Lawyer Mama

My Little Ecological Rebellion

The oil spill in the gulf has started a lot of great conversations here at home. It started when Holden spotted an oil drenched pelican on the Washington Post.  I showed the boys all of the photos from the Washington Post, explained what had happened and tried to have a bit of a chat about energy policy.  I think the energy policy discussion was a bit much for them, but the conservation part they got.

Over the last few years, we've made an effort to change the consumption habits of the Lawyer Mama family.  We've reduced our energy bills significantly, we started a garden, we try to buy locally (well, at least as much as we can here in Chesapeake) and we always send reusable containers to school in the boys' lunches.

The boys were horrified by the photos of the damage to the fish, animals and water in the gulf.  And, because we all know that nothing will change unless the consumption habits of our country change, I tried to relate it to their lives as much as possible.  I think they're getting it.

Then this afternoon I picked up my kids from camp.  It's a great program here in Hampton Roads.  The boys are having a blast.  But when I picked them up, Hollis's camp counselor asked me if I could send Hollis in every day with a sack lunch.  He explained that, because they have limited space and activities and field trips almost every day, it's hard to keep track of lunch boxes.*

Oof.

I had heard about the sack lunch policy before camp began yesterday, but I intentionally ignored it, thinking they couldn't possibly have that policy now in 2010. (As if a year would make that much of a difference.) But still, I have to admit I was surprised at the request from the camp to intentionally create waste.

I was quite proud of myself for the way I handled it.

I remained calm, I shook my head sadly and said, "But that's so wasteful." As the counselor explained why they have the policy (see above) I just continued to shake my head sadly and said, "I'm so sorry, but I can't do that."  I told the counselor I understood why they wanted sack lunches but that we were making an effort to teach the boys about conservation and reducing waste.  I told him Hollis would be responsible for keeping track of his own lunch box and when the counselor again protested, I politely and firmly told him, "I can't do that. No. The boys' will be bringing lunch boxes and reusable containers."

I'm a little horrified at the camp right now because I know that this is not the policy of the organization running the camp.  In fact, a friend with a son at another camp a few miles away from the same organization, told me they are strongly discouraged from sending in paper or plastic with lunches.

At one time I would have said, "Well, I don't want to be a rabble rouser, so I'll just let it go."  I can't do that anymore.  We've gotten into so many messes because everyone just goes along with the status quo.  I'm putting my foot down.  There will be no sack lunches coming from my house.

* Although I'm quite tempted to name the camp here, I'm not going to because I have 2 children currently attending. I'm not afraid of backlash.  (Trust me, the camp is hearing this from me as well.)  Nope, I'm afraid of the crazies, so I won't be giving them a road map to my kids' camp.

Yet Another Spectacular Fall

Yes, I am a klutz.

I come from a long line of klutzes. No one in my family understands how I managed to dance and cheer in high school.  Frankly, I'm not entirely sure any more either.

This afternoon, while attempting to take the boys crabbing, I had a wonderful fall in a gravel parking lot.  In my defense, I had the dog on the leash, was trying to get the kids out of Trey's truck and I was packing my large camera case.  I didn't even see the big hole in the parking lot until after I half stepped into it, twisted my right ankle and went down like a rock onto my left knee and foot.

It was pretty bad.  We couldn't get all of the gravel out of the gash and it looked like it needed a couple of stitches, so we head to the emergency room for a shortish visit and a tetanus shot.  Awesome. No lasting damage was done, although I pulled several muscles very badly. I'm guessing I'll be limping around for awhile.

Because I'm a kick ass mom, we headed out to finish our aborted crabbing and fishing outing, with Mommy limping all the way.  Those boys definitely don't appreciate me enough!

In honor of my awesome fall from "grace" this afternoon, I'm republishing a post I wrote in June of 2007 about my legendary clutziness.  Enjoy!

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

The week before Little H was born, I fell down in the hospital parking lot. I was 8 months pregnant, a little awkward, and I refused to stop wearing heels. Hey, I'm 5'2", people, I need all the help I can get!

Anywho, I'd been walking out to my car after one of my twice weekly biophysical profiles at the hospital (ah, the joys of high risk pregnancy), and I went down like a rock. Onto my knee. I was wearing a skirt. Ouch.

I wish I could blame it on that stretchy ligament thing that happens to pregnant women, but I'm generally a klutz even when I'm not knocked up. I once fell down while standing still in a hallway talking to a co-worker.

Seriously.

I may be one smart cookie, but apparently I can't stand and talk at the same time.

So, when I went in for my conveniently scheduled c-section a week after my parking lot fall, the nurse took a look at my gruesome knee, asked me how it happened, and then promptly clipped a hot pink band around my wrist.


