A Victim/A Miracle

Today, my blog ventures into the land I swore my blog would never go: politics. Because last night, my family and I were the victim of a crime that touches on a major political issue. Today's blog isn't funny, it's true. You will be back to your regularly scheduled hilarity and hijinks with our next entry.

At approximately 11:30 p.m. on the night of Sunday, September 6, 2009, a person or persons unknown entered a vacant field directly behind our house. These people sounded like they were riding personal recreational vehicles (AKA "Four-Wheelers") and at some point began firing guns.

One of those shots went into the window of our home. The window shattered, showering glass fragments over the entire room, including the bed where our little boy, Dexy, lay sleeping.

If there is any humor to be had in this situation, it is in the fact that Dexy slept through the entire thing.

When we woke up the next morning, there it was: a hole in our window, with a .22-caliber bullet lodged in the window frame.

The deputy who examined the scene said it was probably a deer rifle, the kind anyone here can buy at Wal-mart.

How lucky are we? Dexy is fine. He didn't even get a scratch, even when he walked over the glass to get out of his room. The next time someone wants to debate the existence of God, please let me know.

Our county has written the incident up as "deadly conduct," which means someone was engaging in conduct which could result in death, even if unintended. But the deputy also did not give us much hope that the case would ever be solved.

My opinion is that this was probably some kids, in varying states of inebriation, who decided to shoot off their deer rifles where they believed no one would get hurt.

So here it is: my political statement.

If you can't be a responsible gun owner, you shouldn't own a gun. "Responsible" gun owners to not discharge their firearms in vacant lots directly adjacent to a residential neighborhood. "Responsible" gun owners don't shoot off their guns in full darkness in a vacant lot directly adjacent to a residential neighborhood.

Okay, that's over. I still love and respect you if you disagree, but this is an issue about which I find myself now feeling very passionate.

Dexy is fine. I am still shaking. When I saw the hole and the glass, I had a moment of the most crippling, debilitating fear I've ever known. I cried, and held Dexy as he squirmed to get out of my arms and play, and thanked God that He was watching out for my kids as they slept.

I know that tomorrow will be a new day, a better day, and that we will be fine.

But I won't be sleeping tonight.

Semantics, Shemantics

Deb: I hate it when we fight.

Sven: That wasn't a fight.

According to Sven, we have never had a fight. We've been together 15 years. How is that possible?

It depends on the definition. While we may discuss, bicker, and even argue, Sven and I never "fight," depending on your definition of "fight."

Screaming at each other, saying intentionally hurtful things to each other, threatening to leave, throwing dishes...if this is fighting, then Sven is right, we've never had one.

Here's what we do have:

1. Bickering: This is meaningless verbal play about things that do not matter to anyone, anywhere, at all. Example: Sven and I had a long-running dialogue about Debussy's place in the canon of Composers That Matter. I took the position that Debussy "Matters" because he not only revolutionized harmony, he set the stage for the major musical developments of the 20th century. (And he wrote music I can play.) Sven replied that Debussy shouldn't "Matter" because he was just a lazy rich boy who wrote what he did because he didn't bother to learn the rules. This went on for years, to the point that my mother would visibly blanch when either of us said "Debussy."

A friend of ours, Danny, attempted to broaden the discussion by randomly shouting "Jodeci," but it wasn't the same. It did, however, cause me to shoot my beverage out of my nose.

(Explanation of above terms: Jodeci was a popular music group in the early- to mid-1990's. Debussy was a composer of the late Romantic or "Impressionist" school. Danny is a stand-up comedian.)

2. Heated Discussion: This is when Sven and I begin discussing something of mutual interest, then devolve into attacking the merit of each other's arguments, often switching sides shamelessly just to win the point.

Sven: I hate our garage. It should be behind the house.

Deb: Well, if they were going to do that, they would have to change the floor plan and enlarge the lots.

Sven: No, all they would have to do is move the garage.

Deb: I don't understand how they could do that without changing the entire layout of the kitchen, or at least enlarging the lot.

