Growing Family

We're Not Racist in Holland

With bright, dusty India in the rear view mirror, we are settling in for a few weeks in lush, green and cool Holland. A greater contrast could hardly be contrived. 

We come to Holland as often as we can to visit my husband's family. They are a humorous, gracious, and strong bunch of individuals and have always welcomed us warmly. The annual "Family Weekend" we are here to attend is really an amazing testament to family affection and dedication. I love coming here. 

We were at a party, meeting new people. Inevitably, our globetrotting life becomes a topic of conversation. My husband has left Holland and never moved back. We left America and became Australian citizens and then returned to America again. It can require much explanation for curious listeners. One family member who knows us well volunteered "part of the attraction of Australia is that there is much less daily racism there, in comparison to America." The sympathetic listener shook her head. "It's so sad that America has such a race problem. We just don't have racism like that in Holland." When she received some push-back she conceded that some people from some backgrounds might have some racist views, but it is definitely not the norm. I listened to the conversation in Dutch, trying to parse the nuance, and decided not to jump in.

That evening I went to lie down with my boys, talking the day over, and settling towards sleep. Small Sun told me that during the party he had been playing with the other kids, and he was pretending to be Sinterklaas (like Santa Claus) when one girl insisted, "no, you're Zwarte Piet!" (Black Peter) Almost too perfect an illustration of unchecked stereotype I discovered that the little girl insisting my Black son could not be Sinterklaas, but only Zwarte Piet was the daughter of the mother who believes that there is no racism in Holland.

We had a gritty discussion about black face, the tradition of Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet, intent versus impact, the necessity to live amongst people from different backgrounds, and how unchecked stereotyping can blossom to full blown ignorance, which is a dangerous thing. Finch, who is seven, was hearing the history of black face for the first time. His heart hurt and he struggled. 

"So many white people in Holland insist that Zwarte Piet isn't meant to be a racist depiction, and it doesn't bother them at all. I believe that the most relevant voice to listen to, is the person being depicted, the Dutch people with dark skin. What do they think about Zwarte Piet?" I said.

"Yea.." Small Sun agreed. "It's like the people who need the power the most, don't have the power to say how it is for them." Too true, wise son, too true. 

Over breakfast the following morning I read this story in the paper. 

"The House of a Moroccan Woman is Vandalized"

"No Foreigners" has been painted on her windows. She has been experiencing this kind of racist vandalism in her home for years and is requesting a move to different housing. 

But no, there is no racism in Holland. Racism is lynching and burning crosses on lawns.

A climate of anti-foreigner couldn't qualify as racism. Ignoring the voice of the minority community standing against black face isn't racism. Allowing our children to only see people as stereotype isn't racism.

Is it?...???...

*I always engage these intercultural discussions with the admission that I can only see these things through MY lens. My knowledge of America's history of black face. My roots in a country that was built on the framework of slavery. I am willing to hear from other lenses, and I don't deny my own. 

Edible Jewels

When I was a girl, I would watch my mother sit down with two bowls, a knife, and a grapefruit. She would score the outer rind into four pieces, and after ripping off the thick skin, and separating the whole fruit into two halves with a tearing sound reserved just for the ripping of citrus, she would set to work with her knife, slipping the tip along the inner seam of each segment, releasing perfect crescents from their jackets.

It takes some time to do it right. It takes some time and love.

At a friend's house as a child, I was once offered a selection of fruit for a snack and I happily chose a grapefruit. Imagine my puzzled expression when my friend's mother set down a bowl with a grapefruit cut half-ways across the midsection, and a spoon to scoop the fruit. Imagine the mother's puzzled expression when I explained the painstaking labor of love that I was used to experiencing when receiving the gift of a grapefruit.

Today my daughter stayed home from school. After days of headaches, and nausea that neither settled in to stay, nor left her free from distraction, I decided rest was the best thing. Rest and grapefruit.

Each vesicle is a handsome jewel that you could fit in a splendid setting. Alone, they are pale, together they intensify in color and flavor.

Removing the segment from the skin, freeing the spine, but leaving the body intact, takes practice and cooperation from the fruit. Sometimes they will not separate without tearing each other in pieces.

In the end my daughter and I ate from one bowl, using our fingers. We held translucent jewels up to the light, admiring the color, and the sweetness. "Cheers" we sang out, toasting our segments together.

