Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 18

On My Mind…

As I write this blog post on a Sunday afternoon, I’m sitting at adaptive gymnastics and chuckling, because somehow my daughter managed to get herself appointed Demonstrator, Boss Lady and Chooser-Of-The-Next-Activity. There are fifty people, between kids, siblings, and volunteer “coaches,” gathered in a huge circle following her every instruction. And she’s so ebullient, so eminently comfortable. How does she do that? She didn’t get that from either of us.

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Image by MissCaraReads, via Pixabay

I start with that because I have so much on my mind today, and a lot of it is troubling. Some of it involves self-flagellation. But I like to focus on the good, partly because I don’t think anyone wants to read wailing and gnashing of teeth, and partly because the more I focus on what’s wrong, the more it becomes the only thing I see.

I’ve always been opinionatedpassionate, but I also really, really, really hate conflict. So I tend to sit and stew in my own pot of frustration and resentment. For years, sometimes.

Yet recently I’m discovering within myself a nearly irresistible pull to do something. To engage with others or to approach the relevant authorities when I find something troubling.

Not everything. I mean, I find the sheer amount of time people spend on smart devices at the expense of real human interaction tremendously troubling, but it’s clear I’m not going to affect that. (You can sit there reading this on your smart devices and shake your head with pity for my husband, who is caught between a job that requires him to be available 24-7 and his wife, who bares her teeth if he pulls the phone out at dinner or during conversations.) I find the dependence on pharmaceuticals for family planning extremely troubling and birth control in general bad for the earth and for women–especially when there’s a really good alternative–but at the same time I am coming to recognize that many of the things that have made life better for women simply wouldn’t have happened without it.

Generally, wrestling with irreconcilable realities is not something I do in public.

Plus, sometimes it’s not appropriate to get on a soapbox. If there’s a relevant authority responsible for what’s troubling me, complaining about it on a blog or Facebook is passive-aggressive at best; at worst, it’s a deliberate choice to be angry rather than try to improve a situation. (Can you tell I’m contemplating one of those right now?)

And in almost every situation, there’s a need to stop, to think, to go looking for actual facts to back up–or negate–my adverse reaction. The last four months have been particularly fraught in my circles; as I said on Facebook one morning last week, I’d gotten into three arguments–two on one side of the political spectrum and one on the other. “Clearly,” I said, “today I’m feeling like planting a flag on the Centrist hill and dying there.”

The thing is, people are going off half-cocked a lot these days. I mean, is TrumpCare actually going to cut 24 million people’s health care, or are a bunch of people just going to decide to forgo health care?

The fact that both these claims are being splattered across my Facebook feed, without anyone there or in any news report I’ve heard saying, “Hey, maybe we should do some critical analysis of this, because these two claims simply can’t both be true”?—that fact is probably the thing that troubles me most right now. I mean, why doesn’t somebody ask the left-leaning Congressman to directly address the right’s claim, and the right-leaning Congressman to address the left’s claim? I think those two answers would illuminate an awful lot. This business of firing message points past past our opponents’ shoulders is only making everyone rattle sabers.

Recent conversations have caused me to evaluate my own reactions. On the spectrum of online activism, I lean heavily toward “control thy trigger finger.” And yet, I develop opinions as quickly as anyone else. The fact that I don’t fling them around Facebook doesn’t mean I’m actually properly informed. And that’s not okay. I have to do better.

So I guess, after wandering for 700 words, I have finally identified my point. I want to beg everyone I know, regardless of your political, religious, or philosophical bias:

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Think before reacting.

Research before sharing.

If what you’re reading has exclamation points in the headline, go find a less biased source.

If it has obscenities in the headline, the text, or the URL, go looking for a more credible, less emotional source. Because there’s no way it’s giving you a clear picture. It’s just not.

If you get angry reading something, take a deep breath and analyze why—what fact or words caused that reaction—and then go do some due diligence to see if there’s more to the story. (Usually, the answer is “yes.” It might not change your opinion, but it will often clarify that it’s not Armegeddon.)

