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. 

A Happy Birthday

I'm struggling here to figure out if school happened today at all. The Girl did the donkey for a pin-the-tail game, and Judd the Red Chicken did the tails...So, I guess we did art.

Today is The Sister's birthday. We got up early to do a little birthday decorating, made some eggs, and went back down to the Lower East Side. The Sister tries to eat responsibly, so we realized that if she was ever going to experience Doughnut Plant bliss it would probably have to be on a special occasion, like her birthday. We figured that the eggs would act as a sufficient protein block (so, I guess the kids had a nutrition/health lesson), and we headed south. 

After partaking, we walked a couple of blocks to our favorite fish store (so, I guess they had a Biology lesson), and Judd the Red Chicken bought some new fish for his aquarium with some money that his Grandma gave him. He felt that today would be appropriate, not only because the fish store is so close to where one gains doughnut euphoria, but also because he wanted to name a fish after his aunt. If you ever want to see a bunch of cool aquarium fish and giggle over the fact that only in NYC would there be a store that sells both pet fish and bait you MUST go to Pacific Aquarium.  The people that work there are crazy-kind.  They will talk to my son and answer every question he has for a full twenty minutes even though they know he's only buying a three-dollar fish.  

This afternoon, after the fish all got to know each other, The Sister spent her day doing a family tradition that the kids started doing a couple of years ago.

Back up so I can give proper homage: we know a couple that are exactly what you want your kids to be when they grow up. They have a tradition that we copied. And it's actually because we copied it from them that I am sharing it now. I kind of think that service is usually best when it's secret service... but if this cute couple had kept their tradition a secret, we would never have learned of it... so here's to sharing good ideas in the spirit of promoting propagation, not for a pat on the back.  

Here's the tradition: on their birthdays I let them cut school to spend the day doing acts of kindness -- with the goal of doing as many as their new age.  The Sister was turning 17, so she had 17 services to do. She was a bit overwhelmed by it, so I told her it was her choice. The kids, however, rather obnoxiously insisted, so she agreed.  I think this was her final list:

1. Helped the neighbor set-up her new iPod dock/clock (she actually did this yesterday, but the kids thought she should count it, as they always try to include that neighbor in their days of service).
2. Held the elevator for a long time for a group of people (this is kind of a big deal in New York where people will look you straight in the face as you're rushing to make it, and lean over and push the "Door Close" button -- they will continue looking you in the eye as the door closes between the two of you).
3. Made the kids' beds beautifully (they told her that she was welcome to do this daily).
4. Swiped her Metro card in the subway station for a flustered lady whose card wasn't working.
5. Opened the door for an elderly gentleman.
6. Handed out flowers to people on the street.  Note: one lady was so taken by this she exchanged phone numbers with her because she wanted to introduce her to her son who's in his first year of college. Personally, I think the service cancels out if you get a boy's email address out of it, but as The Sister pointed out, she gave out other flowers, too.
7. Gave cookies to the doormen.
8. Bought a bag of groceries and gave it to a homeless lady.
9. Gave $3 to a homeless veteran.
10. Gave balloons to a couple of kids.
11. Took the kids to the park for a few minutes so my doughnut-induced headache could have a fighting chance to go away.
12. While at the park, picked up trash.
13. Helped clean up around here.
14. Helped a confused person in the elevator.
15. Returned some mail to the neighbor that was mistakenly put in our box. 
16. Wrote a letter to Mom.
17. Wrote a letter to a friend.  

There are some things to be learned from a day of service: 1. If you look for it, there are a lot of opportunities to help out 2. Most people are doing a lot of little kind acts everyday 3. When  you try to serve, some people are gracious and grateful, and others are suspicious and mean. The Sister shared how she felt when a woman was rude to her when she tried to give her a flower -- the kids jumped right in with their stories from the trenches. 

