Kiss Your Brain Thought of the Day

Katie and I, and Will if he's not at work, enjoy our walk to and from her school each day. There are many fun and odd things to look at in our old (by American standards) Fifties-era suburban neighborhood. There's a hole in a tree that reminds me of Scout and Jem and Dill's hole. (Insert 12 year old giggle.) No, not that kind of dillhole. I'm referring to the one in the best book of all time, To Kill a Mockingbird.

Katie's a little nervous as we walk by it because she's convinced herself a grumpy owl lives in it despite the fact that we've never seen an owl in there. She told me one morning she doesn't like that grumpy owl because, "Owl's are nocturnal and so if we wake him during the day he'll be grumpy at us."

I knew where she was going with this thought. "You mean like the grumpy owl in 'Bambi'?"

"Yes." Katie whispered, looking back toward the tree. "But, Mama, how come the owl in 'The Fox and the Hound' is awake during the day but she's not grumpy?"

"We'll, maybe she's not a night owl but an early bird. Or maybe she's just in general a nicer owl than the one in 'Bambi'. I'm sure, like people, not all owls are alike." Much of parenting I've learned involves pulling answers to absurdly wonderful questions out of your ass.

As we walk farther down the sidewalk we check each day to see if any new mushrooms have appeared and which ones have disappeared from a neighbor's yard. Either they're at work and unaware or they secretly watch through the window and giggle at this little kid tip-toeing through their yard scouting for mushrooms. I've never seen them, but I hope these neighbors are gigglers.

There are many barking dogs to say hello to. Squirrels to laugh at. Tree limbs to jump over. Smiling old people out for their morning constitutional. Sky above us that changes every day. Funny fat trees with skinny leaves. One old tree, its roots taking up about half the yard, has such a wide trunk it's had to have been here since before the area was developed. I explained to Katie that the wider the tree, the older it is. She looked at my behind and smiled.

This morning as we approached her school, we noticed they had planted some new trees. "Teenager trees," Katie decided. They're skinny and tall and have to be held up by poles so they don't snap in a strong wind.

Before we got to the teenager trees, though, we passed the turtle. The one Katie likes to point out every day is the one I thought was real. Since we approached it the first time and discovered it's made of ceramic, Katie has not let me live this blunder down. Then I have to explain to her that the reason I thought it was a real turtle and not yard art is because turtles are so slow you can hardly see them moving, which in my mind explained why this immobile turtle was on top of our neighbor's tree stump.

We were still talking about the turtle statue as we walked by the teenager trees when Katie asked me why turtles move so slowly.

I hadn't had my coffee and the owl question had evidently pulled all my creative answers from my ass, so I said, "I don't know."

Without hesitation, Katie said, "Maybe they move slow because their shell is so heavy?"

Why of course. Kiss your brain! As her kindergarten teacher says.

So I kissed my Katie and watched as she walked through the doors to her school, worried yet hopeful that her public education, with its state and federal budget cuts, rules and focus on conformity, will not stiffle her thoughts but instead will broaden her brain so she can one day be as wise as that wide old tree.

Kindergarten Homework

Katie came home today with a purple folder in her backpack. On the inside left pocket someone wrote "look" with two eyeballs for o's. That side is for notes from the teacher, Katie explained.

On the right side pocket someone wrote "Home". That side had a cut-out school bus, but it was missing a wheel. I stuck my hand in further and found a card with instructions to color and cut out the second wheel and paste it on the bus.

I looked at Katie in amazement and said, "Is this homework?!"

She beamed, twirled on one sock-covered foot, lept over the floor pillow she uses as part of her indoor obstacle course and said, "Yes!" As if I had asked her if it was a birthday cake. Only a freshly bloomed kindergartener would feel so thrilled to get homework.

I didn't get homework in kindergarten. I got thrown up on in circle time by the boy sitting next to me. That was memorable. And I remember accidentally voting for Ford instead of Carter in the 1976 Presidental faux-election at our school. I was so mad when I got home and told my mom, "I voted for Ford!" thinking she'd be proud.

