Upon the Event of My First Miscarriage

The title pretty much says it all.  There was no heartbeat.

It was my first doctor’s appointment, and I was eight weeks along.  My doctor routinely does an ultrasound on the first appointment (and now I’m so glad she does), and I was so excited to see my baby.  My only concern was that it would be twins.

I noticed when the image popped-up on the screen that it seemed to be still, and I didn’t see that blinking heartbeat that I’ve seen before.  But the ultrasound tech was really moving the wand around a lot, so I figured as soon as she slowed-down, I’d see it.  She did  a few quick measurements, and then told me that was it, and the doctor would tell me how far along I am.  I knew this was shorter than usual, and I said, “Wait, I don’t see a heartbeat.  Is there a heartbeat?”  She sadly shook her head no while tears of disbelief and grief immediately flooded my eyes.

They took me straight to a room where a sympathetic nurse took my blood pressure and weight while I sniffled.  The doctor was very kind and explained that my baby only measured seven weeks, they’re sure it’s not a mistake, and it’s my choice from here on out what to do.  I made an appointment for a follow-up ultrasound, and left the office building in a very different state than I had arrived.

I’ve had three perfect pregnancies and healthy deliveries (thanks be to God!), and while I knew the statistics of miscarriage, it didn’t really occur to me that it was a possibility for this one.  I kind of got all my worrying out of the way on the first three.  Not to mention, I’ve had more pregnancy symptoms with this one, and I always thought that was a guarantee that the baby was doing well.  That my symptoms would stop if I miscarried.  We just didn’t see it coming, and the shock was the hardest part about it.

The first few days after finding out were pretty hard.  I cried a lot more than I thought I would.  I hadn’t necessarily felt super attached to the baby as it was in my body, it was very early after all, but Clay and I were both very attached to the idea of this child.  We tried for this pregnancy and were very excited when we got that positive test.  Our kids were excited, just the night before I had shown them pictures of what an eight-week old baby looks like and explained how it grows in my body.

Telling the kids that the baby had died was hard.  It went pretty much as I expected, though.  Evelyne burst into tears and cried for a few minutes, Harris acted like we hadn’t said anything and started walking off.  (Pretty much the same thing he did when he told him we were pregnant!  He’s a little bit of a non-reactor when we put him a position to gauge his reaction.)

We had told them I was pregnant as soon as I got a positive test, and we knew that was putting them in the situation of possibly going through a miscarriage.  But we reasoned beforehand, and I’m still glad we did, that although it would be hard and confusing, it’s just a sad part of life that is ok for them to experience.  It’s something our family is going through together, and while I often want to shield them from hard things in life, it’s ok for them to experience loss and grieve with us.

Similarly, we told the world about this pregnancy soon after finding-out.  (We’ve never been ones to keep it a secret, I think we’ve shouted every pregnancy from the rooftops as soon as we told all of our family!)  I blogged about it here and put it on Facebook within days of a positive test.  And I’m still glad I did.  Because although it necessitates a post like this, I probably would’ve written it anyway.  Every parent is different, and some have greater privacy needs than I do (ok, maybe most?), but I’m appreciative of the fact that the people who are in our life (and some strangers, too) know the season we are walking through.  I’m ok with everyone seeing the highs and the lows, I welcome the prayers, and I’m thankful for the understanding that comes when people who care about us know what we’re going through.

It was hard getting used the idea that there will be no baby in November.  I had mentally planned-out our next year, anticipating the logistics of rides to school and a newborn, imagining what Sullivan will be like at almost two and a half when the baby is born, wondering if Evelyne, at almost age seven, could change a diaper or two yet.

But now our plans have changed, the spacing of my kids has expanded, and it’s looking like for most of the next school year I’ll have just three kids.  We had gotten really used to the idea of being a family of six, and now it kinda feels weird to be just the five of us again.  Depending on when we can get pregnant again, Sullivan will now be closer to age 3 when we can have a fourth.  (A bigger spacing than I was hoping for, but let’s be honest, it might just be a good thing.  He is cuh-razy, and I might need for him to be a little older and more able for me to take my eyes off of him before a newborn could be safe in this house!)

