It doesn't take long, upon meeting me, to know that I am an animal lover. In fact, my house seems to be a hub for four-legged friends, including three beastly dogs and two cats, and then two "aquatic" friends I have mentioned in previous posts. Growing up, my grandparents ran a cattle farm, raising and selling beef for slaughter. I didn't think twice about it, however, I don't think I really even knew what was going on until much later in my childhood. I was naive, or maybe I just chose to be in that case. I recall my Papa had a bull named Willy B. This bull was "there" every spring, in the barn, yet, he would occasionally change personalities. "Oh, Willy's ornery today, don't visit him" I'd hear. I am slightly embarrassed to say that I didn't know until about age 13 that there had been about 8 different Willys in my lifetime.
Okay, where am I going with this? Well, as a teenager, I made a devout commitment to vegetarianism. This lasted for a few years - no meat at all. I took pride in the fact that a girlfriend and I could annihilate a Veggie Delight footlong at our local Subway in 8 minutes, flat.
When I moved to Georgia and got married, however, I decided that my husband might want to eat a steak, once in a while, and so on and so forth until I eventually caved and became a carnivore once again.
Flash forward: three weeks ago.
My son Isaac is passionate about the humane treatment of animals, particularly livestock. He was horrified at the 4H fair to see the bunnies in cages, panting in the stifling heat of the afternoon, despite the use of deafening fans in attempt to cool them. He hated seeing the cows lined up against the wooden walls, their tails swishing and their heads baying while, in front of them, their "prize" weights were displayed on brightly colored posterboard. I get that it's a farm-kid's past time. I understand that, I do. It's just I understand my kid's heartache for them too, because I've felt it all my life.
It all really came to a head on a drive to church this summer, when a cattle truck passed us on the interstate, full of those beautiful brown eyes and wet noses trying to sniff the unfamiliar air from the tiny holes in the trailer. Isaac asked, with some hesitation in his voice, "Why is that truck full of cows, Mommy?" I considered my options. Moving to a new farm? On a field trip? How about, oh, just headed off to some slaughterhouse where, in a matter of days, they'll be in the beef case at the grocery store.
I took a deep breath and explained that the cows, unfortunately, were not going to live much longer. In the most censored way possible, I told him they would be killed, and their bodies would be used for meat. Hamburgers, steaks, etc. He stayed quiet. So did I. A few minutes later, in a shaky voice, he said "and what happens with pigs, the same thing?"
I nodded.
I stuggled, internally, with this conversation for days. I hadn't actually eaten pork or beef in quite a while, mostly because of the stomach aches I get when I do eat it. I've been working toward semi-vegetarianism again, and I wondered if it would be okay to suggest it for my kids, too.
Flash forward: today.
Since the incident with the cattle transport, we have had many discussions about the ethical treatment of livestock. A wonderful woman in our church even brought up kosher meat, and suggested that we learn about it. Isaac and I watched several clips on youtube.com about keeping kosher, and although we aren't Jewish, we consider it a viable option. However, the interest has also sparked in Gabe, my three year old, and he put it simply: "We don't kill animals, Mommy. Dat is so not nice. So we not gonna eat dem, anymore." (I should note, he does not think that chicken nuggets are animals, which, they're probably not, but we're not going to go there).
Semi-vegetarianism it is. Lacto-ovo is what I'd like to be, but I think the protein is really important and I don't think I could completely remove fish and poultry from my kids' diets just yet. I realize there is inhumane killing of chickens and turkeys, too, but I'm trying really hard to buy into the fact that some of these cage-free farms are actually killing humanely and that it's not just one giant way to get people to pay three times as much for a chicken. I found that you can also order kosher chicken and turkey online from Jewish markets.
Tonight we had Boca burgers, corn and potato wedges. Isaac beamed and ate every bite, proclaiming more than once that it felt "so good that he wasn't eating any cow."
Trouble is, Gabe has taken the notion to an extreme: tonight at dinner he burst out, "No, we NOT gonna eat cows, Isaac, or kill dem. We just be NINJAS and we will kill all da PEOPLE dat try to kill da COWS!"
Um, yeah, I'll work on that.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Bus
So, first thing's first - I took the summer off, forgive me. If anyone read this enough to care, anyhow.
Now that that's out of the way, let me tell you, friends, that I've been replaced. Stood up, snubbed, pushed out, betrayed, whatever. Trumped, by a big yellow beast and the school that hired it. My baby started Kindergarten yesterday. Today, he started being a "bus rider."
For weeks, months, heck, even years, he's stated emphatically that he will not be going to school. First it was cute, then funny, and then recently, scary, as I pictured myself having to drag him there, explaining to the teachers that he may have to be roped to a chair if they wanted him to stay. Yesterday was day one. He rode with me, because there were abbreviated hours, and parents were invited to orientation. He complained the whole drive there, that he did not want to go, and didn't see why he couldn't just stay home. Then something changed. He entered this classroom, full of brightly colored posters, and bins of things like Legos, and blocks, and crayons and pipe cleaners. He found a seat at a table that was already labeled with his name. He became very excited.
