Sharing Lunch

The buying of school lunches is all computerized and digitized nowadays, but when I was a kid we had to 1) pack a lunch or 2) bring actual money to buy a lunch. (I also walked to school. In the snow. Uphill. No, really, I did.) I vividly remember a day in the sixth grade when I forgot my lunch - just left it on the counter as I rushed to school. Come lunchtime the realization sank in - I had no lunch; I had no money. I was going to starve.

But wait. I had a friend. The sweetest, kindest girl in the entire school (later to be voted high school Homecoming queen.) She realized my plight and offered to share HER lunch. Then the other girls in the class, following Missy's lead, offered to share THEIR lunches. (Sneakily though, so as not to incur the wrath of Miss Lunch Lady.) All my friends pitched in a little bit, a sandwich here, some chips there. Soon I had more than enough. Disaster averted.

Seventh grade us (bc I couldn't find sixth grade us.) Ahhh, middle school in the '80's.

Fortunately, my friend sat right next to me and was happy to share. But what if your hungry friend lives half-a-world away?

Yesterday we learned from our friends in Lesotho that MIS, the orphanage where Paul lived for several years, is in crisis, for a variety of complicated reasons. Their most pressing need: a stove and electricity to make it possible to get "the kids fed on a more regular basis." Not to get the kids fed three meals a day, but to get the kids fed on a MORE regular basis. Implying not that they forgot their lunch, but that lunch isn't really an option to begin with.(The staple food is pap - boiled corn meal that reminds me of thick, bland grits. Sticks to the ribs and serves a lot for very little, but does require boiling. Thus the need for a stove.) 

Paul talks about his friend Retsedise often. His friend is hungry.

The Dimmocks (missionaries to Lesotho - www.frankandnancydimmock.com) estimate that $1000 will meet the need ($100 for electrical wiring upgrades to the kitchen; $500 for new stove; $400 for several months of electricity). If everyone reading this (blogspot tells me there are about 75 of you - wow, more than just my mom, thank you!) pitches in a bit of your own lunch, Paul's friends at MIS will have enough. Disaster averted.

The Dimmock's mission, Ministry of Hope Lesotho, is a tax-deductible, 501c3 registered organization, and they can ensure the monies go where needed. Ministry of Hope Lesotho, PO Box 1462, Black Mountain, NC 28711. Write Lesotho stove or electricity on the memo line.

I'll share my lunch with my son's friend. Will you?


Paul and friends 2011. "Yum...bacon!"



Go Get'em Toys

We have purposely kept the purchasing of toys fairly low-key since we've been home from Africa. Life in America is overwhelming enough. (As are adoption expenses.) We naturally wanted to focus on relationships and on building our family through time spent together as opposed to time spend with an inanimate plastic object made in China. I admittedly have some first-world angst about buying plastic junk, but also, from my vantage point, we already have a LOT of toys - the basement is a sensory-rich environment with a mini-tramp, gymnastics mat, punching bag, ball net, chalkboard, paints, markers, half-a-gazillion stuffed animals, videos, puzzles and games, plus a bookcase filled with hot wheels, legos and musical instruments. And also, the iTouch and iPad that are technically mine and/or Sam's are used primarily by Paul. So he thinks they're his. (Even thought they are NOT.) For the first three months of life with us Paul was more than content with this arrangement. "Paul lot toys," he'd note after playing, sorting, sharing then putting them all away.

So imagine my surprise when, after playing happily in the basement for almost an hour, Paul's five-year-old-buddy-from-down-the-street tromps upstairs with a question. "Where's all Paul's toys?"

Me: "In the basement. On the bookshelves and in the closet." (Thinking - duh, kid, you were just playing with them.)

Buddy: "Why doesn't he have any toys in his room? Why doesn't he have any Power Ranger toys? Why doesn't he have any guns? Why doesn't he have a lot of toys? I have a lot of toys."

