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Deck the Halls with Easter Bunnies

Posted on December 7, 2012 by Beth Hull

Breaking News: THE EASTER BOX IS FINALLY BACK IN THE ATTIC.

I’m not a big decorator for the holidays, for two reasons: 1) I’m lazy, and 2) We have too much stuff.

Here’s how our decoration cycle for Christmas goes, in ten easy steps.

1. Find empty box or unobtrusive corner.

2. Clear surfaces (i.e. tables, shelves, television altar, piano(s), mantels, dressers, and possibly bathroom counters) of knick knacks & assorted piles of books, papers, and toys.

3. Pack knick knacks etc. into box or stack into the unobtrusive corner.

4. Dust surfaces.

5. Send Homes on spelunking expedition into garage or attic to retrieve Christmas decoration boxes.

6. Set out Christmas decorations (approximately 3.3 days before Christmas)

7. Approximately 2.65 months after Christmas, clear surfaces of decorations and locate empty boxes to pack them into. If necessary, purchase more plastic boxes and feel guilty for a little while.

8a. By this point, new knick knacks etc. have crowded onto surfaces, so

8b. don’t bother dusting, and

8c. leave other knick knacks etc. in box or unobtrusive corner.

9. Approximately 4.89 months after Christmas, send Homes on mission to return Christmas boxes to attic or garage.

10. Congratulate self on a job well done.

To My Graduating Students*

Posted on June 10, 2011 by Beth Hull

*and to my students who graduated last year – I’m sorry I didn’t think to do this for you then, so now everybody’s included in this commencement address.

First: I am so proud of you.

Second: I don’t know where this blog post is going, so just hang out for a couple of minutes. It might meander like our discussions on Of Mice and Men or The Cask of Amontillado.

Whether you go to a four-year college, a junior college, a technical school, or no school at all, you will be making choices every single day. Sometimes these choices won’t be important, like, “Do I ask the dude making my sandwich to put mayo on both sides, or just one?” or “Do I straighten my hair today or let it go curly?” or “Do I call my girlfriend now or wait until after I finish this episode of [whatever show is popular at the moment]?”

Sometimes the choices will be very important, like, “Do I blow off writing this paper and just copy it from the internet?” [If you were truly a student of mine, this answer would be, “No, I will write this paper and learn while I’m doing it!”] Other important choices might be, “Do I get into the car with this dude I just met at the club?” or “Do I sample the mystery substance everyone seems to be having so much fun with at the party, or do I amuse myself taking photos of them to post on Facebook later, and make sure none of them die from whatever side effects the mystery substance has?”

The point is: the future is filled with choices, and you are responsible for making the choices. It might be overwhelming, as it often was to me in college. The sheer mountain of choices scared the crap out of me. And sometimes you’re going to shine, and other times you’re going to fail. You will fail. It will happen. (I think J. K. Rowling covered this point in her address to Harvard graduates in 2008. Click here to read that.)

Failing can bring you to surprising new places. It can be an opportunity. I’m not saying it doesn’t suck, because it does. But take some responsibility for it. You get to make the choices, from here until forever.

I hope you choose:

to not get into the car with strange men
to make wise choices about sex
to pass on the drugs but still have fun with your friends
to work your asses off on school work. You’re choosing, paying to be in school now. No one’s making you. Work for your dreams.
to always be kind and gentle with every single person you meet. Even if they cut you off in traffic or steal your umbrella or cheat on you or sit on your iPhone and crush it into a million bits
to surround yourselves with people who make you smile
to remember your home. Your home. Full of people who care about you and are cheering for you. This is where you come from, and even if it might seem like a small nothing town after you’ve moved away to Way Cool City Full of Beautiful People, this is your home, and we love you
to write letters and postcards – not only emails and texts – to your friends and family
to reward yourself with a trip to the beach or a hike or somewhere outdoors when the daily grind gets to be too much
to vote for leaders you believe in
to form relationships with surprising and interesting people
to put your money on what’s really important. Think about where you want your life to go; spend accordingly
to fall in love
to let people go when it is time (and to trust your instincts of when that time is right)
to avoid worrying about what other people might think of your path in life. It’s yours; own it and be happy. If you can’t be happy, change it by making new choices
to learn and practice the art of making conversation with adults. You are an adult now. Talk to your professors, your bosses, and other adults
to be the change you wish to see in the world (Mahatma Gandhi)

I love you all. If you think I’ve forgotten about you for one day since I quit teaching to raise Z, you’re wrong. I taught you English, but you taught me so much more. I delight in memories of being your teacher. I delight in the choices you make, especially when those choices are conscious, purposeful, and full of intent to make your lives, and the world, delightful, fanciful, creative, kind, gentle, and peaceful.

