Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

Teach your children well.

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Paul and I have made a point to avoid talking politics in front of our children, for the simple reason that we didn’t want them parroting our opinions.  Neither of the big kids was very interested in the electoral process until this election.  Lydia is 11 and Christopher is 13 and Eden…well, Eden is Eden.  Early on she decided to “shout” for John McCain.  Christopher was for Obama and Lydia reserved judgment claiming that she didn’t know enough to make a wise decision. 
With the older two we have begun to discuss policies and politics using a civil and respectful tone.  We want our children to know what we believe and why and we want to teach them how to conduct themselves when they exercise their civic duties some day.  
It’s so easy to get all het up and to shoot off your mouth, but who and what does that serve?  I am working every day to teach my children to honor and respect others, but if I am dishonorable and disrespectful of political figures and their supporters I negate my teaching.
We were playing a game the other week called “Apples to Apples”  where the dealer turns over a card with a word on it like “nasty” and the players, who have seven other cards each, choose a word that matches best.  Each round there is a new dealer who is also the judge of which word wins.  When nasty came up, three of my cards were “Democrats” “Republicans” and “Barbara Walters”  I can’t remember the rest.  I had an amazing hand.  Regardless of my political persuasion I could have scored if I knew Paul’s.  Of course I do, but I didn’t want to make that sort of snarky statement in front of my kids.  
I was thinking about it later and decided that if I really want to teach my children well, I need to live it, which means never making snotty comments.  If I want to ensure that my kids learn to be civil then I need to make sure I am even when they aren’t around.
So I’m working on it.
With that in mind, I found this interesting.  

Neither side owns the moral high ground.  And yet, each one of us gets to take a stand for respect, civility and graciousness.

The Fair

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I wasn’t the only one with beverage challenges.
As we made our way around the small grounds, The Legumes and I would, from time to time, bump into one of the big kids.  One of the times we connected with Christopher, he was holding a large cup with a frozen juice.

Earlier in the day my heart skipped a beat when I noticed a tent advertising Biggby Coffee. From a distance I saw the big machines that indicate frozen drinks and decided that, in the absence of a glass of wine, an iced coffee would certainly do.  Sadly they were only serving a couple of iced juices.  I considered them for a second, as we were all quite thirsty, but then heard the server requesting $3.00 from a customer which was double what a children’s lunch that included a juice box was priced at another tent.  I steered the Legumes over there, where they split a hotdog and some chips.  I opted for water, giving Eden my juice box so each girl could have her own.  Both were more than satisfied. Christopher joined us and I gave him money to buy his own lunch.  We all ate together in peace and contentment.  Lydia, having filled up on a cupcake at the Cake Walk, requested only a bottle of water and chose to eat lunch when we got home.  
I knew that Christopher had brought five of his very own, hard earned dollars.  Although I also know that he is no saver, I was surprised that he had chosen to spend so much on a drink. I nodded at the cup and asked the obvious.
“You bought a juice?”
He sighed, “I reeeeeally wanted a water, but the lady at the tent said they didn’t have any and offered me a juice.  I said, ‘Yes, please’ and then she told me that it would be THREE DOLLARS!”  The sense of victimhood was palpable.  
“Is it good?”  I asked.
He shook his head.  “I don’t like it.  Do you want it?”
I took a sip.  It was quite tasty.  I thanked him and then offered him some of my water.  While he drank I considered my options.  Since I was going to drink the THREE DOLLAR juice, it occurred to me that I could bail him out and give him the money but an angel with a flaming sword, or common sense, stopped me and I decided this was, what those of us in the biz call, “a teachable moment.”  
“I’m sorry, Buddy.”  I paused, not wanting to lecture, but knowing that, with this child, I need to be overtly didactic.  “What do you think you could have done differently?”
He didn’t know.
“Would you like to know what I do before I buy something?”  A mute nod was my only encouragement.  “I…ask…the…price.”  
Who knew?
The Legumes were getting fractious so I spared him the entire homily on my own decision making regarding this particular drink and and invited him to join us at the gymnastics exhibit, but he had temporary tattoos in his sights.  We parted soberly, as it was clear he was still in a lot of pain. 
Turning away from us, he shook his fist at the sky and with a choked cry said, “Oh that swindling Biggby Coffee!”  
Be warned.