Spreading propaganda—left- or right-leaning, either one (I’ve seen plenty of both recently)—is inherently disrespectful not only to the system we all depend upon in this country—it’s disrespectful of human dignity.

We can do better.
We should do better.

A Conversation In The Car With Julianna

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Sporting a stylin’ bun courtesy of Auntie A.

On the way to adaptive gymnastics, Julianna sets out to challenge Nicholas’ claim on the “how much can I talk in one car ride” record. Although the subject matter is quite different.

J: Mom, you are so sweet.

Me: Thank you, honey. You’re sweet too.

J: Mom, you’re such a good driver.

Me: Thank you, sweetheart.

J: Da-because (random random random) it’s time for Friday fun!

Me: What?

J: Da-because we do ipad, or extra recess, or..

Me: I understood Friday Fun. I didn’t understand everything that came before.

J: Do they have a pool?

Me (starting to feel tired, and we’ve only just left the subdivision): Um…lots of people have pools, who are you talking about?

J: Da-because Miss Dolores said no pool because it-it-it-it is too cold!

Me: Yes, when we went to her house in December it was too cold to get in the pool.

J: Mom I like you.

Me: I like you too, honey.

J: Da-because he has a motorcycle!

Me (glancing at the man speeding away from us): Yes, he has a motorcycle.

J: Why does he have a motorcycle?

Me: I don’ t know, he just does.

J: Mommy, (random random random while I’m trying to find the turn into the gymnastics facility)???????

Me: …..

J: Mom!

Me: Honey, I’m trying to be a good driver right now, can you be quiet?

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How We Taught Our Kids To Be Good Eaters

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Image by Michael Stern, via Flickr

My kids are really good eaters. I’m kind of surprised at this, frankly, because I am and always have been a pretty picky eater.

And the thing is, we approach food all “wrong,” according to all the parenting advice I ever read. We’ve almost always forced our children to finish what they’re given—unless it’s starch, because starch is filler and nobody needs to fill up on that. We’ve been very clear that you don’t get dessert until you finish all the healthy stuff. We’re “no garlic bread until you finish your vegetables” parents. Or, in Michael’s case (he’s still a work in progress, actually), the meat before the garlic bread, because he eats his vegetables like a pro.

Given my own history of pickiness, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to puzzle out why my kids eat vegetables so well. Here’s what I’ve come up with:

1. I used the book Super Baby Foods to introduce foods, and I was always very cognizant of alternating sweet foods and not-sweet foods. (Sweet potato, avocado, banana were always the first three, in order. Notice I didn’t start with the super-sweet one. And notice I didn’t start with cereals, either.)

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We don’t eat a lot of this, for one thing. (Image by Michael Stern, via Flickr.)

2. I made virtually all our baby food from real food, chopped up fine but not cooked beyond recognition and made into a paste. Which meant they got accustomed to the coarser texture of vegetables and meats from the beginning.

3. Kids have to eat everything they’re given, with a few exceptions. When Alex was three and gagged on mashed potatoes, for instance, I decided mashed potatoes are wasted calories anyway, I’m not going to force that. Another key is starting them on very doable portion sizes. (Vegetable portion sizes increase over time, but starting them with a couple of bites got them in the habit.)

4. For a couple of years, we served the vegetables first and everyone had to eat those before we moved on to the pasta or the steak. Christian told me he was “not fond” of this, but it worked. We haven’t had to do it in a while now.

5. I’ve also gotten into the habit of putting vegetables in almost everything. But I don’t call it “sneaking” because I’m very up front about it. “Does that have onions in it?” they ask, and I answer, “Yes. Eat them.” And they do. Likewise, “what is that red stuff?” I’ll say, “Red pepper. Eat it.”

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Trying to be cognizant of this. (Image by Michael Stern, via Flickr.)