"Oh. I voted for Carter." She said it softly, as if she knew what she was saying would disappoint me. "It's your dad who was going to vote for Ford."

I was so mad at myself! How could I have voted for the one my DAD likes? Ugh. For some reason I had the name Ford stuck in my head and I got mixed up and ruined my first ever pretend civic duty.

I made many mistakes in kindergarten, I'm sure, but they all took place within the confines of the building. I never had homework. Ever.

I swear I don't remember ever getting homework until third grade, and even then I forgot to do it. I came stumbling down the hallway into the living room where my mom was watching "The Tonight Show".

"I forgot. I have homework!" I handed a piece of paper with math questions on it to my mom. She looked through her reading glasses at the paper, up and down like she was inspecting a tax form. Then she looked at the clock, then the TV.

"Here. I'll do it for you. Go back to bed."

I remember not feeling like "Yay, I got out of doing my homework" but "Yay, I have such a nice mom. Now I won't get in trouble at school tomorrow." I knew there was no way my sleepy head could figure out those figures.

Forgetting to do my homework became a recurring theme by high school. I ended up with a 3.4 GPA only because I oddly enjoy taking tests. Ask me what I learned and I'll tell you but don't make me do all that bullshit busywork.

But I couldn't stop smiling today when I saw Katie's first ever homework assignment. And I was so disappointed I didn't get to help her with it. I had to work, and she was in bed by the time I got home, so Will was the lucky one who got to help our girl with this milestone.

I couldn't have cared less about my own homework when I was in school, but now that my baby's getting it, I'm all excited to help her with it. And sometimes fudge and do it for her when she forgets so she can go back to bed, because that's what understanding mamas do.

The Man with the Cane and the Three Legged Dog

I was taking a walk during my break at work. People used to go into the breakroom to rest their tired feet back in the days when most American didn't sit on their asses at work. Now we take quick walks to wake ourselves and warm ourselves up since remaining immobile for four hours can give you a chill.

As I was break-walking, I saw a regular library patron heading my way. He walks with a cane. And this time, he was also walking with a dog. And not just a dog. A three legged dog.

So this man with a cane and this dog without a leg approach me, man smiling wide, dog panting and hitting the man in his bum leg as he rapidly wagged his tail. I wondered if the man could feel the thumps or not.

My point is, they were both so happy to be out for a walk. We stopped and chatted a bit. I got to pet the dog and talk to it like a crazy person talks to babies and other adorable helpless beings.

After my walk, I went back to my desk and wrote myself this note:

"When you think you're too tired to go for a walk, think about the man with a cane and the three legged dog."

Virgin Housewife Tip: Tea Bag Wrappers Make Good Bug Smushers

Since I went part time at the library, Will and I have been trying to live more frugally. I've been making iced tea at home for Will instead of his buying one of those fancy schmancy bottled teas they sell at his work. It's way cheaper, and he claims he likes it.

But it leaves me with an abundance of those little tea bag wrappers. I had been recycling them until I came up with an even better way to use them. Bug smushers. Just keep a pile of them on your countertop and whenever you catch a freaking g*da*mn sneaky little m*therf*cking tiny ant, despite having just spent three hours, yes THREE HOURS, cleaning the kitchen and very precisely spraying ant spray around the baseboards of the window crack where they were hitching a ride to the other side, smush it with the tea bag wrapper and dispose of it in the trash. Voila!

So yes. Try it at home. Kill those pesky critters, then sit down and relax with a refreshing glass of homemade iced tea.

Cute Katie Quotes: Cantaloupe Anteloupe, Blue Popsicles, And Politeness with Letters and Numbers

On our recent trip to the zoo, Katie pointed towards the antelope and asked me what they're called. I told her, she said nothing, and that was that.

We sat on a shady bench and watched them for awhile, cooling ourselves with a rest. As we got up to go to the next sighting, Katie waved to the antelope and called out, "Bye! Sorry we called you cantaloupe!"

