How the holidays fill me with loads of hope
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
I am part of a special holiday Blog Carnival hosted on Blog Nosh Magazine and this post was sponsored by the Tide Loads of Hope program.I was standing outside my house, directly under my children’s bedroom window, in what passes for cold in Bay Area Houston. In my hands I balanced a big boom box, Say Anything style, except it wasn’t blasting music. It was blasting the sound of reindeer hooves on a roof, including snorts, and the jingling bells of their harnesses.
That’s when I knew it.
No, not that I had lost my mind; I knew that I had finally gotten my holiday groove back.
I knew that come what storms may, we could weather them, and when you have a chance to stand outside in what passes for cold blasting sleigh bells on a boom box to bring a little magic to kids, your kids, who still believe in, well, the everything sort of possibilities…you go for it, big.
This marked a huge change.
I’ve spent my life trying to find my footing during the holidays. My family had the general traditions – ham, pie, gifts, visits to family – but nothing terribly consistent. My parents had barely settled into our immediate family’s ways when they got divorced, then we had to transition into juggling two (very competitive) Christmases. That was barely settled when each got remarried and then a whole new set of traditions and expectations came into play. By the time I left home and married my husband, I was more a little confused about the holidays. I was, in fact, completely cynical.
I remember all the craziness and competition, but I also remember being in the bell choir and making beautiful music for the Christmas Eve candlelight service. I remember the year I got to be the Angel in the Nativity scene. I remember my grandmother making chocolate silk pies with whipped cream topping, just the way I liked it – and saving the first piece for me. I remember being bored one afternoon with my friends and sister and masterminding a caroling outing. I remember the man who cried when we sang, and who could barely express how much our song had meant to him.
Our neighborhood wasn’t the nicest, not even during the holidays. Nobody put bows on street lamps, and decorations were few and far between. It wasn’t the sort of place that had carolers. But that afternoon, some little girls, eight-ish and ten-ish went around to sing because we loved Christmas. The man told us we brought him joy. And hope.
That’s the magic of kids, you know? They live in a world of magical realism, impossibility, and belief. They hope. And why not?
That’s why – despite the past and the last five years – I found myself standing outside my girls’ bedroom window adding to the myth.
The last five years have been a mess: two hurricanes, both damaging; a lost job; three pet deaths; a cross-country move; losing the vast majority of all we owned in a flood; fighting two major and serious diseases; losing several friends to cancer; and more.
It’s taken a toll on us, the adults, and by virtue of that, on our kids. My older daughter is old enough to remember Before, but this life, the one we lead now, is all my littlest one knows of our lives.
For a long time, I’ve been telling myself a lot of shoulds – how I should be, what I should do, what the kids deserved and how I should fulfill that -- all of which increase in volume and frequency this time of year. I know that when you’re tapped out on so many fronts, every little extra effort seems beyond your ability, even if it’s for good. Still, I put on a front, for the kids. Because I should.
But sometimes, that fake it until you make it has a way of working out.
Last year, we laughed with true glee as we spread reindeer feed in the front yard. We laughed even though our yard hadn’t recovered from the hurricane and we still had two holes in our roof and our budget was missing in action because the insurance settlement barely covered a third of the cost. We laughed because we had a reason to be happy – we had our home, we had what mattered. We had each other.
I stood outside with those recorded bells jangling that Christmas Eve night, and I shook not with cold but with excitement and suppressed laughter.
This year, I pulled out my holiday shirts. All of them. The St. Patrick’s one, the Easter one, the Fourth of July one, the Halloween one, and yes, even the Christmas one. This year I decked the halls for every season. This year, as soon as we put the Thanksgiving décor away, we started pulling out the Christmas things.
Our house may not have lights strung all over, but it’s got two little lighted Christmas trees in the front flower bed and a homemade by children wreath on the door. My kids may not remember the individual gifts they get, but I hope – I hope loads – that they’ll always carry memories of the special times we create every year. I hope they’ll remember the night they heard Santa’s sleigh and knew his reindeer ate their feed. I hope they remember how mom cried at their Las Posadas program and tried to tell them how much it meant to see them dressed as little angels, singing about the real reason for the season. I hope they know hope, always.
How do the holidays fill you with loads of hope?
Respond here, or on your blog, but please come join the carnival of hope!
