Rox and Roll

The Box Project

In this post, I am participating in the Silicon Valley Moms Blog book club.  This time around, we read "Do One Nice Thing" by Debbie Tenzer.  Our book club doesn't do book reviews but, rather, encourages us to write a response to what we read.  In the post below, I share my goals for teaching my kids kindness, highlighting our ongoing experience with The Box Project.

Of all of the things I hope to inspire in my children, kindness tops the list.  They may be nationally-ranked tennis players, virtuoso musicians, and Yale-educated Rhodes scholars someday -- but none of that will matter a whit if they're not good people.  My kids lead easier lives than most, and, while I never want them to feel bad about their good fortune, I want them to be aware of it -- but, at the same time, I don't want to raise little "limousine liberals" either.  Aware of that fine line, I seek to model empathy for my kids the same way my parents did for me.  I remember how my mom volunteered through a local food pantry; with her in rural West Virginia, I made some of those deliveries to families whose living conditions remain deplorable.  I also noted how my mom would help others on occasion anonymously and of her own accord, like by leaving healthy groceries on a doorstep of a down-on-her-luck single mom down the street.  My grandfather, with an eighth-grade education and a GED, spent his first decade of retirement teaching others to read.  Had I not seen my own family in action while at an impressionable age, I wonder... would I care this much that people had their basic needs met? 

With Dash, then 3 and a bit of a hellion, and Petunia, then 8 and ready to take on the world, I wondered how I could model the volunteerism my family had modeled for me.  Our school district has a fantastic program that offers regular service opportunities for kids; Petunia participates, but there's no real family involvement.  While I was mulling through our options, a friend posted on Facebook about her involvement in The Box Project, a family-to-family non-profit organization which matches families living in extreme rural poverty in America with sponsoring families who mail them a box full of necessities each month.  Perfect, I thought; this is a way our family can make a real difference in another family's life long-term. 

I applied to join the Box Project and, within weeks, received a match family.  Our family lives on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota; they are Lakota Sioux.  The mother, Berta, has three kids, H (girl, 11), J (girl, 7) and N (boy, 2).  Pine Ridge is the poorest reservation in our country, with unemployment above 80%; its residents lack a lot of resources that we take for granted.  The grocery store and shopping (only a WalMart) is 45 minutes away, and there is no bus service.  There is also no library.  Middle schoolers (like H) go away to boarding school on the reservation if they're lucky; it's not a banner education, but they learn the crafts and language of the Lakota Sioux in order to keep their tribe alive.  Winters are awful, and a lot of families don't have heat unless they chop wood.  I lucked out; my family's mom has a one-bedroom apartment with all utilities, so I didn't have to figure out how to get cords of wood delivered in the dead of winter.  Instead, I could focus on their other needs.  Warned by friends that "they'll just be out to get your money," I proved them wrong, still carrying with me the letter that Berta first sent me... "We have so little that anything you send will help a great deal," she wrote.  "Mostly right now I need socks and underwear for the children, and, when it gets cold, another blanket might be nice.  More towels, too, so we don't have to share."  I had to press her for more information than that and came to find out that she had only one pan and no cooking utensils.  A year later, Berta still hasn't asked for much without prodding, so I've learned to send her a questionnaire and a stamped envelope to return after receiving each monthly box; this way, I know if the kids have school supply needs, if anyone has a birthday coming up, and if clothing and shoe sizes change.

While we were preparing our first boxes to this family, we also made several trips to the library, trips during which Petunia checked out books on the Lakota Sioux, learning about Wounded Knee and much more.  She's also learning a lot from the letters we receive from the family, and she's making friends with the oldest girl through being a pen-pal.  Four year-old Dash, who I thought might not be ready to help yet, knows there's a little boy in the family, so each box has one of his Matchbox cars tucked inside, just like every box has something picked by Petunia for each of the girls, often a hand-me-down shirt or a hair accessory.  I don't take my kids out shopping for the family, but, rather, I encourage them to look at what they have and think about what others might need.  Not only are we helping a family who really needs it, but we're stockpiling a lot less clothes, toys and, yes, even cooking utensils.  It feels good to be helping, and perhaps I'll be setting my kids up for a lifetime of remembering that, if you have too much, there's always someone who needs it more than you do. 

