Velveteen Mind

An Experiment and Proposal on Hope

Did you know that you can burn snack chips as kindling if you need to start a fire and can't find any twigs or brush? You can and I can tell you that Ruffles Sour Cream & Cheddar make the best choice, as they have the longest burning and most consistent flame.

You know, just in case you are on your way to a Super Bowl party and get trapped in a blizzard.

I know this because this was the experiment Quinn, my nine year old, chose for his science fair project this year.

Like many of you, we knew about the science fair project for a long time but put it off. On the eve of the deadline to submit a project idea, I heard him standing in the kitchen with his dad, poking around for inspiration for a project.

"What about burning nuts?" he said, while popping a peanut in his mouth.

Before he could finish the thought, I jumped up from the couch in the living room and announced, "You can use Doritos as fire kindling! You should totally burn chips and see which one is the best." 

Quinn loved the idea and immediately starting jotting down materials and his proposed process. When it came time to fill out the project proposal, I ran the "stuck in a blizzard on the way to a Super Bowl party" storyline by him, suggesting that a hook would capture the reviewer's imagination, but to no avail. 

"This is science, Mom. Not storytelling. This isn't what you do."

Well.

A box on the form asked if he wanted to enter his science project in the actual science fair or just do it for the class grade. Quinn didn't hesitate when he checked the box for just the class grade. When asked, he said he had absolutely no interest in entering the science fair, in part because this was his first science project.

Jump to a few weeks later. It's the day the science project is due. With glue still drying, I drop him off at school and wish him luck, knowing he'll ace it because he checked and double-checked the grading rubric and completed all requirements.

By the time I pulled into our driveway less than a mile from the elementary school, I had the following text from Quinn's teacher:

"Are you sure Quinn doesn't want to enter his project into the science fair? It is so cool! I asked him if he wanted to because I thought it was awesome and he said yeah. Is that okay with you?"

Well, hell.

Wimbledon 2013 and the Story of Our Summer

This post is sponsored by Disney Story. To find out more about this brand-new story-creation app – and how it puts the power of storytelling in your hands - click here.

Psst... This story is sponsored and it's still my story. Y'all know how I do. Keep reading. You'll like it. 

 • • •

We breathe in great heaping gulps of summer. As a mom, I count the days until summer vacation and then greedily horde each one, a warning hand perpetually held up against August and the return of school.

I don't over-plan every day of summer for our family, but I do build in touchstones. Sun-bleached mile-markers to run our fingers over as we wander the overgrown paths of our laziness.

Wimbledon is our favorite mile-marker.

At the beach house in 2012 - look at how little Iris was!

We take a brief family vacation every summer specifically to celebrate Breakfast at Wimbledon.

Waking up the Sunday after the 4th of July, we roll out of bed before the final two men of the iconic tennis championship take the court.

As thousands of fans savor strawberries and cream on the grass lawn of the All England Lawn Tennis Club, we pile strawberries on paper plates and bury them under mounds of whipped cream.

It's our family tradition. One created for Quinn for his first Wimbledon. One we love so much and means so much to us, as a family.

Maybe someday we'll make it all the way to England. Until then, we are content to travel a few short hours to the Eastern Shore of Mobile Bay in Alabama, either Fairhope or Point Clear.

For the last two years, we have rented an unreal beach house in Point Clear (where Forrest Gump was written) called The Family Tree. With plenty of room for our family of five, the true delight of the property is a huge old live oak in the backyard, shading the private beach and hanging over the bay itself. 

A refuge. To be sure. 

And sometimes? A refuge from the anxiety of Wimbledon itself. Because, man, this year's championship was nerve-wracking! As you'll see in the video shared in my Disney Story below, Andy Murray drove us straight out to the boat house while we waited for him to get his act together on that court. 

click through if the Story isn't showing 

That's the fun of it. Throwing ourselves so completely into the experience, as a family. The experience of Wimbledon but, more, the experience of a summer so thoroughly embraced.

We are sand-covered. We are sun-weary. We are full of popsicles and ready for more. We are together.

When we finally returned home, I noticed Quinn following me around the house. Aimlessly. He is almost nine and keeps to himself whenever he can. If I could physically gather up the moments he sheds like water, I would. I already miss him, the baby in him.

After a week at the beach house, a week together, greeting the sun and checking the crab traps, talking about why I love reading on the porch so much and what kind of ice cream we want to try tonight, he wasn't ready to let me go once we got home.

I will this summer into brilliant existence. I ensure we have memories to pin in our mind. I capture each flash of childhood as a firefly in a jar.

I am our family storyteller. I was born to do this for us.

Tradition matters. It anchors us and guides us. Even just as weathered mile-stones on the overgrown path as we race by to tomorrow.

