8

1. "Sometimes when you have a problem, Fable, you will find that you are the solution," he says to Fable on the other side of the closed door, where the two of them are changing into their pajamas. I don't know what it was in reference to. Only that Archer went on to ask Fable questions about what the problem was exactly and how he could help her find a way to make it better.

And I kept my ear pressed against the door hoping to hear more, to gather more wisdom, to crash a class with my favorite professor.

Like so many other pieces of wisdom Archer has given me over the years, I have gone back to this one many times over the past few months.

"You are your own solution."

2. He's not having a birthday party this year. He didn't want one. Kind of like last year when he invited two friends over and the year before when he only wanted to invite adults. This year he told us that he wanted to do nothing - to celebrate with his family and that was all. 

"Not even one friend?"

"No, Mom."

When we asked why he'd rather not he explained to us that he didn't want to upset anyone or hurt anyone's feelings. That he would feel terrible if someone felt left out. That people always feel left out and the alternative would be to invite everyone and everyone was too many. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" I've asked repeatedly for the last six weeks.

"Yes, Mom. Birthday parties aren't for me." 

"Can I bring cupcakes to school at least?"

"Okay. Just make sure there are enough for everyone."

"Of course."

"Buy extras just in case."

"Of course."

"Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight."

3. "Sometimes I feel like an old man on a bench feeding pigeons popcorn," he tells me as we sit at the table doing homework, his sisters trying to climb into his lap.

Which is exactly what he is.

Except the pigeons are all of us...

4. "If you imagine something hard enough you can teach yourself how to do exactly what you're imagining," he told me, after I asked him how he learned to draw perspective in one of his many city drawings.

5. When we were moving I stumbled upon Archer's baby book. I didn't even remember keeping one or putting one together for him but apparently I did a lot of things that I didn't remember because taped to the first page of the book was an envelope and in that envelope a collection of envelopes, dated and sealed and addressed to "Archer on his 18th birthday."

I had written him letters.

I had written him letters?

But what did they say?

I didn't open them. But I did manage to read one line front inside the white paper as I held it up to the light. 

"... love you like a dream has..."

6. "The thing about women is that they like to stand on their own. Men like to be with someone all the time. Men don't like to be by themselves."

"What makes you say that, Archer?"

"Your friends. They all seem very independent. Like they don't need to be married or anything. I think boys want to get married more than women do. Boys are afraid of being alone."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because we're very sensitive people."

7. It's parent teacher conference day and I follow Archer through the classroom to his desk where a pile of projects are waiting. One of them is the report he's been working on for several months. An "All About" book where he gets to choose a subject to write about - something he is knowledgable in. Something that interests him. Something he can teach his peers about in a presentation. 

His best friend is doing his report about sharks and the girl who sits next to him is doing fashion and the boy who sits next to her displays: ALL ABOUT CARS. 

"It's not quite finished yet but I'm getting there," Archer says, before passing the pile of stapled pages to me. "ALL ABOUT MOMS" it says on its cover above a collection of portraits of moms taking care of babies and children. Playing on the floor. Reading stories before bed. Standing somewhat awkwardly in front of computer screens. 

I don't want to make a big deal out of it because I can tell he doesn't want me to. This is who he is. This is who he's always been. He's the boy who writes a nine page report all about moms. And I get to be in the pictures. 

I get to be in the pictures with him by my side and eight years of moments like this one with him on my lap reading me the table of contents of his first book. 

"You want to know about moms? Well, you've come to the right place," he reads aloud, his legs hanging off of mine and touching the ground. 

He's right. I have.

8. Signs are my religion. Moments are my churches - infinite and everywhere. Eight years ago, I gave birth to a little old man on a park bench feeding pigeons. And I was one of them. I still am and always will be. Ears pressed up against the doors of his world, taking notes on the back of my hand.

I look back and I gasp and sigh and dance and cheer and order cupcakes and wrap little toy cars for him to build cities around. I watch him smile and the world becomes this place of wonder... joy infinite. Joy infinity. Figure eight. Mobius. Ageless. Archer.

