Peal Buck's writing isn't too shabby. You know, if you buy into that whole Pulitzer Prize thing, and/or the Nobel Prize brouhaha. As an American who lived a great deal of her life in China, her schtick was exploring the nuances specific to the East... and the West.
We've got a little East meets West going on right now. Family members from Nevada and Utah have amassed here on a tiny island nestled right in from the Atlantic Ocean, to show love and support for The Girl. She gets baptized tomorrow -- something that is actually a very simple, rather humble event. But for the hour-long program, an awful lot of people have flown across the country. And an uncle from Chicago is missing his own daughter's ballet performance and piano recital in order to be here.
We feel very fortunate.
Ms. Buck wrote: "The lack of emotional security of our American young people is due, I believe, to their isolation from the larger family unit. No two people -- no mere father and mother -- as I have often said, are enough to provide emotional security for a child. He needs to feel himself one in a world of kinfolk, persons of variety in age and temperament, and yet allied to himself by an indissoluble bond which he cannot break if he could, for nature welded him into it before he was born."
Emotional security based on connectivity to extended family.
This afternoon we went to a movie with some of the cousins, an uncle, and a grandma... We walked to the park with grandparents and an aunt and some uncles and cousins... And Grandpa bought them all ice cream right before dinner... But it didn't matter that much because dinner was just about hanging out and eating pizza... In short, the day's curriculum was focused on emotional security.
The family tree can provide shade in the summer and shelter in the winter.
When the children in our church turn eight years old they can choose to be baptized. The age of eight is what we consider the age of accountability. This is congruent with what I learned in Psych 101 and my human development classes -- that it's at the age of eight when humans from every culture studied understand the difference between "right" and "wrong." Being baptized is making the commitment to lead a life wherein you try to make right choices, and understand that there will be blessings if you do. Right after baptism, the gift of the Holy Ghost is conferred and that gift will help you make right choices.
While it is certainly not a requirement to do so, before The Boy was baptized two years ago he read the entire Book of Mormon out loud (out loud so that The Dad or I could follow along). The Girl had decided that she would also like to finish The Book of Mormon before she was baptized.
You would think that during a homeschool year reaching a goal like this would actually be easier... All that "extra" time during the day, no "homework," etc... But something that we've discovered this year is this truism: It's hard to get things done that require a long term commitment, if there isn't a consistent schedule.
When The Boy was working on it the days were like this: get home, do homework, take a shower, practice piano, have dinner, read... Our days have not looked like that at all this year... And certainly didn't look like that at all this past month while we were traveling.
The Girl's baptism is this Saturday. Last week when we got home from our trip I looked at the chart that we had made months ago with the little boxes with every date and coordinating page numbers to be read on that date. I realized just how woefully behind she was.
"Your choice, kid. You can try to bust through, but that's going to mean hours of reading every day."
"I want to do it."
So, while homeschooling contributed to the dire situation (or... at least the way we homeschooled), now it's been helping... For the past few days my eight-year old has sat and read scriptures out loud for hours every day. It has not always been easy, but she has not wavered from her decision.
She has two days, and about 90 pages left.
I will truly celebrate when she finishes, because if there's one thing that we want our kids to learn in this life it's something a bishop of ours once said: Life is hard, but you can do hard things. (Of course, I hope that they also learn that by proper planning we can make our lives less-hard... but different experiences yield different learning opportunities, and we're just going to work with what we have now.)
What she is doing is a very hard thing. Especially since she has still been expected to keep up with chores and math, etc. AND now family members have started to arrive for the big day -- grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. That's made it hard to stay focused, and she doesn't want to miss a single activity/outing.
I don't think it would have been a "wrong" choice to realize that it just wasn't going to work out. For example, it wouldn't have been "wrong" to reevaluate and commit to finish by the end of the summer. That said, I think it's impressive that she decided that she had set a goal, and even though her goal became significantly harder because of a lack of proper planning and diligence, she is still willing to work very hard to reach the goal. Being willing to work hard for something -- even when it's a drag, and even when it's something intangible (when she finishes the only reward will be a good feeling of accomplishment) -- is certainly a "right" choice.
The kids wanted to keep the masks that they got with The Dad for The Big Trick in Scotland... I didn't know what to do with dime-store masks that would just crumple.
