Safety First

No one actually aid, "Don't talk to strangers" and frankly, that's not the best advice anyway. I mean, you talk to strangers in front of your kid all the time, and every year they meet new "strangers" at school - teachers and coaches and other students.

I remember one second grade day, my brother, sister, cousin and I were standing outside Riverhills Christian School, waiting for Giggy to pick us up. The Baby Ministry was in full swing in those days, and hadn't yet morphed into Home in Zion. A woman we didn't know showed up in a minivan and told us that Giggy had sent her, because Gig was attending a birth. I started to get into the van, when my brother David stopped me.

"Wait," he told the woman, "She didn't tell us about that. We'll just wait here." We ended up waiting another two hours. I couldn't believe how obstinate my brother was being, and wherever he had acquired the idea that you shouldn't just get in a car with a stranger who says they know your parents, it wasn't from home. After that day, my mom confirmed that yes, David had done the right thing by wanting confirmation. She promised that Gig would give the person a note next time Gig sent someone to get us (something my mom didn't like in the first place, as the whole point of living with Gig from her perspective, was that Gig would watch us while she was at university and work.)

Still, my molestation began within a few months of that day. I went to my friend Pam's house after school, looking to play with her. She was out with her mom and brother, at one of her brother's many occupational therapy sessions. He had some form of disability, I couldn't remember what it was called, that left him hunched and huddled, wheelchair or else bed bound, and incapable of speech. Pam's dad opened the door.

"You can come in and watch TV with me while you wait for her," he said.

My son will know not to accept an offer like that. I didn't.



I subscribe to the Kidpower.org email newsletter. The group was founded by Irene van der Zande. From their site, she "was inspired to found Kidpower by a frightening incident in 1985. As she was leading a group of young kids on a field trip, a man charged towards them and threatened to take one of the children.

Irene put herself between the man and the children, including her own son and daughter, and shouted. With the help of bystanders, she forced the attacker to leave.
The children were unhurt and soon recovered - but Irene was shaken and determined to do something to help people, especially children, build the skills and confidence to take charge of their own safety."

These are the same people who published the Halloween safety tips I posted back in October (including "Write your cell phone number in Sharpie on your kid's arm in case you get separated.") In addition to providing child safety tips, they offer "people safety" classes for teens, women, men, and people in wheelchairs. This week, they've sent in this story from one of their workshop students, with accompanying tips.

Irene, I wanted to let you know that as I was leaving work on Tuesday night, using all the tips of walking with awareness and confidence, a man in a Mercedes slowed down and was driving alongside of me, staring and making me very uncomfortable.

At first, I didn't realize he was focused on me, but it got worse when he started calling to me, and then when I reached an intersection, and needed to cross the street (going straight), he was turning left. He pulled into the crosswalk and stopped, leering at me and blocking my path.

There were other cars around, but no other people on the sidewalk nearby, and I could see that if he wanted to jump out of his car and attack me, he would have a few elements in his favor because I was, in a sense, isolated, and because he was in a car, he had an advantage.

I kept my calm, even though I was worried that he might try and jump out of his car and abduct me.

I looked right at him, said calmly and clearly, "No, thanks" (the first thing that popped to mind in my panic), and walked WAY around his car to keep myself at a safer distance. I even thought through the situation and walked behind him so he couldn't lurch forward and easily clip me to knock me down. He peeled away, and I quickly stepped into a bar on that block to make sure he wasn't circling back.

Typically, when someone starts leering/catcalling at me (even a "normal-looking" guy in a really nice car), my gut reaction is to flip out at them, call the person names or insult them (and I thank my New Jersey heritage for the ability to rattle off swear words in a way that would peel the paint off a car, so it gets pretty ugly pretty fast when I switch it on).

I used to think that was the best way to feel like I've "put them in their place" for being so disrespectful. But thanks to our Fullpower workshop on best practices in "People Safety," I assessed the situation and did what I needed to do to calm down, rather than escalate, the situation, and definitely felt less shaken by the experience afterwards, knowing that I had done the safest thing to protect myself and prevent a dangerous situation. ...

This brave woman did a great job of protecting herself in a potentially very dangerous situation by staying focused moment by moment on what her safest choices would be. The skills we'd practiced that morning were simple, including:

• Projecting an attitude of awareness, calm, and confidence


• Paying attention and being strategic


• Staying centered and assessing your choices


• Moving out of reach


• Disengaging without escalating by giving neutral answers and leaving

Changing your plan and moving away from danger and towards safety

Setting boundaries

Getting help

Physical self-defense

Think of how much suffering could be prevented if everyone knew how to use these simple skills!

