What God looks like

"Mom have you ever thought about what God looks like?" Jacinda asked me a few days ago.
"I guess," I answered, honestly distracted with some mundane household chore.
"Well, I have," she continued. "I think God is big with lots of muscles and he's bright and glowy, very bright and glowy. I think Jesus is nice with a pretty robe and really nice eyes. And when he hugs you it feels amazing." At this point I was just mesmerized by the thought that had gone into her descriptions. "And I think in heaven we'll all be like teenagers, no one will be crinkly (her word for wrinkles) - all the animals will just get along and all the people too. I think it will be a very, very nice place to live."
Her words just made me happy and I like to think that somewhere God was smiling too.

Christmas in July

I don't know if it is all the holiday specials that the Hallmark Channel is running that made the question come up or if it is was just time. But this morning during our normal get-out-the-door routine, Jacinda looked at me while I was pondering what shirt to wear with my brown slacks and nonchalantly said "Santa isn't real."
I have to admit I was kind of stunned at her statement, not because she had come to conclusion but more in the timing of it. I turned away from my orange eyelash shirt and looked at her. "Is he?" she asked. "Well..." that was all I got out before she said. "I knew it!" And just like that I knew an era was over. There were no tears, no anger...just acceptance and a little laugh.at how she had solved the mystery.
We chatted a bit about how I get everything wrapped, the importance of not spoiling the surprise for other children who still believe and how it doesn't change the true meaning of our Christmas celebration.
Allowing or encouraging Jacinda to believe in Santa was something I considered long and hard before I even saw her face.
Years before I became a parent I heard relatives talk about how the discovery of the Santa truth was a devastating childhood memory. My own discovery came when I accidentally found a blue coat hanging in my mom's closet and received it that year for Christmas. It really wasn't that big of a deal for me - even being a really sensitive kid.
I have friends who chose to  eliminate Santa from Christmas stating that they were worried that lying to their children about Santa would make them less likely to believe the truth about Jesus. I never really thought of it as lying and certainly believed my God was big enough to make himself real to Jacinda in His own ways.
My philosophy had always been that when Jacinda asked the question about Santa's existence it would signify that she was ready to know the truth. My only anxiety about the whole discussion was my desire to be the one to share the revelation and that it not come from someone else. I was so concerned about it that I almost told her this past Christmas. And now I am glad I didn't.
Jacinda's openly accepted the cultural custom of Santa...embraced it even. She wrote her letters, tracked him on the computer, left out cookies - the whole nine yards. It was fun to see and every single year of those three someone would inevitably say to me "Enjoy it now, because this will probably be your last year of her believing." 
Our Santa talk this morning was a sweet reminder that my girl is growing up. She is often practical and wise beyond her years. She takes things in stride but has a love of life that is exuberant.
The look on her face when I asked her if she was OK with everything was priceless. "Don't worry Mommy - I am fine," she said and walked out the door only to pop her head back in a few seconds later.
"So if Santa isn't real...that means the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy..." I shrugged and gave her a smile.
"Wow. Just. Wow," she said. "You're good."

The time has come to BLOG AGAIN!

I am a writer. I think through my fingertips. There seems to be a direct connection that allows the thoughts from my mind and the feelings of my heart to flow out onto the keyboard.
It's been more than six months since I have published anything on this blog. I have visited several times and even have drafts started of blog posts, but for some reason there was some distraction or hesitation and I never finished the post, let alone published it.
But this blog is important to me. And someday I want it to be important to Jacinda. So I don't want to let it go. I want to write and express and pour out the scatteredness of my thoughts...capture our joys, share our sorrows and even recreate our everyday mundane activities with words. It's important to me not to let this go, because it is about OUR journey as a family...from waiting to see her face, to the dream come true of becoming a mom and now the reality of our reality. So yet again, stay tuned because we're about to kick this blog into high gear once again!

