Re-Introducing The Muppet Show!!

Re-Introducing…The Muppet Show!
(With Special Guest Star: Beginning to Feel A Wee Bit Old)


I picked up The Muppet Show-Season 1- the other day at the library. I was excited to finally see it on DVD. I watched it as a young kid. I thought maybe Cat would like it too. Worth a try, right?

Of course, she loves it, just as she obsessively loves Labyrinth. Our house seems to have been ‘Henson-ized”. By this I mean we have everything (almost) Henson related: Labyrinth, Sesame Street, The Muppet Show (obviously) and even (for Mom) The Dark Crystal. All I’d like to say is Jim Henson was a frickin’ genius. Obviously.

Season 1-This is way back- ’76, maybe. As we sat down and watched it- the familiar (to me) opening sing- and-dance number, the Muppets themselves, and finally the special guest star being dramatically announced-it struck me as we watched these episodes that they are old by now, (Don’t mean to make anyone else feel old, but if it makes you feel any better- I felt old after watching these) not to mention the guest stars, such as Ethel Merman, Valerie Harper, Joel Grey, Gene Kelly, George Burns and Jim Nabors, to name a few.

Who??

Most likely, a lot of kids growing up today probably don’t even know (or care) who Ethel Merman was, or Valerie Harper, or even Gene Kelly.
Even I had a hard time placing Valerie Harper: Wasn’t she the one on Rhoda, The Mary Tyler Moore Show? Was that it?

Another thing that occurred to me: most of the guests who appeared on The Muppet Show are dead by now.

-And Vincent Price….is he dead, or what?

People like Merman and Kelly seem like the ancient of the most ancient dinosaurs in comparison with today’s top movie stars, pop queens and (is it still angst-ridden?) ‘rock’, if it’s even called that anymore ( Do I sound old yet?) I don’t even know who’s on the charts these days, and quite frankly, don’t really care.

In spite of ‘feeling my age’, I am glad for the opportunity to re-introduce a show such as The Muppets to my daughter-something that is truly entertaining for children and adults alike- rather than having her be into something like Barney or those freakish Teletubbies.


A little extra: Check out the ‘Manamana’ sketch and 1-12 sketch on Google Video Of The Day (you'll have to scroll down a wee bit)
Also, according to Wikipedia, Vincent Price is dead.

Also on my blog.

Dancing Queen

After four years of living in the kid zone I am happy to say we have one single solitary musical toy in our repetoire. I mean musical monstrosity not instruments like fairy drum, castinets, bellydance zills, cardboard banjo etc... It was a dumpster find by my mother in law - a Sit and Spin that lights up and plays barely recognizable "favorites". At first Sophia hated it. What the hell with the flashing lights and dissonant racket? Sure enough she warmed up to it and is channelling lounge dancer Josephine Baker as she dances around it in only a tutu, all arms and legs, hair flying. It is the ideal aerobic workout -- just flinging yourself around to the dance remix of "She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain". I swear the "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star " has a disco whistle in it..As she speed arabesques through "Rockin Robin" she is sheer energy, raw muscle. It is a vision of loveliness. It is my temple. my shrine to the wildness just beneath the surface of us all.

Dog Scare

From Journal, May 21, 2006

Yesterday, Cat and I were out on our walk. She was walking alongside me as is the norm these days. We passed where Capitol Grounds used to be and this goddamned German-Shepherd began viciously barking from inside a car as well as frothing at the mouth, baring its teeth like fucking (excuse the language) Cujo.

It absolutely freaked Cat out-freaked me out too: I actually jumped. She totally froze and did the silent scream, mouth a huge square portal of fear.

No owner in sight, nothing but a rabid dog rocking the car. It took about 25 minutes to calm her down. Took me about half the day to come down from the rage that nearly overtook my entire being.

There was nothing I could do. Except to comfort my now hiccupping daughter lying on my shoulder, clinging for dear life.

I think the fact that there was nothing I could do partly fueled the rage I felt at this situation. Comforting my daughter was not enough: I wanted re-tal-i-a-tion. I wanted to rip whoever owned that dog into shreds. Shreds. For terrifying my daughter with that goddamned dog.

