Life of Wry

It’s becoming apparent–more and more so by the day–that we’ve entered a new era in parenting.

Today’s we’re-not-in-Kansas-anymore moment came when I returned from a morning walk to find that Peter had left the building, as it were (exhibit A, above).  He was literally nowhere to be found at 9:30 on a Tuesday morning.  Well, he was nowhere to be found in the house.  He was to be found at Rainbow City, a little sub area of Community Park, where he was meeting a bunch of friends, on this, a Tuesday, in the middle of a new school holiday week (thank you decimated state budget).  And, in fact, he’d texted me with that very information…. if I’d just look at my mobile unit thingie once in a while.

Well, none of that was cause for alarm.  Rather, I was pleased he’d gotten up relatively early, maybe even eaten some breakfast, and was off to spend his furlough day with friends, without my suggesting same.  He’d even cleared his breakfast dishes from the table and locked the front door.  He’d EVEN texted me!  All systems in good working order.

It gets better.

About an hour later, I experienced my next Exciting Parenting Moment.  I hear an impatient handling of front door hardware, followed by herd-like stomping down the hall, and a breathless announcement:

“MomIneed$30soMiaandIcangobowlingbecauseshedoesn’thaveanymoneyand

sheandJackandReedarewaitingokmomisthatok?”

She?

Well, well.  And yes, it was ok, mostly.  I gave him $25, and out the door he went–rather smiley, I couldn’t help but notice.  I hovered in the shadows trying to get a few peeks at the driveway scene, moving from room to room until I’d found the best view. (Yes, pathetic.)

(And there she was.  Definitely a girl.  On our driveway.  With Peter, Jack and Reed.  And there they were, looking, for all the world, like four kind of normal, cute, socially functional, mixed gender teenagers.)

I watched them talk and laugh and put on bike helmets.   I couldn’t quite hear the conversation, but they didn’t seem to be saying anything about how I’d been had, or about what a pushover Peter’s mom was or anything.  And then off they went.

Not to make a big deal out of this, but, you know, wow.  Junior high has ushered in a whole nuther world.. and this felt like a real out with the old moment.

 

Me: Mind if I ride in the passenger seat on the way home?

Him: You don’t want to drive?  [I always drive]

Me: No, I’d rather get a few out-the-window shots.. need something for my photo-a-day thing.

Him: Ok.

 

(Not really the stuff of great fiction, but there ya go..it was an ordinary conversation.)

You know, it’s a ten minute drive from Woodland to Davis.  I feel pretty grateful to be able to have mountains and sky and lots of open space to look at.  Especially on a day like this. Could get used to riding shotgun.

So… these are shot from the passenger seat, through the glass, going 70: Satiety Winery at Road 25A, a barn at Road 29, and a couple of shots of the Vaca hills, looking west toward Winters (and Napa and the Pacific Ocean) with trees, crops… the usual.

There are just so many things to recommend this view.  Please note the blue sky and puffy white clouds.  To our immediate left, just out of view finder range, are the Vaca hills, with a little bit of snow left from this past week of stormy weather and freezing temps. It’s really chilly in this picture, but at least it’s sunny.

Also note that Peter is on the mound… okay… you can’t quite make that out, but he pitched the first three innings of this game against the Barnstormers and did a great job (faced 11 batters in three innings; threw 29 pitches, 20 of which were strikes; struck out 2, walked none, gave up one bloopery hit over the third baseman’s head and gave up no runs… to be exact).  They won this game 6-2.  They won both games yesterday, so are ranked #1 going into tomorrow’s elimination rounds.  This is excellent for their first tournament of the year, after being off for several months.  Way to go boys!

I just love my spot behind the plate.. perfect for scorekeeping.  I’m not left handed, but can’t shoot the camera with my left hand either so–horrors–staged this.  Totally a fake action shot.

Last night, we were also witness to one of the more spectacular full moon rises I’ve even seen.  A gaspingly huge, deep orange ball that took up a sizeable portion of the horizon.. perfectly placed behind a leafless tree.  Just took your breath away.  This gorgeous sight, besides our two wins yesterday, was a real highlight.  Not a highlight was the 30-something-degree temperature.  Hilarious, however, were the parents in layers of fleece and down, wrapped in blankets, immobilized and numb.  All that made today’s sunshine so very welcome!

