Conservation

Is it me or are libraries today way more awesome than they were when I was growing up? The Elmhurst Public Library was a pleasant place to be, back in the day. But I remember it was a place to be quiet. There were never too many people inside of it. And I remember that nothing fun ever happened there.

Our library is not quiet. It has a massive room set aside as a "teen library" where the "teen" book collection resides and computers whir and bean bag chairs abound. It has a story time room where librarians perform a 30 minute story-telling routine that is never just the reading of books. It has a coffee and snack stand in front, for goodness sake! And at this library, the parking lot is always full.

I know that your libraries are probably a lot like this, too.

All of this makes me happy for my kids. We go once a week and they love it.

The summer's Reading Program theme has something to do with the ocean. The kids color in splashes for each book they read, and after a bunch of splashes they get a prize. You know the drill.

Instead of story time, they program professionals to do 45 minute presentations. Musicians, clowns, puppeteers. . .all of their presentations have something to do with the ocean.

On Wednesday, we went to see Inspector Magic's Lobster Tales. Inspector Magic was great last year. His tricks dazzled, and he concluded with a clever one that required 3 children and one mother. I did not volunteer, yet he picked me.

So I did my part, which was to stand there, and he did his sleight of hand and switcheroo, and the different name plates the kids were holding all--magically!--changed hands.

But the name plate I was holding itself was changed into the following word: SUPERHERO

(Because I was a Mom, get it? We're all "superheroes.")

But the real magic was that Inspector Magic had NO IDEA that I am a real superhero. I showed him my calling card afterward, to prove that I really am one, and he kind of looked at me like I was a dork.

Still--what were the chances that he'd pick me of all the moms there? Like, 1 in about 48. And you can ask Mr. Colorado's wife to attest to the facts of this story because she was there.

(Why didn't I tell this story on The Big "C"? I think it happened a few days before my surgery, and so the blog had not launched yet.)

I'm serious about that.

Back to Inspector Magic's Lobster Tales:

His act this year was all about conservation, which only partially relates to the ocean, so I'm calling a foul on that.

What was worse--his message dominated the magic and took up way too much time. Hey, Inspector: Less chat, more tricks.

(He did, however, share with the children that he is the new president of the magician association that was founded by Harry Houdini and is now 6,000 strong. And I was there for his act/conservationist harangue. So. I got that goin' for me.)

Here's what I found fascinating: Every child there (except for mine, I guess) already knew everything this guy was saying. He asked, 'What are the 3 R's?' and every hand (except for my kids') shot up. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. Duh. He asked, "How many trees are chopped down to make the Sunday paper each week?" and many hands shot up, the boy he called on actually knew the answer!

How much time do schools spend teaching this stuff? That room was filled with Pre-schoolers through, at least, 4th graders, and they all knew the content of Inspector Magic's appeal.


There's a reason I offer these observations.

A few weeks ago, we had our bounce house set up in our backyard for our kids and those of our guests who'd come for a BBQ. It's a great toy. We set it up about half a dozen times a year, and by now, it has more than paid for itself as compared to the cost of renting one. It came with a blower that plugs into a normal socket, and the kids love it.

After everyone had left, Gemma was still playing on it, and I overheard part of a conversation she was having with the little girl who lives behind us. These neighbors seem nice enough, though they are not the least bit neighborly or social. And their kids--a bit older than ours--don't have very good manners.

(Oh, I'm sorry, is throwing rocks from one's backyard into one's neighbors in an attempt to hit the children who are playing there considered OK nowadays? I must catch up with the times. . .)

I could not make out all the words of the exchange, but the tone was very clearly a classic swap of toy-smack-down. A "mine's better than yours" kind of thing. The little girl was standing on her trampoline, and Gemma was pridefully perched on the top of her bounce house slide.

The neighbor girl shouted, in exasperation, "Well you're killing the polar bears!"

(Because Gemma was using electricity? Get it? Polar ice melt, etc?)

Gemma's brow furrowed and she was stymied beyond response. Killing polar bears? She must have been thinking. That cannot possibly be true.

I called out to the little girl, "It's OK. We're using the carbon credits we earn by hanging our clothes to dry on a line instead of using our clothes drier."

The part about telling the little girl this is not true. The part about hanging our clothing to dry is true.

Here's the part that fascinates me: In generations past, at the point of exasperation in this kind of squabble a kid used to say, "Well, your mother wears combat boots!" or, "Well, you're ugly!" or, "Well, you're a weirdo!"

This child's most handy and cutting insult was that Gemma was a poor conservationist.

How interesting is it, too, that I am going to write a paragraph now to assure you/defend myself: We do a lot of the 3 R's in our home, too. And we turn off the water while we're brushing our teeth. And I almost always remember to bring my canvass bags into the grocery store now that I don't have to have plastic ones on hand to dispose of Joshua's diapers.