Thank you for being who you are. Never stop.

Reverse Placebo Band-Aid Drama

Posted on February 16, 2011 by Beth Hull

Z’s a happy child. She laughs, tells jokes, loves it when I hide behind a corner and scare the pants off her when she least expects it (this runs in my family).

She also tends toward the melodramatic (this also runs in my family. Fine. Just me. Shut up before I go cry myself to sleep).

Last week my mom was visiting (a.k.a. Free Babysitting While I Hide in my Bedroom with the Computer). Mom needed a band-aid, so I got her one, and I got one for Z as well. I remembered seeing this cute little girl in music class wearing band-aids all over her body – arms, legs, tummy, so I thought it would be fun for Z to have a band-aid and match her Gran. Boy, was I wrong.

I picked a spot on her hand for the band-aid, and maybe this was my mistake – the spot had a little tiny boo-boo. This boo-boo was probably 1/32 of an inch long, the teeniest scratch imaginable. But once the band-aid was in place, the boo-boo transmogrified into a Grievous Wound.

She babied her hand for the entire day, cradling it in her other hand, wrapping it in blankets, asking for an ice pack. She ate exclusively with the other hand, prefering to rest the wounded hand in her lap during meals. At first it was cute. Then it sparked a few eye rolls. If it hadn’t been coupled with whining during dinner, I probably would have been fine. (But what’s a Grievous Wound if you can’t whine about it?)

Z: I don’t want Daddy to take my band-aid off at bathtime.

Husband: I have to take the band-aid off at bathtime, but it won’t hurt.

Ever-Suffering Mother: It’ll be fine, Z. There’s nothing wrong with you.

Z: [voice substantially higher in pitch] But I don’t want Daddy to take my band-aid off! It hurts it hurts!

[dialogue repeated enough times to make the most patient of mothers (I know I can’t even hope to fit into that category – I can’t even type it without feeling like a hypocrite) lose her cool.]

ESM: If you whine about it again, I’ll take the band-aid off right now.

Alas, a few minutes later, my drama-queen-in-training could not help herself. She said something about the band-aid. Granted, she didn’t use a whiny voice, but I was done. Done with dinner, done with her drama, and done with that dumb band-aid.

I got up, grabbed her hand, and took the stupid thing off (the band-aid, not her hand). It was only hanging by one side, anyway (again, the band-aid, not her hand). And guess what: She. Was. Fine. A quick, whiny protest as I tossed the offending adhesive bandage into the garbage, and then she was back to eating her dinner.

With both hands, this time.

Parenting Soundtracks

Posted on December 29, 2010 by Beth Hull

Anita Renfroe had the right idea when she created “Momisms” and sang it to the tune of the William Tell Overture. The problem is her song condenses everything, so we can’t use it in place of real parenting. Which got me thinking: I could totally use a Parenting Soundtrack (patent pending) to get me through the days where it’s just me and Z. I’d be free to read another book, or think about the plot of my current manuscript. She’d be free to ignore me (which she often does anyway). We’d be happy as clams.

See how happy we are?

Here we have a demonstration of the Parenting Soundtrack “Fine Dining.” Other available soundtracks include:

Pleasant Potty Training: “Pee and poop go in the potty!”
The Great Outdoors: “Run as fast as you can! Burn off that energy before naptime!”
Beautiful Bedtime Routines: “You may choose two stories and two songs.”
Responsible Clean-up: featuring that all-time favorite “Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere!”
Fantastic Freeplay: “Be gentle! It’s good to share.”
For Parents of Two or More: “I give up. The bigger one gets her way.”

As soon as she wakes up, I’m going to get started on recording. My studio? Wherever it is I find myself needing to remind my daughter of the rules. So I guess that’s the kitchen, dining room, bathroom, family room, the backyard, the car, the grocery store…

Restraint

Posted on December 15, 2010 by Beth Hull

From my diary:

Sometimes I am the picture of restraint.

Situation exaggerated to illustrate point.

Other times, not so much.

Situation exaggerated not so much.

That’s all! See you on Friday with NiFtY author Elaine Cantrell!