We are watching Swiss Family Robinson. That youngest kid, Frances, bugs the crap out of me. That has nothing to do with anything. Around here today we did not build a multi-terraced awesome tree house, nor did we design a fabulous sun hat out of leaves and flowers. We did feel rather accomplished when we successfully made our own grids and filled in the multiplication facts.
After completing their tables the kids double-checked their numbers with calculators and then made little flash cards with a cool ring of small papers that we bought at MUJI. There was enough of an art element to the whole thing to keep the whining somewhat contained.
A while back I mentioned the project with "multiples" that had to do with our school pictures. Our friend Maria is a brilliant photographer and she not only handled the kids' individual "school" pictures this Fall, but she also agreed to help out with the "class picture." She and her husband (another talented photographer) laboriously created a composite of all the students that are in The Boy and The Girl's class this year...
Sorry. I know that this "Everyman"/anonymous thing gets old at times. I've filtered the heck out of this, so it loses most of its charm. Essentially with the help of wigs, mustaches, a couple of paper masks and some very lame "costume changes" (that's the one thing I would do differently -- we ran out of the apartment without properly thinking through the clothes detail -- we switched some cardigans, and at one point The Sister got down to her tank top to donate her shirt to the cause... anyway...) we positioned the kids over and over on the bleachers at the park (that we had to gain access to by going under a fence), and from all those shots our friends produced this beautiful, brilliant masterpiece. The cute and quirky details/nuances are lost here (again, sorry), but I'm so happy with it I wanted to document that it exists. Missing out on school pictures -- the product and the process -- was actually something that I was quite concerned about when making the decision to go or not go with the scheme. This was so fun (the process and the product) that it stands as a reminder that for everything that is lost, something can be gained.
Tonight at a Cub Scouts awards ceremony I chatted with a couple of moms that I really like from school. Sounds like I'm not missing much. Things are going on in pretty much the same manner by pretty much the same people. It's like when we get in the car to leave the city and drive down streets and past landmarks that we walk by everyday, yet from the car window things seem foreign, the scene seems flat; people are strangely anonymous -- comprising something that we feel little connection with. It's even weird to think that there is an entry point -- that we usually enter the fray and take up space there. Thinking about school feels similarly distant these days. That's not bad or good -- just interesting.
Today The Boy took something flat and made it multi-dimensional.
He used skewers and red thread to make do-not-pass ropes then turned out the lights and led us in the room for the flashlight tour. His voice inflection perfectly mimicked about 80% of the tour guides we've had through the years, but his content wasn't so accurate. Rather than saying that animal hides were used to cover the door he referred it as "animal blubber," and when the light beam hit the papoose he called it a "caboose." The Dad corrected him and without missing a beat Judd the Red Chicken said with a straight face, "As some pointed out it can be called a papoose, but in lesser known tribes it was referred to as different things. Even a cackoose." It sounds kind of funny when I write it (oh, kids just say the darndest things!), but at the time I was like: "Knock it off." Just as Swiss-Family-Frances suffers my disdain, if I'm going on a flashlight tour of the Plains Indians I expect my guide to stick to the facts.
A text exchange:
Friend: You need to take your kids to the Armory to see the thread exhibit if you haven't already. That's a whole day of "school" right there. It's cool.
Me: Will look into it. Thanks for the lead!
****
Me: ... it is cool. Thank you.
Friend: ... Have your kids write a paper on what the hell they thought the pigeons meant, and call that "school."
Me: The "guide" I tracked down told us that it was symbolic of communication (the reading of Aristotle, the nightly release, the daily return). Whatever. I can suspend/bridge enough for that... I just didn't get why the readers were in the faux animal skins??? We did really, really like it. Keep the cool event suggestions coming.
Friend: Cheater!
For the record: a) We are insanely grateful for all of the help that we're getting with the scheme... people teaching things to our kids, texting us suggestions, treating us like we're actually NOT this close to drinking the Kool-Aid. The communication/ideas/philosophies that we're getting from "the outside" is raising us higher than we could have gone on our own. b) It is totally NOT cheating to ask people for their interpretation of things... that's what I hope my kids are learning: ask for input, learn from others, explore the maps of people's brains. But do be sure to call out the emperor if he's naked (or wearing faux animal skins).
Today we went to the Armory on 67th/Park (it is a beautiful, beautiful building... we went to the antique show there once and I was immediately smitten), and participated in the ANN HAMILTON: the event of a thread exhibit.
