Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 20

Rudolph the Cyclops Reindeer (FF4)

Alex, upon getting into the car at school pickup, holds up this little “found thing”…

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“Rudolph the Cyclops reindeer had a very evil eye

And if you ever saw it, you would probably-y DIE.”

Two days later, Nicholas and Michael are playing Star Wars: Battlefront:

Nicholas: “Yeah! I’m doing great. You’re just sad. Sad, sad, sad. You only have four points.That’s just sad.”

Michael: “And I’m still happy.”[image error]

 

 

I’ve Forgotten How To Be Still

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Photo by YasmingLP, via Flickr

When I was in the sixth grade, I wore soft contacts that I had to stick in this boiler thingamabob every night. And every night I would open the lid and unscrew the contact case to make sure my contacts were still in there. Not just once. Again and again, until the case got to hot to handle. Because you know, it was possible that I bumped the case when I opened it the last time, and the contact fell out.

I was thinking about this Monday night as I was speeding down the highway to spend three days at a gathering of liturgical composers. Because I was also thinking, What have I forgotten to account for in my plans for the family while I’m gone? Wait—I didn’t doublecheck to make sure I stuck my computer and my suitcase in the trunk. What if I get to St. Louis and I have no clothes? Even though I knew I had loaded both much earlier in the day so as to ease the stress of departure time.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m a control freak or if this is one of the many sneaky ways anxiety tries to re-insert its soul-killing presence into my world.

(I’m sure the answer is: “Yes.”)

But truthfully, it got me thinking two things: first, that my neuroses have been with me much longer than I ever realized; and two, that I’ve forgotten how to “be still.” I still pay lip service to the idea, but it’s been months since I just went out into nature to sit, with no computer, with no agenda other than to exist and quiet my mind.

And my mental and spiritual health is suffering for it.

I could expound upon this subject at length but even I think it’s a tedious subject. Still, that memory of a young girl turning the light back on three or four or five times in quick succession, because irrational fear had her in an unbreakable grip, is a sobering reminder of how important it is for me to put the brakes on and regroup. To get back to my spiritual center, and quit gnashing my teeth at losing productive time to do it. Everything in the writing business is glacially slow, anyway. What do I gain by pushing so hard? Nothing at all.

I’m typing this post late on Tuesday night, hoping a brain dump will help me get to sleep. We had a break over the lunch hour today, and although my heart was longing to do battle with a novel title and either set of revisions suggested to me right before I left home, I knew I was being called to something simpler. I went outside and sat on a park bench beneath a cell tower disguised as an improbably tall pine tree, and I tried to shut my brain down by focusing on the whisper of the wind in the real pine tree and the blessed brightness of the watery sunshine. And then I took a walk through the Stations of the Cross here at the Mercy Center before coming back inside.

It was hard work. But I was better when I came back in. Not perfect. But better. This is my week: not a time to squeeze an hour of novel writing into the only break in the day—but a time to step back and truly retreat from the world—while I’ve done the weeks’ upon weeks’ worth of work to make my absence possible for my family.

Pray for me, these next two days, would you please?

What I Did This Weekend

I’ve been a figure skating fan since I was 9 years old. I wanted to be a skater more than anything, but it took me a while to realize you could never become a skater if you didn’t, y’know. Take lessons. So I settled into my role as a fan pretty early.

In adulthood, though, I haven’t been able to keep up very well. Too busy. But a year ago, when I heard that the US Figure Skating Championships were coming to Kansas City, I put many notes on my calendar to check ticket prices. It paid off. I didn’t forget. This weekend, I took my other big figure skating fans–Julianna and Nicholas–for an adventure I’ve been waiting for decades to pursue.

We left early so we could meet up with my sister for pizza in downtown Kansas City.

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Afterward, we made it to the Sprint Center, where we discovered the ice dancers Elicia & Stephen Reynolds, in their “Tron Legacy” costumes, signing autographs after their performance in an earlier group.

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We made it to our seats and asked the people behind us to take a picture, but here we really confront for the first time (though not the last) the sad reality that we weren’t allowed to bring our DSLR (I can only guess why), and the only other camera I own is a 2002 Olympus model. So don’t get your hopes up for fabulous pictures, but still…here’s proof that we were there:

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Click to view slideshow.

Pairs Gold medalists Denney & Frasier:

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In the “kiss & cry,” which was sharply to the right and just below us. I couldn’t stop taking (bad) (blurry) (underexposed) pictures of all the cameras in people’s faces, waiting to see their reactions. Brutal, I’m telling you. But in this case, they’d just won, so not so brutal.

