Summer Sizzle

The summer solstice passed nine days ago, and yet it didn't feel like summer to me until this week, with three days that were so hot that I carried a bottle of water with me in the car just to go to the grocery store (it's a ten-minute trip).

The kids are at summer day camp, and they picked this week, out of sheer luck, to have their "Swim Week" theme. Three days of outdoor swimming at various water parks. My youngest picked up a sunburn on the first day, another herald of true summer for me. It just doesn't feel like the season yet until that familiar sting of roasted flesh zaps me between the shoulder blades or whenever I wrinkle the skin of my nose. Yes, I know sunburns are bad. My family carries 50+ SPF sunscreen and uses it liberally. The camp counselors couldn't get my youngest to get out of the water enough the first day to be able to slather him with enough lotion, so he got burnt on the shoulders. But the next day he was out every fifteen minutes for more, so his sunburn didn't get worse. I've also been covering him with aloe after-sun gel when he gets home, which he loves. Hopefully he won't be leaving little bits of skin all over when the burn begins to peel.

I am amazed at what my sister and I did as teenagers, when going to the beach. First of all, thirty years ago (ouch) there was no SPF 50+. I think I remember the top SPF at 10. Maybe 15 in the latter part of the 80's. But did we use that? Oh hell no. 10 was for rookies. I remember buying a mahogany-colored translucent bottle of "deep tanning oil". SPF? A mere 2. Nothing to get in the way of a good, dark tan. This stuff was oil. No whiteness to it at all. It was like rubbing the cooking oil on a turkey before shoving it into a roasting hot oven. And we roasted, oh yes.

We never got sunburns bad enough to blister, but they were definitely pink to red, and warm water on it made it sting like crazy. Aloe gel was nice and soothing, and so was Noxema cream. And then came the peeling. The trick was to see who could get the longest unbroken strip off themselves before it ripped. Gross right? It should have been, but it had the same fascination for us as covering your hands in a thin layer of glue, letting it dry, and then peeling that off (What? You've never done that? You missed out).

I never remember burning as a kid. Maybe once, when I was six. And it was pink for a day, then turned brown. As kids we were brown before the summer was a week old. And not even a blush of pink the rest of the summer. As I got older, I noticed I burned more, and worse. So the SPF rating began to climb on the lotions I bought, until now I use SPF 50+, and reapply it often if I'm out for long. Has the sun gotten brighter? Hotter? I don't think so, although some might argue with me. My theory is that, as kids, we were in and out of the house constantly as soon as it was warm enough. I was 12 before the video game craze really started, so I had years of entertaining myself outdoors before the lure of a candy-colored screen and a difficult level kept me in. This constant inside-outside (Stop slamming the screen door! Stay in or out!) allowed my skin, and that of my sister and cousins, to slowly acclimate and darken, so that little sunscreen was necessary unless we were spending a day at the beach. Even then we only needed SPF 6 or 8.

I imagine my string of mid-level sunburns will come to haunt me some day, making me regret that ridiculous deep tanning oil. But I will forever associate that familiar sting with true summer, even as I try to never feel it again.

Summer summer summer....

A Matter of Taste

Where do we get our liking for particular foods from? This question popped into my head after a discussion tonight with my husband, in which our kids' eating habits came up.

I frequently say I got my sweet tooth from my maternal grandfather. He gave it to my mother, who gave it to me. All three of us could certainly pack away the pastries, ice cream and chocolate (and, maddeningly, stay relatively thin).

I also love raviolis and pizza, spicy foods, and foods of different cultures; Mexican, Chinese, Indian. Yes I realize "chinese" food in America is American Chinese and not "real" Chinese food. But you will never get me to eat chicken feet or jellyfish. Eating that stuff is just Not Right.

Where do these individual likes and dislikes come from? My kids have a very narrow roster of what they will eat, although they have surprised me on occasion. Chicken nuggets, pizza, hot dogs, all make their list. Nasty stuff. My eldest adores pasta but the youngest hates it. My youngest inhales fresh fruit but the eldest rolls his eyes at you in reproach if you so much as mention there are fresh strawberries in the fridge. They both love ice cream, and will even pass up cake for it.

