Losing my Religious Community

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 9 Comments

This Sunday, I felt – and cried – as if I was losing a family member. But it wasn’t a person Chris and I are losing – it’s a community. A community that has inspired thought and action, provided comfort even when they didn’t know it, and loved us and Sprout so very much. We’re in the process of losing our church.

Our church started in 1938 as Bethesda First Baptist, part of the American Baptists, who are much more liberal than the Southern variety. About eight years ago, the congregation decided to relaunch, complete with a new pastor and focus. About a year later, with the congregation down to a handful of people, they brought in our current pastor, Todd. Under Todd’s leadership, the church became “multi-denominational,” embracing Christian traditions from a variety of times and places. From discussions of the saints to contemporary worship songs, the church embodied a unique mix of theology and ritual.

Chris and I came into this story long before we even knew about the church itself. After experiencing spiritual community in college and volunteering at Homeworkers Organized for More Employment (HOME) in Maine, I knew I wanted a church that deeply connected people together. While evangelical churches had previously been my go-to, I abandoned that branch as unfruitful after Chris found only disrespect for being Catholic. Not long after, I read Brian McLaren’s A Generous Orthodoxy, which is about finding wisdom and depth in a broad array of Christian traditions. After we finally decided to get married in a Catholic church, I told the priest that I wanted a church that combined a strong sense of community with the theological diversity. In response, he not unkindly laughed and said, “Shannon, you’re simply not going to find that.”

And yet, we found exactly what I was looking for in the Church in Bethesda. The longer we were there, the more both we and the church matured. I led theological discussions and attended studies on ancient spiritual practices. Chris and I joined the leadership team, called the Servant’s Group, where we discussed the church’s vision and struggled with budget issues.

As part of the leadership, we realized that our community’s main strength was our focus on radical welcome. Our valuing of theological diversity expanded to include diversity of socio-economic levels, race, and sexual orientation. Beyond simple acceptance, we started emphasizing peacemaking, social justice, and reconciliation with groups often left out of Christian hegemony. We took pride in welcoming everyone without strings attached, from a Muslim family who stopped by to a Jewish woman who never comes to service but always shows up afterwards for snacks.

But just as it felt like we as a church had found our purpose – a very needed purpose – everything was falling apart.

All at once, we had a huge departure of young families. The year Sprout was born, there were 9 other kids born; now none of their families attend our church. While most were military – we have a large medical military school nearby – others couldn’t afford to raise a family in the D.C. area. At the same time, we didn’t have a new influx of people to replace them. Where we regularly had 70 people on Sunday mornings, we had dropped down to 40 on the very best of days.

To pile on the problems, our building was literally falling apart. While we always had problems, the first real emergency was the belltower shedding stones during the 2011 D.C. earthquake. After that, we had a major new repair every few months. The culmination was our boiler completely breaking down and flooding the entire basement last winter. When the repair crew drained the water, they found a natural gas leak. Then a water leak in a previously-frozen pipe and another and another. We didn’t have heat in our sanctuary for the entire winter. (Fortunately, we could meet in a smaller room.) While insurance covered the boiler, the building has continued to disintegrate. Only a couple of weeks ago, the radiator in the front hallway broke, leaving a huge puddle on the carpet in the back of the sanctuary.

Between the loss of members and the continuing bills, we simply couldn’t keep up financially. Our pastor took on a second job as a customer service person for the local Apple store. Members of the leadership group took over maintenance tasks, like mowing the lawn.

I stepped up by doing what I do best – communications. We organized events, increased our social media, improved our website, posted online ads. Our Easter Egg hunt attracted many more families than anticipated, nearly overwhelming our resources. But even though we made sure every kid walked away with a special treat, none of the families returned. The Earth Day event was even more of a bust, with no one outside of the volunteers showing up to hear the speaker from Interfaith Power and Light.

Each Sunday morning, I sat in the back with Sprout playing on the floor and counted the number of people. There were never more, never enough. Even though I had done the best I could, it felt like failure.

What finally brought everything to a head was the decision from our pastor to leave at the end of this year. I can’t blame him – while it was exhausting for the leadership group, it was far worse for him. He was spending too much time just trying to keep the church above water with little time for his spiritual / vocational development and no financial stability. As his friend, I completely understood.

But as a parishioner, I was angry and frustrated. Not at him personally, but the entire situation. We don’t have enough money to keep up our failing building. We don’t have enough money to pay a new pastor. We don’t have enough volunteer time or energy to run a regular service. More than half of the Servants’ Group were too burnt out to start from scratch. The future was a big blank.

So at last week’s congregational meeting, we took the first step in figuring out what to do come January – we gave up control of our building.

While it wasn’t the end-all, be-all, it felt like the first step towards complete dissolution. We had put so much in for what felt like so little. I had envisioned bringing my son up in this community and that simply couldn’t happen now.

