Seeing the Great Gatsby

I have a personal relationship with the novel The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  That book defines my love of American Literature in a way no other novel does.  But let me back up.

I first read the book as a junior in high school.  I don’t remember much of that experience.

I read it again as an undergrad at Western Michigan University in an American Lit class.  And that is where I fell in love. Hard.

With the Roaring Twenties. With the cynical outlook on The American Dream. With the emptiness of wealth.  With the debauchery and moral-less actions of the characters.  With disliking characters but LOVING the novel.

I went on to teach it every year except one during the past 12 years.  One of those years I had five sections of American Lit meaning I read through the novel five times that year.

I have watched both the 1974 and the 2000 film adaptations of the novel, despising both for a variety of things.  I tend to show the 2000 (by director Robert Markowitz) to my juniors for the sheer ridiculousness of it and because the 1974 version (with Robert Redford, directed by Jack Clayton and with Francis Ford Coppola as a writer) is so boring I would rather watch paint dry.

I think the thing that was most disappointing about both of those films was that I didn’t walk away feeling like I had actually seen the Great Gatsby.  Yes it was a retelling (mostly) of the plot, but the plot is not even primary to the novel.  The plot is not what The Great Gatsby is about.

Both films portrayed a love story…almost a glorified soap opera.  That was not Fitzgerald’s intent at all.  He did not write a story about people loving each other. At all.

When I heard that Baz Luhrmann was working on a screenplay of the novel, I had hopes.  High hopes.

I adore his modern music meets Elizabethan iambic pentameter in Romeo and Juliet and his over-the-top cinematography of Moulin Rouge!  Going in to the movie theater on Sunday, I expected a combination of both.

I was right.

I must also admit to stalking the movie trailers and predictions for months before the film came out.  I waited a week to see it and in that time drove myself batty reading all the fun satires and the scathing reviews.  The critique that I kept hearing over and over was “it doesn’t stick to the time period. It’s not the 20′s.”

Even though I had not yet seen the film I couldn’t help but silently cry out, “You’re wrong. I KNOW you’re wrong.”

Because The Great Gatsby is not a novel about the 20′s.  Although Fitzgerald put as much pop culture in the book as he possibly could.  He was a fan of the boisterous, the loud, the showy…look at his lifestyle and his wife for proof of that.

Fitzgerald was the one to coin the term “The Jazz Age” and use jazz music and the “black movement” in his novel…even though the people around him told him not to do it.  The warned him that it was a passing fad and that it would make his book unrelateable and out of fashion quickly.

Guess who was right?

The choice to have Jay-Z do the score–and include a contemporary “black/street” music injection to the movie–was not just genius, it was exactly up Fitzgerald’s alley.  It was totally Gatsby of Luhramm to do.

Hip hop is not a passing fad, just like jazz wasn’t.

The music also tied the novel to 2013 by showing how much has not changed about greed in America.  We are shown a 20′s setting with music of today and it fits. The 1920′s, especially in The Great Gatsby, were full of debauchery and greed.  How is that different from today?

But it wasn’t just the music I liked, I also liked the casting.

The men were the best cast. Leonardo DiCaprio is a “great” Gatsby.  He has all the created polish and manners that Jay Gatsby worked so hard to pretend to have in the novel.  Tobey Maguire is a good fit for Nick with his wide-eyed worried nature.  Joel Edgerton is by far the best cast Tom of all three movies.  He is aggressive an actually carries himself in the “hulking” way Daisy describes him as.  And Jason Clarke is a perfect George Wilson from his build to his hair to his bright blue eyes.

I was not as impressed with the female character casting. Carey Mulligan is an Ok Daisy. I’m not sure any actress can portray the Daisy Fitzgerald creates with his words.  There is always something lacking, and in this case Mulligan lacked The Voice.  She was too… likable.  I actually found myself feeling sorry for her, which I never EVER do when I read the novel.

Isla Fisher plays the voluptuous Myrtle, and does it well.  Luhramm has made her into the brightest, most gaudy spot in the desolate Valley of Ashes, just as Fitzgerald does in the novel.

Of all the film versions, Luhramm gives the best impression of actually having read and analyzed the novel.  He gets all the tiny details right: the way Catherine’s bracelets jingle on her wrist in the apartment party, the way the phone book drops to the floor in the hotel room, and the way the clock tips and falls at Nick’s house.

Speaking of Nick’s house, my favorite scene in the novel is when he has Daisy over for tea and Gatsby “drops by,” so when the scene was approaching in the film, I sat forward with my elbows on my knees.

(By the way, this is also where I started to look like a weirdo being e alone in the theater and saying the lines along with the characters.)

Luhramm gets this perfect.  From the way Gatsby is totally distracted, almost angry as he waits with Nick in a room that is packed with white flowers to how tense it is when Gatsby stands against the mantel (and the clock) looking down and Nick and Daisy with unease.

It is exactly…exactly…how I picture it when I read.  In fact, I found myself laughing at Gatsby standing in the rain at the front door the same way my students do when I read that section out loud.