A strong case can be made for environment certainly. You will eat what you're offered, if you're hungry enough (except chicken feet and jellyfish). If Mom and Dad continually present you with foods they like, eventually you come to accept at least some of them in your own diet. But then you go out and try something completely off their radar and find you love it, and end up incorporating it as a staple. Where did that come from?

Mom and Dad's willingness to offer you new things all the time, if they did, probably influenced how open you are (or not) to trying new things. My Dad is somewhat of a foodie and so we tried a lot of things, usually after he "tested" it first. My Mother is an excellent cook but tends to stick to her tried and true, which admittedly are yummy but don't go too exotic except for an extra dash of chili powder now and then. So on the one hand I had food adventures, and on the other I had a large array of comfort foods to fall back on when the adventuring got tiresome.

I've recently been trying to mix it up in the kitchen, if only so I don't have to cook three different meals all the time. This is mostly for the benefit of the kids. They are both Aspergians and so trying new things sometimes comes hard to them. But they have shocked me with what they will eat. I got the youngest to eat homemade chicken soup, to in fact gobble it down and admit it was much better than canned. The eldest is more about texture than taste, but he floored me when I had him try crab legs and he inhaled them (expensive taste, but it was worth it). So I do have hope that eventually the chicken nuggets and hot dogs will become boring and they will come to love some of the things I do, that my parents loved, and their parents before them.

Especially if I stop buying chicken nuggets and hot dogs. Do you know what those things are made of??? (Hint: You're told what hot dogs are made of in The Great Outdoors. Go watch it.)

My Dad is Cool

I apologize for the sporadic nature of my blog posts lately. Not all days have been good and so I don't feel the need to burden anyone with that right now. Perhaps later I will feel freer to share more, but right now the issues are too sensitive to go into.

I missed New England and my father on Father's Day quite strongly. I called him and lingered on the phone long past my usual conversations with him, striving to capture some of that "home" feeling I had last year when I visited in the summer. He didn't mind, he never does.

I inherited certain traits from my father that I am quite proud of. He gave me his love for books and a voracious reading capacity. He is a Stephen King fanatic and I also inherited that; I borrowed The Stand from him one summer as a teenager and read it in five days. It's nearly a thousand-page book but I couldn't put it down. Most of Stephen King's novels have that effect on me, and I believe it's his writing style as much as his story. I just have to see what's going to happen next, whether it's an ordinary trip to the store or an epic battle with a sneaky monster. Just like my Dad, I have piles of books in my room, both read and unread. The last time I visited I saw a square pile of books next to his bed that was nearly the size of the bed itself, which caused me to burst out laughing. Moving is a trial of strength for both of us, because we don't like to give away books.

I am a patient and methodical (sometimes maddeningly so) researcher of almost everything, especially if I'm about to purchase something. I will go on the 'net, read magazine articles, visit several stores and question other people before I even begin to decide I might want to buy something. The bigger the price tag the longer the research. This too is a trait my Dad has and which I know I learned from watching him do it.

I enjoy all kinds of music, because I was exposed to all kinds through aha! my Dad. As a teenager I was surprised but delighted when he insisted on listening to the "progressive" (the 80's name for Alternative) rock station on drives anywhere and at home, and entertained going to P.I.L. concerts with me, even if only briefly. P.I.L. stands for Public Image Limited, a band fronted by former Sex Pistols band member Johnny Lydon (a.k.a Johnny Rotten). My sister was not overly into 80's rock at the time but that was ok as well since he loved to play oldies but goodies from the 60's and 70's as well. The Doors and Pink Floyd rocked right along with Duran Duran and O.M.D. in our house. It was a teenager's dream. We were getting told to turn it up, not turn it down.