Please join us at Blog Nosh Magazine as we share stories of hope this holiday season in support of the Tide Loads of Hope program, a mobile laundromat offering laundry services to families affected by disasters.
Share your own stories of hope, along with Blog Nosh Magazine, Velveteen Mind, and a gathering of inspiring bloggers, and enter your own post link in the blog carnival below. Visit Blog Nosh Magazine to explore featured bloggers as well as three featured posts selected from carnival participants listed in the linky (that could be you!).
Lend your voices now, then participate live during a two day event in New Orleans, Sunday and Monday, December 13 and 14, as we tweet stories of resilience from laundry recipients and volunteers on the ground. Follow along on twitter via #loadsofhope and be sure to follow @TideLoadsofHope.
Learn more about how you can extend hope to families affected by disasters by visiting http://tideloadsofhope.com
Blog carnival hosted by Blog Nosh Magazine, sponsored by Tide Loads of Hope.
How do the holidays fill you with loads of hope?
Labels: holidays
posted by Julie Pippert @ 9:04 PM,
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Someone's in the kitchen with...KIDS! And it's called Kinderkitchen by Kuhn Rikon
Thursday, December 03, 2009
I am a frequent customer of my local caterer, which offers really economic home-cooked meals. You buy, bring home, and eat. Yum. And easy.I used to like to cook, bake especially, and my true gift is as a saucier. I can also whip up amazing things with just what's in the fridge.
People used to fly up to Boston just to eat the seafood I made. Well probably also see the sights and maybe visit me, but seriously, they requested to eat in, specifically asking for my crab cakes, shrimp, and Scrod.
I can't explain how I morphed into a noncook. It's maybe the Unappreciative Audience (aka The Kids). It could also be the exhaustion. The other demands. But mostly, I think, it's the kids.
I do know that they'll eat food other people make. My kids, for example, turn their noses up at my homemade stew (and it's good, honestly, it is) but will eat it at a friend's house. They'll eschew my fish, but will chow down at Joe's Crab Shack. They'll savor the caterer's casseroles, after telling me my own is Yuck.
It's not me, honestly, it's them. Seriously. Truly.
I do also know they'll eat what they make, so I've been, especially now that they are older, involving them more and more in the cooking process.
Then my favorite local caterer started offering kids cooking classes. How cool is that! Kid-friendly recipes and lessons.
So I'm twittering this (because that's what you do -- or rather, what I do) and a local friend says, hey did you know there are kitchen tools designed for kids?
Uhh, no, because I am not that savvy or cool. LOL I make my kids suffer through using what we already own, because I am so scroogy that way and "fit them into my world" is how I roll.
Then, as if leading me to new knowledge wasn't enough, she offers to donate a gift pack of these tools. They're called KinderKitchen by Kuhn Rikon. And oh-my-stars this is like "little gingerbread playhouse in the garden" level dream-come-true cool.
I relished the idea of Fun in the Kitchen with My Kids, but knowing that these tools would be ever so much more valuable as a silent auction item in our school fundraiser, I bravely and selflessly handed them over for the greater good.
There was maybe a little weeping at my pity party.
So at the fundraiser, everyone got to see these amazing kid's kitchen tools. They are kid-sized, easy to hold with good grips, really high professional quality (maybe a little nicer than my own things, actually), and adorable with cute designs and bright colors.
Let's just say...BIDDING WAR.
There was maybe a little smugness at my school fundraising party.
But anyway I know you folks are out there gift shopping. And while I've heard people are fighting for some robotic hamster in a cage (????), I personally prefer fun yet useful will use it all year long gifts.
And really...what better than kitchen tools for kids?
Mouse measuring cups. . .so much better than robotic gerbils:
This post is uncompensated and written for no reason other than because I wanted to do it, because seriously, I think these things are wicked cool and wanted to tell you about it.
Labels: gift giving, gift wish list
posted by Julie Pippert @ 12:46 PM,
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Bitten tongue
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
I, as you may have gathered, like to use my words. I try (like hades) to use them wisely and for good. But I am a woman of opinion, prejudice, judgment, and some immaturity as we all are and so sometimes my mouth, it does run away. Less these days than in the past, I hope. Although I do seem to talk a lot, still.However, recently I've been learning how very much I say about the things that often matter little to me.