6. What do I mean by vegetables in everything? Processed kale and spinach and Brussels sprouts and occasionally avocado in chili, in soups, in zucchini muffins. Spinach in smoothies. If I can figure out how to add super veggies to it without significantly changing the taste or texture, I do. And I’m very up front about it, and always have been, which means the kids take it in stride.

7. We eat a huge variety of foods, because I like to cook. We’re always trying new recipes. One of our favorite stories is that Alex once asked a friend’s mom to make him quiche. (Did I ever mention that kembalay—creme brulee—was one of his first words?) (Hmm. I haven’t made creme brulee in quite a while…)

8. We make them try almost everything, even the funky salads and stuffed mushrooms I make primarily for myself and for Christian. But these trials don’t fit into the category of “must finish.” That’s a balance of trust: they will try new things because they know if they don’t like it, they only have to eat one bite.

9. Between the ages of 3-5, we “picked” the food battles. It was unpleasant and again, we’re still fighting it with Michael, whose most common words at dinner are “I don’t like _____!” But it’s definitely paid off—even for him, because although he resists protein, he’s a terrific vegetable eater.

10. We talk about food groups a lot, so even the youngest kids are learning what constitutes a protein and knows protein and fruit/vegetables are most important, and everything else is filler. We talk about portion sizes and moderation, and when they want seconds or—especially—thirds, we ask them to think about whether they’re really hungry or not.

So far, they seem to be learning the lessons I most want them to learn.

So that’s my best guess at why my kids eat well. What’s worked for you?

If I Had A Lasso Of Truth…

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Image by Tom Simpson, via Flickr

It occurred to me today that if I were Wonder Woman, I wouldn’t bother going around beating up bad guys. I would just round them up in my lasso of truth and put them in front of a Facebook live stream and make them tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

And I wouldn’t stop with the obvious “bad guys,” either. I’d lasso every politician and every sensationalist website author and put them in opposing pairs until they were forced to address each other’s concerns…respectfully. Without message points, half-truths, and distortions. The whole truth and nothing but.

I’d be the best superhero ever.

Don’t you agree?

The Orthopedic Surgeon Who Rocked My World (or: The Saga That Isn’t)

[image error]You all remember, I’m sure, the saga of the orthotics. I’ve been talking about it periodically for years, both here and on Facebook.

After Julianna broke her second brace in January, the orthotist sent us back to the PT.

The PT told me she really wasn’t sure what to say except she’d like to see an X ray of Julianna’s bone structure so we have a baseline and know for real what we’re dealing with here. We know she walks with all her weight on the navicular bone instead of the heel, but what’s going on inside?

So I called the pediatric orthopedic surgeon, and on Friday, I took Julianna out of school yet again to go see him.

Basically, he rocked my world.

Her feet are not going to deteriorate.

Her feet are never going to get “fixed” no matter how what kind of orthotics we put her in. These are her feet. They will always be her feet. It’s okay. Don’t freak out about it.

Her hips and her knees are fairly normal, it’s really just the feet, and the feet are not going to get worse. They are what they are.

Unless she’s in pain, there’s no reason to consider surgical correction (not that I went in expecting surgery).

Unless it significantly improves her gait, there’s really not even a reason to have her wear orthotics.

We do think the orthotics improve her gait, so we haven’t taken her out of them. But I cannot tell you how freeing this news is. We don’t need to fight the huge fight to keep her in them 90% of her waking hours, with the knee-high socks and the question of which pants will fit over or under them and oh Lordy getting those suckers INTO the shoes! (You have no idea. Seriously. It gets my heart rate up, muscling her into them some days.)

We can back off to ankle-high orthotics, if we decide to do so.

We can buy a pair of premade flat inserts that will allow her to wear boots and normal tennis shoes.

We can even let her go without them altogether so she can wear sandals and sparkly shoes with bows on them.