So, it’s been about a week since we found-out, and it feels like much longer.  The shock has worn-off, we’re now used to the idea that a fourth child is a bit delayed, and we’ve grieved the loss of this baby as much as we can.  I decided to let my body pass the baby naturally rather than opt for a D&C, and so far, my body still thinks I’m pregnant.  My symptoms are lessening, but other than the ultrasound, there are no symptoms of miscarriage.  I understand it can take a few weeks, so now I’m just waiting.

I know that there will be another layer to the grieving when my body begins to miscarry, and I think I’m ready for it.  I hope?  I’m also nervous about how painful it might be.  But at the same time I welcome a little bit of pain, in some way it seems like it would make this experience more congruent with what I’ve experienced emotionally.  Like my body needs to be in a little bit of pain to grieve the loss of this life and to let it go.  Please pray with me that it will be a quick and relatively easy process that will not delay much longer.

I think at this stage Clay and I are both doing well emotionally.  For me, it really does help that my plate and my arms are already full, to an overwhelming degree at times.  I have a very needy toddler who will be my baby for a little longer.  Losing this baby is hard, but I am comforted by the life God has given us so abundantly.  There is still someone missing, and we want to try again as soon as we’re able, but for now I think we’re ok taking a step back to living life as we are for a little longer.  Thank you for your prayers.

Adding to the Family

When my third child, Sullivan, was born almost 19 months ago, I had a feeling he wouldn’t be my last.  It never felt like my last pregnancy, and it didn’t feel like my last birth.  (Although I kind of wish it was in some ways!)  Sullivan was my easiest baby, not because he was one of those easy-going, fall asleep in an exersaucer, lug around town kind of babies… I think he was probably a mostly average baby, but compared to my first two baby experiences that pretty much kept me awake for about six months straight, he was a piece of cake.  Which made it a lot easier to talk about having a fourth.

The first year of his life we talked about it a lot.  Our family adjusted seamlessly to having a third child, having another seemed logical.  But we were fooled.  That first year of his babyhood was only hiding the toddler he would become and the havoc he would wreak on our home.  You know those insurance commercials with that guy who embodies “Mayhem?”  That’s Sullivan.  Once he hit about a year and started walking and getting seriously mobile, Clay and I started rethinking our idea of having a fourth.  And yet, we just didn’t feel done.  I kept thinking that someone else was “out there.”  That we had the freedom to close up shop if that’s what we decided, three kids is plenty, but that I would regret it down the road once life got a little easier.

So last summer we started trying for a fourth.  This was during a small time period when Sullivan was learning to walk, Harris broke his leg and couldn’t walk for eight weeks so I was carrying him everywhere, helping him go potty, etc…, and Evelyne had an overnight stay at Children’s Hospital from an asthma attack.  Life was crazy.

That broken leg nearly did me in.  Harris couldn’t do very much independently, and Sullivan wanted to do everything independently!  I was literally chasing Sullivan down the street while Harris was sitting in the front yard crying for me to take him potty.  (At this stage he was still having about 5-6 accidents a day, so there wasn’t much time for delay!)  It was the most like having twins that I’ve ever experienced.  (How in the world do twin moms DO IT???!!)

One afternoon Clay came home and walked-in the door to find me sitting on the couch holding Sullivan, both of us crying.  He from an ear infection that we didn’t know about at the time, me because I was completely overwhelmed.  When he asked what was wrong, I burst-out, “I don’t want another baby!  I don’t want to be pregnant!”

The stress of an immobile three year-old on his mother is not to be overstated.  Nor is the exhaustion of the mom of a physically advanced 13 month-old who almost kills himself at every turn.  This was just a couple of months before we were to move to Memphis, but we knew it would be awhile yet before we decided where to live and bought a house, and things just felt up in the air and crazy.  Compromising my energy with a pregnancy felt so scary, and Clay and I decided to take a break from trying until things got a little more stable.

