This morning I toured an elementary/middle school -- thinking ahead for potential middle school options. The mission statement of the school centers around creating and sustaining a nurturing community. That's a good mission statement. I was impressed by the different ways it was implemented -- kids allowed to flop on the rug, or sit up in a chair; sweet notes written by the teachers...
I was surprised and concerned with how a significant amount of people -- parents, volunteers, etc. moved freely throughout the enormous facility. How vulnerable the kids looked walking by themselves. How casual the security guards seemed. At 10:30am I texted my friend about the tour:
"Love the philosophy. Hate the lack of safety."
My instincts after visiting the school were fibers -- warm, damp webs -- cocoon-like, organic, and visceral. I wanted to draw my children close. I wondered if the words in my text were going to stand as not just my position on that school, but my feelings towards school in general now that I've had them home with me everyday. I wondered if being away from the school environment had messed me up.
My feelings two hours later after hearing about the tragedy at a Connecticut elementary school were like little humming wires charged with static electricity. Nothing organic -- certainly nothing that could grow a plan or instigate purposeful action -- just shock. Like every other parent today, it messed me up.
How can we teach them how to be nurturing members of a community if there are no safe places to teach them? And if we don't teach them -- how safe can our communities be?
"Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground." Oscar Wilde.
I suppose the question going forward is how to make holy ground fertile.
Central Park is the perfect classroom in all seasons.
We set out late afternoon to uncoop the kids. Originally the plan was to just go to the playground. As we were going through the gate we were were hustled by a Good Morning, America cameraman /intern who needed clips of kids and their parents talking about the new year and resolutions. I told him that we were not having a camera-ready day and actually pointed out a much better looking family for him to chase down. He looked at me like I was a nutter. Finally, I told him that I would ask my moppets, so I called them over and gave them the choice. The Boy shrugged and said, "Sure." The Girl looked at me like I was a nutter and said, "Why would I?" The cameraman decided that one out of three was better than nothing and so it began...
"What do you hope will happen in the new year?"
"That I'll get a chicken."
"Say: 'In the new year I hope that I'll get a chicken.'"
"In the new year I hope that I will get a chicken."
"Why?"
"Because they are my favorite animal."
"What is your resolution for the new year?"
[Aside to me: "What's a resolution?"
"Something that you hope to do better."]
"I hope to do better at math."
"Say that your new year's resolution is to do better at math."
"My new year's resolution is to do better at math."
The thing is, this isn't the first time we've played this game. Last year the same thing went down: The Girl said no way, The Boy said okay and the next thing you know the kid has a camera pointed at him and he's giving it the ol' college try with his very cute smile and saying completely random things. That time the questions were about President Obama and the question and answer that we laughed about all the way home was:
"What do you know about The White House."
[Note: I thought he was going to knock this out of the park because of all the details he noticed and talked incessantly about after we took a tour.]
"It's big... and it's white."
That time he was such a good sport as we laughed and laughed and through his giggles he said so cute: "I sounded like an idiot!"
Today after the cameraman cleared out he asked how he did. I said something about how it was great. As a joke I said that maybe hoping for world peace would have been good, too. He went and played and came back over to me ten minutes later:
"World peace would have been good, but everybody probably says that. And I really do want a chicken."
"Then that was the perfect answer."
Sometimes I forget how much our comments and approval mean.
The playground experience wasn't meant to be for some reason today. It felt flat for all of us, and the late afternoon light was perfect, so we wandered. The kids each gave $1 to the man playing Christmas carols on his saxophone and he was really great and stopped and took his gloves off to give them each a high five and thank them. We thanked him for playing -- there are few things that are better than a good street musician. And then I guess once his gloves were off he decided to take a break, and as we walked away down the now-silent path my ever-astute girl-child said, "I guess we shouldn't have paid him. Now he's not playing."
We opened pods.
We walked around The Pond and found, for the first time a little built-in model of The Pond.