I have always kept up an artful show, a stream of lies and excuses -- a habit, a defense I developed long ago to protect myself, which, in turn, protected others around me too, for better or worse.
One time, in middle school, I pretended I didn't know how to clean anything. More specifically, I pretended I didn't know how to sweep. This from the girl who'd been sweeping and mopping for years, among many, many other responsibilities. I'm all for chores, but there's a distinction between responsibility and burdening. But at camp that summer, I wanted to be that girl: the carefree one who had little responsibility on her shoulders. The one who was only expected to make her bed, clean her room, put away laundry -- my idea of normal. The one whose parents adored her, and maybe spoiled her little -- and not only in front of other people, when they thought they were being watched and judged. I wanted to laugh and joke and kvetch about parents in normal teen ways, such as "My mom won't let me go to the Mall!"
When I pretended to be that girl kids liked me. They thought it was funny. I played along, adding to it, pretending to be rich and indolent, hamming it up. I never told an outright lie, beyond the sweeping thing. Instead, I would tilt my head, raise my eyebrows, and be silent, letting the other kids draw their own conclusions. They were so happy to be so bright and insightful.
They let me in, they joked with me, they gave me a nickname. I was accepted.
When I pretended to be that other girl -- the one who could not sweep -- I belonged. I was no longer the girl who was afraid to walk into her own house, uncertain of what I'd find (anger? okay?). I didn't need to worry about money. I didn't have anxiety. I didn't worry whether others knew.
That girl did not live in a house of cards. She did not lose sleep at night wondering when her house would fall.
She was fun, and people liked her.
When my sister found out and outed me, she asked me why. I shrugged. I couldn't explain why to anyone, not really. Anyway, I imagine most kids would never, ever have understood why I started this pretense. I imagine most adults would not have, either.
The best I can explain it now is a girl desperate to escape. I no longer wanted to be me, in my life. Some kids might have felt suicidal. I felt like pretending.
I think, maybe, that children with safe relationships are the ones who complain out loud about their parents. I think kids who say, "Oh my GOD, I HATE my mom," are the probably often the ones with very little to no valid reason to hate a parent. I think the ones who have real reason to hate a parent are often very quiet about it.
My parents. My family. The place I come from. It is why I bite my tongue. It is why holidays stress me. It is why sometimes I feel hopeless about humanity. It is why I analyze things. It is why my posts are often about my Holiday Cocktail and ways to save and serve leftovers instead of warm and moving lovely personal familial posts.
I wanted to write a happy Thanksgiving post -- something about gratitude and good attitude, and the small joys that came. I wanted my week to be full of the silly relative stories that make us laugh, too much food that makes us all groan in sympathy, and sweet kid tales that make us all smile.
There was that.
There was also the catching up on the to-dos.
There was also the Great Battle of Sugar Ant (ongoing), my latest humorous home invasion accounting that I've been trying to write.
There was also the rest of it.
The rest of it I usually turn into shame and artfully mask with many words that don't mean as much. The rest that is pretense.
One time, a couple of years ago, some people asked me why I am such a scrooge about Christmas. A hundred replies about every Christmas of my life so far, each sounding worse than the last, pounded in my temples. The question became a challenge, and my response became a post about why I have a Blue Christmas.
The reactions humiliated me. I lengthened my perspective and I saw that what caused my humiliation was buying into the dysfunction -- believing in any way that it colored me, and was in some part, my fault (as I'd always been told).
And yet, it also freed me. So it has made me think again about revealing.
Letting it out, letting it go. Distancing myself from it.
I know well this pattern and how it plays out. I know where it goes.
That's why I was not surprised when, while holding the beautiful Kirsty book in which one of my humble blog posts was published, instead of saying anything about congratulations or pride, my father instead launched into a lengthy and loud public criticism of all of my essay's faults. That's why none of what came during this holiday surprised me. If you lived this, you too would not be surprised. That's not the same thing as being prepared, though.
This morning, the first grade teacher at our daughters' school caught me and my husband doing one last peek into our littlest one's classroom. "Don't you wish you could be a child, that age again?" she asked us.
