The Katie Chronicles, CSI (Christmas Scene Investigation) Edition

A few years ago, we got Katie a play kitchen set for Christmas. We were in Florida for the holiday and it was too big to haul down there, so we had to stage a whole scene where it was set up in the house for Katie to find when she returned, with a note from Santa explaining why he couldn't bring it to Florida. Fast forward to a recent morning at the breakfast table.  We were talking about the elves and Santa's magical powers. Katie began talking about how Santa got her kitchen set down the chimney that one year and she remembered the note. She said, "Mommy, Santa is a miracle worker! I compared his handwriting to yours and Daddy's and it looks just like yours! He can imitate people's handwriting perfectly!" Her investigative skills are growing, apparently (darn you, Nancy Drew!). How long until she figures it all out? 

The Katie Chronicles, Julia Sugarbaker, Jr. Edition

We remodeled our house about four years ago and we did a good bit of research on the various updates beforehand. Even though we "cut the cord" last year, we have kept up an HGTV habit that formed during that reno year and we like to ooo and ahh (and eeww) over the various remodeling projects they feature. So Katie and I were watching House Hunters Renovation Collection and a couple asked their real estate agent to find them a house to buy that was even older than the 1970s-era house they had already toured. I talk to the TV as if the people can hear me so I said something to the effect of, "I'd think twice about wanting to go a lot older." Katie said, "Why, Mommy?" and I said, "Older homes have character but also lots of problems like wiring and plumbing that has to be replaced. It gets expensive to renovate at the level." Katie, right year old, my third grade child, said, "Yes, I agree. You want a place that looks older but is actually newer. It should just have that rustic *look*."

Refugees, Compassion, and Fear

Like most people, in the past few weeks, I’ve been giving some thought to my opinions about admitting Syrian refugees into the U.S. It strikes me first that compassion and helping those in desperate situations is a spiritual issue and Christians have been given some guidance on this.  Quite a bit, actually: 

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?" The King will reply, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

(Matthew 25: 35 - 40)

If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.

(1 John 3:17-18)

There are others but I'll stop there. Helping refugees is such an important imperative in Christianity that 5 of the 9 NGOs helping with refugee resettlement in the U.S. are Christian. But isn’t it normal to feel fear about letting people into America from a country that has Muslim extremists in it?  I think that’s pretty normal, especially after what happened in Paris last week.  But not giving in to fear is a spiritual issue, too. The most common phrase in the Bible in both the Old and New Testament is "have no fear" or "do not be afraid."  We are called repeatedly to do the work of love and justice without fear.  That doesn’t mean, of course, that we abandon common sense precautions, but more about those in a minute. 

Helping refugees is not only the Christian thing to do, but it’s also pretty patriotic.  It’s so important to the American experience that it’s written on the Statue of Liberty: “"Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,/The wretched refuse of your teeming shore./Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,/I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

But what about jobs? Won’t they hurt our economy, which is still struggling in so many places?  It turns out the answer is no.  Economists have found that refugees, even when they come in large numbers, have either a net neutral or net positive effect on the economy. They know this from studying the impact of 125,000 refugees from Cuba coming to Florida within a few months in 1980 (80,000 to Miami alone). There was no impact on unemployment. Yes, they got jobs, but more people mean more people buying things, which creates more jobs, and more people paying taxes. Plus, refugees and immigrants tend to start more small businesses.

I’ve also learned a lot about the refugee process this week and it strikes me that a terrorist who wanted to come to do harm in the U.S. wouldn't be the sharpest tool in the box if he choose the refugee process as a way to enter. Refugees don't get to choose where they are sent. They are assigned to a country and could easily get sent to Lebanon or Egypt instead of America. Our refugee vetting process takes up to 2 years so even if a potential terrorist did get sent to the U.S., he'd be waiting a long time. (There is a way to enter the U.S. that does deserve scrutiny and that's the number of countries whose citizens we allow to come in without visas for short stays. That is probably more porous than it should be).

But we already have, as a few Facebook posts have pointed out, homeless veterans and children.  What about them?  Since when did compassion become something we have to dole out only to certain groups?  Compassion is not a finite resource.  It’s a false choice to say we must choose between two deserving groups.  We can help both and we should.  

I think we are right to allow refugees from Syria to come to the U.S.  In fact, I think it’s long overdue.  If terrorists cause us to separate ourselves from the best parts of ourselves, our empathy for others and willingness to help those in need, their victory is more profound than any bombing could ever be.   