Which is why I was sobbing in the pews. All of the community, all of the values that we stood for are needed, now as much as ever. They’re needed in a world with terror, hunger, racism, and violence. We as a society and individuals need to hear and embrace them.

But maybe, our society doesn’t need those values wrapped up in a traditional church structure. Maybe they’re needed in service, art, music, and something completely different from what’s come before. Maybe we can rebuild.

But for now, I’m still sad for the fact that what the future holds will never be the same as the past. I’m still in mourning for what had been and uncertain of what is to come. I already miss my faith family.

Do It Myself!

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

“Do it myself!” I could probably live happily without ever hearing those words again. Unfortunately, they – or some variation – are a crucial phrase in every toddler’s vocabulary, including Sprout’s. While I appreciate his need to be independent and all of that bullshit, they’re really annoying in practice.

The phrase arises most often when Sprout is supposed to be doing something that he can do, but isn’t actually doing at the moment. For some reason, it’s the most common in the bathroom. When he’s supposed to be washing his hands, he often just sticks his right hand under the water rather than rubbing them together. Other popular options include splashing in the pool of water or sticking his palm against the faucet so it sprays everywhere. For toothbrushing, he prefers to gnaw on it with his back teeth instead of actually brushing them.

In both of these cases, he knows perfectly well how to do the activity – as I’ve seen him do it correctly – but is utterly uninterested in doing so. He’d much rather mess around playing in the sink or delaying bedtime. However, when I try to help him, he flails his hands and yells, “Do it myself!” While he can, it doesn’t make his futzing any less annoying when dinner is getting cold or his official bedtime is long behind us.

Unfortunately, my options for hurrying him up are limited for both philosophical and practical reasons.

In theory, I could get him to obey by physically forcing him to do it the way I want him to. However, I try to limit my physical enforcement of rules as much as possible to only the most dangerous of situations (like running in the road).

Physical enforcement often goes hand-in-hand with “might-makes-right” and authoritarian parenting, messages that I try to avoid at nearly all costs. The more I can convince Sprout that he should follow the rules because he wants to – or at least feels he should – the more he’ll form a moral compass in the future.

On a sheerly practical level, physical enforcement seems more effort than it’s worth for the stress. In a power struggle between a toddler and an adult, the toddler will always win in some way or another.

For example, the dentist recommended if he wouldn’t let us brush his teeth that one of us hold him between our knees and the other force his mouth open. Because that’s a great way to calm a toddler down before bed! No thank you on the additional half-hour needed to bring him down from a massive tantrum.

In fact, forcing him to do these things can actually be pretty dangerous. When he brushes his teeth or washes his hands, he uses a small stool to reach the sink. If he freaks out, waving his hands and stomping his feet, he could easily fall off it. He’s fallen off “dancing” around, much less throwing an actual tantrum. Slightly cleaner hands done a couple minutes earlier isn’t worth head trauma.

Instead, I try to find alternative ways to motivate him. When he says, “Do it myself!” I tell him, “I know you can – so show me!” Sometimes that works. When he’s spraying water all over the place, I prevent him from getting what he wants by cupping my hands around it so the spray is limited. I’ll only sing the tooth brushing song if he’s actually brushing them correctly. When he does actually do things correctly, I congratulate and praise him heartily.

And sometimes I just breathe deep, put my head in my hands, and wait. Eventually, he’ll do it right if I just give him time. After all, it’s just a phase.

When does your kid (or one you know) say, “Do it myself!!”

A Walk through My Bookshelf

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

I’m one of those people who always snoops in a person’s house by looking at their bookshelf. Unfortunately, ours has been a mess for years – unread books next to favorites next to grad school textbooks next to Chris’s collection of ginormous cookbooks. But in the ongoing process of organizing our study, the other day, Chris pulled all of the books off the bookshelf along with a large number in boxes and spread them on the floor of our basement. Much of my literary collection sat in seven piles, organized by genre. While I originally planned on going downstairs to merely formulate a plan of attack, we spent an hour and a half sorting through books, laughing and remembering.

Most of the books I kept were obvious, at least if you know me. Many were old favorites in SF (Slaughterhouse 5, The Martian Chronicles), graphic novels (V for Vendetta, Maus), and first person non-fiction (Traveling Mercies, The Omnivore’s Dilemma). Chris and I spent quite a bit of time discussing these, especially why we loved them so much. A few were college or graduate school books that I should keep for reference, like Visual Communication. Others were personal reference, such as those those on gardening, parenting, and community building. Any humor books specific to parenting that I could refer to for a laugh stayed. A few were kept for reasons unrelated to their re-readability, such as the fact they were signed, were relatively rare, or had a particular memory attached to them. I certainly wasn’t going to get rid of the love poetry book I gave Chris in high school or the non-fiction book about the community where I did my graduate thesis.