For all the criticism the film is getting–when you do an adaptation of the Great American Novel, you sort of open yourself to it–I think Fitzgerald would have been happy with the outcome.

Of course there are things I didn’t like.  While I like the frame that Nick is writing this story down after the fact (that is true to the novel, by the way.  Nick actually says to the readers, “as I glance over all I have written so far…”), I can’t get behind Nick writing the story from the inside of a sanitarium.

I don’t believe Nick “cracked up” at the end of the novel.

I don’t believe he was an alcoholic, let alone a recovering one.

Nick is one of the most infamous unreliable narrator of all time, but I do not believe he was a boozer or insane.

There were also things Luhramm left out of the movie, and things he added that sort of held the hand of the viewer the way you don’t get when you read the book, but after rolling it all over in my mind, I think it’s Ok.

For instance, I think it’s Ok we don’t get the scene with Gatsby’s dad or the scene of Gatsby’s funeral.  Those points were made in other scenes in other ways and to add these would be redundant to the film.

I was bothered that Jordan’s dishonesty was all but left out instead leaving her as just an aloof, jaded character.  I did like that everyone in the book is a careless driver, and that you only understand the symbolism of that you read the book.

I was also bothered that Gatsby didn’t meet Pammy the way he does in the novel. I think seeing her brings a different kind of twist in his “perfect” plan that Luhramm leaves out almost completely in the film.  He has Nick mention her, but only so Daisy can say the “little fool” line.

In the end, as I repeated those final lines of the novel along with Nick, I realized I didn’t have the same sense of empty delusion that I have when I read the book.

In fact, I sort of liked all the characters in the movie. I don’t think that is supposed to happen.

But maybe it’s because I was so pleased with how they portrayed the characters from the novel.

What I do know is that actually seeing The Great Gatsby is a different medium than reading it.  Images affect me differently than words do.

So I don’t think anyone will ever get a version that is just right.  Because you can’t do in images what you can do in words.  Oh, it’s beautiful and it’s wonderful and it’s a grand movie, but you almost can’t compare it aesthetically to the novel because to do so, you would be discounting something important and special from each medium.

The message of social class difference comes through in both though.  And of carelessness.

And of Gatsby symbolizing a great hope that might very well be pointless.

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter–tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther….And one fine morning–
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

 

The Unassuming Mother’s Day

I have so many words in my head and heart for Mother’s Day.

So many mothers I would love to write about and give words to so they know what impact they have had on me…and how they continue to inspire me every single day.

So many different types of moms: laid back ones, working moms, stay at home moms, teacher moms, best friend moms, groovy moms, trendy moms, veteran moms, newbie moms, optimistic moms, realistic moms, dreamy moms, dreamer moms, hot moms, sad moms, hurting moms, waiting-to-be moms, past moms, present moms, my mom.

All beautiful.

All deserving of something extraordinary.

But this year there was no fanfare.

And I was glad for it.

There was no running around to all of the mothers and trying to thank every mother who has ever mothered me or inspired me to mother.

There was sleeping in.

There were boys pouncing on the bed.

There were new jammies that someone (ahem…EDDIE) had already told me about.

There were cards…one in particular with a “macaroni and cheese machine” drawn on it.

There were wet kisses and tight hugs.

There was fighting and whining and pooping in diapers and barging into the bathroom.

There were groceries gotten and laundry done.

There was feeding of hungry boys.

There was grading of long-overdue tests.

There was a bubble bath.

There was rocking.

There was wearing sweat pants all day.

There was this…

008

Smile as hard as you can.

And hold on even harder than that.

Mother.

So much power in that title.

I hope I do justice to it.

My #TeacherStyle

There are not a ton of pictures of my parents when they were young, but the ones I do find I love to pour over and giggle at the fashions.

(Or, you know, ask my mom if she still has those shoes from 1972 because OMG they would look so awesomely vintage/thrifted with a certain skirt.)

My mom worked part time in a grocery store’s meat department when I was a tiny tot, so she didn’t have to dress “business casual” for anything, although I so very much wish I had a record of all her Sunday outfits. I remember some of them quite distinctly, and my mom usually wore something I thought was very hip or beautiful.

This school year, I have been sporadically participating in Instagram’s #OfficeFashionShow and #TeacherStyle memes.  It’s fun to post what I wear to school and get inspiration from other’s about different looks, color combos, etc.

Plus I think about how much my kids will die laughing when they look back at these pictures someday.

I don’t consider myself to be a super stylish person, and I am for SURE not a Fashion Blogger, but I do like to try to look nice and have the clothes I wear reflect my personality.

Anyway…here are some of the shots I got this school year.  I took them all with my phone in my own shaky hands. And yes, they are all in the staff bathroom.  It’s the only place in my life with a full length mirror (mental note: get a full length mirror at home):

This is one of my favorite shirts. Not because it's my most cute shirt, but because it is SO comfy. It's from the Gap. skirt and leggings from Old Navy.