When I was a girl, I would watch my mother sit down with two bowls, a knife, and a grapefruit. Today, my daughter watched me do the same.

Finding You and Staying True

In our house we spend "special time" with our children. From time to time they ask "can I have a special time with you?" and that is the language we use for "I need you to listen to me and make me feel special". 

This week my eight year old Sprout was getting ready for bed when she asked "can I have a special time with you, mom?" 

"I'm becoming a completely different person" she told me with wide, sad eyes. "I am almost a completely different person than the person I was in Australia. None of my friends here like to pretend or use their imaginations."

I jumped on her bed and cuddled her close and started a story with her. We took turns telling chapters about a Rainbow girl in a rainbow kingdom where everything was amazing colors. That's the thing about my girl and I, we can flip on creative like a switch, and we're off and away. It's something we share, and something that's special between us.

Sprout's best friend in Australia was so imaginative, she lived half in a story, and half in reality. Together the two girls kept a fanciful world going, nearly all the time. Sprout, being an absolutely honest child, was incredibly hurt on a few occasions when she completely believed her best friend's stories, only to find that they weren't true! I loved her friend's imagination, and all the places they went together, in their playful dreaming.

Sprout has made friends here. She is well liked, and doesn't lack playmates. She even has some good friends that she really enjoys spending time with. There isn't, however, a friend who resonates with creativity, and imagination. Being a creative being myself, I feel my wonder slipping away as I age. Perhaps it is the gradual loss of my own dreaming that made my heart hurt for my daughter.

This space that we live in here doesn't value her imagination. Her school does not nurture her creativity. It does not resonate with her friends.

I hope she doesn't lose it. I hope I don't lose it. It is a valuable part of who we are, and something I love about myself and feel I am missing. I love seeing her lost in a world of her own creation, almost oblivious that anyone else is near.

Are you a creative person, or parenting a creative child? How do you make a space for whimsy?

A Hole in the Back Door

I don't know the details, no one really does at the moment, but we are hearing that there is a hostage situation happening in Sydney right now. From what we've heard, gunmen are holding people hostage in the Lindt chocolate cafe in Martin Place. Read the BBC account here.

My husband worked in Martin Place for years, and many of our friends still do. I'm texting with my bestie to confirm that her husband is okay. The Lindt cafe is one of my girlfriends' favorite spots to take their kids for a treat in the city.

As the dynamics surrounding Ferguson seethe and boil in America, Australia is always the "grass is greener", the escape hatch, the back door exit to freedom and a better life.

Here, every day another incident of police brutality against Black males is broadcast, another report about the widest income divide between Black and white households in years, statistics about biased discipline of Black girls in schools - the darker the skin, the harsher the punishment...shaky handheld videos of police shooting unarmed men and boys in real time, pictures of undercover police officers pointing their weapons on protesters, my feed chokes and gags on story after story of the wrongs suffered here. 

In all this, Australia has seemed a constant, a safety, an assurance.

After a hard day of parenting, a hard day of life, a day when I have struggled to find my balance, a day when I have wrestled with my young son over the injustice of Michael Brown's death, and the pain of the decision not to indict the officer who killed him, a day battling with fear, I am presented with this.

The city I love, a very dear friend in lock down in his office building, and a best friend waiting anxiously for her husband.

Lord, have mercy. 

 

What is Happening in America?

If I didn't have a Black son, I don't know how engaged I would be in America's current race debate. This is my confession. This is the privilege of a white person of means.

It is because I have a vested interest in how this country treats MY child that I am engaged.

I have been raised on "stand up for the oppressed" and "lay down your life for your brother" in very real ways. As a child I watched my parents live this again and again.

I'd like to think I would stand up anyway, even if I didn't have my son. I would like to think it is in my genes.

The truth is though, these days, it seems like the world is all tragedy all the time. I receive these emails about Christians in persecuted countries who are going to be executed, and could I please sign a petition... I feel sick as I click them closed. There are so many slain in so many uprisings. So many children dying of so many preventable diseases. So many raped and maimed and displaced, and I cannot see them all or fight for them, and so I turn away.

I am supposed to be like the Good Samaritan who sees and does something and sometimes I do, but sometimes I look away because I can.

My (Black) son is nine. I have never seen him followed in a store, because I keep him near me the whole time and I talk to him more loudly than required so that people know he's with me.

My son is nine. He has never interacted with a police officer. He has no idea that there might be cases where he is viewed as suspicious. 