It reminded me of when, around age two, she went through this phase of finding objects around the house and sticking them in the refrigerator. One day she opened the fridge to get her cup of milk. Inside there was one of those letter/number magnets kids like to drop onto the floor for you to step on, put in their mouth, and evidently hide in the fridge. As her hand passed the magnet to reach her cup, she said, "Excuse me L." She paused, picked up the magnet, flipped it over and said, "Oh, excuse me 7."

Ok one more. This one's my favorite. She was just a month shy of four years old: "I like the blue popsicles. They taste like the sky."

I'm Hanging up My Hangups about Who Does The Housework

I'm getting more adept with a broom. Not a witchy broom. A sweeping broom. I was never even one of those goth girls in high school who stole library books about Wicca. I have always had a very low tolerance for religious things that have anything to do with the paranormal or spiritual world. It freaks me out to think of ghosts and spirits and the unknown. Could have something to do with my seeing "The Exorcist" at the theater when I was three. I HATE scary movies.

But what I was saying is that my sweeping skills have improved. I mean, there's still going to be clumps of pet hair found at inopportune moments, but I've gotten into the habit of daily sweeping. I know. Sweeping has come over me.

It's funny to discover you're good at something at an older age. I always portrayed myself as someone who doesn't do much housework. And I doubt I will ever keep a house as clean as say, my sister who runs a professional cleaning business. But the more I use a broom, the more confident I am with it in my hand. I like to feel good about my work whether it's teaching Katie a moral lesson, helping a patron find information on how to get a job, or sweeping my floors. It's all important, and when I thought otherwise it was just an excuse to ignore it because I thought I wasn't good at it.

A lot of my issues with keeping our house clean have to do with my not wanting to appear submissive to my husband. My husband and I are equals. He's better at me in many areas, especially anything about mechanical things or physics or astronomy. I'm better at him at sitting on my ass blogging, playing hopscotch with our kid, and paying thousands of dollars to rescue dying foster dogs.

So for a long time I felt that if I did more housework than Will somehow that made me appear like I was in the stereotypical "housewife" role. I must have subconsciously thought that housespouses didn't have as much power in a relationship as the breadwinner. But now that I'm experiencing more of the role of keeping house, since I went part time at my library job a month ago, I understand just how hard it is. It's physically tiring, cognitively numbing, and exceptionally Sisyphean.

But I like philosophy, so pushing boulders up a hill over and over again, or in my case sweeping pet hair off the floor daily, isn't so bad. It gives me a chance to clear my head for interesting thoughts so I can go sit on my ass and blog about them.

A Good Kind of Tired

I like the feeling of sore underused muscles after accomplishing a physical project. I'm sweaty. I'm gross. But I stand there with my hands on my hips and admire my work. Occasionally. I should mention that. I've lived in our house for nearly six years and I've been meaning to retile the closet in the guest room, the room formerly known as the cat room, for years now.

A litter box sat there for nearly six years. Used by two cat for two of those years. I scooped it. I cleaned it our periodically. But still. Six years is a lot of cat pee.

But I finally did it. I pried and chipped off all the old tile and enzymed the hell out of the floor and walls. I'm sure it will be probably weeks before I can get it odor free, and I'll have to paint the floor with Kilz, but man, I feel great for feeling so tired.

Our Bathroom Nearly Competes with the one in "Trainspotting"

Will likes to say he's attracted to my brain and my booty. I'm so glad he's not one of those spouses who are attracted to a clean house. Our house looks like a dump. There's cinnamon dumped all over the windowsill in the kitchen in an holistic way to keep out those pesky ants. I'm trying to get the guest room to not smell like cat pee. And our bathroom nearly competes with the one in "Trainspotting".

Five Year Old Philosopher

It's always in the car it seems. These philosophical questions. I think she secretly plays a game called "Stump Mother."