Of course since we both loved Stephen King we both loved horror movies. One summer we spent renting every horror movie the local video store had in stock. This was before chain stores drove the mom-n-pops out of business. We even rented an extremely low-budget slasher flick made by college students called "Driller Killer" and yes it was as bad as its name. We didn't care, we ate popcorn and laughed through all of it. I still love B-movie horror flicks to this day, but I see them less often because its less fun having no one to watch them with, and my husband isn't a fan, for which I don't really blame him. He does like Bruce Campbell and Evil Dead though, so that's major points in my book.

I believe, like my Dad, that home life and getting regular breaks from work is important, important enough to look for that description on any company's website before I consider them. "We foster a good work-life balance". Great, then you're for me. If I can shut off my cell phone and not answer my home phone on the weekends or whenever my days off are and not get grumped at for it, I will work as hard as I can for you the rest of the week. Work's all well and good, but family time is absolutely essential.

He gave me his love for digging in the dirt, making things grow, and then eating the fruits (or vegetables) of his labors in some truly great food. I still have a way to go when it comes to harvesting bumper crops like he does, but I'm learning. I can't not try to grow things each spring, even if they don't do well. I remember my father's garden, and hope mine can be like that too someday.

Thanks for the things you gave and showed me Dad. I wouldn't be me without you.

Somebody Hold That Cloud For Me

One of the first things I noticed when I moved to Colorado was that the sky seemed much bigger than it was back East. It's not that there are less houses around me than before; I live in a cul-de sac and there are houses surrounding us on all sides. There are about the same number of trees. I can only think it must be because the land is much flatter, although I don't notice tremendous hills when I'm back East (except Cataract Street. Awesomely fun to go 80 up and down that street, and it is aptly named. Or, it was until the cops had the DPW fill in all the roller-coaster dips in the street that made it fun. Boo. Thanks to my aunt for taking me and my sister down Cataract Street at a frightening speed in her sports car, when we were but kids. Whee!). It's a mystery.

As I may have mentioned before I have never seen clouds like I've seen them here, and today was a spectacular example. Brilliant blue sky, huge white clouds across the entire expanse, and an amazing wind that would have had Dorothy putting on her red sparkly shoes and grabbing up Toto. Sure, sure, blue sky, clouds, big deal, right? Except these were worthy of painting. Worthy of a slightly surreal Maxfield Parrish painting or an epic Howard Pyle illustration. If there was less wind. Any canvas of a decent size to represent would have become a kite in short order, even attached to an easel. What's a landscape painter with an itchy paintbrush to do? Ah, the digital camera. Perfect. I don't always carry it, but when I see clouds like I did today, I try to snap at least a few shots. Blow it up and print it out on decent paper and there's your reference.

So what did Parrish and Pyle do without digital cameras? I'm not sure, but the results are still awe-inspiring decades later. Just keep painting, just keep painting....

Unexpectednesses

I am a person that likes nice surprises. Like for instance if you go raiding the cookie jar at night fully expecting it to be empty and surprise! there are three Oreos left, just what you needed to shush the craving. Perfection. As you can tell the surprise doesn't need to be big or elaborate.

Today I got three.

Surprise number one: After a doctor's appointment, my husband steered the truck over to a place I rarely go anymore, both because it's a fair distance from me and because I have been unemployed since the end of March.  The rather massive yarn store in the slightly seedy section of town! I am usually overwhelmed when I go in, even if I have a list. Today I was told to go in and just enjoy myself. I had no list. Imagine a five year old in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, and you'll be close to where I was today. But I am proud to say I restrained myself and settled for some screaming orange yarn for some secret projects, and some white and purple sock yarn for Rockies socks. Oh, and a set of metal double pointed needles for those socks, since I snap the bamboo ones with the abandon of a kung fu champion chopping through boards. Extreme knitting, rawr!