This is one of my favorite shirts. Not because it’s my most cute shirt, but because it is SO comfy. It’s from the Gap. skirt and leggings from Old Navy.

Another fave: skirt and leggings from Old Navy, shirt from NY & Co.

Another fave: skirt and leggings from Old Navy, shirt from NY & Co.

 

Fridays mean school spirit day! Go Wolves!

Fridays mean school spirit day! Go Wolves!

sweater is from The Gap, pants from NY&Co

I think this was a parent/teacher conference day: sweater is from The Gap, pants from NY&Co

 

Brrr. We had a cold, snowy winter.  Coat is Michael Kors from Younkers

Brrr. We had a cold, snowy winter. Coat is Michael Kors from Younkers

Oh this purple sweater. Since I wore all maternity clothes last school year, I forgot I had this for MONTHS. Both pants and sweater from Gap.

Oh this purple sweater. Since I wore all maternity clothes last school year, I forgot I had this for MONTHS. Both pants and sweater from Gap. Also stink eye.

 

I love this sweater's color, but it needs a "shave". Getting pilly. Ew. It's from...you guessed it...the Gap.

I love this sweater’s color, but it needs a “shave”. Getting pilly. Ew. It’s from…you guessed it…the Gap.

my first pair of skinny jeans!  They are from a Zulily Sale.  Vest and red shirt...yup...Gap.

my first pair of skinny jeans! They are from the Gap. Vest and red shirt…yup…Gap.

 

Casual Friday, yo. probably Gap jeans.

Casual Friday, yo. probably Gap jeans.

Again with the black skirt and leggings.  The sweater is from NY&Co and the scarf was a handmade gift.

Again with the black skirt and leggings. The sweater is from NY&Co and the scarf was a handmade gift.

 

Sweater dresses were my thing this year.  This one was from Yonkers.

Sweater dresses were my thing this year. This one was from Yonkers.

Another great sweater from the Gap. Eddie loves green, so he picked this one for me.

Another great sweater from the Gap. Eddie loves green, so he picked this one for me.

 

Sweater dress!  From the Gap.

Sweater dress! From the Gap.

The red sweater again with a skirt from Anne Taylor Loft.

The red sweater again with a skirt from Anne Taylor Loft.

 

A different black skirt--this pencil one from NY&Co--with a top I got from Zulilly

A different black skirt–this pencil one from NY&Co–with a top I got from Zulilly

Trying to think spring...even though it's still cold. Grey pants and white top from the Gap.

Trying to think spring…even though it’s still cold. Grey pants and white top from the Gap.

 

Crabby day.  Bad hair. These pants I got from the Gap about 3 years ago and I have always loved them.  They will be retired after this year because of a stain and because they are just looking tired.

Crabby day. Bad hair. These pants I got from the Gap about 3 years ago and I have always loved them. They will be retired after this year because of a stain and because they are just looking tired.

black skinnies from a Zulilly sale and green sweater from Old Navy.

black skinnies from a Zulilly sale and green sweater from Old Navy.

 

White linen pants (COME ON, SPRING!) from Gap. not sure where the orange shirt came from.  We'll just say Gap because, well, that is the trend here.

White linen pants (COME ON, SPRING!) from Gap. not sure where the orange shirt came from. We’ll just say Gap because, well, that is the trend here.

The pants that will be retired and a black shirt from, yes, you know.

The pants that will be retired and a black shirt from, yes, you know.

 

It's all Gap.

It’s all Gap. (except the shoes and necklace)

I don’t know if it’s obvious or not, but we have a Gap Outlet about 5 minutes away from my house.  I realize I need to branch out, which is why I have become sort of obsessed with Zulily*. I’d say 98% of the things I get from Zulily are awesome because they are unique and trendy.  Love that.

I am also noticing I need more accessories.  Because duh.

Anyway, this is what I look like as a teacher in 2013.  Maybe I will do a spring/summer version of this post in a few months.

So what are you wearing these days?

*that is an invite link that if you sign up and purchase via that link, I get like free shipping or something.

complex simplicity

We are always living through something historic, aren’t we?  Every decade, every generation is marked by something that will make the history books be it economical, political, cultural, technological, whatever.

I wish I had first-hand accounts of what my grandparents were thinking as the Civil Rights movement blasted through the nation.  Or my what my parents were thinking during the race riots of the 90′s sparked by the Rodney King verdict.

What went through my grandmothers’ thoughts as my grandfathers were off in other countries fight wars.  What did they think of those wars? What did my parents think of the Vietnam conflict and how my dad ended up not getting drafted?

What about the Regan administration and the War on Drugs and Women’s Suffrage movement and…and…and…

What if my family, my ancestors were story-tellers?

They weren’t.  But I am.  And I am constantly living through history too, and while I have no way of knowing what my boys will wish they knew, I can do my best to give my thoughts and feelings about certain things that are important to me.

I’ve got thoughts on loads of things, which is why I write over at Borderless News and Views. But there are some things that feel personal.  And this is my personal space for personal things.