It’s baseball season!!  So excited.  Go Crush!

Continuing with the wet flower theme… why not?… it’s another wettish day in February–the schizophrenic transition season in Davis that is tantalizingly springy, and yet still Winter on the books.   Today, a wet and pretty calendula from the front yard.  Thought we could all use a happy flower.

At least I can.

I’m working at staying in a happy place… as the news this morning–bits of this and that posted by friends on Facebook–would threaten an otherwise pleasant Saturday morning.  Damn the news.

Started by watching California congresswoman Jackie Speier respond to a republican colleague who’d made an insulting and ignorant comment about a medical procedure he knew nothing about but doesn’t care because all he wants to do is re-illegalize any form of abortion because that’s what this republican congress is intent on doing, and they have this vendetta against Planned Parenthood so won’t rest until it’s completely defunded…  and anyway, Jackie Speier delivers this measured but very emotional 3-minute response because she couldn’t sit in the chamber and listen to that BS another second.  She was collected and respectful, though palpably charged.  Her comments were moving and her point absolutely dead on and compelling, but I also had this sick feeling that it’s futile to expect anyone to listen.  Doesn’t matter the truth.  Reason and sanity have no place here anymore.  It was a reminder about how utterly nasty and mean-spirited and politically, not humanly, motivated the legislative process is.  I know.  Duh.  But still, it’s just profoundly defeating.

Our republican buds and the Tea Party fringe also want to eliminate funding for public media, god forbid we get news from a source other than corporate, Koch brothers supported FOX.  Another battle we have no business losing.  The people have no business losing.  This is insanity.

The steady undermining and unraveling of all that is good, at least all that was fair-and-squarely agreed upon at some point, is a disgrace.  It’s dishonorable.

I want to care, I want to stand up for what’s right.  I mean, I DO care.  And, I understand it’s a game, politics are part of our grand process.  Our leaders rally the troops, the troops respond, the scores are tallied.

But nobody plays fair.  And I’m losing the stomach for politics, for the game.  That’s bad.

These people seem evermore mean-spirited, irresponsible and dangerous. And mean. And they lie.  And they’re mean.

Reminds me of a time long ago when Jim and I were talking about … actually, I don’t remember what we were talking about, but I suggested that we just ship all the nasties to their own island where they can live the way they want to live, and just leave the rest of us the eff alone.  Even better: just allow Texas to secede from the union. Why the hell not?  Everybody would be happy; they could fund their society and programs (if any) exactly the way they want to, and take care of their people (or not) exactly the way they want to.. have exactly the life they want.   With the people they want.. all homogenousy.  Comfy cozy.  We wouldn’t even have to have the conversation about who’s right, wrong, sane and not, even though that’s, well, obvious.  Just leave us to live in peace and harmony and goodwill and decency, and they can have whatever the hell they want down there.  Jim said something about the constitution, how that’s not the way it works, and I didn’t care, and said why the eff not, and we had a big argument.  One of our better ones.

That’s the way Jim is: he’s far to the left of me and can articulate it a thousand times better, and yet, he’s so reasoned and so civil and so respectful.. he actually thinks democracy works and everyone’s entitled to their own ideas.  Not me: I want to ship the crazies out.

I’m sure, if I felt like it, I could also write about the elegance of political and philosophical differences and the clever intelligence of politics well played.  Of course it’s sophisticated and fascinating and part of the human experience.

I’m not entirely naive.  Just colossally frustrated.

I listened to Mr. Obama’s budget press conference a few days ago.  Our president.   Reasoned, mature.  I remember back in the ’07s and ’08s when his fan base was all a-gaga and dazzled by his incredible articulateness, and I was like, well, yeah he can talk, he’s smart, informed, has good politics, I’m with ya, I’m for him, but I found his speech a bit halting and formulaic. I see him differently now.  I’m pretty awed.  Press conferences, unlike speeches and even debates, are better tests of one’s mastery over subjects, and show the breadth and depth of knowledge and sheer intelligence.  Obama’s responsiveness, the thoroughness of his answers, his deference and civility…  I almost cried I felt so grateful.

