peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

“It takes a village to raise a child…”

So true. But in this case, it took a tribe.

My daughter had a little not-so-little school project. She was to write her own Pacific Northwest Native American-style myth, with symbolism. Her symbol was the raven. Her myth was How the Raven Stole Straw.

In Pacific Northwest Native American culture, the raven is a creature of metamorphosis, and symbolizes change and transformation. Often honored among holy men of tribes for its shape-shifting qualities, the raven was often called upon in ritual so that visions could be clarified. Foremost, the raven is the Native American bearer of magic.

So far so good. Her myth was written. Part two of her project was to create a visual to accompany her myth. It was about 9:00 p.m. on a school night and this project was due. The. Next. Day.

We needed a little raven magic.

My daughter had visions of creating a Native American blanket. A blanket?? Dude. It’s 9:00 p.m.

“How about drawing a raven, sweetie?” When faced with a challenge, I sometimes try to find a quick solution. It was now 9:18 p.m.

But my daughter was determined to make a blanket. My husband jumped in, ready to help his daughter clarify and realize her vision. He’s great like that.

The three of us formed our own sewing pow wow. Cutting. Sewing. Gluing. Laughing.

I’m not sure what time it was when the final button was attached, but the raven spirit came through that night to transform a piece of felt into…an A.

I have heard people say parents shouldn’t help their children with homework. Whatever. Sometimes, I think, it requires teamwork and relying on the elders in the community. Sometimes, it takes a tribe.

I’m linking up with the Yeah Write “moonshine” folks. Check them out!

Sometimes we’re late to school because we overslept the alarm. Or because we can’t find coats. Or backpacks. Or homework. Or sometimes we can’t find shoes that match.

Or because I’m on a work call and I’m not supposed to talk on my phone AND drive at the same time. And even if I COULD, how could I possibly HEAR the person on the other end with the NOISE level in my car with all of the before-school chatter and singing and bickering?

Or sometimes we’re late to school because breakfast takes too long. Or the dog got loose. Or because the dog ate the kids’ breakfast off the counter. And I had to make them new breakfasts.

It’s always something.

But sometimes we’re late to school because my kids are dancing.

And I think that’s the best excuse of all.

Dear School:

Please excuse my son’s tardiness. He was dancing.

Thank you for understanding,

Pippi

Alice Cooper sang it best with School’s Out for Summer.

And I think this picture says “it’s summer” best.

Happy Summer!

Love,
Pippi

I had the opportunity to write a letter to my teenage self for www.semidomesticatedmama.com.

At first, it felt a little like, well, like homework. Blah.

But as the remembering kicked in–the good and the not-so-good–it was a great exercise in self-reflection and self-assessment. Check it out here:

http://www.semidomesticatedmama.com/2012/06/letter-to-my-teenage-self-pesky-pippi.html

Or below:

Dear Pimpled Pippi,

1. Don’t sweat the pimples. They will go away in time for your wedding.
2. Participate more in class. You are a smart cookie, Pippi. Raise your hand and answer the damn questions. You KNOW the answers.
3. Stick with kissing. You’ll be happy you did.
4. High school grades aren’t THAT important. I mean, do you list your high school GPA on your resume? Uh, no.
5. Peer pressure is stupid.
6. Don’t take things so seriously. High school is a mere four years in a big, long life. (Unless you’re a little slow, then it might be five years. Just saying.)
7. Tanning with SPF 4 is stupid. That sun damage will catch up to you. When you’re a blogger.
8. Don’t worry so much about what people think. What’s most important is what you think of yourself. Chances are, you may never see the majority of these people again. Except later on in life. On Facebook.
9. Avoid rum and Coke. It’s a horrific combination that makes you vomit. At the dance. Yeah that.
10. Think of boyfriends as disposable (like your prom dress), not marriage material. You’ll have more fun.
11. You’re not fat. In fact, you’re probably the skinniest you’ll ever be.
12. Try out cheerleading. Or volleyball. Trial and error is a good thing. Don’t regret missed opportunities.
13. Self-tanners turn you orange. Enough said.
14. Racing to get signatures in your yearbook is kinda dumb. Because later on, when the yearbook gets water damaged, you end up throwing it out.
15. Don’t buy a senior ring.
16. Increase your self-confidence. Enough said.
17. Go on. Eat all the Doritos and pizza you want. Your metabolism rocks.
18. Hold your head up high and walk proudly. Don’t hide behind big hair and a nervous laugh.
19. There will always be mean girls. Their meanness will bite them in the ass. Karma.
20. Be yourself. Everyone likes you the way you are. Duh.

