Layers and Filters

Today was dedicated to social studies -- we needed to get out of our apartment and see our city.  What with the subways being down, and the park closure, and everything else related to the hurricane and the blizzard we were one solitary step away from becoming mole people. 

The integral ingredient to soul-satisfying wandering-about is to start with a purpose; the Doughnut Plant has month-specific flavors; there is a narrow window for pumpkin. We went to the Chelsea location, and after our sticky consumption followed 23rd street over to the most beautiful Home Depot on the planet. Once upon a time (turn of the last century?) it was Stern's -- a high end department store that had pianists on every floor. It was called "the giant wedding cake on 23rd" -- which provides a nice picture of its detailing and whiteness. We rifled through some metal drawers and got some screws that we've needed for over a year (I've found that some cupboards don't actually need functioning handles, but the teenage interloper shamed me out of my slovenliness), and The Boy picked out some small metal pinning things that he's sure he'll need for an experiment. The entire purchase was under $2. 

We walked past the Marble Collegiate Church and saw the prayers for peace ribbons. I was hoping that they represented soldiers that might still be coming home, but that's not the case.

From cool vintage vacuum cleaners to a not-cool man ranting and screaming in our faces about how we are idiots if we don't know that the Chicago mafia is the devil, this city provides. The kids were so happy to be out and about they asked to go through every door ("Um, no... inappropriate." I said about one store. "Every store has inappropriate stuff, we just don't pay attention," was the response by one of my wise sages... still, the veto remained). The point was valid though, I have to rely heavily on them having/developing strong filters.   

We grabbed the M2 -- a limited bus up Madison to 57th where we hopped off and walked over to 5th. Here we provided the other book end to our gender studies unit: the reason why Judd the Red Chicken got his 79-cent package of small pieces of metal was to use as leverage as we girls walked through all the shimmery goodness of Tiffany's. Every time he opened his mouth to complain he had to snap it shut again when he remembered that I had bought his silence with man-type hardware. 

"That's where she stands in the movie." I said.
"Who?"
"Holly Golightly."
"We don't know what you're talking about."

Could it be possible?

Having marked ourselves as tourists by taking the Tiffany & Co. picture we went ahead and joined the flock of Euros watching the b-boys/flippers. I actually said, "This is kind of gym class. Except we're not doing it." Whatever the freak that means. We clapped along and watched the human body do extraordinary things. 

And then we had a sub-lesson:

"So why was it funny when he pretended to run away with the handbags?" The Girl
"And why did he keep making jokes about 'black guys' that weren't appropriate?" The Boy

Derrrrrr. I tried to explain that they were making reference to bad jokes, but because of the way that they said them they were actually trying to make fun of the bad jokes. They were making fun of people who have certain perceptions... It was the subtlety that was tripping me up... I mean we're dealing with layers, and irony, and bigotry. It's one thing to hear something horrible on the sidewalk and chat about why we don't say certain things, but it's trickier to explain the intricacies of street performers using racially-loaded satire in their schtick. 

"But they can only say those things because they are 'black guys' -- it wouldn't have been okay otherwise, right?" Kid

Well... some might say that it's still not okay, but I don't know...Who am I to throw the street performers under the bus, and hold up while I just start spinning in circles and blowing raspberries... 

Being back on the streets with the masses was good for our spirits, but it paled in comparison with being back in the park. 

Guess what we did when we got home? They wrote a rough-draft of a story, and then we popped in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Mostly I did it because we had already walked down the sticky slope of racial stereotypes so I thought Mickey Rooney's bizarre performance would solidify the material. Kidding. We watched it because we were so full of NYC-love I thought it would be fun for them to see their iconic home in an iconic way. They were happy to see the library and the park and even Tiffany's, but I was not prepared for the discussions we had. We talked about a need to belong, and a need to feel useful. We talked about making the right choice even when it hurts and makes you cry. We talked about love. My babies are growing up. 

It was dark outside by the time the movie finished. I was feeling worn out from the adventuring and critical thinking. The Girl asked if she could look up some of the jewelry on the Tiffany website because she "might want to save up for something." She typed away while I got dinner started.

"Um, Mom, come here."

Wiping my hands on a towel, I walked over to the computer where she was pointing to a unicorn broach that we saw today. 

"Look at the price."

"Yeah... It's as much as Nana and Grandpa's house." I answered.

"I don't want to save up for anything from there." She said with her chin lifted.

"Well.  It would take a while." I kind of laughed.

"No. I just don't think that's right." And she lifted her chin a bit higher and clicked away the webpage with a self-righteous flourish. 

