A Snippet

"I tired, Daddy."

"Well, go to sleep, son. Sleep as long as you need to."

"For  ever?"

"I'll miss you here when that happens. But I'll see you there someday."

"And then we can RUN, Daddy! Me 'n' you, we can run and run and RUN!"

"Yes, son, then we will be able to run."

Mourning this Morning

Today I look around my house and the many things I see bring a deep sense of mourning to me.

The baby's playpen, bought four years ago for Hailey, now in use again for another sweet baby. Will I see him again in there? Will I be around to see him stand and peep over its side and laugh at me? Will I hear him say "Mammaw, Mammaw"?

Hailey's doll house that I just bought for her, furnished, at a yard sale. Last time she was here, she played for hours sitting in front of the TV, but not even paying attention to the programming. Will I be around to enjoy her enjoying what Mammaw got her?

No, I'm not ill, and I have no current plans to do away with myself.
I don't want to do away with myself, just the mishmash disappointed and never ending duties duties duties my life has become.

I don't mind taking care of my chronically ill husband. But why in hell won't he do his part to take care of himself? He is NOT bedridden.
Is it my fault? Have I taken such good care of him that he no longer takes any responsibility for his own well-being? Have I put up with so much, too much, and has my caretaking crippled him more than his multiple illnesses? Have I solved so many problems and fought so many battles for him that he no longer feels any need to solve or fight?

Something has to change here, and I'm afraid that it will, once again, be me.
However, I will try.

For the sake of the beautiful babies that light up both our lives. They need the refuge that grandparents' homes  can be -- every child needs that.
They need grandparents -- a Pappaw as well as a Mammaw.
Mammaw needs Pappaw, too.

Will she ever have those things again?
Will she ever enjoy those things again?
Will anyone else cherish or change things?

What to do if the answer is "NO!"?

I wish I knew.

No Child Left Behind -- unless They Don't Pay

Another Graduation Season is drawing to a close.

Another lot of students is finding out that their achievements, their attendance, their grades, and their test successes don't matter.

Students are being refused their diplomas on a regular basis, for a ridiculous array of reasons.

And people wonder why there are so many dropouts? They wonder why the 'children' can't finish anything?

Let's take a look at the news stories from the last few weeks.

One young lady didn't get to graduate because she put a feather on her tassel.
Another was banned from the ceremony because she could not be at an after school practice -- she was needed at home, some tedious excuse about a younger sister and a working parent.
Others have had their diplomas withheld because parents didn't pay the school fees, because of unreturned books, because there were charged lunches not paid up.

Universities and colleges have for years been withholding degrees because of unpaid tuition.
Then private schools got in on the act. What a great way to punish deserving children for their parents' failures! Why didn't someone think of that before?

Schools have a right to make rules for their ceremonies. The young lady with the feather -- she should abide by the dress code for the ceremony, or be absent from it. Her feather was a symbol or statement of her heritage -- nothing wrong with that, except that it wasn't allowed, and she knew it wasn't allowed. This was not the time and place for such symbolism.
She should have been omitted from the ceremony for her noncompliance. If she somehow insisted on being in the Grand Parade of Graduates, when it came time to call her name, her name could have been skipped. She could get her diploma in the mail next month.

But to not get her diploma at all? After she had met any and all other qualifications for receiving it? What is right about that?

The 'graduate' who didn't come to rehearsal because she had home duties? She, and others like her, should be congratulated and encouraged. Yes, there are others like her. They have jobs, and sometimes other schools to attend, as well as family commitments.
These students are our greatest successes. They are working, they are learning, they are part of a team (family, classmate, work crew, whatever.) They make commitments and they are committed.

So why are they being punished? How hard is it to schedule a rehearsal during regular school hours? Even then, some work program and post secondary students may not be able to attend.
Maybe that's why. If they can't attend because of something done through the school, the school doesn't have the power to refuse/deny. The only way to get away with punitive action is to make it the student's fault.