Sometimes the experience is beautiful -- like when The Boy gave a flower to a lady who started crying because it was her birthday, too, and nobody here knew because she was far from home, and she had been feeling sad. She asked him for his name and told him that every year on their birthday she would think of him. Gorgeous. 

Then there are those who must think that the kid is going to hand them the tulip and then demand ten bucks or something, so they throw up a hand or hunch their shoulders and say, "No!"... or just grunt. Whenever that happens I feel so badly for the kids. It actually takes some gumption to go up and offer, so when they're rebuffed it hurts -- kind of makes them feel icky, like they did something wrong. 

So, service -- you need to know how to give it and how to take it, right?

I guess I provided an act of service to the kids by not having them do any formal lessons today.  They certainly don't have a problem accepting service... Oh well, a favorite aunt only turns 17 once. We are so happy we got to spend the day with her. 

Settle In... It Was Field Trip Day... So It's Long...

I knew that it was going to be a blessed day when Dan Awesome-Hair Zanes got on the subway and sat a seat away from me. We got off at Grand; he stayed on.

Off at Grand and a quick cut through China Town where we inhaled all those fascinating China Town things... Two favorite moments: 1. An old woman crossing the street and defiantly shaking her cane at a van that cut too close, and 2. The decision of a jewelry store to decorate with a giant puffer fish -- because nothing says fine jewelry like a bloated, dead sea creature:

By the time we reached our destination we had already had a crackerjack day, and it was just barely 10am. Our destination today was Little Italy, where we wanted to check on the festivities for the Feast of San Gennaro.  

Usually I am all for nighttime activities. Disneyland, I say over and over... and over, is best at night. Take a swim during the day, hang out at the hotel, and then hit the park when the tacky is wrapped and softened by velvety darkness and everything twinkles. Perhaps this Italian street fair, too, is improved at night when the carnival rides are going and the sidewalk cafes are lit with flickering candles.  

But this morning had its own charm. The kind enhanced by the kinship that comes when you smile at somebody getting ready for the day. We experienced Mulberry Street with just a few other wanderers, and watched tray after tray of cannoli being brought out to the satellite stands.  

Our first stop was to get cannoli... Only everybody but me abandoned the cannoli ship when they saw the "cheesecake pops."  Therefore, the cannoli stop ended up being a cannolo stop (did you know that cannoli is plural? I did not until today).   

Next we went into my favorite kind of store. It had a sign that said it was the oldest gift shop in Little Italy, but friends, gift shop does not bring the proper picture to mind. It was crrrraaaaammed with statues of saints, egg cups, Jesus magnets, plastic dolls, maps, kitchen timers, sink strainers,  etc. etc. etc. And everything was coseying up to everything else with a nice fine dust on top and stacks and stacks of papers and boxes underneath. There is something deep within me that forces me to buy something from such places (which freaks out my husband -- it's a fine line between British-library-esque clutter and being a participant on Hoarders). But he was at work, so I settled on a poster of Mulberry Street taken in 1900. I saw a faded version hanging up, and when I told the aged proprietor that I would like a print he knew exactly what random box in the middle of the store to go to (under a stack of papers and another random box) to retrieve it. I thought that I could not be happier, but then he went to the antique register on the counter and used it.  

Had I been thinking clearly I would have lit a candle for that shop. It hurts to acknowledge that such shops are going the way of the Dodo Bird.  

Because The Sister had done her research we knew exactly where to find The Church of the Most Precious Blood. Outside in the back they were selling icons/relics, so we picked out Saint Gennaro charms for $1/each.  The gold ones are prettiest... 

But the silver one (which was $4) has THIS on the back:

Does a Third Class Relic entitle me to Third Class Blessings? I'm 100% okay with that -- I'm very content with my life, so just the tiniest of nudges... We found out that had we purchased a statue we could have asked for the priest to put a special blessing on it. The Girl got a little medal/tag with St. Francis of Assisi on it for her stuffed animal dog... Except when we got home and took off the price sticker we saw that it says, "Bless This Cat." She is sure that her dog would not approve, so we found a chain and she's going to wear it as a necklace.  

