Thanksgiving - "It's a yam sham."

I stopped celebrating Thanksgiving when I was fifteen.

I grudgingly ate the food on the table. I gave an attitude toward the turkey—stabbing it with my fork like it was fully responsible for my anger toward this day. I had learned about real deal about Thanksgiving only a few years before—the settlers (pilgrims), the natives, all of it. And it wasn’t a Charlie Brown special, that’s for damn sure.

Also, there was no “First Thanksgiving”. Well, there was a “first” but it wasn’t in the 1600s. If you traveled back in time and wished a pilgrim a Happy Thanksgiving, they’d have no idea what you were talking about. It was a harvest festival. One that was only successful due to the fact that the natives had helped the pilgrims learn how to grow and gather food. And because, when the natives arrived, they hunted deer to help feed everyone. Whatever. President Lincoln, who I’m pretty sure wasn’t at this festival, declared this autumnal harvest an official national holiday in 1863, a good two centuries after the first harvest. It’s a nice idea and all, Lincoln, but it’s just something that hit me when I was a girl and has never really gone away.

I remember my mother rolling her eyes and my father scoffing, but I also remember that, every year after that, my father made up a plate and set a place for Massasoit. It made me less moody and I was grateful. I don’t remember if I let him know at the time but I was.


Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Episode: Pangs) 1999

Willow:  Buffy, earlier you agreed with me about Thanksgiving. It's a sham. It's all about death.
Buffy:  It *is* a sham. But it's a sham with yams. It's a yam sham.
Willow: You're not gonna jokey-rhyme your way out of this one.

Creepy Strangers with Candy

I wrote a post about giving treats to kids without consulting the parents. It was a necessary message. I can’t believe I’m back talking about this issue again (with one tiny variation). The other post asked ever-so-nicely if people would please address the parent instead of the child with the question. Now I’m here to ask ever-so-nicely if you would stop giving treats to children AT ALL if you’re not going to ask ANYONE.

Public service announcement #3

Since you’re not even asking the child never mind the parent (who you should be asking), I can’t help but think that this gift-giving thing isn’t as much for my kid as it is for you. Shoving a treat at a child and saying, “Here you go!” is stupid and selfish. For some reason, you desperately need to do this thing and don’t care if A) the child wants it and B) the parent wants him to have it. Also, you are a stranger and this is a child. Unlike my last PSA, where I berated you mentioned that you should probably ask the parents before you give something to their kid, I’m now saying (and I can’t believe I have to say it) that if you’re not going to ask anyone, then just don’t do it.

Is this left over Halloween candy people want to get rid of?

I Told You So!

Misbehaving kid. Shocker. Knocking stuff all over the floor, parent not doing anything. Shocker. Finally an associate working at the store comes over to the kid and tells him to stop doing that. Please.

The parent actually says—are you ready for this? The parent says, “Thank you. Thank you SO much.” I think my mouth is hanging open at this point.

Okay so the mom is polite, I guess, thanking the store clerk and all but she is thanking him for disciplining her child. Something she has not been doing. She didn’t yell at the clerk, didn’t say anything rude, but… I’m not sure what to make of this exchange. She thanked a stranger for telling her child not to act like an ass. Apparently, this is something she is incapable of doing.

Another kid. Misbehaving. Knocking stuff all over the floor. Parent looks around and says in a sing-song voice “You’d better sto-op…” but doesn’t do anything.

Again. Associate comes over to the kid and tells her to stop.

This time, the parent says “See? I told you you were gonna get in trouble. You got in trouble.”

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Is this a “Nah-ner-nah-ner-nah-nah!” from a parent to her child?

Yah, my mommy never says 'no' she just says 'I told you so'...

Bifurcating, Pastries, and Nevada

Conversations with my 7-year-old.

“Hey! You bifurcated my pop tart.”

I look up from my coffee. “Oh.”

“Do you know what that means?”

I really wish I did but, in truth, I don’t and so I say that. “No, I don't.”

“It means you broke it in a little part here and a huge part here. It's split.” He points to the bifurcated bits of pastry. “Look—it’s totally uneven!”

“I see that. Sorry.”

“It’s just that you usually bisect it into even parts, like, in half.”

I just look at him, my mind whirring, thinking that the next chance I get I’m going to bolt out of my chair, run to my computer, and google “bifurcate”. I have no idea what to say. He doesn’t seem all that upset. I just say “sorry” again. I haven't had my coffee and it's all I can say.

“It’s okay. It’s just weird. But, hey!” He holds the larger piece up to me and says, “The bigger part looks exactly like Nevada!”

It really does.

Exoskeletons and Parking Meters

It’s awesome when we’re out in the world and I can teach my kids something. Like when we park downtown and do math word problems: “If the meter is 50 cents an hour and I put in 15 cents, how long do we have before we get a parking ticket?” Or when we try to figure out if the raspberry-colored splat on the ground is some kid’s ice cream or poop from a bird who ate too many berries. Or how funny it is that, when you figure out mommy’s weight in ounces, it’s a big, big number. Which is, for some reason, hilarious. But, hey, they did a tough multiplication problem. And when we see a goldfinch on the feeder that’s not bright yellow anymore but muddy brown, we speculate that goldfinches don’t migrate they adapt. Math and science are everywhere. It’s endless.

This is all especially awesome when I learn something, too. Like what the exoskeleton of a really big nasty bug looks like. We found this bug’s shell still clinging to the leaves in a tree in our yard. It was holding on for dear life except for the whole it’s-not-alive thing.  

           

This thing was so gross and so cool, I was at a loss. I was at once horrified and fascinated. It took me ten minutes to get up the nerve to go near enough to snap the pictures. I know, it’s disgusting. But look at it! You can see right through the frickin’ thing. Wild. And note the leaves, people—those are not small leaves.
  

“Hey, kids, check this out!” Science lesson for the day—check. Two little boys talking about giant bugs and exoskeletons and bug shells during dinner—my bad. I'm suddenly not in the mood for pasta shells. Pass the wine.