Responding to a Tragedy

When I got up this morning, my heart was in Stillwater and I immediately reached for my phone to get an update. Did the severely injured make it through the night? Was there any additional news that would help me make sense of this tragedy? Was there someone I forgot to check in with who was not OK? 

What I've seen on social media so far is great sadness and bittersweet stories: a little girl who was going to her first OSU homecoming with her aunt and grandma but who "got her first helicopter ride" instead when she was life-flighted out of the carnage; a couple who died who had previously set up a scholarship to OSU after he served for 26 years as an award-winning professor; an OSU student who was pushed out of the way of the car by that professor's wife; the firefighters and National Guard members who were part of the parade and ran to the scene, likely saving lives; a Methodist minister who just happened to be at the hospital when the doctors told the family of the two year old that they were unable to save him. 

I also saw the mugshot of the woman who caused this horrific tragedy. As I scrolled down my newsfeed, I was struck that I had not read any comments that directed anger toward her. As the reality sinks in, it's possible that may change, but I hope not. She did a devastating thing, but let's not respond in kind. 

A wise person once told me that we are all one bad decision away from losing everything. Let's take this moment to feel the truth in that statement. She is facing justice and will likely go to jail for the rest of her life. Let's let the legal system do its job and let us turn to those who need us. Let's pray for and comfort the families, and contribute to the memorial funds, and assist those who were injured when they come home from the hospital. 

The world is watching to see how we handle this, Cowboys and Cowgirls. Let's show them who we are. #LoyalAndTrue #StillwaterStrong

The Katie Chronicles: That's My Job Edition

Katie sometimes plays computer games on kids' websites like PBS. Recently, my computer's browser was doing some really odd, glitchy things and Katie was getting frustrated by it. She looked at me sitting next to her in the couch and said, "This computer is driving me nuts!" Then with a big smile: "That's usually *my* job, to drive people nuts."

"Free" College Isn't So Free

So if you pay attention to politics, you've probably seen plans from several candidates (and one from President Obama), that promise free or much reduced college cost for students.  The goal of these plans --  taking away the financial barriers to completing college -- is admirable and I support it.  The devil, as they say, is in the details.  Some quick thoughts:  Some of these plans are regressive in that they will make no distinction between wealthy families and those who really need the help. Since wealthy students go to college at a higher rate, they will get most of the benefit.  Some of these plans will result in the federal government providing funds to higher education directly.  (Currently, the only real federal financial contribution to college funding is through financial aid, which goes to students not colleges.)  The former is a problem for what I hope are obvious reasons.  The second will, I believe, have two unintended consequences.  It will encourage states to continue their disinvestment in higher education, which is the root of the cost problem to begin with.  They'll continue to cut funding because "the feds will take care of it."  I also believe any kind of direct funding of higher education by the federal government means more top-down, one-size-fits-all federal regulation and that will, sooner or later, end up giving us No Child Left Behind: College Version.  And we know how well that worked out for K - 12.  By all means, let's help students who need the support, but let's be smart about how we do it and let's keep direct federal financing out of higher education.

The Ethan Update: Musical Xenophobia Edition

Yesterday morning,  Ethan asked me what the word "xenophobic" means and I told him. He absorbed the explanation and went on with life. Then a few minutes later he was wandering around the kitchen getting more breakfast and singing this to the tune of Bob Marley's Three Little Birds: "Don't be...xenophobic...'cause every little thing...is gonna be alright....don't be afraid....of other countries...'cause every little thing...is gonna be alright." I think Mr. Marley would like Ethan's update of his song.

The Confederate Flag and Me

I've lived in the South now for 17 years. Being originally from a state that is semi-Southern, there were many things I already understood when I moved here, such as when to use "y'all" vs. "alla y'all" and the glories of the house wine of the South, sweet tea. There are other parts of Southern culture that I've learned about in those 17 years, things you don't really get until you live within a culture, but one thing remains a mystery to me: the attachment of some to the Confederate flag. There are many white Southerners who don’t like the flag and object to it flying in public spaces, but there is still that vocal group who stubbornly insists that it is somehow a symbol of regional pride, or "heritage not hate." I have listened to several perspectives and have yet to understand it. 

The issue of Southern heritage is a personal one.  I am related on my mother’s side to Ben McCullough, a Texas Ranger and brigadier general in the Confederate army, who died after being shot out of his saddle at the Battle of Pea Ridge.  Even with that connection, the power of the Confederate flag evades me, so I’ve looked to my heritage on my father’s side for some kind of analogy. 

