We Just Might Have a Closet Girl

Someone in our house seems to roll a bit differently than the norm.

I love that about her.

We might have made a little too big of a deal about it.

Our baby girl who has so completely shunned the color pink has started taking a new turn.

I don't know if it's because she's now without the influence of big brothers during the day.

Or that she has more time to be on her own, doing whatever feels right to her.

But lately she's been wanting to play babies.

Could be she wants to be a big sister.

Could be that she doesn't mind doing a few girl things here and there.

Could be that's just what she's in the mood for.

I don't know.

I have no answers. 

Each day is fresh and new with this one.

Thank goodness I didn't thin out Sarina's baby collection. 

Elsa's been digging through it and each treasure she finds is like she's struck gold.

I love it!

I love re-discovering each little doll with her and remembering what is special about them- one sings in Spanish (dolce suenos!), another smells like yummy baby, one closes her eyes, one has a magnet that draws a binkie to her mouth... 

And the doll clothes I remember playing with as a little girl, some made by my grandma.

Oh and I cannot tell you how happy I am to see that little high chair and cradle back in use.

Yes, it's a Home Depot apron, and the t-shirt is brown but it is a "girl" shirt.  And a necklace too. 

Yesterday she even wore "girl jeans" to school!

But we're not making a big deal about it.

None of us are.

We're well versed in doing a discrete fist pump behind her back whenever she does something girly.

Not that we want her to be anything other than her authentic self.

She's a special cookie that Elsa Jane and I love this wiggly little person with her crazy pony tail, baseball hat, and home depot apron.

Who's becoming a closet girl.

Maybe she's just trying out the role before she takes it out in public.

Or maybe it's just a phase.

I don't know but I'm sure enjoying the ride.

Boeing Machinists and Distribution of Wealth in the USA

I don't really care for political debates.

Yet I have some pretty strong opinions.

I love my friends and family enough that I don't wish to have uncomfortable conversations with them when our beliefs can differ so vastly.

So I try to steer clear of those types of conversations.

Yet a current event has gotten me thinking.

Thinking about the perception of classes of people.

Thinking about the perception of laziness in unions.

(Disclaimer: I feel strongly that they have a wonderful place and am very grateful for the security they provide for my husband's protection and well being).

Thinking about the perception of corporate greed.

And thinking about the perception of the lower class people residing in our great land of opportunity.

The land of the free, the home of the brave, and where lowly immigrants have made fortunes beyond what they could have imagined in their homelands.

Recently, the Boeing Machinist Union members voted down their latest contract offer.

The effects of which could mean the lost of tens of thousands (and more) jobs in our region working on the new 777x.

The coverage of this decision in the local media was biased (which always seems to be the case lately-whatever happened to integrity of reporting?  Of unbiased reports?  Seems to be long gone...)

I'll admit I was swayed.

"Selfish."  I'd thought.

"They just shot themselves in the foot."  Was another thought.

Along with worry of their seemingly greedy decision affecting so very, very many families in our beautiful corner of the country.

Until I read this op-ed from the NY Times.

Wow.

I've been thinking about the state of our country quite a bit lately.

I don't know why.

Maturity?

Old age?

I don't know.

But it scares me.

What kind of a world will our children live in?

Will this great land of opportunity become the land of the oppressed?  Controlled by the small number of individuals who's wealth affects every individual in our country?  By people who seem more interested in growing their massive piles of dollar bills rather than properly compensating their workforce with a living wage, pension, and health benefits?

Thinking about things like this incredibly illustrative youtube.com video  about the distribution of wealth in our country makes a compelling case for my worry.  They present statistics in a mind-boggling (yet understandable) way.  And that's coming from a girl who dropped calculus for ice skating in college...

The gap is widening.

Where will my children and grandchildren fall within that gap?

I worry about being able to send my four kids to college. 

How will we be able to afford it, the way the cost of education keeps soaring?

If they don't have a college education, how will they find a living wage job?

I know this is a cyclical trend.  The industrial revolution introduced this same kind of cultural environment.  But it seems to me that the industry leaders were more civic minded.  At least they left a tangible reminder of their legacy.  I'm thinking of Andrew Carnegie here.  Industrial giants who set up a way to help the disadvantaged to have a fighting chance to change their lives.

And no, I'm not talking about our population who are able-mind and able-bodied, who could work but choose to live off welfare and hand-outs.

Yes, we have Warren Buffett, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation has contributed to our world betterment in a mind blowing way, and I hear Zuckerberg is following their lead (thanks Zach...) 

But I think it needs to be a mindset that is far, far more broad than the small handful of individuals who have more wealth than we little people could ever conceive of.  More than a cushy tax break for the wealthy. 

It needs to be a mindset that spans all levels of humanity.  With the intention of doing good because it's the right thing to do, not because of an appealing tax break.

