Community

We attend a very small church almost every week.  It's a satellite of a much larger, more ornate and older church in a nearby town--I calculated once that it might hold 100 people at full capacity, 120 tops.  It's closer to our house than the big church, and also has a much less crazy parking situation: both of these were handy, but what kept us going back was its very smallness.

As you might have predicted, Thing Two did not take well to church when he first started attending.  Until he was three, we didn't even try--Himself and I traded off, with one of us taking Thing One to church and the other staying home with Thing Two and Petunia.  Even at three, he was a raging handful.  Nothing like trying to get a kid with ADHD and severe language comprehension issues to sit still and be quiet for 45 minutes...fortunately for us, the parking lot is safe to walk around in during the service, because we spent a lot of time out there with him the first few months.

I think we would have given up entirely at some point but for the kindness of the other churchgoers.  Precisely because it is so small a place, they almost all already knew us and knew how hard we were trying to bring our children to services and get them to behave.  And since most of them are much older than we, the majority have had kids themselves and have been there--people sitting around us would tell us that it was okay and that Thing Two wasn't bothering them when he made noise, even when he probably was.

And then, thank God for the intelligence lurking under all the crossed auditory-language wires, the child learned to read.  By four, he could handle Dr. Seuss on his own, and his ability improved rapidly thereafter.  Being able to hand him a missal and have him follow along during the services made all the difference in the world--all of a sudden, he had a clue what was going on and it was like a lightbulb had illuminated over his head.  He was still wiggly, but at least finally capable of staying in the building for a full service.  Now he reads along and sings along and we are very happy to buy him the post-church donut or bagel that his good behavior has earned him!  

For the most part, it's some subset of the same people there every week.  A few tourists here and there, but familiar faces all around otherwise.  The snow white-haired organist, who is 92 and sometimes dozes off between songs; she was a pianist on cruise ships in the 1940s.  Her loyal husband, who sits in a chair beside her organ bench to keep her company.  He can't make it up the aisle for Communion anymore, so one of the lay ministers always brings it back to him.  Everyone knows to do this.  The elderly professor and widower who served for years (alongside his late wife, a former teacher in the community) as the driving force behind keeping this tiny church open.  We're all happy to see that he has recently found a new companion; there's light in his eyes again.  The family with four daughters in their twenties, one or another of whom is almost always the cantor.  The staggeringly beautiful, elegant African-American ex-model (often a lector or lay minister) and her quiet Austrian husband.  The usher, a proud retired Marine never seen without his gold USMC pin, who has a grandson with issues similar to Thing Two's.  It was his idea to have the small children in attendance bring up the gifts for the offertory each week, and he included Thing Two from the get-go, even back in the early days when he probably shouldn't have.  He's the kind of guy who would rather put rubber bands around the tops of the bread and wine containers to make sure they wouldn't spill if accidentally dropped on their way up the aisle than see a child left out.   (When was the last time you saw that done in a big church??)

And then we have our priests.  As a small satellite church, we almost never get the parish pastor.  Our service is held at the same time as one of those at the big church, and he chooses to preside there instead.  For several years, we had a priest borrowed from a neighboring parish, a kindhearted and easygoing Ugandan who came to us by way of Colombia.  It was while he was with us that Thing One began to help at the altar during the service (he was the only child attending this church of the right age) and he was very patient and encouraging through the inevitable mistakes and stage fright!  He is far more concerned with substance than form; a good man throughout.  We were very sad when he was recalled to his home parish to work with the Spanish-speaking population there.

Thinking about this today because of this priest's successor.  He's been retired for years now, but comes back to help on Sundays and has been with us for about a year.  He cannot get Petunia's (real) name right to save his life, but I don't have the heart to correct him because he is such a good soul!  Thing One is his regular helper during the service also--he's still the only child who serves at this church.  Last week, we let the priest know that he has a soccer tournament today and would not be able to help this week; Himself and Thing One went to soccer and I went to church with the younger two.  There is a very solemn part of the service during which the intentions (prayers) of the community are read aloud; the priest unexpectedly added a prayer for Thing One and his soccer team at the end of these today!  Not a typical intention, to say the least.

I texted Himself after church to tell him about this.  He replied that Thing One had drilled the game-winning penalty kick in the first of today's two games and that maybe we need to have the congregation say a prayer for him more often!

Unfortunately, my faith is not always as sturdy as it could be.  The older I get, the more questions I have, many of which seem to have no good answers.  (And you had better believe that my son does not leave my sight at church, for he will NOT be a victim on my watch no matter how unlikely it seems that any of our priests would even consider such a terrible thing.)  I am not always sure what I believe and what I don't.

But I am sure that being part of this inclusive, welcoming community is good for my soul and good for my family, and that's enough.

    


       

The Universe Really Wants Me To Learn Spanish

The school that I attended for junior high and high school offered three language choices: French, Spanish and Mandarin Chinese.  Given that the school in question was in Hong Kong, I chose Mandarin as the most useful option.  (Besides which, why take a language I could take in any school in the US when I had the opportunity to study Mandarin in Asia instead??)  Six years later, I was reasonably fluent in Mandarin, with the added bonus of being able to operate fairly well in Japan too.  Written Japanese is composed of three basic elements, one of which is Chinese characters--this came in very handy when I needed to read a street sign or the card on the front of a train.  The characters--aka kanji--are not pronounced the same way in Japanese and Chinese, but they have the same meanings.  (The other two written components of Japanese are both alphabets, one for the Japanese language itself and the other for phonetic translations of foreign words, the two alphabets being easily distinguishable by the style in which they are written.  I was able to quickly teach myself to read the phonetic alphabet as well.)

