Our five minute ride to the day care this morning with Carter... mostly one-sided conversation...
Mom, mom, mom!?
When is it Chinese New Year?
Why do they call it a new year? It really isn't new, is it? Isn't it the same as before?
When is it the year of the ox? Why is it the year of the ox?
What was it the year I was born?
Wasn't the first year the year Jesus was born? When was that again?
Does everyone who lives in China speak Chinese?
Can we go to China someday?
What year will it be?
Do Chinese people live in South Dakota?
Thank God for google.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Valentine's Day
Oh what an event Valentine's Day/Season has become for our home. My little boy who HATED drawing, coloring, writing, creating artwork until about August of 2010, has created more than 15 Valentine's cards for me in preparation for the big day.
Each and every Valentine card that he received yesterday at his school Valentine party has been read and re-read and admired. It's meant so much to him. He seems to be filled with love and joy like never before. It's precious and I don't want it to go away.
Danny's in middle school now, and not as interested in all things Valentine - or so it seems. They grow up too fast.
"How did the Valentine's Guy die mom?"
What? There was a Valentine's Guy? Cupid? Does he mean Cupid?
"Carter I'm not sure."
"Who invented Valentine's Day mom? Did Lewis and Clark invent Valentine's Day?"
"No. Lewis and Clark didn't invent Valentine's Day. Where did you learn about Lewis and Clark?"
"In a book at Rogy's."
I can't keep up. Thank the good Lord above for google. And for Carter and Danny. And Valentine's from sweet boys from heaven.
Each and every Valentine card that he received yesterday at his school Valentine party has been read and re-read and admired. It's meant so much to him. He seems to be filled with love and joy like never before. It's precious and I don't want it to go away.
Danny's in middle school now, and not as interested in all things Valentine - or so it seems. They grow up too fast.
"How did the Valentine's Guy die mom?"
What? There was a Valentine's Guy? Cupid? Does he mean Cupid?
"Carter I'm not sure."
"Who invented Valentine's Day mom? Did Lewis and Clark invent Valentine's Day?"
"No. Lewis and Clark didn't invent Valentine's Day. Where did you learn about Lewis and Clark?"
"In a book at Rogy's."
I can't keep up. Thank the good Lord above for google. And for Carter and Danny. And Valentine's from sweet boys from heaven.
Snack Choices
Secret Snack is a daily occurrence for Carter in kindergarten. We've determined that he needs (yes NEEDS) a snack mid-morning to remain the Carter we know and love. Without a snack or bite to eat every few hours, Carter becomes someone else. It's either a quick metabolism or low-blood sugar or something else. Either way, it's necessary for the good of the community.
We (the team of teachers supporting Carter at Creekside and I) planned his time with the special ed teacher for writing support mid-morning where he can eat his "secret snack." The other kindergarteners aren't given the luxury of a snack because it's a half-day program and the time is too precious.
Usually, I give him two items and water. From what I've learned about sensory integration issues and the need for "input," which is another seventy blogs-worth of information, I try to give Carter something crunchy and something smooth or gushy each day. For example, a banana and some pretzels or apple sauce and goldfish.
We (the team of teachers supporting Carter at Creekside and I) planned his time with the special ed teacher for writing support mid-morning where he can eat his "secret snack." The other kindergarteners aren't given the luxury of a snack because it's a half-day program and the time is too precious.
Usually, I give him two items and water. From what I've learned about sensory integration issues and the need for "input," which is another seventy blogs-worth of information, I try to give Carter something crunchy and something smooth or gushy each day. For example, a banana and some pretzels or apple sauce and goldfish.
- The other day, he requested pretzels and goldfish. Two crunchies? That threw me off. Well, Carter, don't you want something soft too? Two crunchy snacks buddy? "Yes, mom, they're very friendly together with the water."
- Another time, I'd bought waffle-like pretzels, and he said that he didn't like them. "Don't make me eat those pretzels anymore mom. They taste like sound."
What is it about 3:30 AM?
So living alone with my children isn't ideal for many reasons. Seemingly simple things like having someone to help unload the dishwasher or check to make sure the doors are locked or even taking out the garbage... And then there's the issue of 3:30 AM. I could write pages about the fears that arise at 3:30 AM, and while most of them relate to fear over financial ruin and despair or the health and well-being of my children, family, and friends, occasionally there's something else. Last night was one of those nights.