Eating Well

"Under the fence / Catch the sheep / Back we go / Off we leap"

Today Judd the Red Chicken had a treat. His favorite teacher (now retired from the public school system) teaches knitting, and so we have arranged for two knitting lessons a month (it's the last class we can add before I start donating plasma). He has wanted to learn how to knit for at least three years, so the stars certainly aligned for him on this one. In fact, he is so peacefully cheerful (THE balance one hopes for with a nine-year old boy... the other cheerful -- the explosive spastic kind -- makes me question the very principle of reproduction) that he agreed to teach The Girl how to knit once he gets it down. Makes me warmer inside than a cardigan and thick socks ever can. 

Here's what's brilliant -- other than that cute little rhyme that helps him remember how to create stitches, and a discussion on wool -- he's also learning MATH. Today the two knitters chatted about things like: "diameter" and "circumference." Fingers crossed that he will have to eat his words (those words being: I hate math and I don't agree that it's useful). If anybody can bring about word-eating it will be this teacher. She doesn't force-feed; she makes things appealing. 

I have some words to eat. I believe I documented here that I am leaving the kids to their own self-regulation when it comes to reading and submitting book reports. If they want their bank accounts to increase then they put the work in without prodding. I have stepped completely and totally out of it, and in so doing am providing a rich opportunity for success or failure... a lesson in self-motivation... an untainted case study in causal determinism. 

Except here's the thing: I really like reading the book reports. 

So I might have heard myself -- perhaps more than once -- maybe, sort of, almost providing the most modicum of modicums of encouragement to get going on the book reports. 

Now that I'm aware of it I'm going to totally snap back -- becoming once again the disinterested banker.

Here's why I'm hungry for more -- at the end of the form there are the questions: "What did you learn? What will you do differently?"

A snippet from the report on Ramona Forever:

"I learned that I should be nice to [Judd the Red Chicken] because it sounds tarribel when Beezus and Ramona fight so I should not do it."

From J.T. -- a tender book from the 70's:

"I learned that cats like bread. I think I'll not take a privete bathroom for granted." 

Glimpses inside my kids' minds -- it's what my son called his hot cocoa yesterday -- "the juice... no... no...  the nectar of the angels." 

Donkeys, Elephants, and Pigs... Oh, My!

This morning while The Girl and I were at the table doing math Judd the Red Chicken was working on his piano and getting frustrated. In the past he has said that he wished he was born without fingers so he wouldn't be expected to play the piano, today there was a variation to the theme... In a quick dramatic movement he was lying prone on the floor surrounded by his scattered Thompson piano workbooks. 

"Ugh," he flopped over onto his back and hit the floor with a fist, "I want to say a bad word. I want to say it so bad that the person who invented it is my worst enemy... for inventing a word that I want to say and can't. Mom, can I just go in the bathroom and say it?"

"Yep." 

The Girl guessed, based on a Ramona book, that it was "probably guts," and continued working on her math. I tiptoed to the bathroom door and heard: "damnitdamnitdamnitDAMNITdamnit."

Undoubtedly a lot of folks have been figuratively (or literally, I don't know) having similar moments in their bathrooms today. The Dad and I were talking on the phone this morning when he called to say, "Hello" from work and we both commented on feeling some sadness for the Romney family. We are impressed that the race was as close as it was, and glad that ultimately the Mormon-thing didn't factor in too hard (come on, we're weird, but not that much weirder than anybody else...). 

The kids and I watched Romney's stoic speech -- I cannot fathom giving a speech like that while being criminally exhausted, and not crying. Then we watched Obama's. I liked it. While I know that they all have to say nice things about their opponents in order to not look like a cad, Obama's nod to Romney was well crafted. First he had the lead in -- saying that whether a citizen held an Obama sign or a Romney sign they should be proud of their activity, and then he honored Mitt's parents and applauded them all for their dedication to the country. Because it had some specifics, it felt genuine. And frankly, my kids are still young enough to think that statements like that are always genuine, so he was an example to them of being gracious and inclusive. I really only have one critique of his speech: when he said that there is a furniture maker whose kids can grow up to be engineers I kind of think it would have been cool if he would have then said, "And there is an engineer whose kids can can grow up to be furniture makers." But, if he emailed me his speech for my feedback it got lost somewhere in the ether. 

These are the two questions the kids asked me after watching the speech:
The Girl: WHY can't they have two dogs?
The Boy: He's going to do his job, right? And pardon a turkey at Thanksgiving?

Another example that my kids had today was a total stranger (as opposed to our pal Barack). Being so cold out, we went to the gym at our church this morning for our running club. Up on the stage, there were some boxes of donations for the hurricane victims, and my kids found something that made them audibly gasp in unison:

They were blown away... why would Ralph's owners abandon him if he is still loved?

"That's a real donation... a real sacrifice," I explained. "It's one thing to give away extra stuff, but it's really awesome when somebody gives away something that they love or need, because they think that somebody else needs it more." 