A few months later, we found ourselves in a wonderful new house outside Memphis with plenty of room for more kids.  Evelyne was settled in her new school, Harris was back to walking normally, and Sullivan was, well, just as crazy.  We were as settled as we’re ever going to be, so we decided to try again.

My plate feels very full as it is with three children.  I have a hard time imagining how a fourth will fit into the picture.  But I know God has someone else planned for us, we’re not yet complete.  And I’m also excited to announce that we found-out last week that I’m pregnant!  Next November we will hopefully welcome another person into our family, someone who will surely add to the craziness but whose presence we wouldn’t want to do this family thing without.

How are You Rocking Parenthood?

Do you ever have those moments in your parenting where you think, ” I am totally rocking this!  Smartest move ever—this right here.”

This is the flip side to my last post on admitting that I’m not part of the Good Mom Club….. because sometimes I’m pretty awesome.  To clarify, I’m talking about small things, tiny decisions that I’ve made that have miraculously been the exact right thing for our family and saved a bigger headache.

Things that may not work for other families, but in my family it’s really working. Decisions that other parents choose not to make, but for my kids it’s really made a difference.  Choices that may not be a big deal to other families, but they’re totally saving my sanity.

Here’s mine for today:

When we moved Evelyne out of a crib and into a big bed about 3.5 years ago (oh my gosh, how it has been so long since she was a baby?!!!), we got her this stoplight clock.

It’s an unattractive piece of cheap $40 plastic, oh yes, but it has saved my life.  We set the time they can get-up in the morning, and while it’s sleep time the light is red, when it’s time to wake-up, the light turns green.

It’s taken some periods of getting used to for both her and Harris when they first started getting using it, but now they’re old pros and almost always “obey their clock.”  As soon as we got it, seeing the red light define sleep time stopped middle-of-the-night wakings when Ev didn’t know that it wasn’t morning and wanted to get-up for the day.  Harris took to it immediately because Evelyne had been using it for so long, so she helped him learn to wait for the green light in the morning before coming out of their room.

It’s an boundary that is outside of me which makes for fewer battles.

The best part:  I can adjust the alarm time and make the green light come-on earlier during the weekdays when we have to go to school, and later on the weekends when Clay and I want to sleep an extra 30 minutes.  This is the benefit over simply teaching them to tell time, I think.  They have no clue that I’m changing the wake-up time.  (We probably don’t have much longer before they figure it out!)

When they were younger, during a seasonal time change, or when they’re just sleep-deprived, I also alter the wake-up light and it has definitely helped them sleep longer in the morning and adjust their wake-up times.  I remember that in the first couple of months we had this, I slowly started setting the wake-up light 15 minutes later to see how late Evelyne would sleep, and was able to consistently lengthen her night sleeping by about 45 minutes.

Before the kindergarten stage and on days when we don’t have to go anywhere, I let them wake me up, but on school days I like to wake-up before them to get a start on the morning.  The clock has been a lifesaver because I know the exact time that I can expect them to come bounding down the stairs ready for breakfast.  This helps me adjust my attitude (I’m not a morning person.) and get breakfast ready in time.  I love that it takes the guesswork out of when I have to be “on” in the morning.  These days they usually wake-up about 10 minutes before their light comes on, Harris sometimes half an hour before, but they’re content to play upstairs and get dressed while they wait for their light.

This stoplight clock has been one of my favorite parenting finds so far, and I recommend it to everyone I know.  It has SAVED us, and we even travel with it.  (Very helpful for adjusting to other time zones.)  For some families wake-up times aren’t a concern and this wouldn’t be needed, but for us, it is a parenting move that I have ROCKED.

So here’s the deal, I really want to hear from you.  I have this big idea that maybe this could even be a regular series on my blog, to have a recurring opportunity for parents to share “works for me” tips, big and small.  This can be a specific boundary that you draw around your kids that has worked, a product, an activity, or a communication tip.  Anything!  Just something that you like to give yourself a little pat on the back for implementing into your parenting.