My husband laughed. "No, not really," I said. At that age my father locked me outside one night and told me I could live with the dogs if that's the best I could behave: like an animal. My mother let him. She gestured helplessly at me, which is my best recall of her during my childhood: gesturing helplessly. At that age, I curled up next to my miniature Spitz for warmth and comfort. My dog, my best friend, my unconditional love. The teacher regarded me oddly. "I wouldn't want to relive my childhood," I said, "But it is a beautiful thing to see them live their childhoods. I just enjoy childhood through their eyes. How happy they are, how much they enjoy things." How they trust me enough to get angry at me and tell me they hate me.*
This afternoon I watched a video of a woman speaking about how the first thing she did when she got her cancer diagnosis was call her mom and dad, because she knew they'd be there like they had always been. My prospect for that is a much lower percentage. Her certainty shook me. I'd call but I'd expect little, and I might get more, or less, depending. How much I got would all depend on me, as it always has. My parents would ask me to understand, would ask me to see how much I was asking of them, and would, in some way, gesture helplessly, moving on to the more important things. This is the little message sent to me regularly: I'm not that important. I know where they come from, what they dealt with in their own childhoods, and that this is how it is.
Like I said, though, knowing this does little in the way of preparation. Infertility is better for that, actually. I know I am not alone in that I had little rituals and superstitions on important cycle dates. Building little altars everywhere -- whether literal of figurative -- is what does something in the way of preparation.
On my way over for Thanksgiving, I read Tweets from Grace about surviving the holiday and things to do to protect yourself when it suddenly struck me: I have never fully believed I deserved, was worthy, of protecting myself.
So for my Thanksgiving? I am grateful for people who help those lightbulbs go on overhead, for people who use their words and courage of sharing to facilitate this, for realizing. I am grateful for people who understand and do not diminish you.
So later that same day, after reading messages of Forgive Yourself, Stop it Before it Hits You, Never Be Afraid to Walk Out, when the shame and not good enough and no love started coming my way I did not let it enter in. My essay is not bad. I am not bad. My essay is not weak. I am not weak. My essay does not lack critical information and points. Neither do I. I have not asked for this. I do not deserve this. I am not asking too much. There is not a limit on what I am worth.
When I will stop wondering why this is the way it is will be another blog post altogether.
* Do you know? When I said I did not want to relive childhood, that teacher opened up to me, too. She shared a couple of challenges, very briefly, to let me see a new facet of her, something deeper than the expected, and more of a human, than simply a cheerful smiling face that thinks children and childhood are gorgeous in some oversimplified way. I liked her immensely, then.
Labels: family history, Growing Up is Hard To Do, into every life a little crap must fall
posted by Julie Pippert @ 12:39 PM,
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Perfected art of dehumanizing
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
We humans have perfected the art of dehumanizing people for our own ends. We modern people have perfected the art of rationalizing this, even to the point that we believe it is Good and/or Deserved.Reality TV doesn't help, but, perhaps ironically, I think blogging does. In snippet situations--which abound in all areas of media and life these days, from text messages, to brief interactions, from hectic schedules to ideology condensed to a talking point--we can find our brief summaries of others reinforced. Blogs and other lengthier more personal interactions force us to pause and reconsider...if we let ourselves.
It's so simple to sum up another person: she's organized, he's loud, she's a christian, he's a liberal, she's scary smart, he's so nice...
We often even think of these things as compliments. But are they? Or are they oversimplified labels that in some way dehumanize the other person? Have we snapped people we know into lock boxes, never to be taken out and examined more closely? Have we missed something key to that other person?
Here's why I find that troubling: what do we value, when we value people? And are these the attributes we seek, past the surface, if they are not displayed superficially for us to easily grasp? Some may hide deeper those things which you value.
I was thinking of examples in my own life. One of my favorites is Harry. I met Harry at work when I was still wet behind the ears despite a wedding ring, college degree, and more than a few years of professional working experience. I was, at the time, probably an ideal employee: self-starting, knowledgeable and experienced enough to have and volunteer ideas, but still eager beaver loyal and desiring to please. I joined a really cool start-up, replacing Harry.
"Why are you leaving?" I asked.
"I don't really work here. It's just a contract. I'm not into the whole working for the man, staying put thing. I work, save up, and spend the rest of my time in South America climbing mountains," he said, emulating the epitome of Cool Alt Dude.
