"I Can't Wait to Marry You."

Typically, I am not up this early on a Saturday morning, especially after going to bed at 3 o'clock in the AM. But the bug terminator rang our door bell TWICE, and I jumped out of bed the second time, thinking it could be Santa delivering my presents. Instead, it was the most adorable elderly man, all bundled up, wearing his baseball cap crooked over his dark grey hair. Brutal barked hysterically as this man spoke broken english to me through the peep hole. I think his name might be Peter, because we get these little typed notes down in the lobby. They say when our building will be sprayed next and they are signed, "-Peter, the exterminator." I think it's safe to call him Peter. I let him in to spray our bathroom and kitchen and then he left after being here for two and a half seconds flat. I got up for that? 

Typically, I am not up this early on a Saturday morning, but once I'm done with this blog or post, it won't be 9:45 am, it will be 6 at night.

On this snowy weekend, I would like to talk a little bit about children and the incredible things they CAN say. Not all children are charming and bright and I know not everyone likes kids, so I hope I don't lose your attention at this point.

The other day, Porter and I went to Barnes & Noble to hang out and read kids' books. We do this often on account of the weather, and the library doesn't open until 1 on the days that I get off at 2. Anyway, Porter usually picks out a couple of books for me to read, and when we're done with those, he puts them away and picks out a couple more. We do this until it's time to leave or until he sees other kids and asks if he can join them. Most days, he finds a new friend to play and read with. 

On this particular day, Porter only wanted to look at "tv books", and he wanted to read them by himself. I sat there watching his face light up with the turn of each page. Neither one of us had noticed the boy and girl sitting behind him reading quietly to each other. While Porter was picking out new books, I watched the little boy and little girl who had been sitting behind Porter. The girl was tall with a very round face and a curly blonde ponytail. The boy was smallish and thin with dark hair and tiny dark eyes. I figured they were not related. 

I listened to their conversations, as Porter independently looked at his stories. They took turns reading aloud, but they were not actually reading, you know, because they were just three years old. The little girl was very loud when she told the little boy what to do and where to sit. She spoke to him like a big sister speaks to her younger siblings, but with a lot of love and patience. I could hear her saying, "Ronin, come here! I picked out your books!" and "Ronin! This is your favorite, you have to listen!" She was very bossy, and he obliged. 

As I was watching this amazing interaction, I was wondering if their nannies could hear what I was hearing. The little girl kindly told Ronin that he was now the baby and she was the mommy. She made him lay down with his head on a pop-up book, as she told him not to cry. "Ronin, you're the baby. I'm going to read to you," "Stay there Ronin!" "Ronin, you are the baby and this is your favorite book." While the girl placed the books by her side, and finally stopped talking, Ronin sweetly looked her in the eye and said, "I can't wait to marry you." It was the most precious and sincere moment, I almost started to cry. 

I realize that I sound like a dorkyromanticcrybaby, but given my current situation, me witnessing that second of pure kiddie love, was something that I almost could not handle. It was just so sweet and true. And I also realize that these two will most likely not end up falling in love and getting married. 

I will not leave you with just one adorable exchange of words, but with one more. This one was heard in our favorite pizza joint, and spoken by my Porter and his friend, Sasha. 

That same day, Porter and I left B & N, to go pick up Sasha from school. It was a nice walk on a chilly day. Porter was so excited to see Sasha, not just because he wanted to play with him, but because he did not want to have lunch without his friend. That means, he didn't eat lunch until 3 that day. We pick Sasha up, and slowly but surely get to Vinnie's for a couple of slices and garlic knots. While I'm stuffing my face with the best Brooklyn pizza ever, I'm watching these boys giggle after whispering the word "butt" (which my close friends know is my favorite word too).

Porter and Sasha start talking about Go, Diego, Go!. Sasha excitedly tells Porter that he just got a new Diego movie. Porter is very intrigued and looks at him and asks, "Which one is it?" Sasha is confused by this and says, "Go, Diego, Go!" Porter then says, "Which one is it?" Sasha just confidently repeats himself. Porter is kind of frustrated by this and says, "Yes, I know, but WHICH ONE is it?" I'm so tickled by this, that I don't explain to Sasha that Porter is asking him which episode or adventure is on his new movie. They give each other quizzical looks and continue doing this for a couple more minutes. Finally Porter looks straight at Sasha and says, "Sasha, WHICH DIEGO IS IT?" Then Sasha takes a bite of his cold slice of cheese pizza and says, "I don't remember." And that's that. Porter didn't ask again, he was completely satisfied with that answer. 

I get to hear unbelievable conversations like this all the time, or I get to take part in them! I'm super lucky, I know. And too, I wrote down a bunch of quotes from kids I watched in Seattle, but I'm afraid they might be packed away somewhere. I wish I could share more with you, but I'm tired, and I'm going to take a nap. 