Of course the children were thrilled to see the homing pigeons. The cages and water bottles are aesthetically beautiful.
We have never noticed that the cuticle (?) on their beaks are heart-shaped. The Girl pointed it out and as we went from wooden cage to wooden cage to confirm that every pigeon has it we were struck with a kind of quiet awe that we had never noticed it before. Not because as New Yorkers we pass pigeons everyday, but because we notice pigeons. The Boy has named the regulars on our block, for crying out loud.
This is what the pigeon set-up looks like:
There are two people in strange get-ups reading Aristotle (changes daily, but usually it's a philosopher) into microphones. The entrance of their voices into the building is done via speakers subtly around the walls. You have to actively listen for it. Apparently, the reading to the pigeons is symbolic of contributing depth into communication. Further, every night a vocalist goes onto the balcony and sings while the pigeons are released to go wherever they want in the cavern. A vinyl record is cut/the singing is recorded and that exact record is played back the next morning as the homing pigeons return to their wooden cages. Is it a reflection about our words flying away and then coming back to us? About communication being ethereal and symbolic at best?
Beyond the pigeons is an enormous silk sheet that is connected to swings and weights. As people swing the silkiness ripples.
We didn't have to wait long until we got our chance on a swing. I was surprised at what it feels like to push a swing that has such long chains. Not feeling the controlled arc that comes with shorter chains it was like I was pushing them off into an abyss -- in slow motion.
We walked up on the balcony and got a birds-eye view.
And then went back down and found a space under the billowing silk.
It never looks the same because its movement is dependent on how all the individual swings are being utilized. At times it almost brushed our faces and at other times it jerked a few feet above us.
I could have stayed under the whiteness for a long time, but the kids were excited for me to try a swing, so we went back and stood around until one became available.
It felt like floating.
When I was going forward.
My backward progression always ended in overly-enthusiastic little hands slamming into me before the swing was even close to finishing its backward journey. And then I would be pushed forward again -- floating towards a dancing white curtain with giggles in the air behind me. Since this field trip experience encouraged symbolic thinking I'll go ahead with this one: 2013 IS going to be a year when I no longer use motherhood as my excuse to not pursue my forward momentum. I've written a book that's been sitting for two years. It's a YA book that I crafted for a writing competition, but wasn't able to make the minimum word count before the deadline (I might have started five days before the deadline... as a bit of a lark... that turned into a frenzied four-day all-nighter as I got more and more into it). I think that it has potential. I think that there are some words and ideas that deserve to be given flight. The scheme is all about authentic learning and having the cajones to step into unknown territory. So I'll be working on that. I'll even put it here to document it -- make it official. If anybody knows/has a lead for an agent/publisher/editor/millionaire-who-wants-a-project let me know (I promise that my actual writing is a lot more pulled together than the el blog-o).
From The Girl: "The only thing that would make it better is if they let the pigeons out to perch on our fingers... while we swing." Yeah. What she said. The pigeons are there. The swings are there. Why not dream big?
Tonight we put on a major production. For the past few days The Girl has been writing a play. She wrote the story, laboriously made a study sheet for each of us with our respective lines bulleted, planned the costumes, made the props and crafted the setting. The Boy was the Marilyn Monroe of the group: at times luminescent, but at other times bringing the rehearsals to a frustrating halt with his demands and temperamental flare-ups. The Girl was a hard-working writer/producer/director -- she made concessions, made compromises, made creative adjustments. Finally, after a few successful run-throughs we were ready for The Dad to come home to become our audience. We donned our wigs; we delivered our lines. It was an unmitigated success.
The Sister was a star. She plastered on hideous makeup and screeched her lines in the perfect character-voice. She even had a good attitude about the practical joke that we played on her. When she wasn't home we wrote the bios in the program and we made up outlandish details for hers. She flies home tomorrow for a couple of weeks -- we will miss her.
The thing about plays is timing. There's two sides to consider. The obvious fact is that the timing has to be right. The success or failure of plays, of music, of jokes is whether or not the timing is right. The right gestation of the pregnant pause; the right quickness of the interruption to make it seem authentic.
The other nuance about timing is that sometimes it gets flubbed, but the circling back ad-libbing to make it right, to make it work, can be heroic. To make it through a performance pitch-perfect is fabulous, but to huddle backstage with high adrenaline patting each other on the back for an on-the-spot brilliant recovery is the stuff of legends. The Boy had such a moment tonight -- he forgot to ask his pet, Furman, how he was doing (the dramatic equivalent of forgetting to drop the chandelier in Phantom) before he shifted scenes. From the wings (actually from under the couch) The Girl was about to pop a vein about it. Judd the Red Chicken remembered in the middle of a different line, incorporated the information, and continued... What sweet satisfaction!