One of these nostalgia books in particular cracked me up. In high school, Chris sometimes forgot to return books to the teacher at the end of the year. While I was very glad to banish The Fountainhead from our shelves, I was baffled by Light in August. Who would assign Faulkner to high school students? Oh right – Mr. McCain, Chris’s Modernism teacher, who headed the teachers’ union, quoted Irish poets at random students in the hallway, and was one of my favorite teachers on reputation alone. Opening the book, we realized Chris was not the only student who had that book in their presence. Inside the front cover was the name of one of our other good friends from high school! Turns out, she didn’t read it either.

Of the unread books, both the books I kept and those I discarded say quite a bit about me – both who I was then and who I am now. I kept a number of “high-faluting” classic fiction books, even if my desire to read them is aspirational at best. I may not tackle James Joyce’s Ulysses until I retire, but it would still feel like a defeat to remove it from my library. Others were foundational texts in science communication that I feel like I “should” read, like A Brief History of Time. Too bad I’ll never have time to read it at work as professional development. Still others, like The Experts’ Guide to 100 Things Everyone Should Know How to Do and Simplify Your Life remained in the keep pile out of the vaguely desperate hope that “reading this will make me feel like more of an adult.” Like many people, I frequently suffer from Imposter Syndrome and stave it off by trying to gain new skills. It doesn’t actually work, but at least I’ve learned something. Lastly were the “fun” books (mostly in the aforementioned genres) that I just haven’t gotten around to reading due to my voracious Internet reading habit and my own writing.

Photo of several piles of books

While that sounds like a lot, I dumped a substantial amount too. I said goodbye to a number of academic books that I will simply never reference, like a huge tome on Wetlands. I suspect that even if I got a communications job in the Environmental Protection Agency’s wetlands division that I could refresh myself on the needed knowledge from my colleagues and the Internet. Others in the pile were gifted and free books that attracted me with their lack of price, but offered little else. I kept them for so long because they were free, but they were taking up more room than I could afford. A few were aspirational books that after taking a long, hard look, I decided I didn’t actually want to read. Should I give Pride and Prejudice another chance after not liking it when I was 14? Probably. Do I want to? Not really. But I did keep Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

Not all of the books were mine, of course. Chris refused to give up any of his cookbooks, no matter how ridiculous they are. (Yes, we do have a Thomas Keller cookbook. No, we have never cooked from it.) Sprout’s bookshelf just keeps growing, supplemented regularly by books my mom bought for her classroom and then brought home when she retired.

But the large majority of them were mine, reflecting my literary history and tastes. It’s amazing how much you learn about yourself when you take a long, hard look at your own bookshelf.

A Rockville Community Halloween: Croyden Creep and Thomas Farm Community Center

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

I have always preferred the children’s version of Halloween to the typical “adult” one. Dressing up as actual characters or at least creative one instead of a “sexy fill-in-the-blank.” Parades instead of overpriced bars. Stuffing your face with candy instead of TPing yards. At its best, this more innocent version is one communities can embrace and support, creating the atmosphere for a fun and fanciful holiday. Fortunately, our town has found a variety of ways for families to enjoy Halloween together.

Rising moon above orange autumn trees

For us, Halloween started a full week ahead of time with the Croydon Creep at the town’s Nature Center. Arriving there, we drove past a huge line of cars parked on the side of the road, spilling out from the center’s teeny parking lot. We soon discovered its popularity was justified. From a spinning prize wheel to coloring Halloween treat bags, the Center had a ton to do, for the reasonable price of $5 a kid and accompanying adults free.

A man in a squirrel costume at the

My favorite activity was the “spooky trail,” which started with a campfire and each child receiving a mini-flashlight. Along the path, adults dressed as a squirrel, spider, firefly, and bat each shared a few facts about their biology and gave the children a treat appropriate to their animal: sunflower seeds, a sticky spider, a glow necklace and vampire fangs. I even learned a few things, like the fact that black squirrels and gray squirrels are variants of the same species. Of course, Sprout’s favorite part was flickering the mini-flashlight on and off, blinding me.

The night ended with a magic show, where Sprout sat up front with the other kids and we were consigned to the seats in the back. It was the first time Sprout sat by himself in a separate section. I kept straining to get a glimpse and nudging Chris for status updates, hoping he wasn’t disrupting anyone or wandering away. But he was the perfect little audience member, staying seated and clapping when he was supposed to. As is often true, he wasn’t nearly as nervous as his mama. Instead, the entire way home, he talked about how the magician “turned a bunny into a balloon.” While it was turning a balloon into a real, live bunny rabbit (he has a bit of difficulty with chronological order), it was an impressive trick even if you aren’t two.