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The coolest part, of course, is always the Zamboni. Or in this case, two of them. Nicholas wandered down to the very bottom step to watch them come out from directly below us.

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Ice dance silver medalists Chock & Bates:

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The siblings Shibutani skating to ice dancing gold:

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…and approaching the podium afterward.

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The hard-core fans had already left to get dinner in preparation for a marathon of men’s short programs, but we didn’t have tickets for that session, so we stole down to some abandoned seats in the the foot of the stands to get closer to the medal ceremony. Albeit from behind.

 

Ice Dance podium:

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Pairs champions Denney & Frasier approaching the podium:

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And all the pairs milling around and *not* leaving the ice afterward. The announcer had to jokingly scold them off the ice. It was pretty funny.

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And really fun to be there in person.

Ice skating gets quite a rap for being an artsy, spangly, diva-esque sport, and somehow you’d think the fans would follow suit. Especially since so many of the attendees were clearly involved in skating or had one time been. But this was the coolest audience I’ve ever experienced. The culture is really supportive. The arena went completely silent at the beginning of every single skater’s routine, and when someone fell down (which was often) there were groans of sympathy, and the instant they got back on their feet and went on, there was warm applause. I got all choked up about it. And about being there.

It was especially fun to see the skaters in the warmup area and in the times when the cameras were not on them. You get accustomed to the screen being a barrier between people, and being there in person I was really reminded that we’re all just people.

So that was my Saturday, and one item crossed off the bucket list. (But I think a few more just got added because of it!)

 

A Message for Young Moms From Someone with A Little More Experience

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Photo by happyworker, via Flickr

The day school let out for Christmas, I walked seven kids, ages 5 to 11, about a mile from school to the mall, across nine lanes of traffic on one of the busiest roads in town, so we could ring the Salvation Army bell at JCPenney.

And I wasn’t nervous about it.

I knew it already, but I realized anew, as we made that trek, that I’ve passed a milestone. I am officially an experienced mom.

I cried when Christian went back to work after Alex was born. The idea of being solely responsible for this tiny baby all day long had me overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by love for this beautiful child, but also panicked—how in the world would I structure these ten-hour days?

I was spared all that when Julianna was born because we were instantly launched into crisis mode: coming to terms with a less glamorous vision of parenthood, figuring out all the extra paperwork required to get a child with a disability the services she needed, and trying to keep it together so I wouldn’t flip out and traumatize my toddler.

And then, of course, she almost died at six weeks old, so….yeah. Crisis mode. (One of my most profound memories of that time is leaving to grocery shop while Julianna was in the PICU, and Alex, not quite two years old, thinking I’d forgotten her, and pointing at the empty car seat saying, “Beebee! Beebee!”)

But I do remember that going anywhere in those early years was a huge production, and I always planned a recovery day afterward.

Practicing natural family planning during that time involved a lot of calling my NFP guru, saying, “I know I’m an NFP teacher myself but I’m still freaking out!”

I remember crying to my OB about my anxieties about marriage, parenting, NFP and cycles, and the soft, gentle wisdom he offered.

I guess it was two years ago now that I went to that same doctor for my yearly appointment and said, “Yeah, I can see my cycles changing, and I know which months my body’s ovulating for real and when it’s just playing pretend.” I remember him smiling and saying something about experienced mothers.

That was the first time anyone said that to me.

Experienced moms tend to say to new(ish) moms, “Just you wait! It’s all going to get SOOOOO much harder!” Or: “Enjoy this! You’re gonna miss this!”

I always hated that. I mean, someone’s struggling, and they need support, not being told their struggles don’t count.

New(ish) moms, if I ever say such a thing to you, please do me a favor and punch me in the face.

The challenges I’m facing now have much more far-reaching implications. I’m not growing small children anymore, I’m growing adults who need to have the moral judgment and the self-mastery to be, yanno, good human beings. All those things were true in small childhood, too, but the more advanced lessons require proportionally larger brainpower, plus it’s always clear how little control you have—you’re trying to outsmart your kid into making the right decisions, rather than just being able to say, “It shall be as I say it shall be.” You hurt for your kids in a new way; boo boo kisses don’t cut it anymore, and you really can’t prevent or ease the inevitable heartbreaks and screwups.

So it’s tempting to look back at early childhood and only see the simplicity of the tasks–feeding, clothing and napping–and filter out just how intense that simplicity is, how much it demands of you physically. Between pregnancy, breastfeeding, and comforting night wakers, my body didn’t belong to me for eight years. I functioned on 5-6 (interrupted) hours of sleep and sometimes a catnap. For eight years.