A Lesson I am learning as I teach

It's safe to say my daughter has reached "tweendom." While she will always be my little girl...she is definitely growing up and her emotional development has finally caught up with her physical development.
Jacinda is finally finding comfort in her own skin and her body. At 5-foot and some negligible fraction of inches, she still remains one of the tallest girls in her class, but the fact is she is now ONE OF. Her friends are now catching up to her and there's a camaraderie and kinship that these girls are finding in each other that as her mother has been very fun to see develop.
Little giggly phone calls frequently occur in my house, with some hushed whispering and speaking in code. Yes, there's some of the drama of "I think my friend "so and so" is mad at me," etc. But in those moments I tell her to pick up the phone and call the friend and ask them point blank if they are. I explain to her that what we imagine or perceive is often way worse than reality. (Yes, this is experience speaking...I lived in a cloud of self-produced, other-inflicted drama for most of my teens and early adulthood.)
It's been interesting to witness and harder to guide Jacinda through these changes than I imagined. Of course when I originally entered this strange, exciting and challenging world of parenthood, I thought that there would be many years before puberty and all that it entails came knocking at my door let alone residing in my home. But that wasn't the case. The two of us had just started to find our footing in our mother-daughter dance when things began changing...rapidly - with several surprises along the way. There have been countless reassurance sessions and frank discussions that would have permanently stained my cheeks in a blush years ago.
But it is vitally important to me to instill a sense of self-awareness, self-acceptance and self-love in my daughter. And without getting to sure of myself, I think it is working. I'd like to say it was some genius, parental plan, but really it was accidental.
One morning we were both standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror and I caught her looking at her self with a critical expression and something in me snapped. NO WAY THIS WAS GOING TO BECOME A PATTERN WITH MY DAUGHTER!
Standing beside her I looked at our reflection in the mirror. I started talking about things I liked about her...her beautiful smile, gorgeous hair, those eyes that I get lost in...etc. But I recognized the "Mom is talking but all I am hearing is blah-blah-blah" glaze that immediately washed over her. I knew the message I was trying to convey was too important to get lost, so I changed my tone and tune.
I realized in order for my words to have real and lasting impact...I had to set an example - I had to be an example, so while everything inside of me cringed, I turned the focus to myself and starting talking about the things I liked about MYSELF. It was uncomfortable to say the least...it felt awkward, unnatural and silly. But I did it. I talked about how much I like my nose, my hair, my lips etc. Jacinda laughed and started playing along with a list of her attributes she was happy with. We play this little game quite often and it has made a difference. She no longer hides her developing body under coats and jackets all day long at school - something I didn't even know was happening until one of her teachers mentioned it to me in a recent conference. She has stopped coveting my straight, blonde hair and will actually pick out specific ringlets in her tresses that look "so cute" that day.
While this may seem like a trivial exercise, when I recently heard the statistic that girls' self-esteem peaks when they are 9 years old, then takes a nose dive," (clinical psychologist Robin F. Goodman writes on the New York University Child Study Center Web site) I was at first shocked and then I started to think about it and it made total sense to me.
It's easy for us to blame television, Barbie dolls and the advertising industry. And while yes, I agree some of the messages our girls receive are inappropriate and unrealistic, I think the remedy is a whole lot closer home, it's us.
What messages are we sending to our daughters ? We have the opportunity to have the biggest impact on the young women we are raising and yet, too many times we passively watch our kids start to drown in a sea of self-loathing or worse yet SHOW them how to drown by the messages we are sending ourselves that they are intercepting.
We gripe about how big our thighs are, how we're too lazy to get our big butts to the gym, we covet airbrushed skin that graces the covers of magazines, we cry and/or curse the numbers on the scale and shudder in fear with the arrival of swimsuit season. We talk about how this friend has lost a ton of weight and looks amazing! Or how that friend just seems to keep packing on the pounds, with a sympathetic shake of our heads.
When we as mothers stand in front of a mirror longing for the body of our twenties, less wrinkles, less poundage, etc. whether we want to admit it or not, our daughters are watching and they are learning to follow our example.
And after about 30 years of looking in the mirror and thinking about all the things I need and want to change about the girl/teen/woman standing before me, I am learning as I teach that it's OK to appreciate my own finer points. Actually it's more than OK. If I want to break the cycle and do my part to maintain Jacinda's self-esteem and self-perception into her teen years and beyond, I need to modify my own "internal" messages which too often become external influences for my daughter.

That night...