The next Saturday, we had a full schedule for Halloween proper. Unfortunately, we were missing a key element of Sprout’s costume – the ears. He was reprising his part as Rocket Raccoon, making the most out of the costume I made him for Baltimore Comic Con. While we had his orange pajamas, rocket backpack/armor, and tail, the ears were missing. Ripping apart the house and the car, we looked in the stroller, under the seats, in the couch, under the beds, and in all of his toy boxes. I suspect they’re somewhere in the Baltimore Convention Center. Instead, we made do with a pair of bear ears my mom made for his Teddy Bear Picnic themed birthday party.

Walls of the

Our first stop was a party at one of our town’s community centers, with snacks, crafts, games, and even a magic show (non-coincidentally, the same magician). It also had the most low key “haunted house” I’ve ever seen, with a clever use of black-light paint and a baffling but not actually frightening anti-gambling climax. While we worked on the craft, I enjoyed making a little girl’s day. She was clearly dressed as Gamora and I commented, “Nice Gamora costume.” With a big smile, she responded, “Finally! Someone knows who I am!” It felt like when the kid at Comic Con told Sprout, “Your mom is the best. She can kick the butt of anyone in the universe.”

A giant bunny snuggled up against two black teacup pigs

But both the best and least Halloweeny activity was the petting zoo. Along with alpacas – which Sprout has seen online but never in person – they had a giant rabbit with teacup pigs, making for one of the cutest combinations of animals I’ve ever seen.

A person in a Godzilla costume

There were some great costumes at both events. At the nature center, there was a woman with a baby in a carrier going as Cookie Monster – with the baby as the cookie! A whole family went as characters from Monsters Inc, with the dad as Sully and the little girl as Boo. Two twin toddlers had matching Wonder Woman outfits. At the community center, one family went the House of El with Jor-El and Kara in white lab coats following a crawling toddler Superman. Another infant was the most adorable little Supergirl I ever saw. An adult dressed as Godzilla was impressive enough that Sprout gave him a wide berth.

Following on that barrage of children was our adjacent neighborhood’s Halloween parade. Unfortunately, logistics got the best of us. Between underestimating how long it would take to get ready at the house and the lengthy process of Chris putting on his costume once we got there, the parade was long gone. In fact, most of the families had already made their way around the block and back to the starting point. Shrugging our shoulders, we stood in line to go through their “haunted house” for candy, which had far too many loud, sudden “screaming” decorations for Sprout to handle. I made my way through while they stood at the exit. Despite our absence from the parade, Chris got a number of accolades for his costume. When we went to vote on Tuesday, some of the volunteers recognized him from the parade and were asking him questions about it.

We wrapped up the night trick-or-treating, while Sprout still had any energy left. He continued to be credulous at the concept of trick-or-treating, repeating, “Knock on doors and neighbors give you candy?” At every door, we coached him to say “trick-or-treat.” While he repeated it dutifully while the door was closed, he promptly forgot it as soon as the candy was in sight. However, he did say “thank you,” which was a major win in and of itself. The only thing that was disappointing was how few of our neighbors participated. They’re usually community-oriented – our yearly block party gets a good crowd – but 4/5 of the houses on our block had the lights out. It was a little heartbreaking every time Sprout walked away from a house softly muttering, “No one home.”

Halloween in my town reminded me both of how great the community services can be and how they also require public support. On one hand, while the parade and “haunted house” were on town property, it was all run by neighborhood volunteers. This great tradition simply wouldn’t exist without these people’s time and effort. On the other end of the spectrum, I overheard a man at the community center party complain that it was overpriced and “should have been a dollar.” This was in a town where 3D movies are regularly $15 and the average home price is $529,000. While I understand that $4 a kid can be a lot for some people, I got impression from his attitude that events put on by the city were inherently worth less than those put on by businesses. While unrelated to the city, I was saddened by the number of people who decided not to give out candy, although I did understand that a lot of people were out on Saturday night. Trick-or-treating is the major part of the community aspect of Halloween, but it’s reliant on neighborhood participation to make it fun.

I know not everyone has children, but I do think that we all have a responsibility to provide recreation and services to people of all ages. Youth classes and senior centers, teenage basketball leagues and middle-aged running clubs. I’m so glad my town has such great programming, but I hope that everyone can think of the bigger picture to continue to support it.

After all, I think most people like the world better with more treats than tricks.

When Good Plans Go Bad

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

I’m a planner, an anticipator. Part of the joy of an adventure for me is planning it and seeing how those plans do – or don’t – come to fruition. Sometimes the plans gone awry result in a better situation than I would have imagined, or at least a funny story. Other times, they just flop. This past weekend, we had one of the latter.