My greatest hope is that our children learn how to give for the betterment of our society, in a manner that helps make our world a better place to be.  A better place for their children and grandchildren.

We need to teach them the value of buying local.

The value of products made by people earning living wages.

The value of spending a little extra to generate that positive ripple in our economy.

I read somewhere that in Africa, some communities view it as selfish and greedy to do your own housework, yard work, etc when you could hire someone else to do it for you; when doing so would provide an income to a person in need of work.

That struck me. 

It makes sense.

And what happened to the old jingle, "Made in the U.S.A, it matters!"

Did you sing along with me?

I love this story ABC did a couple of years ago, Made In America. 

Why wouldn't it work? 

Why not try?

I feel like we need more solidarity.

More social conscience.

More awareness of how thousands of decisions we make on a regular basis impacts our economy,

our communities,

our country,

our world.

I don't know either side of the in-depth story with the Boeing Machinists. 

But I do know that it took a whole lot of courage to stand up and say "Enough." 

I'm saddened to see what's coming for them as a result of their integrity.

I wonder if I would have had that courage if it were my family who would experience the cold shoulder of a company founded in my community, and fostered by my state government.

If I could have turned down a watered down contract in the name of remaining competitive (ahem, to increase corporate bonuses...?) but in doing so jeopardizing my own career.

I pray they don't all suffer massive job losses.

That the businesses that depend on their productivity don't suffer debilitating losses.

I pray that the people who lead the massive companies (such as Boeing) stop and remember where they came from. 

That they remember that maybe a couple of million less in bonuses, which likely would mean the slightest change in their lifestyle, might be better spent on supporting their workforce.

And it's a spectacular reminder to me, to shop local as much as possible. 

To try to buy products made in the U.S.A.

And to be more conscientious about the businesses I support.

November 30, 2013 is Small Business Saturday.  Instead of going to Kmart, Wal-Mart, Target, Toys R Us and all the big box retailers, try going to the local toy store, grocery store, hardware store, and cupcake shop.  How about going to insurance agents and mortgage brokers you know by name and recognize in the grocery store or your kids school?  The people who own those businesses and those who work there are your neighbors, friends, fellow members of your congregation, your kids coaches, your kids classmates parents, and good people.

How about we put a little money in their tills.

I know I'm only one person, but if you join me, and you ask others to join us, maybe we can be the change we want to see.

Who's with me?

*Please read that op-ed in the NY Times and watch the Distribution of Wealth & Made in America videos, you won't be sorry you did.

Veteran's Day

Sometimes, when my mind wanders off to the topic, I am blown away by historical events.

WWII is one of those events.

I cannot believe the intentional harm inflicted upon an inconceivable number of individuals.

I can't fathom what it must have been like to live through that period of time here in the US let alone in Europe.

As a dark haired person of Jewish descent (among many others) if I'd had the misfortune to live in Europe during that time, I would have been a target for the Nazi's.

I would have been one of the people many others persecuted.

I am proud that my grandfathers and that my husband's grandfathers served in the mission to stop the evil that spread so rapidly through Europe.

My Papa (Pappy to many) served in Italy and Africa. He was Jewish and this must have been terrifying for him.

At one point he was a guard- of one form or another (the details are fuzzy for me) for German POWs.

One of those POWs painted this stunning portrait of him.

I remember standing in my Papa's office staring at this portrait.

Perhaps it is the reason I want to get back to painting, to paint portraits. 

Maybe it was my draw to art. It's a beautiful reminder of his time in the service.

My other grandfather was a US Marine.

After looking at his discharge papers I was reminded that he was an expert sharp shooter.

Looking closer I saw the list of battles in which he served. From the little my dad knew and shared, it was awful. My grandfather did not speak much about what he witnessed or participated in but I don't think it was pleasant.

This veteran's day I think about how it must have felt for that Jewish boy from Spokane heading to Nazi territory.

Or the young man from Iowa serving on the USS Bunker Hill landing in Iwo Jima, Gonon Islands, Okinawa, and Kyushu.

How far they were from home. How the sacrifices they made have made my life more comfortable.

My family feels safe.

We have the luxury of knowing we live in a society that values freedom and the ability to express our opinions-as crazy as they may be.

I am grateful for their service, my uncle's service in Vietnam-even though he suffered greatly because of it.

I am grateful for the 24 years my brother spent serving in the US Air Force.

And my cousin just entering the US Paratrooper training.

I am grateful for all my friends who have served.

It is in incredible sacrifice to put your own security on the line for so many who take it for granted.

Thank you veterans past and present.

I am immensely grateful for your sacrifices.

Forgotten Lunches

We recently had conferences.

I think I've told you all plenty about how flustered I've been.

Too much for this little head to keep track of.

