Author: Dawn Kasal-Finley

Recipe For Wasting a Whole Day At Work

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / Leave a comment

Zoë complained of a sore throat on Tuesday night.  Strep was making its way through her class again (only time nuber 312).  I was lucky enough to have Noah’s well-child check scheduled for first thing the next morning–getting a twofer at the pediatrician is awesome.

So, it was confirmed that my little girl has strep.  We got antibiotics right away–so she could go to school the next day (they can return 24-hours after first dose of antibiotics).  I am not one to send my kids to school if they are sick.  But, I couldn’t have Zoë with me for another day.  She is so high energy and full of fun that it is impossible to get any work done when she is around.  She talks non-stop and wants needs to be the center of attention.  She talked to my boss for 10 minutes in the am and utter the sentence “I like to talk a lot.  My brother doesn’t.  But I love to talk.”  I don’t think that it is that Noah doesn’t like to talk, it is just that there is never a moment to actually get a word in with Zoë around.

I brought Zoë back to work with me after we took Noah back to school (this boy is impervious to all germs–Zoë has had strep 2x and tonsillitis 1x–and Noah nothing.  NOTHING.  Bill had a busy day at work and since he works at home he does most of the taking care of sick kids.  So, it was my turn to watch the sick kid.  Although, there is no part of her that acted sick.

My office is small–we work in an old row house and my office is on the 3rd floor with one other office and then there are three offices on the 2nd floor.  My boss and one of my other co-worker were out of the office so that left 3 of us in the office to actually get no work done.  If you have met Zoë you can understand why no one got any work done.

There was the 25 minutes where she played with legos and asked me every 2 seconds to help her take a piece of to to “look what I made” after every piece she added.  Then there were the dozen or so trips down stairs to yell “Boo” at my co-workers who found her amusing and entertaining.  Zoë is a talker and she has a lot to say.  She can carry on a conversation about anything.  One of my co-workers is also a talker.

Then there was the note communication–

(wanting a unicorn pillow pet)

I then had to respond because “I have to tell Brian what you say.”

“If you want a unicorn, you have to save your money,” I reply.  (I had to repeat it twice because her attention span is that of a flea)

She returned with a big smile and this note demanding “read it”

I then had to respond again.  So I gave her $1.  She wanted a one with more numbers on it.  I don’t think so kid.

She scampered off with her loot and then returns with this.

She ran up the steps so excited.  “Look what Brian gave me.”  She proudly shows me her loot “On really big one (a quarter), a thick one (a nickel), a tiny one (a dime) and a gold one (a penny).  I have four mom.”

I laughed so hard.  She was so proud until I explained to her that what she had 41 cents and that her dollar bill had been worth 100 cents.  The look on her face was one of determination. She stomped off down stairs and I hear her say.  I want my dollar back.

She then returned with her dollar and the coins and was so very impressed that she got to keep the coins.  By this time of the day it was clear that no one was going to get any work done with my little socialite at work.

One co-worker left because he couldn’t stop playing with her.

Bring  your kid two work day should be title “National Do No Work Day.”  I am paying the price today, but it was fun having her at work.

72-Months-Old

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 2 Comments

Dear Noah,

You turned six this past weekend.  Six.  SIX.  It seems like such a big number.  How is it possible that you already SIX?  It still seems like just yesterday that your dad and I were in Ethiopia simply hoping that you would survive.  That we would be able to love you for life.  How far you have come from that sick little boy we clung to for dear life.  Now look at you.

You have changed so much in the last 365 days. And much of what I wrote last year  remains the same.  Your birthday is bitter sweet for me.  I am so lucky to get to be your mom, but I feel so sad for your Ethiopian Mom who doesn’t get the joy of watching you grow every day.  To see you change each year.   Your birthday is a celebration not only of life, but also of sacrifice and loss.

Where to start…your personality has become very clear.  I think it must be about this time that many of us resign ourselves to our kids personality traits and stop trying to write it off as age-related.  You are sensitive and you don’t like to be teased.  You take everything personal.  It is hard for me, as I come from a family where we tease each other relentlessly.  I am trying to explain this to you and attempting to teach you how to tease back–I am failing miserably, but will keep trying.

You still struggle with expressing your feelings.  You are quick to respond “fine, I’m never playing with you again.”  Your biggest insult is calling someone (usually me) a “meanie” and you hit a little too often.  Never with the malicious intent of hurting someone–but to show the person how they have hurt you.  We are trying to teach you how to ignore your little sister (to no avail) and how to get upset without saying something that might hurt someone else.  Sometimes is frustrates me, because I hate to see you hurt someone.  You feel bad after you hurt someone–but you are working through the idea of “justice.”  I am hoping that you learn to control your feelings more as you get older.  I often forget that you are still young and making sense of your world.

You have become quite that class clown–this is a bit of a surprise.  But you have learned that you can make people laugh and you really like that.  You are also super social, so being quiet when you are with your friends is hard and I often here “well so and so talked to me.” and how it would be rude not to answer.  Way to throw my words back at me.