A fairly traditional gal at heart, I admired what had to be my polar opposite. I shared Harry Adventure Tales with my husband the entire week I spent being trained for my job by Harry. I was fascinated by Harry's incredibly different lifestyle and life choices. I kept trying to get to know him. Harry, however, was unimpressed by me and I accepted that. I was Normal, Average, I had no problem Working for the Man, carrying home a regular paycheck, and missing South American mountains. I had no stories of adventure.
At the end of the week, I learned Harry had recommended I be fired.
Why would he do this? He didn't want this job -- he was heading for Chile next week anyway! Wasn't he Nice? All Cool Alt Dude let it flow? Why would Harry do this to me? I'd only tried to do my best, learn everything -- was it a problem with my knowledge or performance? No. Wasn't I nice? Yes. Then why?
Harry had pigeon-holed me and it wasn't in a good way. My neat desk indicated I was Uptight. My questions to ensure I learned my job well indicated I was High Maintenance. My carefully organized files indicated I was Anal. My excitement meant I was High Strung.
The very things I cultivated carefully to be Really Really Good and that I thought were valued highly in employees -- plus, just happened to be fairly innate to me and were my techniques for doing a good job -- were somehow twisted and sounding awful coming from his mouth.
"She's not ever going to be a fit," Harry told my boss, who thankfully ignored him. My boss, much wiser than me, probably saw past the Adjectives and Perfect Dehumanizing t0 the realness of both of us and the situation. Harry resented me taking his cash cow, however innocent I was in that decision. He had a good thing going, what with being able to eat his cake and have it too.
I wasn't wrong, Harry was Cool Alt Dude with a Brown Belt in Zen, but that didn't mean he was above feeling very human in this situation. Harry wasn't wrong, I am organized, and a little high strung, but that doesn't mean I'm not human, or much more than that string of judgments.
Harry labeled me, and locked me out. As a result, neither of us gained a better picture and understanding of Who the Human was, really. We probably never would have been friends. But, we'd have each had -- especially Harry -- a better idea of a complex person, one we might never know, or even like, but that we could accept as a multi-faceted human. (Although, I hadn't yet learned that it was an option to not like another person then -- I was still trapped in the idea that I had to like everyone and had to make all of them like me, too. Not managing that was a major failure, indicating Imperfection and Something Bad in me I had to fix.) (I am, to some degree, over this, except when it comes to people I do like, who do not like me back, or who do in some ambivalent way that does not lead to the friendship I hoped for.)
I might have understood and been more thoughtful of how it worried Harry, losing this contract and putting the very Cool Alt Dude lifestyle he so valued in jeopardy. He might have understood that Id just moved over 2000 miles from home for this job, was trying to acclimate, and was desperate to succeed for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which was not wanting to prove all our parents dire predictions of failure and ending up in a box under a bridge" true.
I might have grasped his Cool Alt Dude was a protection from the commitment and chaos he knew he'd have to someday deal with, but that he still fought and feared. He might have seen that my organization was compensation for my fear of chaos, and my social awkwardness of not knowing what to say or do sometimes.
But we each needed to know ourselves better, first, needed to understand and accept our own complexities, before we could see that others had more surface area than we initially saw, too.
With time, I came to understand that.
I came to understand that I needed to open up my personal book just the right amount to not dump too much or hide too little. Leave a bit to wondering, wanting to find out. This is not a natural skill for me, like it is for some.
But in time I learned people value that more, just as I learned that workplaces appreciated organized, motivated workers, but not as much as they valued people they liked. Offices were no different from high schools or life, in that respect.
At the end of the day, you don't hear people saying, "I LOVE her, she's so detail-oriented! That's why she's the best employee!" any more than you hear people say, "I LOVE her, she's so organized! That's why we're best friends!"
You do hear, "She's so fun, I love being around her!" Fun. Kind. Thoughtful. You know the rest. You know the things you say you like about other people, and you know you need to like other people to value them.
Those adjectives are hard to come by, though, and are nearly empty compliments.
I do worry about how so much of today's world seems to encourage and reward fast summation of other people, condensing their lives into brief talking points and their humanity into 140 characters or less.
Perhaps we are active participants in our own labeling and dehumanization.
I think of my friend Cyn explaining why she's given up on adjectives and nouns in the short social media bio sections. To attempt to paraphrase her: Verbs say so much more about who I am, through what I do, instead of just labeling myself for you. Verbs can lead to questions. Verbs make you active. Adjectives and nouns coat you in amber for viewing.
What is valuable to you and why is that valuable?
