I despise the term "tween." Did we honestly need another designation for a period of childhood? Back when I was a kid (my boys know to tune out NOW), at 12 years, one was a preteen. Nothing more, nothing less. "Tween," it seems, refers to kids from 8 to 12, or nine to 14, or the 10 to 14 set, depending on the user. Eight? Really?!? My eight-year-old is a kid. Early elementary, if we must use school labels. He's no where near teen, and, therefore, certainly not a "tween".
My 12-year-old son is no "tween" either. Sure, he's on the cusp of adolesence, at least by the numbers. Aside from his odor, he's decidely prepubecent physically. He still loves stuffed animals, Pokemon, and building forts with couch cushions. He's also a Rachmaninov fan, a TIME magazine reader, and Google Earth devotee. One moment, he's logically discussing mathematics and then next he's making annoying random sounds. He's transitioning, gradually, in fits and stops, from childhood to adulthood. It's a long process, one, according to brain maturation studies, that continues until at least age 25. By that point you've theoretically been "adult" for 7 years. Or perhaps then one would be a twadult? Hmmm.
The term is widely used by the marketing folks who discovered a niche for a wide variety of products. This is my main objection. The tween term seems to have it's main use in marketing. I'm strongly against marketing to children, who, after all, still are developing their critical thinking skills and have less ability to see the line of garbage they're fed by those who see them with dollar signs only. Am I angry? You bet.
According to Tolkien's The Fellowship of the Ring, a tween is a hobbit between the ages of 20 and 32. Better origin, but still not particularly useful when describing my boys. I'll stick to kids, thanks, and you can hold the advertising.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
What We Learned Today
Here's a sampling of what the boys and I learned today. Feel free to guess who learned what.
Complement means "that which completes something". Compliment is something nice we say to another.
The subject complement takes a noun, adjective, or subjective pronoun.
In Spanish, there are eight articles, as opposed to the three in English.
Complementary angles are two angles which add up to 90 degrees.
Supplementary angles are two angles that add up to 180 degrees.
Tofind the area of a rectangle, multiply the length time the width.
To find the perimeter of a polygon, add up all the sides.
Aedifico (Latin) means "to build".
In "Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes," Sadako contracts leukemia after exposure to radiation from an atomic bomb.
Plant cells have chloroplasts. Animal cells don't.
How to play measure 73 through 76 in "Hopak" by Modest Mussorgsky on the piano.
It's hard to read the Encylopedia Britannica.
The pretzel with the bong (bo staff in Korean martial arts) is tricky and takes flexibility.
How to spell "blew".
How to beat mom at "Settlers of Catan."
Trimming rear claws on kittens is harder than cutting front claws.
The letters "s" and "b" in cursive aren't really that hard.
Acorn squash makes great yeasted bread.
Kittens can be a bit gassy.
Yellow Tail Shiraz is still okay after a week in the fridge.
Encouraging a friend is uplifting.
Refusing to unlock the house until the garbage is taken out is an effective method of delegating chores.
We can get ready for Tang Soo Do in 5 minutes.
We're really all learning all the time. Nice to know, huh?
Complement means "that which completes something". Compliment is something nice we say to another.
The subject complement takes a noun, adjective, or subjective pronoun.
In Spanish, there are eight articles, as opposed to the three in English.
Complementary angles are two angles which add up to 90 degrees.
Supplementary angles are two angles that add up to 180 degrees.
Tofind the area of a rectangle, multiply the length time the width.
To find the perimeter of a polygon, add up all the sides.
Aedifico (Latin) means "to build".
In "Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes," Sadako contracts leukemia after exposure to radiation from an atomic bomb.
Plant cells have chloroplasts. Animal cells don't.
How to play measure 73 through 76 in "Hopak" by Modest Mussorgsky on the piano.
It's hard to read the Encylopedia Britannica.
The pretzel with the bong (bo staff in Korean martial arts) is tricky and takes flexibility.
How to spell "blew".
How to beat mom at "Settlers of Catan."
Trimming rear claws on kittens is harder than cutting front claws.
The letters "s" and "b" in cursive aren't really that hard.
Acorn squash makes great yeasted bread.
Kittens can be a bit gassy.
Yellow Tail Shiraz is still okay after a week in the fridge.
Encouraging a friend is uplifting.
Refusing to unlock the house until the garbage is taken out is an effective method of delegating chores.
We can get ready for Tang Soo Do in 5 minutes.