The inside of the church is lovely in the way that flickering candles in large colonies waiting to be lit and clumps of artificial flowers and bright paint and a small waterfall and perfectly round halos and old wood and an enormous original bronze Michael Angelo statue of Moses (until I read the banner I thought it looked like King Neptune... but to my credit knew that wasn't accurate) and stained glass and enormous bright gold candlesticks and rotating portable fans always is. I could have stayed for a long time. The kids took out their clipboards and wrote down details that they noticed. I hope they wrote down the people praying. The cannoli and pasta are great, but I also want them to savor the feelings and beliefs.  

After a lunch of pasta we found the church on the opposite end of Mulberry, St. Patrick's Old Cathedral.  This one is not as cheerful, but is mellow and lovely.  The kids wrote a list of observations.  They will be comparing and contrasting for an upcoming writing assignment.  

The one thing that we missed out on by not going in the evening was being able to go into the Italian American Museum -- which is showing a film on the feast every evening at 6:30pm  through the 23rd.  During the rest of the year it is open only on weekends, so it will be a good reason to head back to Mulberry Street (we can show The Dad our favorite sights).  Today we enjoyed looking at the displays in the window.  There used to be a Queen of the Feast, this is from 1930:

As if our day hadn't delivered enough bounty we were introduced to one more sweet thing.  Right off of Mulberry, on Broome, there is an awesome, awesome find.  It's called Papabubble and they make hard candies.  They start with a huge mass and create the design and then stretch and stretch and stretch until they end up with really skinny little tubes that they cut into pieces and let harden.  What they end up with are these gorgeous little candies that showcase tiny flowers or fruits or spooky creatures (we bought the Monster Mix) on the flat edge. It's one of those places where the packaging makes you feel happy.  

We came home happy.  We are tired and all nursing colds, but like Judd the Red Chicken said right before making some stilts out of Costco nut containers, "It's good to remember that good places are so close."  

I put the poster on our front door -- like a window into Old New York; a reminder of that shop.  I want to remember to enjoy the city every day we leave our apartment, because it is a good place, and it doesn't hold still for long.  

Giorno Benedetto!

Get Your FREE Tickets!

We just got tickets to something that is very exciting, and I want to share now so the three people that read this blog can get tickets as well.  

Here's the link for the FREE tickets, and some information about the installation.  I love two ideas in particular: 1) we will be able to see what Christopher Columbus sees everyday, and 2) the concept of something in plain sight being well hidden.

Here's another link to a New York Times article that has a picture of the room (for the three of you that read this blog that don't live here... That's probably really pushing it to assume that there are six of you...).  

Surely after we go my kids will never walk past Columbus Circle again without remembering when they were a guest at Chris's... And perhaps by extension, as we walk past other things, they will think, I wonder how this can be rethought... or if it should be rethought... 

Another Morning Out on the Town

Apparently Bryant Park used to be quite the hell-hole (or as Christopher Guest would say: 'ell-'ole).  Its history is a cycle of loveliness, derelictness, a great effort, loveliness, derelictness, a great effort... Currently it's a pretty little Frenchified park.  Who knows if it's done cycling -- I know that the peace and safety that is NYC today is relatively new and not guaranteed to last.  Our friends that are natives share stories that teach us to be grateful that we are living in the city at a time when it's so easy.  We are mindful that it can shift at any time.  