He runs from yard to yard with his friends from the neighborhood (also Black). They have swords and nerf guns, and marshmallow bows, and whiffle balls tied to strings. They are nine and they play war all the time because that is the business of boys.

I introduce us to every neighbor I see. I wave at the Constable as he (and she, on the opposite shift) drive past. I sit outside while my children play. I am here, and these are mine, I am saying to the neighborhood.

I am thankful for an integrated school. I am thankful for a diverse group of friends. I am thankful for friends who "get it" and are raising their voices about what is happening in our nation.

I came here to provide a list of links to things I have found helpful in these last few weeks of non-indictments. I have mostly been sharing wise things other people are saying, feeling like I don't have anything to say myself.

I guess what I do have to say is if you're bothered by what is happening in our country, you don't need to be Black, or have a Black child or relative, to have a reason to speak up. You don't have to know everything, or be well spoken. Just say SOMETHING. Please, just join the conversation and say something. Just say, "I don't think police should shoot twelve year old boys playing with toy guns."

I know we are overwhelmed with the world's tragedies. I know we don't know where to start, or how to fix this. Saying "something is going wrong here" is a start.

Here are the best things I've come across these weeks. Please read and watch them.

Tim Wise wrote a brilliant piece about white America's blindness to matters of race. It is so very, very informative. If you need a starting point, start here.

Heather Johnson McCormick, white adoptive mother to twin boys from Haiti wrote Cute Little Black Boys Grow Up to be Black Men... which is just so painful and throbbing. Please don't look away. Read it.

Video Blogger Franchesca Ramsey explains how to be a a good ally. 

There's been so much fighting on the internet. Feuds on Facebook. Thanksgiving was a flame-war for some families. We often want to block and unfriend people who are vocalizing things we disagree with. Spectra says Dear White Allies: Stop Unfriending other White People Over Ferguson.

Lastly, we probably all saw that adorable picture of the cute Black boy hugging the cop in Ferguson. I think many of us white people loved that picture. It offered a moment of relief and healing. Here are some other perspectives to consider Complicating the Narrative

Do you want to talk about this? Do you want to ask questions? I'm here.

Thanksgiving Break

Sometimes I get so busy living life that I forget to write about it, and sometimes I'm so preoccupied with the way I want to capture and write about life that I don't engage as deeply as I want to.

Last week the kids were home from school for a good long week of Thanksgiving break. I'm not a hashtagger but I'm sure I should say something like #privateschoolpaymoregoless. I've always loved spending time with my kids, but now that they are all gone at school, I love that time with them more. This season is more enjoyable for a few reasons. First of all, they are getting more and more fun to hang out with. The ratio of I need you to do every single thing for me to I might reward you with "thanks" or a hug is evening out. They can pretty much do most things for themselves (I still drive the car most of the time), and are becoming more and more aware of others' feelings and needs (mine). Also, with them at school, I am getting the recharge of quiet, solitude, and "me time" that most mothers of young children forgo for several years. 

Sometimes I realize that I haven't made noise or spoken out loud from when they leave for school until I pick them up in the afternoon. For an organization loving introvert like me, having solitude to organize my linen cupboard and do something creative, and get dirty in my garden is just so wonderful.

Well, the week of home holiday was great and I'm going to bullet point the memorable things we did, because otherwise, I won't remember them next week.

-Playdate with new friends from church. No pictures to prove it but there was frog dissection, and bridge building with branches in a pond. As a side note, I have always avoided friendships with church leaders, and this family is one of the pastoral families at our church. As a kid, I saw the heavy demands on my parents' time as pastors, and I guess I want to steer clear of ever being that person who takes up pastors time...in this case Small Sun and the pastor's son are friends, and they asked us to hang out...so we did, and it was nice. It turns out we have about a zillion things in common.

-Playdate with friends at Houston Arboretum. 

The Arboretum has such a great indoors learning area for children. Right now there are leaf rubbing supplies, and some monarch butterflies in all stages of the life cycle, in addition to the other cool stuff they have like animal skulls with charts to id them, and animal pelts from animals that actually live in the Arboretum area.

-Time in the Garden

Small Sun started harvesting cabbage leaves to make pansy wraps with shiso or mint. Also, I had a tree removed to let me light in the back. The tree crew cut stumps for seats for our fire circle, and the kids immediately set up a painting area there while we watched the tree work.