We're really all learning all the time. Nice to know, huh?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Universe in a Shoebox (Part II)
In the end of “Life as a Strategy for Life,” we were asked to look back on life as an experience and consider how we want to be eulogized. While I haven’t thought of it those terms, I have thought about my goals of living, and they step from my sense of connection to humanity as I discussed in Part I.
I want to have loved deeply, not just when I feel like it, not just when the other pleases me, not even only when I truly know the other person. I want to feel the compassion that goes alongside love for those with whom I share the planet. After all, we have all either been mother, we’ve all loved and lost, we’ve all laughed with delight and wept in sorrow. We all experience what it is to be human, what it means to be alive. Loving others, feeling compassion, deepens our connections to humanity, and, I believe, brings peace to ourselves and others.
This is a goal, a strategy to life. Working for that goal is work, and I miss the mark every day. As a bit of a perfectionist, examining my life for my shortcomings is second nature (and loving myself can be quite difficult, although as the cliché goes, it’s the place to start). As human, I constantly fall short. As human, I continue to strive for growth and that currently popular business term, “continuous improvement.”
Included in the sermon is this poem:
Adrienne Rich: Transcendental Etude
No one ever told us we had to study our lives,
make of our lives a study, as if learning natural history
or music, that we should begin
with the simple exercises first
and slowly go on trying
the hard ones, practicing till strength
and accuracy became one with the daring
to leap into transcendence, take the chance
of breaking down the wild arpeggio
or faulting the full sentence of the fugue.
—And in fact we can't live like that: we take on
everything at once before we've even begun
to read or mark time, we're forced to begin
in the midst of the hard movement,
the one already sounding as we are born.
— Adrienne Rich, 1984.
So I study my life, make gradual if stuttering progress, loving the life this earth contains.
I want to have loved deeply, not just when I feel like it, not just when the other pleases me, not even only when I truly know the other person. I want to feel the compassion that goes alongside love for those with whom I share the planet. After all, we have all either been mother, we’ve all loved and lost, we’ve all laughed with delight and wept in sorrow. We all experience what it is to be human, what it means to be alive. Loving others, feeling compassion, deepens our connections to humanity, and, I believe, brings peace to ourselves and others.
This is a goal, a strategy to life. Working for that goal is work, and I miss the mark every day. As a bit of a perfectionist, examining my life for my shortcomings is second nature (and loving myself can be quite difficult, although as the cliché goes, it’s the place to start). As human, I constantly fall short. As human, I continue to strive for growth and that currently popular business term, “continuous improvement.”
Included in the sermon is this poem:
Adrienne Rich: Transcendental Etude
No one ever told us we had to study our lives,
make of our lives a study, as if learning natural history
or music, that we should begin
with the simple exercises first
and slowly go on trying
the hard ones, practicing till strength
and accuracy became one with the daring
to leap into transcendence, take the chance
of breaking down the wild arpeggio
or faulting the full sentence of the fugue.
—And in fact we can't live like that: we take on
everything at once before we've even begun
to read or mark time, we're forced to begin
in the midst of the hard movement,
the one already sounding as we are born.
— Adrienne Rich, 1984.
So I study my life, make gradual if stuttering progress, loving the life this earth contains.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Universe in a Shoebox (Part I)
My second preoccupation as I’d lay in bed waiting for sleep was the uniqueness of the universe. Could the universe I knew be simply in a shoe box in the corner of someone’s closet, and could that closet-containing universe be in another box? Could the pattern, perhaps, never end in either direction, universes upon universes contained and containing this one, like an infinite set of nesting dolls? These were my early philosophical meanderings of the mind when young.
Honestly, they’re not too different than my meanderings now. I return to my shoebox theory of the universe when the thought of a single universe with nothingness beyond me seems either to simple or too distressing. It doesn’t keep me up nights anymore – that honor is reserved for so many distracting and usually uncontrollable minutiae in my life. And while I no longer wonder if my double resides in some small town in Iowa, I instead see the commonalities I have with the rest of humanity. I am a mother, thus share “mother” to greater or lesser extents with all mothers that are, that have ever been, or that ever will be. I have loved and lost, and share that experience with most of the world as well. I have known joy and sorrow and recognize these emotions as far from unique. They are, in fact, part of the human condition. These shared experiences ground me and connect me to the humanity.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
It's the Yarn Talking
I swear I just went to look. Well, perhaps to touch and fantasize a bit, too. It's been about six months since my last trip, and the holiday season is coming, eventually. So I really need to go. In fact, it's more an obligation than... Oh, who am I kidding?