This post has been one of the harder ones to write. I wanted to be able to write intelligibly about an incident that happened at Jacinda's school without the emotion, heartbreak and anger that I experienced that night when it happened a few weeks before Christmas.
That night while two little boys in our town slept soundly in their homes, my daughter cried herself to sleep. That night, I cried on the phone with two of my best friends who supported me like the pillars they are. That night, I shook my head in amazement as some people upon hearing the story said ignorant things like "I'm surprised she hadn't heard it before this," "What did you expect going back to a rural community with little diversity" and other comments I have blocked out. That night I sought wisdom as I tried to control my anger.
It was a Tuesday night and I arrived at the dance studio to pick Jacinda up. In the hustle and bustle it was hard to discern that something was awry, but walking to the car I immediately knew something was amiss. I asked her if she got in trouble in school, a very rare occurrence, but one that I knew would cause her quiet demeanor. She offered a denial, took a deep breath and proceeded to tell me that during art class that morning two boys, also fourth graders, called her the "N" word.
My heart sank. It was the first time Jacinda had ever heard that word. But I could tell from the way she uttered the word, somehow that word had gone past her ears and reached to her soul. I was immediately angry, sick and sad. I tried to remain calm to hear the story.
As she told the story, one little boy told another little boy that Jacinda was the "N" word and then told the boy to call her that name. The second little boy complied. Jacinda's best friend was with her and immediately said that it was an ugly word. I guess the boys asked her if she knew what it meant and when she said she didn't they informed her that it meant she was black and a slave.
Slavery isn't a concept she completely understands, so she asked for an explanation and then one of the little boys informed her that it meant she wouldn't get paid money when she worked and that people would "own" her.
That night instead of decorating our Christmas tree like we had planned, my daughter was looking up the "N" word on dictionary.com. When she first entered the word dictionary.com immediately tried to correct her and asked her if she meant "bigger."
The definition of this word comes with its own usage note that says in part:
This word "is now probably the most offensive word in English. Its degree of offensiveness has increased markedly in recent years, although it has been used in a derogatory manner since at least the Revolutionary War. Definitions 1a, 1b, and 2 represent meanings that are deeply disparaging and are used when the speaker deliberately wishes to cause great offense. Definition 1a, however, is sometimes used among African-Americans in a neutral or familiar way. Other uses are considered contemptuous and hostile."
It's definition states it's "a black person" or "a member of any dark-skinned people." When Jacinda read that she looked at me with her dark eyes clearly displaying a moment of heartbreak. "So it's true," she said. "I am one."
That night I explained to her that derogatory meant that someone wanted to hurt someone else's feelings and that after that night, the N word was not going to be something we used, but that it was a word that had no power over her. I tearfully explained that I could not promise that no one would ever call her that name again, but I could promise her that when they did, they would be the one who was at fault...not her. I told her that throughout our lives people call us all kinds of names and while this was more serious the result was the same.
I told her..."Jacinda, I could call you a chair. Does that make you a chair?" There was immediately a glimmer of spark in her eye. "No," she said quietly. "Jacinda, I could call you a book. Does that make you a book?"
She tilted her head and smiled. "OK, mom I get it."
That night my hands shook as I dialed the number of her teacher, who is a dear family friend, and expressed my outrage that I hadn't been informed of the incident while Jacinda had talked to several school officials as well as the school counselor who was "trying to get to the bottom of it, but one of the little boys had left school early that day." This teacher was devastated as well and clearly had followed school policy...however, that's where another failure occurred.
The next morning I called and asked to speak to the principal. I was told she was out of the school for the day at a meeting. I asked to speak to the assistant principal. "Can I ask what the nature of your business is with her?" I was asked. "My daughter was called a racial slur yesterday in your school building and I would like to talk to someone," I stated calmly. "Hold on sweetie." was the reply.
The assistant principal was on the phone within moments. She told me she was aware of the incident and would be talking to the boys that day. She assured me that policy would be followed and I asked her to call me with a follow up. She said she would. I came home from work early that day. I asked Jacinda if anyone had talked to her or the boys involved and she said, no.
At that point my patience ran out and my parental anger took over. I called the school and as "fate" would have it, the assistant principal answered the phone. I questioned her about the status of the "investigation" (their word, not mine). She informed me that she had been "really busy" that day and wasn't able to take any action. I then pointedly asked if she had at least contacted the county's human rights officer in accordance to county policy because that was supposed to be done within 24 hours and we were now past that deadline. She stammered and stated that she wasn't familiar with that policy.
(Side note for county officials: This is where hiring an administrator that is experienced to know that when a parent calls at 8:45 in the morning and talks to you about a racial incident that one of the first steps you should do is pull the policy to ensure it is being followed really pays off. Because that was not the impression I was given and my opinion of this particular school official will forever be that she is too inexperienced to hold the role she has been given. There is a reason why the county/state/schools have policies in place and those charged with enforcing them should be aware of them or at least become familiar with them. As parents, we are expected to be aware and follow the policies on school visitation, attendance, student pick-up, drop-off, homework, etc. Well as a parent, I expect...no I require my own school administrators to KNOW important policies concerning harassment, bullying, etc. and FOLLOW them. It's only fair and part of what they are paid to do. And explaining to a parent that you didn't have 15 minutes in the 7 hours that had passed since your initial conversation because you were too busy handling "more pressing matters," is probably not going to sit well. I know it didn't with me.)
She then abruptly ended the call by telling me she would have the principal, who was unavailable that entire day, call me the next day. Please do, I told her because my next call is to the county or the state. (I hate saying this...I absolutely hate feeling that unless I threaten to elevate my concerns to a higher level that I am not taken seriously.)
It wasn't even 10 minutes before my phone rang with the principal on the other end.
She too started with an explanation that school meetings, other behavior problems, weather conditions, etc. had taken precedence over "the name-calling incident."
The gloves came off and I interrupted.
"I need to stop you right there. What we are talking about is more than a name-calling incident. It is considered and defined by your own policies as racial harassment, so let's call it what it is because when you refer to it as a name-calling incident, you continue to down-play and minimize the importance of this incident and that is unacceptable."
That did it. Finally, we opened a dialogue about the occurrence, the school's lack of experience in handling it and the path forward.
I explained I wasn't asking that the boys be suspended or even disciplined but I asked that the school use this incident as a way to educate the children. I asked that they begin by admitting a racial incident had occurred within the walls of one of the best fourth grade classrooms anyone could ask for. I asked that they take steps to protect MY fourth grader and I demanded that I be alerted immediately if another incident like this ever occurred and I informed them that should another incident ever occurred that I want to the policies followed from the moment of occurrence.
I am not sure what all happened after our conversation, but I know both little boys on their own came and apologized to Jacinda and that made her feel better. I know that there was one little boy who didn't make eye contact with me during the classroom party, who later told some of his classmates (Jacinda included) that "all girls were b*tc*es."
Yet there was the other little boy who brought Jacinda present the last day of a school before break, a cute "diamond" necklace. The same little boy who at the classroom party was very attentive to my daughter as was his mother.
So without being too naive...can I have the hope that somehow through all of this, one little boy's mind was opened even a little? And as for the other little boy, without being too judgmental it is clear to me the messages he is receiving somewhere...home, television, movies...is one that I am hoping someone, somewhere changes. And should another incident occur, I will not hesitate to play a role in that lesson. Because I am not a mother who will ever go away quietly or be afraid to require policies to be followed.

