Food for thought: Sunshine chronicles one family's intergerational story of motherhood

One college summer in the 90s (when we lived in different cities), Jim and I swore off television.  It was too easy to fall into a cavern of sitcoms when working 40+ hours a week in the fast food industry.  The safety valve for our media-obsessed hearts was an exception for PBS.  At the time we made the agreement, the PBS clause felt like agreeing that we could eat our fill of baby carrots: wholesome and oppressively dull.

While the agreement ended up dramatically reducing our overall television time and cultivating a load of in-jokes about Jack Horkheimer's trippy astronomy program, it also gave us hours of engaging conversation about great documentaries.

In my opinion, PBS has only improved since the 90s.  Nova's episode on cuttlefish introduced me to the geek of the seas.  I now admire the clever little cephalopod despite my general repulsion for mollusks.  A documentary on the last day of Herculeaneum (the town smothered by Versuvius' explosion) started an important internal dialog regarding fear, disaster, and extinction.

PBS consistently shows me unusual perspectives that spur different considerations of the universe.  Independent Lens is a household favorite because we live over 2 hours from any independent cinemas that show documentaries.  Every Tuesday offers the opportunity of seeing an independent filmmaker chronicle some aspect of human life.

On Tuesday, May 4th (check your local listings) Karen Skloss' autobiographical Sunshine chronicles two women who find themselves unmarried and pregnant during college.  One, a young woman in the 1970s (and not incidentally, Skloss' birth mother), does not tell her parents, moves to a home for unwed mothers, and gives the baby (Skloss) up for adoption.  The second woman (filmmaker Skloss) chooses, in the 90s, to raise her child as a single parent sharing responsibilities with the father.

The contrast between the mothers' choices and experiences is engaging, but (for me) the incredible social change regarding unwed/single motherhood in just one generation is astounding.



At one point Skloss and her birth mother visit the now deserted home for unwed mothers.  A former staff member guides them and comments that although there are still young pregnant women, the home became obsolete and was replaced with service centers.  They ponder when and how mores shifted to bring single motherhood out of quiet cloisters and into the mainstream.

Community ends up taking a central role in the film.  Skloss' Catholic parents love and support their daughter and granddaughter despite ideological differences regarding her single motherhood.  The father of Skloss' daughter articulately compares single fatherhood to single motherhood.  Skloss' birth mother, aunt, and grandfather open their lives to Skloss and her cameras.  The viewer sees the community that supported the birth mother's decision to give up her child, the community that supports Skloss in keeping her child, and the present day community of the birth mother.

For all the single mother is discussed in the news, the conversation rarely transcends stereotypes and statistics.  Sunshine offers a personal perspective that illuminates a cultural need to talk more effectively about parenting without partners.

When I read the excellent Queen Bee Moms and King Pin Dads, Wiseman's observation that the single mom is the most likely target for exclusion in a parent community surprised me.  It makes sense though that we may struggle with people whose position we cannot easily articulate.  And while we have brought unwed mothers into the light redefined as single mothers, social structure hasn't made many accommodations.

The film spurred some household discussions about current attitudes toward domestic adoption.  At times, the film presents the idea of parents giving up unplanned children as antiquated.  Maybe domestic adoption fell out of practice after the highly publicized adoption reversals of the 1990s, but (as the great-grandchild of an adopted son) I truly hope adoption remains a viable choice today.

Watch the show next Tuesday and let us know what you think.

***Baby Toolkit is the hobby blog of geek parents who would otherwise squander their time watching television and boring their family, friends, neighbors, and coworkers with all its incredible content.  Instead we now pester you with it.  DICLOSURE: PBS' Independent Lens sent us a preview disc so we could watch Sunshine in advance (rather than saying "hey, did you catch that great show in May?" sometime around August).  Being on Independent Lens' advance viewer list makes us very happy, but probably has minimal cash value.  We received a burned DVD and a brochure (total value: $3 with a huge side of happiness).  We are also Amazon affiliates, so if you buy through our links (thank you!) a portion of your purchase goes to power the syndicate that is Baby Toolkit.