We no longer have to worry about what to get her for birthday and Christmas, because pretty shoes will make her soooooo happy.

So maybe the lesson in all this is the same one I apply whenever I am fighting the same sentence or story element for half an hour: if you’re not making progress, there’s a good chance you’re trying to force something that isn’t supposed to be there at all–trying to solve a problem that doesn’t exist.

Hulk Update

Julianna, standing in the jewelry store while they’re cleaning Daddy’s ring: “I need a strong man to hold me.”

Of all the random things Julianna has said in her life, that one takes the cake. It was so random, I looked around the store for a sign to that effect. (Because that’s what she does. She goes around reading signs.)

Nutt’n. It was all her.

Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, there’s this…

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…and this…

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A strong man, indeed…

(In case you’re new to “Hulk updates,” most of which have been on Facebook, here’s the gist of it.)

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The Gift I Have To Give Is Me

We just came through parent-teacher conference season again, and what we learned in Julianna’s home visit was that although she can read a page that looks like this:

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her comprehension is stuck on pages that look like this:

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For anything more complicated than Corduroy, I have to sit with her, read with her, and stop her at the end of every page to ask comprehension questions. Which is soul-killing work, I’m telling you. If I harbored any lingering guilt for never feeling the slightest attraction to home schooling (which I don’t), this would have done away with it. This is not my charism.

And yet…after only doing it 3 times—over the course of a week, mind you—her assessment score went up, ummmm, 100 points.

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Yesterday I decided to take advantage of the hour we sit at piano lessons to catch Julianna up on her “church school” homework, which has been sitting in a growing pile on the table for weeks. Here’s a small slice:

“Telling our sins to the priest is called…what?”

Julianna: “I don’t know.”

Me: “God is willing to forgive us when we are truly sorry…never, sometimes, or always?”

Julianna: “Never.”

Me: “Um…Does God forgive us?”

Julianna: “No.”

Me: “Um…yes, sweetie, he does.” Pause to regroup.

Me: “When we pray an act of WHAT, we tell God we are sorry for our sins?”

Julianna, pointing triumphantly at the second of three options: “CONFESSION!”

Me: “No, honey. Contrition.”

Clear throat to regroup. Let’s try a different page. Oh, that one has pictures! There’s a lady at the ambo in one picture and a priest with a paten and a chalice in the other. This will be successful.

Me: “What do we call this part of the Mass? The liturgy of the…?”

Julianna: “Hours!”

Me: (befuddled that she even knows that term.)

All this has made me realize two things:

1. I have to sacrifice my time to work more with Julianna. But not just Julianna–the other kids, too. Most of my recent negativity was due to the stress of being overcommitted, but some of it was also because the kids are just ignoring the most basic lessons, spacing them out. Like “take your shoes off and put them int he cubbies when you walk inside.” Or “rinse your breakfast dishes and put them in the dishwasher.” I shouldn’t have to tell every person to do this at every single meal and every single house entrance—but apparently they’ve learned bad habits, and if I expect them to change, I’m going to have to grit my teeth and put some self-sacrifice into it.

2. I have to accept that Julianna’s understanding of the faith is probably going to be even farther behind her age than her reading and math skills…and it’s not the end of the world. Because she participates in the liturgy with gusto, and mystery can do its work even if she never in her life gets the finer points.

I’ve been puzzling for several weeks about what to “do” for Lent. I know I need to take time every day to “be still,” but I’ve also toyed with a Facebook fast and even a writing fast (fleetingly). In writing this post, I realize at last what my “alms” are to be this year: a gift of myself, to my children.

Things You Might Not Know About Me

1. I once played my flute on Circular Quay in Sydney, Australia. (See the opera house behind me?)

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2. I was once locked in a coffin. (It was for a play called “You Didn’t Say It Was Haunted.” That play was where I learned that an introvert can actually scream in front of a lot of people. It changed my life.)

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3. When I was a kid I used to jump off hay bales for fun.