I haven’t had a real meltdown in a very long time–because now I get to send my kids to bed before I go to bed and they stay there until after I get up the next morning. Because my hormones are on a normal cycle now. Three of my kids can read to themselves. A different three can build their own LEGO creations. They can play outside together without me having to have eyes on them every moment. I don’t have to type one-handed or hold a child on one hip while I’m cooking. They can help with the house cleaning and the dinner chores. (They’re bad at it, but in a pinch—and we’re always in a pinch—it’ll do.)

So my message for younger mothers is this: the days are coming. It will get better, it will get easier, and richer. The investments you’re making now, in trust between you and your children, are going to pay off. You’ll feel better—physically, emotionally. It’s coming, I promise. And yes, there’s a tradeoff: the challenges aren’t going to disappear, they’re just going to shift. But the things that make you feel stretched to the limit right now are going to pass away.

Have hope.

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Photo by ĐāżŦ {mostly absent}, via Flickr

 

Maybe I Don’t Actually Want To Be Color Blind

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Image via Pixabay

We went to see “Hidden Figures” last night. Aside from it being a really, really good movie, it underscored something that’s been on my mind a lot the last couple of years. There’s an exchange between Vivian Mitchell, played by Kirsten Dunst, and Dorothy Vaughan, played by Octavia Spencer. Mitchell says something like, “Despite what you may think, I don’t have anything against you people.” (Wince-worthy words.) And Dorothy replies, “I know you believe that.”

I grew up being told repeatedly and vehemently that God created all people equal—that race doesn’t matter. But we had hardly any ethnic diversity in my rural Catholic school, and I lived 4 miles outside of town, 1/4 mile from my nearest neighbor. When an analytical child is told things in the abstract but never given an opportunity to put them into practice, what actually happens is she develops a complex about them.

I’ve been wrestling with this my whole life, but in the past couple of years—probably because the national conversation about race hit so close to home—I’ve been finding myself awakened in appreciation for not just black culture but all cultures—and simultaneously challenged to confront the reality that I am not color blind. And oh, how I wish I were.

I want so badly to break down the walls that I know exist in my world. I love the fact that Julianna’s classroom is at least half minority. I love that. I love the fact that even our Catholic school is not as whitewashed as what I grew up with. I love that we have priests coming in every year from all over the world to study at the university—and occasionally sticking around. We’ve had a couple of these wonderful men over for dinner, and although I’m sure most of what they shared went in my kids’ right ears and out the left, I’m hoping the exposure will sensitize them, make them more interested in learning about cultures other than their own, once they get old enough to be interested in things beyond superheroes and video games.

And yet I see gaps between races in my little world, and all too often, I’m terrified of stepping across them. I’m afraid that making a concerted effort is just a subtler form of racism. I want to get to know people for who they are–beautiful human beings—independent of skin color.

I’ve debated writing this post for so long. I’ve always told myself no, out of fear of offending people I respect and care about. Then, too, I think a lot of us—white, privileged, and barely aware of the way our race and privilege have shaped our vision of the world—spend a lot of time in fear of being seen as racist. Enough to paralyze any real effort to change.

I want to be color blind, and yet it seems to me that if I really were, I’d miss out on so much richness. Why shouldn’t we acknowledge how cool other cultures are? I’m not just talking about international cultures. I’m talking about people born and raised for generations right here in the U.S. If my husband and I can see clear cultural traits that distinguish his upstate Italian-American heritage from my Midwestern German one, how much other richness are we erasing by lumping minority cultures together—as if there’s only one “African American” culture, or one “Latino” or “Asian American” culture? I’m so curious about them all. Why was social studies so paralyzingly boring in school, when there’s clearly such a fascinating world waiting to be appreciated and enjoyed within it?

My whole life, we’ve been trying to eradicate racism by trying to convince ourselves that people are all the same. But what if we’re going about it backwards?

Maybe I don’t want to be color blind, after all. Maybe what I’m looking for can only be achieved by embracing color and culture, and honoring it as worthy and beautiful. Maybe the key to eradicating racism isn’t pretending we’re all the same, but celebrating the things that make us unique.

Kylo Ren Presents the Screaming Flying Monkey (FF3)

To start off the expected Armageddon of ice in mid-Missouri, I give you:

Kylo Ren Presents The Screaming Flying Monkey

Starring this guy….