As for financial matters, why punish the student for the parental failures?  Does anyone in Academia really think that a non-paying parent is going to be impacted by the loss of a diploma? Is it going to affect the ability of the parent to attend a good college or get a higher paying job? Or any job at all?

The universities and colleges that have followed -- or perhaps started -- this policy should consider that they are more likely to get paid by someone who gets a JOB with their DEGREE. They are much less likely to be paid by someone who cannot find employment because of their UNFINISHED DEGREE.

Lower classmen who have seen their siblings, cousins, and friends treated in this manner have no respect for the process. It doesn't mean you are a good student. It doesn't mean you learned anything. It doesn't even mean you passed the meaningless tests.
It means that "They" will find some way to prevent you from getting what is yours, so why bother? Why try?
Drop out now before "they" can steal your victory.
Drop out now, before they punish you for having real life outside their walls.


"No Child Left Behind" was the motto for teaching to the test, for a generation or so of grading schools and rating teachers for things other than true education.

What it has evolved into, these days, is "No Child Left Behind" except those who can't pay and who can think.

Is there really anything new about that?

Sui-sides: My side

When I decide to die, it's not your fault. You are in no way responsible for my decision. It's MY decision.

When I choose to die, it won't be about you. I acknowledge that there will be a feeling that I didn't love you enough to live, and there will be a lot of wondering how could I do that to you. I say again, I can't say  often enough -- it's not about you.

I didn't love you enough?

First off, it is my great, great, overwhelming love for each and every one of you that has kept me going this long. Because I have loved you, I got up from my bed and cooked, and advised,  and even drove all over the countryside  because YOU NEEDED ME.
It is my love for you that keeps me trying.

My love for you has kept me going beyond all reason, beyond all sanity.

Sometimes, in the bad times, I resent that. I don't want held. I want free. Free to live my life  -- or NOT!

How could I do what, exactly, to you? End my life? Lay myself down to  a sleep where I won't have to go to the bathroom, or answer  the telephone, or do any of the many, many things that rob me of my rest, that steal peace from me?
How is that doing something to you? What makes you the star of my death?

I'm tired.
I'm sick.
I'm sick and tired.

I am also in pain. Mental, physical, emotional. Doesn't matter. I hurt.
I hurt, and you can't make that better, although  I know you want to.
I hurt, and healing is too hard. Another chore, another job, another effort.

It's not that you aren't worth  the effort -- you ARE.
It's just too hard, and it hurts too badly.

Finally.
I can't.
I just can't.

Not even you can make it worthwhile.

Give me rest.
Let me rest.

Welcome Warren

It's been a while. I apologize. One of the many new distractions was the birth of my grandson Warren Daniel Ruhstaller. He was born March 29. He's a tiny little fellow, especially since his mommy had got to be so huge in the last few weeks before his birth We were expecting at least a seven pounder instead of barely making five-and--half.

He looks just like Hailey, his big sister, did. My daughter says that she had the same baby twice. Looking at the pictures, if Hailey's picture wasn't in a beautiful multi-colorred dress, it would be hard to tell which child was which.

Rex hasn't seen him yet. We're hoping to get that organized, but timing  hasn't yet worked.  The baby has had dr appointments and wellness checks, Tam is trying to organize some type of support for her family while she's off work,   But new baby's are always a bit of a fuss, and always precious.
Now, days begin to settle back to normality.

Until the thunderstorms start rolling in.

Soothing Saturday.

What a day this should be. It's cooled off outside -- I'm actually wearing a sweater. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, with fluffy white clouds. There's food in the fridge and the cabinets, and there's a busy little girl with her colors sprawled on my living room floor. She's the sunshine inside the house.

It's been a busy week, and a fairly normal one, I'd guess. A mixture of good and bad, a look at some beginnings and some endings. Scary stuff sometimes, those glimpses into the future.

