My Dad Was Green

As I remember my Dad's birthday, I think about my Dad being "green."  My Dad was green long before it was considered popular or correct to be so.  While I was growing up, being green was just part of our lifestyle.  We grew as much of our own fruit and vegetables as we could.  In doing so, we used only organic fertilizers - manure from our own horses!  We consumed eggs from our own chickens, ducks and geese.  Of course, they were all raised on natural foods - no chemical supplements.  We ate fresh caught fish - caught by our own fishing poles.  We gathered wild mushrooms and hunted for wild asparagus.  

My Dad also taught us the value of recycling.  Back then, we weren't as concerned about saving the planet as we were about earning a few cents.  I remember when we first moved to Colorado and were living in town.  On a weekend afternoon, my siblings and I would head down the street with our little red wagon in search of discarded glass bottles.  When we reached the 7-11, we would trade them in and hopefully have enough money for a soda or an ice cream treat to share.  When we got older, we saved aluminum cans.  One year we made enough money to finance a vacation during our spring break.  When Cassie was little, my Dad had a bag of aluminum cans waiting for her every time we came to visit.  It's not surprising that she is so concerned about the environment and recycling.  

And, of course, there was the composting!  My Dad composted like no one else in the world.  Recently, we had guests for dinner.  One friend was pointing and exclaiming over my compost pile.  Instead of feeling embarrassed that someone had noticed my compost heap, I actually felt quite proud.  After all, composting is a family tradition.

As we cherish memories of my Dad, it's time for me to plan our Spring garden.  

Cassie's Plan for our Kitchen Garden

Diary of a Wimpy Parent, Part 3

As a working parent, I have always struggled to feel involved in my children's education.  When Cassie was in kindergarten, I was so excited.  Shortly into the school year I asked if I could visit for a day.  After taking a day's leave, I arrived at the classroom, eager to see what kindergarten was all about.  Before I could even remove my jacket, I was whisked off to the office to make copies.  From there I was bustled to the library where other tasks awaited me.  I was so disappointed.  I understand that teachers need help.  But, I really wanted to see what went on in the classroom, how my child interacted with classmates, and why she liked and disliked certain aspects of the day.  

Initially, Les and I seized every opportunity to participate in after school activities.  We entered a gymnasium full of screaming kids for an ice cream social; sat in a gymnasium full of screaming kids for Bingo night; and stood in a gymnasium full of screaming kids for the school carnival.  Don't get me wrong.  I want kids to be happy.  But, I was still searching for a meaningful way to participate in my kid's education.  We tried the talent show and a school dance - two more trips to a gymnasium full of screaming kids.

I get three days of personal leave a year.  So, over the years I have saved these to chaperone field trips.  I've done Mount Vernon, the zoo, the Natural History Museum, Jamestown and King's Dominion.   Les has been to the Museum of the American Indian and helped with water sampling at a local creek.  All these trips were fun.  But, I still felt far-removed from daily life in the classroom.

When Lacey started school, Les and I both helped with Track and Field Day.  The school schedules this on Columbus Day when most parents are off.  We had a great time.  I even blogged about it.   But, I still wasn't able to experience what goes on inside a classroom on a regular day. 

So, when it comes to participating in my children's schools, I continue to feel helpless.  I once pointed out to the elementary school principal that the school didn't really make working parents feel involved.  She didn't understand what I meant even when I pointed out that my only opportunities for involvement in school that month required me to go bowling on a weekend; eat at Chick Filet to raise money for the school or buy tickets to sit in a gymnasium full of screaming kids for some event.  I admire the people who spend time and energy organizing school fund raisers and I write my checks to support the parent-teacher organizations.  But, buying wrapping paper doesn't make me feel that I'm a part of my child's education.

In recent weeks, we have had several invitations to after-school events.  We have been invited to raise money for the American Heart Association and come to an after hours jump rope event.  And, of course there was something at a local restaurant.  I've started to blot out the opportunities for me to spend money helping the school.  

I still haven't given up.  Two weeks ago, Lacey brought home an invitation to family ESOL night.  We tried that last year.  It was free.  Lacey and I had a great meal while I learned about the value of reading with my child every day and got directions to the public library.  I gently explained to Lacey that family ESOL night was really for people who were new to the U.S. and didn't know much about American schools.  Strike one.  A couple days after that, Cassie came home with an invitation to middle school math night, scheduled for a Tuesday evening.  Lacey dumped the contents of her backpack and retrieved an invitation to second grade math night - scheduled for the same Tuesday.  Well, that was strike two because even if we split up and sent one parent to each school, how would we decide who went where?

Last week, I took a half day off for a doctor's appointment.  I planned to use part of the time to drop off Cassie's transfer paperwork at the middle school.  I was looking forward to an opportunity to actually talk to a counselor.  Maybe I could ask why Cassie had been reprimanded for wearing a flowered-headband    and inquire about the different high school opportunities.  I was directed to the guidance office.  The reception area was deserted but I could hear voices behind a closed door.  After pacing for 10 minutes while I loudly cleared my throat, a head popped out and I was informed that they were all having lunch together and I could just leave my papers on the desk.  I guess I should have known that lunchtime wasn't the best time to visit.  I'll have to plan my next annual visit a little better.  Was this my third strike?

But wait!  As part of a school-wide effort on caring, Lacey was directed to document "acts of kindness."  Could this finally be an opportunity for my involvement?  We noted the various ways she had helped out around home.  But, she kept informing me, we should be doing something to help the school.  And that is why, on a Sunday afternoon with a temperature of about 30 degrees, I found myself picking up trash on the school playground!  I guess I will march on, helping with homework, packing nourishing lunches, asking a million questions about each day, and continuing to let my kids know that I care.