I love yarn shops, but fibers have a way of seducing me to bring them home. To avoid temptation, I only occasionally treat myself to an hour or two wrapped in the sensory indulgence of my favorite local knit shop, Neighborhood Knits. I haven't been there since it changed hands earlier this year, and I'm delighted to see the store maintain its cozy look and intimate feel. New yarns grace the shelves, layed out in a way that I find intuitive (grouped by fiber and weight). Sandy, the new owner, is welcoming and helpful without being at all invasive. For me, yarn shopping is personal. I need some time to see and touch before I can ponder the options aloud.
I came in to look at yarn choices for prairie boots, a pattern I've mulled over for a few months. As the weather cools and the idea of boot-like slippers doesn't make me sweat profusely, I'm ready to consider yarn for the project. After a cruise around the store, I not only find the yarn (Lamb's Pride Bulky, by Brown Sheep) but a pair of the boots knit up in a tweedy brown, my first choice of colors for the project. Before I commit to a color, I take a gamble at finding a pattern I'd considered last visit. It's still there, but picking four colors for it proves a bit more challenging. I tend towards shades of the same color, barely a step beyond my usual monochromatic or monochromatic-with-a-stripe-of-something-else choices.
I came in to look at yarn choices for prairie boots, a pattern I've mulled over for a few months. As the weather cools and the idea of boot-like slippers doesn't make me sweat profusely, I'm ready to consider yarn for the project. After a cruise around the store, I not only find the yarn (Lamb's Pride Bulky, by Brown Sheep) but a pair of the boots knit up in a tweedy brown, my first choice of colors for the project. Before I commit to a color, I take a gamble at finding a pattern I'd considered last visit. It's still there, but picking four colors for it proves a bit more challenging. I tend towards shades of the same color, barely a step beyond my usual monochromatic or monochromatic-with-a-stripe-of-something-else choices.
Enter Sandy. She starts pulling skeins out of the artfully sorted bins, lining them up on the floor, narrating her thought process. At first, I'm only an observer, still overwhelmed by the options in color and texture even within the worsted wool section. Tentatively, I pull one of her selections out and add my own. Hmm. That's not too bad. She continues to demonstrate combinations, and soon, a dozen or more skeins are on the floor and couch, we've arranged in sets designed to complement each other.
Eventually, with much encouragement, I find a combination I like and make my purchase. I thank Sandy both for her help and patience with my indecision and head home new pattern and yarn in tow. I'm happy with my choice and with the comfort of a long project ahead of me and delighted a favorite local business is in such caring and competent hand. Oh, and the boots? I'll save that purchase for my next visit.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Garden On
I'm really ready to be done with the garden and yard. Not ready for the snow to fly, not even ready to rake leaves, but I'm yearning to break up with my reel lawn mower, pruners, and weed picker. Well, at least we need some time off from each other.
I know come February (okay, January)I'll be pining for those implements while I plan the vegetable garden whose bed will be buried under snow, but right now I'm just done. I'm sick of mowing grass that shouldn't be growing so much in September, tired of pulling the same weeds again, and saddened by pruning spent blossoms with no new blooms in the making for months.
Aside from a few beets lining the front of the garden and some volunteer cherry tomatoes that seem ripen way too slowly, there's little left but the herbs for food. The only flowers remaining are the autumn joy sedum. They're a personal favorite, with lovely succulent leaves in spring and summer and pink flowers deepening to russet as summer turns to fall. Along with the petal-free remains of the purple cone flowers and black-eyed susans, they add much-needed winter interest and landing pads for smaller birds. They also will give me hope when winter days drag on - spring will return.
My negative yard maintenance attitude abates a bit once I don my garden gloves and hit the dirt, pulling weeds, beating back the buttercups and bee balm, and removing dead day lillies. Cleaning the vegetable garden remains reminds me of the pesto I plan to make and freeze and the potatoes out of sight but still under the soil. Along with those beets and a few more carrots in my younger's garden, there's still some harvest remaining. After an hour of sweat-producing labor, my attitude about the yard is markedly brighter and my mood is lighter. Guess I'll keep the mower and garden on.
I know come February (okay, January)I'll be pining for those implements while I plan the vegetable garden whose bed will be buried under snow, but right now I'm just done. I'm sick of mowing grass that shouldn't be growing so much in September, tired of pulling the same weeds again, and saddened by pruning spent blossoms with no new blooms in the making for months.