The most fabulous and the most  frightening was Hailey's birthday party. She turned 4, and such a big girl. She had an "Urel' (Ariel) cake, with Sponge Bob and 'Packrit' added to it -- don't tell Disney, they'll sue us. She had a lot of grown up family there, and the one cousin that we can provide her. He's nearly twice her age at this point. She has another cousin, on the other side, but she's too little as yet for celebrating at a party. Hailey would have been glad to see her, though. She fell in love with that baby while they stayed at Hailey's house.Hailey is definitely wishing for a sibling. (What does a 4 year old know?)

Tam had thoughtfully had the party at a facility so her dad could attend. The August weather, in a good year, is hard for him to take. This year, with all the heat and humidity, it's been impossible.


And it very nearly killed him. Not from attending the party, but by leaving. We opened the door to the parking lot, and the parking lot had been baking in the sun all day and especially all evening while we were inside. It took his breath away.

I am being very literal, and I am not exaggerating. Sheer willpower kept that man on his feet to the car and once in the car, barking like a seal, he used his rescue inhaler and gestured for me to just DRIVE! I wanted to drive to the closest hospital, but he just kept waving for me to drive -- get the air moving, that's what he wanted.

It worked. After a couple miles, we pulled over and I hooked him up to his portable oxygen tank and he made it home and hasn't had too much trouble since, but it was a frightening portent of things to come.


A sad commentary on things that are, as well. We had been talking a bit about taking a trip in September or October. A weekend trip, one day going, one day coming back. We had discussed who might go with us (as alternate drivers), how he could use his nebulizer on the road, costs, etc. The nebulizer, we thought, would be the big issue.

It's not. He may have saved his travels "Later" until they've become "Too late." But that's okay.

I'll enjoy him as he is -- that's the best way to love anyone. I'll enjoy him, and our daughters, and our granddaughter and any siblings-for-her that will someday make an appearance.


To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose... .
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance...
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;


For now we choose to laugh, and dance (metaphorically speaking), and we both speak and keep silence together. The time will come for the other stuff, but for now --


For now,  we DANCE.

Little Girl Gone (Home)

Last night was difficult for me. I took my granddaughter to the library with me, then took her back home to her mommy.

This is not the usual order of things.  Usually, if I pick her up at her house to go to the library, I take her home with me. It's not anything we talk about, it's just how it works. It will only work that way for another year, at best. Next August she will turn five and have to start school.

"I want to go home with you," she said. She said it when she first got in the car. She said it when she got back in the car after her sojourn at the library. She said it when I pulled up in front of her house.

I hugged her and kissed her and hugged her again and just kept saying "Not this time. Not today."


When I got home the first thing my husband did was look for her. Then he asked why she wasn't there. Then he proceeded, throughout the evening, to tell me how much he had been looking forward to her.

I feel like I let them both down, badly. I hate to do that. Like I said, too soon I won't be able to bring her along as often. (Although I do hope we will someday move closer so it won't be as much a problem.)

Too soon, I'm afraid, her pappaw won't be able to enjoy her company.

I already know it will be too soon that he probably won't be able to be there foir her.

Have I cheated them both out of a memory-making moment?

Well, every moment should be made for memory, although we'd all have our heads so stuffed full of the past that we'd have no room for thoughts of the future, if we all lived that way.

Maybe, just maybe, the next visit will be more cherished because of the visit that wasn't.

Or perhaps we'll sneak off from our ordinary life and pay a surprise visit to her.

Hi now, Kai-lan, and Exploring with Dora

It's been a long time since I paid much attention to children's programming. Now that my granddaughter is watching it with attention, I'm paying more attention, too. (Because she's never watched anything in my care that I haven't also watched.)

Nick Jr is her channel. Not too much wrong with that, as this child also has a healthy interest in going outside and reading, writing, and 'darwing'. A lot of kids don't, but that's another story.

 Most of the shows are okay. A (very) few are brilliant. Some of it I don't get, but since I'm not its target audience, I'm not too worried about that. Should probably be more worried if I 'got' all of it.

Nick Jr tells parents (or whomever) what the show teaches. Interesting, but not as interesting as what the children -- or at least this child -- learns from it.