You have started to find your sports niche.  You have started judo/tae kwon do and you really love it.  You have your yellow belt already and are anxiously awaiting testing for your orange belt.  You have a knack for the forms and could be a little more aggressive when it come to “fighting” but you awesome.  You have also developed a love for gymnastics (I know your dad wishes it was soccer) but it has been really good for your strength and for your confidence.  But you are most excited about starting baseball (really it’s t-ball) but you are counting down the days until practices start this week.

You still occupy yourself most of the time with your legos–and it is all Ninjago all the time with you these days.  Your DS collects more dust that hours played and that is okay by me.  I have figured that if you get to do what you want, you tend to chose good things to do.  You like video games, but not to the point where I need to institute a time limit.  This makes me happy.

You have learned to whistle (and you are an awesome whistler), read music (???–I’m beyond impressed), tie your shoes, and read.  You can do the splits, pull yourself up on the rings and can almost do one pull-up.  So many things come easy to you that you get really frustrated when something doesn’t.  But you work hard.  You practiced whistling and trying to whistle everyday for about 6 weeks until you had it mastered.  When you want something, you are relentless and willing to work hard.

You do everything 100% and you expect an immediate return.  But you are learning that thing take time.  You are a great friend and everyone in your class seeks you out as a playmate.  You are balancing your popularity with what you want to do and who you might like to play with.

You are a great brother to you sister and you are an amazing and loving son.  You are exploring your world and your sense of adventure is clear.  You’ll try nearly anything.  I am so blessed to be your mom.  I couldn’t ask for a better son.  Keep growing and exploring.

Happy Birthday Noah!

I love you,

Momma

I Didn’t Understand Then But Do Now

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 2 Comments

Dear Justin,

I am sorry it took the shooting of Trayvon Martin for me to understand what you said all those years ago.  I am sorry I didn’t see your wisdom of experience.  I was too naive to understand.  I was too stuck in my own world of white privilege to really hear you.  And for that I am sorry.  You asked a question that seemed absurd to me in 2006, before I brought my Ethiopian son home.  We were in class and I remember the moment vividly.  I was telling the class about our impending adoption of a child from Ethiopia.  We had just received our referral and knew we were going to have a son.

The class was asking questions and then you asked me “who is going to teach him how to be black.”  At that moment, that questions seemed ridiculous.  I turned it into a  teachable moment, to discuss what it really meant to be black (ridiculously, white–I understand that now).  I challenged you in your question.  I talked about how my son’s world would be one of middle class suburbia and private schools.  Just thinking back on this moment, I am filled with shame.  I thought I was your ally.  I thought I understood what your live was like to some extent.  But I looked at your life through my own lens of privilege.

I was naive to think that my privilege would somehow make my son’s skin color less noticeable.  That some how the fact that we are upper-middle class affords him the ability to be both black and privileged.

I was so wrong.  I wish I had really heard your question.  I wish I had listened instead of trying to teach from my perch of privilege.  How foolish I was.  How naive I was.  How wrong I was.  How sorry I am that I trivialized your experience and what it means to be black.  That it even meant something at all to be black. I could have learned so much.

************************************************

I spent  years working in urban schools with a majority black student population, before I left teaching in 2006 to stay home.  I was “enlightened.”  I will admit I uttered the words “I don’t see color, I see students.”  I can also now admit that that statement is an utter lie.  Of course, I saw skin color; the color just didn’t matter to me.  And it should matter.  But I can’t live with my head in the sand and pretend it doesn’t matter.  Because now, as the mother of two black children, it matters immensely.

It mattered when he was three and we were walking to the park in our 95% white neighborhood and he asked “mom will the other kids think I am different because my skin is brown?”  It mattered when he was watching a play at a community theater with a group of friends –who were all white–and he was the only one told to be quiet for talking.  It will matter when he asks a white girl out and her parents forbid it.  It will matter when he forgets his house key and climbs through the front window.  It will matter.

The death of Trayvon Martin is a tragedy.  He should still be alive.  His parents should still have him to scold, guide and love.  The death of Trayvon Martin is a wake-up call.  The murder of Trayvon Martin has shaken me to the core.  Trayvon is my son.  My son is too young to know what happened to Trayvon.  He is only 5.  But he can see injustice in being singled out to be quiet when it other friends are doing the same thing he is.

I’ll never understand what it is like to be black.  But I have to mine all the information I can, so that my son can know what it means to be black in our bigoted and prejudicial society.  How to be black in a world that will look at him in his teen and young-adult years and see danger and suspicion.

Jesse Washington wrote:

As I explained it, the Code goes like this:

Always pay close attention to your surroundings, son, especially if you are in an affluent neighborhood where black folks are few. Understand that even though you are not a criminal, some people might assume you are, especially if you are wearing certain clothes.

Never argue with police, but protect your dignity and take pride in humility. When confronted by someone with a badge or a gun, do not flee, fight, or put your hands anywhere other than up.

Please don’t assume, son, that all white people view you as a threat. America is better than that. Suspicion and bitterness can imprison you. But as a black male, you must go above and beyond to show strangers what type of person you really are.