Then we saw a window display in Paris and it all became clear.
For art today the lesson was on repurposing... On a trip to Michael's The Sister picked up a can of silver spray paint (somebody had to unlock the gate that keeps the huffers at bay, but they did not check her I.D.), and this morning we turned the masks into cool home decor (that has personal meaning).
Since blogs are often all about DIY steps, I'll do my bloggerly duties:
DIY Steps for Somebody Spray Painting Dime-store Masks in an NYC Apartment Building
Step 1: Don't do it.
No, really -- we LOVE them. The thing is that I'm not sure that the 4.5 months of my life that the project shaved off because of the stress of this morning is worth it. In the future, I would just use non-toxic craft paint and a brush. Might not be as smooth of a finish, but much healthier.
Here's what happened. A couple of months ago we walked into a cloud of eye-stabbing, respiratory-system-destroying fumes in the laundry room on our floor because the neighbor was water-proofing some boots. Nobody seemed to think anything of it. Thus, when we came up with our great plan to paint our masks, the laundry room seemed the obvious and totally acceptable choice.
So, the Sister returned from the laundry room, having done the deed (what? Of course she was the one to do it... She's ALWAYS the one to do the random jobs... Shoot -- that's why people procreate -- to create these smaller people who do the lame jobs. I was still puttering around the apartment in old -- at least eight years old -- maternity pajamas, sporting smeared yesterday's eye makeup, and crazy wig-like hair... With a wave of my hand and voiced suggestion that she "take care of the masks" she was dutifully off... The thought that went into the request on my end was akin to asking her to take out the recycling...)... Where was I? Yes, so she returned and mentioned something about her nose burning, and went back out with some wipes to make sure the paint was all cleaned up... While she was gone, I thought to read the back of the can -- I've never used spray paint that I can remember.
Holy, holy hell. That's essentially what it said it was going to turn our home into -- a combustable chemical cloud; a raging inferno of despair. Phrases like "flash fires" were sprinkled amongst the frightening poisonous-chemical names and the disclaimer that if somebody within four blocks bit down too hard on a mint life saver and created a spark, half of Manhattan was going to blow. Seriously.
At that point, the warnings about the damage to the nervous system were the least of our concerns. After all, it wouldn't matter if The Sister urinated every time somebody said her name -- that she wouldn't recognize as her name -- if our building blew sky high.
I was ready to have her and the kids evacuate while I came clean and called the building office to explain why everybody else should evacuate. The Sister was much calmer, she explained that she had used plenty of spray paint while creating sets for drama, so she would just go and prop open the door so it was ventilated. "What are you high?" Yes, she probably was... But her high-ness did go back to the flash fire area and propped open the door, then came back to report that with the air conditioning blasting it was well-ventilated and fine.
Nonetheless, I continued spinning in circles, wringing my hands. I also kept opening the door to monitor for flash fires.
Not the most zen-like art project that we've done.
I looked it up online and apparently after ten minutes the fumes should be gone (for every three minutes of painting). So I guess if the building blows now, it's not our fault... it will be the lady on the other floor water-proofing shoes, or the guy smoking in the stairwell, or... This little experience has made me wonder what kind of near misses are going on in a building of this size every day...
There is still a slight smell to the masks (I was afraid to light the stove to make dinner), but The Sister pointed out that it might come in handy if the kids get to be too much for me... I got what the wicked glint in her eye meant, walked over to where they were, and pretended to take a long inhale: "Quiet, Mommy's busy..."
It's a good thing that "school" is almost out. The curriculum has officially gone to hell.
School doesn't end here until June 26th, so we are continuing forward until then. I'll drop the last of the reports in the mail at the end of next week, and then that will be that. Though there are some math skills that we will need to be working on throughout the summer, and there are always journals to be kept and books to be read...
One of the things that I will miss most are the little stolen moments. Like today when The Boy was "on break" and went into his room for a bit, and then came and asked if I wanted to look at the model of the museum he's going to have someday.
Some young professionals at our church put on a TED Talks presentation tonight that The Dad took the kids to. I stayed home for fear that my coughing would be a social irritant, but, upon their return, very happily listened to the various things they learned -- from Vlad the Impaler to diving with sea lions.