Today is day two. My child did not complain, no, he shot out of bed like a cannonball and quickly - I mean quickly put his clothes on. All these years of saying "Okay, and now where are your pants? Don't you have another sock?" must be over. He had everything on, in the right place. He sat and ate his cinnamon roll Toaster Strudel and drank his juice without complaint as well. He even commented on how good it tasted, which really never happens. Next, he mentioned that we better "go wet this hair down" because did I see "how crazy it is!?" Prior to this day, I swear to you, this child would walk around with hair wilder than Albert Einstein and not care.
I kneeled before him and said "You know that you have to listen to the bus driver, and you have to do whatever he says. You can't get off until you're at school, either." He said to me, I kid you not: "What, am I stupid or something? I know what my school looks like."
We walked silently to the spot, only about 300 ft. from our front door, where the bus stops. My stomach was in knots as I clutched my coffee cup. I needed something to hold onto, because I knew that today, it wouldn't be his hand. Two little girls, fifth graders, were already standing there. I started nervously speaking to them, like I was on a first date: "Do you come here often? I mean....you ride this bus every day?" And then I continued with "This is my son Isaac, he's in Kindergarten, would you girls make sure he does this whole bus thing right?" Isaac glared at me, and turned to the girls and rolled his eyes. "I've ridden lots of buses before" he told them. Um, no you haven't. Whatever, I get it. Can it, mom.
The bus pulled up, and I braced myself for the big goodbye hug, the promise to see him in just a few hours, the "I'll miss you, have a wonderful day." And as I stood there, white-knuckling my mug and running through the dialogue in my head, I watched my little blonde-headed boy bounce onto the bus without looking back. I froze. That's it? No big, dramatic goodbye? What?
The bus driver looked down at me from his throne, his big vinyl seat of authority, and said "Kindergarten?"
I nodded.
"He'll be fine."
I barely whispered, "okay."
As I heard the engine kick up, and the bus pull away, I stood there on the pavement, a little stunned at what just happened. But as I walked back home, a smile spread over my face, thinking of how exciting this all is for my boy. How he must be on top of the world right now, heading off to school like a big boy with his Spiderman backpack and new shoes.
I can't believe how quiet it is here. I realize the other two will be up momentarily, and the house will come alive. For now, though, I'm not sure what to think. Other than that I think I am going to need more coffee.
Now that that's out of the way, let me tell you, friends, that I've been replaced. Stood up, snubbed, pushed out, betrayed, whatever. Trumped, by a big yellow beast and the school that hired it. My baby started Kindergarten yesterday. Today, he started being a "bus rider."
For weeks, months, heck, even years, he's stated emphatically that he will not be going to school. First it was cute, then funny, and then recently, scary, as I pictured myself having to drag him there, explaining to the teachers that he may have to be roped to a chair if they wanted him to stay. Yesterday was day one. He rode with me, because there were abbreviated hours, and parents were invited to orientation. He complained the whole drive there, that he did not want to go, and didn't see why he couldn't just stay home. Then something changed. He entered this classroom, full of brightly colored posters, and bins of things like Legos, and blocks, and crayons and pipe cleaners. He found a seat at a table that was already labeled with his name. He became very excited.
Today is day two. My child did not complain, no, he shot out of bed like a cannonball and quickly - I mean quickly put his clothes on. All these years of saying "Okay, and now where are your pants? Don't you have another sock?" must be over. He had everything on, in the right place. He sat and ate his cinnamon roll Toaster Strudel and drank his juice without complaint as well. He even commented on how good it tasted, which really never happens. Next, he mentioned that we better "go wet this hair down" because did I see "how crazy it is!?" Prior to this day, I swear to you, this child would walk around with hair wilder than Albert Einstein and not care.
I kneeled before him and said "You know that you have to listen to the bus driver, and you have to do whatever he says. You can't get off until you're at school, either." He said to me, I kid you not: "What, am I stupid or something? I know what my school looks like."
We walked silently to the spot, only about 300 ft. from our front door, where the bus stops. My stomach was in knots as I clutched my coffee cup. I needed something to hold onto, because I knew that today, it wouldn't be his hand. Two little girls, fifth graders, were already standing there. I started nervously speaking to them, like I was on a first date: "Do you come here often? I mean....you ride this bus every day?" And then I continued with "This is my son Isaac, he's in Kindergarten, would you girls make sure he does this whole bus thing right?" Isaac glared at me, and turned to the girls and rolled his eyes. "I've ridden lots of buses before" he told them. Um, no you haven't. Whatever, I get it. Can it, mom.
The bus pulled up, and I braced myself for the big goodbye hug, the promise to see him in just a few hours, the "I'll miss you, have a wonderful day." And as I stood there, white-knuckling my mug and running through the dialogue in my head, I watched my little blonde-headed boy bounce onto the bus without looking back. I froze. That's it? No big, dramatic goodbye? What?
The bus driver looked down at me from his throne, his big vinyl seat of authority, and said "Kindergarten?"
I nodded.
"He'll be fine."
I barely whispered, "okay."