PS- Quinn isn't in more of the photos because he, too, decided to go "pants-less" and I'm not allowed to use those photos.

More about Disney Story: 

Download the Disney Story app from iTunes  – for FREE – right here!
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• • •

Related reading:

The story behind our Wimbledon family tradion
My first Disney Story about the awesome place the kids learned how to swim 

 

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40 Days of Indulgent Change

My little world is full of indulgences.

This weekend, the kids and I threw a Willy Wonka party in our living room to celebrate finishing reading aloud Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

We waited to throw our party until after Valentine's Day so we could take advantage of 50% off clearance Valentine's Day candy.

While I was at the checkout, loading all of our completely superfluous treats into my cart, an old woman in line behind me began placing her items on the counter. I barely glanced at her as I gathered my bags.

Preparing to leave, I heard a dull clatter of coins hit the linoleum. After a pause, the cashier softly cautioned, "Sugar, you'll only be able to buy your knee-highs with that. You don't have enough for your ice cream."

I looked up and took in the old woman, small and a little disheveled, with a little white plastic egg (presumably her knee-highs) on the counter next to a box of ice cream.

She looked dismayed at the cashier's warning and didn't react. She looked at her box of ice cream, pursed her lips and worriedly fiddled with the clasp on her emptied coin purse. She sighed but made no move to produce any more money. She was frozen between desire and reality. The cashier sighed.

The writer's brain never freaking stops. Instantly I conjured a mini play of her life. In the time it took for me to take in the scene, I cast her as a loving grandmother on a fixed income, giving in to a childhood memory of Drumsticks on summer days, not stopping to figure the damage to her current-day budget.

They cost $4.29. Her coins on the counter were mostly nickels and pennies.

Maybe nine seconds had passed between the cashier speaking and my producing a movie of this stranger's life in my mind. I whisked my bags into my hand, slipped $5 from my wallet, handed it to the cashier and whispered as I leaned in to grab my last bag, "Buy her ice cream for her."

Like a jackrabbit in fast-forward, I bolted, the scene playing out behind me in slow-motion. As the doors whooshed closed, I heard the cashier attempt to explain in a raised voice, "Honey, she paid for your ice cream. Honey! Sugar, look here!"

I have issues with jeopardizing people's pride. I didn't want to look at her. I didn't want to make her look at me.

And then I sat in my car and cried.

I felt helpless. All I did was buy ice cream for a woman who hadn't planned ahead. I concocted some half-baked story in my head about her childhood and then ran out of there with my bags full of sugar for my kids.

So I also felt ashamed.

Nothing is enough. No amount of help is enough. A single box of chocolate and nut-covered ice cream cones doesn't make a dent.

I just wanted her to have it. I wanted to stop her disappointment in its tracks. Just this once.

The smallness of my choice rang in my ears. That's why I cried.

But small acts add up. I know this. I have to believe this. Small acts are all I have.

For this 40 days of Lent, I am participating in the 40 Days of Water campaign with Blood:Water Mission.

For the next 40 days, I am choosing a single small gesture to make a difference greater than what I am capable of generating on my own.

Every day, I am replacing drinks like coffee and soda with tap water and keeping track of the cost of those saved drinks at the 40 Days of Water site. Every Sunday during Lent, I gather the money I saved during the week and donate it to Blood:Water Mission toward their well projects in Uganda.

This is important. And it's small. 

But the impact? Is huge. Particularly because I am not alone.

From Blood:Water Mission

By sacrificing your daily routine, you will make a difference in the daily routine of a person in Africa.

It’s a big commitment to not drink anything but water for Forty days. But from February 13th to March 30th, that’s exactly what we’re asking you to do. It’s a lot easier if you do it with other people like your friends or family.

Please join me for the 40 Days of Water campaign and help raise funds to build clean water wells in Uganda. It's an honor to work with them on this campaign and I believe in it enough to want to share it. 

You can start now. Missed the first few days? You can still track what you drank (other than tap water) and then donate the equivalent amount. Can't give up your coffee? Simply match the drink cost.

The journal of drinks saved is an eye opener.
$1 buys clean drinking water for a child in Uganda for a year. 

It will keep you mindful.
It has made me mindful. 

Our bags of candy were indulgences this weekend. Clean, accessible water should not be an indulgence.

Follow along with the #40Days hashtag on twitter and Instagram.
Follow @bloodwater on twitter and Like their Facebook page for illustrations of the impact of your drinks saved. 

Wanting to make a difference in the lives of others, however small that difference may be, can feel overwhelming. Where do you start? Will it really matter? 

Will these small gestures really matter? At the end of this 40 days, we'll see. I believe they will.  

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