3:34AM, February 12th: "Ring (well, actually not a ring, but an indiscribable musical ring-tone)!" I jump out of bed and grab Danny's phone off the bedside table. Rubbing my eyes, I look at the screen and it says 'new voicemail.' I think, 'Really? Now? The middle of the night? Who?' Well, it was the night after the middle school dance. Could some of his friends be having a sleep over? With the age of caller id haven't prank calls almost completely gone away? Could it be a text and a voice mail? Curt's mom has called Danny's phone before thinking she was calling Curt...could it be her? Is it one of my nieces? OK, now I'm awake. Danny is too because I don't remember his password to get into the phone's mysterious explanation for this rude awakening.
Danny's fiddling with the phone rubbing his own eyes trying to wake and solve the mystery for his soon-to-be frantic, but remaining-calm-on-the-exterior mom. "No new texts. Last one was at 7:56 when you picked me up from the dance mom."
OK, but what about the voice mail?
He searches received calls. "These are just calls from before the dance.. you called me and Christian called me."
OK, but what about the voice mail?
Danny never checks his voice mail, so it's tricky. Wait, what about missed calls first. He goes to missed calls. It's important to note that Danny (the sweetest and most wonderful 11 year old boy alive) has his own pace in life. He should have been a Jamaican or a Bahamian. You know, dude-like, getting the job done in his own time. He doesn't know warp speed - except for changing into his swimsuit or snow gear, so this like everything he does is happening at a snail's pace. Normally, I've accepted this about my precious boy, and I've trained myself to slow down the dial when listening to his stories or getting out the door. But at that moment, I was working hard to hide my anxiety and show only patient curiousity to prevent his panic.
"3:34. It says you called me mom."
"What? My cell phone called you?" How? What? I look at the clock now. It's 3:38. What? No.
"It's the house phone number. The house phone called me."
It took only seconds for me to go from zero to sixty in my brain. "The call is coming from inside the house!" Both a current thought AND a memory of one of those scary movies from the eighties where the killer is INSIDE the FREAKING HOUSE. I probably could have single handedly "taken out" anyone who'd entered my home and threatened my children with the amount of fear-induced adrenalin coursing through my veins and capillaries. But I'm the grown up remember. The only grown up in the house that is CALLING MY SON'S CELL PHONE! (Yeah, the 44 year old - how the heck am I 44 years old and in charge of these kids and this house all by myself?) I am the only adult in charge and it's 3:38AM. AND THE CALL CAME FROM FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE?!!!!!
I'd felt only moments earlier that my thoughts were racing. Now we were onto 'Fast and Furious' style thinking or panicking and fortunately rationalizing.
OK, the call is from downstairs. Where is the phone? Why would my home phone call Danny's phone at 3:34 AM? Do I go DOWN THERE? What if? What? This is crazy!
Rationalizing - Could it be because the bill is late? A warning message that the phones will be turned off? OK, which ones are late? Oh, all of them. No, that's silly. They don't call you at 3:34 AM about this stuff, do they?
OK, this is Daddy and his "other-world" friends that like to play with me in this house. Setting off the music box that is in the off position, making Elmo talk without functioning batteries, forever playing with the lights in Danny's and my bedrooms, and lately, the voices (did I say that out loud?). The time is so Poltergeist or Amityville Horror, isn't it? 3:34. OMG Do I see shadows? Really? Oh Geez...
OK, stop. No. There's an explanation. You know there is. It's Verizon after all.
"Danny, (only seconds have past since he told me the origination of the call, but I've had 30 minutes worth of thoughts pass through my mind) listen to the voice mail."
"OK, how do I do that? Oh, yeah, I remember I pressed this button earlier today when I.... and then.... so I think...."
(GREAT! one of Danny's random stories that starts in the middle again AND it does NOT relate to this situation!!!!)
"Dan, just listen to the voice mail honey, OK?"
I'm wide awake and so is Carter now.
"Who is it Dan?" Carter asks.
Carter and I watch Danny's face as the rather bright glow of his cell phone illuminates his face as he listens to voice mails.
"Oh, that was just Christian earlier today...he was calling because....I couldn't find my phone..." (Oh my God. This boy has no idea how freaked out I am and I can't let it on, but he has to stop giving me this seemingly non-relevant information right now!!!!!)