Me, gritting my teeth: "Why don't you two go outside and play?"

So they scooted outside to ride bikes (oh, yes, Paul also has a brand-new bike, a scooter, inline skates, jump ropes, sidewalk chalk and half-a-gazillion balls). But now at least once a day Paul questions why he doesn't have any Power Ranger toys. The child doesn't even KNOW from Power Rangers! Nevertheless he wants not one but TWO Power Ranger toys. (One for him and one for Buddy.) "Go get 'em toys, Mum. Go store get 'em toys."

On that note, Trent took Paul for his very first Happy Meal on Saturday after soccer. I had to leave soccer early for field hockey (how DO you parents of multiples do it? I'm filled with angst and guilt whenever I have to miss one child's event for another child's event. Aaagh!). I texted Trent: How's Paul?

Trent: Happy with a happy meal. No wonder kids are fat. This is easier than parenting.

Paul came home with a happy meal rocket launcher spinner toy that he enjoyed launching at the cat. Sorry, cat. Then he went to Buddy's to show him that he, too, now had an inanimate plastic object made in China. Hoorah.

Paul also went to his first American birthday party last week. We tried to prepare him in advance for how parties work here in America - playtime, craft, then cake! Then the birthday boy will open presents. He was excited about all of this until the realization finally sunk in - Wait a minute! The birthday boy keeps ALL the presents? "All, all, all? So many? Why no share?" He listed his friends who he knew were going to be at the party. "No share Buddy? No share Sissy? No share nothing? Keep all, all, all presents?" We almost didn't go to the party he was so upset about this, and as it was we were twenty minutes late. OBVIOUSLY, birthdays at MIS were structured very, very differently.

But we did finally make it to the party and he had great fun! He played in the bouncies and painted a guitar. He early on noticed the balloons tied to EACH AND EVERY chair. "Balloon for Buddy? Balloon for Sissy? Balloon for Paul?" he asked, very intently. "YES!" I assured him, hoping it was true. "Everyone gets a balloon." This was an awesome and amazing revelation for Paul, and he was beyond happy with the idea that everyone got a balloon. In fact, Paul got two! After the party, he bounced home with his two balloons, gave one to his neighborhood friend, after which they tied them to their bikes and rode like maniacs until they popped. A satisfying venture all around.

How do we keep his contentment with "balloons for everyone" and his desire to share presents with others in the face of neighborhood friend's gazillion toys and our own American excess?

"Just Come Over for Dinner"

Last week in school Paul was tested on his "kindergarten readiness" skills - knows name, knows address, etc. I am THRILLED to report that he now knows (and understands and accepts!) his full name. This is a big deal! It took a lot of bedtime discussions to work through the surname confusion, discussions that naturally opened up more questions about adoption and birth families and pregnancy and caregivers and friends still in the orphanage. (Is it just me, or do these existential questions arise only at bedtime, when everyone's tired except the child who's meant to be falling asleep?)

He also knows his lunch number, which is odd because he never buys lunch. I pack a lunch - chock full of fruit - every day. I don't even know if he knows that buying a lunch is an option. So I've never even mentioned that he has a lunch number. Yet he knows it. Hmmmm.

He does not know his address, at least for the teacher. (He does know his address when his dad is threatening to tickle him if he doesn't recite it. He'll blurt it out in squeals of anticipatory hysteria.) Instead of grades, perhaps the teacher needs to implement tickling as a consequence.

I was lamenting the learning of addresses and phone numbers to another teacher, a second grade teacher, when she disclosed that they work on this in second grade, too. Second grade! We have another chance at this key element of learning! A reprieve. She said some of her second graders still struggle with remembering their address. One little girl, frustrated with the line of questioning, said, "Mrs. Teacher, why don't you just come over for dinner? Then you'll know where I live!"

The teacher gave her an 18 out of 20. The little girl was problem solving, and isn't that what we need to teach all our kids?

Teachers are welcome to come over for dinner anytime!