**************

So…gay marriage.  That’s a thing right now.  (I suck at transitions sometimes, #SorryNotSorry.)

I’ve been turning it over quite a bit in my head and read some really eloquent posts and wondered if I should even bother with the topic because others have said it so much better.  Some had statistics and a political feel, some had a beautiful, human feel.  Why should I even try?

Because it’s important.

I feel in my heart it’s not “if” but “when”.  I just know that when my boys are teenagers they will hear about this time and ask, “what was the big deal?  How is it not obvious?”

And to that I can only say I don’t know either.

To me, it’s not a question.  We are talking about human beings and giving them civil rights.

We aren’t talking about taking rights from straight people or “traditionally” married people.  We aren’t talking about what is a sin and what isn’t.  We aren’t telling anyone how to live their life.

It’s a simple matter of letting people who have been discriminated against NOT be discriminated against.

Or at least it should be that simple.

But it is not that simple, is it?  People muck it up with complications.  Complications that are, in their hearts, legitimate.  Complications that come from fear.

This entire thing is about fear.

Some people say it will threaten “traditional marriage”.  If “traditional marriage” is the marriage between one man and one woman, I think “traditional marriage” is threatening itself enough, Gay marriage doesn’t need to help with that.  “The Gays” are not making straight people cheat on each other or get divorced after less than 48 hours of marriage or put their kids through crap while they bad-mouth each other in the process of shitty divorces or…well..yeah.  You get it. “Traditional Marriage” and “Gay Marriage” really have nothing to do with each other.

Some people say being gay is a “sin”.  I really don’t know about this.  I don’t believe God originally intended for their to be “homosexual,” but maybe he did.  I mean, I do believe people are born how they are and that we are all born without sin.  So there you go.  But that is just my belief.  It doesn’t matter what my belief is. I could think being gay was a worse sin than murdering all the puppies in Idaho and I would still think they should be allowed to get married.  I mean, I believe jealousy and lying are sins and I fall under both of those categories, yet I was allowed to marry another jealous liar.  So this point seems to be moot to me.

(and don’t get me started on how The Gays shouldn’t be allowed to be parents.  That is both of the above arguments folded into each other with a side of this look: O_o )

Some people are afraid that letting The Gays marry will mean people will want to marry a horse next.  I don’t even know where to go with that.  How do you take two consenting adult males pledging to spend the rest of their lives together and turn it into the lady next door marrying her cat?  I mean really.

Some people are afraid this means we are making churches be Okay with The Gay.  But churches don’t have to perform these marriages.  There is nothing that says, for instance, that the Reformed Church of America has to suddenly make all their ministers perform gay marriages.  Nope.  It means if churches want to do them, they can, but that my friends Mark and Fred can go to the courthouse and get a legit marriage.  No church necessary.

Really I just needed to stop at”some people are afraid.”

That is really what this is about.

I have both gay and lesbian friends.  Spending time with them did not rub “gay” onto me.  I’m still as hetero as they come (which Cort is thankful for, I am sure).

I feel like this is leading to a very cheesy “They’re Just Like You and Me” type message.  Sorry.

My point is I have gay friends. I have gay family.  I have gay students.  I have kids who might be gay (or not) or have gay friends or  inherit more gay family or…or…the point is: gay is here to stay.

Treating them like they are somehow not the same as us is, well, it’s ridiculous. It’s out of style. Seriously.  It went out decades ago when the United States had to tell people that black people (or other races) were not less than anyone else.

These should not even be laws we need to pass (like “allowing” interracial marriage. I mean really? That had to be “allowed”?)   These are not things we should have to say.

People are people.

If you give civil human rights to some, you have to give those same civil human rights to all.

It’s really quite simple.

Wearing read for #MarriageEquality.

Wearing read for #MarriageEquality.

Go Shawty…

It’s your birf-day…

Katie - First Photo

Katie - 6 months

Katie - Bibs & Boots

Katie - Bunny

Katie - 2 years

Katie - ANTM

fourth grade

middle school

sophomore

Century Club Member

kates

Kates BW

100_0216

011

078

120

IMG_7344

IMG_4008- - Copy

Gonna party like it’s your birf-day.

the birthday blahs

On Wednesday it’s my birthday.  I’ll be 35.

As someone who is in love with attention (come on, this is not news), my birthday has been one of my most favorite days of the entire year for pretty much my entire life.

In college, I would skip class (sorry, mom) and use the excuse “it’s my birthday!” to do whatever I wanted.

Even in my 20′s, my birthday was a fun day.  Maybe I didn’t get to skip responsibilities and just hang out or sleep or do whatever, but it was always my goal for the day to be awesome.

This year is different.

I’m not looking forward to it all.  It’s not that it’s because I’ll be 35.  Age quit mattering to me once I hit 21 and there was nothing to look forward to that was connected with that number. I don’t feel old and I don’t feel young.  I feel in the middle, which is what 35 is.

This is a tricky thing to write about because by admitting what I’m going to admit, it sounds like I am A) whining for more attention and B) giving Cort a passive-aggressive hint. Neither of which I am trying to do.

