Another Gun Post

When I was asked to use my voice and blog platform this week to address a letter to Congress about solving our gun problems here in America, I’m not gonna lie, there may have been an eye roll.  Or two.  Or twenty.

Asking Congress to do anything these days, from my humble voting point of view, is senseless.  Our representatives in Washington are staging an epic battle of tantrums that put the toddlers we raise to shame.  Our President is throwing up his hands and asking for grass roots involvement to solve the problems Congress is too dysfunctional to address, let alone solve.  Honestly?  I have issues with that, too.  If you are a leader, please lead.

I was inclined to decline and told myself my reading audience didn’t need another gun post from me, that you, dear reader, would quit me for my continued gun rants.

This is a gun.
This is a gun.

But that’s not right.  That is defeatist thinking right there and defeatist thinking gets you nowhere.

Donna taught me to choose hope, and I try really hard to do that each day of my life.  Another thing Donna taught me was to be realistic and to practice acceptance in my day-to-day life.  I could not prevent my daughter dying of cancer.  It was going to happen regardless of my pleas and prayers and wishes.  What I could do, and what I tried to do, was live a life with Donna that made her happy and carefree and that surrounded her with love.

Choosing hope, for me, is more than a platitude.  It is salvation, direction, the promise of better things yet to come.  I choose hope so that I can wake up in the morning and do it all again.  I choose hope so that I don’t succumb to bitterness or anger.  I choose hope for my two surviving children and my husband and my Dad, so that I can still do and be for them as they need me to be.

I choose hope for America where guns are concerned, too.  That is why I will keep writing my occasional gun rant, and, I hope, you will keep reading and considering.

And because my hope is tempered with acceptance, I will not address a letter to this Congress, asking them to suddenly come to their senses and start behaving like the elected officials we want and need them to be.  I do not have hope for politicians that cower in fear of not being reelected and losing the perks and privileges that go hand in hand with representing their voters.  I do not have hope for politicians that stood passively by after a classroom of first graders were killed, sprayed with senseless bullets, they being more concerned with how the NRA would characterize their votes, than with preventing further mass shootings in schools and other public spaces.

I do have hope for the American voter, though, which is why I have pledged to vote for those public servants who want to make a difference and affect positive change where guns are concerned.  Now, mind you, this doesn’t mean taking away the guns of Americans.  Be still, your Second Amendment rights will remain recognized and protected.

What it does mean is that new laws should be put on the books that take a better look at who is sold a gun (extensive mental health and/or criminal records should preclude this right), just how quickly a person can access a gun, and how that gun can be utilized in public spaces.  Greater attention also needs to be given to gun manufacturers, who somehow (can you say NRA?) enjoy a freedom from regulations that teddy bear makers and cheese artisans do not

As someone who has written about gun violence, I have heard more than a few arguments in favor of gun rights.  A primary one is that criminals will always have guns, and that we law abiding citizens need our own guns as defense.  Yes, that is human nature, criminals will continue to break any and all laws, but it is the law abiding gun owners and manufacturers that give me more pause these days, as gun laws vary so incredibly from state to state and many states require not an ounce of training or paperwork to become a legal gun owner.

For better or worse, law abiding gun owners, caught in horrible circumstances, or suffering a momentary lapse in reason and judgment now rely on the false sense of invincibility their guns provide them and behave in shameful, senseless ways.  Law abiding gun owners are leaving their loaded firearms in places they shouldn’t be, providing unfettered access to toddlers who don’t know any better or troubled teens who feel their own sense of false invincibility or extreme persecution from bullies.  Law abiding gun owners are now allowed to carry guns in bars, restaurants, and churches in certain states, thanks to the dedicated efforts of the gun lobby.

So while I won’t be drafting a letter to Congress anytime soon about common sense gun laws, I will continue to choose hope that America will find her way out of this ammunition and weapon heavy gun loving place we find ourselves in.  Call me pie-in-the-sky, call me stupid, mock my gender and intellect, try to demean me by telling me to bake cookies.  Do as you will.

None of that will stop me from believing we have lost our way in America where guns are concerned, and none of that will prevent me from choosing hope that we can find our way back.  Hope is a powerful thing, you see.

If you, like me, are interested in learning more about candidates in your area that want to put common sense gun laws on the books, sign the gun voter pledge for information specific to your area by clicking HERE.

Children’s Book Review: The Day the Crayons Quit

I love this book.  Seriously.  We’re at the stage where I thought we would be out of the picture book arena for a while, as Mary Tyler Son has moved on to chapter books and Lego guides almost exclusively.  I’ve missed them, honestly, as the picture books in our home library gather dust while they wait for Mary Tyler Baby not to drool on them or rip their pages.  Board books for baby for the foreseeable future.

The Day the Crayons Quit, by Drew Daywalt and illustrated by Oliver Jeffers
The Day the Crayons Quit, by Drew Daywalt and illustrated by Oliver Jeffers

Friends gifted our older boy with The Day the Crayons Quit a few weeks ago and it was instant love from mom and child both.  Written by Drew Daywalt and illustrated by Oliver Jeffers, this kid’s book delivers in some pretty surprising ways.

At the heart of the story are the demands of individual crayon colors, stating their position on why they have it harder than the other colors in the box and how that leads to their decision to quit.  My son is amused by the idea of a crayon quitting, and not so sub-consciously, loves the concept of standing up for yourself and calling the shots for once — a five year old’s dream.