"Mother, why do babies need more sleep than toddlers and toddlers need more sleep than little kids and little kids need more sleep than grownups?"

"It's all part of the life cycle. And when grownups get really old, like Great Grandma, they kinda need someone to care for them like they did when they were a baby, you know what I mean?"

She paused and asked, "What does 'mean' mean?"

I didn't get it at first. "It means you're not acting nice."

Katie whined in frustration, "Nooooo! MEAN, like when you said, 'You know what I mean."

Dang, kid. Now you want the meaning of the word mean?

What Do You Think of a War Tax?

I'm not sure what I think of Leahy's idea of bringing back the war tax because I don't know much about it. It sounds like a logical fix to our country's broken piggie bank. If a president is going to invade two, possibly more countries, depending on how you define war, then someone ought to point out that it's very expensive to kill people on the other side of the world and we might need to raise some revenue to pay for it instead of basically using a credit card to pay for it and letting the next president break the news to taxpayers that the bill is past due.

It's especially annoying that President Bush authorized our nation to invaded nations of people who had nothing to do with the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Al-Qaeda is not a nation. It's a multi-national organization whose mission statement appears to be to hate Westerners. So why not spend less money focusing on capturing the actual people who are plotting to kill us and dump the old military mindset that countries fight countries. We're fighting lunatics, not countries. See: even Wikipedia knows this.

People say, "Cut welfare!" No way. We need social programs. We need affordable education, healthcare and housing if we want our citizens to be strong. I don't want to live in a country with a bunch of uneducated, unhealthy, homeless people. I want to live in a country that lifts up the children of irresponsible parents. Pulling them out of the cycle of poverty and crime and violence and self-destruction and whatever obstacles those kids face so they don't repeat their parent's mistakes.

So I gladly pay my taxes to support other people's children's education, healthcare, food and housing. I want them to have a good chance in this life. I don't want Katie to have to live in world with a bunch of ignorant, sick assholes. Plus, we simply can do better to those in need, the least of these amongst us, to paraphrase that radical cat Jesus.

I don't mean to bring Jesus into the argument in the "Al-Qaeda is also known as the International Islamic Front for Jihad Against the Crusaders and the Jews"way. I love Jesus but I am no Crusader, although I am 1/16 Jewish on my mother's side. (Go Tribe!). I am referring to Jesus the Peaceful Lamb, not Jesus the Slaughterer of some distorted versions of Christianity. I don't want my blog to fan the fires of the eternal holy war. I haven't found a gadget to make available a political argument extinguisher. Wouldn't that be cool? If I knew anything about computers I'd make a gadget that allows you to offer your readers a button to push that automatically inserts a big heart over the text of a raging political argument.

What were we talking about? Oh yeah. I was rambling about taxes.

This is a fascinating article that explains how Republican President Dwight Eisenhower was in favor of raising taxes to pay for wars and how that reasoning changed for most Republicans over time. Most were open to tax increases to pay down the deficit in the Fifties through the late Seventies until around 1978-1981, when more and more Republicans marched in step and decided tax increases were always bad, deficit be damned.

I like this quote especially: "Although all of evidence of the previous 20 years clearly refuted starve the beast theory, George W. Bush was an enthusiastic supporter, using it to justify liquidation of the budget surpluses he inherited from Clinton on massive tax cuts year after year. Bush called them "a fiscal straightjacket for Congress" that would prevent an increase in spending. Of course nothing of the kind occurred. Spending rose throughout his administration to 20.7% of GDP in 2008."

And this quote too: "Despite [the 'Starve the Beast' theory of not raising taxes] continuing popularity among Republican politicians, at least a few conservative intellectuals are starting to have misgivings about STB. In 2005 free-market economist Arnold Kling admitted he had been wrong. 'Cutting taxes did not help to reduce the size of government,' he conceded."

So what do you think? Should we pay a war tax? I personally would rather end these endless wars, pay off our debt with a slight tax increase on the wealthiest citizens and quit being such an effing bully country.