I thought briefly of leaving a note on the car saying Thanks so much! Your dog just traumatized my child.

I didn’t because 1. The dog was still rocking the car
2. My rage was blinding.

Just the day before, we encountered another dog and its owner in front of the Tattoo Shop. It was a pleasant experience! A yellow lab and a very nice lady as the owner. Cat actually petted the dog as it calmly stood by. So, at least she saw that dogs can be nice and friendly.

Also on my Blog with additional links.

The Bird Song

"Birdie, birdie, ba, ba, ba,
ohhh, yeah, yeah
Ooooooooooooooo
Birdie, birdieee, ba, ba,
Yeah, yeah, yeah."

This is the sweet song that my girl has been singing lately, after literally finding her voice. I’ve been asking her to sing for quite some time now, and she’d sing out a few bars of an attempt at Baby Beluga (which is damn hard to say, thanks very much Raffi), but that was it. Just today she found her voice. Her sweet, true, loud, husky, hilarious voice. I ask her to sing and she goes off into the most random string of words she knows now. I find myself in awe of the bold move to just sing whatever is in her head, however she wants. I think how stifled we all are, walking around this world, holding in our random soundtracks, and how life has a way of limiting our voices. I hope her voice will stay strong and true, and hearing hers, I’m wondering where my own wandering tune went.

The Space Invaders

(June 16, 2006)

Okay. At Rite Aid this morning buying a sippy cup.They must have had a delivery: there were boxes everywhere throughout the store.

This woman-mid 30's, I would guess- comes down the aisle I am in. I notice her at the last minute as she begins saying 'Could I please get by' while actually grabbing hold of the stroller handle and begins pushing it out of her way, tentatively, as though it were a box of merchandise.

I totally whipped around in amazed disbelief: 'I will move the stroller with my baby out of your way', meanwhile giving her the death-glare of Don't you dare touch my baby. I will rip your head off.

Why is it that everyone seems to think babies are like common, or community, property, almost?

Besides all of this, there was the very basic issue of space invasion, and I am not talking about outer space. I am talking about personal space-this is your space, this is mine: do not invade.
I've always been a huge fan of personal space, I mean huge. Now that I have a child, my interest (what a mild word) in it has grown infinitely.

I always try to be aware of other people's space. I don't hover near people in line at the bakery
( a major annoyance). I try to be respectful of other people's space. I tell my child to back up a bit from the other kids, and adults, if she begins to get too close for comfort.

Some people just are not aware of space, apparently, particularly other people's. But maybe they should be.

What Matters

In the midst of completing report cards, and dealing with some tricky parent situations, and the chaos that was my classroom after having a substitute teacher for a day, I was reminded about what is really important in this world.

See, I’m a teacher, and in the last few weeks of school, a teacher is juggling way too many balls in the air. It’s easy to be mired in assessments, staff changes, parent issues, student behaviors, and end of the year expectations. But when you lose what matters most, everything changes.

When I found out about a former student’s death I was just coming out of a long meeting, and heading to class. When my colleague told me that one of my former students had died at the age of 14, I burst into tears. It was her face, youthful and beautiful, that came rushing in to my mind. Immediately it was a few years ago, and she ran beside me as part of my after school running club, excitedly laughing, telling stories, and being goofy.

Later that day a student asked to have lunch with me. I had parent calls to return; meetings to set up, papers to grade and report cards to write, but that didn’t matter. I thought of that former student, and said yes. You see, what slammed into my mind with the senseless death of a young woman was that yes, students need to learn how to read, do math, write and other content areas. But what really matters in the lives of young people, all people, is relationships. Feeling valued, listened to, important. They say that adolescents need just one adult, one adult that they can turn to, that they can trust. I know many people were working hard to connect with my former student. For me, her death made me pull out of my thick educational ostrich hole and actually talk more with students. It made me walk away from the work that was piling up on my desk and really listen to what they have to say.

Later that night I held my own daughter in my arms. I wept as I told her no matter what; I’d love her until the day I died. And if for some reason she couldn’t come to me, I prayed she’d find another adult who would listen to her, love her and help her get what she needs. To me, that means everything.

