Snow Day

Happy that we got out there before it all turned to slush soup. 

Happy that once we were home and warm our friends came to play with seizure-inducing flashing jelly rings... just because. 

Why I Hate eReaders

Today The Girl started her pottery class. As the projects start coming back I'll give more details. For now I'll say that when I picked her up she was rosy-cheeked from the warmth of the nearby kiln, finely dusted with dry clay, and sparkling. 

The studio is up at 109th, so Judd the Red Chicken and I decided to kick around up there for the hour and a half. The neighborhood around St. John the Divine is one that I like. It hasn't been completely conspicuously consumed by chain stores. 

In fact, one of the loveliest (ladders on rollers -- yep; cushions in window seats -- yep) not-chain, child-centered bookstores is right up there at Broadway/112th -- Bank Street Bookstore.

I walk in and feel like every problem can be fixed. We can all be smarter, cooler, kinder, healthier, funnier, artsier... if we can just spend enough time there... if we can just buy enough books. I bought a few that I'll share as we use them, but my favorite take-away was intangible. The Boy and I were upstairs sitting next to each other in a window seat looking out at the snow coming down. We were a part of the city, but not being put out by it. He studiously looked through first a book about armor, and then a book about spies. I looked through my pile of books, but then just watched him for a bit. I wondered how his brain was taking in the information -- do pictures flicker across his mind? Does he see himself in armor? Or carrying a weapon disguised as an umbrella? Does he feel excited, or curious, or confused? Does he sense my presence next to him, or is he far away? I looked at the wooden ladder on rollers attached to the railing, and thought what I always think: man, I want one of those. I looked out at the street and considered that even though the snow-spitting clouds were making it feel close, it was still much lighter than it would have been a couple of weeks ago. The day was shifting into evening; the seasons are on the cusp of change. I knew it was a moment to remember. 

"I'm glad to be right here with you," I said.
He smiled up at me, and while his eyes slid back to his book said, "Yeah, thanks, me too." 

The Right Ratio of Cream to Mousse is Critical

Certainly it would have been classier to take a picture of the pot au chocolat as it was presented at the restaurant. Candles. The city doing its citiness on the other side of the window. But a blurry picture of the remainders slopped around in the take home container is going to have to do. 

When I was covertly investigating the idea of homeschooling I would strike up conversations with people to find out their opinions/ideas on the topic. There were comments gathered from that era that I think about frequently (some people I can't make eye-contact with because I know exactly what they think of homeschoolers...).  One comment that has resonated was from a mom who had homeschooled for a couple of years, but had returned to the public school system.

"Why did you decide it wasn't working?" Me
"I didn't. I loved it." Her
"Did the kids not like it?"
"They liked it. We all loved it."
"So...?"
"My marriage. It wasn't good for my marriage. By the time my husband came home I was too exhausted to care about him. I would become furious if he made a comment about the household things that were being neglected, and I started to feel like I was carrying a disproportionate amount of the family's work. We stopped liking each other."
"Ah."
"If we had the financial means to hire people -- to clean the house, or transport the kids, or tutor more subjects -- we would have continued homeschooling. But since we didn't, I needed to think of my relationship with my husband."

My marriage. I, too, feel worn out. I get that dangerous feeling sometimes like EVERY bit of my being has been offered up for the family's consumption and there is very little validation/gratitude. We might have hit a low point when we were recently at an outing that The Dad was supposed to organize (though I had found the info and sent the link), and he had forgotten to bring real money (we are a debit card people)... After he struck a deal with the old man minding the cash box ("I have exactly $18.33, though we owe $20 -- will that be okay?"), I was like: seriously?  All of the billions of details that I have to manage daily to keep the scheme running... and he couldn't remember to stop by the ATM? I actually said -- in a low voice accompanied by a slow, lizard-like blink: "I despise you." Now, that right there is some good education for the offspring. 

Balance. Proportion. 

We are lucky to have The Sister, so today I texted The Dad and suggested that after the kids went to bed we go down to the restaurant on the ground floor of our building and get dessert. It was nice. It was important. 

Jersey Ain't Post-War Rural England

I was unable to post last night because I was wandering around a decaying estate and being spooked at every turn. In other words, I was shivering in my bed and finishing up The Little Stranger by flashlight. Had I not been so consumed by the gothic tale, I would have shared our weekend adventure. I'll do it now, but I'll be the first to say that this is all rather bland... it's like checking in to a Marriott after having been guests at the Bates Motel...

Anywho, we went to Jersey. At The Great Swamp Outdoor Education Center there was a sweet maple tapping program. There were crafts and science tables (group the seeds according to how they disperse -- hitchhiking, eating/excreting, blowing, etc.), maple-flavored treats, and then the education walk.  With our fun and knowledgable guide we walked through the trees and learned first how the Lenape Indians made granulated sugar ("Who knows what tribe of native people lived here? Nobody? Fourth-grade teachers are weeping right now..."  I actually thought: if The Boy retains this fact we might actually get ahead...), and then how the settlers came and made syrup, and how both small and large farms tap and process today. By the way, I didn't know that there weren't honeybees here until the British brought them. The Girl knew this fact. I really received a subpar education. 

I would write so much more right now about the theories regarding how maple syrup was discovered, etc... but I can't keep my eyes open. I'm getting too old to stay up late engrossed in ghost stories... this fatigue has been haunting me all day.