There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as though everything is a miracle.
— Albert Einstein
Miracles happen everyday,
change your perception of what a miracle is
and you’ll see them all around you.
-Jon Bon Jovi
There is nothing quite like the joy of a child looking at a giant, life-sized bubble. Cass had no idea whether she wanted to pop it, hug it, or protect it.
There is also nothing quite like the joy of a mother watching her husband create giant bubbles for his daughter to enjoy.
It was a messy, sticky labor of love, inducing many giggles, shrieks, and dramatic sliding on slippery grass. (It was great, the kids’ feet would just fly out from under them, the most ridiculous slapstick falling on bums that you can imagine. For an afternoon, it appeared that I had given birth to the Three Stooges.)
To kids, bubbles are miracles. You can explain how they work from morning to night; just because you can explain it doesn’t make it any less magical, miraculous. Fleeting.
The same goes for clouds, rainbows, airplanes and babies.
When you become a parent, you have to learn to let go of the explanations and embrace the miracles.
Life is so much better that way, anyway.
Miracles, in the sense of phenomena we cannot explain,
surround us on every hand:
life itself is the miracle of miracles.
George Bernard Shaw
Let me know what miracles you find today.
**Side note: Cass’s uncle bought her this “Bubble Thing” for her birthday. She couldn’t quite manipulate it- part of the problem is she isn’t tall enough- but the boys got the hang of it easily enough. It comes with some bubble solution that you mix with dish soap and water; Jeff insisted that our Sun & Earth soap detracted from the massiveness/longevity of the bubbles, which may be a valid point. This bubble mixture is going to drip EVERYWHERE when you’re playing so be prepared! It’s crazy slippery. Get the kids to wear grippy shoes or have your FlipCam ready.**
Many Americans have skewed perceptions when it comes to their weight, often believing they are thinner than they really are, even when the scales are shouting otherwise, a new poll finds.
30% of those who were overweight thought their weight was normal. 70% of those who were obese thought they were just overweight. The article goes on to point out that people are less likely to seek help and more likely to leave medical issues untreated if they aren’t aware they have a problem.
Why don’t people realize they’re overweight? Maybe because their pants size hasn’t changed:
(It’s not just men’s clothing, either. Last time I shopped at Banana Republic the woman told me with a perfectly straight face that they haven’t changed their sizing. Which is such absolute bull, because the size 6 I was trying on was a little big. I wore a size 6 ten years and 25 pounds ago– at Banana Republic.)
———————————————————————-
Also on my radar this week- the Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine (PCRM) recently conducted a study that looked at fast food meals heavily marketed towards kids. I “learned” the worst is the McDonald’s Mighty Kids Meal (Double Cheeseburger, French fries, and chocolate milk), weighing in at 840 calories and 37 grams of fat.
———————————————————————
I took The Dogness to the vet this morning. While they whisked him away for some tests, I read the poster on the back of the door. I learned that a dog is a healthy weight if his waist curves in towards his haunches and you can easily feel his ribs. Underweight if the curve is pronounced and you can see his ribs. Overweight if the waistline is undefined and you have to make an effort to feel the ribs. Obese if the waistline rounds out and the ribs are hard to find, under a layer of fat. The Dogness is looking a little, ahem, sturdy, but you can find the ribs by poking in a bit. The vet advised a little more playtime and a few less table scraps.
I’m not comparing dogs to people or anything, but it struck me that the principles were the same. I’m just throwing it into the mix because it made things so much simpler in my mind- I’m not trying to achieve a certain weight or a certain dress size, because then the focus is on numbers. I should work out and eat better until I lean out the fat that sits on my midsection- until my weight curves in and my ribs aren’t obscured- everything else will follow.
—————————————————————-
I learned this a while ago, but it seems relevant: belly fat, specifically, puts you at greater risk for diabetes, heart disease, some cancers, and dementia.
—————————————————————-
Another random old fact: my daughter is in the lowest 5 percentile for weight. And every time the nurse reminds me that the table is skewed, that the “average” 6 year old is probably too heavy anyway. Is this medical fact or is the nurse trying to reassure me? I don’t know. I just thought I’d mention it.