If you are interested in joining the Box Project, please visit their website, www.boxproject.org.  The Box Project has been fighting poverty in rural America since 1962. 

I also always add a line about whether or not I'd recommend the book we read, and, in this case, I offer an enthusiastic YES!  "Do One Nice Thing" is a great way to foster the spirit of giving in your home, or to gain some new ideas if you're fresh out.  Enjoy!

Petunia on Lytton Plaza

Petunia: "Mom, look, they're redoing Lytton Plaza again!  The fence is back up!  (pause)  Oh no, the egg is gone!"

Mom: "Yeah, remember, I told you that the City was going to redo the Plaza.  They're going to fix it up and then return the Egg, but it'll be in the back of the Plaza next time."

Petunia: "They're not fooling me."

Mom: "What do you mean?"

Petunia: "Lytton Plaza doesn't need to be redone.  They're just tired of all of the people standing on their boxes praising Jah all of the time."

Mom (stifling laughter): "Perhaps, but it was looking kind of ratty to me; it'll be nice to have it spruced up since it's kind of in the heart of downtown."

Petunia: "Whatever, it's good they closed it.  I get tired of the people getting in my face and praising Jah all of the time, too.  I mean, first of all, don't they realize there are Jews and Muslims around, too?  And some people who might praise another Jah?  This City isn't just for people who praise Jah their own way; it's for everyone."

Mom: "True 'nuf."

Petunia: "And another thing!  I'm down with Jah and all, but I'm not about to stand on a box and start yelling at people about it.  Nobody ever listens to you when you do that.  They just think you're crazy."

Mom: "Yeah, maybe it's good that they shut it down for a bit.  I wonder what it'll be like when it comes back, though."

Petunia: "I'll tell you what, I bet there will still be people yelling.  They'll just be yelling in a nicer place."

My daughter: almost-9, and wise beyond her years.

(photo from the Paly Voice)

9-11-2009

Each year, I offer a special tribute on 9-11, especially in memory of the friends who lost their lives on that horrific day.  This year, I've sat at my computer probably twenty times, and the words just aren't coming.  I think that's because I "get it" now, a little more than I did in years past.  I've always known that life is fragile, but now I'm reminded of that a little more each time I just try to breathe -- that simple act that we all take for granted until it becomes, at best, weird, and, at worst, a struggle.  I have friends with their breathing constrained like mine because of crippling anxiety from the 9-11 attacks -- these friends lived, but they saw too much.  I feel for them, I really do.

At the same time as I am struggling with my present weakness, I find myself strengthened by some great people around me and by a whole lot of hope in general, not only for my own health, but also for the health of our nation.  This is my 9-11 thought for 2009: what does the health of the nation mean?  Are we in a better place than we were in 2001?  When our forefathers wrote the Preamble to our Constitution, they captured this sentiment of health.  Here, read it:

"We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."

Reflecting on the time passed since 9-11 changed the way we live, it is clear that we are pursuing justice and providing for our defense.  But what about the rest of those things?  We do not have domestic tranquility; we have elected Representatives yelling "You lie!" at the President of the United States.  We have "town hall" meetings disrupted by disrespect, and over what?  A conversation over "our general welfare?"  There are millions of Americans who do not enjoy the "blessings of liberty" because, in this land of extreme prosperity and extreme poverty, they die because they can't access the same doctors I'm accessing to fix my lungs. 

Today is the first day that my doctor asked me about my health insurance.  Finding it to be a PPO, he said, "Phew, we can pursue whatever options we need to pursue."  I asked him, "And if I had something else?"  His response was, "Your options might be more limited." 