-Thanksgiving

We stayed in Houston this year, and celebrated with some friends from church. We divied up the menu and each prepped half. Isn't is amazing how you can prepare for days, and cook for endless hours, and then the food gets devoured in moments? I don't even care. It was SO GOOD.

The kids playing "Chest" while the food was being prepped.

Sprout made the cider. It was delicious hot, and we had it again, chilled, the next day.

Our menu included a massive turkey (so thankful my girlfriend took that on, as it is a bit beyond my vegetarian meat cooking repertoire), Parker House rolls, Butternut Squash with tarragon and rice vinegar, Parsnips with lemon pepper oil, Cranberry sauce, Mashed Potatoes, Farmer's Market goat cheese with cranberry and orange, and a Spinach salad with home candied pecans, amongst other delicious goodies.

After our feast we took an amble along the bayou with our friends.

After our walk we came back for dessert: apple pie, pumpkin roll, and fresh whipped cream.

- Playdate at Herman Park

We met up with friends from last year's school class. Herman Park in the city has a variety of playgrounds, a Japanese garden, a lake with paddle boats, and a train that circles the park. I didn't take many pictures, but we had a great time.

- Buffalo Bayou Walk, Downtown Houston

- Rice University Observatory

A new friend of ours works in Astronomy (or Astrophysics?) at Rice University. He invited us to an open house at the observatory.

The kids loved seeing Rice University campus at night. Other than Small Sun's field trip last year, this is the first time the kids have been on a college campus. It was really special to walk there with them, and talk about their hopes and dreams and what they want to do when they grow up. 

From the observatory we saw the moon. It was SO COOL! We also saw a group of stars called "Double Double" and the Andromeda Galaxy.

- Getting the Tree and Christmas Decorations Begin

It was a great break. We all got the rest and recharge we needed. A break from homework, a break from schedules, a break from packing lunches, and hours upon hours of fresh air and exercise and time with friends. 

 

Over the HandleBars

Recently it became necessary to help one of my children course-correct, but when the guidence was offered, instead of taking it on board, they instead opted for melting down in an apocolyptic style end-of-everything freak out. 

Later, after the dust had settled and the ability to think clearly had been regained by all parties involved, I offered this wisdom:

"You know babe, think about what just happened like you were riding on a bike. I saw you were about to topple so I gave you a little 'check your balance' message. Instead of checking your balance, which would have kept you from falling, you pedaled faster, flipped your bike, went flying over the handlebars, and landed in a painful heap. A crash didn't need to happen. Next time let's just re-balance and not crash."

Tonight I had a moment of clarity where I realized that lately I have been living my life over the handlebars. I might have been able to redirect myself. I might have been able to regain my balance. I might have been able to avoid the crash. I don't know. I gained momentum in an unhealthy direction, and ended up flying over the handlebars.

Sometimes you don't realize it's happening until you're picking the gravel out of your scrapes. 

I'm telling myself what I would want my child to know. It's okay. Pick yourself up. Bandage your wounds. Get back on the bike, and next time, when you feel yourself start to wobble, slow down, take a break, refocus. You'll get to where you want to go eventually.

My New Life

We're back from Tennessee, school is in session, and our house is turning into something like a home. My little laptop smirks at me each time I walk by. As I browse Facebook and Pinterest and read blogs, my own blog tab wiggles its eyebrows at me tauntingly. I click it away.

This is the season my little ship has been pointed towards all these years. All three munchkins are in the same school for the same hours, leaving my days as my own. We are in our own house (again) that will be ours for several years (that's the plan, Stan), so I can paint the walls and plant the trees, and do all those things I love to do.

Yet getting here has felt more like a crash landing than an easy slide. I feel more like a cartoon character sitting in a pile of dust, shaking those stars around my head, than a polished woman who has accomplished her goals.

Life is full of challenges. We have our own family challenges that take our time and require intentional focus. The Captain is in a season at work where he is working long hours to meet a project deadline. He is also sick, and has been for some time, but he keeps right on working. Things still feel out of place and unfamiliar. We haven't yet found that comforting rythm in this house and this season. We haven't logged enough comfort hours here.

The world seems to be exploding in violence and terror, and I don't know what to do. Malaysia Airlines MH17, Israel and Gaza, Michael Brown and Ferguson, James Foley, ISIS and Iraq... How do we live in this world?

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Don't let evil conquer you, but conquer evil by doing good.