(And it should go without saying that what works for one family won’t always work for another.  Different folks, different strokes.  This is more about you and what you’re happy with than what you think everyone should do.)

What are you rocking these days?

Bad Mom

Motherhood can be soul-crushing.

These tiny people, that were made in my body and whom I love the most in this life, can really push me to the brink of sanity sometimes.

Yesterday was a DAY.  In retrospect, nothing actually happened as much as I just had a hard time coping with the daily stress of life with little ones.  You know, the usual…  whining, arguing, a toddler who enacts a hunger strike unless he is sitting next to his brother in a big chair which I don’t want him to do because he throws his plate and food everywhere but he refuses to sit in his high chair so he goes a long time without eating and is then crazy and screaming with hunger but refuses to eat.  (We found a compromise, he sits strapped in his booster seat pushed-up to the big table, and apparently that’s good enough for him because he’s eating again.)

But when the chaos comes, if I’m going to be as honest as the title of my blog suggests, I don’t always rise to occasion.  Sometimes I just lose my shit.  And it hits the proverbial fan.  It’s very confusing to feel such anger at someone you love so dearly, especially someone who is only behaving age-appropriately and can’t understand why you’re so angry.  It’s confusing because I feel such a battle inside my head of wanting to lash-out and control them with how loud and authoritative my voice can get and the dialogue of reality that streams underneath my anger….

“You’re scaring him… he’s only 1 and can’t talk, this is how he knows to communicate. Your expectations are too high.”

“You just hurt her feelings.  It’s your job to nurture her heart, not damage it.”

“You are not acting in accordance to your beliefs about how you want to parent.  More gentleness, more grace, more patience.”

But then the voice of reality turns to a voice of shame…

“You’re doing this all wrong, and you’re screwing them up.  You are hurting them in their most impressionable years, and the damage is done.”

“Anyone else could do this better than you.  You simply can’t handle being a good mom.  You’re actually a pretty bad mom.”

“You can’t do this.  Can’t make the cut.  Motherhood is not for you.  Bad mom, bad mom, bad mom.”

The truth is, I have a pretty high standard of how I want to parent my kids.  It’s not ok to me when I lose my temper and yell.  Or when I respond sharply with the intent of controlling them.  When I don’t respect the image of God that their souls bear and treat them as fellow image-bearers… as human.

But I do all those things.  Sometimes I feel like I’m just treading water in this motherhood thing, doing my best to keep it together.  Feeling like I’m the only one struggling with my own brokenness and how it leaks-out all over my kids.  Because yesterday I was leaking rivers of anger and pools of shame all over my home.

The hardest thing about motherhood is this, that the sin and brokenness of my heart can’t stay hidden.  There are a hundred triggers a day, and what’s inside can’t always stay quietly in submission, it leaks.  And then I’m engulfed in a wave of shame that makes me feel even worse… and because I feel bad, I act worse.

I firmly believe that secrecy breeds shame.

That part of the shame I feel after I yell at my kids is because my inner voice tells me that I’m the only one.  Other moms, good moms, don’t lose their temper.  They’ve figured it out.  So part of the reason I’m writing this is because it’s good for my soul to release the desire for people to think I’m part of the Good Mom Club.  Truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever qualified for membership.  I also know that in reality, I’m not the only one.  I know I can’t be the only one who lies awake at night thinking of all the moments of the day that I regret, the words I wish I could take back, the missed opportunities of connection I want to redo.  So let’s be honest with each other, let’s let each other in the shameful places in order to release it.

The most important reason I’m writing this is to remind myself and any other “bad moms” out there that shame is not welcome.

  In our brokenness and mess, we are fully loved and known and accepted by Jesus.  He’s somehow using this refining process of motherhood to expose and heal the torn parts of our hearts, and shame has no part in that.  God never speaks to us through the voice of shame. He helps us examine our hearts and behavior, gives us clarity to call it what it is, and an offer of forgiveness and healing.  Because He sees what we are becoming, the beauty that He created in us, and I have to believe that He takes us on the journey of exposing our sin because he is recreating us.  Calling us into greater beauty and wholeness, revealing His image in us that is deeper than the sin.