I am 35 years old, and I have outlived some of my friends by eight blessed years.  I mean no disrespect when I write that I plan to outlive them by a lot more than that, and, because my lungs are in good hands, I likely will.  And with health on my mind, I come back to the Constitution, the blessings promised to all who live in these United States -- promises that our general welfare will be promoted.  We need to set aside our differences and make sure that everyone fortunate to be alive today has the chance to be alive tomorrow.  All of the nitpicking, all of the partisan bickering, well, that's not a more perfect union, is it?  That's a broken one, and that's not the liberty that our heroes have died to protect. 

This 9-11, I pray for the souls of my friends, for those they left behind, and for all of the victims of the attacks and the ongoing war on terror.  I pray for those guiding our country, that they may find a way to return to our roots to make sure that those most basic needs are met.  And yes, I pray that every person living in America will have the same access to life and to the pursuit of happiness that I enjoy, courtesy of some great doctors and quality healthcare.  We can argue over the semantics, or we can just do it.  I pray that by the next 9-11, it's done.

My post from September 11, 2008
My post from September 11, 2007

When you get knocked down 7 times, you need to stand up 8

The title of this post is from a Japanese proverb, and it resonates so much with me now that it's become my motto.  This sickness I have, this "whatever," it's not ending -- but if I have to get up 18 or 108 or 1008 times, I'll do it, because getting frustrated and giving up really aren't an option.  And if I keep telling myself that, maybe I won't get frustrated, and maybe I'll still have some hope that I can be fixed.  I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

I haven't blogged much about this illness lately because there's simultaneously a whole lot to say -- and a whole lot of nothing.  I've had CT scans, a bronchoscopy, lots of X-rays, too much bloodwork and get near-daily calls from my pulmonologist with another idea.  Something is wrong, and it's not going away... something's growing in my lungs, something's making me unable to catch my breath.  Forget exercise; taking the dog to the backyard is my limit.  Target requires days of rest before and after.  Oddly, other than being unable to breathe, I appear totally healthy.  And man, is that causing me problems.  If one more person says to me "but you don't look sick!" -- well, that person will be missing her teeth.  And it is always the women who say it, too, taking cattiness to an all-new level.  I've come up with some good responses, like, "shhh, don't tell anyone, but I'm just trying to get out of my over-committed volunteer schedule" or "it's God punishing me for supporting No on 8" just to see the really annoying people made uncomfortable.  Of course, I'll never utter those snide responses, because I have this little thing called dignity that so many former Prom Queens seem to lack.

What was I saying?

Oh, sickness... yeah.  So, I'm getting help and opinions left and right from great doctors.  It's just that I can't be treated until they know what "it" is.  The next step in determining that may be some form of lung biopsy, which will be my first surgical procedure.  I had two babies come out the long way and have never been cut, and now I get the pleasure of meeting a thoracic surgeon.  In other words, this is God telling me that the puppy we adopted was a much better choice than the third baby I almost talked the Guv into last spring. 

I wish I could tell you that I'm taking all of this time sitting/lying down to be reflective, coming up with great life lessons to pass down just like Randy Pausch.  But the truth is, I just am not cut out that way -- I don't think "the end is near," and, even if I did, I would spend my time holding my kids, not trying to decipher the meaning of it all. I'm spending a little less time dreaming about going back to work and a little more time wishing it were bedtime already, but, other than that, I'm walking the dog, packing the lunches, teaching Dash to read, sometimes even attempting laundry.  The Guv is picking up a lot of my slack, never once complaining that he has less of a wife these days; and the kids have become more independent over these last few months, something good that came out of this something bad. 

So the great wisdom of this post is just that life is going on, day by day.  It sucks that I have to deal with this, and that my family has to deal with it, but this stuff unfortunately happens to everybody at some point or another.  I didn't expect it at 35, but that's okay; I'm in a great community, surrounded by loving friends, some of the best doctors in the world, and a whole lot of sunshine.  Life is good, and I'll be well, someday.