And really ladies, who among us hasn't responded to honks & catcalls upon occassion with a third finger salute? Hell, I used to carry a small airhorn so I could honk back. (I also used to go hitchhiking, the epitome of taking rides from strangers. I'm still not sure I've entirely figured that one out. Apparently cab drivers don't count as strangers, but semi-drivers do.)

And here's the person I try to keep safe and keep myself safe for: the Cuteness Monster.

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Feelings and Family

Do you ever get embarassed by your own sappiness, or is that just me? I swear there is still an 11-year-old tomboy in me, who shuts her eyes during kissing scenes in movies and thinks feelings are "girl stuff."

I wasn't taught to love, but I'm slowly learning how. It started with close friends in eighth grade and high school, and grew - powerfully - with the news of my son (once I quit freaking out and the nesting hormones kicked in.) I grew up in homes with no men, and then had exclusively male - but platonic - roommates. The only man I've lived with non-platonically was my ex-husband, Ronnie the Ass (not nearly as cool as Angie the Anti-Theist.) So, I'll admit I'm a bit nervous about what's coming next for me.

Little Man and I are moving out of Evictionville and renting a house with Boyfriend Dave. Part of it is the many loveletters from my landlady*, and part of it is the hour he drives each time he comes to see me or takes me to the many doctors visits I have now that I've finally been approved for Medicaid.**

But mostly, I'm ready to stop living a cloistered life of fear between the four walls of my two-room apartment. I'm ready to have a family, just not the one I was born into (or later married into.) I'm ready to try this crazy little thing called love.

Wish me luck?





* The love letters are written in ALL CAPS, bold, and underlined, with excessive exclamation mark usage!!!!!! It is the very essence of, "I hate you - don't leave me!" communication, with unfulfilled threats of either currently or eventually filing eviction proceedings against me - and half my neighbors. It just stops being personally embarassing once the entire complex has given up on paying the full rent on time each month.

** I've been trying to get insurance for 9 months. Then I wrote all my congresspeople with a (true) sob story and plea for universal health coverage. Now I'm magically approved. Works better than prayer!



p.s. I love my readers, too. You guys don't know how much your comments and emails do to keep my spirits up and how much you help me learn to trust myself and my own insights. Thanks a lot. <*/sappiness>

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Happy Devil's Holiday!

I know at least a few ATAT readers weren't allowed to celebrate the Devil's Holiday growing up, like me. I remember being sent to bed early that night every year. We usually had an hour between when we went to our rooms and had to turn the lights off, and my siblings and I were all big readers at that age (my brother and I still are). But on Halloween night, we had to turn all the lights in the house off early, to discourage trick-or-treaters. Of course, that never worked and some huge mob of kids would stand outside, ringing the doorbell and caroling "Trick or treat!"

"Get back, Satan!" I screamed through the screen of my bedroom window. "We don't have any candy and we don't want you!" That was honestly the most fun part about Halloween the way my family did it - yelling at the heathen kids.

We moved to Iowa when I was in 4th grade, so that was my first time trick-or-treating. Since we had no friends, it was just me and my sister, on a street with a bunch of poor grad students who hadn't thought to buy a bowl of frigging candy, or else were out getting sloshed somewhere. By the time we got back to Florida's warm weather (it's in the 80s today, y'all) I was too old to run around begging for candy, and too young to do much else.

About 8 years back I discovered the Sacred Grounds costume party. I don't know that it's as big an affair now as it was when the coffeehouse had more business a couple years ago, but it was fantastic. Everyone goes all out. I've seen everything from a black man dressed as a KKK member, to a lesbian Harry Potter, to the most-convincing all-night performance of Anna Nicole Smith I ever want to see. (Seriously, after the first two hours no one wanted him to be so in character anymore.)

This is the first year Little Man is old enough to really "get" Halloween. He's been talking the vocab words from school for weeks - pumpkin, bat, Halloween, trick-or-treat, and scary. We carved my first-ever pumpkin a couple weeks ago, which means it's already rotted and been tossed. (How was I supposed to know? It's not like my parents ever carved a pumpkin with me.) I hid his costume two weeks ago after he refused to change out of it for a dirty pull-ups change without tears and recriminations. (He calls it his "zupa zuit" or "super suit". So cute.)

I'm really jazzed about tonight. I'm just wearing a pumpkin t-shirt with some big old purple fairy wings because an actual costume sounds like too much fun if I gotta pull the big red wagon of preschooler and candy all night :) Two years ago Little Man was Captain Hook and it was adorable - he still had Shirley Temple ringlets at the time, and the little tiny frock coat was perfect. But between the giant feathered hat, the lace cuffs on the frock coat, and the hook-hand it was way too much for him to hold onto. (He loved the hat though.) This year Little Man is dressed as Buzz Lightyear in a really simple lightweight non-flammable one piece.

Be safe, be comfortable, have fun. And remember, too much candy gonna make you sick.

