The 13th Apostol

No Organic Unitarian Webelo Left Behind

So were making our cake last night for the silent auction at the B&G banquet, and I'm trying to modify the recipe with applesauce to make it less deadly and Mer says "Mom, I have something to tell you"

I'm thinking shit, what happened because I dared to try and catch up on work and wasn't at school every day? "Mom, I had a cinnamon Bun for breakfast this morning at school. It looked so good, I just HAD to have it"

"Thank you for being honest with me, do you feel better?"
"Uh huh"
"Do your best to make healthy choices for yourself next time"
"OK, but Mom, if I didn't SEE the cinnamon Bun I wouldn't want it so bad."

There in lies the problem...

Alice Waters Op-ed in the NYT's  "No Lunch Left Behind" has drawn so much attention over the last two weeks, and for a good reason.
The solution I fear, will become too political to implement change. That's the I've-lived-in-Oklahoma-too-long skeptic in me shining through.

I'm in regroup mode right now, taking in all the data, doing my own research, interested to find out who's serious, and who's simply using the cause to boost a career. Watching to see what happens over the next month. When groups, causes, associations, become exclusive once they attain a specific hierarchy of leadership and goals...if it becomes something other than what's best for all children.

...that's something to consider.

The right wing political influence in this state is so strong, one meeting with the Superintendent isn't going to change it. I had a hard time believing he was going to even read the material we left...but one can dream. He was a nice enough man, but still a politician with a ton on his plate.

The advantage the leaders of our group have is who they're married to, where they live and who they know. A group of mothers living in city housing, wouldn't have a snowballs chance in Hell of getting this far.

When I was living in the projects with no vehicle, no furniture, and a toddler I was feeding through food banks, I was terribly worried about my sons future, his education, what I would do to change the course my life had taken. I'd lay awake at night with this beautiful sleeping angel in my arms who smelled like roses, scared to death I'd never get him out of there. The last thing on my mind was whether or not the food I fed him was nutritious...I was just grateful he wasn't hungry.

So I'm waiting to see if they use their powers for good, or ill...waiting to see if they include all perspectives or not. Saying "They" instead of "Us" says much.

We shall see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mer is having his Blue & Gold Banquet today, crossing over from a Webelo I, to a Webelo II...and I'm keeping my mouth shut.

The controversy surrounding the "Religion in Life" badge because we are Unitarian Universalists, (the wording of the oath Mer must take, which pledges duty to God...you know?) and the UUA have been at odds with the BSA for many a year over their stance on Homosexuality, God, Canadian Geese, et al...

UU's are "Intellectual activists", were pro-active on many social justice issues...We still negotiate the BSA issue after almost twenty years. We have the only green sanctuary in a city littered with churches. (insert eye rolling here) Eh hem...

I adore our troop, these people have become family to us...but the other troops I've visited are not as tolerant, loving, kind, patient...the word "Militant" comes to mind.

Wednesday I ran over to the *Scout Shop* to buy Mer's Khaki shirt for his cross over. The Scout/Salesman, did everything but call our group a bunch of uncivilized, dishonorable, anti-scouts, due to the precious informality of our Troop and Leaders.

"What do you mean he doesn't wear the OFFICIAL Scout belt?"
"You mean he doesn't have green pants...what does he WEAR?"
"He HAS to have this, and this, and this, and this..."

My hands were full. So I set all this militant crap down on the counter, dug my phone out of my lap top case, and called my troop leader.
...I left with a shirt and one badge...

Giant Boy Scout guy says, and I quote: "You all really ARE informal...but you're not doing it the RIGHT way!"...and turned on his OFFICIAL scout boots and stomped off.

My Slumdog Millionaire

Eat Wise

Like always it's another last-minute-crack-of-dawn-gonna-scramble-to-make-the-most-creative-stupid-Valentines...Valentines. (Did I mention I hate Valentines Day?)

Excited about our "Eat Wise" committee meeting with Superintendent Karl Springer, but know the struggle we have ahead.

Ah the 70's, what a decade they were...I digress, or digest. Had it not been the "Me" decade, I may have had a little parental involvement going myself. They were too busy *finding themselves* to find us.

Hide & Seek SUCKED.

There's this Switzerland feeling comes over me when I'm standing between these 30-somethings and these...more wise-somethings, telling my conscience "You are guilty of walking somewhere between trodden and forbidden ground, now scat little pussy cat or keep your mouth shut!"

My personal experience tells me if we don't have parental involvement, parents willing to use their creativity, willing to make sacrifices for these children they so desperately wanted to begin with...were out of luck.

I don't want to hear another parent say "I can't afford a bag of carrots" one more time in my life. Or the parent in line at the grocery store that the word "No" is not in their vocabulary.

I see the early stages of childhood obesity even within the walls of our very own school. I see the bright, beautiful young woman weighing in at more than her male teachers. I will not allow cultural differences to be an excuse when it comes to the rate of heart disease among African Americans.

I live with chronic pain, yet it doesn't excuse me to the couch with a bag of chips and the remote. When we take food away from children, we sure as Hell better be prepared to give something back...for the long haul.
Children are not stupid, it's adults, for the most part who lack insight.

This is what my father knew.
If you can teach a child through your actions they are valuable, not simply words, they will believe you and thus in themselves.
Change happens slowly...but they grow up so fast.

I bet Erica Jong's on Word Press

I've had an incredible amount of support from typepad over the last...since January 22, but this Hover.crap takeover of Domain Direct has about done me in.