But if I continue to say, “oh, it doesn’t matter,” I am lying.  It does matter. At least to me.

So here it goes, and I guess take it for what it is, but my birthday is already disappointing me.

I LOVE BIG DEALS AND SURPRISES!

{see, I even put that in all caps so you can get my jazz hands that I am doing with that}

On my 32nd birthday, Cort and my BFF who lives in Chicago organized a birthday weekend.  We spent the weekend having birthday extravaganza.  Saturday included mani/pedis with my best friends, lunch, starbucks, and then getting cute to go out for dinner at the most awesomely COLORFUL restaurant (Carnival) ever.  The entire weekend = jazz hands.

My bestie decided that since I was pregnant on my 29th bday (ending in miscarriage) and my 30th (ending in miscarriage) and 31st (Eddie!) that I was due for BIG FUN.  Cort wholeheartedly agreed.

I don’t expect that every year.  I really don’t. We don’t have that kind of money or resources for that.

But it seems like since becoming a “real” adult, birthdays just aren’t as magical anymore unless you put lots of planning and money toward them…which we don’t have.  And I just don’t want to plan my own birthday anymore.  That was fine when I was single…or even before we had kids and a million obligations and were living on a food/sleep schedule set by small people.

I mean, my birthday is on a Wednesday.

I have to work.  The boys need to be picked up from daycare. Dinner needs to be had. Bedtime will have to be done.  And then our bedtime so I can get up and go to work again the next day.

Cort asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner as a family that night.  Not really.  That is a huge pain in the butt with two little kids, and not relaxing in the least. We did that for Charlie’s birthday and it was really all I could handle for a while.

So he asked me what I wanted him to make for dinner.  I don’t know. I sort of don’t care.  It won’t make the day special for me to have anything in particular.

It’s just going to be Wednesday.

I guess what I wish is that it wasn’t going to be “just Wednesday”.

That somehow it was going to be extraordinary. Magical.

That magically my entire house would be clean and fresh.

That I would get to be pampered.

That I could rest.

But I know that is not feasible.  That is not going to happen.

I know, this is horribly depressing and sounds incredibly ungrateful.  I know.

But I started dodging questions about my birthday a month ago and now that it’s just days away, I am getting sad.

I cried at Charlie’s birthday for one because my baby is One, but also because I was mourning the magic of birthdays for myself.  March was always my month.  Now it’s his month.

I am good with this.  I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I am.  I was planning on sharing, but it just isn’t about me anymore.

And I wouldn’t want to change that.

Except I am grieving it a bit.

Maybe part of being an adult means giving up part of your childhood so you can give your kids an awesome childhood.

Or maybe not.  Maybe I am just being stupid and emotional and a brat.

Maybe it’s just the time of year and the weather this year; winter showed up late and is hanging on with all its gloomy, depressing might.

I really don’t know.

What I do know is that I am grumpy about my birthday for the first time in a decade and I wish I wasn’t.

How to Read With Your Child

Eddie is only 3 and a half and he has already been dubbed “Teacher’s Kid.”

He was counting up to 20 by age two and now sounds out the first letter of words.  He can count up to 40 without help and backwards from 12.  He is VERY interested in words and has also taken an interest in learning to subtract.

People say to me, “well of course. He’s a teacher’s kid.”

Sometimes this is flattering, but mostly I brush away the compliment and put it back on Eddie.  He has a natural curiosity and flair for learning.  It has nothing to do with my being a teacher.  I mean, I was naturally bright and my parents weren’t teachers.

I will admit, however, that because I am a teacher, there are strategies I use with him when we read that I know will help him be a more critical thinker and better reader as he gets older.

I thought I would share those with you today.

How To Read With Your Child

1. Read Read READ! 

I know we have all heard it before, but it is NEVER too early to introduce your children to books.  I used to read to both Eddie and Charlie before they were even born.  Plus because they both had the extra bonus of having an English teacher as their womb, they both heard some fascinating American Literature while they baked away in there.

The nursery is also filled with books.  Our living room has my bookshelves, but it also has lower shelves filled with kids books.  Eddie’s room has shelves of books.  Literally every room that you can relax in in our house has books in it that are accessible to the kids.

2. Ask Questions

I have a wall in my classroom that says “Good Readers…” and at the top of the list is ASKS QUESTIONS.  Even before my boys could talk, I would ask them questions about the books they bring me.  With Charlie, he will have a board book and I will ask “What is this book about?  Do you see the duck?  What does a duck say?  Quack Quack?”  He can’t answer my questions yet, but hearing them asked helps him associate books with inquiry.  It’s also a good opportunity to model language.  I don’t usually read a whole book with him, but I let him flip the pages and I will ask questions and point to things as we “read”.