Of course the new year always brings with it a hyperawareness of time. Another year to reflect on. Where were we last year? Where was I 25 New Year's Eves ago? What have we learned? What will happen in this new year? What will we be doing/who will we be with next year? An anxious worrier at heart, I often consider the things that I was worried about that never came to pass... The unanticipated things that happened that I now know to worry about going forward...
Yesterday we helped manage one of The Boy's fears. He kind of has a thing about dams. He had a nightmare once and now dams top his list of things to worry about (whether nature or nurture anxious personalities seem to run in families). Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he remembered visiting New Croton Dam a couple of years ago and unexpectedly asked to return to it. And so we did. And he thought it was beautiful and said that while he was still afraid of most dams, he thought that maybe they weren't all terrible. He even ventured far enough to suggest that there might be a time when he won't be afraid of them at all. I was impressed with his ability to project -- to know that no matter how strong his feelings are right now, there is always a chance that time will change them... temper them.
We listened to a Mr. Roger's song in the car that made me think that if people (me) could truly believe in just the title there would be a lot more personal peace and awareness. It's called: "Sometimes Isn't Always." It's such a simple and deep way to consider the powerful impact of time. Don't despair -- time will change this moment. Don't take things for granted, for time will change this moment.
Today we pushed a bit more on the still tender, tentative attempts to understand the fear away. We looked up some videos on how dams are constructed, checked out some websites, and made our own dams out of sugar cubes. Of course when we flooded our dams the lesson wasn't so much whether or not the design/engineering was sound, but rather how fast sugar dissolves.
Earlier in the day we finally made our trek to Rockefeller to see the tree. We ran out of time before Christmas, or actually just didn't make the time.
While down there we passed the taping of the TODAY show, and what did my wondering eyes see, but that sweet-spot corner wide open. The magic corner that guarantees that you make it on TV. As you'll recall, after getting up at 5:30am on my grandma's birthday we barely squeaked on for the nano-ist of nanoseconds. It totally took the kids and The Sister by surprise when I saw that opening today and was like: "Get in there. Move!"
It was a commercial break and then the "One minute!" call, then the "20 seconds!" call and then it happened: the camera guy swept and got right to us and did a super long close-up of The Girl -- all of us -- but especially The Girl. The Sister was a bit irked ("I have a huge open wound on my face!"), and to be honest, I wasn't that keen on my appearance either, but by golly-golly it still felt like we won. This time we attacked it! This time we didn't even have to work for it and we got solid pay-off. Granted, there was nobody watching, so as far as I know nobody else knows that we conquered the TODAY show, yet somehow it seemed to be symbolic of all that we've accomplished in this first half of the scheme. No longer are we pathetic wimps who stand by the barricades for hours without acknowledgement -- NOW we are experts who walk right up and within three minutes get a close-up. Snap.
From there we stopped by Anthropologie and saw a cool fiber-arts display. Again, it felt like a sign from above that we have been using our time well, for the kids looked at it and immediately started to talk about their knowledge of felting...
Using our time wisely. Using time to our advantage. Acknowledging that time creates distance. It can soften things. For those wondering, during the break I did tell the children about Sandy Hook. I knew that the time would come when it felt like the right thing to do. I listened to wise counsel from friends. I had the opportunity to speak with my stepmother who is an Educational Psychologist. There had been some references made during talks at church and I wondered what the children had picked up on, and wanted to be sure that when they learned the actual details that it was from us. I thought that there would be more questions, and maybe more will come, but it was a simple, short, even sacred-feeling conversation. The only thing that I wish that I could change was when I unexpectedly became teary. I referenced Mr. Rogers's quote about looking for the helpers when something sad/bad happens, and I choked up.
A new year. A time for reflecting, for resolutions, for goals, for seizing the day and all that... In a couple of weeks I send in our second quarterly report signaling the half-way point of the scheme. Again, time is a two-edged sword -- it provides the space to become experts -- to know where to stand; to nail our performance. It also provides the opportunity to stand on an edge and look down, or back, and see how we can change/improvise... to collect what we still need to collect... add what needs to be added... fix what needs to be fixed -- and be triumphant.