Surprise number two: Lunch at an out of the way Mexican restaurant I've been wanting to try. They have artwork by Frieda Kahlo all over the walls. Just by the look of the place I knew it could be good. I was not disappointed, and unlike everything else I've eaten this week it did not make my stomach rebel. Not even the chili rellenos. Yum! The "spicy" stuff wasn't as spicy as I can tolerate, but I let that slide this time. Next time we'll see what kind of fire they can put on. This place is much closer to home than the yarn store. There could be some real danger of money-suckage here, although the prices are excellent.

Surprise number three: My Bruins won the Stanley Cup tonight, after thirty-nine years without it. I was four years old in 1972, and I can barely remember the cup ceremony. Oh yes, my parents were watching, so I was watching. And I was watching tonight as they played hard and held aloft that Cup, well-deserved. As a New England girl born and raised, the circle has come round for all my teams now so I have nothing more to complain about in the sports department. I think I might even be able to forgive Bill Buckner now.

I'll think about that one a little bit more.

Yay Glasses! Wait...

I brought my boys to see the optometrist today on the advice of their doctor, who said they'd gotten to the point where they'd probably need glasses. Given that both their mother and father need eye correction, this was no big surprise.

Both boys, friendly as they are, immediately started chatting with the tech as they were led off to their exams. I only hoped they'd be quiet long enough to pay attention and answer the doctor's questions accurately. The eldest boy proclaimed that his eyes were "really bad" and squinted professionally for the tech, before even stepping foot in the exam room. Meanwhile and at the same time, the youngest was declaring that he "sees double" and needed glasses. This was the first I'd heard of the double vision, and indeed the first vision complaint from either of them ever. The tech was grinning as she led the youngest away for his exam.

I was a little nervous about the dilation drops they'd be given, but this turned out to be less of a hit than the ocular pressure test. The one where they gently blast a puff of air onto your eyeball. The eldest exaggerated rubbing his eye and expressing annoyance, but he was smiling.

In the end they both needed glasses, causing them both to break out in whoops of joy and immediately begin selecting their frames. I imagine their joy will fade gradually as they realize the glasses are not a toy and Mom and Dad get upset if they get lost or broken, even if they are almost fully covered by insurance. Still, helping them pick out good-looking frames was fun, much more fun than when I was a kid. All I had to choose from was plastic, in a big boxy shape too large for my face, in tortoiseshell or an awful orange-red that screamed, "I'm a dork in red plastic glasses!" It was the beginning of the 80's. Everyone had big dorky-looking plastic glasses. But that didn't make it any better. I never wore them. In fact I never consistently wore eye correction until I was twenty-nine and training to be an optician. I learned I only needed to wear a contact in one eye, and voila, clear vision and depth perception all at once.

My eldest picked out plastic frames, but these frames are slim rectangles of black plastic lined in neon green and accented with white. Far cooler than anything I had available. The youngest was looking for red frames, but settled for blue-green metal frames with spring hinges and narrow rectangular lenses. Eminently cool. If I had had access to frames like that, I would have worn my glasses every day. Not only that, but both boys get lenses that transition to sunglass lenses outdoors and return to clear lenses inside. All paid for by the insurance. Sheesh!

Of course the highlight of the day was the free sunglasses you get when you have your eyes dilated. The boys loved them...

...although they got some strange looks at Dairy Queen as they ate their sundaes, earned for good behavior.

I'm making an eye appointment for myself tomorrow.

A Promising Start to the Week

So as I nervously wait to hear from a couple of different places about job applications, I occupied myself with finishing a few things.

One "spa facecloth" for the church festival. I now have about a week to complete a basket of stuff if I want to offer it for the auction. No pressure. But the patterns must be as cushy and spa-like as possible. Selecting them is part of what is slowing me down. I sure have plenty of yarn.