Romans 12:21

Last night we did what we do best. I pushed the kids outside, and sat on the steps to watch them play.

I soaked up my children's laughter, and their hilarious antics. I enjoyed the amusement of passers-by observing their abandon. I set life aside to live those moments. 

Let's not let fear win. Not in our own hearts and minds. Not in our relationships. Not in our communities. Not in our policies and laws. Not in our worldviews.

May your choices reflect your HOPES, not your fears.

Nelson Mandela

Let's hold on to the good!

 

Fledgling Finch

Lately Finch has been a real pill. He's gotten really mouthy, he doesn't want to do anything he's asked, he huffs around with crossed arms, and he yells "this is so hard!" as often as he can. The level of provocative cheekiness varies between cracking me up and wearing me thin.

Illustration A:

Recently Finch discovered that sticking one's tongue out is a way to communicate rudeness. After trying it on me and being informed that he was not able to do so without consequence, the next time he was angry at me he gaped his mouth open like a fish, not sticking his tongue out but still communicating his clear disdain for me. Cracked me up. Laughed out loud. Couldn't help myself.

Illustration B:

At my parent's house I was worn thin doing the solo mom thing. In effort to speed up and guarantee bedtime success, I promised the kids a reward if they could be in pjs, teeth cleaned, and in bed in ten minutes. Small Sun and Sprout were done in about four minutes. Finch rolled around on the floor, took his clothes off and refused to put anything else on, and in general made himself a nuisance. The older two were rewarded with a hand-full of cheap, plastic reptiles that they were delighted with. Finch, despite my repeated requests for compliance, passed the ten minute mark in the nude, with unbrushed teeth. Reward lost.

I'm sure my parents thought that I was downstairs beating the poor child, as he raised the roof with his hysterical, snot slinging, breathe stealing, tiny fist pumping tantrum "I want a frog!" A tiny plastic frog. I rode out the storm with him until he was calm and hiccuping his way towards sleep, assured that tomorrow he would have another chance to earn a frog, by brushing his teeth and putting his pjs on in ten minutes, when asked. No laughing that night. He nearly wore me out.

Today I relayed the day's challenges to The Captain, and it dawned on me...I've been through this before!

Wind the clock back to when Small Sun was finishing up preschool. "What is wrong with my child?" I wondered. I felt guilty to admit it, but I was kind of looking forward to sending him off to school just to have a break from the little strong man routine. 

School starts in a week and a half. Yesterday I wasn't sure if Finch was ready. Today I'm pretty sure! I might sign him up for an activity too. This little fledgling might need his first push out of the nest.

 

The Strength of Me

I am 33. I have birthed two children. I have been eating a grand amount of cheese.

This morning I was finishing up my shower and my seven year old daughter came into the bathroom.

"You're beautiful" she sighed, looking at me with stars in her eyes.

"Yes, I am!" The wonder in my voice matches the wonder in hers.

"I've got this great body that is so strong, and can do so many things, and God made it really beautiful too. How great is that?"

I see all these women rallying in effort to not pass their body hatred onto their daughters. I see commercials and add campaigns encouraging us to change our negative view of the female gender to one of strength and intelligence.

I hear women say that they pretend to like themselves so that their daughters won't take on the same insecurities they carry throughout life. 

How about we just like ourselves?

"I'm the one who stretched your belly out, and made it wrinkly", Sprout says, shyly.

"Yes, you and Finch both took a turn, and that's okay. The skin is kind of stretched out but my body is strong and does a really good job doing what it needs to do."

"Did it hurt your belly to get stretched out? Did it hurt you when I kicked you?"

"My belly is fine. It can digest food just great, and that's its job. The uterus gets stretched out too, but mine is strong and healthy and the uterus' job is to take care of babies. No, it didn't hurt when you kicked, having a baby inside is one of the most exciting, amazing things that ever happened in my whole life."

My daughter sits beside me on the bed, watching me put on makeup. My face is beautiful without makeup, and makeup is fun dress up for grown-ups. That's what I say, and it's true. Today I dusted gold shimmer over her eyelids and let her spray perfume on the back of her neck and mine.

She runs her hand over my beautiful clothes, and admires most everything about me.

We stand side by side at the edge of the pool and dive together, strong, and confident.

I am not being strong for her. I am strong.

I am not being beautiful for her. I am lovely.

I am not clever for her, it's just that I've got this great brain.

Yet the wonder of me becomes a gift for my daughter, and my sons.