It is my responsibility as a white parent of two black children, to teach them what their skin color means and how it might effect their lives.  I have to push aside my privilege and really look at what happens in our world. I have to admit that my privilege does not transfer to my children.

I am so sorry that it took another mother losing a child for me to fully understand that question Justin asked nearly 6 years ago.  I have an answer now–Who is going to teach my son to be black?  Well, I have to.  I. Have. To.  I have saved nearly every piece of writing on Trayvon Martin, by those of color who articulate, however painful it might be, what it means to be a black man in America.  It might be my most important role. It might help my son navigate the world.

 

 

My Worst Nightmare

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 2 Comments

Trayvon Martin‘s story could one day be my son’s story.  Like Trayvon, my son is black.  Right now it doesn’t affect his life much–but one day (in 11 years) he’ll be a 17-year-old black man walking the streets in a predominately white neighborhood.  By virtue of his skin color, he will be suspicious.  I thought I had come to grips with this.  I thought I was prepared.

I am not prepared for the possibility that my son could be the victim of this type of crime.  Trayvon did nothing wrong.  The man who shot him wanted to shoot him.  The man who shot him hunted him down.  The man who killed him, felt that he was justified.  That is what scares me the most.  What happens when Noah forgets his key and climbs through the front window our house in our mostly white neighborhood?  I haven’t forgotten about what happened to Henry Gates at his own home in Cambridge.

I struggle for the words to express my fears for my son.  You think the world is different and has changed, when in reality that is something we tell ourselves to feel better.  We live in a pretty isolated world.  My kids go to private school with people who love them and see them as people.  They have family and friends who love them.  But events like this break the illusion.  Events like this make me question how we allow things like this to happen. Events like this make me realize that race matters; perhaps even more now than previously.  Race matters more now, because we have become complacent.  Race matters because so many people think it doesn’t.  It matters to Trayvon and his family.  It matter to the man who shot and killed Trayvon simply because he was black and perceived to not belong.

It is time that all of us stood for justice.  This isn’t just an issue for the black community to take a stand on.  This is an issue for all of us to take a stand on.  By doing nothing, by not acting we send the message that Trayvon doesn’t matter.  By doing nothing, by not acting we say to all other black males–you deserve what you get.  That is not a message I will send to my son.  That is not a message I will send to someone else’s son.  Everyone matters.  And it is time we stand up and shout “Being Black doesn’t make someone guilty, suspicious or dangerous.”

I live with immense privilege.  I accept that privilege, but with it comes a responsibility.  My son and daughter enjoy some of the privilege that I have.  But as soon as they are old enough to be out on their own–the privilege disappears.  Because of this, I cannot afford to be complacent.  I cannot afford to turn a blind-eye when injustice happens.  I cannot afford to let my children think that their skin color doesn’t matter.  Because it does to so many people.  Because it will be the first thing people judge them by.  Because it will lead to my son and daughter being followed through the store as they shop with friends.  It will lead to other parents not wanting their child to date mine.  It will lead to my son being pulled over as he leaves a friends house on a Friday night.

We can’t stand by and allow it to be okay.  We have to be aware of our own bias and actively fight against it.

Today, I stand in solidarity with Trayvon Martin’s family. Today, I stand with my son.

 

Progress

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / Leave a comment

I have made some huge strides in getting my PCOS under control.  I have stopped thinking that I am on a diet and now talk about the way I eat.  Because it isn’t a diet and if I start to look at it as a diet, that implies that there is an end date.  That there is some finish line.  And in terms of my health there isn’t a finish line.  This isn’t a race.  There is hurry up and lose 20 lbs or hurry up and fit into smaller pants.  This is a take your time and be healthy.  Not get healthy–but be healthy.  There is a difference between those two and I am just not beginning to understand that.

I have cut out about 90% of the gluten from my diet and pretty much all dairy.  I haven’t had a skinny vanilla latte in weeks and I don’t want one.  The thought of it makes me a little sick to my stomach.  I haven’t had a diet soda in over a month.  Again, I don’t even crave it.  When I think about snacking–it isn’t on sugary sweets or salty chips–but veggies and hummus or nuts and dried fruit.  I never thought I would be able to kick my sugar and fake sugar addiction.  Who am I fooling, I didn’t even realize it was an addiction until a few weeks ago.  This doesn’t mean I haven’t had a small sweet here and there–but I can say that it is rare and it’s after I have thought about it.  I hope to get to a place where it happens even less–but I’m not going to beat myself up about it.  I am going to own my choices.

I got rid of my scale.  One of my goals is to not be controlled by the numbers.  It was hard to get rid of it (and in the spirit of full-disclosure it’s just down in the basement).  I am going to limit myself to once a month weigh-ins.  Just to see where I am.  I hope to get to a point that I don’t need those anymore.  We’ll see.

I feel so much better–have more energy and am less crabby, which is really nice.  I always knew food was powerful–but how knew how crappy you could feel eating processed foods–eating whole and mostly fresh foods has been really great.  If you have been wanting to make these types of changes–let me tell you they are worth it and the cravings really do go away.