Sven: Look, just imagine it. The house is the same, but instead of the garage being in front, it's in the back.

Deb: Well, how would the car get in? It would have to drive around the side, right? How would they do that.

Sven: They would just make the lot a little bit bigger, and flip the floor plan around.

Deb: Oh.

(Imagine the above discussion extended to about 20 pages, and you've got the gist.)

3. Arguing: this is when we disagree about something fairly major. These are rare. I subscribe to the "rather be happy than right" school, so I'm pretty easygoing about most things. We argue sometimes about activities we want to do, projects we want to undertake, or places we want to go.

There have only been four times in our fifteen years together that I thought we had a "fight." Three of those times were completely my fault, usually caused by my mouth saying something my brain hadn't processed yet. It's an awful feeling, hurting someone you love because you just didn't think your statement through. Fortunately, I'm getting better about waiting to speak until I think about it. The fourth time was caused by my misunderstanding, but Sven made it worse by "fixing" my hurt feelings by being angry that my feelings were hurt. (Imagine, him yelling at me that I was being silly didn't instantly make me feel better!)

I think how you fight, and how you make up after a fight, is an important part of every relationship. Sven and I subscribe to the "pretend it never happened" school. It works for us. Here is how it goes when we try otherwise:

Deb: Hey, about that fight we had earlier-

Sven: We never fight. Now how about some sammiches?

Deb: Yes dear.

Okay, not really. But neither of us is really comfortable talking about our feelings in-depth. I don't know how Sven handles it, but when I need to talk to someone about my relationship, I have an imaginary interview with Oprah. Unsurprisingly, Oprah is patient and kind, and believes that I am always 100% right. I can only hope Sven is going to Dr. Phil, who will agree with Oprah that I am right, since she signs his paychecks.

So, to my delight, I've discovered that I am in a relationship completely free of "fighting."

Lucky, lucky me!

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a magical forest populated entirely by large jungle cats.

The lions and the tigers shared the leadership according to the will of the rest of the cats. Sometimes there was a lion in charge, but tigers served in other key positions. Other times, the leadership was mostly lions or tigers. Since the cats were a fickle bunch, lions and tigers changed positions frequently.

It had not always been thus. When the jungle was first discovered, lynxes and ocelots were the two ruling cat classes. Leopards and cheetahs had also made brief appearances. Still, it became obvious to most that the lions and the tigers would be running the show for a long time.

The lions had been in power a particularly long time, and many of the cats were tired of it. "The lions have ruined everything," they grumbled. "It's time for a change."

"You can't say that," the lions said. "That's disrespectful of us, your leaders. After all, if you hadn't wanted us to lead, you wouldn't have chosen us to lead you."

"Wait until next time," the cats said. "We'll have a tiger in there and show you all."

"Play nice," the lions said. "We can all get along. After all, we're all cats."

When the time came to elect the next leader, a marvellous and strange thing happened. A rare white tiger appeared in the jungle, and his beauty captivated everyone. In a stunning landslide, the white tiger became the leader of the jungle.

"Hooray!" cheered the tigers. "A leader we can all believe in!"

"Boo," said the lions. "He's not my leader."

"What do you mean?" asked the tigers. "When the lion was in charge, you told us we had to respect his office and play nice. The last time there was a tiger in charge, you all played nicely with us. What has changed?"

"Nothing, nothing," said the lions in unison. "It's fine."

There came a day when the white tiger wanted to gather all of the young cubs to him and talk to them about how important it was to learn how to be a good cat.

"Boo," said the lions. "I don't want him talking to OUR cubs. He's not our leader. Boo."

"What?" asked the rest of the cats. "He's our leader. Why can't he talk to the cubs?"

"We don't support this leader, so he can't talk to the cubs," said the lions.

"Is this because he's a white tiger?" asked the tigers.

"No, no," the lions hastily said. "Of course not."

So the leader of the jungle never got to talk to the cubs. And the cubs learned that a leader is only your leader if you voted for him.

