- The Boy Who Harnessed The Wind - 2 October 2009
- Big Mother - 5 October 2009
- Future In a Shadow - 9 October 2009
- Why I Really Run - 10 October 2009
- Pre-race Jitters - 12 October 2009
- Moody Mommy - 14 October 2009
- Brrr Mommy 16 October 2009
- The Things We Do - 17 October 2009
- Spice y Taco - 20 October 2009
- Somer's Story - 22 October 2009
- Misbehaved Parents - 26 October, 2009
- Marty-O - 28 October 2009
- La Biblioteca - 31 October 2009
2 October 2009
The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind
 There is a book I’d like to read, and it chronicles the tale of a 14 year old boy named William Kamkwamba from Malawi. I heard an interview with William on my across town the other day, and I was so intrigued that I stayed in the parked car to listen to it in its entirety.
Although William had to stop attending school because his father could not afford to pay the $80 per year tuition, he would still visit the village library. There he found an old book describing wind power, and it showed illustrations about how to make a wind turbine. This idea struck a chord with William, and he set about to make his own wind turbine, despite not having the tools or the materials necessary to do so. In the span of three months he made regular trips to the dump to find materials, and successfully completed making his first wind turbine.
 To read more about this inspiring young man and the book, visit his website: http://williamkamkwamba.typepad.com/.
Hearing about how others are improving the world is always a great source of inspiration to me, and sure helps me get over my own relatively insignificant problems. This book is on my ‘to read very very soon’ list, and I will be sharing it with my kids, too.
Big Mother
 I have come up with this title for myself following a trip across a field to use a high school bathroom with my daughter and her friends while they were at tennis practice last week. Celia, my daughter, and her two friends are ten years old.
Right before their lesson was to begin, one the girls announced (with some urgency in her voice ) that she had to go to the bathroom. Where was it? Way across an open field and over toward a large and empty looking building. All three girls decided they were going together, and I volunteered to walk them over.
 Upon our return to the courts my daughter compared me to Velcro; I just stick to her that way. My response? That’s right: just call me Big Mother (look out Big Brother!). Of course I was making a joke out of the situation, but it does somehow feel a bit intrusive. I’ll be danged if I’m going to regret not ensuring her safety, though. Better safe than sorry, and I can think of worse things to be called. Velcro I can handle.
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Future in a Shadow
 While exiting the library one day this week I instinctively reached for my son’s hand as we crossed through the busy parking lot. These days he rare ly takes my hand; he’s eight (and a half), and when we are in public he avoids any display of affection or what he considers childish behavior, like holding my hand.
Anyway, that afternoon he did take my hand, and as we walked toward our car I noticed our shadows made long by the late afternoon sun. Rene’s shadow nearly reached my own, and seeing that made me appreciate having his little hand in mine even more. In a few years he will surpass me in height, and weight, and he won’t need my hand to cross a busy parking lot. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, savoring the sweetness of the moment.
Before dropping hands once at the car, he gave my hand three little squeezes in return, which is our secret signal meaning ‘I love you’, or ‘Yo te quiero’, in Spanish. I’ve spent time during the week reflecting on the power of that small gesture, and how meaningful it is to me. What I hope to take away from this experience is an ability to remember that power when I’m feeling frustrated, tired, irritated or angry with him, and allow that love to guide my parenting decisions. The reward is worth the effort and attention it takes to turn negative energy into positive.
Why I Really Run
 Not so long ago it seemed like I could eat almost anything I wanted, within reason, and not gain weight – as long as I was able to run 4 to 5 times per week. I’ve noticed that once I hit my 40s, this is no longer the case. I have heard that our metabolism slows with age, and I found information like this on the internet after a quick search (MSN Health and Fitness website):
“The primary thing that seems to occur is that mitochondria in the cells slow down with age. (Think of mitochondria as little energy factories in cells that convert nutrients to power.) And that’s not all. Barry Stein of Wake Forest University School of Medicine is writing a book about staying fit after 50. As he explains, “As we age, we are subject to sarcopenia—muscle wasting. Since muscle burns more energy than fat, this means the metabolic load goes down and metabolism reflects that.” That is, if you do nothing about your loss of muscle with age, it will take you longer to burn off a candy  bar at age 60 than at 20.”
I still run at least 4 to 5 times per week, but I do choose my food more carefully than I used to in my 20s and 30s. Doughnuts for me are completely wasted calories; I have given them up completely and don’t miss them much. One indulgence I have not given up, however, is great bread, preferably with butter. My friend Aimee helped me make some artisan bread dough and I’ve been baking small batches for two weeks now, and eating it – with lots of butter. We run together twice a week and talk about good food, and great bread. I love to eat great food and delicious homemade breatd, and that is a big part of why I really run.