You've been wonderful, give yourself a pat on the back. Also, happy holidays to those of you celebrating holidays. I have two weeks off, and I'll be blogdoggin' it up. 

bye

Dealing With Your Bully, If Your Bully Is Whitney Chandler

I have been thinking about how I don't blog as often as I would like to, I guess because I'm really lazy or I don't have interesting things to say, but then I started thinking about people who are power bloggers, or super bloggers, or mega bloggers. I pictured an early 30's man sitting on the toilet, his underwear (no pants) around his ankles, a pit-stained t-shirt hugging his chubby chest, with his lap top sitting right there, comfortably on his hairy thighs. He's writing about how over the weekend, he came to the realization that the girls he meets at "the bars" are not the girls he pictures himself marrying. As I was imagining this unrealistic scenario, I came to the realization that it is very realistic. There are people who sit on the toilet, probably for a couple of hours, and type away about their lives. Unfortunately, I am not one of these people. 

This blog has absolutely nothing to do with blogging on the throne or single men who have trouble going to the bathroom. I would now like to talk a little bit about bullies, being bullied, and the act (or art) bullying.

I recently read an amazing book called Black Swan Green by David Mitchell. The young narrator broke my heart over and over, (I actually cried several times while reading this book), when he talked about being picked on by the more popular and tough kids at his school. This got me thinking about bullies. Real live bullies. In books, on tv, and in movies, the bully either physically or mentally attacks the victim in such a way that I would imagine is not something most people can recover from. The timid child is always so so humiliated and brutalized. The bully is always big and angry and manages to intimidate everyone around him. On tv, we see him tie kids to poles in the school courtyard and pull down their pants and pour milk on their heads. In books, we read about him peeing on other children on the school bus, or pushing a boy down the stairs in the hallway of their elementary school. Do these things really happen? Yeah, I guess they do. But that stuff is pretty old fashioned. Now kids are killing themselves after being tormented over the internet. Ugh, how awful it is to be a teenager, and I'm being completely serious.

Ok, this blog is not going in the direction I intended. So, let's just stop.... and regroup. 

 

I, Whitney Chandler, have not really had to deal with being bullied. In fourth grade, I was picked on a little bit by a couple of popular girls for wearing perfectly matching outfits my mom bought at J.C. Penney, or "PENNIES!" as my mom would call it. And since I was the darkest kid any of those crazy mormons had ever seen, I got called "chocolate" and was told I would melt in the sun. I was also told that I would never get a sunburn because I was "so black". And even though I tattled on all of those kids, none of it really hurt my feelings. 

No, I was not bullied. But here's where you'll be surprised... I was kind of a bully. Yeah, I know. I'm not talking about how much I beat up my siblings or embarrassed them in front of their friends and their schoolmates. I'm talking about screaming "GiffTURD!" out the window of the school bus at Gifford Newberry. I laughed at and made fun of kids in class and more often than not, other students would join in. And it wasn't just little quiet nerds (or teachers) who got my guff, it was my close friends. 

Throughout seventh grade and all the way to high school, Ashley and I were so awful to one of our best friends, Kyndra. Ashley was always very jealous of her, but I just thought she was a slut. We used to call her names right in front of her (as if it's better if we do this behind her back...) and tell her that we thought she was the dumbest person we knew. Then in h.s., we would tell her that we would meet her at her house so we could all walk to the bus stop together, but we never would. And if she saw us walking by herself, we would run away from her and act like we didn't see her. Girls are so bitchy. 

But Ashley didn't have immunity. Actually, Ashley got more shit from me (and Cortnie) than anyone else. I made fun of her for being sloppy and dirty, and I wouldn't let her NEAR my bed when she came over to my house. Cortnie and I told her that she had "boob cheese" because she had and still has these enormous Double D jugs stuffed in her shirt. This caught on fairly quickly and other students chuckled as they called her by her new nick-name. She hated it and she hated us. In twelfth grade, we had to fill out a survey for the yearbook. One of the questions read, "What is the biggest lie you have ever told?" Cortnie got someone to write, "Telling Ashley Cook that she is smart." And since I was the editor, I picked that girl to quote, and I published that in our Senior Yearbook for the whole school to read.

On the one hand, I would pick on my insecure friends, or random uber nerds, but on the other hand, I went on a date with a physically and mentally disabled boy, I invited the most awkward boy to hang out with me and my friends at lunch time, and I helped out in the special ed class. How could I be so sensitive, but be so awful at the same time? In my adulthood, I find myself very bothered by that kind of harassment. When I see that kind of behavior on the playground, I just get the most horrible feeling in my stomach. I immediately think of what it was like to be that age and how even the simplest happening could be the most painful experience.

You know?

Well, I'll end on that note. This is far too long, and not worth it. You must really love me if you have read this much. I appreciate you. 

bye