Confessions: How I Blog

"Deb, how do you do it?" they ask me.

"Do what?" I reply.

"You work full-time, have a husband, two children, and a church calling...how do you do all of that and still find time to blog?"

My response varies, but it doesn't matter what I say. It's all a lie.

The truth: I stockpile blog entries. I might get inspired one night and write four or five of them, then set them to auto-publish so that it looks as though I'm writing an entry every couple of days. Earlier this summer, while on vacation in Branson, MO, I got so inspired that I wrote nine or ten entries over the course of two nights. That got me through most of the summer.

It's over now. I've run out of my stockpile. As of today, I'm blogging by the seat of my pants. It's day-to-day, all-Deb, live action, baby.

Hold on for the ride.

I'm sure it will start soon.

A Wicked Backhand

It is considered bad manners to offer an uninvited observation on someone's appearance.

Even to give a compliment. If someone has not directly asked you, "How do I look?" it is rude to offer your opinion on their appearance.

Today, the wisdom of that was reaffirmed to me.

"Deb, what are you doing different?" my colleague asked me in the hall at lunch. "You look pretty."

Was there ever a compliment more badly phrased? I'm sure there was. But this one was a doozy. I have failed to capture the semi-awed tone implying that I was unfit for viewing in daylight before in print, but it was there.

Fortunately for us all, I know this lady is a sweet, kind, amazing individual who teaches kindergarten. A saint, in other words. I know she meant to pay me a sincere compliment, and her chagrin when she realized what she said was genuine and a little painful.

Also fortunately, I am a survivor of foot-in-mouth disease, which has plagued me for years. I'm constantly reviewing what I say or write in fear of saying the wrong thing. Every time I relax my vigilance, something slips through that causes me to spend the next six months writhing in mortification every time I remember it, which is every second of every day.

So, to my wonderful colleague, thank you for the lovely compliment. I accepted it, and continue to accept it, in the spirit in which I know you intended it.

And I'm pretty sure it was the haircut. I am pretty cute, if I do say so myself...

Happy Monday!!

Let the Punishment Fit the Crime

Princess is in trouble.

Apparently, the following exchange took place at school yesterday:

Teacher: Children, you need to be quiet.

Princess: No, YOU need to be quiet!

My child.

Princess met me at school with her head hung down in shame. She wouldn't meet my eyes. When we got to the car and I managed to get her chin up, the corners of her mouth were turned down so low I thought they would meet underneath.

"It was an accident!" she wailed. "I didn't mean to be bad!"

"I'm not happy," I answered, Stern Mommy face in place. I knew I had to play the big card. "Wait until I tell Daddy about this."

"Aaaahhh," Princess wailed from the carseat. "I didn't mean to be bad! It was an accident!"

When we got home, Princess was sent to her room while Sven and I deliberated. We decided on the following punishment:

1. No cupcake. (My cousins sent me home with cupcakes last weekend, it's not like we constantly have cupcakes in the house to withdraw from the children for misbehavior.)

2. Removal of the DVD player from her room for the night. (Yes, she has a portable DVD player that she keeps in her room. I hear you, Mom.)

News of this punishment was greeted with the same level of distress that I imagine would result from a group of Lord of the Rings fans being told that Peter Jackson won't be directing the film version of "The Hobbit." Teeth were gnashed. Hair was pulled. Clothing was rent. She didn't have access to ashes or sackcloth, but you get the idea.

"Thank goodness we had the foresight to shower our children with a ridiculous amount of material objects, so we now have things to take away!" I said to Sven.

"I agree," he said.

Today, she was wonderful. A peach. She apologized to the teacher and played nicely all day. All is well.

Here's the problem:

Removing the DVD player caused her to sleep. Most of the night. She never does that. Now, I don't want to give the DVD player back.

I'll think of something...