Pre-Race Jitters
 It’s 10:18 p.m. and I’m amped, wide awake, wired. At 4:30 a.m. my husband and I will be up and getting ready to make our way south to Austin where we are going to be part of a 3 person team competing in the Austin Oyster Adventure race.
The race is billed as the “Ultimate Urban Adventure Race” for its ability to combine athleticism with strategy. Teams run-bike-paddle-climb- and perform other athletic stuff, racing around the city, answering clues and completing tasks. Thinking about it right now makes me feel … tired, and excited. We have no idea what to expect out of this race, and I’m just hoping we’re smiling during some of it. Thank goodness we can use GPS to help us find our way. I’ll be writing a post-race report afterward. Meanwhile, if I hurry, I might be able to squeeze in six hours of sleep!
Post Race Report
Wow. I am really tired. We finished the race in under six hours, and it was much longer and more challenging than I anticipated. Despite the cold and rainy conditions, we did smile and laugh our way through the experience. ‘Adventure race’ is a very appropriate name for this experience, because it involved things like putting a bag over your head and being dropped off at a secret location, eating a raw oyster at room temperature, and scavenging coasters from a bar on 6th Street in Austin – among other things. We made our way around town on foot (running), bike and kayak, but we also saw a smart team taking the city bus with cups of hot coffee in hand to arrive at the farther destinations. In all it felt like we ran at least 12 miles and rode maybe 15 miles, and spent a lot of ti me figuring out clues and completing tasks to have our cards punched so that we could move on with our next passport, or challenge. There were seven passports in all, and even though I wanted to quit after completing five (because I was mildly or thoroughly hypothermic) we plugged away until we finished. The final challenge was properly identifying four different varieties of beer, which my team was unable to do. We spent our ten minute penalty sitting in a bar warming up and relaxing before running back to the transition area for the last time. At that point I might have preferred to share a pitcher of beer and take a cab back to the transition area, but we didn’t have any money with us.
Ultimately, it was fun, and I was not the only mom there trying to regain a bit of moxie. There was a team named ‘Moms Against Middle Age’, or MAMA, which I thought was pretty synonymous with my own quest – only by a different name. No matter our age, there is moxie for the taking. All we have to do is be brave enough to venture out and find it!
Moody Mommy
 Have you ever noticed how a mother’s mood can sometimes seem to dominate the aura of an entire house full of people? I often feel solely responsible for maintaining a happy countenance even when I don’t really feel very chipper, and that’s because I’m pretty sure that if my mood starts slipping, the whole shi p is going down with me.
I know I am not alone. If you google the words ‘moody mom’ the search gives 1,430,000 matches. Sounds like an epidemic!
I’m not so sure that being moody is a problem, but it can be very unpleasant, for everyone.
The truth is I don’t like feeling that my emotions are holding me hostage somehow, so I try not to let my moodiness convert into anger or sadness. I certainly don’t want to take out those emotions on the people who matter most – my family. Easier said than done.
 This morning my son could not find his library book, and he was inconsolable. We were late. I was moody and getting edgier by the moment until I took a deep breath and bent down to talk with him. I asked him why he really needed to have his library book. It was then that I realized he wanted to have a good week at school so that he would be  invited to eat lunch with his teacher on Friday. That’s why he wanted his library book; if he went to school without the book he’d lose the chance and get a color change. But I could not get my thick head out of my own mood until I bent down to look at his tear-streaked face to ask him why it mattered so much. Taking the two minutes to talk with my son on his level, with kindness and compassion was as much a gift to him as it was to myself.
Getting into my helper mode was the catalyst for my attitude makeover this morning. When I can swim away from my own perceived problems and thoughts and help someone else with theirs I automatically feel better, and it’s definitely good for a dose of daily moxi.
Brrr Mommy
After nearly six months of dreadfully hot Texas weather and relentless sunshine, we finally have a change of pace. After a two-year stint living in Alaska I never thought I’d see the day that I’d cheer for cool weather, but it has indeed arrived. Today is that day.
I will preface my joyful story of today by mentioning that our brave run  through the hills of Cameron Park just yesterday was more like a swim; it was humid, stagnant and stiflingly hot. We were drenched and I was happy to be out running but miserably hot. That all changed by the time I emerged from the grocery store just a few hours later after a cold front blew into town. Hallelujah!