They both backed away from the pig in the box with a reverence. There are some lessons that you can't construct. Thank you, Ralph's family.   

We didn't have any homework tonight, so we went out for a tiny walk in the snow (we were careful to avoid walking under trees, as Mayor Bloomberg reminded us that many limbs were probably weakened by the storm and might snap under the weight of snow). It's pretty out there, but I'm feeling worried for the people still without power. 

This Woman is Grateful She Can Vote, But Ready To Go to Bed Already

A year or two ago one of the kids was getting really interested in history, and the presidents, and the history of the presidents, and donkeys vs. elephants, etc. I remembered seeing some mugs at our favorite dinnerware/glassware store, and as we were passing by the store one day I decided to run in and get the mugs -- I bought one of each. Keenly proud of my balanced they-will-choose-for-themselves-position I unwrapped the mugs to show my husband.

"That's not being balanced," he smirked, "Look at who they chose -- it's the Democrats' all-stars against the Republicans' rogue's gallery."  What? 

Lesson learned: everybody has an angle. 

We were in a taxi once and while I couldn't hear what was on the radio to prompt the conversation, I certainly heard what the taxi driver -- a young man with an accent that indicated that he was not born in the U.S. -- turned around and said to the kids and me: "I don't understand these Christians who tell me that I have to be patient and wait until I understand the big picture regarding Jesus Christ. They haven't given Obama any time at all. People who always say, 'Be patient and see' should be patient and see." NYC teaches. My point: when it teaches -- or anything/anybody teaches -- I want the kids to hear. I want them to be able to see the brilliant and the ridiculous within both parties.  The majority of our church community is very conservative, and I hope that its young congregationalists can hear any sound political principals from those church members as well.  In fact, we have a very close family friend out west running for a political office on the Republican ticket and we firmly believe that he should win. We cannot vote for him obviously, but we have watched his little campaign video several times and we talk about the good things that he could do -- our collective fingers are crossed.

Critical thinkers vs. rabid constructs; believers in checks and balances vs. filibusters and blocks; advocates for reaching across the aisle... etc. The mug that the favorite dishware store came out with most recently is the one we want to have... 

Today The Girl asked pertinent questions all day like, which candidate has a dog (funny how an innocent kid's question could actually be so loaded), and she said that she wasn't sure if she didn't know who to vote for, or if she didn't really care. Her honesty was respected. I found out the moment that I stumbled out of my bedroom that The Boy was firm in his decision... he had made us all breakfast:

Yes, that's President Obama standing on a podium. 

More than the specifics of this election, we talked about broader issues. We discussed how lucky we are that today isn't a day when we have to be worried about violence. We also spent a good deal of time talking about the right to vote. We have a 17-year old in our midst who will now wait four more years before she gets to weigh in for a president, but how fortunate she is that she can look forward to that. 

For as long as the kids can remember I've worn a pin on election day that my Grandma gave to me:

It's a replica of the pin given by Alice Paul to the suffragists who had been put in prison.  Grandma had read about the pin and wondered aloud to a friend whether any pins had survived. Her friend found out that at least one had and was donated to the Framingham Historical Society and it, in conjunction with the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, made and sold replicas. She gifted my Grandma with one of those replicas and Grandma proudly wore it every year when she volunteered at the election polls (after we always talked on the phone, and she would tell me what recipe she used for the potluck the volunteers participated in). The kids love it when I wear the pin on election day, and will start reminding me about it the week before. 

I read a great book to them that I bought at the Westward Expansion Memorial gift shop in St. Louis. I was surprised at how into it they got. We studied a timeline and saw that it was 300 long years from the Mayflower to women getting the vote... when 1920 finally came The Boy pumped his fists in the air and shouted, "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" (Though, he did raise his eyebrows in a roguish way when we read the bit about husbands acquiring all the land and possessions of their wives...) The book made me cry -- which completely took me off guard because the illustrations are hideous. Here's how it ends: "The fight had lasted seventy-two years -- so long that only one woman from the Seneca Falls Convention was still alive." Sojourner Truth and Elizabeth Cady Stanton died without ever voting, and Susan B. Anthony only did once (by talking a voting inspector into letting her), but she was arrested and fined (she never paid). The amount of effort and energy that people put into causes is inspiring. We liked the roles played by some key people: Abigail Adams wrote the prophetic letter to her husband (who was rather a dud about it), Frederick Douglas saved the day at the convention, and Harry Burn, who was a Tennessee lawmaker, helped make the  (very close) decision on August 18, 1920: "In his pocket was a letter from his mother. 'Hurrah! And vote for suffrage.'" That's good stuff. We then watched the suffragette song from Mary Poppins -- the kids were like: woa... that's what that's about???