The Blessing Jar

Way back in my college sorority days we Kappa Deltas had something called a Wish Ribbon. Wish Ribbons came into play during the last party of rush called a Preference Party or Pref for short because it was right before rushees made their decision on which house to join. Before the party sisters tied a green or white ribbon on their finger and "wished" for the new sister(s) they were hoping would join the group. Then we were each assigned girls to "pref" during the party. I was an excellent "pref-er," and can still remember the speech I gave the girls I was matched with.
It went something like this...."Tonight before you arrived one of my sisters tied this ribbon on my finger and I made a wish. Now as I tie this ribbon on your finger, I want you to make a wish. I only hope that yours is the same as mine." Then I tied the ribbon, hugged the girl and whispered..."My wish was for you to be my sister."
A little emotionally manipulative? A lie? Never for me, which I guess is why I loved the tradition so much. I actually had forgotten all about it until a couple weeks ago. I don't know what prompted me to remember the tradition so vividly since I haven't even thought of it in almost two decades. But when it did, inspiration struck and I thought of a way to incorporate it in my current life. (No - I am not starting a sorority so don't start looking for your pref invites to arrive in your inbox!)
I decided that there were many friends that I had wishes for, hopes for and prayers for that I never share with them. As a society - I think we are lax in telling people how we feel about them. I was never that type of person, but I have become one. I don't tell people how important they are to me because I think it makes me seem needy. I don't tell my friends that I love them nearly enough because I am afraid they will think I am trying to emotionally manipulate them. I stifle my enthusiasm about being with those I love to be with for fear of rejection. But by doing that I have stifled a big part of me and I am done with that!
Yesterday morning I explained to Jacinda that in 2012 we are going to pick at least 12 people, non-immediate family members who we love dearly, who are important members of our lives and we are going to let them know how much they mean to us this year!
We are now in the process of selecting our people and putting their names in a jar on pretty paper - the jar is on the bathroom vanity right now because that is a place where we spend time every single day.
The plan is to select names out of there, pray for the person, send them love and maybe do a few nice things for them throughout the year.
Our hope, or our wish - if you will, is that throughout the year these 12 individuals/families will feel as loved and as cherished as they are!