Parker's Social Protest Poem

Parker had to write a social protest poem for Language Arts. Here's what he wrote (with no help from me). I'm so proud.

Social Protest Poem

Why do those who have none suffer while who have lots thrive

Why is the government giving money to the millionaires Instead of those who can’t afford food for their family

The people who have don’t give

And the people who don’t have can barely live

Imagine watching all the people walk by throwing away their Half-eaten sandwiches spilling their extra large drinks

Things wasted that you would kill to have

You can’t afford it but that’s okay

Because A.I.G. has enough to pay

Their execs bonuses that they don’t need

When five jobs isn’t enough to provide what we need

To get help (from our fellow people)

And when they don’t answer

Where do you go?

You have nowhere to go

Like there is no light (at the end) (of the tunnel)

Like the government is a bully

Like they don’t want you to succeed

But don’t worry

You can do whatever you set your mind to

You’re as strong as a rhino and as smart as Einstien

Money may be avoiding you

But you can catch it

You can make it in this world

The Magic of Christmas

"Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me and for those who still truly believe."

I recently found out that my sister in law told my niece there is no Santa. She's 5. I'm not sure she's ever been allowed to have Santa. You see my sister in law is incredibly bitter. My brother committed suicide and left her with a 9 month old baby five years ago. Obviously, I have lots of unresolved feelings. I've been to two therapists and talked endlessly about it. However, I know my brother is at peace. Some people can't find peace on earth. He was haunted from the time he was a little child. I remember him complaining of terrible headaches and saying, "if I were a squirrel someone would shoot me to put me out of my misery." He went to see a psychiatrist. I wish we knew then what we do now. I wish people knew that depression was more than just being "sad." I think he would have had a whole other life. I tell people, I always knew Billie was tightly wound, I just never know how much.

Shortly after he died, my brother visited me in a dream. I was being chased by someone who wanted to kill me. I struggled and ran and ran and finally my brother came to me and told me to let them catch me, that death is a relief. That I would have peace and relief. A peace he could not find on earth.

I'm sitting here with Mollie watching Polar Express (we started out watching It's a Wonderful Life). It was really weird. I was watching this one part and suddenly my brother was sitting beside me and then he was gone. I don't really believe in ghosts, but I do think there is another dimension where others exist. Be they angels or guardians or whatever they may be. I mean who hasn't felt the present of a departed loved one at some time or another?

Anyway, so there was his brief presence as I thought of the magic of Christmas. There is a magic to Christmas. I hope there is a magic to this entire season for all, no matter their beliefs. But I thought of the magic of Christmas, here he was and then I thought of Emily (my niece). There was a message there. I want her to know the magic of Christmas. I'm afraid the cynicism of my sister in law has denied her the magic. I'm comforted that my sister in law is religious and so you may deny Santa, but hopefully not the miracle of Christmas.

So I was thinking of writing her a letter to talk to her about the magic of Christmas. Then I thought of sending her the book the Polar Express. It is an incredible book. Royce (a sort of faux cousin/aunt) sent it to us. Parker loved trains at the time and it was a such a wonderful tradition to read it. We love the movie too can't remember if some of the lines are from the book or the movie like--"Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see."

So then I began to think. What is the magic of Christmas? My kids have asked me several times over the past few years if I believe in Santa. This is our first Christmas without the mythical Santa (although the Elf still seems to have magic). I always told them "I believe in the magic of Christmas." There is no mistake that things happen at this time of year for a reason. That people go the extra mile, give the extra. That it truly is better to give than it is to receive.

For me the magic is traditions and memories. I love watching the same movies and hearing the same songs. Looking at the Christmas tree and just sitting and looking is a daily activity. I could definitely use a "move the Elf" app because that's a new one on me. The tree, really I just love the tree. And even the hokey Folger's commercials. The kid comes home from college (turns out now he's in the Peace Corps in West Africa) and I cry. I love helping my kids choose gifts for others--be they relatives, friends or strangers. I've actually never been a "happy holidays" kind of gal. I'll say Merry Christmas because I don't believe that my beliefs offend anyone because their beliefs don't offend me. Please wish me a Happy Chanukah or Happy Kwanzaa or Assalamu alaikum-I'm happy to celebrate all.

"The true spirit of Christmas lies in your heart." -Santa The Polar Express

And so in the end I guess we have to find our own magic. But I will also do my best to help others find it too.