With Eddie the questions are more complex because he can answer, and because we have always asked questions with books, he now asks most of the questions. His questions are usually “what is that?” or “why is that like that?”  And I usually ask him questions about the pictures or about what happens at the end.  For example we have been reading the board book version of Peter Rabbit lately, and I will ask him “What happened when Peter didn’t use his listening ears and do what his mommy said?” and “Why did Peter have to go to bed earlier than his sisters?” or “Why is Peter running in this picture? Do you think he is afraid or excited?”

3. Make Predictions

This is easiest with new books, but we do open ended predictions with old books too.  With new books we do a lot of “Oh my!  What do you think is going to happen next?” and then we talk about if we were right or not.  With books we’ve read a zillion times, I’ll ask that question at the end of the book, when we don’t get an answer given to us. “Do you think the boy will plant a new Truffula tree with that seed?  Why?  Were would you plant it? Why?”

4. Make Connections

Eddie and I do a lot of “hey, you have a bike like that!” and “that is just like in this book/show/movie/etc!”  and “what happens when you are not kind?”  Making connections between pieces of literature, other media, and their own life is a critical thinking skill that will help with problem solving later on.  When kids can naturally connect new things they learn with previous knowledge, they will be able to understand new concepts quicker.

5. Have Fun!

This may seem obvious too, but reading should be seen as a fun thing.  We never force books on either of the boys.  They are available, and have become part of our daily routine.  Every night Eddie gets to choose either a “real” book, or a book on either my Nook or Cort’s tablet.  If he didn’t want to read, we wouldn’t make him, but he has never said he didn’t want to read.  In that same strain, we don’t make him finish a book if he doesn’t want to.  Some nights we start a book and he says, “I don’t really want to read this one.”  So we quit.  Finishing a book shouldn’t be a chore. At Charlie’s age, if he brings me a book we look at it until he doesn’t want to.  I don’t force him to sit and listen to me read the whole book.  He’s too young for that kind of focus.  I’ll read the words until he flips the page or flings the book down and moves on to something else.

My hope is that my children will love to read as much as I do, but I know that might not be the case.  But even if they are not devouring novels by the pile, I want them to be good readers.  I want them to have critical thinking skills.  I want them to be able to problem solve.

What kinds of things do you do when you read with your kids?  What are their favorite books?

messy faith

I’m no theologian or religion scholar.  Shoot, we don’t even get to church every week due to one thing or another, so I am certain the things I say in this post will probably offend someone somewhere.  Maybe even my own family.  Maybe people will be disappointed in me after this…if I publish it at all.

The thing is, faith and spirituality are very important to Cort and me.  It’s something we have found ourselves discussing a lot lately.  In fact, I remember a conversation he and I had over a decade ago…long before we ever knew we would be anything but friends…about faith.  I was amazed that he “got me” and what I was trying to say without missing my point completely like most people do.  I guess that should have been my first clue.  But that is another post all together.

Anyway, I have been thinking a lot about the power religion has over people and how personal it is.  It amazes me how nothing can tear people apart and cause more hate and war and death than religion.

Even though almost all religions are based on the idea of loving people and serving one another to honor God (or whatever name certain religions call him), people can somehow turn love into the most passionate hate on the planet and wipe out generations of people.

All over a belief.

If you have a belief it means you are confident in something that has no proof (or can’t be proven in the traditional, scientific sense).

Right there.  See? Some of you are feeling a bit huffy and getting on the defense because I said “there is no proof you are right”.

But you feel right, right?  You are SURE of it.  You believe your beliefs.  You have faith that they are the correct way to think and live.

But it’s still a belief.

Religion was created by humans to organize around a set shared beliefs.

I have to be honest. I don’t know what I think about religion.

I don’t feel like all these rules and interpretations and bickering about what God thinks is right is really what it’s all about.  I don’t like the idea of being told a set of stories and passages and told to believe it, without questioning it too much.

I don’t even really think I believe that heaven and hell are really places. I mean, I believe there is more to this life than what we see here in front of us. I believe in the soul’s of people; that we are different than other life on earth because of our souls; even that part of us lives on in the ones we love and in the world around us after we are gone.  But I don’t really think, for instance, that my father-in-law is sitting on a cloud with a golden harp.  Nor do I believe that there are people gnashing their teeth or tearing their clothing in hellfire either.

I mean, maybe.  But I don’t know.  I don’t think it’s even my job to have to know.  I mean, how can I know?

Because the Bible tells me?  That’s a whole other can of worms.  The Bible.

I read the Bible every day.  I consider it the center of my faith.  But do I think all the stories in there are historical and/or scientific fact?  No.  Do I think the lessons in the Bible are real.  Heck yes.

I just don’t take it all literally.

But I take it spiritually. I learn how to love from it.

There are some people who are shaking their heads and sure that now I am going to hell because I don’t really believe the way I am supposed to.  But I don’t feel like my relationship with God is less because of my doubts or questions.

Could I be wrong?  Yup.  Could I be right?  Maybe.

But that is my point.  No one can no for sure.  I think it’s human to doubt and question and ebb and flow in our faith and beliefs.  I think that is natural.