Completed weed-mageddon on some of what are possibly the nastiest weeds I have ever encountered anywhere, and oh joy, they love my yard. If you let them they grow into tall inch-thick stalks with broad lobed leaves, and the entire plant root to tip is covered in spikes. These spikes have the temerity to stab through deerhide gloves when you're pulling them. They also love to grow up between the stalks of other plants, so you can't just weed whack them and you can't spray weedkiller will nilly. According to research these plants share a root system, so even when you pull them they just spring back up again within a week. The recommended method of eradication is an eyedropper and concentrated doses of a strong herbicide that will be drawn into the root system and destroy from within. Yeah, I have time to eyedropper every single weed at its base over a half acre of lawn and landscaping. I briefly considered buying a stock of large-bore hypodermic needles and injecting the nasty buggers, but that again amounts to me having to run over a half acre of yard zapping every single one. Plus, the bulk order of hypodermics will make me look like a junky on a bender (Yeah yeah these are for WEEDS, yep. That's the ticket.) or a mad scientist performing disturbing botanical experiments in my back yard. I think for now uprooting them will have to do.

Remembered an artwork I created for my aunt some years ago, and that I had drawn it on tracing paper to better be able to transfer the design wherever I wanted it. I did see this paper during the last move, so I know I still have it, and the thought of using a different medium or altering it and doing it again is appealing to me. I just have to find it again.

Eyed the Hummer that the new owner of the house across the street owns and restrained my natural urge to key the unholy hell out of it. The Hummers that have evolved from their military, purely utilitarian roots earn nothing but contempt from me unless they're loaded with a full family, camping, fishing, and hunting gear and a couple dogs every time they pull out of the driveway. Otherwise they are wasting gas and destroying the environment. No, you do not look cool driving your over-sized, gussied up fake Hummer alone by yourself. You look like a greedy ass.

Bought some gluten-free chocolate chip cookie mix and will be trying that out tonight...

...after watching the Bruins play the Canucks in the Stanley Cup finals. I have not been a huge hockey fan since living in Michigan and rooting for the Red Wings, but I remember the Bruins winning the Stanley Cup with Bobby Orr at the helm. Yes, I was young, but I remember it (barely), and I was born and raised in New England. I can't not watch and cheer. Go Bruins!

And there's a lovely storm with lightning and thunder coming in. The perfect end to an eclectic day.

The Illusion of Control

My family gathered tonight to watch Kung Fu Panda, the first one, at my insistence. It was advertised with a trailer in a different movie the kids had watched in the afternoon, and I had the urge to see it again. (No my kids did not watch TV all day. Today was the last day of camp and they happily spent it shooting off home-made rockets and having a picnic. The day was simply perfect for them.)

There are many things to love about Kung Fu Panda including Jack Black's excellent performance as Po, the cinematics, the nod to all those 70's kung fu movies starring Bruce Lee (yes, I watched them as a kid and adored them). I was wanting to see the comedic parts because I love them and laugh at them no matter how many times I see them. (A giant panda butt squashing the super evil terrifying bad guy's head over and over? Come on. Pure gold.)

But I also found myself enjoying the quieter moments, the beautiful scene of the wise old turtle leaving his student in a swirl of peach blossom petals and stars, to fend for himself and find a way to teach the Dragon Warrior what he needs to know. Of course the in-your-face message in this movie is "Believe in Yourself". Believe you can and you will. Believe you are, and you will be. It's easy to pick that one up since a lot of kids' movies spout it, and it's not a bad message. Just overdone, sometimes. It becomes white noise.

What I heard tonight was the other message the turtle had for his student. "Give up the illusion of control." He used the example of the peach tree to illustrate what he meant. You can't make the tree blossom or put forth fruit when you want it to. It will do it when it's ready. You can make the fruit fall or pick it, but even if you plant the seed, it will still grow into a peach tree no matter how you might demand it become an apple tree.

Some people spend all their time regretting they didn't plant an apple tree. Some people spend all their time trying to make the tree flower, or fruit, anticipating what will come, and impatient it hasn't already happened. Or worse, worrying that something will happen to the tree and making themselves upset over something that may never happen.

Some things are beyond your control. Stop regretting not having an apple tree, and wait patiently for the peach tree to show you it's beauty. And in the present, enjoy the shade.