We didn’t have anything major on the calendar for Saturday, but I had seen an advertisement for a “truck touch” and thought it sounded like fun. For a fundraiser, a local elementary school brought together a whole slew of big trucks for kids to climb on and explore. As Sprout enjoyed his tour of our hometown’s fire station, this sounded like a great opportunity for Mommy-Sprout time. Chris was tasked with staying home and mowing the lawn.

It started well enough, hopping on the bus that stops right outside our house. Sprout loves riding the bus, so this was a treat in and of itself. During our half-mile walk to the event, three things quickly became evident. One, that we needed to stop for a bathroom break. Because I feel like a mooch if I use an establishment’s bathroom without purchasing something, I bought a banana and hot chocolate from a local cafe. Two, I realized I didn’t have enough cash, requiring a stop at the ATM. And three, the event was both further than anticipated and Sprout was moving slower than I expected. While I didn’t think he was going to be full-speed ahead, I thought it might step to it a little more. At times, I was practically dragging him even though my pace was pretty darn slow. By the time we got there, it was past 11:30, practically time for lunch.

But almost immediately, I realized that time wasn’t our biggest issue. That would be the incessant, very loud honking of truck horns. Most of them weren’t too loud, but every few minutes, the huge Mack truck’s horn would go off. Honnnnnnkkkkkkk! it bellowed. And every time, Sprout shuddered, turned away and hugged my legs. I knew beforehand that he doesn’t like loud, sudden noises, but I hadn’t even considered associating “truck touch” with “kids constantly honking trucks’ horns.” His fear inspired guilt in me for even thinking this was a good idea.

To distract from the noise, I tried to show Sprout the equipment a utility worker laid out in front of his truck, including giant rubber gloves that go up to your elbow. I offered to bring him on the moving van’s lift that was slowly carrying children and their parents up and down. But every answer was a simple, definitive “no.” The only other thing he would say was, “Trucks are loud.” He spoke softly, but his message was clear.

We found some respite in the bounce house, which Sprout clamored to enter. But even that was punctuated by the deep rumbling horn that each time made him stop jumping and look at me worriedly through the mesh.

Wandering even further from the main parking lot, we settled in the school’s playground. There, even the loudest honks became background noise. The play jeep that didn’t move was much more his speed than the actual big trucks. Away from the blood-curdling honks, he ran up stairs, slid down slides, and shared equipment with other kids. It was an amazing difference.

Front of a fire truck

After about 45 minutes at the playground, I called Chris to pick us up. The whole bus rigamarole was too complicated to get Sprout back in time for his nap. Walking back to the entrance, Sprout could barely tolerate the honking for long enough to admire the shiny fire truck.

So not everything I do works out, even activities specifically designed for kids. Thankfully, this was a pretty low-cost, low-time commitment activity. And Sprout did end up having a good time in the end – he obviously liked the playground and later said “Liked fire truck.” I just have to remind myself not to be disappointed when the reality of a day out doesn’t match my imagined version.

In Defense of Scary Stories for Kids

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

in-defense-of-scary-stories-for-kids

My job as a parent is not to protect my child from monsters; it’s to teach him how to fight them. Because, one day, sooner or later, I won’t be able to protect him, whether that’s because of physical distance or just a stage in life. So in the meantime, I want to expose him to children’s stories with monsters, stories that give you nightmares and make you hide behind the sofa.

A few months ago, I read The Ocean at the End of the Lane, a beautiful book dripping with childhood half-remembered thoughts and fears. Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors, who manages to make the mythic so very personal. His stories – even and especially those for children – tap into narratives bigger than us, dredge the dark parts of our minds and bring out the terror, but also, the strength, courage, and beauty. He says that parents are more scared by his book Coraline than children, because it’s about parents’ fears as much as their children’s. Similarly, a quote from Maurice Sendak at the beginning of The Ocean at the End of the Lane expresses this balance between children’s and adults’ fears perfectly: “I remember my own childhood vividly. I knew terrible things. But I knew I mustn’t let adults know I knew. It would scare them.”

Much of my other favorite media covers the same territory: Doctor Who, Lost, SeaQuest DSV, X-Files and Harry Potter. Unsurprisingly, my taste in children’s literature runs along the same lines. As the source of this blog’s title, Where the Wild Things Are is a favorite of mine. Notably, the Wild Things aren’t the scariest thing in the book – Max’s loneliness is. But it’s also what draws him home on the end.

From Doctor Who Weeping Angel meme generator

Reading and watching these movies and books, I want Sprout to feel fear, understand its roots, and learn how to channel it. As the Doctor says in Listen, fear is a superpower. When you fear something, you know that it’s important for some reason. Maybe the fear is of something physically dangerous like a rattlesnake or as socially harmful as being seen as stupid. What we fear and how we react to it reveals our values, even if we don’t want to admit them. Being afraid of people who are a different race is racist. Being afraid of looking stupid means we value intelligence, while fear of looking mean means we value compassion. We need to look long and hard at our fears, whether to change something about who we are or find ways to confront them.