So here is what I am preaching to myself this morning:

He has always known that I am the specific right mom for what He wants to do in my kids’ lives.  I will trust that He is doing a beautiful work in my family, despite my failures.  That He can and will bring His Spirit of restoration into my home and make possible forgiveness and new beginnings.

Add your voice… any other “bad moms” out there?  Anyone else dealing with mom shame?

 

Opportunity to Help Refugees in Afghanistan

I’ve never mentioned it on this blog, but if you know me you probably know that my parents run a non-profit organization called Silk Road Development that offers government leadership development, medical training, and humanitarian aid in Afghanistan.   They have also started the very FIRST hospice care in the entire country! Afghanistan is a beautiful but war-torn country, filled with great need and great opportunity, and somehow our hearts are tied-up with it.

Silk Road is currently raising money and awareness for a food distribution to offer relief to refugee families living in Kabul.

There are thousands of Internally Displaced People (IDP) living in the squalor of makeshift camps in and around the Kabul, Afghanistan area. For the most part, these Afghans have fled the areas of the country where fighting and civil unrest abound in hope of keeping their family alive. Upon arriving in the capital, people set up house in mud fields without shelter, water, and virtually no means to provide for their families. The Red Cross occasionally provides a few tents but during the current harsh winter months, there is no heat, little food, and sickness and death occur in outrageous numbers. Already this winter, in the Kabul city IDP camps alone, there have been 17 deaths, 11 of which were children. The Afghan government has stated that helping these refugees is a high priority but to date, not much has been done.

    Silk Road Development (SRD) is organizing a late February/early March food and wood distribution for one of these IDP camps. SRD has asked other organizations working in Afghanistan to collaborate and make this a community-wide project for the poor. To date, one other organization is on board and others are considering their level of involvement. SRD would like to ask you to consider joining this effort by donating funds that can be used to directly help these refugees survive the winter.

   The IDP camp we will serve houses between 200 families; each family consists of 1-2 adults and between 5 to 10+ children. The package each family will receive consists of the following items: Firewood, wheat, oil, rice, sugar, beans, tea leaves, salt and matches totally $193/family

    SRD is hoping to raise $20,000 for this project to cover almost half the expenses. The response time for the project is a quick turnaround  (ONE WEEK) so it would be great to hear from you at your earliest convenience. All donations are tax deductible according to the IRS rules.

Donations can be mailed to the following address:

Silk Road Development

9245 Poplar Ave, STE 5 #136

Germantown, TN 38138

       OR

For online payment through PayPal, go to www.silkroaddev.org and click the donate button.

I can’t spend time thinking about what the refugee families are going through because it’s just too much.  I complain about my home being chilly in the winter, but they live outside.  I worry about my children being cold at night, not that they’ll literally freeze.  I feel sad for Sullivan’s ear infection, but I know that he’s not suffering from a disease that could kill him.  I’m thankful for an opportunity to give back to those who are the most vulnerable, who depend on relief in order to survive.  This is a one-time immediate need for supplies that will help these families survive the winter.  Will you consider giving?

A Southern Winter

It’s been a Southern winter this year.  We’ve definitely had a fair amount of rain and gloomy days (evidenced by two roof leaks that has inducted us into the realities of home ownership), but peppered throughout them are stretches of sun and cheerfulness.  It took awhile for my kids to understand that the Seattle weather rule that sun usually equals warm weather doesn’t apply here.  Outside our window it can look like July but be 20 degrees, and that has taken some explaining to get Harris to understand that his shorts would have to go away for a while even though the sun is still shining.  

It’s taken some getting used to for me, too.  Getting used to the blinding sunlight as I drive Evelyne to kindergarten in the morning, getting used to the strange joy that wells up within me as I put on my sunglasses and think, “This is winter!  The sun is shining, and it’s beautiful, and it’s winter!!!”  I seriously haven’t gotten over it yet. 