Two Weeks, Non-Renewable

I cannot check out two week, non-renewable books from the library. I just can't. I never have enough time to finish them. Or, I haven't even started them and they just end up sitting on my desk, collecting dust and other papers till it's time to take them back, unread.
It bothers me.

Also, another thought in the library vein: I thought it interesting that the Kellogg-Hubbard Library has had to put up a sign on the bathroom door in the children's section saying this:
BATHROOMS FOR CHILDREN AND PARENTS ONLY.

Storytime at the Library
I wrote this on my blog a few weeks before the sign went up.

Four

I have a daughter who is four years old.
My daughter is four years old.
My four year old daughter...

Repetition does not make it seem any more real. Last week my daughter turned four years old. FOUR.YEARS.OLD.How can this possibly be true? Surreal moment of blowing out the candles. Four years later, me with no abdominal tone, permanant stretch marks wondering how in the world I got this far... Lately we have hit a regressive patch. Bedtime, mealtimes are a bitch. She has lost her knack for entertaining herself and lurks around looking for trouble. Most of which involves the cat.

A few weeks ago she sat in her underwear scarfing a bowl of blackberry rhubarb crisp. I was trying to talk with my husband about food and she interrupts.

"I dont want do this God Damned thing."

Silence on our part. Do not scold for foul langauge.Try and move past it. "What thing, pal?"

"Talk about buckwheat noodles."

Well, I can't argue. I didnt want to talk about GD buckwheat noodles anymore either.

Searching For Mama

The Mama Says Blog-well, we've been getting a good amount of traffic these days. As of today, there have been 107 visitors since the Site Meter has been added (in May)! (Click on the Site Meter at the bottom of the page to see the numbers)
It's interesting to see what people are searching for on your site.
I would just like to share a few:

"how many poopy diapers should a three month old have a day"
-this is a favorite

"5 months poem"

"when a two year old babbles continuously for some minutes"
- this is great!

"mama poems"

"Living with extended family"

"poem about summer"

Also- there are searches that include various members of this blog.

Links Page

Questions to ask your health care provider, hospital, midwife

What to ask your careprovider
What to ask your Hospital, Doctor, Midwife or Birth Center
What to ask your Pediatrician, Doula and more
All about the Midwife


Health Care Info.

ALACE: Association of Labor Assistants & Childbirth
Educators. List of home birth midwives and doulas in
Vermont.
Vermont Nurse Midwives: List of Midwives in Vermont.

Le Leche League of Vermont
Le Leche League International
Le Leche League of Central Vermont

Recall's.gov:Find out if any toy, carseat, etc., has been recalled by the government here.

Article on European Union encouraging couples to have more children

Here is an interesting article I found on BBC News online. Interesting facts and stuff.
It has relevance to several posts here on Mama Says: Thoughts on a Second Child, and others. I'm sure, too, that this subject has been on alot of people's minds.

On the ordinary magic of mothering/writing

I wrote the following poem years ago when, as a single mom, I struggled with the same questions and feelings that Sam and Kris wrote about in their previous posts.

My children are grown now and so, in its way, is my poetry. And even though I have no little children tugging at my mind and body, no next poopy diaper to change, I still choose to work the magic of the mundane, the ordinary. Why? Because it is the only work.

The word "ordinary" comes from the latin: to order; and the root word of "mundane" is world. To tend carefully to the ordinary, the mundane, is to serve no less than the work of the Anima Munde Herself. To work an ordinary magic is to be a priestess of the Orderer of the World.

And so I dedicate this to you, Sam and Kris, and to every mom who struggles with the sacred burden of working her own small ordinary magics within what seems to be her own unimportant little corner of the everyday world.

Though the powers-that-be are invested in seducing you to believe otherwise, know that you are the mother/priestesses who, every single day, order the creative inner worlds from which your children will grow their realities. You are the singers of what the world longs to become long after you are gone.

Magic, indeed.