Aside from a few beets lining the front of the garden and some volunteer cherry tomatoes that seem ripen way too slowly, there's little left but the herbs for food. The only flowers remaining are the autumn joy sedum. They're a personal favorite, with lovely succulent leaves in spring and summer and pink flowers deepening to russet as summer turns to fall. Along with the petal-free remains of the purple cone flowers and black-eyed susans, they add much-needed winter interest and landing pads for smaller birds. They also will give me hope when winter days drag on - spring will return.
My negative yard maintenance attitude abates a bit once I don my garden gloves and hit the dirt, pulling weeds, beating back the buttercups and bee balm, and removing dead day lillies. Cleaning the vegetable garden remains reminds me of the pesto I plan to make and freeze and the potatoes out of sight but still under the soil. Along with those beets and a few more carrots in my younger's garden, there's still some harvest remaining. After an hour of sweat-producing labor, my attitude about the yard is markedly brighter and my mood is lighter. Guess I'll keep the mower and garden on.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Holy Days
It's the International Day of Peace, one of the only, well, created days that I can get into. Except I forgot it this year. I saw it on the calendar when scheduling an appointment for my younger a few weeks back. It was announced from the pulpit in church yesterday, along with Eid-al-Fitr, the end of Ramadan, and Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, both actual Holy Days. The real schmeal.
Since becoming a Universalist Unitarian, I feel a bit like a woman without a Holy Day. Our church mentions all the big ones and many I'd never heard of before attending UUCF. Since our congregation's focus has been on the six sources from which we draw our living tradition, I've added Holi, Budda's birthday, and Darwin's birthday to my awareness. Since so many of these are announced at services, along with the more familiar Easter and Christmas, perhaps I'm a woman of many Holy Days.
But I'm not. Those Holy days are not mine. Not as truly holy. My boys and I celebrate Christmas with songs, a tree, and gifts. We talk about the birth of Jesus and the message of love Jesus brought to the world. At Easter, we discuss rebirth and celebrate life, but I know for both we're somewhat co-opting the days, celebrating them in a way that works for us because they're big deals in this country. We celebrate Hanukkah with my mother, a Reformed Jew, the lights of Hanukkah next to the advent candles we still use to mark the coming of Christmas. The boys know the stories of these Holy Days and many others, and while we fall prey to American Holiday Greed disease, I try to balance it with plenty of homemade giving and time with loved ones.
Still, I have my doubts. These aren't my Holy Days, and I'm loathe to misappropriate customs and practices from religions not my own, but I feel a bit short of Holy Days as a Unitarian Universalist. Perhaps this explains my draw to the International Day of Peace. I'm not taking it from anybody, it's celebrated around the world, and it's in concert with my UU belief system. Not a bad Holy Day, in my opinion. I wish I hadn't forgotten this year.
Peace be.
Since becoming a Universalist Unitarian, I feel a bit like a woman without a Holy Day. Our church mentions all the big ones and many I'd never heard of before attending UUCF. Since our congregation's focus has been on the six sources from which we draw our living tradition, I've added Holi, Budda's birthday, and Darwin's birthday to my awareness. Since so many of these are announced at services, along with the more familiar Easter and Christmas, perhaps I'm a woman of many Holy Days.
But I'm not. Those Holy days are not mine. Not as truly holy. My boys and I celebrate Christmas with songs, a tree, and gifts. We talk about the birth of Jesus and the message of love Jesus brought to the world. At Easter, we discuss rebirth and celebrate life, but I know for both we're somewhat co-opting the days, celebrating them in a way that works for us because they're big deals in this country. We celebrate Hanukkah with my mother, a Reformed Jew, the lights of Hanukkah next to the advent candles we still use to mark the coming of Christmas. The boys know the stories of these Holy Days and many others, and while we fall prey to American Holiday Greed disease, I try to balance it with plenty of homemade giving and time with loved ones.
Still, I have my doubts. These aren't my Holy Days, and I'm loathe to misappropriate customs and practices from religions not my own, but I feel a bit short of Holy Days as a Unitarian Universalist. Perhaps this explains my draw to the International Day of Peace. I'm not taking it from anybody, it's celebrated around the world, and it's in concert with my UU belief system. Not a bad Holy Day, in my opinion. I wish I hadn't forgotten this year.
Peace be.
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