Mean Girls

A couple years ago, the children and I read a wonderful, bittersweet book called The Hundred Dresses. I feel like this short novel should be required reading for every child and parent. It's a touching portrait of schoolgirl dynamics, told through the eyes of a girl who feels caught in the middle, who joins in the taunting of an immigrant classmate against her better judgment and lives to regret it. In the end, all the girls realize the mistake they've made in belittling their former classmate, Wanda. Fortunately, their lesson comes at a less-than-mortal price for Wanda or themselves.

Sadly, for kids like Phoebe Prince of South Hadley, Massachusetts, any regrets on the part of her tormentors come too late. This fifteen-year-old Irish immigrant hanged herself after relentless cyber- and in-person-bullying by the Mean Girl clique at her high school drained her of the hope and self-esteem that's already so fragile in teenage girls.

The morning news played clips from an angry parents' meeting in South Hadley, where over 300 parents convened to express their frustration and grief at the situation. One father spoke with no apologies: "I am angry at the parents who are raising these monsters. Parents: DO YOUR JOB."

Y'all know that I strive NOT to be the parenting police. There are no perfect people living on this farm. But. In this case? Hear, hear!

It boggles my mind that human beings of such a tender age could be so devoid of empathy, the foundation of the conscience -- even to the point of mocking her on Facebook AFTER her suicide (If your kid is doing that? I'm sorry, but YOU HAVE REALLY SCREWED UP somewhere along the line.). Does anyone else think it's crazy that state after state has to pass anti-cyber-bullying laws to protect teenagers from the worst sides of each other? Talk about the government stepping in to shoulder the responsibility of absent parents!

If, as a parent, I can manage to raise my children to hear their own voice in the midst of the crowd, to refuse the temptation to gain favor through meanness, perhaps even to stand up in the face of bullying, to let empathy, decency, kindness triumph over the desire for acceptance, I have done my job.

And if, as a parent, I can be someone my children come to when they're hurt, scared or desperate; if my children know where to find hope and help when they need them and that the words of bullies do not represent the truth about who they are, I have done my job. If I can teach them to use social media (when the time is right) while protecting or disconnecting themselves from others who abuse it, I have done my job. This means I cannot throw up my hands and say, "Oh, kids these days and their computer stuff! Who can keep up with it all?" Answer: YOU, Mom.

My aunt, a woman I admire immensely for energy and spirit of perpetual learning, teaches middle school history. She also teaches those middle schoolers all about social media and its responsible use -- how to use privacy settings with vigilance, how to ward off cyberbullying, how to report signs of abuse. To do this, she stays one step ahead of them on Facebook, on Twitter, in the blogosphere. I have greater respect than ever for the task she has undertaken.

For some kids, it may be matter of life or death.

Concept Still Fuzzy

This morning, during our discussion of animals and their habitats:

Me: "Caroline, what is a good habitat for a penguin?"

Caroline: "Antarctica!"

Me: "Yeah! And what's a good habitat for a lion?"

Caroline: "The CIRCUS!"

Only funny if you've seen UP (but who hasn't?)

Good afternoon. My name is Ian. I am a Webelos-ranked Cub Scout and an aspiring Boy Scout with Troop 410. I spent my weekend, with my dad, running through the woods on covert operations, scaling trees in a harness, learning to light fires with no matches, and sleeping under the stars (no tent). Are you in need of any assistance?

Sure, buddy. I need your assistance. I want to participate in the challenge to compile the Top 100 Chapter Books of All Time, and I have to send in the list of my Top 10, RANKED (egads!), by January 31. How am I ever going to narrow my pile of gems down to ten? There's The Westing Game. And Bridge to Terabithia. The Penderwicks. Charlotte's Web. Trumpet of the Swan. The Hundred Dresses. The Mysterious Benedict Society. And let's not forget The Saturdays, all the Betsy-Tacy books, Caddie Woodlawn, Anne of Green Gables. What about Walk Two Moons? What about The Tale of Despereaux? And the more obscure Treasures of the Snow?

And how do I possibly rank them????? GAH! Why do I torture myself like this? And I just KNOW that at least one person is going to leave a comment offering up suggestions of a perfectly splendid book I've neglected to consider. (Right, guys?)

[Pauses to take three deep, cleansing breaths.]