Work

Some things never go away
Never leave me alone
Stretch marks
Dirty dishes
Overdue bills
And the pen in my hand
Rendering its constant stream
Of words
Hauled up
Out of the well
Dripping and sparkling
To hang in the air
And wait their turn
To be arranged just so
And dry in the sun

Then and Now: Poetry and Mothering

Then and Now: Poetry and Mothering

We sit at the table, mother and daughter, markers spread out in no particular order. The paper is set out side by side, waiting for the colorful scribbles of lines and right angles and the occasional smiley-face drawn so precisely from a two-year-old mind. Looking at her, marker poised carefully with such concentration over the paper, I wonder how we, as artist and mother, merge the two separate selves so that they co-exist within ourselves?

No doubt, raising a young child is challenging. Everything, at one point or another, gets pushed aside for varying lengths of time. For me, it was my writing-all forms of it in the beginning-that got pushed aside to tend to the more pressing and urgent matters: changing that poopy diaper for the third time that day, feeding, bathing, reading the bedtime story, making sure nothing ended up in her mouth that shouldn’t have.

When my daughter was three months old, I wrote this:

Poetry and Mothering

I have been writing poetry since my early teens and journaling before that. It has saved my life, literally, in numerous ways, may times. It sounds clichéd (you know everybody says that), but so very true in my life. In struggling through and recovering from depression, writing was, and still is a way to regain my strength.

These days, I am lucky if I get the daily journal entry in. Being a new mom of a three-month-old daughter, I try specifically to make the time for this. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.

I truly miss writing poetry. I have not written anything poetic since a little before I found out I was pregnant in November 2003. I feel rather naked without it. There is comfort in words. I don’t think it is so much rage or anger I feel as much as the pure frustration at not having the time, or more importantly, the energy to write now. I do know, though, that there will be a time again for poetry-to really write again.

I try not to let the frustration take hold. I know this is temporary. Yet, in the moment, it is painfully raw. But then, I look at my beautiful daughter with her smiles and babbles and think how absolutely wonderful she is; what an amazing creation she is; that I created her.

In having a child, I do not want my writing to be forgotten or put aside for so long that I begin to regret not pursuing it as I should have. Or-worst of all-aim my resentment against myself or my daughter.

It is vital to me that the two selves-mother/writers- co-exist, grow, merge, to form a more complete being. I’m not quite sure how to go about this yet. But, that is one of life’s many challenges, is it not?

Originally printed in Mama Says Newsletter

It has been nearly two years since I last wrote those words. Much has changed, as life inevitably does so. The differences between a three month old baby and a toddler are immense. Now there is negotiation involved about going to the park and a muffin afterward. At three months, that wasn’t even a flicker of thought in my mind.

Indeed, it has been challenging for the two selves to co-exist. Not to mention the challenge alone of rearing a two year old, tantrums and all, as a single parent. There have also been many rewards. For the most part, the challenge has been met with open arms and a willing mind. Words have become unlocked from my near-stagnant mind and flow freely to the page. Almost as freely as my daughter’s need to scavenge for Cheerio’s.

I think this convergence comes mainly from the actual acceptance of motherhood into my life with all its twists and turns, joyous melodies and dark tunnels. I remember when writing had no time limits. Now it is naptimes and bedtimes, writing voraciously into the night. I am content with that-for now.

April 15, 2006

Ordinary Magic

Why aren't there more poems about the mundane: the dishes,
the laundry, the picking up of toys and the making of the lunches
each night before school and work? Where are all the great
epics of housework, the odes to paying bills, the ballads
of the morning commute? Where is that ordinary magic?
I see it each time I bake bread, turn vegetables into soup,
wash grass stains from the knees of size three sweatpants.
But what is the invisible part of my day, that time spent in the
kitchen cleaning, or vacuuming the entire house, that doesn't end up in a poem? Isn't it my job to shed light on the ordinary magic of these things,
this time, my own sweat and work and daily grind: the driving, the
daycare, the job? I'm lost about it. Somehwere in the transformation of
dried, avacado-caked bowl into clean, ready-to-eat cereal bowl, I lose myself,
the very part of my imagination, or creativity, or attentiveness to the Universe, call it soul, call it whatever, call it POETRY! Whatever it is
I just lose my grip of it down the drain, into the garbage, back in the toybox, wherever the stuff and grime of my life needs to go in order to keep order, to keep me from writing poems. Yet I do write them. I find the time, middle of the night, to write it all down and call it a poem. I find the courage to call myself a poet, after working forty hours a week, and roasting chicken dinners to turn into lunches, and shopping, and cleaning, and laundry, and dishes, and vacuuming, and blah blah blah...I find myself writing, I find myself, in the midst of this ordinary magic--it's what I do to stay sane.