*Child pictured is a model, not Little Man. LM is cuter, but you'll just have to take my word for it.

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DIM: Did It Myself

For all that I tell you the deepest fears I have in the middle of the night, and the strange and terrible things that happened in my childhood, I don't actually talk much about my day-t0-day life as it is now. Which is sort of odd, that I feel that this stuff is either too personal or uninteresting, yet I post intimate details of my past and my psyche. All that's to say, here's what happened yesterday:

I had a kitchen fire, a cockroach, and a flooded bathroom. And I kicked ass dealing with it.

There's a classic family story of a time when I was in second grade. It was approaching time for us to get in the car for Christian school, when my mom came in the kitchen to find me sitting on a stool, still in my pajamas and still hungry.

"What are you doing?" she asked, frazzled and annoyed.
"I'm waiting for Dave to make me breakfast," I replied. My brother David, who I hadn't asked to make me breakfast, was quick to point this out to my mom, lest he be blamed for my bed-clothed and unfed state.

That story was used to make fun of me (supposedly in a good-natured way) for being irresponsible and for being the baby of the family. But I wasn't "the baby" in the traditional spoiled and adored youngest child way. I was low man on the totem pole - more like the new hire on the job than like a beloved and precious little girl. I was told I was a child of God, but I felt like a burden to my family.

What that story really shows, though, is learned helplessness. I was taught to rely on others, primarily God but also my family, for everything. I know my own religious upbringing was extreme, but I do think even mainstream religious faith has this effect. You're taught that humans are dependent on God for existence, for their afterlife, and for a lot in between (in some faiths, everything in between.) So why try to make your life better through effort and hard work and risk and investment, when you can just pray and sky daddy will make it all better? Of course, sky daddy doesn't, but that's in the post I did just before this one.

If God has a plan for your life, has picked out your future spouse, and knows what career path He wants you to follow, then it makes sense that you should focus on prayer and becoming close to God, and trying your best to emulate his will and his example in the life of Jesus (or at least the version of that example presented in church each Sunday). Your whole goal would be getting on His good side, doing what He wanted, and hoping to get rewarded. And if you want to change God's plan - you want that prettier wife or that better paying non-ministry job or that new secular CD - then the usual secular life approaches, like hitting the dating sites and making up a new resume or just heading to the store and buying a copy of whatever godless music you want - doesn't seem likely to work. (Although it does, just fine.) So instead of trying something tangible and real that would increase your odds of getting what you want, you pray. You ask God to do something that you want, even when it doesn't seem to be what He wants. (And after all, if He's got this Master Plan, what use is your free will or your prayer anyway?)

So let me tell you what my day without prayer was like yesterday. I was planning on making some apple danishes, and set the oven to preheat. I forgot, a week ago, that I put a bowl of popcorn in there to keep it from attracting bugs, but then never went back and ate it. It was a plastic bowl, of course. Fortunately, I've got a really good sense of smell and noticed the problem long before the oven reached 375 or the bowl had melted completed. I turned off the oven, removed the rack - bowl and all, and took it outside to cool. A couple hours later, once everything had stopped being molten lava to the touch, I was able to hammer and knife off all the melted plastic from both oven racks and the heating coil itself, and make my danishes after all. (They were yummy goodness.)

Then, while watching the new episode of Dollhouse (yay!), I spotted a bug. I promise, I'm not actually a gross person, but I live in a relatively low-income apartment complex with 7 other units in my building, paper thin walls, and the Florida bug-loving climate. So, every two weeks like clockwork I spot another roach and call to have the apartment complex pest guys come again. This one was particularly bad though, because it was one of the little cockroaches (which means it has a colony somewhere nearby. A big one might just wander in during the rain but isn't necessarily a sign of more). I spotted it on my desk - on my keyboard tray. Just as I was getting ready to smash that sucker with an overdue phone bill, it crawled into my keyboard. Eeeeeek! So, one vacuum cleaner hose, five minutes of beating my keyboard, one can of duster, and five Lysol wipes later, I'm typing again without my OCD going bonkers.

Last and actually kind of least, my son flooded the bathtub. I was on the phone with my mom and straightening the living room, washing dishes, etc. and forgot to back and check after a couple minutes. My son came out to let me know, after the water was already over the lip of the tub. But I just grabbed a mop and bucket and some Mr. Clean and used it as a chance to scrub up the place.

As a Christian, any one of these small life things would have floored me for a day. I've had a near phobic fear of hot ovens for most of my life. I started baking several years ago as a teen, but would only do it when my mom or sister was home, because I was too afraid of being burned to take the hot tray of cookies or brownies out of the fiery box of heat coiled death. Two Christmases ago an atheist friend of mine, who knew about this fear, gave me a pair of oven mitts. I'd never owned a set. Now I'm still cautious, and I lock my son out of the room or in his high chair while opening and closing it, but I can take things out of the oven myself, which is a really big deal considering I wouldn't for the past twenty years.

