Activist me and adios to Chick-fil-A

I’m feeling conflicted and I’ll tell you why.

I tend to keep my political beliefs quiet, unless I’m engaged in a political discussion. I've never been much of an activist and having too tall a soapbox tends to limit the diversity of my friendships and I enjoy the diversity of my world. I appreciate having friends that view the world from a different viewpoint. Their opinions make me think, evaluate what I truly believe. Sometimes listening to them changes my mind. Other times it teaches me to be more tolerant of those whose beliefs are different from mine.  Either way, the disagreements enrich my life.

I don’t know how many of you have been following the Chick-fil-A situation. It seems that the upper level decision makers of the corporation aren’t too fond of gay rights. I guess it’s not shocking, as it’s a religious company.  I had heard about it before but it’s really exploding now. If I am to believe the media, the company donates a significant amount of money to groups that are actively anti equal rights for the gay population. They are also speaking out against alternative couples and families. Actively.

This point of view is not consistent with my view of the world, to put it mildly. I firmly believe in equal rights for everyone. Everyone. And I don’t believe in limiting the choices of another, especially when that choice poses no threat to me. In the case of gay rights, I find this to be especially relevant. Even if I weren’t pro equal rights (which I am), I wouldn’t feel right advocating a ban.  Nobody is forcing me to marry a woman simply because I would hypothetically have the legal right. I’m not interested in women, so why would I care if someone else does?

The Chick-fil-A situation hits close to home for me. Why? So glad you asked. Because my kids LOVE Chick-fil-A. We can’t even talk about it at home if we aren’t planning to go. We have to use a code name. Oh, and we have to change the code name occasionally because they learn the one we are using and get upset when we can’t go.

I love it because it’s 5 stars for fast food. The food isn’t greasy. The service is great. They even bring your food to the table for you when you have your hands full with kids and come around to offer drink refills. Now THAT’S service. The local restaurant knows me and my kids. They greet us with a warm hello every time. The play area is the icing on the cake. On rainy, cold, snowy or stupidly hot days I can take the kids there. We eat and they play. All is well.

So, I find myself in a highly confounding position. Do I…?

A)     … ignore the fact that this company’s values clash exponentially with my own and continue to patronize the establishment, pretending that my hard earned money isn’t funding a cause that degrades people I love?

B)      … “vote with my feet” as so many have done before and choose to not patronize the restaurant? But how do explain this to my kids who are too young to understand? Is that an overreaction?

When the publicity first emerged, a while back, I ignored it. I rationalized it without too much difficulty, stating that I don’t mix my play dates with politics. But now? It isn’t like my kids are exposed to hate or intolerance when they dine there. But would they if they had two moms? I guess I’ll never really know.

I am further confounded by the knowledge that I am entirely ignorant of the causes funded by other companies I patronize. I don’t know who target supports, I’ve never checked. As they don’t make the news, I can only assume that their donations are less controversial or more discreet. And Target gets more of our annual income than I am willing to acknowledge. Same goes for Starbucks. Would I stop drinking their coffee if I disagreed with the cause?

Just how strongly would I have to disagree? Is this one of THOSE moments where I put my foot down?

The answer to that question came this morning. My husband is traveling and my kids asked about him as I was buckling them in, to go to camp. We agreed that we missed him, and then they decided to tell me all about the people they miss.  At the top of the list were two female friends of mine. Lovely women that also happen to be gay.

And that was it. I can’t give my money to a company that doesn’t accept some of my dearest friends. I’m not angry, mind you. I’m not angry at the company and I’m certainly not angry at any of my friends who don’t disagree with Chick-fil-A’s point of view. We are all entitled to our own views. But I am not willing to endorse what I don’t believe in.

I wonder what battles my children will face when they are my age.

Meaningful time

When we first had our kids, we were one of the lucky couples. You know, one of the couples that got to choose if I went back to work or not. So many don’t have that choice as their mortgage (or some other financial necessity) depends on both salaries.  I chose to stay home.