Finally, THE CALL. THE VOICE MAIL. His face changes. His eyes get bigger and he scrunches his eyebrows together in that quizzical and fearful way. The sound is turned up so I can hear it but vaguely. Danny's listening intently.
He says, "It's jibberish... I can't understand it. Sounds like a TV in the background."
OH MY GOD! It IS a ghost! Jibberish? Don't they have to replay the jibberish backwards or slowly to make out the message? Crap!
Well, wait a minute. It's a prank. Nobody wanted to follow through. They were standing there giggling with their hand over the phone, right?
No, jibberish is definitely a ghost. But our TV isn't on. Daddy's trying to get in touch with me. What is it? Oh my God are we in danger? WHO IS IN THIS HOUSE????????????
OK, breathing. Breathing. Laying in bed - calm exterior for the boys. "That's weird. Well, let's just get back to sleep. We'll figure it out in the morning. Maybe a wrong number."
Seriously, what the heck is going on??????????
Then, it occurred to me. Danny's phone had been missing and he had found it in a sweatshirt in his laundry basket. When he told me about this earlier, I had thought he'd done quite a search AND was seriously impressed that he'd gone through the laundry basket when he usually doesn't look beyond the doorway. But, he hadn't.
"Danny, did you call your phone earlier today to find it?"
"Oh, yeah. I did."
"What time do you think that was?"
"After school."
"Around 3:30?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"So the missed call was 3:34 PM?"
"Yeah! Isn't that weird?"
Yes, still weird, but so much less weird than I thought.
So Danny's phone spazzed out and called him to let him know that he'd received a voice mail exactly twelve hours earlier.
Why?
Who knows?
No prank call.
No family members trying to reach me in the middle of the night with another disaster.
No.
Just a little ghostly hello?
Perhaps.
3:34AM, February 12th: "Ring (well, actually not a ring, but an indiscribable musical ring-tone)!" I jump out of bed and grab Danny's phone off the bedside table. Rubbing my eyes, I look at the screen and it says 'new voicemail.' I think, 'Really? Now? The middle of the night? Who?' Well, it was the night after the middle school dance. Could some of his friends be having a sleep over? With the age of caller id haven't prank calls almost completely gone away? Could it be a text and a voice mail? Curt's mom has called Danny's phone before thinking she was calling Curt...could it be her? Is it one of my nieces? OK, now I'm awake. Danny is too because I don't remember his password to get into the phone's mysterious explanation for this rude awakening.
Danny's fiddling with the phone rubbing his own eyes trying to wake and solve the mystery for his soon-to-be frantic, but remaining-calm-on-the-exterior mom. "No new texts. Last one was at 7:56 when you picked me up from the dance mom."
OK, but what about the voice mail?
He searches received calls. "These are just calls from before the dance.. you called me and Christian called me."
OK, but what about the voice mail?
Danny never checks his voice mail, so it's tricky. Wait, what about missed calls first. He goes to missed calls. It's important to note that Danny (the sweetest and most wonderful 11 year old boy alive) has his own pace in life. He should have been a Jamaican or a Bahamian. You know, dude-like, getting the job done in his own time. He doesn't know warp speed - except for changing into his swimsuit or snow gear, so this like everything he does is happening at a snail's pace. Normally, I've accepted this about my precious boy, and I've trained myself to slow down the dial when listening to his stories or getting out the door. But at that moment, I was working hard to hide my anxiety and show only patient curiousity to prevent his panic.
"3:34. It says you called me mom."
"What? My cell phone called you?" How? What? I look at the clock now. It's 3:38. What? No.
"It's the house phone number. The house phone called me."
It took only seconds for me to go from zero to sixty in my brain. "The call is coming from inside the house!" Both a current thought AND a memory of one of those scary movies from the eighties where the killer is INSIDE the FREAKING HOUSE. I probably could have single handedly "taken out" anyone who'd entered my home and threatened my children with the amount of fear-induced adrenalin coursing through my veins and capillaries. But I'm the grown up remember. The only grown up in the house that is CALLING MY SON'S CELL PHONE! (Yeah, the 44 year old - how the heck am I 44 years old and in charge of these kids and this house all by myself?) I am the only adult in charge and it's 3:38AM. AND THE CALL CAME FROM FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE?!!!!!
I'd felt only moments earlier that my thoughts were racing. Now we were onto 'Fast and Furious' style thinking or panicking and fortunately rationalizing.
