On Jogging, Caramel Apples, Cookies, and Child Labor Laws

Aside from a clock game, and reading, and writing some poems with our words from the farm yesterday we basically did two new things worth recording: 1. we started our running regime (more on that some other time), and 2. we made copious amounts of treats.  It is about finding balance.  

One of the plans that the boy and girl came up with when discussing the scheme was having a monthly party/play-date in order to maintain their school friendships.  On tap for September was the Back-to-School party (irony may or may not be part of the curriculum).  The plan: meet in Sheep Meadow and eat caramel apples and run around and play games.  Fine by me, but we live about 20 blocks south of most of their school friends, and I didn't get around to sending the invitation until just a few days ago, so I didn't anticipate a robust response.  

Do you know what else I haven't anticipated?  The enormous amount of support we have been given.  The word that floats to the top of my head is generosity.  It makes sense that people who have tinkered with the idea would be supportive, but it's those who know that they will never home school -- either because they don't want to, or their situations don't provide the room -- and yet have shown such generosity of spirit that have made me feel connected to humanity.  Surely it was that generosity that inspired some to schlepp the 20 blocks in the heat today, for there was a lovely turnout.  It was fun to catch up on school gossip, see the moms that I really like and respect, and watch our kids run themselves into sweaty, droopy messes.  They played like so many tumbling puppies.  

But back to today's lessons.  We watched two youtube clips: Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times, and the I Love Lucy episode when she and Ethel work in the candy factory.  We talked briefly about assembly lines and then we made one of our own.  We washed, and dried the apples, covered them in caramel circles, stuck the stick in and baked them at a low temp to melt the caramel.  We then wrapped them in wax paper and twine.  

The kids are part of this weird take-away-gift culture which I have mixed feelings about.  Sometimes when they go to birthday parties the loot they get for being a guest is way nicer than the gift we bring.  It's all very indulgent, and I especially feel bugged that my kids have been conditioned to look around at the end of the party when we go up to thank the host/hostess.  It's one thing to really like goody bags (that's where the mixed feelings come in -- I understand that kids really like little gifts), but it's altogether different to expect them...  Alas... Anyway, to strike a compromise we made fortune cookies -- inserting little fortunes that said, "May your homework be light and your recesses feel long."  And: "You have a delightful school year in your future."  We put two in a little paper bag, secured it with Japanese Washi tape and called it good.  

Fortune cookies are pretty easy to make, but you have to fold them and bend them while they are still fingerprint-destroying hot because once they cool they break.  This is where our assembly line fell apart.  As the words, "Come on.  It only burns for a minute," left my mouth I realized that I might be breaking a child labor law, so I set the kids free to go change out some bobbins... As it was, the humidity wreaked havoc on our cookies and they ended up looking more wonton than fortune cookie.

Today, because of the baking, we were in the apartment until we left to set up at the park, and it made me realize that it's going to take some time to hit our stride.  When we are here and doing more mundane things Judd the Red Chicken ever so subtly sneaks off and slips back into vacation mode (i.e. laying on the floor of his room with is feet propped up on the bed, clutching a measuring tape, and daydreaming), so rounding him up and motivating him to think about academics is tougher.  Of course I don't want every minute to be scheduled... We will keep working at finding balance.  

Now Mindful of Being Stuck in a Shell

"To the scheme" we toasted last night during our annual back-to-school banquet.  The Girl picked out the linens, ironed them, and developed a "woodland creature" theme in decorations (rock on 1950's home ec!!!).  The Boy drew and taped up a poster, "The Year of the Skeem" it read (we have a bit of work ahead of us).  The kids went to bed happy.  We did not have our annual nighttime whispered conversations about being afraid or anxious.  No woodland creatures fluttering in their tummies for the first time.  

I had a hard time falling asleep.  I felt like I was made out of paper.

While I was making breakfast The Sister asked if I felt nervous.  "Not in the least," I replied in a shaky, crazy-high-pitched falsetto (funnier if I was a man, but still pathetic).  

She continued: "I think it feels weird knowing that everybody else is doing the normal thing... and we're just... not."  

She's right.  Having an awesome off-the-grid plan is indeed awesome, but when feet hit the floor it feels... furtive.  

For the record we were up and out of the apartment, with backpacks, by 8:15.  We took our first-day-of-school pictures in our usual spot.  And we promptly... walked ourselves to the park.  We passed by a gorgeous private school on our block that had its sassy balloons tapping against the brick in the breeze.  All the students wearing their new clothes and excited smiles walked up the steps with their parents...  It felt very similar to two years ago when I showed up at Starbucks by Lincoln Center wearing sweats, tube-socks, and sandals, and the line was nothing but Fashion Week runway models: short, and so not part of the group.  I saw the kids watching the traditional back-to-school scene.  This could have been my moment to teach a valuable lesson... something like, Children, remember, there are so many right and beautiful choices in this life!  Or something more lowbrow, but still great, like, Different strokes for different folks!   Instead I opted for rock bottom and channeled Eddie Haskell, "The poor saps.  Hahaha."   