Love,
Wiser-and-more-confident Pippi

How would YOU grade your high school experience? What would YOU say to your high school self? C’mon, give it a try. You might be glad you did.

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round…  And after a field trip on the big, yellow school bus, Pippi’s head was spinning round and round.

The next time you volunteer on your child’s field trip and ride the bus, here are seven tips to make things go a little smoother:

1. Don’t sit at the back of the bus. Even if all the cool kids do it.
2. Pack a snack and eat it illegally. Even if the boys in front of you smell your banana and then your protein bar and yell, “I’m telling!” Yeah, who are you going to tell? I’m, like, a chaperone and a grown up.
3. Don’t look down at your phone and text or Tweet about how you’re getting carsick. It will only get you carsicker.
4. Wear a sports bra. The shocks on the bus are missing. And the kid sitting behind you will be kicking the back of your seat. The whole entire trip there. And back again.
5. Bring an ice pack. Bring an ice pack for your forehead. The bus is filled with sweaty kids. They steam up the windows. And it’s raining outside so you can’t open them for fresh air or else the little girls will freak that they are getting rained on.
6. Wear comfy clothes. They cram three bodies per bench seat, when two bodies would be more than sufficient.
7. Shut the Front (bus) Door! As in, the noise is deafening.

Despite these tips, my belly was churning and my head was dizzy. It took me 24 hours to recover from my school bus hangover. Check out this video for a teensy preview of your next chaperoning experience.

You may have an honor roll student.

But I have an Armpit Farter.

Yep.

He learned it–where else–in school.

I need a bumper sticker that says: I Heart My Armpit Farter.

Bullies. Suck.

This is my son. This picture was taken on his first day of Kindergarten. Eager. Excited. A little nervous. But ready.

Ready to take on the alphabet. Count by 2s. Learn how pumpkin seeds grow. Watch chicks hatch. Eat apple sauce at snack time.

But not ready to take on a bully. Little did he know that a bully was lurking. Ready to make his Kindergarten life miserable.

I asked my son if I could share his story. He said it was OK because it might help other parents and children.

Not long into Fall, a freckle-faced, fellow Kindergartener started teasing him. Bugging him. Saying mean and hateful things. The bully would twist his arm when they lined up, so hard that it left bruises. Sometimes bloody fingernail marks.

The bully knew how to push buttons and hurt feelings. He made fun of the way my son talked. And imitated him to the point that my son stopped talking at recess, for fear of being ridiculed.

My son had a little delay in pronouncing a few sounds. Typical for a child of his age. “W” for the letter “L.” “Train” would be pronounced “twain.” “Rs” were hard to pronounce. “Car” would be pronounced “cah.” He qualified for speech class with a speech pathologist once a week to help clear things up. (Fast forward one year later, my son “graduated” from speech…no more baby talk!)

It wasn’t only my son who was affected. The bully poked another student in the face with a pencil. Her parents didn’t speak out. I also found out the bully bruised another child’s wrist. The parents remained quiet.

You may think, “Boys will be boys.” But is it OK for your son:

• to come home from school with his wrist bruised?
• to cry before school, saying he didn’t want to go ever again?
• to be scared to line up after recess, always looking over his shoulder?

Enter Mama Bear.

Deep down, I envisioned me transforming into Peyton from The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, who goes up to a bully in a playground, twists his arm, and snarls, “Leave Emma alone. If you don’t I’m gonna rip your f—–g head off.” But I thought turning into a bully would be going against my mission.

Every day, I would talk to my son at length. Prod him with questions. What did you do at recess? Who did you play with? What happened? Did you find a teacher on duty to talk to? Who did you sit by on the bus? How did lunch go? I needed to find out what was happening. How he was feeling. What were his responses to the bully.

I knew that as a parent and mother, I needed to take action. I started by giving him words to say. To empower himself with the bully. Simple words such as “Leave me alone.” We practiced. Practiced saying it loud and strong.

That wasn’t enough.

I talked with the teacher…

I talked with the guidance counselor…

I talked with the principal…and wrote her a letter detailing the incidents and demanded that it become part of the bully’s permanent school record.

Actions were finally taken. The bullying stopped.

Several months later, Kindergarten became more like Kindergarten. My son was ready to go to school in the morning. To cut paper snowflakes. To learn about Martin Luther King Jr. and Eric Carle and Sacagawea. To see the chicks hatch in the Spring. To learn how to say “thank you” in Spanish.

Communication and persistence were key.

Our children need us for support. Our children need us for direction. Our children need us to empower them. And sometimes, our children need us to take action and be their voice.

Because sometimes, little voices are hard to hear.