And every day when I feel afraid, or overwhelmed or completely out of my mind, I turn to him, -- my son - the Archer who has always seen his mark on the path of the infinite - who, for the last eight years has bent us with his might that our arrows may go swift and far. And, with his help, continue to fly...

Eight years ago, so-called problems became solutions - overwhelming and poetic and frightening and life affirming and where would we be if it wasn't for you - if it wasn't for all of these moments and you in them and all of the love you have given us and the world. There would be no us. No sisters. No home. No marriage. There would be no family...

Without that main sail there would be no ship.

Happy Birthday, my beautiful boy. Love you like a dream has... 

(We all do.)

GGC

Eat Well: Lebanese Lentils

The following post was written by my mom, WWW. Thanks, mom!

I grew up in a small town, but as an adult, I’ve only lived in suburban communities. I love where I live, but there is something to be said for being able to walk out your door to do your errands, never having to get in your car.

Rachel spent the last two years getting her Master’s degree in Bowling Green, Ohio—a very small town. We were there for her graduation a couple of weeks ago and a month before that, for her recital. She lives right on Main Street in the center of town, across the street from the post office, the library, a great little coffee shop/used bookstore, and a Ben Franklin, a store I haven’t seen since I was a little girl, a store that is alive and well in Bowling Green, Ohio. Forgot coffee stirrers for an after recital party? Go to Ben Franklin’s. Want some superglue, a birthday present, party supplies, fabric, baking pans or even gluten-free pancake mix? Ben Franklin has them all. It even has really cheap moving boxes, Rachel found out, and since the store is so close, she can grab a few at a time whenever she needs more for her upcoming move. 

I suppose drug stores have become our modern-day variety stores, but for some reason, CVS gives me hives and Ben Franklin makes me feel like home and apple pie and everything that is right with the world. Something about the eclectic and random combination of so many wonderful things packed into one store is comforting. The minute I walked through the doors I warped back to the 60’s where every town had a five and dime store on the corner and you saved your allowance to spend there…on marbles or paper dolls or a raft. I am not normally a nostalgic person, but being in the Ben Franklin made me, just for a minute, close my eyes and remember the way it used to be. 

Main Street Bowling Green is also the home of several great and homey eateries. We ate fabulous hippy food at The Happy Badger, scrumptious Bulgarian food at Naslada Bistro, and Turkish coffee, Lebanese food and real Italian gelato at Café Havana. And this brings me to my post. Larry and I got food to go for the plane ride home from Café Havana as they had several gluten free vegetarian choices. We loved the food so much that I decided I wanted to try out the lentils and rice dish, a traditional Arabic recipe, at home. 

Lentils and rice is a staple dish all over the Arab world. In Lebanon it’s called Mdarda (also called Mjadra or Mujadara) and is traditional comfort food. What makes this dish so unbelievably delicious is the caramelized onions on top. But also, it’s easy, quick and super nutritious. It’s also very baby friendly. I decided to use quinoa instead of rice because I like adding in the extra protein to our diet and the quinoa worked perfectly. I think I even like it better with quinoa. 

You can improvise the recipe to suit your tastes. Add several spices or none at all. Here is my version. (If you want to make the traditional recipe, substitute rice for the quinoa.) 

Quinoa Mdarda 

3 large onions, sliced 

¼ cup olive oil 

1 ½ cups quinoa, washed thoroughly 

4 ½ cups water 

2 teaspoons ground cumin 

1 teaspoon cumin seeds 

1/2 teaspoon allspice or cinnamon (optional) 

1 cup brown or green lentils, washed and sorted 

2 bay leaves 

1 teaspoon salt 

Pepper to taste (leave out for babies) 

Toast cumin seeds in dry hot skillet until they start to brown. Set aside. Add oil to pan and saute onions on medium-low heat until golden brown, crispy, and caramelized. Meanwhile, add two cups of water, ground cumin, cumin seeds, allspice or cinnamon and bay leaves to the lentils. Bring to a boil and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes. Add 2 ½ cups water, salt, and quinoa. Bring back to a boil and cook until all water is absorbed, about 15 minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve topped with caramelized onions. Makes 4 generous servings. 