With no homework to hold us hostage we enjoyed the park. The only very-minor issue was that the elastic in the waistband of my tights died an honorable death, and in so doing created the need for me to do strange wiggles and hoistings in order to get them back up and over (as opposed to off, under, and heading for my ankles). The person painted and draped to look like the Statue of Liberty got to witness the wrasslin' match. Your huddled masses yearning to be free took on a whole new meaning, I'm sure.
In the mail today came The Girl's Web Ranger patch.
I hope that they are always people who enjoy learning about and being in nature/outside. I hope that if Judd the Red Chicken ever gets himself a chicken that that chicken treats him right. I hope that I never have to walk home with broken tights sans long puffy coat -- that's the only thing that stood between me and a walk-of-shame past the doormen.
Somebody made a crane out of his/her subway wrapper and left it as public art smack in the middle of the sidewalk. We did all the things with it that one is supposed to do with public art -- we walked around it and viewed it from different angles, we considered its origins, and we talked about the artist and what might have been his/her vision. You have to know that the day is going to be filled with serendipitous creativity when you stumble upon a new installation in this manner.
Friend A is fully capable. Full stop. Period. I honestly think that she can do all things. I shouldn't attempt a list, but just a sampling: she can tune our zither by ear (which is a much bigger feat than some would acknowledge), she can cook/bake anything without a recipe (and everything, with the exception of one mediocre pumpkin granola is as good as, or better than anything I've ever ordered), her haikus have the proper spin following that seven-syllable line, her shrinky-dinks are quirky, and she hears me -- and my offspring. We all love her. So today, when I needed to run over to check something out I asked if it would make it feel like she was stepping out on her own -- in-schooled -- children if I brought my moppets along for her to do "some sort of project" with them. Who can you give such vague instruction to and feel totally confident that the outcome will be awesome? Precious few.
Felting. She showed them magnified wool fibers on the computer and explained that when wool gets wet those scale-like fibers open and if a bit of friction occurs those opened fibers tangle together and become felt. The students then chose the wool roving that they wanted to work with and began tearing it and making wispy little piles. With the help of warm soapy water they took those piles and made the felting process happen. The technique to make a ball takes a bit of finesse (i.e. don't squeeze, let it drop from hand to hand). Friend A/Teacher kept saying lovely things like: "Imagine there's a baby bird that you're cupping in your hands and you're gently transferring him from one hand to the other; you don't want him to fly away." I was like: "She said not to squeeze. Hello. She said not to squeeze." In the end, neither nurturing nor tough-love worked and one child ended up with something that looked like an S.O.S. pad rather than a ball. Again, people named Not-Me handle things like this beautifully. Did Friend A start ranting about listening to directions? She did not. She asked him what they should do with that. In the end, he did the obvious thing: he made it into a toupee.
Friend A knows somebody who bought a rather expensive toupee over a decade ago and apparently feels like that type of investment should last a life time... even if it no longer matches his fringe hair. Further, this high-end hairpiece has a suction cup -- important for when he wears it waterskiing. We might have looked up some pictures on The Facebook. Come on. Now that's called getting an education.
My daughter, who will focus for all her life on something artistic, especially if Friend A is at the helm, made her little ball with some embellishments (when we got home she used a Sharpie to add a face and turn it into an animal).
Friend A showed us the felt geodes that she and her kids made. You essentially felt a tiny ball and then continue to felt layers over the top, with the final, outer layer being grey or brown (rock-colored). You then crack the geode (by way of slicing with a sharp knife) and see all the layers inside. The kids are rather interested in investing in some wool roving and setting aside a chunk of time to make some geodes. Which is exactly what you hope happens after learning something new -- a desire to do more, to go further. Today, they made a tiny little marbled ball and sliced it open for an experiment.