OK, the call is from downstairs. Where is the phone? Why would my home phone call Danny's phone at 3:34 AM? Do I go DOWN THERE? What if? What? This is crazy!
Rationalizing - Could it be because the bill is late? A warning message that the phones will be turned off? OK, which ones are late? Oh, all of them. No, that's silly. They don't call you at 3:34 AM about this stuff, do they?
OK, this is Daddy and his "other-world" friends that like to play with me in this house. Setting off the music box that is in the off position, making Elmo talk without functioning batteries, forever playing with the lights in Danny's and my bedrooms, and lately, the voices (did I say that out loud?). The time is so Poltergeist or Amityville Horror, isn't it? 3:34. OMG Do I see shadows? Really? Oh Geez...
OK, stop. No. There's an explanation. You know there is. It's Verizon after all.
"Danny, (only seconds have past since he told me the origination of the call, but I've had 30 minutes worth of thoughts pass through my mind) listen to the voice mail."
"OK, how do I do that? Oh, yeah, I remember I pressed this button earlier today when I.... and then.... so I think...."
(GREAT! one of Danny's random stories that starts in the middle again AND it does NOT relate to this situation!!!!)
"Dan, just listen to the voice mail honey, OK?"
I'm wide awake and so is Carter now.
"Who is it Dan?" Carter asks.
Carter and I watch Danny's face as the rather bright glow of his cell phone illuminates his face as he listens to voice mails.
"Oh, that was just Christian earlier today...he was calling because....I couldn't find my phone..." (Oh my God. This boy has no idea how freaked out I am and I can't let it on, but he has to stop giving me this seemingly non-relevant information right now!!!!!)
Finally, THE CALL. THE VOICE MAIL. His face changes. His eyes get bigger and he scrunches his eyebrows together in that quizzical and fearful way. The sound is turned up so I can hear it but vaguely. Danny's listening intently.
He says, "It's jibberish... I can't understand it. Sounds like a TV in the background."
OH MY GOD! It IS a ghost! Jibberish? Don't they have to replay the jibberish backwards or slowly to make out the message? Crap!
Well, wait a minute. It's a prank. Nobody wanted to follow through. They were standing there giggling with their hand over the phone, right?
No, jibberish is definitely a ghost. But our TV isn't on. Daddy's trying to get in touch with me. What is it? Oh my God are we in danger? WHO IS IN THIS HOUSE????????????
OK, breathing. Breathing. Laying in bed - calm exterior for the boys. "That's weird. Well, let's just get back to sleep. We'll figure it out in the morning. Maybe a wrong number."
Seriously, what the heck is going on??????????
Then, it occurred to me. Danny's phone had been missing and he had found it in a sweatshirt in his laundry basket. When he told me about this earlier, I had thought he'd done quite a search AND was seriously impressed that he'd gone through the laundry basket when he usually doesn't look beyond the doorway. But, he hadn't.
"Danny, did you call your phone earlier today to find it?"
"Oh, yeah. I did."
"What time do you think that was?"
"After school."
"Around 3:30?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"So the missed call was 3:34 PM?"
"Yeah! Isn't that weird?"
Yes, still weird, but so much less weird than I thought.
So Danny's phone spazzed out and called him to let him know that he'd received a voice mail exactly twelve hours earlier.
Why?
Who knows?
No prank call.
No family members trying to reach me in the middle of the night with another disaster.
No.
Just a little ghostly hello?
Perhaps.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
You are MAGNIFICENT!
So it's the snowiest day of the year, and maybe my children's lifetime. They've had a ball with all their friends building snow forts and attempting to sled down the hill. I've had the great pleasure of shovelling the driveway where the snowdrifts are well above my knees. Actually, the snow's been light, so the project isn't so bad. And with great neighbors out doing the same thing, the task has been just fine.
Well, it's about two hours into the project, and Carter approaches needing a drink. His face is red as an apple from the cold and wind, and he's got two symmetrical drips of snot between his nose and lips. Mom-o-meter kicks in. "Time for a break!" "No! I want to be with my friends. They will have so much fun without me! I don't want to come in! It's not fair!" The devil that lives inside Carter's empty stomach is ugly. Mom-o-meter reading: Carter needs a snack and a drink and a 'warming.'
I remain calm. "Carter, let's just dry your snow clothes in the dryer while you have a little snack. Trust me. It won't take long."