Dora the Explorer is supposed to teach all kinds of stuff: counting and Spanish and logic and colors and following instructions. Never mind the Spanish. What Dora teaches, apparently, is that there are different words for the same things. At 18 months, my little one watched Dora, and when Dora had to go across the river and through the forest, Hailey told her she had to boat the water and go in the trees. All English, but completely different words.

This week, Hailey applied the lessons from Ni Hao, Kai-lan, a show that also teaches bits of Chinese. When Mammaw got mad, she observed that Mammaw was mad, thought about what Mammaw was mad about, and decided Mammaw needed to CALM DOWN.

It was a little much, though, when she instructed me to sway back and forth, back and forth in order to do so.

The question I have is how will this work once she goes to school (months away if she can do preschool; only a year away for kindergarten) That swaying back and forth thing sounds like an invitation to mockery to me. Maybe not, if the children are all of an age and all watch the same programming -- or if they are programmed by teachers to do this. (Can't you just see a roomful of four-year-olds swaying back and forth, back and forth every time one of them has a tantrum. When would any teaching get done?)

But it troubles me, and I don't know how to address the problems. On the one hand, observation and application are good things. It's really great that a preschooler can understand you can be mad without it being their fault, or that a river is made of water and a forest is trees. On the other hand, the coping strategies should be private and somewhat internal, or they are invitations to misunderstanding and mockery.

The underlying message is the same as it has always been. The shows are a tool. The real learning comes from the family and from daily living. Know what your children are watching and let them talk to you about it. They are learning and they want you to tell them what's right for your family. And even that it's okay if it's different for others.
'
It's all good, as long as we're ALL involved.

Good Deed for the Next Generation.

I've done another good deed for the next generation. I introduced my daughter's not-yet-four -year-old to the public library. A few weeks ago, circumstances made it necessary for her to accompany me to a writers group meeting

Hailey had one question. "Are there toys?"

The meeting was in a room just off the children's section, so it was easy for me to keep an ear and an eye on her.

At first she just sat in a chair with her hands folded in her lap. I came out and showed her the toys, and told her she could play. She said "Okay, Mammaw," and folded her hands and sat in her little chair.

Fortunately there was another little girl at the library with her daddy. The other little girl brought  Hailey puzzles and puppets, and got paper from the librarian  so Hailey could write with the crayons. The daddy got her to play in the castle. (I really had to keep an eye when he got involved, although I knew he was probably harmless. These days, probably just isn't good enough. Sad fact.)

They left, and Hailey worked kid sized wooden puzzles, one after the other after the other. She had them stacked neatly on the table, and the stack was nearly as high as her head.

We left early -- watching the kid and attending the meeting was a little more difficult and disruptive than I had expected.

Today, my daughter came by, and she asked me what happened when I took Hailey to writers group with me. It seems that now, every time they go to town, Hailey hollers out, "There's the berry, Mom. Are we going to the berry? I want to go to the berry."

So, another generation introduced to the magic of the public library.

Now, we just have to keep the libraries open for them.

Forgive: Like a 2 Year Old

Dealing with my granddaughter on a daily -- and nightly -- basis, I marvel at the resilient spirit of the child. You can tell, smack (at hands), wrap, time-out, make her do all sorts of things she doesn't want, just because you are bigger (her point of view)and wiser (your angle). When she wakes up from the forced nap, or when she can't reach the fork or scissors she was running with, there she is climbing in your lap or up your back, laughing.

When you have to swaddle her to tame her for sleep, and she screams and bites and spits until she settles, and she finally sleeps -- when she wakes up, it's you she comes looking for. Your name that she chirps from her bed, or calls through the empty rooms.

How great it is to see such love and forgiveness. To know, somewhere in your heart, that this mean and hateful behavior on their part is somehow good for you. That that person is wonderfully looking out for you.
And that when you wake up, or get done screaming, or otherwise misbehaving, that person is going to be there for you.
Isn't that a wonder?

Children seem to know how to hold on to the love, and to let the other stuff go. Or at least to accept that 'other stuff' as part of the person we love.

It's not hard to see that we should all love like a two year old.