This was our walk to school.

Along with the 20 billion dogs -- all off leashes -- ducks, 

sparrows, and squirrels, this guy was a classmate.

Our first classroom was a bench at the Conservatory Water.  We all did DEAR (a term we learned from the Ramona books -- Drop Everything And Read... only we didn't really have anything to drop... it was more like I Needed Everybody Reading Directly (NERD) in order to get myself centered and breathing regularly.  The Girl read Esio Trot, by Roald Dahl, and Judd the Red Chicken read Teddy Roosevelt, Young Rough Rider, by Edd Parks.  After 45 minutes we packed up and transitioned into our Physical Education.  

Do you see that fireman pole?  Whoever designed it made it way too far out, so most kids don't ever use it without first whispering, "Goodbye cruel world..."  Mine have never dared.  But today was a day to conquer.  There were many aborted attempts.  Then their auntie showed up, hurled her cute 16-year old self down it, and encouraged them to do the same.  And they did.  Judd the Red Chicken wrote about this accomplishment tonight in his journal.  They also ran a few "laps" around the playground (their idea, not mine), and played until it was time to catch the train.  

Their backpacks were light (they kept laughing about how light they were -- usually they are bowed forward at a 45-degree angle because their backpacks are so flippin' heavy) -- only containing a snack, a bottle of water, their book, a clipboard, and a pencil.  On the clipboard were some of those clock worksheets, which they worked on during the subway ride to Queens.

The Dad works in Queens, so he picked us up, took us to an awesome deli where we grabbed sandwiches and pasta, and then we headed out to the Merchant Marine Academy, where he showed his offspring where he went to school for four years.  En-route he also showed them what happens when you go over the speed limit (regardless of whether or not the car in front of you is going over the speed limit).  I would like to point out that I said nothing after the officer handed the ticket through the window... except, "The scheme just keeps getting more and more expensive."  

The Dad then dropped us off at the Queens County Farm Museum (which is free) where we wandered around for a couple of hours until he could retrieve us and take us back to the subway station.  

While at the farm the kiddos pulled out their clipboards and wrote down verbs, adjectives, and nouns of what they were seeing (on Octopus paper -- because that's a well-known farm animal for us city kids...).  Asparagus plants are "feathery."  

Finally home -- having finished the clock worksheets on the return subway ride.  I thought that the children would be tired and grumpy, but they were happy.  After showers, piano practice, and dinner they didn't complain one bit when I handed them their journals and asked them to write.  

"How was school?"  I asked when I was tucking them in.

"I hate school."  Judd the Red Chicken responded.

"No.  I meant what we did today."

"I love school."  

The day that I was so nervous about ended up being bright in all respects, but one.  When The Girl went to take care of our hermit crabs before bed she discovered that Stuart had passed.  My brilliant Friend A is mindful and heart-ful of the various undertones and harmonies of all living things, and she had mentioned a couple of weeks ago that our little guy might be stuck in his shell.  I meant to look into that, but quite frankly, since he was eating and moving regularly, I forgot -- until tonight.  Who knew that being stuck in a shell could be that dangerous?  

The kids asked that I honor him:  

R.I.P. Stuart  

(That's his little casket that The Boy wanted to bury in Central Park.  I don't think that's legal, so Stuart went where small NYC pets go -- the shoot.)  

It has been a full day.  We will all surely come down with the West Nile virus from the mosquito bites we acquired.  I promise -- assuming I don't die of West Nile virus -- that I will  never make you suffer through such a long post again.  The first day is always so much bigger than subsequent days...

About Time

 

Tomorrow is the day all the public school kids here in the city start back to school.  We will be starting tomorrow as well.  My biggest concern is time management.  There is so much to fit in... So many opportunities for time to tiptoe past while we chat at breakfast, or sneak away when I stoop to put a load of laundry in... 

The kids have been asking for new watches for a while, so when we went to the Swatch store to get their great-grandma her birthday present we struck a bargain with them (note: she's a cool great-grandma -- she was the first person I knew who had a Swatch... a huge red one that she wore with her crisp white nursing uniform... the dress, the white hose, the weird little sort-of-hat...).  The deal: if they agreed to sign a contract with us  they could pick out a watch.  The contract:

September 2012

By choosing and accepting the gift of a new watch, I, ________, agree to become a master timekeeper.  I will continue studying and practicing with my clock worksheets without whining, when asked to find out the time I will cheerfully do so, when asked to keep track of time (i.e. during piano practice, or during my free time) I will do so accurately. 

Mostly, I promise to appreciate time and not waste it.  I will try to think of fun or interesting things to do when I have extra time, and even if I am doing something that I find boring, or hard, or absolutely horrible, I will try to find something positive about it so that the time is not wasted.  