It’s been four months since we moved from Seattle to Memphis.  It’s been a very fast four months because when you move somewhere that you know, somewhere that’s home and you fall right back into what you used to know, time feels like it’s moving more quickly.  Life gets moving more naturally than when you move your family somewhere you’ve never been.  When I think about what it was like after living four months in Seattle back in 2008, I remember it feeling like an eternity.  My world was very different then, and it’s hard work making a life in a new place when every person you know is a brand new relationship.  

When people have asked me what it’s like being back in Memphis, I keep telling them that I’m most surprised about how little adjustment I feel like I’ve had to make.  I grew up here, we lived here after we were married, Evelyne was born here, our families are here…  We knew why we wanted to move back, and we knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into to be back.  And we were right, it’s been a very natural and normal transition to fall back into such a familiar place.  It’s been a blast falling back into old friendships and family relationships with the realization of, “I live here now!  I can see you again next week, not just once every six months!”

Sometimes I catch myself driving down a familiar street and think, “I’m really back, I really live here now.  I’m 32 and have three kids, and this is my life now.” And it makes me really happy.  It feels like the beginning of a new chapter, the one that is going to be around for awhile.

When we first moved here, we lived with my parents for two months while we looked for a house. We were really unsure about how the timing would work for the best time to move, but things ended-up moving faster than I expected, and we were in our new house in the beginning of December.  

We love our house. I’m not sure how I feel about saying “It’s a miracle!  God gave us this house, we prayed for a house like this, and He gave it to us!  Isn’t He just wonderful how He answers prayer?!” because I’m very cognizant of the fact that there are millions of people in our world, people in my city, whose prayers He is not answering.  People who don’t have a house, who are losing their house, who are living with twenty people in a small apartment, who are sleeping on the street.  What about their prayers?  I kinda feel like the person who says God gave her the best parking space.  But at the same time, I know that God has our family in this house and it has been in a very real sense, a gift from Him.  I’m not sure what to do with that tension, it is what it is, I suppose.  

One of the things I was looking the most forward to about moving to Memphis is putting down roots, and the past four months have definitely been filled with that for me.  I love this house because we intend to be here a very long time.  Clay and I both picture raising our family here, having more kids here, having teenagers here.  I look around this place and imagine our future, imagine what my kids will look like in this room ten years from now, how I will drive them up this driveway one million times, that I will wake-up in this bedroom for years to come, that we will have hundreds of family dinners in this kitchen.  I imagine how our family’s life and loves will be held by these walls, and I am overwhelmed with what a gift that is. (Can you tell I get easily attached to places?)  

On the flip side, I really do miss Seattle.  I’m still rocking the Washington license plate (I had to get a new driver’s license as soon as I got here to register Evelyne for school, and I wanted to cry turning-over my Washington one), and I like to imagine that people in the car line at the elementary school think we’re a cool Northwestern family.  I miss the city, I miss our cul-de-sac, our neighbors, our church, our friends, and even our tiny, dumpy, little rental house where we became a real family.   (Come Summer I’m REALLY gonna miss Seattle!  My ankles are covered in mosquito bites from the one random warm day we had last week!)  Even though we grew-up here, I think Clay and I feel kinda like Northwestern transplants rather than born-and-bred Southerners. 

Living in Washington changed us.  We both feel like it changed the trajectory of our lives in more than one way.  I think I was starting to become a different kind of person, a different kind of Christian, before we moved to Seattle, and living there was the exact right thing at the exact right time.  And Clay is very much a different kind of physical therapist than he was when he left here.  And now we’re figuring-out how to live in this old place in a new way.  I think that’s what most people do as they grow and mature, wondering how do I live in a new way in a place that has only known me as I have always been? And how do we allow others the space to change themselves while in friendship?  I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

So here we are.  In Memphis, in February.  Really happy to be here, but a little disoriented that Seattle is so far away and already four months behind us.  I am so thankful for a sense of permanence and history and home, but I know a part of me will always belong in the evergreen state.  Memphis is the home that we chose, but I think Seattle made me the kind of person that could make that choice with intention. 

 

Please don’t dress-up your kids as Native Americans for Thanksgiving.