And dealing with a bug, instead of freaking out and crying and taking a bath in 1 part bleach to 8 parts water (such a bad idea), I made absolutely sure that sucker was dead, and that there weren't any crumbs in my keyboard to attract any of its buddies. My grandmother had this whole thing about how bugs were a physical symptom of a spiritual, demonic infestation, so when my poorly insulated mobile home used to get bugs a lot, I thought it meant I needed yet another exorcism. (Again, Florida? Is heaven for bugs - and ours are waaaaaay bigger than your Yankee bugs. But they don't give you Lyme disease like deer ticks, so I can deal.) Just killing the damn thing and calling pest control is a lot more effective than crying and praying. I have fewer bugs now than when I thought they were demons, but I think most Christians would agree, I'm a better candidate for demon possession these days than I used to be as a God-fearing church-going Christian.

The flooded bathroom? I don't know. Maybe that one never would have been a big deal. I've long ago given up the fantasy of getting back the deposit on any apartment I have with my son. He's rambunctious and sometimes sloppy. I am too. We're high energy, poor precision kind of people, so the carpet is trashed and he's drawn on every wall and my couch, and it's not like this is the first time this year he's flooded that bathroom. (Once it was by flushing an entire roll of toilet paper. That was much worse than the clean bathwater overflow.) I will say I'm relieved that I became an atheist so early in my son's life. Now when he does something that's against the rules, I don't have to search for some deeper meaning or generational curse or soul tie. I can just, ya know, give him the extra attention or affection he might be needing, or provide safe physical and mental challenges for him. (While I was getting the mop yesterday, he got out and tried to jump into the bathtub from the top of the toilet, so I guess I'll be sitting in with him for the next several baths till we find a better outlet for that beserker dare-devil streak. My ex-husband used to skateboard off rooftops into cardboard dumpsters for fun...)

So, all that is to say: Humanism is right! We are capable of dealing with our lives without divine intervention. Human intervention might be necessary, but God's got nothing to do with my life or my apartment or how I deal with my challenges. Apparently, I deal with them with skill and grace, so I feel much better about myself now than I ever did as a helpless and dependent believer. Whoever says faith gives them strength doesn't know how strong they could feel on their own.

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Would this make me "militant"?

My son attends public school through funding for special education preschoolers (Hooray for the one thing NCLB got right - paraprofessionals and speech therapists!) His teacher is fantastic, and he'll be with her for all of this year and next year. The staff even put together a big birthday present for him, because they know I'm unemployed and struggling financially. I love my kid's school.

So here's the problem. They sent home a big catalog for fundraising. It's like all the fundraisers rolled into one - chocolates, infomercial-type kitchen gadgets, ugly costume jewelry, and of course, wrapping paper. Here's where things get sticky. In this 39 page catalog, 13 pages offer Christmas items, 1 page offers CHRISTIAN Christmas items (Bible verses and nativity scene wrapping paper; angel tree ornaments; books of "Bible Verses for Kids"), 1 page with 2 items for Hanukkah (1 dreidel wrapping paper, 1 dreidel book - Jews only get a half page, because the rest is filled with secular chocolate). There is nothing for Kwanzaa, Ramadan, Yule, or Festivus. There is no neutrality, by sticking with secular themes like winter. (There's some gift bags on one of the not-Christmas pages that just feature snowmen on them.)

So, essentially, the school just asked my kid to sell Christmas and Christian knickknacks, to raise money for his public secular government-run school. And that bothers me. It bothers me because Hanukkah isn't the only "other" winter holiday. It bothers me because I know for a fact some of the kids in his class have Muslim parents (or an atheist parent). It bothers me because I don't want to make a fuss, but I don't want my kid selling religious paraphernalia. (I would rather he smokes pot in high school than experiment with youth groups.)

It bothers me, because I feel like I'm going to risk jeapordizing my son's excellent education, by asking his school to uphold the Constitution. It bothers me that the one way to contribute that the school has asked of me is so exclusive. It bothers me because Christian products shouldn't be sold in public school fundraisers, and religious companies shouldn't get a cut of what my son makes raising money for PUBLIC school. (I went to Christian school and we never sold this stuff - We just did World's Finest Chocolate. If my son had brought those home, I would have bought a case and the whole thing would have been a non-issue. Plus then I'd have chocolate.)

So, rather than posting a link for people to contribute to my kid's school by purchasing fundraiser items, like I originally planned to do (before reviewing the products), I'm going to call the principal on Monday. I'm going to explain the issue I have with the fundraiser they've chosen (or the School Board has chosen) and then ask what specific items the classrooms need. Once I have that list from her, I'll set up an account for his school on Donors Choose. That way if anyone's interested in helping out (and able to - I do *know* about the recession) they can directly contribute, instead of going through a third-party middle man.