(The drawback of our anonymity is that you can't see their "fancy" handwriting that they used to sign the contracts.  We will be working on cursive this year, but never will their signatures look as awesome as they do right now with flourishes and squiggles and tiny animals built in at every possible opportunity...)

So here's the first peek at our "curriculum" -- telling time.  I get that the kids these days might not "need" the skill, as most will be retrieving time via their cell phones, or computer screens, or the data-lens surgically implanted onto their corneas, but nonetheless, we are going to master telling time, and have started to do so.  

I've made a billion copies of sheets with blank clocks like this one, and created various exercises that fall into two categories: 

1) I draw the hands and they write the time
       a) straightforward -- they write where the hands are
       b) there is an additional instruction like: "in ten minutes" -- and they have to add ten minutes to the time that is drawn and write the answer
2) I write the time and they draw the hands
       a) 7:20
       b) "a quarter after eight"
       c)  "ten to ten"

Obviously worksheets are a total snooze... but it's a good entry point to the other time-related activities that we will be doing, and it's a concrete way for me to see what they are retaining and able to apply.  Their new watches have motivated them; they want to be able to tell time.  When they are wearing their watches (The Boy only takes his off to shower; The Girl forgets to put hers on until she's reminded by something), I make an effort to refer to the time in different ways,"Your lesson is at 9:30 -- where will the minute hand be?"  Also, they like that it helps them be helpful -- when I say, "I wish I knew what time it was..." they are excited to supply the answer.    

We will be using time keeping for the first few days to to get our brains tuned back into math.  It has addition and subtraction already built in ("What time will it be in twenty minutes?" or "What time did Dad call -- it was ten minutes ago?"); counting by fives is utilized; some simple fundamentals of circles are studied (I won't go quite so far as to call it geometry, but talking about "exactly across the circle is 30 minutes" is a start).  

The thing that I like most about time telling is that it's kind of ambiguous.  Often math gets this reputation for being more about exactness and less about critical thinking.  But the best mathematicians are creative.  I never made it to high-level math, but I did read A Beautiful Mind, and I was stunned to realize that math is so imagination-based... Telling time reminds us that at every level of math there is some finesse required. One must keep his/her thinking cap on because that hour hand is not always pointing exactly on the number, and the words that relate don't always match up (i.e. "a quarter to eight" does NOT mean that the hour hand is on the eight yet... tricky, tricky...).  

It's time, it's time...  These last few days have been overcast and dark... it's made me feel like summer is truly over.  The doldrums have been multiplying like bunnies because we haven't ventured out much since rain has felt imminent.  Last night when I asked the children what they wanted to do today -- their last day before school starts -- we laughed because most of what we usually cram in at the end will actually be a part of school this year.  So they settled on "watching movies until our eyes fall out of our heads" since there won't be much movie-watching once school starts... tomorrow we start (with or without eyeballs).  

Our Sacred Hearts

I know that La Basilique du Sacre Coeur de Montmarte is considered by many an overcrowded, over-rated tourist spot.  Obviously, since I purchased a tacky cardboard music box there I do not share those sentiments (back off: it spoke to me... specifically: Bonjour, American Tourist, please buy me too, while you're buying your authentic made-in-China berets... ).  Some things can be smothered in thick cliche, and still be viable. 

My heart had a break this morning.  Do you believe me, or does it come off as too much?  I'm not sure how else to say it.  I learned that I made a sweet little boy cry.

The law of unintended consequences.  

This morning I read an email from the mother of my son's best friend from school.  She said that last night they heard their boy crying in his bedroom because my son wouldn't be at school this year.  His parents comforted him and told him that it was okay to be sad, and that we would try to coordinate a lot of together time.  

The thing is that this boy isn't spoiled in any way.  This wasn't the crying of a child who always gets what he wants and is upset that his plans have been ruined.  He is sweet and gentle and respectful.  His heart was hurt.  

I have been given the sacred reminder that our year will impact more than just us.  We really are on this journey together.  In a past life I was serving drinks on an airplane.  It was twilight beyond the windows.  A passenger was chatting with me while I scooped ice.  He found out I was starting graduate school in the fall, but didn't really know what I was doing with my life.  He was starting theology school, and hoped that he knew what he was doing.  He asked if I had read Frederick Buechner; I had not.  When he got off the plane he handed me the Buechner book he had been reading with a note written inside wishing me luck.  That was fifteen years ago, and there are passages from that book that come into my mind daily.  We make contacts; we change the course of each others' lives; we touch our quivering hearts.  

My reminder: don't bemoan the swarm crowding the steps of Sacre Coeur... or the sidewalks of Manhattan.  There are people in those crowds that will touch our lives.  Walk gently; touch, but don't shove; understand that we will break hearts even when we don't intend to...