My ancestry is largely German and when I was growing up, my dad taught me what it meant to have German roots. I was raised Lutheran and I grew up eating sauerkraut and other German delicacies along with my biscuits and gravy and fried okra. I was taught to be proud of Germanic character traits like hard work and thriftiness. When my dad and I were in Salt Lake City, he took me to see the US Immigration paperwork, which the Mormons have on microform, from when my grandfather (his dad) came to America as a boy. It was a powerful moment that made me proud of the resilience and perseverance of my ancestors.  If I chose to advertise my culture, I could choose the display a German flag…or I could choose to display a red flag with a black swastika, a flag associated with Germany and also with hate and murder and years of prejudice and oppression that still persist today.  

That, for me, is the heart of the debate.  It’s not whether you have the right to be proud of where you’re from.  It’s that choosing to symbolize that pride by displaying a flag that is so closely associated with our own shameful historical episode is such a terribly wrong way to do it.  There are many other symbols that can be used to symbolize a connection with heritage. But just as you will never see a Nazi flag flying in public spaces in Germany, we should also be ashamed to fly our own homegrown symbol of hate, torture, and death.  

The Confederate flag flying at the South Carolina statehouse isn’t their state flag (that one has a pretty palm tree and a crescent moon on it it) and it isn’t even a long-standing tradition.  Like most displays of the Confederate flag in the South, it wasn’t flown until the 1960s, when it was put up as a protest against court-mandated integration. The Confederate flag is a symbol of racism, pure and simple, and I hope those working to take it down are successful.  Put it in a museum, where it belongs.

The Katie Chronicles: Girl Scout Camp Edition

It’s Girl Scout Camp week and Katie regaled us with the following first day update.  Apparently, there was some incredible fishing happening today, including Katie calling five fish to her boat, capturing them in a bag and naming them, only to let them go later in the day, conveniently before any parental eye witnessing could be had. Either that, or a tradition of “the one that got away” type fish tales is alive and well among Katie and her fellow Brownies, as each had her own story.  Girl Scouts all get “camp names” and Katie’s is Princess Sugar Cookie.  Seems about right.  The day’s activities (not including fanciful fishing) included canoeing, swimming, archery, or the Brownie version which uses slingshots instead of bows and arrows, games, and now some rather dramatic singing in the bathtub.  We always discuss our favorite parts of our day at dinner and Katie’s was canoeing (“I got to jump off the boat into the water!”).  When I asked her what one word described her day, she said she had to choose two:  fun and exhausting.  I’m waiting for the exhausted part to kick in, but both make me happy.

The Katie Chronicles: Childcare Wisdom Edition

On the drive home today, I was telling Katie how, when I was exactly her age, I rode the bus home, let myself in the house, and was home by myself until my mom got home an hour or two later. The inevitable question followed: "Can I do that, Mommy?" I told her that times are different and it's illegal in Georgia to do that. She asked me why and I explained that bad things might happen, like she could break something and hurt herself with no parent there to help. She agreed that would be bad. She got thoughtful for a minute and then said, "Mommy, it's really important not to leave a 3-year old by herself. She may eat all the marshmallows." Toddler parents, take note. And lock up the marshmallows, just in case.

The Katie Chronicles: Daily Questions, Episode #1328.

On the way home, Katie and I chat about the day and she sings, giggles, and asks me a very wide variety of questions. Today, we were discussing how all the trees have leaf buds or flowers on them and how pretty they were. She got thoughtful for a minute and then asked, "Mommy, what if, when each leaf burst out of its bud, it shot glitter?" So listen, God: Disco Trees. Get your tree team on that, stat. 

The Katie Chronicles: Potty Mouth Edition

So we’re eating dinner tonight and conversing as we normally do. Katie says, “Mommy, I’ve been…um…f-word…” Wherever you were at about 6.20 Eastern time, you may have felt the distortion in the time-space continuum that occurred at this moment. The Earth stopped turning for a minute and the planets in the galaxy wobbled on their axes. Time actually seemed to slow down as Jerome and I heard that utterance from our sweet, innocent youngest child…”f-f-f-f-w-o-o-r-d.” I was the first off the dime: “WHAT DID YOU SAY??” She looked at us pretty placidly and said, “It’s an F-word…I can’t say it at the dinner table but I’ve been doing it more lately.” As my brain tried to compute this and Jerome’s eyes continued a slow exit from their sockets, it dawned on me. “Katie, is the f-word you’re talking about another word for ‘toot’ [meaning flatulence]? Fart?” She looked at me like I’d stated the obvious. And said, with a sheepish grin, “Yes, toot” and then she looked at us as if to say, “What did you think I meant?” Time sped up, the world began rotating normally, and I realized she had no idea what just happened. The adult version of the “f-word” is, I’m happy to report, not apparently anywhere in her consciousness. In her 8 year-old world, the “f-word” stands for something gross that her brother had been chided for talking about last night while we ate. Relief flooded me and I told her (again) we don’t talk about those things at the dinner table. I’m sure the adult version of the f-word will make its appearance sooner or later, but I’m happy to report it didn’t appear tonight. Unless you count “fart.”