"MOM! YOU ARE MAGNIFICENT!"
"Really? Carter, you think I'm magnificent?"
"I was being sarcastic."
Great.
Mom-o-meter reading: Carter is eating special k with banana playing legos as the dryer drum rolls over and over drying his snowsuit and mittens and hat and scarf. All is well. Mom knows best. And little boy, someday you will know that your mom has had a few moments of magnificence.
Well, it's about two hours into the project, and Carter approaches needing a drink. His face is red as an apple from the cold and wind, and he's got two symmetrical drips of snot between his nose and lips. Mom-o-meter kicks in. "Time for a break!" "No! I want to be with my friends. They will have so much fun without me! I don't want to come in! It's not fair!" The devil that lives inside Carter's empty stomach is ugly. Mom-o-meter reading: Carter needs a snack and a drink and a 'warming.'
I remain calm. "Carter, let's just dry your snow clothes in the dryer while you have a little snack. Trust me. It won't take long."
"MOM! YOU ARE MAGNIFICENT!"
"Really? Carter, you think I'm magnificent?"
"I was being sarcastic."
Great.
Mom-o-meter reading: Carter is eating special k with banana playing legos as the dryer drum rolls over and over drying his snowsuit and mittens and hat and scarf. All is well. Mom knows best. And little boy, someday you will know that your mom has had a few moments of magnificence.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A Smile Held Captive
Watching home movies of you and Danny this weekend, I watched with new and different eyes. I was completely present in the movies - doing all the filming - trying to capture your sweetness and your gorgeous eyes and chubby little toes and kissable little cheeks. I wanted to bottle or save you in a time capsule to savor you and Danny as you were then...forever. But watching, I am floored by the naivete, the lack of understanding that woman behind the camera had. She didn't know. Maybe she did. But oh my! She had so much to learn!
I watched and looked at you and listened to you on the screen. You were gorgeous and happy. Right? Weren't you? Happy, I mean. Like, how can you tell? I thought you were happy. You were loved and adored and you were thriving. Right? I was there. I was with you. Loving you. Hugging you. Squeezing you. You were happy, right?
You never smiled. Fast forward. Find a smile. Sure, there's got to be a smile. Well, no. Rewind. C'mon. Just a simple grin. Seriously? You just never smiled. You seemed content and so very, very busy. But there was no simple expression of happiness. Let's fast forward again. No. No smiles. No look at mommy with "the look" a mommy gets from her baby. Climbing and crawling, yes. But, no reaching for me for a hug or a squeeze. No. it just wasn't there. Busy. Busy. Busy. But, something was missing. Something big.
And I know that I knew something wasn't quite right. I knew. When I watch, I can remember a sense inside my body - deep, deep, "denially" deep down. Something wasn't quite right. As I watched, I was captivated and moved and I kept wanting to reach into the tv and hold you and tell you that I was going to figure you out. It was all going to be OK. Because it is. But I'm haunted with thoughts of you and I back then and how we were both in the dark and how we both needed so so much. So much to learn and do and practice and experience. Damn, it's been hard, but you are so different now. And it's all been sooooooooo worth it. But I can't help but be sad for you and for me. We missed out on some stuff because we had to go searching for that smile. Maybe I should shift the sadness to hopefulness and gratitude. You and I have learned the value of a smile, and how it doesn't come easy for some, and how it means more from someone who's learned to work at it.
FFW to today. January, 2011. You smile so often. You smile when I wake you (sometimes). You smile over the simplest of life's pleasures. You frequently smile and giggle in your sleep. There's so much that makes you smile. But mostly, you smile at me and for me and about me and with me. I am so grateful that we found your smile my precious boy. It is a beautiful smile. It was just being held captive, maybe fermenting like a fine wine. And oh, how fine it is.
I shall never take that smile for granted ever again.
Did you know I was WHITE?
It's a cold Friday evening in January. I pick up Carter from day care, and as always, the mostly one-sided conversation begins the moment he lays eyes on me. Mom, mom, mom. I had a great day! No melt-downs! Mom, mom, mom, why do you pick me up so late? Why can't you pick me up at 4:00? You used to pick me up at 4:00. Didn't you mom? Mom, is your boss so mean that you can't leave mom? Mom, mom, was traffic so bad mom? Did you miss me so much mom?