Peace on Earth. Pax. Shalom. Assalamu alaikum.

***** As I think about what I wrote last night, I'm afraid it sounds like suicide was the right thing for my brother. I just want to say suicide is NEVER the answer. He may be at peace, but he left Hell on earth for a lot of people. If you or anyone you know ever mentions anything close to killing themselves--make sure they talk to someone. Or talk to someone for them. I wish every single day that my brother had talked to someone. That he had let someone know that he felt the world would be better off without him. Because the world is not better off without him.*****

Girls Dry Your Tears

I've talked a lot with friends about the difference between being a girl mom and a boy mom. I have a friend who firmly believes that there are those who are just meant to be "boy moms." That may be true, but Mollie has several very special women in her life who are "boy moms." Maybe they were put on this earth to help her and be there for her since they didn't have girls. Who knows, she's just a lucky little girl to have extra moms.

Still we struggle. I love her and there is no one I love to snuggle with more. (BTW Anthony doesn't snuggle so it's not a dis at all.) We've always snuggled from the start. She struggled, we snuggled and that solved it. But still, we'll be calling out something and she'll cry because of the way I called it out or the way I didn't call it out or perhaps I just gave her the correct answer too fast. Anthony will come intervene "why is she crying?!?!?" Always because of something I did or didn't do right. Which of course is correct. In its own way.

But tonight I understood. I understood why we struggle and why we must bond in such an intense way. For me it's easy to love my son. He's beautiful, he's smart, he mostly does his work without effort. He's fun to watch in sports. With Mollie it's much harder. She's one of the sweetest children on earth. And yet we struggle. She worries about her weight, I worry about her weight. We talk about it, we act on it, we ignore it. Same thing with her learning style. I know she has a special learning style I just haven't figured out what it is yet. I know she has a gift. I'm just not sure I've figured out what it is yet.

I've heard others, including my own mother, complain about their difficulties with their daughters. Friction. Miscommunication. Assumption. Resentment. But the other night, as we sat with friends and watched My Sister's Keeper, I found the answer. If you haven't seen it, it's really really sad. Mollie looked over at me in the movie and sweetly wiped each tear that fell from my eyes. As one would roll down my cheek, she would wipe it away. I knew in that moment that I need to remember that feeling. Because no matter how we struggle, I knew in that moment that she will be there for me to wipe my tears. And I know also, I need to do a much better job at wiping hers.

Contrary Stance

This made me say wow. It also supports my thoughts that some people are taking a contrary stance, just to be contrary.

I would like to remind the suddenly fiscally concerned Republicans that they marched us into two wars that caused this huge deficit. That their deregulation brought about not just the crash of Wall Street, but even before that the airlines. It's time to start on common ground and build. It's time to stop listening to people who simply want to create controversy--and their livelihoods depend on it.

Things I Hate

I haven't compiled a list. But here's something to add to it when I do. My favorite jeans ripped. Did they rip in the knee? NO.

The butt? NO.

The crotch? Close.

The inner thigh!!!!

How does that happen?? OK I know how it happens but really, that sucks.

Because an inner thigh rip does not look cool under any circumstances.

Top 10 Reasons to Miss Your Training Session

Every Wednesday I go to see a personal trainer. Yes, it's indulgent, but it's way cheaper than therapy. For me the thing I most got out of therapy was that there were 45 minutes when it was all about me. Yes I talked about other people, but I was the most important person in the room. A trainer is much like that and for me improving the outside, can't help but improve inside. Now I don't have to analyze why I did or didn't call my brother's wife, I can talk politics or the weather. Or I can complain about my brother's wife to someone who is quite sympathetic. All while burning calories.

So this week illness struck our household. On Tuesday I knew I wouldn't make it to my training session on Wednesday. So I went to text my trainer. As I looked at my past texts, it looked like a bad top ten list. Since I got my iphone here are my excuses:

Mollie and Anthony have the throw up disease and I got it.

No school because of level 2 snow emergency--as much as it's tempting could not justify driving to training as an absolute necessity.

Going on a field trip.

Parker is home sick.

Spring Break.

Parker and Anthony are sick.

Going to French Lick.

Mollie has lice.

Mollie hurt her arm and is going for xrays.

Swine Flu.