Below is a letter that I sent to the principal of Evelyne’s school.  I’m a rather non-confrontational person, but I felt that this was a practical and important issue for me to speak-up about.

[Principal's Name],

 

My daughter Evelyne is in Mrs. _____ kindergarten class, and today I received a letter explaining that the children are to dress-up as either Pilgrims or Native Americans to celebrate Thanksgiving on two different occasions.  I assume this is something that the kids do every year, and I’m not trying to be a problem parent, but I’m very uncomfortable with the idea of kids dressing-up in stereotypical Native American costumes.  

 

There’s a couple of reasons I feel this way:  

 

First, there has been enough of a response from the Native community about this and how they believe it is disrespectful that non-Native people should not presume to keep this tradition.  It is not an accurate representation of their culture both now or then.  Even when no disrespect is intended, it sends the message to kids that Native Americans are people with feathers in their hair who carry tomahawks…. that they’re not regular people like you and me.. that they’re not Americans and one of us, that they’re “the other.”  From what I understand, there is a deeply religious component to the ceremonial headdress, and it is offensive for non-Natives to caricature that and other symbolic elements of their culture.  I don’t think that it’s in any way appropriate for anyone to use a costume to represent an entire culture of which they are not a part. There has been a recent backlash to cultural dress-up in the “It’s a Culture Not a Costume” campaign where people from all different cultures ask to not be degraded into a costume.  http://knowyourmeme.com/photos/191023-were-a-culture-not-a-costume

 

Secondly, there’s the whole issue of historical accuracy and the way the European colonists wiped-out most of the Native population through plague and violence.  As I’m sure you know, the first Thanksgiving meal is just a story.  From what I understand, there were brief periods of peace between the two groups that were usually ended by broken treaties, genocide, and land acquisition by the settlers.  Years later, shortly after Lincoln declared Thanksgiving as a national holiday he executed a large group of Dakota Natives for political reasons. Thanksgiving is a time of mourning for many Natives.  Native Americans continue to be an oppressed people group in our country, and I just don’t think it’s a good idea to perpetuate the myth of racial harmony between the two groups of people when it never existed.  It does the Natives an injustice when we fail to teach our kids the truth and in the process create stereotypes and disrespect for the culture they hold dear. True racial harmony will only happen when we start listening to each other and take seriously the objections voiced by Natives to our Thanksgiving traditions.  

 

I came across this quote that I really resonated with:  “It’s demeaning… I’m sure you can appreciate the inappropriateness of asking children to dress up like slaves (and kind slave masters), or Jews (and friendly Nazis), or members of any other racial minority group who has struggled in our nation’s history.”

Again, I’m not trying to be a problem parent and stir-up unpleasantness, and I have no doubt that the teachers and administration at ______ have nothing but the most innocent intentions.  But I do think that it’s wrong, and I wanted to let you know that I feel this way and to please consider changing your dress-up plans.  

 

 

Other thoughts about this can be found here:  

http://mycultureisnotatrend.tumblr.com/

http://nativeappropriations.blogspot.com/2011/10/open-letter-to-pocahotties-and-indian.html

http://eugenecho.com/2012/10/13/please-do-not-dress-up-for-halloween-as-blackface-brownface-or-yellowface/#more-10171

http://loveisntenough.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/thanksgiving-and-teaching-about-native-americans1.pdf

 

Thanks,

Emily Jones

 

Do you know what response I got?

Mrs. Jones,Thank you for your thoughts, this, of course, is an optional activity. Your child does not have to participate in the feast or the PTA performance.

 

She basically blew me off.  Apparently there is no interest in dialogue about this, which doesn’t really surprise me, but it was still a bummer.

 I didn’t feel like this was my hill to die on, especially since there was no interest from the principal in considering my objections.  Evelyne was excited about the little musical performance the whole kindergarten was giving for the parents, so I glued together some fabric and made her into a cute little (historically inaccurate) Pilgrim.  Out of about 75 kindergarteners, she was one of maybe seven Pilgrims.