She told me that it's used as a warning to the staff that I'm a habitual faller.

Me: "You mean it tells everyone that I'm a klutz who can't be trusted to walk to the bathroom by herself or say, handle an innocent newborn?"
Nurse: "Yeah. Pretty much."

Well, I was allowed to handle Holden, but they did slap a nice matching sign onto my hospital room door.


When my perinatologist saw it, she told me that they usually only put it on the doors of little old women who've just broken a hip.

Great.

Just get me one of those LifeCall buttons and call it a day. Although, for the record, I've never seriously uttered the words, "I've fallen and I can't get up."

"We're sending help immediately, Mrs. Fletcher!"

Since then, I've managed many spectacularly embarrassing falls, but none of them were particularly memorable. It happens so often, you see, that the scars on my knees all sort of blend together.

Fast forward to last weekend.

T and I took the H's to the Botanical Gardens to see my picture and to let the little heathens run amok for awhile. The children's garden tuckered them out nicely, so we hopped on the tram for the ride back to the car. When we got off the tram, I attempted to sit down on a low retaining wall while hubs went to get the car.

I was holding Holden.

You can see where this is going already, can't you? Yup. It will be a miracle if the child makes it to adulthood.

I fell down right by the wall.

T said it was a rather graceful fall and complimented the way I cupped Holden's head and rolled onto my back like a turtle. Whereupon I laid there like a half-dead cockroach, kicking my legs and yelling at T to take the baby.

Unfortunately, despite my cradling of Little H, I managed to slam his right arm into and down the wall on my way down. There was a lot of screaming. Most of it done by me. "He hit the wall! Oh My God! He hit the WALL!"

Are we seeing a pattern here?

Holden is fine. His arm is a bit scraped up, but I think I have a few more gray hairs.

And I'm no longer allowed to carry the baby unless he's encased in bubble wrap.

I just hope poor Holden hasn't inherited my grace and poise. If so, the poor kid is doomed.

Oh yeah, that lovely "I'm a klutz" sign up above? My husband asked if he could take it when we left the hospital. It hangs on our refrigerator door.

I love you too, dear.

My Scarlet Letter H

My youngest child is a force of nature.

Holden is a challenging child, I know, but he's also incredibly sweet and very bright.  It's just that he's very different from his older brother, Hollis.  Hollis is our introvert, shy guy and people pleaser.  Holden is...well, Holden is Holden.

We recently moved Hurricane Holden from a more traditional preschool to a Montessori-based school after some behavioral problems developed.  Holden has always been a stubborn child, but he was hitting and kicking his classmates and flat out refusing to participate in anything that didn't interest him. His preschool teacher adored him and was well intentioned, but Holden was clearly in the wrong kind of classroom. 

Holden was starting to become "that child." 

When I met other parents from his classroom and said I was Holden's mom, I'd watch their faces as recognition hit, followed by an "Ohhhhhhh."

Continue reading "My Scarlet Letter H " »

Memorial Day was fun, but happy? Not so much.

"Have a happy Memorial Day!"

I heard it about 50 times over the three day weekend.  I'm willing to bet that most of you heard it too.  You may have even tossed off the phrase yourself, not thinking about what it really means.

I'm part of a military family and I'm proud of it. My grandfather flew in the Berlin Airlift and made the Army, and then the Air Force, his career.  My father followed in his footsteps and I spent my life immersed in military culture.

My brother joined the Army after high school and is now a member of the Ohio National Guard.  He'll probably be deployed again next year, leaving my mother and his new wife terrified.

My husband retired in 2008 after 20 years of active duty and reserve service in the Navy.  I am an active advocate for military families.  Through my advocacy work, I hear stories every day about fear, death, pride, honor and love from military families.

Continue reading "Memorial Day was fun, but happy? Not so much." on the D.C. Metro Moms Blog »

"Have a happy Memorial Day!"

I heard it about 50 times over the three day weekend.  I'm willing to bet that most of you heard it too.  You may have even tossed off the phrase yourself, not thinking about what it really means.

I'm part of a military family and I'm proud of it. My grandfather flew in the Berlin Airlift and made the Army, and then the Air Force, his career.  My father followed in his footsteps and I spent my life immersed in military culture.

My brother joined the Army after high school and is now a member of the Ohio National Guard.  He'll probably be deployed again next year, leaving my mother and his new wife terrified.

My husband retired in 2008 after 20 years of active duty and reserve service in the Navy.  I am an active advocate for military families.  Through my advocacy work, I hear stories every day about fear, death, pride, honor and love from military families.