Rebecca has a no-cook version of this recipe. Just combine pre-cooked lentils and pre-cooked quinoa. (You could add cumin, cinnamon, and the onions to make it more like mine). This is Bo and Revi’s favorite dinner. I made my version for them yesterday and they gobbled it up (sans the onions, pepper and cinnamon—cinnamon gives Bo a rash.)

Enjoy! 

Love, 

WWW

The Recital

"Will you fix my sleeves?" she says. It's Sunday morning and I'm still kind of half sleeping and Fable is fully dressed at the side of the bed with her leotard over her tights over the underwear that hangs out the sides of her velvet one-piece. I don't bother tucking it in because she's four and it doesn't matter. And then I take pause, relishing in this moment of quiet innocence, trying to recall the way it felt to be her age, when I was too little to care about such things. Or rather, to know I should.

So much of innocence is that lack of awareness. Of what people are saying and what they're doing and how they judge. The need to protect from outside influences is as innate as our desire to return to simpler times. When we were more like them, our children. When we could hold cameras up to our faces, lens cap still attached, and see the world, alive and vibrant, without ever really seeing anything.

Because we saw it all, you know?

They see it all.

And there was a time, like them, when we didn't think twice about how our bodies looked in leotards. When all that mattered were the sequins. Our only issues, twisted sleeves. 

"It's not working." Fable frowns. "Something's wrong with the shoulder part."

So I tell her relax, that I will help you please calm down.

"There," I say, untwisting her sleeve. She smiles. 

"Thanks, Mama. Can I do my makeup now?" 

"Shouldn't we have breakfast first?"

(Of course not.)

She does her own makeup because she wants to do it herself. Because "I know exactly how to do it, mommy."

She grabs the pinkest lipstick she can find and spends ten minutes applying it in slow motion.

She's right. She does know exactly how to do it. 

She is careful and excited and every so often turns around to smile at me and jump up and down. 

"I told you I could do it myself," she says and then she smears blush all over her cheeks and eyeshadow  under her eyes and I'm kind of relieved that it's everywhere - that it's a little bit of a mess.

Because she's four and it doesn't matter. 

When we arrive at the theatre, all of the children are in costume and I tell Hal that costumes haven't changed in twenty-five years. That I wore a costume just like that when I was little and my brother wore those same suspenders when he danced to 2 Legit 2 Quit - right before he quit dance to play baseball. 

Hal took dance class, too when he was young. He took ballet with a class full of girls - a class he loved and looked forward to until his friends found out and made fun of him. He quit the next day and never danced again.

My brother stopped for similar reasons. They all did. And I watch the little boys on stage recognizing that at some point they just stop dancing... that the girls age, get curvier and more confident, dance on chairs, flip their bodies through the air, but there are no boys over five on stage. 

And I think of Hal and how he "never lived that one down" and how unfortunate it is that we don't acknowledge #boysunstoppable the same way we do girls. 

"No girl should stop doing what she loves because of anxiety about her looks." 

No boy should stop doing what he loves because of anxiety about how it looks to everyone else. 

And yet... 

I watch Hal in the darkness with Archer next to him and all of the brothers and fathers in the audience in the same way I do the mothers and sisters. What were they doing before they were aware?

My husband danced. 

My brother danced. 

And then they stopped. 

One day my underwear was showing.

One day I put on my recital costume and noticed I had hips. And a chest that was no longer totally flat and legs that were suddenly  hairy and my eyebrows were too furry and I couldn't wear underwear under my leotard anymore because it showed and this is not fun anymore, I feel stupid. I don't want to be seen.

And then I stopped. 

I was done with dance. 

Age changes us. Age puts us in the audience when we wish we were on stage. Not because we want to be seen but because we miss dancing.

