Giving My Kids The Sun, The Moon And The Stars

A couple of days ago as I was driving the kids to school, Kate said from the back seat, "The moon is the sun".  I responded back to her in the manner I often do when my mind is on other things - with a dismissive, "Mmm hmm, yes". 

Then I thought back to an article Mike had read about how children develop and thrive.  The author's point was that children whose parents continue to challenge them in the absence of school (spring break, summers, etc.) and take advantage of educational opportunities wherever they exist become more successful than children with parents like me.  The author didn't mention me by name, of course, but I'm pretty sure it was implied.

So, when I thought of that article, I decided that Kate deserved a better response and further, a better life, than what I was giving her.

"Actually, Kate," I said, "the moon is a moon and the sun is a star." 

"What, Mama?"  "What is a moon?"

Dang.  I don't really know what a moon is.

"The moon is a moon, kind of like a planet, but the sun is a big, bright star."

"The sun is a star?"

Oh, Lord, here it comes, I thought.  She's going to ask me what a planet is versus a star.  How the hell am I going to explain that to a 4 year old when I don't really know the answer as a 37 year old?

"Well, yes, honey, it's our brightest star," I began, now second guessing if the sun actually was star.  "It's kind of a nebulous body that gives us our light and our heat."

Oh, great, I thought.  Like she's going to know what nebulous means.  Do I know what nebulous means?!

"What I mean is that it's a big, fiery ball of gases up in the sky and our planets revolve around it."

Terrific, I thought, all she knows of gas is that it goes into a car or comes out of her bottom.  How am I going to explain this one?

I started to kind of panic.  Every time I tried to explain it in a new way, I used words or metaphors that I was worried would elicit more questions from her.  I just wanted the conversation to be over, but in a way that made her a more curious, intelligent person and not the mouth-breather I was currently molding her to be.  I wanted to feed her thirst for knowledge, but I wanted out of the current conversation because I knew I had no hope of explaining the intricacies of the universe to her.  I do well to just explain why she has to empty her bladder before she goes to bed each night.  But I continued.  I should have stopped, but I pressed on.

"You see, God created the earth and there was this big BANG..."  Okay, now I am teaching creation and evolution in one breath - and neither one very well.  I can't have her telling her friends at pre-school (in a church, no less) about the big bang theory.  But I also personally believe in the evolution argument, so now what am I going to do?  I don't think the two have to be mutually exclusive.  But then... we've established that I am an idiot. I want my daughters to learn both theories and decide what they think and believe. But is now the time to go into all of this???

"There are nine planets (there are 9, right?) in our solar system."  What the hell does a 4 year old know about the damn solar system?  WHAT AM I DOING?!!  "We live on the planet earth and we have a moon that we call... the moon."  I am an idiot.  "The planets all revolve move around the sun and it keeps us warm."

What if she asks me what the moon does?  I don't know what the moon does.  It just sits there and... moons around... and stuff.  "We've sent people up all the way to the moon before.  There's an American flag (and a Tri-Delta pin so the story goes) up there." Why is my mouth still moving?  Now what am I going to say if she asks if people live up there?  Or, worse, what if she wants to know if there's life on other planets? 

At this point, I could feel perspiration forming on my forehead.  It was becoming ever clearer that I was too dumb to have had children.  At least I knew I was too dumb.  Most dumb people don't know they're dumb.  So, I guess I had one up on them.  I began thinking about about how much worse this would get when the girls would bring their homework home and ask me for help.  They'd end up in remedial classes if I was the one to offer assistance.  Mike was going to have to be their tutor.

I was picturing the four of us sitting around the table in a few years.  Mike would be explaining math or geography or something.  Kate and Meg would have their books open and would be listening intently.  Then, pan over, and there's me.  Furiously taking notes so as not to miss a word he was saying.  Their schooling would be my ticket to an acceptable level of education. 

"Does any of that make sense, sweetie?", I asked Kate.

Silence.

"Kate?"

Silence.

I looked in the rear view mirror and there was Kate.  Earphones on. Staring at the TV screen.  Watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Not listening to any of the foolishness coming from the front seat.  How much had she heard, I wondered.  Did she only hear me absent mindedly agree with her?  Did she hear the word "nebulous"? 

Of course, I do see the irony that here I am freaking out trying to educate my daughter and yet I have allowed her to be glued to a DVD for the 15 minutes it takes to get her to school.  I am clearly part of the problem and not part of the solution here.  I can only hope she never asks me another question ever, ever again.