Part of my reasoning was a simple financial equation. My salary, once we accounted for daycare, would not improve our standard of living enough to justify the havoc it would wreak on our schedule. The other part was emotional, though. I wanted to be around for the initial years of my kids’ lives. I wanted to witness as many firsts as possible and bearing witness to such events was more important than a daily professional life. And for what it’s worth, I feel insanely grateful for living in a generation where I am granted such choices. Past generations didn’t always have that luxury.

But here’s the thing. All day, every day with the kids is a lot of time. A LOT OF TIME.  Add into the mix the need to food shop, run errands, make meals, do dishes, clean up crazy messes and handle less than cooperative kids in public and provide some kind of play time for the kids… well… it’s not always pretty. It’s a job. A huge job. Ask any stay at home parent how it feels to “not work”. They’ll tell you about all the bonbons they have time to eat.

                                                

And as much as I love my kids, and wouldn’t trade my time with them for the world, sometimes I just want some quiet. And that is when I send them to the basement.

I know that sounds terrible, but it’s not. Our basement is kid heaven. It has a million toys and a big TV for watching their favorite DVD’s. They love it down there. We even moved the light switch so that they can reach it and go downstairs all by themselves. For the most part, they play very well together down there and consider it to be their place.

But here’s the problem. Recently, as the kids get more independent and spend more time playing on their own, I have mixed feelings. Part of me is ecstatic. Ok, most of me is ecstatic. The amount of time they play on their own allows me to get things done without kids around my ankles. I finish laundry, get dishes done and even check my email sometimes.  But the other part of me suffers from a certain amount of guilt. I wonder if I am spending enough quality time with the kids. Am I reading to them enough? Doing enough puzzles with them? Do I hug them enough?

Ironically, I come from a background in education, where a self sufficient and resilient child is valued like gold. Logically, that self sufficient child must have been given the space to grow at some point and their primary caretakers had to have backed off. Let them do their own thing and figure things out on their own. Stopped hugging for every little thing and allow the kid to adapt to a little discomfort. At least to a certain extent.

We went to a friends’ house the other day. They have a daughter, 9 years old, and a total sweetheart. When we arrived, the kids dove into the basement and the “big girl” watched them. For more than 2 hours. The adults sat outside, eating and chatting, while the kids played happily inside. It was awesome. I actually finished a series of conversations. Go figure.  And I loved it. Without reservations.

So I guess the guilt I feel is really just part of the normal “mother’s guilt” package, because every time my kids really need something they come running or call for me. They know exactly how to be comforted when they need to be.

So, ok. Fine. I’ll shut up and enjoy my free time. Thanks for reminding me.

The teenage years in the rearview mirror...

The other day I was in the car with my kids and a friend. She was spending some of the weekend with us, hanging out and helping me with the kids. My husband was smack dab in the middle of time consuming house repairs, so the company and the help were quite welcome.

 This friend is one of very few in the category that she inhabits. She’s 15 years younger than me and a previous student. Actually, I was her middle school French teacher, about 10 years ago. We always got along well and when she moved on to high school, she remained at the same K-12 school, so she remained on the same campus. She would come back for the occasional visit. When she went to college, we stayed in touch. It’s a pleasure, for me, to see her come into her own. I can’t wait to see what she’ll do next, as she just graduated college and is already finding her footing in the “real” world.

The age difference, while noticeable, isn’t really a barrier. She’s mature enough to have a slight grasp of what my life looks like and I’m young enough in spirit to not be too old fogey for her. It’s a nice place in the middle, our common ground.  I sort of feel like an older cousin sometimes, if that makes any sense.

 But I digress.

So, we were in the car. I recently bought the kids a Disney Jr. CD that has all kind of Mickey Mouse songs. It’s cute; at least it was the first 10,000 times. The kids are addicted to it and I now know exactly which song is which track so I can go to whichever song they want on demand. I can only imagine how much useful brain space this knowledge is taking up. It terrifies me, to be totally honest. No wonder I can’t keep track of so many other details in my life.