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The words verdure and verdant are constantly running through my head.

Paul and I walked Jack this morning.  There is one point where we come out of the woods and walk along the fields of a horse farm.  The sun was fresh in the sky and shining across a small pond in the distance.  All we could see was the lush green of the fields surrounded in the distance by woods.  I almost couldn’t take the beauty.
It’s that time of year where I realize that I failed to get the indoors completely ship shape and now it’s time to do yard work and gardening, not to mention the ongoing of school, cooking and laundry.  I am trying to break things down into manageable tasks, choosing to work indoors on crummy days and outdoors on sunny ones.  Saturday I hit some sort of sweet spot of energy and will and worked the entire day organizing closets and drawers.  I haven’t hit it since which is terribly disappointing.
We are also planning a couple of renovation projects and have contacted the contractor who did our kitchen three years ago.  We are trying to budget and prioritize.  One thing I am debating is cutting a door from our dining room into our mud room which also leads to our upstairs.  The idea would be letting western light into the dining room as well as creating flow, as the mud room goes into the living room.  I have only lived in houses with dead ends and would love to have a  circle.  I’ll try to post pictures.  
The main excitement is that we are adding two windows to our kitchen.  This will necessitate the removal of our largest cupboard, which has raised the question a few times, “Are you sure you want to lose all that storage?” To which I reply, “If it means I keep my mind?  Yes.”  Why a claustrophobic who gets depressed from a lack of light bought a home without a lot of windows in a valley surrounded by wooded hills is the question.  I don’t have a reason, but my answer has been to keep cutting holes and putting in windows.
I’m feeling a little dull.  I went to bed quite early last night, but then awoke at one, because the leg swipe I do to establish Paul’s presence came up empty.  Lights were on in the living room and he was playing Wii golf.  His story is that he had been working for a couple of hours and then couldn’t sleep.  He, wisely, turned off the game and we both went to bed, but I awoke again at four because the clock wasn’t face down.  I was not pleased.
I passed out again after we walked Jack, but only slept so we started school slightly behind schedule.  We still finished early – a good day.

https://alisonhodgson.com/2008/04/462/

A dispatch from the Wilds:

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I have been up since four or three, I can’t remember which, it’s been one or the other almost every morning.  My head aches and I am snuffling constantly when not hacking up…I’d rather spare you.  We did school on my bed and I am still marooned here, wearing my pajamas, which have served as a tissue more than once when a sneeze has taken me by surprise.

The dog has lost his mind.  He has chewed a roll of toilet paper, a small heart-shaped cardboard box (fortunately devoid of chocolate) and only he knows what else.  He likes to stand in my doorway and bark loudly.  No one can figure out what he wants or needs.  
The big kids have been educated and now have turned to the loving arms of the DVD player and the Wii.  Christopher has been begging me to use my laptop, but I am reluctant to give up my last link with civilization.  He and Lydia are both dressed and, as I mentioned, finished with school, so I would hold my head up, if I could.
Eden has been my constant companion.  She too is still in her pajamas and her face is covered with smears of chocolate.  She has had a running dialogue with me or one of her stuffed Chihuahuas for hours.  She tucked herself in for a nap because her body was feeling “kind of owie” and she was very tired.  Before she drifted off she told me “I’m thankful I can breathe.”  Later she said, “I’m glad that I can breathe and that my heart is beating.” 
That helped.  It’s been a hard day, I am crazy tired, my body aches and Paul and I had a stupid misunderstanding, but it’s also been sweet being so close to Eden and talking with her all day.  I have been making a point of expressing my gratitude daily, of looking for ways to acknowledge my thankfulness, but in the exhaustion and discomfort today  I forgot that. 
Thanks to my sick, sweet girl, I’m taking it back to the basics:  I’m thankful I can breathe, I’m glad my heart is beating. 

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It is Monday morning.  Grey.

Snow has been falling all week and more fell last night, so everything is fresh and beautiful, but I am blue.
I am reconsidering my job today, being a mother and all.  It’s not seeming like such a good fit for my skill set.  My skill set, such as it is, I am finding quite limited.  I am confident I am qualified to run around shrieking and I think I could handle holding both my hands beside my face while I do it.
I am also extremely good at laying about and reading.  

https://alisonhodgson.com/2008/02/545/