The only thing I am left to wonder is, what the hell is a moon?  Perhaps there is a 4 year old out there who can explain it all to me.

Where you start is not as important as where you finish. - Zig Ziglar

This post is a little late, but on Sunday, September 26th, I "competed" in Chattanooga's Susan G. Komen's Race For The Cure.  I signed up to participate with my friend Wendy with whom I had run in the only other 5k I have ever entered.  This race took place well over a year after our first one.  I suppose it took me that long to decide I wanted to do it again.  You've seen in previous posts that I feel like a 5k is probably the very least I should be able to do successfully.  I'm fairly out of shape, but I figure if I can run 3 miles at any given time, I'm doing pretty well.   

Back in April, 2009, we decided to sign up for Knoxville's Dogwood Classic.  What appealed to me about that particular race was that it was in Knoxville on Cherokee Boulevard along the beautiful Tennessee River.  Wendy and I were friends from college and, in college, we were both pitifully out of shape.  Now she and I have remained very good friends over the years and I love her to death.  But she is no athlete.  Growing up, I danced for 14 years and I rode horses competitively for about 6 years.  I'm certainly not a stellar athlete, but I knew if she was my competition I'd do pretty well.  Plus, Wendy weighs about 78 pounds soaking wet.  She's tiny.  I thought that her poor, fragile little body would tucker out around the second mile.  She was the perfect person to run with because I knew my time would suck.  I assumed hers would as well and we'd have a good laugh about it. 

Pretty much immediately after I signed up for the Dogwood Classic, I abandoned exercise altogether.  I have no idea why, but I just lost interest in it.  I figured that I had been running about 3 miles on the treadmill and that once I got into the spirit of the competition, my adrenaline would take over and it would keep me going.

Not so.  What ended up happening was that after about 15 paces, I had to stop and walk.  I couldn't believe how quickly I had to stop and gasp for breath.  Admittedly, I hadn't exactly trained for this, but I was very surprised at how different running was when I didn't have a treadmill creating my momentum for me.  I can tell you, one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced was the feeling I had when I came upon the sign that said MILE 1.  WHAT??!!  I have two more of these damn things to go???  By the time I reached that damn sign I had already had to stop and walk about 4 times!  Are you kidding me?

In case you are wondering how Wendy did, she beat me.  We started out together but then I had to peel off and walk.  She managed to keep running the entire time.  I was proud of her and a little embarrassed for assuming that I'd actually somehow manage to beat her.  I was ashamed that I used to be in great shape - thin, flexible - and now I couldn't even run one mile without stopping.  I vowed that I would run in another one.  I just wasn't too anxious to actually sign up for one.

Fast forward 17 months, and she and I were registering for the Race For The Cure.  This time, however, things were different.  Ever since around the middle of the summer, I had been back on the treadmill.  It wasn't in anticipation of a 5k.  It really was more because I was overweight.  I used to kind of joke about it because I've always been so unattractively skinny, but there really wasn't any getting around it.  None of my clothes were fitting.  I had that little layer of belly that was hanging over my pants (which were so tight that you could make out the imprint of the buttons on my skin).  I needed to do something. So I started walking/running again.

I had been kind of off and on with my exercise routine, but once Wendy and I registered for this race, I really began to take it more seriously.  I made sure I ran at least 4 times a week.  I even ran at least once a week outdoors so I could get used to having to use my puny muscles to propel my own body forward without the help of the treadmill. 

And I hate running outside.  I hate it.  I can't stop and get water which I need several times during a workout.  I don't like passing cars because there's that awkward Are they going to wave to me? moment before I wave and they don't and I feel like a complete tool.  And I suffer from an affliction that is highly embarrassing and probably very noticeable.  The affliction is: shorts-gathering-up-in-my-crotch-itis.  I have hideous legs that come together and touch at the very top of my thighs.  What this means is that they rub together when I run.  My shorts then begin to get drawn up into my crotch and I have to tug them out which is neither attractive nor conducive to running.  I think I am beginning to understand why the cars won't wave to me.  I have grossed them out...

Anyway, the day came and I was ready.  I had a power mix cued up on my I-Pod to help motivate me.  I had been fitted for running shoes and was wearing Nike running clothes to more look the part of a runner.  I looked like I belonged there and this time, I felt like I did, too. 