A Post-Mother's Day Post

A Post-Mother’s Day Post (May 19, 2006)

Mother’s Day has come and gone. The flowers that my brothers brought are still sitting on the table: petals of the red Tulip have been blown back, looking like some prehistoric creature-some insect maybe, or a dragon, even-beautiful, but deadly and the yellow daffodil-a papier-mâché star so delicate. I should probably throw them away, but they hold a beauty now, different from when they were fresh and waxy, that I find it hard to do so.

This year was only my second Mother’s Day to celebrate officially, but this particular day always seems to have had strange events floating around it. I don’t know if strange is the appropriate word. Perhaps, ‘highly charged emotional events that can be strange’ is a better fit.

This year, over the Mother’s Day weekend, the moon was full (on Saturday) and in Scorpio (my Sun Sign). Full Moon in Scorpio is intense, at its mildest; ferociously abrasive at the opposite end of the spectrum. The reverberations could be felt into Sunday. I pay attention to these things, you know. It’s hard not to when your mother, the astrologer, gives you these tidbits to mull over.

It had been dark and raining all weekend, not a spot of sunshine to lift our moods in the slightest.

The day started off with my daughter clawing at me to wake up, and then screamed all morning. There didn’t seem to anything terribly wrong with her: she’s just two. When I couldn’t take the screaming anymore-short bursts alternated with the whiney scream, continuously- I handed her over to the Grandparents for about an hour while I went on a calming walk. Of course, she was fine with them. No screaming. We apparently just needed a mama-daughter break. It helped. But, she still continued to fire off short bursts every so often when I came back.

By the time bedtime rolled around, I was mentally and physically drained. I was looking forward to a quiet, peaceful moment to myself-no noise-at least fifteen minutes worth, before I went to sleep. So what happens? The people upstairs just arrive home, making what seems to be an obscene amount of noise: stomping and others unidentifiable. Then comes the dog from upstairs: barking for about 20 minutes without any break. Forget about a quiet moment…

Last year (my first official Mother’s Day), was a mess: a court date was set to settle child support for my daughter with her father the day after Mother’s Day. Talk about highly charged emotional events!

Another year, I found out I was pregnant a few days before Mother’s Day but could not keep it. Another highly charged emotional event-to say the least.

I would much prefer flowers to the onslaught of chaotic emotional upheaval that seems to correlate with this day.

Who’s to say what will happen in future years, though? Mother’s Day is just a day, after all, just as Father’s Day is just a day used today as a huge marketing advantage. Perhaps that is part of the chaos: the collective stress of a holiday, the need to buy cards and gifts so there is not too much guilt to be felt towards mothers and fathers.

This Mother’s Day, though, I found real beauty in the fresh flowers, despite the darkness of the day. They radiated color and life on that day, more than what any other expensive gift or card could do, and do so even now taking on the appearances of stars and insects.

Also on my blog
with additional links

Difficult

Why is it the day you start your period, the kid(s) choose that day to be enormously difficult??

Poem:Bleeding Out

Bleeding Out


Afterwards
When it was all done

Weakness pulsated
Beating in time
With the struggle of aching limbs

Everything else emotional was
Driven back to be unremembered
In some niche of the mind
For the moment.

Now the body lies
In grievance
On the writhing bed

It bleeds out
What it doesn't need anymore
Helpless
Unable to control this
In the end.


2002

Mama's Day

Greetings to all readers who found the blog through my op/ed in the Times Argus. (Should run in the days just before Mother's Day.) Here is the piece for those who missed it. Readers can find my other work by looking for posting signature at bottom of pieces. - Linda Pruitt



“Arise then...women of this day!… Say firmly: We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.”
Julia Ward Howe

Mother’s Day began not as a tender celebration of woman’s domestic devotion but as a powerful demonstration of the impact of collective action. Julia Ward Howe’s “Mother’s Day Proclamation” of 1870 is a chilling reminder of how far we have not come.