I am SO lining up behind him.  And Jon Stewart.  Jim Frame, too.  Intelligence, sanity, humanity.

Mmmwah.  All the way.  My people.  They keep me in my happy place.

Two days ago: a clean, bright, proud ‘n perky narcissus.  Today: a rain-soaked, drop-laden, dirt-splattered, hangdog narcissus. I had to crawl around in the mud to even get this shot because the blossoms are facing the ground (so pouty!), and well, it was just hard to even get a view inside.  So I’m a little rain-soaked and dirt-splattered myself.

The things we do for our blogs.

[Shot out the back door… this is an unrelenting rain.  I know… you can’t tell…. but it is.]

More of today’s relentlessness:

Unrelenting weeds (as you can see).

Unrelenting winter weight.

Unrelenting confounding technology.

Unrelenting pile of paper.

Unrelenting tangle of chords.

Unrelenting stacks of unread books.

Unrelenting bits of news & information relentlessly flowing in unrelenting streams.

 

Everything else today seems more or less relenting.

Peter’s now listening to music in his room a lot.  Tunes in on this little boombox-of-evil.  Listens to the music of the day,  including one song, I Love the Way You Lie. Here are a few of its teen-appropriate lyrics:

He (Eminem) says:

If she ever tries to fucking leave again
Im’a tie her to the bed and set this house on fire
I’m just gonna

She (Rihanna) says:

Just gonna stand there and watch me burn
But that’s alright because I like the way it hurts
Just gonna stand there and hear me cry
But that’s alright because I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie

Etc.

And.. sigh.

As Jim says, in our email back and forth on the subject (because that’s the way we roll): “The story is way more complicated than most listeners (especially 12-year-olds) may realize.  The male character recognizes the pathology of his conduct in the relationship, but feels trapped by it.  The female character is less verbal–her words don’t reveal much self-awareness, but her actions do (she packs up and goes, but he talks her into coming back).  It’s a description of a relationship in deep trouble and unsatisfying for both partners.  Anyone experiencing that kind of relationship dynamics needs professional help.”

Duh, and yeah.. whatever. Totally complicated, and TOTALLY over the heads of its 12-year old audience (Its WHAT?! Pre-teens listen to I Love the Way You Lie? What thoughtful, conscientious parents let their kid listen to stuff like that?) (I guess we do.) (And, you know, aside from the lyrics, it’s a rockin’ song.)

This is what I think Peter hears: blah blah blah fucking blah blah blah tie her to the bed blah blah blah I like the way it hurts blah blah blah set this house on fire blah blah blah I love the way you lie.

So, man is violent, abusive, dominant. Woman loves it!  Bring it on, treat me like shit. I am victim, hear me wimper.  Nice.

Kinda fah-reaking out here. I realize I’m on a well worn battle field, living a parental cliché—and it’s both embarrassing and reassuring. Really? I’m going all Tipper Gore on my ass? (Please smile at my attempt at tough talk.) Am I really shocked at shockingly misogynistic lyrics, shockingly aimed at the teen crowd, who is appropriately shocked (even if they work hard not to show it)?

Yes. I. Am. Well, maybe less shocked, and more, Now What Do I Do?

My little doughy, naïve, guileless boy, who–his doctor told me two days ago at his well-child visit–is in stage one of puberty (with plenty more stages yet to come), must be lost at sea in the company of his vampy teenage girl counterparts, who are all now going to parties together and listening to this music, and who knows how on earth he processes those lyrics… oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD.

Conversations will be had about the respective boundaries of art and reality. Reaffirmations about the respect we show our friends, especially the girl ones. You get to listen to and enjoy the music of your generation, buddy, but, just so you know, the messages are way fucked up. It’s art, not to be mistaken for life, and it’s certainly not how men and women talk to and treat one another in the real world. Dad and me? See? We’re nice.

But before we ever take it up with Peter, Jim and I have to get our stories straight. I’m looking at the I Love The Way You Lie lyrics this morning on Peter’s computer screen after he’d left for school, and yeah, felt like a queen sized prude, my knickers in a major bummer of a twist. I march into Jim’s office and I suppose my relative hysteria gave him room to be Mr. Calm about the whole thing. (That was annoying.)  And really, I’m not hysterical so much as, Okay, it’s time, we now have to deal with song lyrics, teen angst, misogyny, rebellion.