Labels: everything's gonna be all right, getting by with a little help from my friends, Growing Up is Hard To Do
posted by Julie Pippert @ 3:50 PM,
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A Whale of a Great Slumber Party at SeaWorld
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A while back I conceived of this brilliant plot whereby I would conspire to convince SeaWorld that TheMotherhood.com and I could make fantastic co-hosts for an awesome event at their San Antonio location.Friends, I must talk a really great game because I convinced the brilliant (and occasionally omniscient) Kami Huyse and SeaWorld as well as the amazing Cooper and Emily of TheMotherhood.com that this was a very good idea.
The next thing any of us knew (ha! as if it was simply movie magic easy LOL!), we were blowing up air mattresses with some of the most fantastic women in Texas to sleep with extremely cute but a little smelly puffins.
I've felt at a cross-roads this year, more so lately, which may or may not have anything to do with a recent birthday. I don't mind getting older or even middle-aged, aside from the minor physical inconveniences (great scott, the plucking!) (the sagging elbows!) (the creaky knees!) (enough!) but the big benefit of aging is supposed to be wisdom and perspective, and I'm determined to get me some of that, especially as I watch my days end at 9:30 p.m more and more often and start considering my reminder iPhone apps and Advil as best buddies.
You don't need me to tell you that it was so incredible to spend the night at SeaWorld. You can guess how it felt to fulfill a version of my nearly 30 year "From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs Basil E Franweiler" fantasy. You comprehend how awesome it was to check off some cool items on my bucket list:
- sleep with polar aquatic birds,
- stick hand in dolphin's mouth,
- gain approval of killer whale matriarch,
- perfectly mimic seal,
- make BFFs with beluga whale, and last, but not least,
- over divine food, listen to major executive passionately talk about green initiatives.
But how did this add to my Ultimate Life Goal and Commitment to Meaningful?
Aside from the obvious and pat answer that everything beautiful and experiential is worthwhile (which sort of smells slightly new agey to me, a scent only two grades above Dolphin Food and Puffins Au Naturel):
Things are richer with personal connectionsBeautiful settings don't hurt, either.
I always get more out of a place when I know enough about the place to ask questions beyond the pat and obvious (although I'm not above acting like a second grader and asking questions such as, "What do they think of their poop, if they deign to notice it there in the tank with them?")
But I like to get a deeper appreciation for the little things of a place and how they fit together to make the whole such a wonderful picture.
What makes me take notice is seeing a place and event through other people's eyes and being aware of the place through knowing important things about it.
These things connect me, personally. I'm engaged. That makes it matter more, which, in turn, makes it a richer experience.
Being able to share that with others only enriches it more.
I loved being able to share it with Heather, Erica, Kelly, Joy, Dwan, Colleen, Debi, Dawn, Rachel, Emily, and Kami.
Slumber parties and inside jokesIs it feeling a little clammy in here to anyone other than me?
While Emily and I were waiting for the fabulous Suzy of SeaWorld and Kami, we were shooting the breeze when I trotted out a memory of being on a bus heading to sleep away summer camp, a time I always loved. My hair, long and straight except for the feathering around my face, blew back in the wind from the open windows. My shorts-clad legs stuck to the hot fake leather seats, which had that acrid sweet smell old bus seats always had. Beside me, my friends Brandy, Shannon, Laura and Jenny sat laughing. We were so thrilled to be together we began belting out "Don't You Want Me, Baby." We were young, excited, happy, carefree, and on our way to the best time of the summer. Who was new? Who was back? Who grew up over the past year? Who was different? Who was the same? Most importantly, which guy would be cutest and who would hook up with him?
Now, nearly thirty years later, I had the same excitement buzzing in me as I waited for the WildSide adventurers to arrive for our camp. Would the ladies I only knew online seem as familiar and friendly as they did online? Would they look like their photos? Sound like their blog posts and tweets? Were they as giddy about being in a major theme park overnight, just us, as I was? Would anyone know the book From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler if I kept referencing it? Was anyone else feeling unbearably light inside?
What I found were women even more amazing than I expected, who were very real, and kept it real, all while maintaining a wonderful spirit for adventure. Despite the risk of getting drenched, everyone hung right by Mrs. Shamu. Despite our great and knowledgeable guide Chance sharing good information, and knowing the rule about the blue line, plus being warned that "whales look sweet but are NOT furry warm cuddly creatures," we all nearly leapt in the pool with the beluga whales.