My daughter objects if the music isn’t loud so I get the constant “Make it louder” from the backseat. In theory, I don’t mind. It is summer, however, and the AC makes a lot of noise so she is always asking for it to be so loud that I can’t hear myself think.  Funny how I can tolerate that volume with bass pumping dance music, but not Donald Duck’s squeaky quacking.

So, I’m in the car with my friend and my daughter requests the volume to be turned up. I turn to my friend and sigh. “There’s got to be a way to make this louder in the back than the front”. She looks at me sideways for a long moment and replies “There is. You want me to do it?” The level of joy I felt at that moment is embarrassing. I actually did a little dance. She laughed at me, openly. Then, she fixed it and showed me how so that I could do it on my own next time.

Is that how my parents feel when we show them how to do something on the computer that’s a no brainer for us but beyond solution for them? Hmmm… I must remember that and be more patient about it in the future. 

And so I find myself in a moment of self reflection. I am truly getting older. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown woman with two little kids. “New” technology has to be explained to me. Sigh. Fortunately, this pleases me. I like where I am and who I am. My self- inflicted criticisms aren’t too harsh.  I really enjoy the freedom I have to make my own choices, that’s for sure.

 Maybe this getting older thing isn’t too bad after all. J

The slow painful death of manners... or is it?

When our kids were really young, I read an article in a parenting magazine about manners and how they are dying a slow death. If you were to believe the author, kids today have no sense of fair play, no respect and are allowed to run wild. The recommendations for correcting this problem were consistent with the earlier point of view. Bring back some of the old fashioned values.

And this author, while a bit extreme in my opinion, is not totally wrong. It’s true that kids are more “kid like” than they used to be. At least in overt behavior. They are more likely to throw a tantrum in public without fear of big punishment, as our culture’s view of appropriate punishment has changed dramatically. Better or worse? I guess it depends on who you ask.

If you ask me to assess myself, I am somewhere in the gray area. I have a certain amount of patience for age appropriate (albeit annoying) behaviors, but I also don’t hesitate to discipline that which I am not willing to tolerate long term. To be brutally honest, I do it for me and the kids. They need the structure and I need the occasional quiet. I don’t pull my car over to pick up the toy that my kid threw out of frustration, and is now out of his/her reach. I don’t care how much they cry. Maybe next time they won’t throw it and I am not going to set the expectation that this is ok. Do I really want to stop the car every 10 feet? No way! If it drops by accident and I am on a road with red lights… then I can probably help.

A few months ago, we were at a pizza restaurant with a few other families. 4 moms and 7 kids. Kids ranging from 1 year old to 5 years old. The 5 year old, a beautiful little girl, was the center of a great big “hug pile” for lack of better expression. Picture tackling in a standing position with more giggling than ever heard before. Yup, you got it. Then I saw my son. He was standing off to the side with a hesitant smile on his face, trying to figure out how to join in. My son is a shy kid sometimes, and he usually shies away from this kind of game, so I was surprised. Before I could say a thing, the 5 year old girl threw him a big smile and called out, “Come on, we’re waiting for you!” His whole face lit up and he ran into the group joyfully. I could have cried. I still get teary thinking about it.

Recently, we went to dinner at another friend’s house, where there is a lovely 6 year old girl. When my daughter’s little dress got all wet playing at the water table, we changed her out and popped her dress in the dryer. The 6 year old girl took her upstairs to her room to dress her in one her own princess dresses while the dryer was on, because my daughter didn’t want to wear shorts.  (Didn’t you know that princesses don’t wear shorts? Ahhh…) Watching my daughter prance in that beautiful dress… such a joy. The fact that a “big girl” had helped her only made it better.

I also notice that “big kids” on public playgrounds are almost always careful of my young kids as they dash around at full speed. I have never had to pick up an injured child due to one of these kids and when I have had to say something, it has only been once. A gentle reminder to a kid busy being his/her own age. I can handle that.

