to fall asleep in heaven, huh?" and the grass was all, "WALK ON ME! TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES, WILL YOU?"
Noisy garden.
Because I don't do pretentious unless I'm going to do pretentious, I took some Auden and walked a ways, sat to read poetry, then walked a little further to read the next. You know, just so everyone in the arboretum could admire my dedication to literature.
Then I felt crispy, so I left.
So I went today! Alright, honest shameful admission: I mostly went so I could wear a tank top and get tan. But THEN I walked in and there was nature! And it was beautiful! The flowers were all, "hey, look at me! no, me!" and the sky was all, "my blueness and clouds make you want to fall asleep in heaven, huh?" and the grass was all, "WALK ON ME! TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES, WILL YOU?"
Noisy garden.
Because I don't do pretentious unless I'm going to do pretentious, I took some Auden and walked a ways, sat to read poetry, then walked a little further to read the next. You know, just so everyone in the arboretum could admire my dedication to literature.
Then I felt crispy, so I left.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Teaching Hard Truths
I'm a big believer in being honest with kids. Share life with them, the good and the bad, and talk about it. Explain the things they hear and see, tell them about the brokenness of the world, and then tell them how it can be better. Information shared kindly and patiently is almost always better than willfully exerting ignorance. In my opinion. Anyway, today I took Ketan to my house (Anju was in camp) to play some Harry Potter PS2 (his gift earlier this week).
Every time we go to my house, the conversation winds up being about my roommates. Today Ketan wanted to know what Jessica's job was.
Me: She works at Genesis Women's Shelter. She does counseling for women who are abused by their husbands.
Ketan: What does that mean? Being abused by husbands?
Me: Some men hit or hurt their wives. Sometimes if the wives threaten to run away, the husbands say they'll hurt them even more. So Jessica counsels those women, and sometimes if it's very dangerous, her work has hidden places for the women to stay so their husbands can't find them.
Ketan was silent as we pulled into the driveway. When we got out, I tousled his hair and said, "That's why you should always respect and be nice to girls. You're going to grow up and have massive muscles and be stronger than women. You've got to make sure you don't use your strength to hurt others."
He cackled, kind of sly, so I elbowed his shoulder. He laughed for real, said, "Okay," and ran into my living room to play Flinstones on the keyboard.
I'm also a firm believer in "Stop telling girls not to get raped, and start telling boys not to rape!" so, job well done, at least for today.
Every time we go to my house, the conversation winds up being about my roommates. Today Ketan wanted to know what Jessica's job was.
Me: She works at Genesis Women's Shelter. She does counseling for women who are abused by their husbands.
Ketan: What does that mean? Being abused by husbands?
Me: Some men hit or hurt their wives. Sometimes if the wives threaten to run away, the husbands say they'll hurt them even more. So Jessica counsels those women, and sometimes if it's very dangerous, her work has hidden places for the women to stay so their husbands can't find them.
Ketan was silent as we pulled into the driveway. When we got out, I tousled his hair and said, "That's why you should always respect and be nice to girls. You're going to grow up and have massive muscles and be stronger than women. You've got to make sure you don't use your strength to hurt others."
He cackled, kind of sly, so I elbowed his shoulder. He laughed for real, said, "Okay," and ran into my living room to play Flinstones on the keyboard.
I'm also a firm believer in "Stop telling girls not to get raped, and start telling boys not to rape!" so, job well done, at least for today.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Prezzies!
Ketan: I got you a present.
Me: What, a present? An actual present?
Ketan: Yes, it's at the house.
Me: I LOVE PRESENTS.
Ketan: Do you want to know what it is?
Me: NO. No, I like to be surprised.
Anju: I know what it is.
Me: Don't you dare tell me. I want to open it.
Ketan: You have to play it at your house.
Me: Hm. Okay. Don't tell me anything more.
At the house, he handed me a wrapped rectangle on which was written "To: Ms. Trish Fr: Ketan Happy Random Present Day!" I ripped it open, and there was a PS2 game (we've talked a lot about how lame it is that I only have a PS2 and how few games there are for me to play), a HARRY POTTER game.
Me: I LOVE IT!
Ketan: Yeah?
Me: Yes, it's perfect! Where did you get it.
Ketan: Toys R Us. They had a bunch of games on sale for $10, and I thought you would like this one.
Me: I do! Thank you!
He was so pleased. It was adorable.
Me: What, a present? An actual present?
Ketan: Yes, it's at the house.
Me: I LOVE PRESENTS.
Ketan: Do you want to know what it is?
Me: NO. No, I like to be surprised.
Anju: I know what it is.
Me: Don't you dare tell me. I want to open it.
Ketan: You have to play it at your house.
Me: Hm. Okay. Don't tell me anything more.
At the house, he handed me a wrapped rectangle on which was written "To: Ms. Trish Fr: Ketan Happy Random Present Day!" I ripped it open, and there was a PS2 game (we've talked a lot about how lame it is that I only have a PS2 and how few games there are for me to play), a HARRY POTTER game.
Me: I LOVE IT!
Ketan: Yeah?
Me: Yes, it's perfect! Where did you get it.
Ketan: Toys R Us. They had a bunch of games on sale for $10, and I thought you would like this one.
Me: I do! Thank you!
He was so pleased. It was adorable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)