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Ramona

Ana snuggled up on the couch this weekend and asked me, “Mama, what does ‘crestfallen’ mean?”  

“Well, ‘crestfallen’ is kind of like being really sad and disappointed about something.  Where did you hear that word?”

“I didn’t hear it.  I read it.  You know like, ‘Ramona was crestfallen.’”

The much loved copy of Ramona from my childhood was laying on the couch.  Ana’s questions made much more sense now.  She’s in the “advanced” track at school, but even so, none of her spelling or vocabulary words are quite so picturesque as “crestfallen.”

Several years ago, my Mom brought a box of my favorite childhood books for Ana to read.  I carefully went through them first, knowing they likely contained a few of the Judy Blume adolescent books which would not be appropriate for Ana to read yet (or maybe ever.  Yes, I know that’s a little silly).

There were quite a few books by Beverly Cleary in the box.  Ramona was one of my favorites when I was her age.  I think the fact that my daughter has read the Ramona books several times herself is a testament to Cleary’s wonderful writing. Not only are the stories still fun and engaging, but she did not water down the language for the readers just because they were kids.  

I remember reading the word, “quarrel” in one of the Ramona books.  Ramona’s Mom and Dad have a quarrel over pancakes and how they should be prepared.  Of course, Ramona worried quite a bit about the quarrel.  I had to look up how to pronounce “quarrel,” but once I’d read the chapter, I knew just what a “quarrel” was.  

I haven’t read much of the literature written for kids’ of Ana’s age group today.  I know that graphic novels are big, and I’m sure they have their place.  A few years ago, I tried to get through Lemony Snickets, and while the vocabulary was definitely there, with dictionary definitions contained in the prose itself, the stories were too formulaic for my taste.  Ana and I read the Charlie Bone series together and that is definitely a good one for kids.  Good stories in the vein of Harry Potter but not quite so scary.  And of course, there is the boy wizard we all love or hate with abandon (I’m in the “love” category).  

But I think, Ramona will always have a special place in my heart and hopefully Ana’s as well. It’s nice to read a story about a girl’s trials and tribulations while growing up (most of them minor) and who also happens to have a very good vocabulary.  Not a bad example for a “tween” girl these days.

A Desk

I have not had “my own desk” in the house for quite a few years now.  In our first house, we had an actual office with two desks, one for each of us.  Mine was always a mess, but it was my mess, thank you, and I liked it that way.  Funnily enough, my desk at work then and now is always neat as a pin.  I can’t do all that work stuff that requires total brain power amidst disarray.  Whatever kind of work it is that I do at home is different, of course.  That was the last desk I remember having that was truly my own.

Jim’s back has been dealing him fits, so he broke down the desk he already had and with the help of some metal piping, rebuilt it so that he could stand while he works in the hope of helping his back.  There were some leftover pieces and he managed to create a little desk for me next to his.  Pretty amazing guy, huh?

It’s very nice and neat right now because I haven’t spent a lot of time there yet.  There is some significance to all of this in my weird brain because years ago, when we started blogging, I worked at a desk.  We had our “beloved beach ball” Mac, as we always called it on a desk in the dining room.  It seems to me know that I did a lot of good work there and so somehow, this new desk is like a new beginning.  I now have laptop and do most of my writing on the couch, but, I do have the option of sitting at a desk should the need arise.

We also have a “new to us” table.  My Goddaughter is getting married and another parishioner offered a table to her and her fiance, only it wouldn’t fit in their new apartment.  But, our table would fit, so, last Saturday there was a huge table switching event worthy of the Olympics and now we have  a new table that fortunately matches our old chairs.  New furniture means a lot of rearranging.  My bed room is completely rearranged because of the new desks and the dining room has gotten a makeover as well.  It’s nice…now we can have more people over for dinner.  So when are you coming over?

Bullies

David apparently had a rough day at school yesterday.  I’ve been worried about my little boy for a while.  He marches to his own beat and that is rarely acceptable in the hive mentality of elementary school.  Several nights ago when he was washing dishes, he told me that there was nothing “special” about him.

I think it’s dangerous to constantly tell a child how “special” they are —which is a tenet of education today if you didn’t know— because a child can end up with either a very inflated sense of self importance and/or impotent because they have to live up to being “special” all the time which is nearly impossible.  But when my little boy tells me he thinks he isn’t “special,” believe me, I’m going to take a few minutes to tell him just why he is indeed, “special.”

David fell apart on the couch last night before church.  There were a variety of reasons, but one of them involved an incident at lunch yesterday.  One boys he was sitting with said that he saw David pick something up off the floor and eat it.  I know this isn’t true.  David won’t eat food off the floor at home, even when I tell him it is OK.

Of course, that hive mentality kicked in and the other boys at the table not only joined in the teasing, but moved away from David, leaving him sitting alone, eating his lunch and, as he related, crying. 

I’m sure the crying helped the situation. 

This really hurts like a knife in my side, because I’ve been there.  In middle school, I was teased/bullied horribly and probably still bear the scars of that experience.  Believe me when I say it shapes you for the rest of your life.  I still, and probably always, will be reticent about allowing the world to see who I really am because they will think I’m weird.  When you have a soul that is at all sensitive, you simply can’t put yourself out there if you’ve been called a name over and over and over again.

And now, this is happening with my little boy.  He’s going to start hiding who he is.  There is just no way around it.  I really wasn’t prepared for it to start this soon.  I can’t help but think that part of his childhood will now be lost to him.  Of course, if it continues, I will do the mature and acceptable thing by calling up the school counselor and talk to her about the situation.  But what I really want to do, and may God forgive me, is go punch those kids in the mouth.