Today’s brave run required not only capri length tights but also a light jacket. Running around that mall parking lot today was pure nirvana. There was not a thought in my mind about overheating, dehydration, loss of salt or even sunburn – what a relief!
Some days it really is the small things that make all the difference, and today that cool running weather was good enough for my dose of daily moxie.
The Things We Do
Crowds of people, carnie folk, loud noise, spinning rides and funnel cakes are all things that I generally try to avoid, but if you venture to a county fair there’s a good chance you’ll find all of those things – and much, much more, in large quantities. My kids have been waiting patiently for three weeks to go and since it was the final day we made it out to the fair for a few hours of…fun.
 Now that my kids are 8 and 10 years old they are big enough to get on most of the rides by themselves – yahooo! Our first stop w as the ticket booth for two $25 armbands that granted them admission to almost every ride at the carnival. As we approached the ticket booth I saw white clouds of cigarette smoke billowing out from holes in the plexiglass window and prayed that I had hand sanitizer in my purse. I held my breath and handed over the cash for green armbands. Walking away my daughter remarked, “Boy, she sure was smoking a lot!” RJ Reynolds has a tight market with this group of carnies; they were all smoking on the job. Yuck. My kids call cigarette smoke poison, and they are right.
 Watching my son turn green with nausea on a spinning ride made me happy that they are now big enough to go on the rides together, without me. I still enjoy a good rollercoaster ride but forget about anything spinning. Aside from extreme nausea, the other big risk for me at a carnival is urinary incontinence from laughter during a ride. Fortunately today I had no such worries, and seeing my children so happy made me glad to have been able to fork over the money and spend my evening walking around the loud, crowded and smoky fairgrounds.
As we were leaving and my kids thanked me for taking them to the fair, I realized that I had found my moxie where I least expected it – someplace way outside of my comfort zone.
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Spice y Taco
 I love Halloween, and not just for the candy. It gives me an excuse to dress up in costumes and run around, freeing my inner clown. The last costume I wore was a tall foam bottle of hot sauce, and my husband wore a taco costume. I decided that we should run a local half marathon wearing them since it was near Halloween, and we schlepped through the entire race as ‘Un taco con salsa’, pissing people off as we passed them up on our way to the finish line, laughing all the way. We heard things like, “There is no way I’m letting a giant taco and bottle of hot sauce beat me!”, and, “Hey, you’re the hottest thing I’ve seen on the race course today.” Wearing the costume inspires conversation and levity.
We used the same costumes to compete in a Muddy Buddy race, which involved mountain biking, running and successfully navigating obstacles and challenges, like climbing over a tall wall and belly crawling through a mud pit. We removed the costumes before the mud pit; I wasn’t about to ruin the goods! The last time we used them was during a spring break trip to Alaska. We spent four grueling hours in costume completing the Tour of Anchorage Nordic skiing race, which was 40 kilometers of pure hell on crappy old rental skis. Silly costumes in and of themselves are fun, but doing an athletic event in costume makes it very festive indeed, especially if it’s long and difficult.
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Somer’s Story
The news today about the body of seven-year-old Somer Thompson being found in a south Georgia landfill was devastating. She was abdu cted while walking home with her brother and sister from her Florida school on Monday. Somer’s sister said that they were talking during their walk home and that Somer mentioned a fight she had gotten into earlier in the day. Somer then ran off from them, apparently upset. The sister said she lost sight of Somer in a group of other kids leaving the school, acco rding to the police report. She was not seen alive again.
We know now that at least 70 registered sex offenders live within a five-mile radius of her home, but we don’t know who abducted and killed her. Somer’s mother is saying she will not sleep until the killer is caught and brought to justice. I cannot imagine her pain, and hope I never have to endure it.
There is something I will take away from Somer’s story. No matter how much my kids complain about the measures I take to ensure their safety, I will continue to be vigilant. No matter that my daughter compares me to Velcro*,, I will accompany her to a far away and vacant public bathroom. I will try to teach my kids to be aware of their surroundings without making them paranoid. Resting easy just is not the same after having kids; I think a part of me will always worry about their wellbeing, even as they grow up, or maybe especially as they grow up.
* Regarding Velcro, please refer to "Big Mother," 5 October 2009 earlier on this page.
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Misbehaved Parents
 Over the last several weeks I’ve observed a few parents acting like complete idiots, and I’d like to thank them for helping me stay on top of my own parenting game.