On a much calmer note, I stumbled across a blog called Saints and Spinners, written by a storyteller and librarian who makes the most charming, to-die-for little felt dolls for storytelling or general imaginative play. If you have any children in your life, check them out!

Two Books; Two Quotes

I came across a neat meme at Bookful of Thoughts yesterday entitled Friday's Finest. The rules are:

~Post a quote that really stuck to you after reading it in a book.
~Make sure it isn't a spoiler!
~If you'd like, expand on what you think it means and why you chose it.

It's certainly not Friday anymore, and it being actually Saturday, I'm not sure anyone will read this, but here we go. I'm doing TWO.

"People would ask for many years: 'Where were you when you heard? What were you doing? Who brought you the word?'"

That quote is from the last chapter of Across Five Aprils, by Irene Hunt, and I finished reading it with the children on Thursday. The quote refers to the news of Abraham Lincoln's assassination, and for some reason, I could barely maintain my composure while reading this section. Things got even drippier when we started discussing how for that generation, the news of Lincoln's tragic death had that same national impact, the same indelible etching into people's memories, as did President Kennedy's assassination in my parents' generation, or September 11 in our own. (Turns out, my kids didn't really know much about September 11, so I got to reminisce about how I heard the news while walking with my neighbor and our toddlers (Ian was one) up to our neighborhood clubhouse for music class. Her husband delivered the news from work, and we simply didn't comprehend it at first.

What about you? Where were you when you heard? Who brought you the word?

(I also remember where I was when I heard the news of the deaths of Princess Diana and JFK Jr. ... but those do sort of pale in comparison to 9/11.)

OK, now my second quote. I've just started reading The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, which won a Newbery Honor Award last Monday, and y'all, I can hardly put it down. It's told in the first person by a twelve-year-old girl who is an absolute humdinger of a heroine. I'm in love with her (but not in that way). Also, it takes place less than 50 miles from my house, at the turn of the 20th century. Also, the writing is lovely.

But then I glanced at the dustjacket and beheld the following quote from the author bio:

"Jacqueline Kelly was born in New Zealand and raised in western Canada. She now makes her home with her husband and various cats and dogs in Austin and Fentress, Texas. She is a practicing physician and lawyer. This is her first novel." [Emphasis mine.]

So I've suspected in times past that some people have more than twenty four hours in their day. But now? It's totally confirmed.

(And she lives in Austin. Do they sell those extra hours bottled somewhere locally? I want some.)

Still Keepin' It Real

I had the cheeriest of posts, a literary one, composed in the noggin yesterday and ready to be written.

Then life happened.

Specifically, at 5:43 p.m., my house was calm and quiet. Dinner was on the stove, the dishwasher stood emptied, vague domestic tranquility reigned. At 5:46 p.m., my children were called in to dinner. One of them made a disparaging comment about the chicken tikka masala on the stove (thank you, Melissa Wiley -- I enjoyed it, at least!). The other two were simultaneously whining, at full volume, in stereo, on two entirely different topics. And Daddy was working late. It was, like, totally awesome.

So awesome, in fact, that I retreated with my dinner outside to watch the sun set and call Vanessa. "My children are driving me completely insane," I reported. We both laughed, and then she briefed on the insanity taking place in her house, which can be summed up as follows: Her two children DO NOT SLEEP.

I'd love to say this moment of maternal bonding made everything all better, but sadly, it all went to hell in the proverbial handbasket shortly thereafter. The car ride to AWANA was like something out of a late-night infomercial entitled: "Why Mommy Needs Tranquilizers." It basically ended up as a shouting contest between my four year old and Noah Adams on All Things Considered. She wanted ice cold water. (ICE COLD, people! Not tepid!) He wanted to deliver the news.

I lay in bed last night still nursing my brittle feelings about the day and reflecting on how my sense of humor could have saved that car ride. Often, when a less savory moment (or series of moments) occurs, it's tempting to call the whole day a giant failure. In reality, of course, it was just that forty five minutes between five forty five and six thirty that we could have done quite nicely without, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. The rest of the day? Anywhere from bearable to lovely.

The Voice of Comforting Reason in my head decided to go treasure hunting. It determined to shine the flashlight on all the moments that had ALSO occurred in that very same day, the moments that belied my feeling of being a victim of a great, glorious train wreck.

