Dining with Squirrels

My husband is a ROCK STAR.  Unless you are an Apple-tapping, jQuery-loving, Twitterific computer geek, you may not realize this.  But his fans do.  The middle cat in the photo is named Swedberg.

The other two are named Resig and Bango, after John Resig, the wunderkind creator of jQuery, and Rey Bango, who apparently is the George Clooney of the jQuery cabal.

What’s next?  Panties in the mail?

Ben is eight now, and he really seems more like a 10-year old.  He’s honing a fine sense of cynicism and irony that his 6-year old sister misses entirely.  He seems to realize that the world doesn’t revolve around him, but that it is also his to explore.  He’s becoming more of an independent agent.

We got a glimpse of this two years ago during a family trip to Los Angeles when Ben seemed to simultaneously realize that there are bathrooms everywhere and that they were his for the using.  He started abruptly leaving meals to find a waiter, inquire after the bathroom, and go visit it.  Once we’d ruled out urinary issues, we just let him do it with as much  trepidation as any of you would let your 6-year old traipse off through the back door of various Los Angeles eateries.  But it seemed important.

When Lucy was an infant, we went to our favorite Thai restaurant for dinner and the owner, who knew us, was so delighted to see the new baby that she swept her up and took her off to the kitchen to show her off.  I lasted about 2 minutes before I lept up, stormed the swinging kitchen doors and blew through that kitchen to find Lucy gurgling in the arms of an old Thai lady squatting on the floor. So letting Ben pursue his bathroom inspections was a challenge for us as parents.  But we could see that he looked a little taller and walked with a little more swagger as he did it.  He was in charge, master of his domain, in this case the men’s room.

My current such challenge with Ben has to do with his hair.  Those who live in our daily lives know that personal hygiene is not high on our value chart.  Some of this is good:  we’re not afraid to wear second-hand clothes, we don’t need to have the latest fashion, we embrace sensible shoes.  Some of this is not so good, namely the state of our hair.  I hate washing my hair and that apparently is a genetic thing.  Ben and Lucy would, if allowed, never wash their hair again, embracing finally a swirl of greasy, golden floss molded like a crazy hat to their heads.  They are neither fans of brushing, although who would be with the squirrels’ nests constructed so artfully on the backs of their heads?  So, when Mommy does finally insist on a shampoo, it’s a tragedy of Greek proportion.

And two nights ago I did insist.  Ben yowled and howled in despair, upon which Karl said “Ben, smell your hair.”  Ben stopped crying, grabbed a shank of hair, and inhaled deeply.  “Smells like tacos!” he said brightly, as if this were delightful and a good reason not to mess with it.  That night, we shampooed.

But now we come to the question of a hair cut.  Ben hasn’t had one in, well, I can’t remember how long.  His hair is down to his shoulders and his “bangs” are well past his nose.   Last night, Benjamin said, face in his dinner plate, and I quote:  “The disadvantage of having long hair is that it gets in your syrup when you’re slurping it off the plate.”  Table manners aside, I did wonder what my responsibility was.

And this is why I bring up the Bathroom Quest and Ben’s thrumming independence.  Whose choice is the haircut?  I know my father will be groaning and wondering when his daughter became one of those Awful Parents Who Don’t Parent [hi Dad!], but I really am wondering.  I made Ben wash the hair.  Do I make him cut the hair?  Hair that smells like tacos crosses my line.  Do I have line for hair that hides your nose?  Drags in your syrup?

This makes me remember a haircut I had in the 80’s.  On one side of my head, my hair came to just above my chin, whereupon it spiraled down and around my neck to land at my shoulder on the other side.  I loved that haircut.  I felt different and creative and completely in charge of myself.  And I guess I’m wondering if Ben feels that way about his Axel Rose look.  And I seem to remember my own dear father being actually quite delighted by that spirally haircut of mine.  I wonder if he saw the independence and sense of self in me that I see blooming in Ben.  So maybe I’m wrong about Dad.  Maybe he’ll think I’m parenting just fine when I decide to insist on the wash, but wait on the cut.

Watching a human become indpendent and his very own self is a thrill.

What a day!  What a country!!

I’m sitting in front of our old 18” tv dragged out of the basement this morning as our Big Daddy television wouldn’t wake up this morning.  The sun is shining and if there was one day in this dismal West Michigan winter to see the sun, today is it!

Barak Hussein Obama is being inaugurated today.

I thought  I’d share with you an email I received from a friend in Cameroon the day after the election.

I thought it amazing to read how the thrill we were — and are — feeling here had traveled around the world.  Read this:

Hi Everyone,

Today is a day of celebration here in Cameroon — and the word everyone is using is “HOPE!”  I don’t know if you are all Obama supporters, but in any case I thought you might be interested in how the Cameroonians I know are reacting to Obama’s victory.  I never understood how invested the whole world (including Yaounde) is in this election until yesterday when I was walking through our neighborhood.  Strangers would yell at me,  “Did you vote for Obama?”  When I said yes they would cheer and shout.  Today as I was walking to work, everyone was talking about Obama.  I passed some gardeners discussing his two grandmothers.  Further along two guards were discussing Obama and how this opens a whole new page in world history.   When I got to work, I had a meeting first thing with my Cameroonian boss.   When I walked into his office he said, “So, are you happy about Obama?”  When I said yes, he became jubilant and told how he hadn’t slept a wink the whole night.  With tears streaming down his face he said things like:

“Obama didn’t win with just the votes of the black people.  Many whites also voted for him – this shows me that the  majority of Americans are not racist after all.  We now understand that things have truly changed in America.”

“The fact that America elected a black president will bring healing and reconciliation throughout the world.   God will use him mightily!”

“I have hope for the world!  I have hope for Africa!  I have hope for Cameroon!  I have hope that in our country some day we can have a well-educated African man like Obama who will lead with honesty and justice!”

“Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream is fulfilled!”

“The world has learned a lesson from America today – that we too can change things!”

Finally, he was almost too excited to meet with me.  He said luckily he had a doctors’ appointment this afternoon, which will give him an excuse to go home and celebrate.  “Who can work on a great day in history like this?”, he said.  These are the kinds of things I’m hearing from all the Cameroonians I have seen today.

The thing is that people here and in other countries talk about Obama almost as if he’s the Messiah.  Who could possibly live up to these expectations?

OK, that’s the word from Yaounde today.  Have a great one, everybody.

The world is watching.  Hope you all can too.
Blessings!!!