The first was an irate father at my son’s soccer game, who was reprimanded by the referee for yelling at both his son (telling him to ‘take out’ another player), and the coach of his son’s team (telling him to bench his son for not playing to his satisfaction). When the ref asked the man to keep it down the father then yelled at the ref, and he was ejected from the stands and the game. The same thing happened at our game yesterday, only the offender was a coach/father from the opposing team, and he was also told to leave the game for obnoxious and offensive behavior and language. When this happens of course play is suspended and the kids are watching adults being punished.
The other two inciidents involved women I presumed to be the mothers of the children they were denigrating with not only hateful words and threats of physical violence, but in tones that made my hair stand on end. As I stood silently watching I debated intervening on behalf of those kids, realizing in that moment that what was happening in public was probably nothing compared to how they might be treated at home, and I felt powerless. Seeing a little four-year-old boy duck and cover his face with his jacket while his mother yanked him by the elbow confirmed my suspicion that things for him at home are most likely more violent. In my heart I knew that saying something to those moms about their behavior would potentially bring more harm to those kids, so I said nothing, hoping my quiet attention would end the tirades.
 I like to think that people do the best they can do with the tools they’ve been given, but it’s difficult to believe that these parents were doing the best they could in these situations, and almost impossible for me to reserve judgement. I wonder how my parenting is perceived by others, and realize how far from perfect I am in my own life and with my own kids. We all have room to improve, and these experiences are a forceful reminder of that.
Check out this New York Times article about shouting as the new spanking if you get a chance; it’s pretty interesting:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/22/fashion/22yell.html
Marty – O
I have not always appreciated my dad and his twisted sense of humor, but as an adult I have grown to like him most of the time and even love him. He is one of the dwindling numbers of the Greatest Generation, so deemed by Tom Brokaw in a book by the same name. His practical nature is due in large part to the fact that he grew up during the depression and went on to fight in World War II at the tender age of 19.
With age my once strict disciplinarian father has mellowed, and so have I. We don’t agree on much and never really have; our political views are on opposite ends of the spectrum. He balks at my 8 year old son’s shaggy curls, threatening to cut them off himself. The truth is all of that doesn’t really matter to me much anymore. There’s no guarantee that I won’t be the one to go first, but at 84 years old I just want to find ways that I can enjoy time with him, even if I have to let him run my butt around a tennis court to do it. I take his opinions, advice and even criticism much better than I used to, thank goodness, and I try not to argue with him even when I know he’s provoking me. He is at once a grouch and a funny, harmless, opinionated old man. I cannot imagine how much the world has changed over the years since his birth in 1925, and getting life stories out of him is sometimes a challenge. He has promised to write them down, probably just to shut me up about it.
I took this photo of him not long ago as we were leaving the house to walk the dogs together in a park. When I asked whose sunglasses he had on he shot back, “They’re mine, dummy!”. I didn’t believe him, because they are Jackie O. imitation frames and quite obviously women’s sunglasses. “I got them at the dollar store when I lost my others.” I laugh every time I see this photo, and I’m so thankful to have reached this stage in our relationship; it’s been a long time coming.
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31 October, 2009
La Biblioteca
 Taking my kids to do their homework at our public library (la biblioteca in Spanish) recently has helped me relive some of those late nights in the stacks at UT studying for finals. When my son told me he was feeling very tired, I tried to teach him how to take a proper nap in the library today, but he was not able to sleep. That’s okay, he’s got many years to refine the process of napping as a study break. We did manage to rest our heads on our forearms and work on form, though. This should come in handy over the years, I hope.
Beyond learning how to nap well, I’m hoping that taking my kids to study at the library will instill in them positive study habits. It certainly cuts down substantially on the amount of whining and complaining that I hear when we work at home. For this reason alone the trip to the library is well worth the effort. We can also check out books and rent videos for free, which is an added benefit. The librarians aren’t particularly friendly or helpful or engaging in anyway, but maybe that changeover from dewey decimal to computer based cataloguing threw them for a loop. They seem to be biding their time until retirement. The one librarian I did really like in fact has just  retired, and I see her often at the gym, book in hand. One day I complimented her new haircut, and she replied, “Girl, that’s not a haircut. I just went and bought me a new one (wig)”. I loved her ability to be honest and seemingly free from ego in her admission of wearing a wig.
We all pay taxes for public libraries, and they are a great resource. If you haven’t already you should find one near you and take a peak around. You’ll be hooked just like I am, and your kids will get their homework done lickety split for a chance to browse the stacks for books to check out when they are done. And you might even get in a good nap while you’re there.
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