Ghost in the Machine: Googling My Grandfather

With round the clock baby feedings, we've watched a lot movies lately. One blurry night Jim watched a movie about the early days of the US Forestry Service. While I can tell you absolutely nothing about the film beyond the fact the protagonist wears a hat, the movie triggered an impulse to Google my grandfather's name and former employer (USFS).

My grandpa retired before I was born, so I didn't really expect to find anything online. The first hit was a direct one at at the Forestry History Society. It turns out I could get a copy of my grandpa's biography file by mail for free. Cool.

In response to my file request, the Society's archivist wrote:

If you search the Quick Search box of our Image Database for your grandfather, you can find 6 photographs that were taken by him. Two show images of what appears to be the same man. Your grandfather, perhaps?

Unknown pictures of my grandpa appearing 4 decades after his retirement and over 1 after his death? Really cool! But only imagined. When I looked at the files with the man, I didn't see my grandpa. Then I clicked on the other images.

And there stood my dad in 1940s knit skater's cap and tiny bomber jacket. He was a little younger than Ranger is now.

Cheryl, the archivist, sent me the full scan of the negative and I had new prints made for my dad, Ranger, and myself.

Behold, ghosts in the machine.

Nutcracker Revelations

While watching the Nutcracker with Ranger, a crazy list of thoughts ran through my head ("like sugarplum fairies," Jim interjects):

• Watching Ranger enjoy this ballet charms me. His pure enjoyment of the music and movement helps me remember my own blissful connection with music and dance (before adolescence and 80s pop made everything awkward and self-conscious). We bought a storybook concert version of the Nutcracker (based on a Maurice Sendak book) when Ranger turned 2, and he watched it so often that I thought he would wear out the tape.
• Just last week, I came out to my friends as a hardcore childhood ballerina-wannabe (I don't know that anyone would guess it of me now). I adored ballet, leotards, tutus, and beribboned pointe shoes, that is until my little pink ballet flats hit the hardwood floors of actual ballet lessons. A few weeks of the basic positions convinced me that it was far more fun to leap, prance, and spin alone at home.
• The only reason I told my friends is because both of their daughters are going through ballerina stages where they want to wear leotards around the clock. My ultra-girly 5-year-old self still has the ability to embarrass me 30 years later. Let's just call that early interest my road less taken.
• Going to bed tonight Ranger tells Jim, "I like dancing."
  "Really?" Jim asks.
  Shrugging shoulders, "It's pretty great."
  
• Ranger and I have actual debt of gratitude to Tchaikovsky. My mom was raised in a family that prohibited dancing, so it was a little surprising that my dad's plan for their first date was this holiday ballet. Despite the fact that mom's upbringing suggested the road to hell was toe-polished wood lined with sugarplum fairies, her rebellious spirit overcame those fears. She and my dad were married within a year (secretly, but that's another story).
• About 45 years after their first date, my parents took Ranger to see a children's dance theatre production of The Nutcracker. They thought their 2-year-old grandson would drag them out the door before the end of the first act, but he sat rapt for most of the production. It means a lot to me that he and my parents enjoyed the show together as it is significant in our family history.

I wouldn't have watched this ballet alone. Ranger makes it fun for me. His interest in movement far exceeds my rather superficial ballet-obsession (which was really more about looking pretty and wearing lots pink things with ribbons and sequins). I think he might actually practice if we enrolled him in hip-hop classes.

Ranger's love for dance is deep and joyous: one friend commented at his birthday dance party that she "didn't believe in reincarnation until [she] saw Ranger dance. Elvis is with us."

For Jim and I there is great wonder in watching our child discover what makes him happy (even if it is a dream that never captured us). My mom's divergence from parental preferences reminds me that even rebellion can turn out well in the long run. What more comforting holiday story can a parent wish for?

What stories lead you wax philosophical about your family?