This time, Wendy had actually kind of fallen into the same pattern I had the last time around.  She admitted not having trained much for the race and was just going to see how it went.  I felt like this time I would be able to actually keep up with her and was disappointed that she may need to stop and walk since I was determined not to stop.  She and I gathered together with the runners who claimed to be able to run a 10 minute mile.  On the treadmill, I can do that.  Outside I wasn't so sure.  But, that's where I decided to place myself.  I was confident this time.  I was prepared.

I didn't have a goal in mind as far as the time I wanted to finish with.  For starters, I couldn't remember my time in the previous race so I didn't really have a baseline.  The main thing I wanted to be able to do was to keep running for the duration of the race.  I was actually excited about it.  Wendy and I lined up as best we could in a crowd of hundreds of people.  They shouted the obligatory, On Your Mark!  Then they shot the gun and the race was underway.  As soon as my first foot hit the pavement, I looked up and was in a cloud of dust that was my trusted pal, Miss I-Didn't-Train-For-This Wendy.  For someone who was claiming to not really be ready for the race, she sure left my ass in a hurry. 

No matter.  I pressed on.  Almost immediately, there was a giant hill.  No, not a hill.  A mountain.  What kind of cruel joke was this?!  I had run in my neighborhood (which is hilly) during my training, but the hills were usually at the end of my trek when I could then stop and walk to cool down right afterward.  We were just getting started and already my legs were burning and I was losing my breath.  I continued up the hill with just about every other entrant passing me by but I did not stop.  I kept plugging along.  Again I came to the dreaded MILE 1 sign, but I was feeling good.  I just may do this, I thought to myself.  Of course, the time came - earlier than I thought it should - when the people who had already made the loop and were on their way back to the finish line began passing me.  Total buzz-kill.  They really should design a route where we don't have to see those people finishing when we have barely started!

As I ran, I kept trying to find Wendy, but I didn't see her again.  I wondered if maybe she had petered out and I had somehow passed her without knowing it.   (She hadn't.)  I kept running and I kept running.  Even when I would grab some cold water from a volunteer, I kept running.  Of course, I had water dripping down my face and legs because I was slinging it everywhere, but I kept running.

Did I reach my goal?  Well, no.  I did stop between the second and third mile.  I walked for no more than about 15 seconds, but it was what I needed to get my breath back and finish the race.  I was bummed because once I actually did finish the race, I knew I could have kept going without having to stop.  I could have made it.  I just lost my confidence in that moment.  I really did step it up when I got close to the finish line.  I'd say for the last 1/4 mile I was actually running instead of jogging.  I remembered back to when I finished the other race - even getting to the end of the race with people cheering couldn't get me to run faster.  I was too exhausted.  This time, I was RUNNING!

As I passed through the arches made out of pink balloons, I looked for the clock.  I couldn't see it.  I had no idea what my time was.  It really didn't matter because I had only walked for 15 seconds, so I knew it was going to be better than my previous time.  My main objective at that time was to somehow find Wendy in the huge crowd and to go collect a bunch of free stuff from the vendors working the event.

We met up and discussed our experience and then spent the rest of the time walking around trying to get as many give-aways as possible.  She had not stopped to walk at any point.  She, too, hadn't seen the clock when she finished.  We drank our free Gatorade and ate our free M&Ms and then made our way back to the car to go home.

I got a text message from her later that night.  They had posted our times online and she was irritated that she had only beaten her previous time by - as she put it - "a whopping 14 seconds".  So, when I got to my computer, I pulled up the scores.  One depressing thing that happened was when I began to scroll through all of the different age groups to find my name.  I scrolled for what seemed to be a ridiculous amount of time before I finally got to my age group (35-39).  Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.  Good grief, how old am I?!!  It should not have taken that long to find myself.

But then, there I saw Wendy.  She only finished  2-3 people (in my age group) ahead of me.  So, I guess that was a small victory.  I saw my time and it was a pretty good time for me.  I was satisfied with it.  Felt good about it.  Then I went and looked up my time from the Dogwood Classic.  Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling...

Scrolling

Scrolling

Then there it was.  Maggie McCallie.  My time.  I had beaten my previous time!!  I had beaten my previous time!!  My hard work had paid off!  I was vindicated!  I had beaten my previous time by...


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A whopping 15 seconds.