—————————————————————
What’s the takeaway here? Nothing we don’t already know: America is overweight and in denial; clothing suppliers use vanity sizing; marketing to kids is evil; my dog is a lazy bum and needs more exercise; I should play outside more and eat fewer table scraps.
What’s my point? My point, I think, is this:
These companies have no problem lying to us and manipulating our kids. On some level we are aware that it happens. What is really sad is the moment when we buy in and start lying to ourselves.
When people discovered that the cigarette companies were marketing to kids, they were outraged. And it was good. The marketing changed, and Philip Morris has to sponsor smoking cessation campaigns. AND, the attitude of the American public changed. You can’t smoke anywhere now, and when you do, people shake their heads in disappointment or give you dirty looks. People sure as hell don’t give kids cigarettes anymore.
Soooo… if we know that McDonald’s is bad for our kids, shouldn’t we quit buying it for them? And shouldn’t we hold fast food chains accountable for the targeted marketing they do, and health problems they help cause?
Life is simple, and the simple thing is the right thing.
-Oscar Wilde
We live on the edge of suburbia. The crowded college campus of the University of Delaware is not quite ten minutes away; Wilmington about twenty minutes. That’s if I turn right out of my driveway.
If I turn left, then I very quickly encounter fields of corn and a farm equipment auction house. Alpacas and longhorns for sale.
If I keep going, I pass the farm that provides the free-range eggs to the co-op where I shop. Cows and cows and cows, with some horses and sheep thrown in. Windmills.
Soon enough, I’m in Lancaster County, perhaps most widely known as Amish Country. Generally I refrain from taking too many pictures in Amish Country; it feels disrespectful as I know some factions don’t like to have their photos taken. I want to be a traveler in these parts, not a tourist, to be appreciative and a part of my surroundings. It’s hard, though. I love to see the tobacco drying in the tobacco houses, the draft horses pulling the plows, and the clotheslines pinned with traditional Amish garb stretching up to the sky.
There was an Amish brother-sister pair selling homemade root beer that were so flipping cute.
I should mention Jacob took these pictures out the window of a moving vehicle. Be forgiving of their blurriness.
We travel through this stretch of countryside a few times a year, on our way to visit relatives, and Jeff and I often discuss how we’d like to live back here. I imagine it’s a conversation lots of people have while visiting. It’s such a slice of Americana, of how life was and could be: simple, laid back, down to earth, at the pace of nature. It seems honest and clean. But still, close enough to “civilization.” And, apparently, outlet shopping (I’ve never shopped the outlets in Lancaster, but I know plenty of people who have raved about it.)
What always gets me is how you’ll pass dozens of handmade signs letting you know what each little farm has to offer. “Raw milk for sale.” “Organic watermelon.” “Tomatoes, blueberries, fresh flowers. Honor system, leave $ in jar.” “Free-range eggs.” “Pies after 4:00.” How much more fulfilling would it be to spend an hour picking up milk and eggs and dessert from your neighbors, than to run to the Acme?
Anyway. A few weeks ago our family was invited to participate in a blogger meet-up in Strasburg; our first stop was at the Strasburg Rail Road. We’d been there once before, when Thomas the Tank Engine chugged in for a visit (this during the absolute heyday of Maverick’s fascination with trains. He had the train table, along with every piece of track and train car that exists on the Island of Sodor). I remembered we got lost along the way- this being before GPS was widely available- so I printed out directions, and thank goodness I did. The GPS on my BlackBerry lost the signal twenty minutes away from my house and didn’t pick up again until we were pulling into the station. (Thanks Sprint!)
This is a group of lovely Philly area blogging ladies. Of which, I suppose, I am one.
Going to the Strasburg Rail Road is like stepping into a storybook. A really pretty, old-timey storybook. There’s such a sense of history: railroads in general are, for me anyway, a source of romance and wonder. (To this day I really, really enjoy picking someone up or seeing someone off at the train station, even though they never wave a hanky out the window for me like I ask. This is probably due to the fact that I am the only person I know who carries hankies.)
I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.
