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| One Little Two Little Three Little Native Americans | | Date Created: Nov 26, 2007, 05:01 PM |
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We had a wonderful Thanksgiving but I am still in recovery mode. Tableclothed card tables, cake plates, and gravy boats are hanging around like they own the place. It was 76 degrees outside Monday but I wore my drawstring sweatpants and sipped hot tea like it was a snowy January afternoon. After I got the boys settled for their nap, I curled up in my own bed and slept through two Law and Order reruns. Yesterday was better. I went to weightlifting class at the gym, but that about did it. Today I am one small step ahead. The serving pieces are still looking over my shoulder even as I type and the coolers are still in the kitchen half-full of water and filmy plastic ice bags, but I am dressed and I am writing and the boys did get their teeth brushed. I just put a load of laundry in and the breakfast dishes are in the dishwasher. The small victories of a holdiday hangover. By the time I get back to normal over here it will be Christmas.
The boys' Thanksgiving program at school last week was great. It was only singing and only lasted about 35 minutes. It was a adorable but as my friends know because I have been whining about it for two weeks, it was less than politcally correct. I don't mean to be a stickler. I don't plan on protesting the observation of Columbus Day or demand that the traced-hand turkeys the boys make at school be labeled free-range, but I am a little concerned about the songs they sing. I can even deal with the Native Americans being called "Indians," even though I've taught the boys that real Indians come from the country India to which they always reply for some reason, "What are people from Florida called?" But the song about the Indian chief goes "Hi ya ya ya ya! Hi ya ya ya!" And then they sing about the Indian brave who "goes out hunting with the boys." First of all, I have nothing against people who hunt, but I truly hope my guys don't want to. And second of all, if I did want them to hunt, I'd want the girls to be right out there with them! They didn't sing any songs about the women Indians even though there was one about the chief and the one about the brave. If we're going to stick to traditional roles here, there could have least been one about gathering nuts and berries or tending the little ones! I can think of at least eight people I know who read this blog who are either cussing me or laughing at me, and that's okay. I know I can be a tad sensitive and even contradictory pretty much most of the time, but still, James was born a chauvenist pig and I am working hard to banish the stereotypes he has absorbed so easily and it doesn't help when I tell them to do everything their teachers say and listen to what their teachers say when what they are saying was written in the original Thanksgiving Day Preschool Program of 1850!
Speaking of James' tendencies, I have to say he has tried really hard to keep them at bay, but it doesn't come naturally. Even a year ago he was insisting only men were doctors and firefighters. Since two of our closest friends are female doctors that was easy enough, but he is still wary of the female firefighter myth since the only female ones he has seen are in books and I'm starting to worry that he may start sensing a left-wing conspiracy in children's book publishing and stop reading altogether. The boys are always fascinated by life inside my tummy and when they were in the hospital afterwards. Luckily one of George's primary NICU nurses was a man, and luckily I have pictures. So now whenever we talk about the boys being in the hospital or about nurses in general James pipes up in a very conciliatory tone, "Mans can be nurses too, Momoe." So it's not easy or natural for him, but he is memorizing his way closer to my way of thinking...And no, I'm not taking bets on when he starts coming up with his own worldview. It will be too soon at any rate, so until then I can mold him the best I can into what my college friends and I used to call "New Age Sensitive Guy."
In all my ranting and raving, I forgot to mention the boys' performance in the program. James smiled, sang loud and clear, and did all the correct hand motions. No surprise, he loved having an audience. John was dead serious. He never smiled, but he followed all directions about where to sit and when to stand up. I think he was scared. George knew every word to every song--I know because he sang them the week before with much gusto. But apparently the spotlight did not move him. He basically sat there pretty much the same as if he'd been sitting at a bus stop or waiting his turn at the doctor's office. He just wasn't into it. But that's George. Mr. Cool. He did. however, sing a spontaneous My Country Tis of Thee after we said the blessing on Thanksgiving after which James snatched up his guitar and gave a foot-stomping rendition of God Bless America.
And from Mr America back to Mr. Cool, the other night we were at my dad's watching football. Will's dad saw a live lizard skitter under my dad's chair and told my dad. The next thing you know George says to my dad ("Boop"), "Don't move, Boop!" And in a flash he has the lizard in his hand, opens the door with his other hand, puts the lizard outside, and shuts the door. In the car on the way home, all the boys were yelling "We're animal rescuers!" And George said in his deadpan, "Yeah, but I'm the only one who saved a real lizard." Later he told us how the lizard was named Lizzie and it was his friend.
Speaking of George's animal friends, I'm a little bit sick of Stripesy the Great. On Veteran's Day George told us Stripesy had been in the army. He was very brave and shot only the bad robbers. After that he worked on telephone lines so he could go in the bucket truck. Every time there's any news of anyone doing something wonderful or brave, it turns out Stripesy has already accomplished that feat. Only Super Peacock has done more good deeds and has travelled more places than Stripesy. Yesterday George asked me to help Stripesy write a letter to Santa. You better believe he's been a good zebra this year.
The boys have been good when I really needed them to be lately, but on a daily basis not really. Why isn't the Santa Claus-is-watching-threat working? I thought this would be the year that had a real effect. They beg me not to call Santa or tell him when they are misbehaving, but they don't really change their behavior. What is it about the four-year-old foot that is so sensitive no sock and shoe combination in the world can offer anything more than extreme pain and torture? What is it about going to the potty and brushing one's teeth that is so degrading? What is it about the sheets these days that induce all manner of bedwetting? And why must every poop begin with these shrill words, "It just started in my pants!"
Okay, no more complaining. This being the Thanksgiving Season, I have SO much to be thankful for. Thankful for Will and the boys and all of our family and friends most of all. Thankful for a place to host Thanksgiving and to have so many people who brought such beautiful and delicious things over for everyone to enjoy. Thankful for my morning cup of coffee. Thankful I haven't caught Will's GI bug. Thankful I have time to write today. Thankful I have people who actually read this. THANK YOU!!!! |
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