Snikt! Bamf!

Have you ever had someone ask you the question: If you could have the super power of flight or invisibility, which one would you choose? You can only choose one; no switching back and forth. Each power is only that; no super strength or telepathy included. This question is supposed to tell you something about yourself depending on how you answer.

People are not asked to explain why they themselves chose what they did, but even if you don't ask they will almost invariably choose and then explain why. Some are practical about their choice, "I'd choose flight so I could avoid rush hour", and some are very blunt, "If I was invisible I'd never pay for anything I wanted again, I'd just take it since no one could see me". But regardless of how the power would be used, we all feel a need to explain.

Over the last two nights my family has watched an X-Men Marathon, movies one, two and three, in succession. This was precipitated by my husband, who didn't have any special agenda, except that he saw reviews coming out for X-Men: First Class and got bitten by the bug again. Our elder son had not seen them and upon hearing our descriptions of some of the scenes he was excited to watch.

My elder son, as I have said, talks incessantly during movies unless made to hush. But he had some interesting questions this time around due to the plots of the various movies; what is it that makes people human or mutant, why do people on both sides hate each other, and why don't they realize there are good and bad folks on both sides?

Trying to explain human nature to ourselves, let alone a twelve year old, is a difficult task. Why do some people want to attack those who are different from them selves, while others seek unity and peace? That question is eight thousand years old and hasn't been solved yet.

You can see the strong parallels between the hatred and fear of mutants and the search for a "cure" in the Marvel world, and the persecution this world doles out to those it comes to hate or fear. My elder son pointed out that Magneto and his family were persecuted by Nazis when he was young; why didn't he understand that to turn around and do the same thing to humans was making him into the very thing he despised? That by claiming to be of a "superior race" he was emulating the Nazis that had torn apart his life and the lives of millions of others?

Because he was still only human, even if his DNA allowed him to control metal. Heady stuff, for a twelve year old. I still don't know if he understands it. I don't completely understand it myself. What I do understand is that these stories are apocryphal tales that reflect our current fears and hopes; the characters may change over time, but the underlying stories are always the same. How to fit yourself into the world around you in the best way possible, and how to help others do the same. And to have fun during the whole experience that is life.

I'm still trying to decide on what power would be the most fun to have, and I'm not limiting myself to flight or invisibility. I'm a lover of variety; I think the best power to have would be the power that allows you to "borrow" other powers for a brief time. That way I'd never be bored, and always have a surprise up my sleeve. It was close though...I almost chose SNIKT! and BAMF!

Gone Bananas!

This week, I have the whole house to myself all day, for five days. The kids and Dad are at a scout day camp, either attending or helping out. It's the second whole day and I can still hardly believe it.

Now don't get me wrong, I love my family even when they mess up the house, yell over whose turn it is on the Wii, and throw their stinky socks all over the house as if they were tossing pennies in a wishing fountain. But I am one of those folks who occasionally needs alone time to fully recharge again. And when I mean alone time, I mean completely alone and unreachable. No kids shouting for Mom to find their underwear, no cell phones ringing, no TV, no nothing. I'm also one of those people who is perfectly fine being alone with myself, and if it weren't for my need for food and water (and occasionally sunlight) I'd probably be a complete recluse. Complete alone time has been very scarce since the birth of my kids, so I cherish it, even if it's just a short drive to the store to pick up something to eat.

Now you know how I value my solitude, and why I'm so geeked about this week.

Yesterday I tore up my closet swapping winter clothes for summer. And that was very satisfying, even if half the pile of summer clothes doesn't fit any longer (Ouch, time for a reduction in sweets, methinks). I also tore up my big ol' yarn box digging out cotton yarn, of which I have loads, in order to knit and/or crochet spa cloth sets. Now it's all in neat lines next to the bed while I try out a pattern. Why spa cloths? I dunno, it seems like a summery thing to knit. There's a local church festival in two weeks that will feature some crafts for auction; I think I had this half-formed idea to contribute, but as usual I left myself way too little time to get enough done to matter. Eh well, doesn't keep me from trying, and if I miss the date they still make cool gifts.