There was a time when I was so happy up there and I watch Fable's silhouette tiptoe across the stage and I remember how it felt to stand in the back and wait my turn - the rush of the darkness that seemed to stretch out in front of me like the universe as we whispered amongst ourselves and how the music was as loud as I'd ever heard it. One two and you're on! Kick ball change! Kick ball change. 

***

When the lights go up, Fable is smiling. The music swells and she puts her arms in the air, forgets some of the moves but it doesn't matter...

She dances somewhat out of sync and doesn't care. She twirls and waves, closes her eyes and drags her feet across the stage.

Hal and I are laughing and in the audience because we can't believe how big she is and how small she is and how confident and proud and stoic... She smiles, lips the words to the song... I watch them bloom for me and for you, and I think to myself...

She's not dancing for anyone but Fable. 

And nothing, not even a twisted sleeve, can stop her.

***

GGC

Scents and Scensibility #1

I am not a perfume fan. At all. Perfume makes me feel sick, actually, so I do not wear it. Haven't for years. Which is why my obsession for fragrant things, specifically fragrant things to put on my body is strange. But also not strange because smell is perhaps the most underrated sense we have as humans. Smell influences taste in every sense (ha!) and is something we should spend more time discussing. Because sometimes we cannot change the way we look or feel... but smell. Ah, we can smell like whatever we wish... or nothing at all. But also... there are things out there in the world and sometimes these things make us feel happy or sexy or just... you know, good... to smell.

God, what am I even saying right now? I do not know. What I do know is that I have stumbled upon many a wonderful smell-good things as of late and I have decided to make it my personal mission these next few months to recommend my faves.

Because perfume is so last century. And, when worn improperly, invasive to the personal space of friends and strangers who are now experiencing eau de dizziness and Coco de nausea c/o all those Sephora samples. (ED: I can't even go to Sephora anymore. It gives me legit morning sickness.)

First up? This saucy little number which I am recommending to you because it smells amazing/makes your skin feel awesome and might help you want to have sex more. With yourself, if nothing else.

I have no idea where it came from or who sent it to me or how old it is but when we moved I discovered it in a box and have been lathering my afre-shower self with it ever since.

It smells like a lavender if lavender were to fuse with green apple that time traveled from the 1920s and then exploded mid flight and got a little dusty? And then became oil.  (I am terrible at describing the way things smell but intend to work on this and hopefully, improve with time.)

Also? It's $20 and will last you an entire year if you use it sparingly. It also might help reduce stretch marks I just realized? Which would explain when/where it came from. Ahem. 

GGC

TOTW: Camp Glow

Family friend and peace corps volunteer, Maggie Close, has a blog called 27 months without peanut butter on which she has been documenting her experience working with teenage girls in Jordan. Her most recent post about Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) is especially powerful and I wanted to feature it, here, today.

***

The Girl Who Stood Up

“Girls,” we asked, “do you think you have the same rights as boys?”

They all nodded. It was the end of a long week and the room was at least eighty degrees. Forty-five girls were slouched together in a semi-circle around the projector. We were in the middle of an afternoon session of Camp GLOW, a week of intense leadership training at a university campus for Jordanian high school girls. We’d just finished watching a TED talk focusing on the work of Sakena Yacoobi, the director of the Afgan Institute of Learning- an organization that created underground schools for girls in Afganistan when girls’ education was banned by the Taliban in the 1990′s.

My friend Alexa was facilitating the discussion and battling the 4pm lull.

“Girls, do you think you have the same opportunities as boys?” They all nodded again. I raised my eyebrows at the other counselors.

“Malak,” I said, pointing to one of the nodders, “What kinds of opportunities do boys and girls both have in Jordan?”

“We can all go to school,” she stated simply.

“And we can all play sports,” chimed in Hiba.

“What else can both boys and girls do in Jordan?” Alexa asked. We got a lot of examples: driving a car, going to college, deciding what to study, choosing a career.