80-fication

I have blogged before about my disgust for so-called "educational" television. What does this dreck really teach our kids? That the world is:

• Full of caring anthropomorphic creatures that will instruct them on how to use shapes to build a rocket to Mars so they can save a kitten, and
• Completely tolerant and accepting of everyone, to the point that multi-ethnic groups of people will break into a dance of friendship after successfully reading the word "wiener."

This, of course, is poppycock. Where are the real lessons kids need to learn? You know, lessons like:

• The universe is full of evil half-human supervillains with comical names like "Stinkor."
• Appropriate attire for any occasion includes leg warmers and a hi-leg leotard
• Mr. T can do anything
• For it to count, your primary talent should be emblazoned on your stomach

These lessons are where we all belong: back in the 1980's.

To further my children's education and halt the alarming encroachments Dora the Explorer ("Blinking At You In Many Languages! *blink* *blink* Bueno!!") is making in our household, I recently purchased the following DVD's:

• Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer
• The Care Bears Movie
• The My Little Pony Movie
• She-Ra, Season 1, Part 1 (the first 32 episodes of this landmark series)

Each of these films sensitively conveys ideas that have been lost to today's generation due to the "misguidedness" of "political correctness" and "sensitivity."

WARNING: SPOILERS OF 25-YEAR-OLD MEDIA AHEAD

Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer takes a very simple story and conveys it with a depth and maturity not often seen in animation. To summarize: there's a princess who loves shiny things who decides she wants Spectra, the diamond planet, which creates all light in the universe. Shockingly, she is not the heroine. Our heroine is Rainbow Brite, who, after being awakened by her commune of coeducational and multi-ethnic "roommates," sets off to recover Spectra so she can bring spring to Earth. (She knows about the situation because the robot horse told her. Don't question me.) Rainbow Brite takes her horse, Starlight (who speaks in a British accent but sings like Tom Petty) to Spectra, but she is followed by Murky and Lurky, who are her usual enemies because they hate color. Long story short (quiet!): Rainbow Brite saves Spectra and the magic key glows again and spring comes back to earth and the sprites rejoice. (Of course there are sprites. They work in the color mines, which are happy, fanciful mines that produce colored gems and, apparently, marijuana, judging by the sprites' facial expressions.)

Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer teaches us that greed is very, very bad. A courageous message for a movie based on a collectible toy series that constantly invented new colors just to have new dolls to market.

****

The Care Bears Movie follows three orphans whose names I can't recall. Two of the orphans are brother and sister, and they get sucked up to Care-a-Lot by the Care Bears, who teach them to love again. On earth, Nicholas (okay, I remembered one) finds a magic book that sucks the caring out of him and everyone else. The Care Bears and Care Bear Cousins must leave Care-A-Lot and the Forest of Feelings to defeat the evil book and make Nicholas care again. Starring Mickey Rooney.

The Care Bears Movie teaches us that books are evil. Well played, evil corporate toy merchants.

***

The My Little Pony Movie is so amazing that I couldn't even watch it. It also stars Mickey Rooney.

****

She-Ra, Princess of Power is the most amazing thing in the history of ever. It is a spin-off of the He-Man cartoon series. Those of you who think you remember the 80's, go to Youtube and watch some He-Man and then come back. I'll wait.

{wait}

So He-Man really "transforms," right? He goes from a pageboy-haircut, pink stretch pants-wearing "regular guy" to an oiled-up bodybuilder? Very butch. And did you notice that He-Man's hair and face don't change at all? He just changes his clothes to become He-Man. His own parents don't know him. Here's how that would really work:

**********

Momz: Hey, who are you and what are you doing here?

Deb: Mom, it's me.

Momz: Oh, I didn't recognize you. You look like a completely different person.

Deb: I took off my jacket.

Momz: That's it.

**********

He-Man's parents must have either been unimaginably stupid (which some episodes suggest) or just playing along:

*******

Dad: Where's Adam?

Mom: I don't know, he's out playing with his sword.

Adam: (from outside, faintly): I....Have....the POWER!!

Dad: Great. Here he comes.