The magazine is put out by American Fundraising Services, Inc. which is apparently a LOCAL group. I'm going to be calling them, too. And the School Board. I'm not going to demand that they discontinue this year's fundraiser (it wouldn't work). I actually do want these schools to be fully funded. I wish that happened through taxes instead of turning our kids into salesmen to pay for their own educations, but that's not the school's fault. I understand that they have to pick A fundraiser - I just don't want them using this one again once whatever contract they have expires.

Would you call me a militant atheist?
Do you think his principal will?
How bad could this turn out for my kid?
What would you do?
Should I just shut up, say nothing, buy nothing, and not rock the boat (because my special needs 4 year old is in that boat)?

UPDATE: I talked with the school social worker this morning. (She's awesome-nice and already knows I'm an atheist.) She helped me work on exactly what to say and then I contacted the principal. Then SHE told me that the PTA picks the fundraisers, but that there will be incentives/prizes and that I can contact them if I'm concerned. (She turned down my Donors Choose option, saying that I can just ignore this one and give to another fundraiser later. Sort of missing my point that I can't donate to the school without endorsing religious indoctrination creeping into school.) The entire school district website is down today, so I haven't been able to contact the PTA yet, but I'll keep posting updates as I know more. So far, two out of two have been respectful, nice, and understanding (even if the principal missed the whole "unconstitutional" angle.)

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4 Years Today

Little Man,

Thanks for being my friend. Thanks for hugging me and loving me and forgiving me when my patience runs short. Thanks for laughing at my stupid jokes and making animal noises with me. Thanks for playing hide and seek at the pool and for giving me someone to show off my lame magic tricks to. Thanks for being with me every day and making my life better.

I'm so glad I have you in my life. I've grown more into the person I want to be since you came into my world. I want to give you the best childhood and the best preparation for adulthood I can, but mostly I just wanna snuggle with you and read a story or applaud all your new achievements. I love you very much, more than ice cream and pizza. I love you all the way.

You don't have to be like me or think like me or look like me. You do right now, and it's great fun for both of us. But you are your own unique, wonderful person and I can't wait to get to know you more and more.

With all my heart,
Mommy

Happy birthday Little Man

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Why I Want Government to Take Over my Health Care

I was raised in a faith-healing cult. Because the government doesn't intrude on religious belief "or the free expression thereof" my family was permitted to deny me health care until I reached 17 years of age (even though I was covered through my mom's employer health benefits for the last half of that time).

I worked several part-time and full-time jobs over the years. In fact, until this past February I have been steadily employed my entire life since I was 7 and got my first job at a florist shop. I have never had employer health insurance coverage, unless you count the Worker's Compensation I had to use when I tore my right rotator cuff in a slip and fall.

I've also used health insurance after a couple of car accidents I've been in. My sister and I got rear-ended when she was newly licensed, and although I didn't get pain medication or see a real doctor, I went to a chiropractor. When my brother and I got rear-ended a few years later I got more chiropractic, but I also got physical therapy. When I was 17 my mom finally took me to an orthopedic surgeon to deal with my limp. My right hip had been dislocated near-constantly for three years. I went through multiple rounds of physical therapy and surgery was considered.

When I was pregnant I had Medicaid (government run health care!) and got the most comprehensive treatment I have had at any point in time. Does the paperwork suck? Yes. Is it a battle sometimes to enroll in the first place, and to keep coverage over time? Absolutely. Medicaid is not designed to be a lifelong solution, and the health insurance companies serve as HMOs within Medicaid so that can bog things down as well. But when my son went into fetal shock, I didn't have to consider the price tag of going to the ER.

I didn't have health insurance a few weeks after Little Man was born, when I broke my ankle. I waited a few hours in the ER waiting room, but it was going to be hours more before they'd see me, as I hadn't been shot or stabbed. My ex-husband was a whiny prick, and my infant son was surrounded by sick people. The stupid wheelchair I was sitting in was so confined I couldn't nurse my son while in it. I gave in to my feckless husband's nagging and we went home. I never did get a cast for it, and my family knew and watched as I left my husband, moved in with my mother, and cared for my sickly infant son, hobbling on a broken ankle. And they did nothing to help.

A few weeks after that a boil on my stomach just wouldn't go away, and my home lancing attempt was unsuccessful. I persuaded (begged, sobbed, cried) my mom to loan me the $500 to go to the walk-in clinic and have it lanced. Apparently I'd had flesh eating bacteria for over a month. I would hold my son against me to nurse him, against the same stomach that was infected with flesh-eating bacteria. Because I didnt have insurance, and I was already trying to save up money to get my ankle taken care of, I waited a month, until I was in so much pain I couldn't hold my son, to see a doctor. They lanced it - it was disgusting. I sobbingly told the nurse that I had no insurance and no money for medication, and she smuggled me a 2 weeks supply of antibiotics and wrote me a script for vicodin to handle the pain from my ankle.