These ladies asked tough questions, and every member of the SeaWorld team from executive Dan Decker to our guide Chance, SeaWorld comm rep (and indispensable cheerful and professional help) Suzy, our camp counselor Brooke, or anyone else on hand to help us enjoy ourselves, had the answer.
SeaWorld is awesome. I love their commitment to conservation and green choices. Who doesn't love a graceful and gorgeous dolphin being friendly? There is so much to see, learn and do there.
But it's even more awesome with a well-educated guide (getting a Ph.D) who calls out "Hey Hotties!" when he wants our attention. (And we must have been like herding cats, seriously.) And at night. By ourselves. With good food. and chocolates and mocktails. Who doesn't love a good sleepover when everyone has good laugh at silly slippers and people share their stories?
WHALE DONE! Such a Duh! and yet, Life AlteringLooking mighty bottle-nosed to be a whale, but at SeaWorld, hungry aquatic animals will be whoever you want for a bucket of fish. KIDDING!
We got a copy of this book, WHALE DONE!, which discusses the techniques SeaWorld trainers use to encourage the desired behaviors the animals display during performances (and other times).
I've read the positive parenting books. I took the classes. I went to puppy kindergarten. Four times.
I want to do this, and yet, it's a struggle. I come from a completely and totally GOTcha life (read the book, you'll get it) and setting expectations and working in a WHALE DONE way is, and probably always will be, a struggle to me due to background, habit, culture, temper, and so forth.
But through this book, and events like this, I keep feeling doors and windows in my mind open.
And you know, when I go away (mommy guilt) it helps more than a little to know I will be bringing back something more than 9admittedly VERY CUTE) stuffed penguins. (Stuffed with fluff, folks, I mean, what do you think we did in the penguin encounter all night? I assure you NO AQUATIC POLAR BIRDS were harmed in the making of this spectacular event.)
To read others' take on t he event (and isn't it awesome to read different takes on the same thing? see? ENRICHING! No wonder blogs are so popular.):
Heather http://www.
Dwan http://mommadjane.com/walk-
Debi http://sabusykids.com and http://voices.mysanantonio.
Kelly http://www.savvymoxie.com/
Dawn (Lettergirl) http://notgoingpostal.com/
Colleen http://bit.ly/wild-side and http://babypotential.typepad.
Special thanks to the amazing SeaWorld hosts: Brooke (our counselor), Chance (our guide), Dan (our Big Wig), Kami (our Hottie Van Hot), and Suzy (our amazing contact).
And the fun doesn't end. SeaWorld, as you might have gathered, is so much more that simply an incredible and fun destination. They offer so many resources for parents. Come check out this circle, Raising Enlightened Kids, at TheMotherHood.com., where you can "discover the stories, photos, projects, lessons and fun SeaWorld offers for families who want to add meaning and culture to their family time. Let's talk about giving back, positive relationships, conservation, animals, education, and more!"
We've had, already, a really enlightening talk with SeaWorld trainers about how to use positive methods in work and home to accentuate the positive and reach desired behaviors let me just say...afterwards my kids made it to school on time, neat, and all of us were HAPPY.
Full disclosure: I worked with SeaWorld for this event. However, this post represents nothing other than me and my own thoughts about the event, and was not in any way solicited or compensated by SeaWorld.
Labels: vacation, Valuing Me, women
posted by Julie Pippert @ 12:10 PM,
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100 Years of Magic -- Cute Costumed Kids Included
Friday, November 13, 2009
My four year old dressed to the nines for our special night out to Disney on Ice. I thought she'd be unique, a stand-out. I thought she would garner attention in her plum fairy princess outfit.What I forgot was that "costume" is the preferred style for the four year old girl crowd.
Instead of being the one, my daughter was one among many. Princesses (all of them, including Pocahontas), fairies, Minnie Mouses, and any and all Disney characters pranced in mini-form around Reliant Stadium.
My daughter had, in her ineffable way, tapped into the collective four year old dress-up girl consciousness.