I travel for travel’s sake.
The great affair is to move.
~Robert Louis Stevenson
Once upon a time, the only way to get from place to place was by boat, by foot or by horse. Can you imagine? What was it like, laying the line, in the middle of dusty nowhere? Seeing- feeling– the train chug into sight for the first time? How about being at the station when a shipment of fresh fruit came up from Florida in the middle of winter? Or seeing train robbers alongside the train. My mind swoons.
At the Strasburg I’m flooded with these sorts of thoughts while actually getting to experience the chugging of a steam engine, up close. The thunder, the smoke and the whistle.
I wonder if people were afraid to step onto these things when they first arrived. Trains are so impressively massive, powerful. The term “Iron Horse” is wonderfully apt.
My kids, of course, aren’t carrying around these romantic images from history textbooks and old movies, or mentally singing Midnight Train to Georgia the whole time, either. They are more in love with the mechanics and the bustle, the promise of travel, the “going for a ride.” The “All aboarrrrrd!”
My olders probably carry around some images of the Hogwarts Express. Or maybe they have this in the back of their mind:
My very favorite episode of Tom & Jerry, ever.
In any case, we had a fantabulous morning at the railroad. We took a 45 minute train ride to Paradise, passing picnic grounds and the Cherry Crest Adventure Farm along the way (more on that tomorrow). My daughter took great pride presenting our tickets to the conductor. It was impossible to keep from beaming and waving at those standing and watching the train go by.
There is something to be said for “slow living.” This summer we also went to Disney, and Hershey Park, and to a number of shows and events where it felt like so much of our time was spent rushing from place to place.
Sometimes it’s nice to just sit and listen to the rhythm of life. To watch the world go by with your kids.
Maverick is introspective.
This is one of those rare experiences that really are fun for the whole family. Seriously.
Side note: since our house was built in the 1820s I’m always keeping an eye out for design details somewhat contemporary to that time period. (I spend a lot of time window shopping Restoration Hardware and Rejuvenation.) The earliest timetables suggest the Strasburg train first ran in 1851 or thereabouts, so not quite right, but I still wouldn’t mind a lamp like this one over our dining room table.
The kids were not willing to pose for an old-time photo with me (I’ll wear them down next time) but Cass went for a nice long ride on a miniature steam train and the “cranky cars”- handcranked cars on a mini track. She really seemed to enjoy that. They did pose on an Amish buggy, but they look so hot and sweaty in that photo that I am respecting their wishes to not publish it.
One of the few shots where she's not flashing her underoos. What a lady, sheesh.
Cassidy also, as you can see, got herself a pink mining cap, as opposed to the engineer’s and conductor’s caps all the other kids opted for. She uses it to read at night. Cassidy is an odd duck.
Then it was a picnic lunch for all and off to the Cherry Crest Adventure Farm. Since I’m already over a dozen photos and close to 1500 words, I’ll save that for another day.
ATTENTION THOMAS FANS:
Day Out with Thomas, 2004. OMG look how little they are.
Thomas will be rolling along into the Strasburg Rail Road station September 11th-19th and again November 19th-21st forDay Out with Thomas: The Celebration Tour 2010. Sir Topham Hatt will be on hand for hugs, high-fives and photos, and there’ll be an “Imagination Station” with coloring, arts & crafts and temporary tattoos. If you go over the weekend I VERY HIGHLY SUGGEST giving yourself a good amount of lead time to find parking, and of course mentally budget for some Thomas merch to take home- the gift shops have tons of cool stuff for your little engineer that you don’t find just anywhere.
If your kids are past the Thomas stage, “The Great Train Robbery” will be taking place on October 23rd (I think we’ll have to do this one). Santa will be on board weekends between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Or, make it a date night and check out the Wine & Cheese Train: first-class accommodations on the Parlor Car and complimentary wine, cheese and crackers.
Details on Day Out with Thomas and other special events can be found here, along with ticket info.
OK, I’m all done talking. For now. It’s your turn!
Tell me your impression of Amish living (I’m especially interested if you didn’t grow up in the area), and whether your kid went through the Thomas stage!