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…who, in addition to bearing the moniker “Mayhem,” also consistently has the best head gear, to wit:

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He actually wore this hat to school last week, which reduced his preschool teacher to goo. Incidentally, this hat was bought for Julianna to wear for Easter when she was about three years old, but how many times do you think she’s worn it? If you guessed zero, you would be correct. Her brothers, however, have made great use of it.

But I digress. Here we are: Kylo Ren presents the Screaming Flying Monkey.

Definitely the most memorable Christmas gift of the year. Thanks, Grandma & Grandpa S.

Negative Nelly Tries To Turn A New Leaf

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Photo by  N@ancyN@nce, via Flickr

 

It’s one of those days when you don’t feel all that hot and from the time you wake up, the entire world seems to get on your nerves. You’re getting the kids ready for school and there’s the note in a kid’s backpack that starts with the passive aggressive phrase “Just a friendly reminder…” and then you can’t find that same child’s jacket because she just throws things wherever (of course, they all do that), and the sound of the radio and TV announcers on the news feels like nails on a chalkboard, and Instagram is being snooty and telling you they’re not willing to fix the problem you didn’t cause, you just have to deal with it, and  you hold back from responding to so-and-so because your word for the year is “cheerful” and…

And there you stop, because you shouldn’t even have let the whole tirade get this far.

I sometimes refer to myself as an emotional exhibitionist. I pretty much put it all out there, both good and bad. But more bad than good, I’m afraid, because I’m also prone to being what Christian calls, with blistering accuracy, the “brooding artist.” Which basically means looking for things to go wrong. It’s a lot easier to find things to gripe about than it is to look at all the good in the background.

Last year, I read “Come Be My Light,” about Mother Teresa. I didn’t realize until just now that I never blogged about it, although I did write a Liguorian column on the topic. The thing that struck me most about that book came very early-on, where Mother Teresa observed that those who exude the most joy and love often are covering profound suffering. Almost, I thought, as if there is something about the choice not to dwell on suffering that frees up all that joy and love.

I knew right then I’d found my central theme for 2017, because the truth is, I don’t really suffer but I often act like I do. My irritations, though legion, are really rather petty. And I don’t want to be a Negative Nelly. I want to be like Mother Teresa. I want to be someone whose presence exudes calm and joy, not frenetic frazzlement. (Don’t you love coining words?)

I didn’t intend to blog about this at all, because I felt like even talking about it would undermine the whole point. But I started and abandoned two blog posts in the last twenty-four hours, because they were both turning into whine-fests, and when my family walked out the door this morning and I tried to start working on a novel synopsis and couldn’t concentrate, I just clicked open a window and started venting, and here we are.

I did say I was going to be more off-the-cuff.

So now you all know, and you can hold me accountable. Because I think this commitment to cheerfulness may turn out to be the hardest spiritual task I’ve ever set myself.

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Image from Symphony of Love, via Flickr

 

How To Make A Snow Day, According to Kindergarten and Second Grade

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Photo by kylesteed, via Flickr

“Mrs. Basi!” yells Kindergarten Carpool child, upon leaping into the van after school. “Do you want to have a SNOW DAY tomorrow???!!!!”

“No, I do not,” I reply.

Undeterred, he shouts, “You have to put an ICE CUBE in the TOILET and let it melt! And then you flush it!”

“Uh….okay.”

Nicholas leaps into the van, spread-eagled with enthusiasm. “Mom, mom, you know how to make a snow day??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Nope, how?”

“You put your TOOTHBRUSH under your PILLOW!”

“No, you don’t, you put your SPOON under your pillow!” shouts Kindergarten Carpool.

“My teacher told me TOOTHBRUSH!” yells Nicholas.

“Well, the REAL way is a SPOON. And you know what else? You put an ice cube in the toilet and wait for it to melt! And then you flush it. But if you don’t flush it, your toilet will overflow!”

“So if we want a BIG snow day, we should dump our whole BUCKET of ice from the freezer in the toilet!”Nicholas is problem-solving hard now. “Mom, can we put our whole bucket in? We can always make more!”

Methinks the elementary teachers are having fun with the kidlets.

Friday Funnies, 2nd ed.

CAPTION CONTEST!
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I don’t know what this is. But it’s hysterical.

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For three days, I forgot to pay the monthly rental for Alex’s horn. I told him to stick his horn case on the computer chair so I wouldn’t forget again. He did this, too. Oh, wait, do you need a closeup?

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I don’t know what this is, either. Is there something wired wrong in there, I wonder?

I don’t get it.

Exhibit A:[image error]

Um….what’s the point? These erasers are too small to be of any use.

Exhibit B:

(the note enclosed with a couple of the mugs we received for Christmas)

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Um…..okay?