1. We woke up. We woke up!

2. We took dinner to Grace, and everyone got to hold Baby Isaac.

3. We read quite a bit of Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown. (Digression: y'all, you can't possibly have a terrible day if you've been reading Betsy and Tacy. I loved every single one of these books, including those recently republished ones with Betsy as a teenager (oh, that Joe with his blond pompadour and his insouciant smile!) when I was growing up. Now, as a parent, I love them again, although there's a slice of me that longingly regrets that my kids will never experience that same simplicity that Betsy and her friends do, pouring out of their houses after supper to play games we've never heard of in the street, meeting at the hitching post, taking picnics for the day as their mothers wave them gaily on their way.

4. We made gliders with different wing shapes in the morning and experimented with flight in the driveway.

5. I visited my secret stash of dark chocolate. Every mother needs one of these.

6. I called on the name of the Lord. No day is wasted when you do that.

7. We got to swing by and visit The Professor at work on our way home from Grace's. Five minutes is better than nothing.

8. He had the kitchen cleaned when we got home from AWANA.

9. We watched a Season 5 Episode of LOST before bed, only to confirm for the 83rd time that while neither of us understands time travel, it sure is fun to discuss it! And ... Season 6 begins February 2!!! (Not that I'm counting the days or anything.)

10. I still love my kids, and they still love me.

So. There's treasure everywhere, and new beginnings every morning.

Crococún Zoo

Remember that trip we took to Mexico, oh, a month ago? I guess some posts need to percolate a little while. Either that or they keep getting bumped by more urgent matters like whoopee cushions or braided T-shirt rugs.

Crococún Zoo is possibly the most underrated attraction in the greater Cancún area. (Remember, we were NOT in Cancún. From what I saw of it at and around the airport, I feel like it's important to mention that.) When we spoke with other families at our resort about it, none of them had even heard about it. Apparently, they weren't obsessively reading

TripAdvisor reviews before their vacation. Probably doing more important things, like making sure their kids had swimsuits and goggles that actually fit them.

Crococún is not really a zoo in the traditional sense of the word. Its population is limited to animals native to Mexico, which actually enhanced its appeal in our eyes. Do we really want to travel all the way to Mexico and see an elephant pacing an enclosure? Class? Do we?

(Answer: Not so much.)

When you arrive, either taking two public buses from your resort and asking for directions in your high school Spanish, or using an air-conditioned taxi like the saner tourists reportedly do, you're greeted by a guide who will be your friend and talk you out of a heart attack for the next hour and fifteen minutes. You'll see what I mean.

This picture was taken approximately five minutes after our arrival. Aw, look. They're feeding the parrot (macaw?). Isn't that so fun, so educational, so memorable?

You may have noticed the "Croco" part of the name "Crococún." Mmhm. My kids did too. And this, my friends, is what THEY were all about.

It's a good thing you can't really see my face in this photo, because at this point, I'm pretty much at Code Orange. Especially because seconds after this photo, I witnessed my oldest child handing one of these directly to my middle child without the assistance of our guide. Oh, believe me, Mommy was using her Outside Voice at that point.

Some families sing folk songs in five-part harmony for kicks. We hold baby crocodiles.

And now I'm definitely at Code Vermilion. My baby!

Um, Code Red. Which of the little darlings do you think he'll consume first?

While we'd completely taken leave of our sense, our guide led us through a large enclosed area containing about forty of these guys. Don't worry, the arm I lost was not the one I use for taking photos and typing.

Now THIS is more like it. The cute little spider monkey wants a bit of banana!

And, now that my palpitations have subsided, I can even enjoy feeding the white-tailed deer alongside my children.

Ever seen one of these? It's called a coatimundi. Here he's in an enclosure, but there was actually a [completely harmless] one running wild at our resort.

Come to think of it, there were a few other creatures running wild at our resort. But we don't need to talk about that.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming, entitled "All Creatures Tame and Sedate."

P.S. I forgot to mention in my earlier Mexico posts that should you ever find yourself in need of a travel agent who will work very hard and wave magic wands for you, regardless of your budget, do yourself a favor and contact Bonnie at All-N-Clusive Travel. I get absolutely no kickback for telling you that she's wonderful, just the satisfaction of endorsing a friend and getting YOU the R&R you doubtless deserve.

And I thought we were discussing clarinets

"Speaking of wind instruments, can I get a whoopee cushion?"

-- Ian, age 9

Note to self: Begin formal music appreciation curriculum STAT.