Recommended Reading: Ranger's Favorite Books

Ranger recently started to "read along" with us at storytime, and though we know it's not actual reading, it's still immensely charming to hear him chime in during favorite books.

Debra Fraisier's On the Day You Were Born: Ranger first saw this book as a Notes Alive! story concert by the Minnesota Orchestra. It's one of his very favorite books and music videos. He loves the vibrant papercut pictures and lyrical rhythms. I love hearing him say phrases like "the marvelous news migrated worldwide."

Christine Loomis' and Ora Eitan's Cowboy Bunnies: (aka "Cowbunnies" to Ranger) This nightly request begins "Cowboy bunnies/ Wake up early/ Ride their ponies/ Hurly burly" This is a great bed time story. It poetically takes the bunnies through their day of jumping gullies and mending fences to an evening hoedown. Later "Cowboy bunnies/ In pajamas/ Hug and kiss/ Their cowboy mamas." It's a nice winding down story for parent and child alike.

Scott Beck's Little House, Little Town: This simple book goes through a baby's leisurely day with his parents. The sparse text is in perfect measure while the ample illustrations tell an ongoing story of the life a town itself. We like this book because, like a stroll through a community, you can choose the pace of each reading and sometimes linger to smell the flowers and pet the dogs. We also like Beck's A Mud Pie for Mother which offers similar opportunities to immerse yourself in the pictures.

We found many of these books and authors through our awesome public library and Dolly Parton's incredible non-profit Imagination Library (sponsored locally by a hospital foundation).

What have you been reading and rereading lately?

Hanging with the Lost Boys: A Teepee of One's Own

For my handsome godson's fifth birthday, I made him a play teepee. The teepee was intended for his fourth birthday, but I dramatically overestimated my sewing speed: it wasn't completed until 6 months too late.

I was a little unnerved that a teepee might not be the right gift for a young swashbuckler-in-training (our godson has a penchant for playing pirates). Jim however explained that it's a perfect Lost Boys compliment to any good Peter Pan pirate play... and not that betighted Disney Peter Pan but the unkempt archetype of the awesome (and quite funny) J. M. Barrie story. (Download the free book or audiobook from Project Gutenberg or enjoy a great (true to the book) film adaptation.)

As we walked into our friends' empty house to set up the teepee as a surprise, we stumbled upon the best Tick Tock (crocodile) puppet ever. (Its maker, Wild Republic also makes a fabulous 20" plush giant squid which makes me wonder what would comprise a 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea playset). This household (replete with imaginative older sister) is primed for Peter Pan.

When we set up the big teepee in the privateer's bedroom, it pretty much blocked all closet access (sorry, PirateMom). The teepee is big enough hold a couple sitting adults. The good news is it can fold up into a corner when not in use.

For the sewing geeks, I used Butterick pattern #4251 and decorator weight fabric. For the engineers, it's supported by six sturdy 84" tall 1" diameter PVC pipes. The fabric portion is about 6 feet in height.

It's the easily most rewarding thing I've ever sewn because I know the recipient loves it.

I owe a debt of gratitude to Zrecs mom Jenni for her great teepee which inspired me to return to this mostly abandoned project last summer. Their fort week has other great recommendations for the less crafty. You can also check out our easy pro-naptime crib fort.

Don't forget to enter our HABA discontinued dice dome giveaway before it ends on Friday.

***This is the independent opinion of the geek parents at Baby Toolkit, (c) 2008. We have no undisclosed relationship with J. M. Barrie, Jules Verne, or their estates, Project Gutenberg, Wild Republic, Butterick, or PVC makers.

Goodbye, Tammy Faye

Whatever may be said about Tammy Faye [Bakker] Messner, she was a compassionate woman who led the evangelical community to embrace AIDS patients and other previously "untouchable" communities.

Jim and I strongly recommend the biographical documentary Eyes of Tammy Faye and her son's autobiography Son of a Preacher Man for a fuller portrait of this complex and caring woman and the controversy that surrounded her.