The Katie Chronicles: Boy Lessons Edition

The background: Katie has a friend at school named Max.  Max, Leo, Kaelyn, Cameron, and Katie have formed a Spy Club, which apparently involves critical meetings that must take place over the weekend. The setting: My car, driving home after work.  

Katie, who has never independently made or received a phone call in her life:  Mommy, I HAVE to call Max tonight on the phone!  He wants to get together this weekend to talk about the Spy Club and I have to call him. 

Me: Katie, I’ve told you before...if he wants to get together with you, he needs to have one of his parents call or text me.  

Katie:  Mommy, PLEASE.  He keeps asking me and asking me and asking me and he’s going to ask me tomorrow why I didn’t call him.

Me:  Did you give him my phone number?

Katie: Yes.

Me: Well, if he wants to talk to you, he needs to call you.  [smiling now] Sweetie, you’re going to have boys pestering you to do stuff all your life so it’s better to learn now.  If he wants to talk to you, he has my phone number and he can call you.  

Katie, thoughtfully: Oh, OK.

The Katie Chronicles: Sleepytime Nomenclature Edition

 This morning, on the way to school, we were talking about an upcoming slumber party and the sleeping, or lack thereof, that will ensue.

Katie: Mommy, girls get beauty sleep but what do they call it when boys sleep?

Me: I think it's still beauty sleep. Boys can be beautiful, too, like Daddy.

Katie, thoughtfully: I think it should be called handsome sleep whenever boys do it.

The Katie Chronicles: Neighborhood Explorers Edition, Guest Starring Ethan

Well, it was a rough evening in Kidville. After we got home for the evening, Ethan and Katie were playing outside and joined up with some neighborhood kids that they hang out with a lot. It began to get dark and time for dinner when one of the neighborhood parents came to ask if her kids were in our house. I knew Jerome was outside calling the kids in but apparently he and the parents of the two other kids were all roaming the neighborhood, searching for missing offspring. We figured out quickly that they must all be together but they weren’t answering parents’ calls, which is a no no. (Our kids have free range of a two or three block area, including a playground and some woods, but they can’t go outside the range of our voices, including inside someone’s house, without letting us know.) When I heard Rome’s car start up, I knew we’d gone to Def Con 2. A few minutes later, I heard Rome’s car pull back in the garage, the door open, and sniffling everywhere as the kids came in. Rome’s spidey sense had told him that they had gone to their favorite babysitter, Alex’s, house. She lives about 300 yards away as the crow flies but several blocks away by normal navigation, and a couple of blocks outside their allowed range. He had found all the kids there, happily playing with rocks. (What did Alex’s parents think when a pack of neighborhood kids showed up and asked for their daughter?) Rome apparently gave them The Talk to End All Talks in the car on the way home, perhaps at a volume a teeny bit above normal, because they came in, sat on the couch, and cried. Rome started in with part two of The Talk to End All Talks, also known as “And Another Thing…” but Ethan saved him the trouble by tearfully providing a rundown of all the things they’d done wrong and what he’d done wrong as the oldest in the group of kids. Dinner was a sober affair, with lots of “yes m’ams” and “no, sirs.” Ethan said the grace and he even threw in a note of thanks to God “for our kind parents” and asked for help following the rules. We always discuss our favorite parts of everyone’s day at dinner and Ethan’s favorite part was “learning his lesson.” (Perhaps a career in the ministry is in his future? He’s got the conscience for it.) Don’t tell anyone that I’m secretly glad I have kids with enough chutzpah to push the boundaries on occasion – I’m a fan of the “free range kids” philosophy...one of their evening’s adventures had included Katie falling out of a tree she’d climbed – but I’m also a fan of kids not disappearing in the dark, too. So lessons have been learned and good times have returned to Kidville, minus a privilege or two. And how was your evening?