And even since then, while I don't have insurance my son is still covered, Knowing that I *can* take him to a doctor when he needs it is a tremendous relief. Since he has insurance, I can also keep up with routine check-ups and other preventative measures. Also, because he's enrolled in Medicaid and because I pay attention, I was able to get my son's hearing checked when he was 11 months old and showed signs of being deaf. (He was completely non-responsive to verbal and auditory cues, like clapping or whistling.)

Two separate tests (which yes, took time to schedule, these were specialists) ruled out any hearing problems, and instead we were able to learn that my son had other developmental and communication delays. As a result of early preventative care and testing, my son has been receiving speech therapy since he was a year old, and from one to three also had an "early interventionist" who came by our home or his school to help with him with things like emotional self-soothing and increasing his attention span (first tested at less than a second). All of these special needs services were covered under something called Medicaid- Part D, which has separate funds and more specialists and treatment options available, for children who need it the most.

Except for a few catastrophes were I was lucky enough to have health insurance through Worker's Comp and auto liability, and the government-run health care program known as Medicaid, I've lived without health care my whole life. I *want* government run health care! Please, because right now I'm screwed. I can't believe people are trying to stop this, are saying "Screw you, I got mine". Crying "socialism" and "death panel". The insurance company that drops a cancer patient because they've determined the tumor was a "pre-existing condition" is a death panel. The insurance companies that screw over patients every way they can to make profits, and then want a bailout of public tax dollars when things get hard? They are the socialists.

Tell Pres. Obama you support his health care proposal - spelled out here. The more support the White House and Dems in Congress know they have for a public option, the harder they'll fight for us. Right now the loudest voices are from screaming mobs. Don't let the reasonable voice be drowned out of the debate.

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A Little Science, Please

Odds are, at least someone you know is a Christian. I'm really not sure about the demographic data of my readers, but I'm going to take a guess here that the majority of my readers know a child, or know someone who knows a child, who is being raised religiously. Got that? You know a "Catholic child" or a "Evangelical child" or a "Muslim child".



As you probably know by now, I was raised holy-flipping-fundie-gelical (and a faith healer to boot!) so my home-school/christian school/ public-school-in-Florida education left me woefully ignorant of many things. Also, the brainwashing didn't help.

As I've confessed many times before, I was a creationist. But I wasn't a Young Earth Creationist. Why not? Because I've loved geology since I was 3. I was about 6 when I asked my mom (then writing her dissertation) if I'd have to get a PhD to be a geologist. (She said yes, and so that dream died a little.) But I've always been fascinated by rocks and gemstones. I've moved fifteen times since I started my rock collection, and it's been lovingly packed and carted around the country with me each go around.

Since I started absorbing scientific factual information about the earth's stones and minerals at an early age - and in a completely oblique, non-threatening way to my parent's religion (not head-on like evolution) the claims for a young earth seemed appropriately ridiculous to me. (It would take another couple decades for the whole talking snake theory to seem equally ridiculous, but I'm okay now.)

(Seriously? Go back and click that talking snake link. You'll think me later.)

So here are some ideas I've had about ways to introduce science and scientific facts and principles to kids growing up in "godly" homes that you might know and love. Those are mostly targeted at early elementary and preschool aged kids, cos that's what I have one of.

Science With Me - This site is so cool! You have to sign up with an email address, but you can opt-out of receiving emails and they don't sell your addy. (Oh yeah, it's free.) Little Man really loves the animations. His favorites are A Steam Engine, That's Me (which talks about converting energy) and the Heart (pumping and ventricles and oxygen, oh my!) The whole thing is fantastic, and there are also some cute games. This site is really ideal for toddlers because the games are repetative. Little Man's favorites are the Apparatus Matching Game and the Solar System game (drag the planets to their orbits).

National Geographic - They have magazine subscriptions for every age. Little Man started with the infant magazine, National Geographic Baby Animals. This has very thick pages that can deal with drool and grabby hands, and mostly is just very simple four-word sentences and pictures of baby animals. He's now onto National Geographic Little Kids (ages 3-5) which has a lot more detailed information, but still in a very age-appropriate format. I look forward to continuing these subscriptions for years. The link goes to their kids website, which has things for kids between 4 and 12.