As we passed these costumed sprites (and fairies, and princesses, and mice), my eyes met the other parents' eyes in a flash of commonality: we were parents with This Sort of girl child, and we were That Sort of parent, who was willing to let our girls dress up to go out, even if it was in costume. Whether we had anything else in common was irrelevant; on that point, we met and connected. Our girls had donned costumes for this special event. In my case, both of my girls did, in their own ways.
The thing about my little girls donning costumes is that very rarely are they donning a character. The costume, for them, is an extension of their own character. Persistence, my four year old, was very much herself last night. She just happened to be wearing a multi-hued wispy fairy outfit.
My kids are very imaginative and like most kids, they do enjoy imagination and role-playing games. Sometimes they use props or costumes to further the playacting, but so often, costumes are an end in and of themselves. They are something fun to wear.
And when did we stop doing that, grown-ups?
Upon deeper thought, though, maybe we haven't -- it's simply more subtle. I was wearing a deep purple cardigan over a lavender shirt, with jeans, and ballet flats. I dressed it up a bit with a big multi-toned purple necklace, with huge brooch-like dangling charm. I wore matching purple crystal earrings. What, in the end, was so different between my outfit and my daughter's? Other than hers was largely chiffon-esque and mine was cotton and denim.
The point was, we both put on costumes of a sort to reflect something we were feeling about the night and the event: we felt it was special. Something to do a little something extra for, via our clothing.
And Disney on Ice was special! Before the event, I joked that as someone who couldn't ice skate on kids' style double blades while clutching the railing, I was always going to be impressed by people who could glide on a thin blade on slippery ice.
These skaters glide, dip, fly in the air, hop on and off props, and all in all, tell an entertaining story, all while amazing us with athletic grace on the ice.
What's great about Disney on Ice, and one reason I think it works even for tots, is that it spins out different short tales, tied by very thin thread, with frequent changes to keep interest and attention. It also includes visually interesting costumes -- read: lots of sparkle -- and characters the kids know. Plus, it ends with small "fireworks" display.
The show began with Mickey and the gang, as usual. It then spun into some other snippets, most notably to my four year old, the big Princess sequence. She got to see Belle and Beast, and then every major Disney princess skated out with her Prince. They did duets and also big ensemble numbers. I loved the nostalgic wrap up of the first half with a grand ensemble of It's a Small World. The performance had the different music and dance styles, costumes from each country, and lighted floats. The second half included a big Pinocchio number, which my seven year old enjoyed.
It was a good time -- a special family outing time.
In my last post, I included details about going, coupon/savings information, and so forth. If you are thinking about going, I encourage you to just do it! I've seen a few Disney on Ice shows and really like this one best so far. It's on in Houston through the weekend.
Big thanks to MomCentral, Feld Entertainment, and Disney for a good time for our family. I only take offers like this for events I think are a fit for our family. I do receive tickets as a gift, but they only ask that we enjoy ourselves and let them know if we liked it, or if we write about it. There is no deal, requirement to go to the event, or exchange of services. That I've written about it -- and glowingly -- is simply a factor of "we like this event, we enjoyed ourselves, and it was a good time for our family." But I think the photos of my happy kids show that!
Labels: family fun
posted by Julie Pippert @ 7:25 AM,
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This is a sincere promo post about Disney on Ice
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Don't roll your eyes at me -- I come bearing coupons!So listen, my kids are MAJOR fans of Disney on Ice (any one, they aren't picky) and frankly Disney ought to hire them to promote the show because honestly nobody else does a better job. Right now a bunch of parents we know are either cursing my name or buying tickets to the show (although, upon reflection, it's not mutually exclusive lol).
The kids are currently hoppier than a grasshopper in a field of clover and more excited than for Halloween because tomorrow we are going to see Disney on Ice's 100 Years of Magic.
I am really glad it is tomorrow because I told them a week ago that we were going and it's been a chorus of "are we there yet?" ever since. And we're excited about it too because it IS a great and entertaining show. I can't ice skate in simple clothes clutching a wall so to watch these athletes glide around in elaborate costumes wows me every time.
I'll be back later with photos and stories (you may comment on the cuteness of the kids) but in the meantime I wanted to tell you tomorrow is opening night and if you want to go, there's a coupon code. Here are the details:
Use code: MOM**
Get 4 tickets for $44 weekday or $4 off on weekends
You can buy tickets at ticketmaster <-- that link also has date, time and location details
Labels: family fun
posted by Julie Pippert @ 2:38 PM,
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