Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Cheers! A time to celebrate

Last night I realized that January 20, 2011, marked the one-year anniversary of Lexa's Journal!   The day passed without any acknowledgment on my part.  No cake, confetti, glass of wine, or celebration.  It’s an important milestone for me, yet I didn’t mark the date on my calendar or subconsciously remember it. It took me 82 days to remember...   Why?  I have no idea.  I even checked to see if I posted on January 20th this year, but I didn’t.  I saw an incomplete draft about New Year resolutions, but it remains unedited and unpublished.  

Although I’m not yet disciplined enough to post daily, posting has developed into a healthy habit.  When I don’t post often enough (for me), this nagging voice in my head  reminds me that the task needs to be moved up on my priority list.

The reality is that I am just not the kind of person who remembers milestones.  Sure, I remember my family member’s birthdays.  I will always remember my wedding anniversary, June 4, 1988.  But, I can’t construct the date we met, the date we officially started dating, or the exact date of my father's death in November of 1982.   Others can recall these dates really well.  Congratulations all!  Perhaps I just don't remember that I'm suppose to remember these dates. 

The anniversary of my blog is about a personal sense of accomplishment. Although maintaining Lexa's Journal for the first year was challenging, I stuck with it—typos and all.  Like anything else, I will learn from my mistakes but continue to work hard at developing my craft.  Blogging and writing is an activity that I earnestly enjoy.  I encourage all, particularly women; single, married, widowed, with children, and divorced to explore your personal interests. 

Don’t let your interests, dreams and aspirations fall victim to your responsibilities and obligations to your family or to your career. Try to keep Nike’s motto in mind…. “Just do it!”  

Monday, March 21, 2011

Remembering the stuffed peppers

“Do you remember the stuffed peppers that I use to buy?” My mom asked.  My reply, “yes.”  I continued to fix my son’s dinner plate. I knew where she was going with the question, but felt a simple reply was best.

Within minutes, we’re sitting at the table eating dinner.  Mom asks again, “Do you remember the stuffed peppers that I use to buy?” “Yes, I do.” I’m compelled to suggest that she stop beating around the bush and say what’s really on her mind, but I don’t. I am mindful of my tone here, but I’m being truthful with you. She finally asks me why I don’t buy stuffed peppers.

Is she serious? This isn't a new practice for me.  Close family and friends know that red meat isn't part of my diet. The last time I ate steak or a beef burger was in 1996. Furthermore, pre-fab stuffed peppers have no nutritional value and who knows what’s really in the food. Yuck! Not for me. Now, here’s the kicker! She then suggests that I buy bison (buffalo) burgers. The idea is hysterical to me.

Before anyone casts judgment upon me, my mom is well aware of my eating habits. She’s not some feeble old lady who’s lost her memory and her mind. Lena is extremely deliberate in her words and in her actions. As a matter of fact, she is well known by family for delivering harsh and razor-sharp opinions, that have sometimes brought about both laughter and tears.

Anyway she constantly turns up her nose at my salads, loudly hums, and reminds me that, “you gotta die from something?” That’s true, but quality of life is important to me.  Although I prefer poultry and seafood, it’s my choice. I don’t judge others who eat differently; it’s a personal choice that I respect.

Thankfully at 77, mom still has her independence.  I can only hope and pray that I’m still alive and kicking at her age. That said if she wants to eat beef then, on her regular trips to the supermarket, she could easily pick up the beef that meets her liking. I don’t buy it or cook it; the smell of uncooked red meat nauseates me terribly. If my husband really wants a steak, I’d rather treat him out to dinner at a fine gourmet restaurant than cook the steak. I’d love to treat mom out for dinner, but according to her, no one in a restaurant is clean enough to prepare or serve her food, so she doesn’t dine out. I am not mocking her; these are her words not mine.

My mom says that I am naive. She believes I have an unrealistic view of the world. She thinks that I’m afraid to talk about death. She views me as a modern day mom, who lacks the valor to brutally beat the crap out of my kids for inappropriate behavior.  Sorry mom; that’s not Tanya. I’m just saying.

I am praying that there’s still time for us to surely get to know one another.  Honestly though, I don’t know if it’s going to happen in this life time. She hasn’t been able to work through some lifetime experiences. Experiences that continue to weigh on her mind, her spirit, her heart, and her soul. We’re all unique, but I’ve never met anyone like her. Occasionally I stretch, grasp, and attempt to reach Lena, but, to no avail. It’s just another long story. Perhaps one day. Optimistic? Credulous? Don’t know.

I just wish that she could respect others’ opinions, values, beliefs, and lifestyles that are different from hers. She can respectfully disagree and leave it at that.

Reflecting back on this post, my final thoughts are:

  1. Perhaps she wants me to make homemade stuffed peppers, but doesn’t want to bother me with all the work. Maybe.
  2.  I don’t make stuffed peppers because it’s too much work, but I’ll look for a recipe and, for her sake, give it a try.  It will be nice surprise.
  3. When (initially this read If) I do make the stuffed peppers, they will be made from turkey breast and brown rice. I'll use red, yellow, or orange peppers instead of green ones.  
I did not consider making the peppers for mom until I began composing my final thoughts. I’m just keeping it real with you. Writing really helps me to sort through my thoughts in a more constructive and positive manner; I am so thankful for the insight and the ability to do so.

I’ll let you know when I make my stuffed peppers and how they turn out.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Who learns more from kids’ projects?



Today we helped our son with a project for black history month.  I know.  Officially black history month is February and this is March.  The timing is not an issue for me.

I'm going off topic here but, I feel very strongly that black history, women’s history, and all other non-mainstream cultures should be studied year around.

To me, designating a specific month, week, or day can minimize massive gifts made to society by many of people.  Of course, I’m not naïve and know that in some instances, if specials like black history month weren’t officially recognized, many young people would fail to learn about our rich history.

A diverse history should be intertwined throughout the school curriculum.  The more students learn about other cultures, the more likely they will be open to others who are different from them.  Our (in general) children’s literature, history, and science books are in desperate need of modernizing.  They are so outdated it’s gross. 

Okay, back to the intent of this post. I’m not sure where all that came from, but it presented itself, so it stays.   Anyway, I’m glad that his teacher and the school (a private one) recognize the importance of African-American history and the enormous contributions made to society.

After working with my hubby and son on this project, I wondered who learned more, our son or hubby and I.  We all learned from the project and that’s my point.  In our quest for an African-American Achiever, we looked beyond the typical historical figures studied.  We discovered Benjamin Bannecker (1731-1806). 

A lot of parents (I was one) cringe at class projects, especially if your child is in early elementary school.  The projects are designed to involve parents, to be fun, to be hands on, and to promote a positive educational experience.  Don’t laugh at me; I’m serious.

Time is always a factor and typically isn’t in the parents favor.  In between music lessons, dance lessons, or athletic practices, completing any project can be challenging.    The challenge often results in the parents doing the work and putting their kids name on it.  Come on now!  I’ve seen projects that were allegedly completed by a first grader that look like a college professor completed them.  It’s hilarious that the parents can even look the teacher in the eye.

Nope.  Our rule is that our son must do the work.  Cutting. Writing. Reading. Drawing and more.  That’s how he learns.  We oversee the project and guide him, but the project is his baby.  Whether the project has crooked lines, smeared glue, or other perceived defects, it doesn’t matter.  He put forth his hard work and, in the end, we’re all very proud of the end result and we are all a tad bit smarter.