4. I sing the national anthem several times a year. Most recently, I decided to ask the crowd to sing along, which led to this:

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5. The first time my parents and my parents-in-law met was at the Statue of Liberty. By accident.

6. I have learned perfect pitch. (Mostly I call it “imperfect pitch,” because once in a while I screw up.) I can hear colors in different keys.

7. I worked for two summers on the farm with my dad, and while I was doing hog chores I learned that if you sing Amazing Grace in a concrete hog facility, a) the acoustics are stunning and b) the hogs all shut up to listen. Hogs are much smarter than cattle.

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I know…not a hog in sight. Trust me, this is a better “farm” visual.

8. Speaking of cattle, I used to have to chase cattle when they broke through their fences. Most memorably the night before I started high school. Pink checkered nightgown and curlers in my hair. (Fortunately, there is no visual to go along with that one!)

9. I actually know from first-hand experience what the phrase “running around like a chicken with its head cut off” means. Although fortunately I was never the one called upon to separate said chicken from its head. Only its feathers from its body.

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10. I should have a tenth, but I’m coming up blank and I’m on magazine deadline, so this will have to do.

When you go visit the farm with boys…

…you just never quite know what you might discover in the driver’s seat of your van when you get ready to go home.

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Why yes, that is the skull of a hog. In pieces.

And a tooth:

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You’re welcome.

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Nicholas: Sous-Chef

[image error]Last Monday, I had a great plan for dinner. It was quite relaxing. It involved leftovers and a microwave. And bar cookies made from a box cake mix. (Totally not my normal modus operandi for cooking, but y’know.)

At 4:20, Nicholas arrived home from Chess Club and came into the kitchen. “Did you make the mousse?” he asked.

And suddenly I remembered: he had a book of French cooking, which included three recipes he wanted to make with me: ham and cheese crepes, macaroni and cheese with Béchamel, and chocolate mousse.

And the book was due back at the library the next morning.

So at 4:20 p.m., I launched into an entirely new, not-so-relaxing dinner plan, involving cleaning the beaters twice (because we had to beat egg yolks, then egg whites, then whipping cream); allowing crepe batter to rest in the refrigerator; and babysitting the stove while we cooked said crepes. All with the help of my sous-chef, Nicholas.

It was pretty intense, but worth it. It was a yummy meal, of course, but more than that, Nicholas is really invested in the process. He really likes to cook, and I’m trying to encourage that interest.

[image error]A couple of weeks ago, he wanted to make pancakes. I was doing something else intensive in the kitchen—I can’t even remember what, now—so I told him to do it on his own. I answered questions and gave instructions and explanations as necessary. It was the easy pancake recipe, not the fiddly “cloud cakes” that require beating egg whites and so on—but they turned out quite tasty, and he got a healthy shot of pride at cooking for the family all by himself.

He seems to be maturing nicely these days. We still have some strong-willed moments, but they’re getting fewer and farther between. We’ve reached a point where he can stop to think and process things instead of going into rational-mind-shut-down mode. Where we can give him instructions and it’s not a full-on war to get him to comply. He gets distracted easily, but that’s a different issue.

He still asks more questions than any child I have ever met—and they’re not easy questions. It takes brain work to go on a car ride with him, I’m telling you. It wears you out. He frequently asks the next question before you’ve finished answering the first, and it’s often the same question worded a different way, indicating either a break in communication or that he’s not really listening (more likely). I think he’s a Child-Without-filter. He says everything that comes into his head.

Occasionally I will invoke the “only three questions in this fifteen-minute block” rule. (When he gets on a question binge, it’s more like three questions in two minutes, and not ones that can be answered “yes” or “no”.)

He’s not the dreamer in the family—he’s the one who seems to want to hang around the adults and ask what they’re doing and learn about it. This applies across the spectrum—from church questions to home repair. It’s fun to see how wide-ranging his curiosity is, and I look forward to seeing where his interests lead him.