Besides monsters and fear, the other common element in all of these stories are protagonists who face the dangers armed with skill, bravery, sharp wits and compassion. Many of them explore unknown places and meet different cultures with a sense of wonder and joy. To quote the under-appreciated Craig Ferguson on Doctor Who, the show is about “The triumph of intellect and romance over brute force and cynicism.” Although I enjoy superheroes and their drag-out brawls, they can never have my heart like these non-violent (or minimally violent) heroes.

While stories about ordinary children facing ordinary problems have their place, stories about protagonists facing foes bigger than our reality have a special role. To children, everything is bigger than them. So if this character can resolve this huge problem, maybe they can too.

I want Sprout to learn from these characters because the tactics they use against fantastical monsters are applicable in real life. While he will never have a (properly functioning) sonic screwdriver, he can be kind and smart. He can approach people who are different from him not with fear, but a respectful interest in listening to their stories.

And he can work together with them. Heroes in these stories never work alone – they almost always work in teams. They may feel alone at times, but they know they can find refuge in the welcome of their friends and family. They realize there is no such thing as a lone wolf, that no one can do good individually, unconnected from community.

These stories provide patterns to help my son band together with others to form communities outside the damaging systems of power, whether the toxic politics of high school or the restrictions of our industrial food system. Open mics and community gardens alike can be refuges and places we can break down walls.

I want my son to experience scary stories because they provide a foundation to build a life where he can stand up against the true monsters of this world: hate, injustice, greed and unjustified fear. If you don’t learn to deal with make-believe monsters, how can you handle the real ones?

What were your favorite scary stories as a kid? What did you get out of them?

Fun at the Renaissance Faire for All Ages: 8 Tips for Attending with Young Children

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

Photo: Picture of a woman on stilts dressed in green robes and a flower crown at the Maryland Renaissance Festival; Text "8 Tips for Attending Renaissance Faires with Young Children"

I’m not a huge fan of the Disney princesses, but I have always been a knights and castles kind of girl. The sieges, battles and court fascinated me since I was in elementary school. So combined with my love of dressing up, it’s a natural fit for me to love Renaissance faires, which offer the most fantastical and romanticized version of that era possible. Thankfully, they’re very family friendly, even for the youngest of kids. After we had a great time last year, we brought Sprout back to the Maryland Renaissance Festival again last weekend. With these experiences, here are a few things I’ve learned about attending these events with young children:

1) Know that they involve lot of walking, but aren’t stroller-friendly.
Renaissance faires are typically held in huge fields, with more than 100 exhibitors and stands. As they mimic a village, the buildings take up more room than you would expect – they’re not crammed in like booths at a craft fair. They’re often planned like a medieval village with odd little side streets, so seeing everything requires walking in circles. In addition, they can serve thousands of people a day, so the parking lot is very large. As a result, you may walk more than a mile or even two over the course of the day. However, I wouldn’t recommend bringing a stroller, if possible. The paths are usually unpaved and our faire has a number of very steep hills. They can also be very crowded. If your little one can’t walk that far, a baby backpack is the best bet. If you do bring a stroller, it needs to be a heavy-duty one; an umbrella stroller will be useless on the terrain.

Photo of a performer on a unicycle with a boy on his back

The juggler that Sprout found surprisingly funny.

2) Figure out what shows you want to see on the drive there.
With more than 50 separate shows to choose from at 12 locations, there’s a lot to do at our faire. From mini-plays to knighting kids, it can be overwhelming, not to mention wandering bards on the paths. As a result, it’s easy to lose track of time and completely miss the show you really want to see. We decided that the one show we really wanted to see was the jousting; everything else was a bonus. On the way there, we stopped for a juggler with an absurd German accent that Sprout found surprisingly entertaining.

3) Buy tickets online, if you can.
The lines can be long and our faire offers tickets for the same price online as at the Gate. The faster you can get everyone inside, the better.

4) Feel free to dress up – or not.
Like Comic-Con, one of the most fun things to do at the Renaissance faire is costume spotting. Staff and attendees alike are often elaborately dressed, ranging from historically accurate to just ornately pretty. If you want to get in on it, you can make your own or in some cases, even rent them there. But also don’t feel obliged to dress up. I’ve gone in costume previously but went in jeans this year because I really didn’t want to deal with multiple layers of skirts at port-a-potties.

5) Dress to adapt for changing weather.
Whether you wear a costume or not, be prepared for the weather. Faires tend to be almost completely outside with hardly anywhere that provides protection from the elements. Last year at the beginning of September, the sun beat down and I was sweaty in my sleeveless but lined dress. This year in October, the highs in the mid-50s made us feel a bit chilled despite our layered sweaters and jackets. We didn’t bring rain gear, but it would have been a good idea.