For thirty years Americans marked June 2 as a “Mother’s Day of Peace”. In a total redefinition of the day’s intent, Congress in 1913, assigned the new “Mother’s Day” to the second Sunday in May stripping it of its renegade roots and offering the consumer chaos we know today. The corporatization of a mother’s day of unity was particularly welcomed by the burgeoning floral industry. The Floral Review, a trade publication jubilantly announced that this was a holiday “to be exploited”. They did a neat job of it. Nearly a century later forgetting flowers (waxy chocolates/ill-fitting garments/overpriced meals) is unthinkable.

We must move past the clichéd expressions of gratitude. We should regard Mother’s Day 2006 as a reminder to mamas and grandmamas to reclaim their political/social power through action. Julia Ward Howe understood that all of the mothers of the world are inextricably bound through their children. She asserted that mothers world wide could and must unite to invoke real change. Today international humanitarian organizations such as MADRE weave webs beyond borders for positive social reforms from mama to mama to mama.

The United Nations Millennium Development Goals are an ambitious unprecedented aid project with the potential to improve the lives of millions of mamas and their families across the globe. All of the 191 UN member nations have pledged to pursue meet these goals by 2015. The goals are: eradicate extreme poverty and hunger, achieve universal primary education, reduce child mortality, improve maternal health, combat HIV/AIDS, promote gender equality and empower women, ensure environmental sustainability, develop a global partnership for development.

Before you dismiss such an enormous endeavor as impossibility bogged down in bureaucracy, heed Secretary General Kofi Annan’s warning that “we must break with business as usual” to meet these goals. One of the strengths of this effort is in its call to every small grassroots group and every individual citizen to become personally involved in ensuring success. On the MDG web pages there are many ideas for taking action at a local/individual level. Meeting just one of these goals in the U.S would mean profound social change. Imagine them all being met. How many mamas would it take?

This Mother’s Day pitch the useless knick-knacks and give mama a membership to Code Pink, Women’ International League for Peace and Freedom, or MADRE. Lose the tennis bracelet and make monthly contributions in mama’s name to local food banks and charities. Instead of one day of nominal recognition acknowledge and respect the contributions of mothers every day.

A Sleep Issue

See this on The Whole Mom

Thoughts On A Second Child

Thoughts On A Second Child


Nearly all first time moms think of it: What about another child? Wouldn't it be nice to have another one? I don't want her (him) to be the 'only child'.
It seems lately I have been asked variations of these questions by a variety of people.

I will be frank: None of these questions have crossed my mind. I have firmly made up my mind: I have one daughter and that is it. To be even more frank-I don't really want another one. This last statement shocked me at first in its bluntness, but I understand it, I can accept it within myself. I can respect myself enough to understand and accept it.

I have given this subject long and arduous thought. This past year, especially, as I watch my girl near two years. Remembering her as a wee babe (at days old, weeks old, months old) and missing that time, thinking time passes too quickly. Then, I think: no way. I could never do that again. I just don't think I could do it, first of all. I don't know if my body could handle it. I wasn't even sure if it could the first time around. Thankfully, I was blessed by something (Fate, the spirits that be, whatever) and had a most fantastic pregnancy, labor and birth.
As it is, sleep deprivation is a big problem these days for me. It is starting to really aggravate certain aspects of my own health, which I need to keep a close eye on. I couldn't imagine having a second child and dealing with the almost severe consequences sleep deprivation brings on me.
Secondly, who can really afford more than one child these days? Everything is just so expensive these days. Oil is at an all time high with prices at $78 a barrel, and will most likely go even higher in the coming months. Not to mention the price of food, clothing and housing- generally all of the basic needs for survival. There are more general, social reasons as well: overpopulation being one. Another: bigger families aren't needed in this day and age as they were when we were all 'tending the farm'. Although, at the rate the world is going, returning to the family farm might become our only choice.

To me, having a second one is not an option. I am satisfied and thankful with what, and who, I have and enjoy every minute of it (the good and the bad) even if the time does go by way too fast leaving all of us scrambling to catch up.


I just felt the incredible need to get this out.
Thank you for listening.