I love it for how it expertly weaves the lesson of empathy through its pages.  Color by color, readers young and old are brought into the hidden lives of crayons — the color pecking order, if you will.  Red whines about how busy it is and how it is employed even on holidays like Christmas and Valentine’s Day.  Red wants a break.  White feels empty, not even showing up on the page.  Pink bemoans being thought of as a girl’s color and dreams of being used to draw dinosaurs and cowboys.  Black is tired of only being used as an outline color and fantasizes about a day at the beach.

Red wants you to know how hard he has it.
Red wants you to know how hard he has it.
Poor pink picks adventure over princesses.
Poor pink picks adventure over princesses.
Black just wants a day at the beach and to enjoy the advantages his more colorful friends enjoy.
Black just wants a day at the beach and to enjoy the advantages his more colorful friends enjoy.

The book concept is clever and humorous and won’t bore a parent to death while also making kiddo think without knowing it.  They’ll be too busy giggling to realize the important lesson they are learning.  Teaching a child to empathize, the act of understanding and sharing the feelings of another, is, from my point of view, one of the primary tasks of successful parenting.

Imagine a childhood where all children could better empathize with one another.  Bullying would cease to exist as we know it.  How amazing would that be?  Pffft, a mom can dare to dream, can’t I?  Racism, sexism, classism, violence — *POOF*.  A lovely world, indeed!

But enough with my Utopian fantasies.

Long story short, this book is a great tool for introducing the concept of empathy to young children.  Read it with them, giggle with them, then slowly encourage them to employ empathy themselves in their day-to-day. Start with the bugs they squash or the flowers and leaves they pick distractedly.  Teach them about the value of all living things.  From crayons and nature, move on to higher order empahty — why Sally might feel left out when the boys refuse to play with her, or why Billy might be afraid to play baseball, as all kiddos don’t like flying orbs careening towards their heads.

If you want to read more about teaching our children empathy, here is an article I highly recommend.

Another great feature of empathy is that when you are bone tired, frustrated, at the end of your parental rope, you can sit down and explain that to your kiddos, with the hope that they will actually understand.  Ha! Speaking of fantasies . . .

Little Kids and Their Great Big Enormous Feelings

Next week, Mary Tyler Son will wrap up two years at the beloved school both he and Donna attended.  Come fall, he will step into the much larger Chicago Public School system.  I have many, many feelings about this. Many feelings . . .  Turns out, though, that five year old Mary Tyler Son does, too.

He said to me the other day that he wished time would just stop because it kept passing him by so quickly.  This from a five year old.  He definitely has the Irish sentimentalist in him, just like his mom.  He has also been working on a picture story that involves a “mysterious door to a magical world” where there is no sickness.  Originally, there was just one key that could only be used once by one person.  Naturally, the key was for him.  When it dawned on him that he would be all alone in that magical and healthy world, other keys started to pop up — enough keys so that he could be in that perfect place with me and his Dad and brother and his favorite playmate.

There are lots of feelings going on with the boy right now.

Some of the time the feelings are coming out in these profound ways that I’ve described above where I can beam with pride and exclaim, “My Son!”  Most of the time, though, the feelings he is feeling are spilling out in ways that aren’t nearly so charming or prophetic or acceptable in polite company.  Once they came out in a way that hurt his baby brother and that required some swift discipline.

When I hold my baby, it is so simple.  He is this darling creature that I project all my hopes on and there he is, just sort of absorbing those hopes and projections of mine, happily.  But with a five year old, well, they are more apt to be doing their own thing in their own way.  There is lots less that I can so easily project on to my boy, because with each passing day, it is clearer and clearer that he is very much his own boy.

Part of being your own person is experiencing your own feelings your own way.  As I mom, this is what I am working for with my kiddos, right?  That they have the self-possession and confidence to feel all the feelings.

Imagine a five year old trying to sort this all out . . .
Imagine a five year old trying to sort this all out . . .

Turns out, though, that a five year old feeling all the feelings is hard.  Like really hard.  Feelings are nuanced and complicated and sometimes contradictory.  They confuse me, a woman in her forties with a Master’s degree in clinical social work, and as I watch all the feelings overwhelm my boy at times and there I am, Ms. Clinical Social Worker, shaking my head about how to help him, well, I don’t feel like I’ll be nominated for any Mom of the Year awards anytime soon.

It’s humbling and confusing and makes me feel a wee bit useless.  Sheesh, if I am struggling with the needs of my five year old, how I going to handle 10 and 15 and all those other years in between?

The answer is one day at a time to the best of my ability.

This morning I spoke about all of this with my son’s teacher.  Lordy, will I miss her calm wisdom next year.  Mary Tyler Dad and I have had more than a few conversations about these big feelings from such a little boy, too.  The thinking and talking and considering have helped me, at least, and I think with me feeling calmer and more settled, I hope some of that trickles down to the boy.

In the end, with many of the things our children face — even cancer — so much of what a parent does is just stick with them.  See them through, keep them company, hold their hand or offer a hug.  That seems simple, but in the midst of these big feelings that part of me just wants to regulate already, sitting and holding and making room for all of that is deceptively hard.

Today, in this moment, I feel calm.  That calm is what I will try to connect to the next time my lovely, sweet, charming, boy flies off the handle when it is time to leave the park or is told that the only snack in the car is a graham cracker and his response is as if his favorite pet bunny was just decapitated right in front of him.  Oh the misery of only graham crackers for snack time!  

I will try to keep my cool. not escalate an already escalating situation, and find the empathy of five when little things seemed awfully BIG and feelings are sometimes more complicated and powerful than your ability to express them.