Blue's Clues - Yeah, I went there. "Oh no it's the television! It'll rot their brains!!!" Seriously, have you guys watched Noggin? (If you don't have a preschooler, probably not.) My son has speech delays and has been in therapy since before he turned one. And I still credit Blue's Clues for most of his language development. What's even more important is that it's a show that encourages thinking, making observations, and journaling ideas. Plus, I don't know a single religious parent who allows ANY secular TV who objects to Blue's Clues. It's cute, harmless fun that encourages thoughtfulness and experimentation. Many episodes feature "nature" issues (ahem, science) such as seasons, weather patterns, and habitats.

And on the TV front in general? I honestly think I learned more watching "too many hours" of PBS as a kid than I did in the first four years of school. Mostly because I remember asking my third grade teacher when we were going to start discussing negative and imaginary numbers, because I'd learned about them on Square One. My teacher said (I kid you not), "Those don't exist until you're older."



Yes, that is John Cougar doing a guest appearance. Seriously, how can you not love a show where they do cheesy math skits like this? (Remember readers - I am a HUGE nerd. And proud of it.)

Sid the Science Kid - This is a semi-annoying PBS show (I just don't like Sid's voice) but is all about science. The website is also truly fantastic. Each episode covers one scientific question and the testing of several hypotheses. Example: Sid realizes he can drown out the sound of his baby brother crying when he puts his hands over his ears. He spends the rest of the episode experimenting, surveying other kids at school, asking his teacher, researching, etc. and learns (along with the audience) all about sound waves and the shape of the human ear. Pretty cool stuff for an animated half-hour cartoon. Both this website and the Blue's Clues one take a heavy toll on the memory of my ancient computer, but otherwise the Flash games are very fun.

You can find lots of cool home science experiments on YouTube.



This one is so cool looking, it led me to call my scientist brother (handy!) and get a really interesting lecture on the surface tension of water, emulsifiers, and pretty pretty food coloring.

If you have more suggestions, I'd love to hear them. The most important thing about all these (IMNHO) is that they encourage kids to ask questions and seek answers. A plus is that they slip in under the radar of well-intentioned and woefully ignorant parents. :)

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Influence vs. Indoctrination

I'm an atheist mommy. I was raised in a cult. So obviously, I don't want to do either what my parents did (indoctrinate me into a fear-based religion) OR the opposite side of that coin (indoctrinate my son into atheism). I want a new coin. I want him to make his own choice, and hopefully it's one that leads to a happy, fulfilled, ethical life.

Check out this awesome little video explanation of the difference between influence and indoctrination, and how we can encourage our children to make their own worldview choices, while still letting them know our own.

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An Hour as Mommy

9:15 - wake up, realize door to bedroom was left unlocked. Inspect, see no immediate damage to closet.
9:20 - use bathroom, bring Little Man's potty to him. Clean up nearby disaster zone of flash cards while Little Man tinkles.
9:30 - laud Little Man's potty prowess
9:35 - serve Little Man oatmeal
9:45 - log onto computer to blog and write. Check email.
9:55 - get Little Man down from high chair
10:08 - Little Man gets me up from desk - thinks it would be great fun to watch me vacuum!
10:09 - vacuum baseboards
10:19 - Little Man asks for hotdog. Microwave hotdog.
10:20 - Little Man rejects hotdog. Wants strawberry cream cheese bagel instead.
10:21 - Refuse to make bagel. Place hotdog in fridge.
10:22 - sit and attempt to write down morning's activities
10:22-25 try to write as Little Man yanks on arms, kisses face, yells in ear, licks, and otherwise all up on.
10:26 - Little Man has climbed on top of my head.
10:27 - Little Man descends and says "come on come on come on".
10:27 - Time to offer the potty again.
10:28 - Little Man attempts to initiate round of "hide n seek"
10:30 - second potty attempt in progress gives me a moment to jot this down.

No wonder I can't get anything done lol. I've only been awake for an hour and I'm already craving a "quitting time" beer. After three years of telling myself he's "energetic" I'm ready for the ADHD testing.

He took this picture himself with my camera phone. He is a *cool* little constant distraction.

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Senseless Tragedy

So my profile says that I'm a cult survivor, and that's true. My grandmother started a Word of Faith faith healing cult in the late 1970s. I was born (at home, with her as "spiritual midwife") in 1983, and grew up with her as our live-in childcare. I'm writing a book about all this and posting excerpts here. I've changed names in this posting, but real ones will appear in the final product. [EDIT: Names have now been restored. Whatever fear I still had, whatever concerns about staying anonymous, are gone by now, Jan. 2010.]

This excerpt begins with me watching 30 children for 3 days while their parents attend my grandmother's faith healing lecture, held in the clubhouse of a south Florida trailer park. This all happened in the fall of my Freshman year of high school.

Harrison Johnson was two years old, blond, quiet and sweet. He was one of the kids still in diapers, but he was the only one in cloth ones. I thought they were gross, messy, and more work; I was worried about sticking him with one of the pins.