Clearly, because I was packing the kids lunches and poor Charlie was sent with a lunch box from the day before-

complete with empty wrappers (my kids save their wrappers for our garbage can so they don't have to go through the line to toss their trash-saves precious minutes for recess...)

and a lonely little granola bar not good enough to eat from the day before.

So poor buddy had a cast off granola bar for his lunch.

At least it was just a half day so I could feed him when he got home.

In my defense a lunch was packed but left on the counter and the wrong lunchbox put in his bag...

The other day (after his empty lunchbox day)

This little guy

told me about a girl in his class

and how she opened her lunchbox and cried because there was no food in it.

Her poor mom must have a #*@& load on her mind too...

Lucky for her, Charlie realized his crazy mama had packed two cereal bars (I don't know why...good luck? divine providence?) and he shared with her.

At least he'd had a granola bar hidden amongst the empty wrappers and it was a half day.

I'm so proud of him for noticing her distress and trying to help.

He has a good heart that little Charlie.

Oh Snap, Funky Friday

Have you ever seen something completely idiotic and wondered "What kind of person would do that?!"

Last Friday I learned that kind of person is me.

Mark was in (completely awesome) training in Arizona.

My morning started in a rush, Sarina had to get to school at 7:45 am to work on the yearbook.  I had to get the other kids fed, dressed and on the school bus.

And it was a rare day I had to spend all day in training 40 minutes away.

Oh, add to it, my computer died the night before (which I needed for training).

Needless to say, I left the house flustered, breakfast dishes still out, no food in my belly or packed (except my mason jar full of almonds), and my head buzzing with all that needed to get done.

During my lunch break I went to get fuel (for the vehicle first) thinking I might even squeeze in a quick shop for a little gift for our babysitter.

As I was fueling up I zipped about finding all the garbage scattered about the suburban (it's what I do every time I fill up to prevent driving around in a garbage dump).

It was in the middle of the numerous trips to the trash can that I missed Mark's first call from his training.

I was dying to hear how the training was going for him, and I knew it was a sliver of a window I had to talk to him.

I'm not sure if it was the lack of nourishment or being flustered that I missed his call, but I hopped back into the car, started it up and drove about 20 feet.

I don't know why, but I stopped and reflected that I had no memory of replacing the nozzle.

One peek out the side view mirror and it was confirmed.

I

am

that

dumbass

who leaves the nozzle in the car and drives off.

FUCK!

Sorry, but that calls for the F word.

Thank God it was the kind of pump with the shut-off valve.

A very nice man (wearing a firefighter union sweatshirt) gently removed the nozzle and set it neatly beside the now naked pump.

Look at that blue sky!  Oh yeah the naked pump too...

I went in and told the people at the gas station who just looked at me stoically.

The man who owns the station tried valiantly to re-connect but to no avail.

I'll admit that as he was trying to make it work I was chanting (in my head) over and over, "Please work, I'm a good person.  Please work, I'm a good person."

Perhaps not quite good enough.

There's a lesson in here, I just have to find it.

$200 to replace the quick connect.

Add that to the $100 spent on fuel and that's one heck of an expensive tank of gas.

I kept thinking Christmas is on the horizon...

I provided my insurance info and drove off.  As I drove down the road I considered taking a left hand turn into Western State Hospital to see if they happened to have an extra bed.

Ok, not really... but it did occur to me how ironic it was that I drove past a mental hospital sobbing to my sister about how stupid I was.

After talking to her, and calming down, I went back to the gas station and wrote a check for the damage.

The owner seemed to warm up to me after seeing my tear stained face.

I must have looked like a wreck.

I made it through my training, came home in time to get the kids off the bus, went out to chop kindling and learned the hard way why you don't wear cute little flats to chop kindling- when those suckers fly they can really hurt a toe.

I love the little pop of red.

Once the fire was roaring I looked up at the kitchen and realized what a mess I'd left it.

And glanced down and my favorite sweater was unraveling.

I could kind of relate to that sweater.

I felt like I was unraveling a little bit too.

Clearly, I still need my mom.  She swooped in and provided a Papa Murphy's pizza for the kids.  At least I didn't have to prepare a proper meal.

The lesson in this Funky Friday, I think, is that I need to stop and breathe every now and then.

I've been so frantically busy for so long, I need to learn how to meander again.

Just the other day I was thinking about how I never walk slowly taking in everything around me.

I can't remember the last time I strolled about not feeling like I had to hurry.

It's coming.

My big projects for work will end in December.

I have high hopes that in January I can take a teeny tiny bit of me time.  To remember how to slow down and enjoy the moment.

Perhaps my lesson,

is that I've been so amped up,

for so many years,

that it took a nozzle ripping,

kindling bopping,

sweater unraveling,

messy house kind of day

to remind me there are more important things in life than crossing off the million things on my to-do list.

One day at a time.

Breathe in and breathe out.

And enjoy the beauty in this world.