I have a sub under The 13th Apostol. Since the Hover craft landed, the sub blog hasn't loaded correctly, as in "We here at Hover don't know what were doing".

Finally two days ago the typepad team informed me the NEW AND IMPROVED  Hover craft was not compatible with my OTHER typepad site, leaving the page legible finally, but the13thapostol.typepad.com in the URL of the additional site.

I'd prefer people not know what a screwball/deviant my father's kid is.
So far only the tech savy ones have tracked The 13th Apostol down.
Oh sweet Jesus of Nazareth what the Hell am I going to do?

Do I succumb to the corporate manipulations and transfer the other domain to a different company? Or allow the not-so-tech-savy to realize what color sheep FSK truly is?

I'm just a wee bit on the impatient side, haven't stayed abreast of what's going on in the blogsphere due to time restraints, and I want what I refer to as "The old Internet" back.

The post "everyone-has-a-blog-so-were-going-to-capitalize-on-the-fact" era.

A time when even a knitting blog stood the chance of an Alexa ranking, but no, now only corporate team blogs are getting any true action.

Certainly not a single mama from Poughkepsie (and typepad's auto spell can't spell Poughkepsie, so sorry folks in Poughkepsie) I don't live in Poughkepsie anyway, I live in Paraguay...and my real name is Martha. (pronounced Mar'ta)

Every News channel, every Newspaper, every media outlet I know of now has an off-shoot blog they scandalously plug at every opportunity.

So, that's the basis of my latest full blown crisis. Exposure at the risk of being myself. Of which even Prozac can't change, but makes the dust bunnies magically go away.

Remember in the beginning...(here she goes) ^;;^ Taking flight in the untapped regions of a writers paradise? People commenting and visa versa simply to connect????

Then came the great exodus to Facebook, where every tiny detail of your life can be plucked deftly from the "Security Features" Ha! I scoff!
(Nine million dollars in 45 minutes from ATM's should hopefully prove THAT point. We are cattle.)

Do I sincerely care if I'm exposed? I mean do I REALLY care, other than Mer-boy's safety? (which is a #1 good reason) Sometimes events happen for what seem like no apparent reasons, then turn out to be reasons...good ones.
(although discussing my former conquests, menopausal dismay, and learn-as-I-go-parenting-skills is probably not the image readers of the other site had in mind when they thought of my father's daughter)

SURPRISE!

My favorite quote by Erica Jong adorns my soon-to-be-defunct Facebook profile.

"Beware of the man who denounces women writers; his penis in tiny and he cannot spell."

I'm not so much into the shock factor of my personality...as the truth about who I am. The more comfortable I seem to be in my own skin, the easier it is for me to feel whole. Less like I'm the one so maladjusted, and others simply hide it better...which means I'm still pretty maladjusted, huh?

Oh well, for the immediate future...I'm still sucking it up.
Joy.

 

Nervous Breakdowns are to Writers, what Valentines Day is to Single "Forty-Something" Mothers...Mandatory

Oh, hello...I lied. Again.
I seem to do that a lot over the last six months.
"Yeah I'm fine"
"Of course I want a dog"
"I can eat anything I want and not look pregnant"

It just goes on and on.

In October, after what will from here on out be more commonly known as "MY FUCKING BREAKDOWN"
I did a few things that women in their 40's are supposed to have outgrown. Or so I've read/seen on Oprah/heard when I'm getting my roots done.

1. Quit eating
2. Quit sleeping, consistent like - for more than an hour at a time.
3. Stopped leaving the house. I hate my house now by the way.

Then came the Holidays with no immediate family, to which I handled most adequately I might add, by doing several things.

1. Started eating.
2. Started sleeping, consistent like - for twenty or so hours at a time.
3. Started leaving the house...but only to spend money I didn't have to spend.

Now comes February, the month of (gack) lovers - of which I have none.
None, because there was a time in the not so distant past when the plural was how I rolled. Multiples, many, oh-so-many.
Not that many, but always, fucking ALWAYS these men were so insidiously drawn to my insanity.

My obvious infidelity and blatant lies...and I didn't choose unintelligent men, oh no. Yet when it came to believing "Oh yeah, you're the love of my life and even though it's Valentines I'm turning in early, but thanks for the jewelry. I love it. I love YOU, G-nite" (at 6:00PM) they never questioned me once.

In fact, had something in myself not short circuited and I developed a conscience, my last name might be Trump by now, and to Hell with all the facial creams. Just fix it!

But I did. Along came the lil' guy who would forever steal my heart of all things snakey and bitchy. Who I've accepted a life of spinsterdom for, in lieu of plopping his ass with a sitter for the night while I still aim for the stars.

Once we've been grounded by a love affair with our children everything else seems to pale in comparisson. Grounded is never a word I believed I'd use to describe myself. Even when I had "MY FUCKING BREAKDOWN", the length I went to to shield him from it...well, it wasn't very far actually. Cut me some slack, it was a BREAKDOWN for Christ's sake.

I'm feeling strong about that day in the middle of the month...but it's the 4th. It may change by the 10th, but right now I'm strong.

Do other mothers have FUCKING BREAKDOWNS when the rug is ripped out from underneath them, or am I the only one who does the bathroom floor hysterics like there's an audience watching through the keyhole?

Shit.

All I know is the sun is shining, I get to buy groceries, hit petsmart (i.e. make purchases) cook dinner, take my kid to dance, then come home and complain loudly about how hard I work to make his life wonderful.

SO grateful I'm single, and "They" are also.