It's been a full day. The kids watched the Charlie Brown movie that we have while I made dinner, and then when The Dad came home we all went down together to vote. The Girl went with me and fed my sheet through the scanner and Judd the Red Chicken went with The Dad. I have to say that I'm sad about the new-fangled voting process. Four years ago we went into an area and pulled a curtain around us and then, after pushing all of our little levers into place, the kid got to pull (took two hands) the huge red handle that created a very satisfying sound. Oh well -- everything changes (or it doesn't). 

We made root beer floats from the special edition presidential candidate root beer we bought on our trip... and the boy vomited it up all over the bathroom floor. I'm trying to hold out to see what happens in Florida or Ohio, but I have to say that I'm fading fast... 

On Hoping

Doesn't it sound cute to say that we took sugar cookie dough, had each child (my two plus a friend) cut out/sculpt shapes of states, and once baked we frosted them green and, referring to the map, used chocolate chips to mark the capitals (and any other major cities), and blue frosting to show prominent rivers/lakes? It sounds really cute. They look really ugly. Let's face it, Colorado aside, the states are not easy to form... and sugar cookie dough can only take so much manhandling... by the time they baked up it was like, "Is this my New Hampshire, or my Virginia?"  

I've committed to go through all fifty states. Today we did our first five. When deciding on which five it made sense to start with the top-tier battle ground states so as to prep us for following the news tomorrow. They started with Ohio (kind of sort of okay because it at least has two straight sides), went on to Florida (The Boy told The Girl that hers looked like a ray-gun), happily chopped out sensibly-shaped Colorado, tried to grasp Virginia by comparing it to a small mountain next to a larger one with a straight line on the bottom, and then finished really wonky with New Hampshire. 

The food coloring we had to use for the frosting was from a past, slightly more gourmet project, so instead of good ol' grass green it was "Juniper Green" and instead of a conventional blue it was "Delphinium Blue." Which both sound nice enough, but for some reason don't translate well on a bumpy amoeba-shaped sugar cookie. Sometimes colors -- I don't know -- let's just say blue for example -- should just commit already to being a consistent, reliable, decided blue. 

So as not to further alienate half of my blog readership (1.5 person), I'll switch now and talk about our personal economic woes. The scheme is expensive. I really wanted it to not cost much because I'm already embarrassed to be doing something that not everybody can do (I absolutely get that having a parent at home is an insane luxury -- please refer to some of my first blog entries). I'm trying to be creative and take advantage of free resources and nominally-priced classes/opportunities, but good gravy, it all adds up (sugar cookie dough doesn't grow on trees my friends). To that end, today I began the bartering of my services. 

While my kids are busy taking their Oscar Wilde/theatre class I'm now conducting an essay workshop class with a couple of teenagers (in exchange for a class that my moppets will take next session from the same organization). I had to dust off the cobwebs a bit. My students wear super-smart-pants and are writing essays to apply to "top-tier boarding schools" and "top-tier Manhattan privates." I have to admit that I feel like the "doctor" in The King's Speech... like should they find out I went to a (say it in a whisper) state school they will get all teary and pissed off at my having deceived them and I'll have to be all: I never lied! I never lied! You never asked... 

...

I speak of sugar cookies and make reference to financial hardship while absolute despair is going on mere blocks away. In all honesty, I haven't got a clue how to make my existence somehow congruent, or non-offensive to that other reality. I've been asked how we're fairing here in the aftermath. I don't know how to answer. We feel grateful. We feel impressed at the help that we are seeing and hearing about. Our building collected clothes and household items for the NYPD to distribute and within hours you couldn't see the carpet or the couches in the lobby for all the donations. Some of the stories that are surfacing about loss are staggering. I don't understand how certain areas can ever be cleaned up and fixed. What I'm holding on to, and I get that it's ridiculous in its simplicity (and again callous because any "suffering" on my part is reflected/sympathy), is that time is miraculous. When I've been in the middle of heartbreak I could not have fathomed that anything could ever be okay again; I could not have believed that a time would come when I wouldn't hurt. And then time passes... and somehow, miraculously, during that time healing happens. I'm resistant to make the connection because it's not yet been a week and already it's cliche because it's so on the forefront of people's minds here, but I'll put it here to document a local sentiment: in the rubble left from September 11th, it would have felt impossible, and even cruel to suggest that a mere decade later the space would be what it is now. I don't think that anybody is saying that that decade has erased pain, or blotted out the loss, it's just a reminder that a lot of clean-up and building has happened... and fingers crossed, can happen again. In the interim I make cookies and teach privileged teens the craft of writing essays. And I hope. Mostly I hope that my neighbors who have lost so much haven't lost their hope.