This story also reminds me of a moment that I will live many times in the next several months. As I sat down for Inspector Magic's Lobster Tales, I thought, "One year ago at this time. . ."

I do that often. We did Vacation Bible School 2 weeks ago, and throughout it, I was thinking, "Last year at this time, I was diagnosed. . . Last year at the this time, playing this game, I had that Big Moment with Song #10. . ."

I recoil from the habit of this thinking. A bit. I want to be over cancer on an emotional level. But I think a year's worth of these anniversaries stand between me and a near-total point of being done with the journey.

Speaking of anniversaries, though: Yesterday, 26 June 2010, was the one year anniversary of my first surgery, the one that felt like such a dark day to walk towards and wake up to and show up for, the one that ended up being miraculous and the beginning of the healing.

Yesterday, we went to church, Saturday evening service people that we are, and unaware of the exact date (we're on a summer schedule, after all) I was mystified as to why I was so emotional during worship. It's always a very powerful time for me when I experience a lot of God's presence, but last night was especially moving.

And then the band started playing Song #10. I heard the first chords and somehow realized in an instant what the date was. . .

Wow.

He is an Everlasting God
He did not faint, He did not grow weary.

In Medias Res

We joined a pool this summer. Good timing on this one, as Colorado Springs is on course to set all kinds of records for frequent high temps. But it's a dry heat.

Yesterday, Gemma again announced that she would try to jump off the diving board. On other days, she has climbed up, walked to the edge, then turned around. "It's OK," I've been telling her. "I don't blame you for being scared. One day you'll be ready."

She met a friend her age who jumps off the board and then swims on her own to the ladder without so much as arm floaties. Arden's performance in this way was too much for Gemma to observe unanswered. So, as I said, she made an announcement.

I walked to the board with her, she fiddled with the buckles on her swim vest, then climbed on, and then reversed course. Again.

Another girl's father who was there asked if it would help for someone to be in the deep end waiting for her. Gemma nodded. I said, "If I get into the pool, then you HAVE to jump because I'm going to be pretty annoyed if I get wet for nothing."

The father said, "Oh, I'll get in for her."

How nice.

Moments later, Gemma was perched on the end and the father was patting the water right below her saying, "Just jump right here."

The other 28 people at the pool were watching now, too, and were starting to shout things like, "You can do it!" and "Just jump!"

I counted to 3 for her and, 1. . .2 . . .3 -- Gemma jumped!

All 28 people cheered and applauded! It choked me up.


Then Joshua decided he would jump, too. Odd, though: He jumped off the board 2 weeks ago. Several times. Now, he was 3 steps away from the ladder on his journey to the edge when he halted, turned to me and said, "I love you, Mom."

The crowd laughed. What? Was he never to return?

He took another step. That girl's father started encouraging him and patting the water in front of the landing zone. Josh turned again to me and said, "I would be happier if it was you."

Geez. . . If this conversation had been private, I'd have told him he could either jump with that guy, or with no one, or not jump at all. But the whole crowd was in on this exchange and I was not willing to be a Bad Mother this early in the summer.

I jumped in. Paddled over. Tread water. All with a big smile because I was just so dang delighted to be playing the Diving Board Game.

Josh inched to the edge. I patted the water. I encouraged. I counted up to 3. I counted down from 5.

The crowd encouraged. And counted with me. And 3 boys around 10 or 11 started chanting, "Let's Go Jo-osh, Let's Go!" CLAP CLAP "Let's Go Jo-osh, Let's Go!" CLAP CLAP

The atmosphere could not have been more supportive. Then Josh said something. The crowd hushed and strained to hear. I asked, "What was that?"

He said, simply, "I would be happier if they--" (then he got loud for this part) "STOPPED SCREAMING!"

This got a big laugh.

Then Gemma piped up, from where she stood fourth in line for the diving board, "Come on, Josh!"

Another big laugh.

What was I to do? If I were standing by the board, I'd have coaxed him off. But I was on the jumping end of the board and the most I could do was wait.

The Pool Director stepped onto the board behind him and announced, "I'll help you." Before Joshua knew it, she'd grabbed his hands and initiated a countdown from 5 and, after "1," she tossed him in.

The crowd erupted in whoops and cheering and clapping. Yay, Josh!

Then Gemma went off again, this time without fanfare, and still got applause.

Then Joshua again and he announced right away, "I want someone to help me," so some other woman climbed on board and "helped" him, as before. Much applause.

The third time, he needed no help and it's the cutest thing when he goes on his own: he doesn't just jump, he tucks his knees up into a tidy cannon ball.

And this--this jumping unaided by the both of them, and, yes, all the rest of the dog paddling and going under without any fuss and meeting friends there and spending hours and hours in the water without a care in the world--all this has been the accomplishment of our summer so far.

In our view, it's record-setting.