This Honey Badger Mama has no time for Slow-Ass Sloths in our morning routine. This year at Pippi’s house, we’ve been trying hard to be on time for school. That means cramming in all of our duties and getting out the door five minutes earlier. Get up earlier, you say? No way. (If you have never heard of a honey badger, then check out my favorite LOL YouTube videos post.)

You know the morning drill, don’t you?

I wake up the sleeping kids. And they don’t want to be woken up. Beware those grumpy honey badgers!

I make and feed the kids protein-packed breakfasts. While they eat breakfast, I make their brown bag lunches consisting of tuna sandwiches, chocolate milk, apples, yogurt, and granola bars.

I sign homework. Then proceed to yell, as all Honey Badger Mamas do. “Time to brush your teeth!” “Hurry!” “Backpacks and coats and shoes!” “Get into the car!” “Now!”

And, man, do they move slowly. Kinda like slow-ass sloths:

No time for slow-ass sloths! We’re late for the bus!

But underneath tough Honey Badger Mama exterior, is a softie.  Here are three reasons why we were late to school this week. All valid excuses, IMHHBMO (in my humble Honey Badger Mama opinion):

• Excuse #1: Earrings wouldn’t go in. My nine-year-old daughter got her ears pierced last fall and we are still struggling with getting the earrings to go IN. And being a young woman, earrings are now a must-have accessory and one cannot show up to third grade wearing the same earrings two days in a ROW.
• Excuse #2: Dental hygiene. I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready to brush my kids’ teeth FOR them in lieu of all the hollering and battling. For goodness sake, brush your honey badger teeth. I’m not asking, I’m demanding.
• Excuse #2: Honey Badger Mama overslept. Whoopsidaisy. Sometimes, this just happens. Enough said.

Today marks the first day I will volunteer in my six-year-old’s classroom this year. I am excited to see him in his element and to help with the last-day-until-Winter-vacation festivities where we will play board games and partake in hot cocoa.

I only seem to volunteer on special occasions and field trips. Why? Because I’m a party girl. There’s that, and:

1. I work.
2. I play soccer two mornings a week; my “me time.”
3. I trust that the teachers are doing their jobs.
4. I am confident that my children are independent and can handle their classroom time without me overseeing.

I asked my two youngest kids the other day if it was OK if I don’t volunteer in their classrooms much. They both shrugged and said, “It’s OK. Other Moms are there.”

Do I feel guilty? Well, yeah, don’t we all? I volunteered in my oldest son’s classroom A LOT when he was young. He is now 12 and I asked him the other day if he liked when I volunteered so much. He said, “It was kind of embarrassing.”

Enough said. Do we mothers volunteer because the teachers really need us or because we think our kids really need us or because we feel guilty if we aren’t ever-present every second?

Do children really want us ever-present every second? I’m thinking no. Yeah, my kids really need me…at home. During homework time. During reading time. During hang-out time. During just-talking time.

And why is it that mothers need to judge other mothers?

So when this new-faced Mom walks into the first grade classroom with a heartfelt smile, maybe the other mothers can pass the judgment, and simply pass the cocoa.

When my oldest son came home from school last week announcing, “MOM! I need to bring peanut butter to school to give to the Mexicans who live in dumps!” My jaw kinda dropped. My immediate reaction was wow, those are not kind words. How not politically correct. I need to teach this young man about world culture. Pronto.

Lost in translation? Sadly, no. Turns out, he was right. At school, my son is learning about these young children in Mexico, who have nothing. No family, no food, no hope. His teacher says many of these kids live in real garbage dumps in Mexico where they salvage food and clothing, whatever they can find.

The teacher began his pilgrimage to Mexico several years ago and returns annually. He rallies his students to collect peanut butter every year. Why peanut butter or manteca de cacahuete? Protein. Peanut butter is the cheapest source of protein and doesn’t have to be refrigerated. Every January, the teacher drives to this poverty-stricken area to Hogar para Ninos to take the load of peanut butter down to these kids. Here is the website of the organizing group:

http://www.ffhm.org/

As we are looking ahead to the holiday season. We are entering the season of sharing and abundance. It’s time to share and spread the abundance around. Chunky or creamy?

And I know there are poopy naysayers who are like, “Why do I need to help them thar Mexicans? We’ve got our own problems. Let’s take care of our kids first. Forget about them. They don’t speak even English. They speak Mexican, don’t they?” [sic]

Well, you see, in my eyes, it IS our job to help nourish every child. Whether here or there. It IS our job to teach our children to be kind, to do the right thing, and to think of others.

And that, my friend, means stocking up on some peanut butter. Pronto.

Because if there’s a truck driving down to Mexico, I want to make sure it’s filled to the brim with manteca de cacahuete and love.

Gracias.