The last three are the ones that struck me as really funny--if you can laugh at lice, a broken arm and flu. I mean they actually sound made up. I guess you can't make up real life.

By the way, I've got nothing against actual therapy. I am after all a trained psychotherapist. I'm just saying sometimes there are alternatives and also here is how I rationalize going to a personal trainer. Now that I think of it, maybe that should be the tag line for a friend's new personal training business--"personal training with xxxx--it's cheaper than therapy."

The Day After

OK, I don't know why, but I have a problem with all this 9/11 "Never Forget" stuff. What has remembering gotten us? A war in Afghanistan? A war in Iraq? A lessened position in world politics? A new and growing prejudice against a religion of many because of the actions of a few? Maybe it's the politics of hate that I have a problem with.

I'm sorry, I don't want to remember 9/11. I don't want to remember walking down a deserted street with Parker on his first day of school. I don't want to remember the crowds of people standing around cars listening to the radio to try to get information. Walking by the TV stores with the big screen TVs showing over and over the planes flying into the World Trade Center. I don't want to remember trying to explain to my 4 year old why his school was suddenly shut down and why we had to walk home and why those images were on TV. I don't want to remember the desperation I felt trying to get the mile home to find Mollie and to gather my children up and keep them safe. I don't want to remember that my husband wasn't allowed to come home that night. I don't want to remember being unable to reach anyone by any means for hours. I don't want to remember the guilt my friend who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald had because he survived because he was hungover and couldn't get a cab. I don't want to remember sending my babysitter home to Brooklyn to be with her babies in Anthony's running shoes because she had no idea if she could even get home. I don't want to remember the haunted look in my friend's eyes because he walked out of the Wall Street subway station as people began throwing themselves out of the building. I don't want to remember that his wife couldn't come home to be with him because she worked outside the city. I don't want to remember that my brother's birthday was September 11th and he committed suicide two years later. I don't want to remember the neighbor who got her entire law firm out of the building and then did not return home to the little girl she had so excitedly adopted 3 years before. I don't want to remember that two people I knew who crashed in the field in Pennsylvania. I don't want to remember how my friend felt knowing he sent people on that plane, or his friend who put his mother on that plane. I don't want to remember the fear, hatred and paranoia people suddenly had for men with beards and dark skin.

What exactly do we not want to forget about that day? I know what I don't want to forget.

In the days following, while the city was still pretty much shut down. There was a beautiful peace in New York City. People were certainly sad over the massive loss of life, but we were one. People stopped making fun and criticizing New York City and sent an outpouring of love from all over the world. We truly were the center of the universe that first week. Fire fighters and police officers looked for their brothers in the ruble. People baked cupcakes and cookies and took them to the fire houses and police stations. People stopped and waved and saluted to the fire fighters. And people were kind and compassionate to their neighbors. Even the kids in the playground were different. I didn't see a single fight over a toy and when someone fell down, someone came running over to make sure they were alright. When someone said, "How are you?" They meant it. People were kind and compassionate. People were patriotic in their hearts.

But somewhere along the way it feels to me that September 11th became about hate and not compassion. It became about getting Osama Bin Laden. It became about you aren't patriotic if you don't fly an American flag, or wear one in your lapel. It became about "where were you?" So forgive me but if I try to forget September 11th. I will try to never forget September 12 & 13th. I want to remember the calm after the storm. I want to remember the emails people sent me saying thank God you are OK. I want to remember the caring that every New Yorker had for each other and the nearly every other person in the world had for New Yorkers. I want to remember the fire fighters putting the American Flag up in the ruble.

I will never forget kindness and compassion. I will never forget funeral procession after funeral procession. I will never forget the love and respect we suddenly remembered for the brave men and women who fight fires, save lives and keep us safe. I will never forget the love and respect we found for our neighbors--be they strangers or friends. I will never forget a child picking up a toy for another child and handing it to him. I will never forget gathering with my friends in the playground and making sure everyone made it home. I will never forget finding out who didn't.

I guess that my wish is to never forget that September 11th is not about hating the people who took down those planes. I don't need to remember those horrible images. My wish is that September 11th is the day we are patriotic in our hearts and turn to our neighbors with love and compassion--be they next door, down the street or half way around the world. That we remember that caring was the first emotion people felt in the days following and that caring and compassion is what we should take away from this day.