If I could draw a picture of the scene in cartoon form, you would see a puffy cloud over my head with the starts of words, "Hi Car.., well that's gre.., it's not...well, I jus...No!..." and so on. Carter rarely waits for my reply before the next question comes, but you'd better believe he's expecting an answer for each and every question - even if he has to repeat them a dozen times over. All the while, I'm trying to get him to focus on putting on his coat, hat, and gloves. "Carter, we need to zip. Look at your zipper Carter. Buddy, stop walking and look at your zipper. Zip your coat. Honey, focus. Stop, Carter. Look at Mommy. 'You need to stop talking for a second and zip your coat. There. That's it!' (Really, you could tape record us tomorrow evening, and I guarantee you'd hear this same deal almost word for word.)
Yes! We're on our way out the front door of the day care. Out into the dark, frigid cold January night. When out of the blue (and barage of questions), "Mom, mom, did you know I was WHITE? And YOU are WHITE? And my friend Tamia is BLACK??? Did you know that mom? Did you know there were schools where only black kids could go? And only white kids could go to the other school? Why mom, why did they do that? Did you know that mom?"
The rapid fire statements and questions continued, but I stopped listening for a minute to consider what my six year old child just asked me and told me all in the same question/run-on sentence/paragraph. He had no concept of his "whiteness." He had no concept of Tamia's "blackness." None whatsoever. Carter Ackman was truly experiencing a revelation on a level that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. truly dreamed of.
I am so grateful that my very precious child was unaware of his "race," and that the concept of segregation was so incredibly alien to him that he had trouble believing it had been a reality. It made no sense to him whatsoever. Why would people be separated from one another?
Throughout that weekend, Carter shared more facts about Dr. King and Rosa Parks, all things he'd learned in Kindergarten from a fifth grade presentation. "She didn't want to sit on the back of the bus, mom. Do you like the back of the bus or the front of the bus mom? When is Dr. Martin Luther King Senior's birthday mom? Do we get that day off too? When's the senior's birthday?"
No, Carter, we don't get that day off too. Let's google it because mommy doesn't know anything about senior. (And heaven knows we'd better find you some answers!) And Carter, thank you for making this MLK day mean more to me than any other.
If I could draw a picture of the scene in cartoon form, you would see a puffy cloud over my head with the starts of words, "Hi Car.., well that's gre.., it's not...well, I jus...No!..." and so on. Carter rarely waits for my reply before the next question comes, but you'd better believe he's expecting an answer for each and every question - even if he has to repeat them a dozen times over. All the while, I'm trying to get him to focus on putting on his coat, hat, and gloves. "Carter, we need to zip. Look at your zipper Carter. Buddy, stop walking and look at your zipper. Zip your coat. Honey, focus. Stop, Carter. Look at Mommy. 'You need to stop talking for a second and zip your coat. There. That's it!' (Really, you could tape record us tomorrow evening, and I guarantee you'd hear this same deal almost word for word.)
Yes! We're on our way out the front door of the day care. Out into the dark, frigid cold January night. When out of the blue (and barage of questions), "Mom, mom, did you know I was WHITE? And YOU are WHITE? And my friend Tamia is BLACK??? Did you know that mom? Did you know there were schools where only black kids could go? And only white kids could go to the other school? Why mom, why did they do that? Did you know that mom?"
The rapid fire statements and questions continued, but I stopped listening for a minute to consider what my six year old child just asked me and told me all in the same question/run-on sentence/paragraph. He had no concept of his "whiteness." He had no concept of Tamia's "blackness." None whatsoever. Carter Ackman was truly experiencing a revelation on a level that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. truly dreamed of.
I am so grateful that my very precious child was unaware of his "race," and that the concept of segregation was so incredibly alien to him that he had trouble believing it had been a reality. It made no sense to him whatsoever. Why would people be separated from one another?
Throughout that weekend, Carter shared more facts about Dr. King and Rosa Parks, all things he'd learned in Kindergarten from a fifth grade presentation. "She didn't want to sit on the back of the bus, mom. Do you like the back of the bus or the front of the bus mom? When is Dr. Martin Luther King Senior's birthday mom? Do we get that day off too? When's the senior's birthday?"
No, Carter, we don't get that day off too. Let's google it because mommy doesn't know anything about senior. (And heaven knows we'd better find you some answers!) And Carter, thank you for making this MLK day mean more to me than any other.
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