6) Bring a water bottle.
As many faires are in the summer and early fall, it can be staggeringly hot. Combined with the amount of walking, both parents and kids can easily get dehydrated. The food can be expensive with long lines, so it’s best to fill up your own bottle at water stations there.

7) Set a shopping budget.
One of my favorite things about the Renaissance Faire is that it’s an artist and crafter showcase in disguise. Small artisans, including leather workers, weavers, glassblowers, jewelry makers, toy makers, and costume designers sell their wares, all with a medieval flair. But they also charge prices appropriate to their time and effort, which can be much higher than retail. It’s easy to either spend far more than you intended or decide the prices are too high and regret it later. (Some of the vendors have websites, but their inventory is generally much worse than in person.) Often, the faire will list vendors on its website, so if you can look over it ahead of time, you can set a list of things you might want to buy (ex. a handmade toy sword) and how much you want to spend.

6) Be willing to spend a little on extras.
Along with the shows and vendors, the Maryland Festival has a variety of “amusements,” including a maze, Jacob’s ladder, ax throwing, archery, tests of strength, giant slides, and puzzle games. Unlike the County Fair carnival, which has the sole purpose of separating you from your money, the atmosphere is more laid back. The games also tend to be much cheaper and more unique. I spent a dollar to play a giant wooden pinball machine and the amusement value for both Sprout and I justified the price.

Jester dressed in multi-colored clothing blowing bubbles using only her hands

7) Take some time for free play.
Being overly scheduled or dragged from booth to booth can be boring for kids, so it’s good to let them run around. Our faire has a playground built around a giant wooden pirate ship. Having watched some of the other kids on it, I do ask that you take away their new toy swords before you let them loose on the playground.

8) Try to teach your toddler to say the word “Renaissance.”
We weren’t trying to teach Sprout, but he just picked it up from conversation and it’s really adorable.

Book Club: Why Richard Scarry’s Busytown Has the Worst City Government Ever

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 4 Comments

Book Club – quirky critical and social justice takes on children’s literature. Otherwise known as what happens when someone interested in pop culture and political analysis has read the same bedtime story for the 100th time.

Richard Scarry’s Busytown has the most incompetent municipal government I’ve ever seen, despite the fact that I live very close to Washington D.C. The urban planning is an utter disaster, the roads make Beijing’s highways look orderly, and the safety standards and training are non-existant. Urban designers take note – except for its astonishingly resilient citizens, Busytown is everything you don’t want your city to be.

To start with, the city’s traffic patterns and the resulting crashes are atrocious. We have two Busytown books (Cars and Trucks and Things that Go and Lowly Worm’s Applecar), both of which feature multiple car crashes or near-misses. For example, one accident involves at least 17 different vehicles, including a squirting mustard truck, a chinaware truck, a flour truck, a whipped cream truck, a tomato juice truck, and an egg truck. While thankfully, “no one was badly hurt” but it will “probably take a Million Years” for the mechanic to fix everything.

Scan from Cars and Trucks and Things that Go of a huge crash

The roads all appear to be multi-lane with no actual stripes to distinguish between them. There are few or no traffic lights or stop signs, with individual police officers directing traffic at overcrowded intersections. There are multiple turn-offs with no merge lanes, like drive through hamburger stands on busy highways. The roads appear to be constantly under construction, with minimal markings and barriers. The roads themselves go through dangerous areas with a lack of supporting infrastructure, as “shortcuts through the mountains” result in dangerous falling rocks. (The roads also appear to cut right across ski trails, which can’t be safe for the skiers.)

Beyond the physical infrastructure, there is clearly little municipal support for regulation. Enforcement of traffic rules is minimal, with one clearly dangerous driver being pursued by a single (but very determined) bike cop in one book and another completely ignored in another. Vehicles vary in size from tiny pencil cars driven by mice to huge multi-story tourist buses. Many of them appear to not pass modern safety or emissions standards, including pickle and banana cars. One even transforms into a helicopter and balloon, while having no obvious method of propulsion.

Scan from Cars and Trucks and Things that Go of a tractor that's fallen in a pond

The complete disregard for safety extends to the municipal staff, who clearly need better training and performance standards. They make the beleaguered Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority look staggeringly competent. A crane driver steers straight into a lake. (That wasn’t very smart, indeed.)

A steamroll driver loses control of his truck, which runs over several cars. A car carrier operator drops a car into the ocean. Six different dump trucks in one area dump their loads at the same time because of vague misheard directions from a citizen.

Scan from Cars and Trucks and Things that Go of cars run over

Lastly, the city is extremely auto-centric. While it’s not safe for drivers, it’s disastrous for bicyclists and pedestrians. There are sidewalks, but cars veer onto them on a regular basis, knocking over parking meters. There are no bike lanes or separated paths. There is a police officer on a bicycle, but even she rides on sidewalks to avoid the multiple crashes. Instead of bicycles, even the children are gifted toy cars that they’re allowed to drive on the road!