And so I send a message to this author. The one who believes that manners are slowly dying. Look around you. Manners may be transforming, but they are not dead. Not if you look closely!

The blogger's connection...

My son is a huge fan of moving vehicles. All of them. As often as possible. Car rides are a blast. As a result, I find myself unconsciously noticing all the trucks on the road as I drive, even when I’m alone.

 Which is why I noticed the tow truck. Normally tow trucks don’t spin my wheels but this one struck me as ironic… because it was towing another tow truck. I guess even helpers need help sometimes.

 It was about the same time that I came to a realization. It seems like more and more people I know are keeping blogs these days. Everyone has their angle, too. Some focus on their kids while others focus on politics. Some focus on gourmet food, while others discuss boast their newest bargain hunt.

Mostly, however, they talk about their lives. Their thoughts. Their hopes. Their dreams. Their concerns. If they don’t do so directly, they do it indirectly. If it’s worth writing about, it’s because it represents a segment of their life that occupies enough territory to warrant substantial thought. Right?

 One of my favorite bloggers recently featured a posting about the professional dilemma that is looming in front of her as her kids go to kindergarten and she is willed back into the work force. Another of my favorites posted about finding the strength to join Weight Watchers and finally do it right. That making excuses about how hard it is to lose weight is not going to grant her the long healthy life she deserves with her two beautiful children and wonderful husband.

 And here is what I’m learning.

We all harbor the same concerns, if you boil it down to the central issues. Sure, the peripheral details vary but we all really live the same life. We worry about our choices and if we made the right ones. We distress over what we could have done differently when plans go awry. We wonder if our successes are significant enough to make our lives successful.

And why do we all blog about it?

Because we want to reach out, put our thoughts out into the universe. We don’t want to feel that way alone.

At least that’s my opinion.

Military grace

We took the kids to a local air force base recently for their annual air show. To say that they loved it would be a gross understatement. They were in heaven! It didn’t hurt that parking was a decent distance from the actual event and the shuttle busses were school buses. That may well have been one of my daughter’s favorite parts.

That morning, when I got the kids out of bed, they were straggling a bit. Not cooperating on the getting dressed process.  I reminded them that we were going to see airplanes today and their eyes lit up! Down the stairs, clothing on, breakfast eaten, teeth brushed… let’s go!

I’m not really a sir and ma’am kind of person. This is not to say that I don’t believe in showing respect for those around us, it’s just that I tend to take a less conservative approach. I firmly believe in opening doors for those with full hands, I just don’t care about the gender of that person. I do, however, believe that you follow someone else’s rules when you are on their turf. Given that we were on THEIR base, ma’am and sir seemed like a good idea. I even got the kids to say “Good morning Ma’am” and “good morning sir” to the soldiers who greeted them. You should have seen the smiles on the soldiers’ faces. Priceless.

The weather was perfection. True and utter perfection. Warm enough to feel comfortable in a tank top but cool enough to not sweat. A perfect breeze. I’m not sure why, but a windy day at an air show just feels right. Like a slight wind at the beach.  It just fits.

We walked through helicopters and planes. We looked at the cockpits and sat in the seats. We drove fire trucks and posed in front of race cars. We munched on popcorn and French fries, sipped fresh lemonade. It was awesome.

At various times throughout the day, there were general announcements. Some were related to upcoming events, directing visitors to a certain location. Others were more like advertizing and I couldn’t help but smile at the “hoo-rah” tone. It’s not something that I have much exposure to on a regular basis.

What I did notice, however, was the sense of honor. The discipline. It was fascinating. It’s not hard to imagine that the military draws people in. Provides them with a sense of purpose. Makes them stand taller.  It is such a stark contrast to the life I live, where order is terribly hard to find.

And I, for one, am grateful for these people. They protect us, keep us safe. They deserve to be called ma’am and sir. After all, they risk their lives for us every day.  Isn’t that one basic way to show our appreciation? Don’t they deserve it, at the very least?