I am confident in my belief that whatever doubts or questions I am having, it’s Ok. God is Ok with me just like I am when Eddie comes to me with questions and doubts.  God is a patient Father who listens to my worries and doubts and lets me in on what I need to be in on and nothing further.  Just like I don’t tell Eddie all the details of our budget, I assure him daddy and mommy can provide food and a house for him and his brother.

We communicate.  And that is what I do with God.

I tell God when I don’t get something.  I tell him when something in the Bible contradicts something else in there that I read.  I mean, I know he knows.  While we are told God is the author of the Bible, that isn’t entirely true.  He inspired the humans who wrote the letters and prophesies and pieces that are included.  He inspired millions of other people’s writings that were never included, nor have been included since it was first put together.  Humans put that book together and called it God’s Word.

When something doesn’t make sense to me, like why would God kill all the innocent first born male Egyptian children before he rescued the Jewish people from Pharaoh?  They weren’t the sinners.  I mean, if God killed Eddie to punish me, yes it would horribly punish me. I would want to die too, but isn’t there something he could do to me and not my innocent child?  And then did those Egyptian children get to go to Heaven?  It wasn’t their fault they weren’t Jewish and born before Jesus came to save the world.  Or did they hang out in hell until Jesus died, went to hell, and came back?  And I don’t believe that God does this to people. I don’t believe the bad in the world comes from Him.  So why did it then?

These are the things that I think about when someone posts something in my facebook feed that informs me that Easter is evil because of the pagan beginnings, despite the fact that Christians don’t actually celebrate the pagan stuff.

When someone gets so very wrapped up in rules and “laws” and they seem to lose the idea of love, forgiveness, and salvation.

When someone seems to be living their life worried about what something is called instead of living for the actual thing.

When someone claims they are righteous and able to judge others because that is what “God tells them to do”.

I don’t think I have the right to tell you what I believe about your fate based on what I think your beliefs are, and I sure as heck don’t want people doing that to me.  In fact, I don’t think I have a right to make any judgement call on your fate nor you on mine.

Yet there are still people who will read this and choose to “save” me from all this doubt.

But I am Ok with the doubt.  I am solid in my relationship with Christ.  After 35 years of being around Christianity, for the first time in my life I feel like I’ve got a solid foundation with God.  Even though I have more questions than I ever had before.

I don’t think I’ll ever know the answers to a lot of those questions.  But that is where faith takes over.

Even though it can’t be proven, I just have faith.

I just do.

There are plenty of things I could point to that I can see, “see that?  That is part of why I have this faith,” but I’m not going to.

Not in this post.

This post is far to long as it is, but because the words wouldn’t stop bumping me behind the eyes, they had to come out.

My faith is messy, but it’s my messy faith.

And it makes me happy and gives me hope in this world that is so very full of hurt and hopelessness.

Nothing Says Happy Birthday Like a Homemade Cocoa Cake

Wednesday was Charlie’s birthday, and while his party is not until today, we still needed to celebrate.

With Eddie we started the tradition of taking him out for dinner on his actual birthday, last year to Red Robin.  We love Red Robin because it’s such a great place to take kids.  Eddie loves almost everything on their menu, plus he loves that they have pictures on the kids menu, so we go through and circle what he wants: a main dish, a side dish, and a drink.

When we asked Eddie where he thought Charlie would like to go for his first birthday, he agreed that Red Robin would be the best ever place to go.

Once there, Charlie totally approved.

birthday bird2

Of course, you can’t have a birthday without birthday cake.  And even though our waitress had all the servers sing to Charlie and bring him a giant Sundae, we really needed birthday CAKE, amiright?

Tuesday I had shot out of my staff meeting like a bolt of lightening to get home before all the boys so I could squeeze in baking a cake before dinner had to be started.

2013-03-12 16.10.44

Since Charlie is not old enough to choose his cake flavor, I chose one of my favorites for him: homemade cocoa cake with cream cheese frosting.  My aunt used to make it, and I loved it so much I asked for the recipe.

2013-03-12 16.23.42

As you can see, The Bird loved it too.

birthday bird1

He approached it with caution at first, but once he tasted that sweet, sweet nectar that is cream cheese frosting, he proceeded to suck all the frosting off the cake.  Then he picked up the cake and destroyed it.  It was awesome.

Cocoa Cake

Ingredients

  • 2 cups sugar
  • 1/2 cup cocoa
  • 2 1/2 cups flour
  • 2 teaspoons soda
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 3/4 cups shortening (my aunt uses margerine, I use cocnut oil, but you could used Crisco or butter, I suppose)
  • 1 cup sour mik
  • 2 teaspoons vanilla
  • 1 cup hot black coffee

Directions

Step 1
blend together the sugar, cocoa, and flour.
Step 2
add soda, salt, shortening, sour milk, and vanilla. Beat together for 1 minute.
Step 3
add the coffee and beat for 2 minutes
Step 4
bake in a 9x13 pan at 350 degrees F for about 45 minutes.