I dug out some beads, although I still have to dig out the bead box to really peruse my collection. Having made approximately two bracelets and one set of earrings in my life, the collection of beads I am slowly building up is optimistic at best; I think of it as storing up potential crafting for the future terror of boredom. When I finally decide to go on a beading bender, I want to go in a big way, with a massive selection of beads almost burying me at my crafting table.

Whispering sweet nothings to me are the twin, almost related, crafts of soap-making and candle-making. I've done melt-and-pour soapmaking and have a small collection of fragrances. Candlemaking I have yet to try, but how hard could it be? You melt stuff til it's hot and pourable and pour it in the mold, just like the soap. Except it's wax, which is a little harder to clean up if you spill. Note to self: put down plenty of newspaper before pouring candles.

The last two days have been scorchers so I've mostly been staying in, with quick trips out to water my garden which is going gang-busters, except for the cucumber plants. The first one was destroyed by hail and the second by wind. I think I'm being told cucumbers are not to be raised by me. Fine. I can take a hint. My squash and zucchini are showing every sign of taking over the garden anyways, so nyah nyah cucumbers.

Today the black bananas went into banana bread despite, or maybe because of, the heat. Another day and we'd have had banana wine. Mixing by hand wasn't so bad, but then, it wasn't a cookie dough. I'm just going to have to bite down and order mixing bowls to replace the ones ruined in the oven. I miss my mixer.

Yep, I'll order the bowls, and maybe a presser foot for my sewing machine. I like the hemming foot I used in sewing class, but my machine didn't come with one. And that flannel cloth is just calling to me this week. Although the thought of flannel in this heat has me cringing.

Yes, this week my solitude is full of possibilities. And maybe a side trip to get a slushie or two to wash down the banana bread.

Long Live The Claw

The blog may be quiet for a few days, I hope you all understand.

My grandfather, after ninety-four long, loving and memorable years, left this earth to be with his beloved Lucy last night at 3:30AM EDT.

I'll miss you Grampa.

Generous to a Fault

Today I found out my elder son took a twenty plus about another twelve dollars in smaller bills from his piggy bank to the YMCA day camp he attends with his brother. Today was a planned trip to the roller skating rink, and he knows what's on offer there; junk food and arcade games. It was a disappointment he did not ask his Dad or I if he could take the money, but not really a surprise. He's learned that if he doesn't ask, he can't be told no.

Once there he gave a dollar to his brother and another to a "friend" who promptly told another kid, who then went over and asked my son for money. Luckily a camp counselor intervened and prevented him from spending the twenty on top of the twelve he had already spent by then, or I'm sure the other beggars, er I mean kids, would have bled him dry. The first we heard of it was when the counselor called us to ask if we had given him all that money.

Needless to say I was annoyed. And doubly so when he attempted to explain his taking money without asking as, "I was hungry!" I guess he forgot we pack him a generous lunch every day. Oops. It was obvious the junk food was more of a draw.

I like and admire generosity in my child. It will serve him well, as long as he can tell the difference between being generous and being taken advantage of, as he was today. I could easily slap the other kids who played him like a fiddle, but it isn't their fault, they did what kids do when faced with a peer who has goodies. Beg, whine, threaten and plead until they get what they want, much like they do with their parents. Only my son has no authority to stop them once he puts the goods out there, and he has a definite weakness for wanting to be liked. A truly bad combination.

My son received a lecture, from both his dad and I, on being generous versus being used, as well as the merits of letting your parents know your plans ahead of time. His piggy bank is being held by his Dad and I so he will need to ask for any funds from now on. I am considering confiscating his brother's as well so no behind-the-scenes manipulating can go on, which I have caught before. We're all treating this as a teaching moment, a lesson in fiscal responsibility, and more will be coming.

And I am very generous with my lessons.