“Alright,” Alexa said, stepping closer to the group, “I want you to stand up if you think you would be allowed to do some of the things I’m about to say, okay? And you can stay sitting if you don’t think you could do those things because you are a girl.” The girls nodded. They follow directions well.

“Most families in Jordan would send their sons to study in America if they got into a university there. Stand up if your parents would let you go to university in America.” Two girls stood.

“Stand if your parents would let you live away from home before you were married.”

“With a relative?” asked Ensam hopefully.

“No, by yourself.”

One girl stood.

“Okay. You can play sports in school, right? But boys can play soccer anywhere they want, even in the street. Stand up if your parents would let you play soccer in the street.”

No one stood.

“But wait,” said Ensam, “I don’t want to play soccer outside.”

“Why don’t you want to play outside, Ensam?” I asked.

“Because I would be embarrassed. Everyone would look at me. It’s better in the school where it is only girls.”

“But Ensam,” I tried to explain, “if all the girls played soccer in the street, just like the boys, no one would look at you.”

She shook her head. “But girls don’t want to play soccer in the street.”

People in the States say that women in the Middle East are oppressed. And before I lived in Jordan, I might have said the same thing. But for some reason now, I balk at that word. Maybe it’s because of what Ensam said. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived with these women and I’ve seen their strengths, their skills, their courage. Maybe it’s because when we ask girls here if they have the same rights as boys, they nod. And I think in a lot of ways they’re right- most girls in Jordan are not oppressed. There’s a reason girls don’t play soccer in the street and it’s not because their parents say no. It’s because they don’t want to.

Girls in Jordan don’t play soccer in the street because they don’t want to make a scene. They don’t want to cause a problem. Standing up and being a leader means being looked at. It means being different. I haven’t met very many Jordanian girls who are comfortable being different.

Gender roles are deeply cultural and, for most Jordanians, very closely tied with religion. It is not my job to tell anyone that their perspective is wrong and if I did, I’d be a hypocrite. I’m an unmarried 24 year old with a boy’s haircut and baggy clothes. What do I know about gender roles? Yet somehow 45 Jordanian families have agreed to put their daughters in my care for a week. The very least I can do is respect their perspective. Still, the annual UNICEF report from 2012 showed that the number of Jordanian women who believe that a husband is justified in beating his wife under certain circumstances is 90%. And despite being known as one of the most liberal countries in the Middle East, Jordan has one of the highest rates of honor killings in the world.

These are the problems we are trying to begin solving with Camp GLOW.

“Okay,” Alexa said, “I want to ask you another question now. The girls that Sakena Yacoobi knew in Afganistan were not allowed to go to school, or to even have books. But she helped them go to school anyway, even though it was against the law. If she had been caught, she could have been killed. Why do you think she did it?”

Malak stood up. A crowd of young girls in hijab looked up.

“Because she knew she was right.”

***

Camp GLOW is a 6-day annual girls' leadership program held overnight at a university for high-school girls from all over Jordan. GLOW offers Jordanian girls the opportunity to expand their English vocabulary, express their opinions and ideas, advocate for themselves, and think critically about current issues affecting their environment and their role as young Jordanian women growing up in the Middle East. There are very few opportunities for Jordanian girls to develop their leadership skills and independence and those skills are becoming increasingly important in the changing social and political climate of many Middle Eastern countries. Each day of the GLOW program focuses on a different leadership skill: self-care, trust-building and teamwork, creativity and perspective taking. and community involvement. As someone who had a big part in planning GLOW, recruiting campers, and working as a counselor during the camp I have seen the ways that these girls can grow after just a week and I can honestly say that watching that transformation has been one of the most incredible experiences of my life. You can read more about Camp GLOW Jordan at our official Peace Corps donation page. - Maggie 

For those who want to donate to this awesome cause/support Camp GLOW, you can do so through the Jordan Country Fund via the Peace Corps website. Be sure to note that you want your contribution to be used for Camp GLOW on the donation's page. Thank you in advance for your support and thank you, Maggie, for sharing your experience with Camp GLOW with us. 

all photos c/o Maggie Close

GGC