Later, we were home and actually enjoying math. This happens when we read through the Life of Fred books. I don't know if these books will help with the state standardized tests someday, but they did prompt the creation of these elephants today:
And when we got to this page in the book:
Both kids instantaneously shouted: "Wool!" and triumphantly waved their little creations that both were still holding. Serendipity, you are a fun friend.
School was done. Judd the Red Chicken was working on his Police Department (an enormous box that we have taking up a goodly portion of our living room), and he created this "Wanted" sign:
"WANTED by NYCPD for busting open mail boxes and stealing letters. Bean Bust Wager [name]. Description: 5 feet 2 inches. Weighs about 191 and a half pounds. Wears a pinkish red wig otherwise is bald. Has 19 realtives who live in Iowa. Under August's FBI 10 most wanted list. Cation: He could be dangrous because of his prying and crowbar skills. You might need to know his favorite food are bananas. His favorite drink is diet Sprit. He is non church related too and his finger prints are arches. That's what you need to know. Also he got his wig at the berlin womans wig store. BE CAREFUL. If your a bounty hunter stay out of it."
I've said it before: no knowledge is ever wasted.
Today we had a guest teacher. Our friend who makes the world's best ginger spice cookies came over and bustled about the kitchen with my kids. I lurked around while holding her pretty baby, but mostly wanted the kids to have the opportunity to work with and interact with an adult other than me.
It is educational to witness others working with your children. Their eyes are fresh to your kids, so they can better see -- things like what is funny and what is just a small mistake (they aren't being smothered by a pileup of that same mistake, so they can keep proper perspective and see it as an isolated incident... because most things should be allowed to be isolated incidents when it comes to kids with their barely-viable frontal lobes and phantom short-term memories...). Plus, people are their better selves around different faces, so I saw my kids in consistently-polite and cheerful mode.
Sometimes when my nerves have been twanged for a while I don't think that separating/"getting out" is necessarily the answer -- I felt more refreshed, motivated, and appreciative of my kids by being around (but not being in charge). It helped that the friend that came is kind and has an excellent sense of humor.
As a way to get the children meeting other homeschoolers I enrolled them in a class that sounded smart, unique, esteem-building, and embedded in the homeschooling community. Unfortunately, the class was in competition with another project going on at the organization, and so my kids ended up being the class. Alas. You would think that that would result in something pragmatic like the class being canceled, or at least something subtle like sub-par teaching. On the contrary, the entire experience was fully realized and my kiddos had a lot of personal attention from an incredible teacher.
The class was twelve weeks, and each class was two hours long. For the first hour they read Wilde's fairy tales, and the second hour they learned different theatre/movement techniques/exercises. Once the stories were all read the children chose their favorite ("The Remarkable Rocket"), and turned it into a play. Once the play was written they made all the decisions on how it should be staged -- what props to make, what costumes to create. They worked on lights -- what effect would make it look like fireworks were exploding? How should a scene change be signaled?
They decided that the best way to handle the challenge of so few actors, and so many characters would be to stage the bulk of it as a puppet show, with a few roles/moments being acted in person. The blending of the two was quite avant-garde. They used black gloves when they were holding the puppets, etc.
They had a dress rehearsal, made the programs, and invited some of their favorite people to attend.
And they attended.
It is critical that you have friends about you when your adrenaline increases -- whether the increase happens from excitement or fear or a combination of the two. Having friends grounds you and counters the flight or fight response, thus enabling you to progress past neanderthal and into civilized artist.
Having friends when you need them is a vital part of a happy and healthy life. Having friends who bring along more friends -- little bird friends -- to congratulate you on a job well done (in lieu of bouquets) is magical.
The kids made programs that they were proud of; they created and performed a play/puppet show that they were proud of; after the show they curated a "props and costumes museum" that they were proud of; they entertained their friends and family whom they are proud of. It feels good to be proud of your kids, but it feels better when you can see that they are proud of themselves and the goodness that is their lives.
We went and celebrated with our friends at Good Burger post-theatre.