As I heard the engine kick up, and the bus pull away, I stood there on the pavement, a little stunned at what just happened. But as I walked back home, a smile spread over my face, thinking of how exciting this all is for my boy. How he must be on top of the world right now, heading off to school like a big boy with his Spiderman backpack and new shoes.
I can't believe how quiet it is here. I realize the other two will be up momentarily, and the house will come alive. For now, though, I'm not sure what to think. Other than that I think I am going to need more coffee.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
with the warm comes the crazies
We've had temps above 60 for several days recently. I love it. I really do. I love to sit outside and soak up the sun like the best sun worshippers out there. I love the thought that in another few weeks, that temperature will soar even higher and it will be beach time. I love planting flowers and gardening...and love it even more when the kids find the first ripe tomato of our garden and plant their tiny baby teeth into it.
I'm a summer person. Fall's my favorite...but summer is definitely a close second.
Besides the agony of putting on a bathing suit...and taking it off, and putting on a different one...and taking it off...and then finally settling on some sort of bag with a drawstring or a terry cloth smock that's cutely named a "beach cover up," I also loathe neighborhood ruckus.
By ruckus, I mean other people's kids. I appreciate the desire for children to play outside. I do. My aforementioned children love to run themselves ragged in the dog days of summer, from the first peek of daybreak to the last breath of light. But, I just don't appreciate that some parents let this "ragged running" take place unsupervised.
I had a conversation with both my parents, in the past few days, about watching the kids. We are contemplating the purchase of a new home that happens to have a creek flowing through the backyard. It's gorgeous, and the babbling of the water over the rocks creates a feeling of serenity and peace. Peace, however, may not be the right word to describe the feeling I get when I think of the kids near that creek. The feeling is anxiety, apprehension. My parents share that feeling.
However, there's this thing I do...it's called "supervising." I do it a lot. Not just from the crack of dawn till that last breath of light. Nope. I'm the mom that gets up at 3 a.m. to make sure everyone is still breathing, as they are passed out in a hard, drooly sleep, with various action figures, stuffed animals, or pacifiers nestled in next to them. I love my kids. I suppose most parents do.
I even suppose that my neighbors love their kids, too. It's just a funny way of showing it. For example, this evening, what prompts me to type this post in the first place, is the fact that my neighbors' six-year old girl is playing ball in the street with two teenage boys. I have never before seen these boys. I also don't know that I'd let my daughter play with them. Maybe they're cousins. Maybe uncles. I don't know. But, regardless, they are all in the street...the same place as the not-so-speed-limit obedient cars. They have also, eight times now, not that I'm counting, thrown their ball into my front yard. My three beastly dogs are finding themselves quite distraught over this. They can't handle it. I am growling at them to cease their barking; they simply think they're alerting me that someone has come into our yard. They're doing what they should, I'm the one supremely annoyed.
So the question is, do I say something to the parents, or do I assume that if they were actually conscientious people who caredfor their child's well being, they wouldn't allow her out there in the first place?
I'm a summer person. Fall's my favorite...but summer is definitely a close second.
Besides the agony of putting on a bathing suit...and taking it off, and putting on a different one...and taking it off...and then finally settling on some sort of bag with a drawstring or a terry cloth smock that's cutely named a "beach cover up," I also loathe neighborhood ruckus.
By ruckus, I mean other people's kids. I appreciate the desire for children to play outside. I do. My aforementioned children love to run themselves ragged in the dog days of summer, from the first peek of daybreak to the last breath of light. But, I just don't appreciate that some parents let this "ragged running" take place unsupervised.
I had a conversation with both my parents, in the past few days, about watching the kids. We are contemplating the purchase of a new home that happens to have a creek flowing through the backyard. It's gorgeous, and the babbling of the water over the rocks creates a feeling of serenity and peace. Peace, however, may not be the right word to describe the feeling I get when I think of the kids near that creek. The feeling is anxiety, apprehension. My parents share that feeling.
However, there's this thing I do...it's called "supervising." I do it a lot. Not just from the crack of dawn till that last breath of light. Nope. I'm the mom that gets up at 3 a.m. to make sure everyone is still breathing, as they are passed out in a hard, drooly sleep, with various action figures, stuffed animals, or pacifiers nestled in next to them. I love my kids. I suppose most parents do.
I even suppose that my neighbors love their kids, too. It's just a funny way of showing it. For example, this evening, what prompts me to type this post in the first place, is the fact that my neighbors' six-year old girl is playing ball in the street with two teenage boys. I have never before seen these boys. I also don't know that I'd let my daughter play with them. Maybe they're cousins. Maybe uncles. I don't know. But, regardless, they are all in the street...the same place as the not-so-speed-limit obedient cars. They have also, eight times now, not that I'm counting, thrown their ball into my front yard. My three beastly dogs are finding themselves quite distraught over this. They can't handle it. I am growling at them to cease their barking; they simply think they're alerting me that someone has come into our yard. They're doing what they should, I'm the one supremely annoyed.
So the question is, do I say something to the parents, or do I assume that if they were actually conscientious people who caredfor their child's well being, they wouldn't allow her out there in the first place?
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