Cream Cheese Frosting

Ingredients

  • 1 packet cream cheese (8 oz)
  • 1/2 cup butter or margarine
  • 2 teaspoons vanilla
  • 5-6 cups powdered sugar

Directions

Step 1
beat the cream cheese, butter, and vanilla until light and fluffy.
Step 2
Gradually add 2 cups of powdered sugar, beating well. Gradually add additional powdered sugar until you reach the desired consistency.
Step 3
This amount will frost tops and sides of two 8-or 9-inch layers. (Half the recipe to frost a 13x9 cake). Cover and keep frosted cake in the fridge.

It was a happy birthday, indeed.

What is your favorite birthday treat?

The Ides of March

Confession: I chose March 13 over March 15 as Charlie’s birthday because I would rather have his birthday be the 13th than on the Ides of March.

Because Charlie was a planned Csection, I was given the option of a Tuesday or a Thursday birth (the days my OB was scheduled to be in surgery), I chose Tuesday, March 13 regardless of people telling me 13 was an unlucky number and that he would eventually have a Friday the 13th birthday.

I don’t really believe in luck, good or bad.  Which I realize is going to make the rest of this post sound hypocritical.  Or at least not rational at all.  I don’t care.  It’s my irrationality and my blog, darn it.

Anyway, I didn’t want Charlie’s birthday to be March 15 otherwise known to Shakespeare readers and history buffs as The Ides of March.

For the Romans, the Ides of March kicked off a religious holiday season, but most people today recognize the Ides of March as the day that Caesar was assassinated in a meeting of the senate by Brutus and Cassius.

I know, you’re thinking, you would rather have your son’s birthday on the 13th than the anniversary of Caesar’s death?  Have you lost your mind?

Probably, but that is not the point here.

Really Caesar has nothing to do with it.  In fact, as a literature teacher, I have spent 10 years spookily warning my students to BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!!!

But ten years ago, on the Ides of March, something else happened.

It is weird to talk about now because I am so removed from it, and as a married person, it seems like it should be irrelevant, but the truth is, it was was a game-changing event.

Ten years ago my boyfriend of five years broke up with me out of nowhere.  We had started dating during the summer after my sophomore year of college and stayed together, despite the fact that we were vastly different, until March 15, 2003.

Our relationship, looking back, was fraught with toxicity. We got in a habit of only seeing each other on weekends since I was in college and he was a friend from high school who was still living in our hometown and working.  After I graduated from college, we kept the same weekend schedule since he was working third shift by that time.

I put in most, ok ALL, of the effort in the relationship.

In the end, he did me a huge favor when he told me, Kate, we just want different things.  You want matching bath towels and nice dishes and a yard.  I don’t. Even when I protested that I really didn’t need those things, that I didn’t need marriage to be happy, he knew better than I did: We are just different, Kate.  You would NOT really be happy without those things. Or with me.

I was devastated.  My family didn’t make it easier on me.

They all announced that none of them had really liked him anyway and thought he treated me like crap.  They all told me it was for the better.

They were right, but at the time, it still hurt.  Telling me the past 5 years they had watched me make what they all felt to be a colossal mistake hurt. I loved him.  Or I thought I did.  No, I did. I did.  It was like kicking me when I was down to tell me no one liked him.

I felt stupid.  I felt vulnerable. I felt dirty.

March 15 was the start of a months-long dive into a huge hole of depression for me.  I self-medicated with booze–LOTS of it–and chose sleep over food.

I was told to get over it, move on, quit talking about it and thinking about it.

Of course, that made me dwell on it more.

The funny thing, I wasn’t mad at him.  At all.  In the beginning I thought maybe we were just on a break, but as I watched him move on and date someone new, I wasn’t naive enough to believe we would get back together.  But I wasn’t mad at him.  And it made me mad when people tried to make me feel better by bad-mouthing him.

He knew he wasn’t happy with me and that I couldn’t possibly remain happy with him.

He did me a favor.

Because of our break up, his apartment-mate–one of my best friends from our group of friends–spent more time with me checking in, making sure I had a square meal every day, and working to get me out of the house.

All that time spent together culminated in his asking me out that fall, and asking me to marry him the following summer.

My youngest brother told me something that spring during my depression that has stuck with me for the past decade.  He said, “they say the time it takes to get over a relationship is equal to the length of the relationship time two. So it will take you 10 years to get over this.”

I think he was right.

It’s not that I wasn’t “over it” before now.  I certainly don’t think about my ex-boyfriend very frequently.  But he was a big part of my past.  Those five years don’t just get erased because we broke up.

We went places together, we spent time with each other’s families, we had inside jokes.  We were part of a tight group of friends from high school, and once we broke up, many of us lost touch with him.  It created a splinter in our group.

Life changed for more than just the two of us.

We started our relationship as kids, just 19 years old, and we ended as 24-year old adults.

Even though the break up ten years ago ended up leading me to my happiness, it was still one of the ugliest days of my life.

I really DO beware the Ides of March. I don’t think they are unlucky per se, but I did not want my baby born on that “anniversary”.  It was too weird.

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