am I a parent? am I a library?

The obvious answer to these questions is, "no." No, I have no children sleeping under my roof for whom I am directly responsible. No, I am not a large brick building full of books and DVDs and rambunctious children.

However, in a very real sense I have come to accept that I am both a parent and a library.

This question first presented itself almost 10 years ago, when I was working at VBS as a recent college grad. A child said something about me being a parent, and when I protested, she said, "Yes you are. There are only two kinds of people in the world, children and parents, and you're a parent."

News to me, let me tell you!

More recently part of my job at the library has involved me doing monthly visits to area daycares and preschools. I bring library materials and do a storytime. Many of the children I see on these visits call me, "Library," as in, "Library, I really liked that book. Can you bring it again next time? Library, when are you going to bring your big blue dog again?"

It's puzzling and gratifying at the same time to be equated with the entirety of what the word "library" entails. (Then again, maybe they just can't say my name. :-) ) Really, I think what happens is their teacher says, "The library's coming today! ... The library's here! Pick up your toys and get ready for her!" So, it makes sense to me, and I'm getting used to it.

Parent, though, is harder to figure out. This week at D6 it came up again. Our small group of kindergarteners was chatting about handstands and cartwheels. I commented that I can't do a cartwheel, and one young girl said calmly and matter-of-factly, "That's because you're a parent." This time I didn't argue, merely said, "Well, even when I was a kid the best I could manage was a tripod" and the conversation moved on.

What I've learned is that, for a certain number of children, I function as a (very) part-time parent. Although society doesn't usually talk in those terms, these children made it very clear that they consider any adults that care for them to be a type of parent.

And for many more children, I am the main (or only) face of the library.

Even more sobering, to many people of this world, I am the face of Christ. Are we living up to all that we represent every day?

Crafts for how many??

This past Saturday I did another presentation. This one was a stretch for me compared to other ones I've done, for several reasons. First, I was the only one presenting. Second, it was a two-hour presentation. And third, complicating matters on all kinds of levels, there were 73 daycare providers in the audience, some of whom hold an early childhood ed degree, some of whom have been in this field way longer than I. The number itself was intimidating, plus it was held in the MGMC auditorium, which holds 120 and is set up like a coliseum, with the speaker at the bottom of a steeply sloped array of rows of seats and tables. Which meant that I had to take an elevator to get from the back of my room to where I spoke, since I had so much stuff (books, toys, CDs, supplies) I had to take a rolling cart.



Once I was down there, I felt like I was at command central--I had to toggle back and forth between the DVD player to play my CDs, the computer to show my powerpoint, and the ELMO to show my handouts. All while looking up at the audience.



To fill up 30 minutes of my time, I brought crafts for them to make--a touch-and-feel book, and bathtub clings. (If anyone wants instructions or a picture, let me know.) That seemed like a good idea, but it did take hours of my and Alex's time to assemble their packets. The picture above is less than a third of them.



All in all, though, it was a rewarding experience. I enjoyed sharing about early literacy skills and how playing with babies is actually an educational experience for them. I shared a lot of action rhymes and songs with them, and that was the best part. They all brought dolls along (I'd asked them to), so they did the actions with me and sang along, which was great. Sam (my doll) got to float up in the air (instead of lying on the floor like he usually does in storytime) so he could be seen by all the women. I think he liked the experience, and so did I.

The leaves that are green turn to brown

(A disclaimer--I copped this picture from the Internet b/c I wasn't sure I could actually catch leaves mid-fall using my camera.)

Every year, about this time, I sit in my recliner and watch the leaves fall to the ground, sometimes one by one, sometimes as a large group. And I always have the following thought: Each leaf will only fall once. For some reason, this surprises me every year. There seem to be so many coming down, but each one only makes one trip. Then I think about rain and snow and compare them, because I never think about the finitude of rain and snow (except when I'm comparing them to leaves). And really, each drop of rain and flake of snow only drops once, too, which then reminds me of how I also can't believe that each snowflake is unique.

I have always been fascinated by finitude, even from a very young age. In third grade, they showed us a filmstrip about how fossil fuels will run out someday. The urge to protect and preserve, for me, extends from fossil fuels, to teeth (I did finally throw away my baby teeth but I take meticulous care of the teeth in my mouth)!, to my hearing (I'm the one with flourescent orange earplugs at church), to clothes (I still wear a few things I bought in eighth grade), to food (I love batch cooking for freezing), to books. Recently I have started reminding myself that there will always be new books, magazines, recipes, etc., so I don't need to make sure I store enough now for the rest of my life!

There's got to be a balance between on the one hand, the grasshopper who scorns storing up for the winter, and on the other hand the rich man who builds bigger barns to store up for himself, only to be struck by God. What a challenge this is when I look around the house and think, "I need more bookcases, or organizers, or shelves for all this stuff..."