Back in the Dark Ages when I was there, my university only offered Mandarin I and II, in addition to a full slate of the more traditional European languages.  I had a language requirement to fulfil, but taking introductory classes in a language I already spoke pretty well seemed like a complete waste of time.  For reasons long forgotten, I chose to study German instead (hopefully because Spanish didn't fit into my schedule--no idea what I would have been thinking from a practical standpoint otherwise.)  At any rate, three semesters of German later, my command of the language was deemed adequate for graduation purposes, and my formal language training ended.

Fast forward to the present.  Our community is staggeringly homogeneous, one of the few things I don't like about it.  But bless their color-blind, innocent little hearts, none of my children seem to notice the ethnicity of their friends yet, and two of the three have very close friends whose mothers speak virtually no English whatsoever.  In this community, that is highly unusual, so the odds of this happening x2 at the same time are low indeed!  As it happens, both mothers speak Spanish--one is from Mexico and the other from Honduras.  I've written about the Mexican mother before--it was her son who had the wonderful birthday party last summer.  The Honduran mother is newer to the scene, and a lovely woman, but communication is always a challenge.  Her son is currently at my house (the reason for these musings today)--I wasn't at all sure that he would show up at the right time or with his swimming gear, charades being much more effective when you can actually see the other party, but it did work out, though.  Playdates set up by phone are an exercise in guessing and goodwill on both sides!

The universe has offered me two chances to learn Spanish, and both times I've elected to study a different language.  Now that my children are a little older and I have more time, perhaps it is finally time to make a serious stab at learning foreign language #3, since it has been made abundantly clear to me that this is the one that will actually be useful in my daily life here!  I can take a hint...

I Detest Chemistry, But This Is Pretty Cool

Borrowed from the IFLS page on Facebook...

The chemistry of 4th July fireworks.

Sodium produces yellow/gold colors. Barium creates green, copper compounds produce blue, strontium salts give you red and titanium metals give you silver-colored sparks. 

Other commonly used chemicals are carbon which provides the fuel, oxidizers which produce oxygen for burning, magnesium which increases the overall brilliance and brightness, antimony that gives you a "glitter" effect and calcium which deepens the colors.

Independence Day

For whatever reason, this is always my Fourth of July Ohrwurm:

(Neil Diamond formed a large part of the soundtrack of my childhood: what can I say??)

Spent the morning at one of the local parks for the annual Fourth of July races, in keeping with the family tradition.  I wasn't much of a runner even before my knees went south, and I sure as heck am not taking it up again now, but the dog and I went along with the rest of my nutjob family to serve as the pit crew.  The two younger kids ran the mile fun run, Thing One the 5K, and Himself the 10K, and a good time was had by all despite the heat and blanketing, suffocating humidity. (Ugh.  Who in the world thinks this is a good time of year to go running outside???)

My plans for the rest of the day include hot dogs and hamburgers, good wine, the company of my lovely in-laws, and this chair:

The canopy was a very thoughtful early birthday present from my sweet husband to his vampiric, sun-avoiding wife.  One of the best gifts I've ever received, conventional 'rules' be darned...it's right up there with the Bissell carpet cleaner I received for Mother's Day one year as a joint gift from baby Thing Two and the cat.  (If I've written about that before, I can't find the post...when you are unfortunate enough to have a projectile-vomiting baby and a hairball-hacking cat at the same time, anything that helps to clean up the resulting messes is a godsend!)  

In keeping with today's theme, I leave you with one of my favorite Calvin and Hobbes strips.

Happy Fourth of July!!

An Unexpected Kindness From The World Of Words

Some time ago, I sent a small token to a blog friend from France, a woman I know only from her insightful posts here and elsewhere.  It was absolutely my pleasure to do so (such a small thing that I sent!) and I expected nothing whatsoever in return.

Today, I received a surprise in the mail:

Although it was intended for a more utilitarian purpose, I am very tempted to frame it!  It matches my kitchen perfectly, but much more than that, it is a reminder to me that the words that I throw out willy-nilly into the universe from this computer link me to a community of like-minded souls, friends that I haven't physically met but friends nonetheless.   My life is so much the richer for all of you.

Merci beaucoup, J...

      

Kid, I Feel Your Pain

Thing One is my oldest child.  I am an older child as well--I have one younger brother--so I really do understand that his two younger siblings make him nuts, and I sympathize.  (I would also lump my one brother in his heyday against my two younger children put together any day of the week and twice on Sundays, but that's neither here nor there.)

Thing One's patience is beginning to run low, and on several recent occasions he's commented about how much he wants to go back to school--he's tired of being annoyed by his siblings and never having any peace and quiet.

Believe me, I'm relating to that too!!  Except that I have THREE small people requiring my time, attention, cleaning, cooking, refereeing, chauffeuring etc every two freaking seconds all day long, every day.  I'm about ready to disown the name "Mom."

But if the kid tells me that he's bored just one more time, I'm going to personally see to it that he's not bored for the rest of the summer, and he's not going to like it!!  I'm thinking lots and lots of math workbooks and book reports.  :)

          

Cause And Effect

"If anyone needs to use the bathroom, please do it now!!"

Sadly, this is now the first thing I say to my kids whenever we are at home and I hear thunder.  (The voice of bitter experience speaking.)

We live in a very rural area with old trees and an antiquated power line system.  Thunderstorms equal wind equals downed trees equals power loss.  Which, out here in the boonies, therefore also means no heat, no air conditioning, no cooking, and most critically, no water!  There are no mains gas or sewage lines out this far (heat comes from fuel oil or propane, and most homes have septic tanks) and everyone has their own well.  Which is, of course, powered by an electric well pump.    

Consequently, it is not possible to flush toilets here during a power outage.  These darned developing countries...