Before we have a conversation with Peter about his music–which, it looks like now’s the time–we need to get aligned, so that we can approach it in a mature, calm, and wise way.  And we better play this right so he’s got room to be developmentally, appropriately teen-y, but doesn’t get too off the rails.

Stay tuned.

Late afternoon.  Sky’s darkening & wind’s kicking up.

Spent the last hour futzing with my Blackberry and an apparently full media card… online help forums and youtube demo videos not helping much.  Such are the realities and trials of digital gizmo dependence.  Sigh.

Hoping to get a few sips in before Peter gets home from school.

A beautiful thing is never perfect. -Egyptian proverb

Photo has no connection to my comments.  It’s the flower that was in the vase on the dining room table in Dillon Beach.  Intoxicatingly heavenly smell.  Common flower, just don’t know what it’s called.  Photo credit: Jim.

Hi. Feeling a little aimless at the moment.  Thinking about much.  Dipping my cup into the flow, I come out with a cup full of random thoughts, though not uninteresting.  Pouring it out here: Just watched a couple of beautiful Ted talks.  One, recommended this morning by David Breaux–my friend compiling a book on compassion–featuring Karen Armstrong, a religious scholar whose charter on compassion is at the heart of the compassion movement (“the compassion movement”?).  It’s a movement that focuses on compassion and suggests that that is the heart of what religion is about.  Rejects religious orthodoxy because it’s self-indulgent guesswork about matters nobody can be certain about and makes people quarrelsome and stupidly sectarian. She says that true religion is about behaving differently, putting values into practice.  Acting, not just studying or spouting. And the root of all religions is, and should be the golden rule.  She talked about the positive expression of the golden rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and the negative expression, equally compelling: don’t do anything to anyone that you would not want done to you.  That is the core, the tora, she says, all else is commentary. She speaks of modern religion, how it’s been hijacked, abused, how modern religion speaks of “believing,” like that’s what it’s all about (only because the golden rule is too hard, truly loving our enemy is also too hard), and it’s become judgmental and hateful, seeking to impose values of hate on others (like dismissing same sex marriage as evil).. all due to ego and greed.  Gross stuff, religion, hypocritical.  We know this. She talks about dethroning ourselves from the center of our world and placing others in that spot instead, that by doing so, by being truly empathic and compassionate, we achieve a peace so strong… Her words, her delivery, brought many tears. The other, a talk I’ve listened to probably 4 times, given by Jill Bolte Taylor a neuro-anatomist, about her experience of having a stroke.  That part is utterly fascinating, but more moving was her conclusion about living in the right brain, not forsaking the left, but learning to trust and excel in the boundless, expansive, ego-free, un-judgmental world of the right brain, and further, that that is where you find the power to love and be truly compassionate. Moved this morning by all that.  Plus thoughts of Nepal and the choice not to go and the reasons, all having to do with Peter and family, good reasons, all the while, Peter is in full pre-teen mode, easy to love, not easy to tolerate.  He just bolted out to a baseball practice after which he’ll attend a casual girl birthday party, I think his first organized–sorta–boy/girl social event, and he struggled with, but rejected advice on, how to present a card and Baskin-Robbins gift certificate, which is fine.  Last words as he ran out: “Don’t come to watch my practice.” Which, of course is all I want to do this afternoon.  My decision to not go to Nepal was loaded.  Would love to write about it.  Would love to write about parenting a teen.  Would love to write about my latest thoughts on writing.  On gaining weight, on rejecting diets, but realizing for the umpteenth time that I cannot shed pounds without a plan, and the plan must be absolute. And all the oft thought but ill conceived ideas about weight, body image, and good fucking god, don’t get me started on that.  On wanting a kitten (which of course has more to do with the reasons we can’t have one, than wanting a kitten, though I need a kitten).  Putting any of these thoughts into a coherent, readable form is too much work for a Sunday morning. So defaulting to stream of consciousness, lazily putting down some of this morning’s random thoughts, all of which have just spilled out of the cup. Drained for now.