Mom: Shut up, shut up, get into character...

He-Man (entering): Skeletor is coming!

Dad: Oh, no! Whatever shall we do? It's a good thing you're here, He-Man, instead of someone else who just looks like you but dresses like a female ice skater. (Winces as Mom elbows him)

Mom: But where is my son Adam? Not in front of me half-naked, that's for sure.

He-Man: There's no time, you have to leave before Skeletor gets here!

Mom: All right. There are cookies on the table, dear.

******

She-Ra's friends are even dumber, because Adora, She-Ra's alter-ego, used to be a Horde commander or something, and she showed up to join the rebellion at the same time She-Ra appeared. Coincidence? I think so!

What doesn't She-Ra teach us? Don't trust whisper-voiced shadow demon sorceress ladies? Check. People with metal bones for faces are bad? Check. If an organization voluntarily calls itself "The Horde," it's probably not good? Checkity check.

All still vital lessons for today.

I have the power.

Ron Clark and Oprah

Written Last Week, but posting the first day of school


Today I had the privilege of listening to Ron Clark, founder of the Ron Clark Academy. You might know him from his appearances on Oprah, various media outlets, and the movie based on his experiences, "The Ron Clark Story" starring Matthew Perry, my favorite Friend.

This is just one more example of how Oprah is always right.


Scoff if you will, but years ago, I saw Oprah interview this darling Southern boy who had made such a success out of a school in Harlem, New York that he won the American Teacher of the Year award. He inspired me then. Now that I've seen him in person, I want to drop everything, move to Atlanta, and convince him that he needs a full time choir director/piano teacher on staff. (Mom, if you're reading this, I'm just joking.) (Mr. Clark, if you're reading this, I'm so not joking.)


Other things Oprah has been right about:


1. Reading is fun. When Oprah decided that Americans needed to read again, we all did. Well, technically you all did, because I read all along. However, at Oprah's suggestion, I did vary my Stephen King/Trashy Romance diet with some Barbara Kingsolver and Lalita Tademy. And, you know, a lot of those books were pretty good.


2. Dr. Phil. I always tell people that I can't stand Dr. Phil, but the truth is I usually get advice on his show that totally makes sense for me. I'm sorry. It's a sickness.


3. Every celebrity breakup ever. Well, maybe not, but I personally knew the Brad Pitt/Jennifer Aniston marriage was over when Oprah, using her penetrating and deft interviewing style, asked Pitt about marriage and married life. His answer: "Well, it's great, it's a lot of fun, but I don't think there's such a thing as a lifetime of happiness with one person. I think you have to enjoy the time you have with someone, and then be ready for the next thing." Or something to that effect. How did Jen not see it coming?


4. Your bedroom should be a sanctuary. It sounds corny, but since I took the time to really clean and organize our bedroom, there is a sense of peace and relaxation there that I swear was not there before. Oprah, of course, recommends a complete redecoration for the whole "sanctuary" thing to be complete, so Sven... (cough)


I could go on, but I won't. (You're welcome.) But I have to tell you how inspired I was by today's talk. Mr. Clark is an energetic, goofy, lithe man who bounds all over the stage and has an expressive, mobile face. He is the antithesis of "passive." I've been going to these "Welcome back, now get inspired!" meetings for a long time now. Here's a sample of some of the other things I've heard:


1. Unintelligible mumbling about Los Angeles
2. How China and India are going to drive us all into homelessness and we can't stop it
3. How self-esteem is imaginary and we shouldn't cater to it
4. How test scores don't matter, but here's how you raise them.


I could go on, but I won't. (Stop it.) Fortunately, this year I got to hear Ron Clark, which meant I got dinner (a lot of good, substantive ideas for classroom management and instruction) and a show (Mr. Clark's humor and genuine feeling). What a treat! Although there was nothing said specifically about fine arts, I'm already imagining how I can incorporate some of his techniques into my classroom.


If nothing else, I can bring the enthusiasm. Come on, kids. I'm ready.


Really.