Now that I have a young child, I know what a huge stress that weekend must have been for Harrison. He had never been left with anyone other than this grandmother before, and hadn't even gone to Sunday School with other children. He spent with 3 days in a strange mobile home, with 30 strange children, cared for by a strange teenager with purple hair who didn't understand his diapers. He did remarkably little crying for that combination.

Somehow I wasn't involved when the terms of my pay were discussed. Gig just told her followers to pay me whatever they felt was right, and these were not the kind of people who would fight over the honor of paying the check at IHOP. Left to the generosity of her followers, over the course of three days, for watching 32 children, I received a grand total of $40, or about $1.35 per kid (or an hourly per child rate of just 15¢).

Three months later Harrison's parents, Kelly and Wylie, brought him back to the trailer park, for a visit with my grandmother, and her ministry employees Van and Nicole. I wasn't there that day. I read about it the next day though, on the front page of four different newspapers. My grandmother was inside with Kelly and Nicole while Harrison, his dad, and Van were all talking outside, at the edge of the green belt - a swath of protected Florida woods running between the outer edge of the trailer park and a nearby water treatment facility. Somehow, Harrison fell onto a yellow jacket's nest in the ground. They swarmed and stung him, over 400 times.

The men took him inside Van and Nicole's red double-wide trailer, and my grandmother instructed them to give him a bath and make him comfortable. Gig later reported to police that Harrison seemed "fine", that he was watching television, and that he only asked for a glass of milk. Seven hours after Harrison Johnson was stung 432 times his parents called 9-1-1. Seven hours. Harrison wasn't allergic to stings, but the sheer volume of poison in his small body overpowered him, and his heart stopped. His parents, my grandmother, and her employees waited for over forty minutes between the time when Harrison stopped breathing, and when they called for help.

Even then, I still believed that my grandmother was good, and that she was right about medicine most of the time. A little boy I had known, a toddler with the kind of face that makes the news if he gets hurt, died a slow, painful death, in my grandmother's presence. And he didn't have to. It saddened me, and it worried me, but I wasn't ready to rewrite my programming just yet.

My son got stung by a yellow jacket recently. We were on a walk around our neighborhood and he stuck his hand into a hole in a light post. He drew it back out quickly, screaming. I carried him - running - a quarter mile home. As I did so, I called a med-student friend and left a frantic voicemail asking for help. Then I called my mother and asked her to look up yellow jacket stings online, and tell me how to treat my son's hand. The whole time he was crying in my ear, and I was panicked and running home. I got him home, cleaned his hand, removed the stinger, and put Benadryl cream and a bandaid on it. The total time between my son being stung by one yellow jacket and having that bandaid on him was less than 15 minutes.

Yet I am descended from, was raised by, and was brainwashed to follow, a woman who would sit for seven hours and watch a toddler die. Gig's own fourth daughter, my mythic aunt Natalie, died at six weeks old of a congenital heart defect. I can't help but wonder sometimes, when I think about the children she knew were dying because of her teachings, if she wanted other parents to suffer as much as she had.

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Speaking in Tongues

I loved the story of the Tower of Babble as a kid. For some reason, in my head the tower looked like Pisa (only burnt by the fires of God's heavenly wrath, rather than merely leaning). It's a neat little "just so" story to explain language differences, although I'm rather embarrassed about swallowing this story whole as a real explanation.

When I was 9 and she was 11, the year we moved to Iowa and were so utterly friendless and miserable, my sister created her own language. It started as a complicated substitution system (like Pig Latin on steroids) but quickly evolved as she forced me to learn it (and practice - with a marker board). Over time as we talked to each other, new words had to be created, and new inside jokes and unique cultural concepts had to be expressed. When my grandmother found out about it that summer when we came to visit her, she was furious. Apparently creating your own Pig Latin is a sin, because God giving us lots of languages and making it hard to communicate was a curse for man's ambition. Great moral of the story, huh? This is also her xenophobic justification for why all immigrants (especially Latinos) need to speak only in English.

My three year old son is really starting to talk now, after a late beginning. I've realized though, that I've learned yet another language. A little while ago he walked up to me and said, "Buh-mmm. Wocket! Raitzch. Bidget!" And I understood exactly what that meant. I guess this is the weirdest part about having a child in the early stages of language - only parents (and siblings) can understand. I serve as his translator for the world. Translation of the above?

1. Literal - "Button. Rocket! Race. Big Jet!"
2. Final - "Mom, please use this remote to turn on the episode of Little Einsteins where Rocket and Big Jet race. You know the one."

No Tower of Babble necessary for a whole new tongue to emerge :)
Oh, and as a side note, my sister and I still sometimes speak to each other in our own made-up language. It was especially fun on double dates, before she had to up and marry a decent guy.

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