While Busytown looks pro-urban upon first glance, it is a classic example of a poorly planned, shoddily managed semi-suburban area. It is certainly a product of the time. Parents interested in finding good neighborhoods for their children and city planners alike can learn from this disastrous mess.

Deja Vu All Over Again: Revisiting Favorite Places

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

From bald eagles to mazes made of hay bales, the last few weekends have felt familiar and yet new. With both sets of grandparents visiting, we returned to some of our favorite local places: Meadowside Nature Center, the fall celebration at Butlers’ Orchard, and Cabin John Regional Park. While we had been to them all last year, it was revelatory to see how much Sprout’s reactions changed over time.

At all of these locations, he was far more engaged than before. Previously he would just watch something intently; now he remarks and interacts with it. The animals at the Nature Center were of particular interest, as he loudly pointed out (multiple times), the snake, owl and eagle. That night, we overheard him telling his stuffed animals about the animals he saw earlier in the day. He still didn’t have a lot of patience with my explanations of the feeding habits of snakes, but that will come with time.

At Butlers’ last year, he spent most of the time slowly wandering around, blocking up the little bridge and other playground equipment for the rest of the kids. Instead, he was running around, evading my mom as he darted between sections of a wooden train.

Some of the equipment that he was too small for last year or was too intimating was easily conquerable.
Giant fake spiderweb with children climbing on it

In the past, he reacted to the running, yelling kids and the shadowy interior of Butlers’ hay bale maze by crying. This year, he sprinted down the hallways, occasionally looking back to see if he had lost us yet. He barreled through the older kids, paying them no attention. When we rounded a turn and “found” him, he giggled hysterically. He climbed straight up a ladder into a giant tractor and down a dark slide. He was also a big fan of a fake spiderweb, with bouncy elastic strands. He wasn’t that interested in climbing across it, but spent a good 10 minutes standing up and plopping himself down, the exact same way he jumps on our bed.

Multi-colored play house at Cabin John park with multiple rooms that kids can crawl between.

The cool/weird play house at Cabin John.

At Cabin John Park last year, Sprout stuck to the side with the little kids’ equipment, like houses and play cars. This time around, he still spent quite a bit of time exploring those sections, but was more sophisticated in his understanding. He actually pretended to drive the cars rather than simply spin the wheel. When he saw me whack the bells with a stick, he looked on the ground for a suitable one as well. Beyond the “baby” equipment, he tackled parts of the playground far beyond his current age, scrambling up a rock-wall and inching through tubes in the 5 to 12 year old area. I spotted him on some of the trickier aspects and warned him away from going down ladders, but for the most part, he handled it extremely well. He even slid down a giant slide that I thoroughly expected him to get to the top of and then refuse to go down. It was just as steep and far higher than the slide at Constitution Gardens Park that he was uninterested in only a few weeks ago.

But he wasn’t fearless about everything; there were still a few things that definitively scared him. However, when he was scared, it was a more emotionally complex response than in the past. For example, the Nature Center has a fake cave kids can crawl through that you enter through a very dark, narrow tunnel. Sprout was thoroughly uninterested in going in it last year, but forgot about it as soon as we moved on. In contrast, he was actively frightened by it this year, and got upset when anyone mentioned it later that day. The next week, he showed a similar level of anxiety towards touching the sheep at Butlers’. That night, we heard him say to his animals that he was “a little nervous” about it. I think he picked up on me saying it, but it’s still a sophisticated concept.

Reflecting on it, I think I understand the connection between the two and why they bothered him so much. Rather than simply being scared of those things – which he normally gets over quickly – there may be a level of regret to go with it. He wanted to go in the cave and touch the sheep (he’s touched one before), but was too frightened to do so. While this may be reading too deeply into his emotions, if it is true, we’ll have to think of ways to help him not dwell on those situations. I don’t want to pass my neuroses on to him.

Besides changes in Sprout, we had slightly different options than before at each of the locations, which made for a different experience. In particular, we spent much longer at Butlers’ Orchard than we did last year, due to the fact that we weren’t freezing our asses off. In contrast to last year’s cloudy and wind-blown weather, we had clear skies. Soaking in the warm autumn sun, we went on the hayride where we actually sat in piles of real hay and stopped at a pumpkin patch. Sprout has been mildly obsessed with a “little pumpkin” we picked up at the farmers’ market a couple of weeks ago, so he was in squash heaven. He bounced around looking at all of the options and with my mom, picked out a medium-sized one that he could barely carry and a gigantic bumpy pumpkin.

I love trying new things, but there’s a charm in having traditions you do each year. It’s like a growth chart for mental and social progress for your children.