This morning we subwayed ourselves down to Bryant Park to fulfill our destiny with some exotic birds.  Arriving early, we went to the New York Public Library, which is adjacent to the park.  The free exhibits have always been worth our time.  The one currently going on is: 

And it is awesome.  What's brilliant about the library exhibitions is that they are manageable -- they make you think -- but they don't wear you out.  Personally, I had never considered how or why "lunch" was constructed (to provide nutrition, but not take too long, so workers could get back to work... thus the larger midday meal was pushed out to later (i.e. not midday), so as not to impact working hours).  The best part by far was the actual Automat.  Our family is nuts about Automats (the kids made one this summer with cardboard boxes and coordinating tickets that had to be inserted before our food was handed out... Yeah, yeah, your kid made an Automat once, too... probably out of recycled beet stems and sculpted potato peels... and you were able to put the entire thing in your compost heap before doing your nightly meditation... Rest assured I don't think my offspring are exceptional -- kids do brilliant stuff...and highly irritating stuff... I mentioned that only to help explain why there was more sanctified awe walking towards that wall of cubbies than there has EVER been walking into church).  NYC has given humanity many beautiful things, and the Automat (invented here in 1912) is not too far down the list... 

We always say our obligatory, "Hello" to the real Pooh and friends... though we disapprove of the new display AND we highly disapprove of the random benecklaced-Otter that they've added to the collection.  Apparently Lottie was in the 2009 "authorized sequel."  I don't care if A.A. Milne himself came back from the dead and said he fancied Lottie -- she, and her cheap string of pearls, should not be in the same glass case as the originals.  (I know.  I need to get a job/life.)  

After trash-talking Lottie ("So she's like naked, except for a necklace?") we moved on to Bryant Park, where the kids rode Le Carrousel ($2/ride):

But all of this was just because, our purpose behind the journey was to see the birds.  Through the summer (until September 25th) Arcadia Bird Sanctuary has brought exotic birds on Tuesdays at 11:30.  Every time we planned on going it rained -- so today was our day.

With clipboards in hands The Boy and The Girl approached the animal handler and scribbled notes furiously (in Australia cockatoos are as prevalent as crows are here; green to match Amazon forest; seven types of feathers; etc...).  The lady was super, super nice and not only answered every question, but gave the kids her email address in case they think of more questions.  After they set their clipboards aside they got to hold the green-cheeked-something-or-other... And after holding it, the handler put it on each of their heads.  For my kids it doesn't get much better than that.  

If somehow we escape the clutches of the West Nile virus, we will most likely get the Avian Flu... Until the symptoms present themselves, we will continue on... knowing that NYC is a place where something very sad happened eleven years ago, but before then it was a place where pies came out of the wall, and since then it's been a place where South American birds walk on kids' heads... 

On TODAY

I cried today standing by the barricade of the TODAY show, and it wasn't because of the horrible banter, the depressing "news" stories, or the fact that we were up at 5:30am.  More about that in moment... 

First: remember that one of the reasons for deciding to do the scheme was to have the time to do more with family? Sunday was my grandma's birthday.  Before we called her the kiddos (that is what she called us when we were little... she also called urinating going "tinkle"... too far with the personal details?) to wish her a happy one we looked up what happened in 1928.  We found out it was the year Mickey Mouse was created, the iron lung was invented, and penicillin was discovered.  Also, you could get an amazing dress and/or a gorgeous toy for under $5.  No wonder Walmart makes sense to the woman -- a little bit of everything and super cheap.  

As we wrapped up on the phone yesterday we told her to be sure to pay attention when she watched the TODAY show today (a more skilled writer would have figured out how to maneuver those two todays better... did I mention I've been up since 5:30?).  She watches it every morning, but we didn't want this to be the one that she missed.

See, we couldn't fly across the country to smile and wave our birthday cheers, and she doesn't have a computer to enable video-chatting, but we have this conduit from NYC to her front room in Nevada... 

We had a lot of fun making signs:

Mine was deemed the most boring, yet vital for our group of posters -- to provide the foundation for the others... I'm going to refrain from excessive commentary on how that often sums up being a mom.

The Sister got the sassy poster -- referencing a funny story we like to tease Grandma about.

Judd the Red Chicken was coming up with all sorts of slogans -- I don't think PR is in his future (we kept talking about audience awareness, i.e. what would Grandma like).  I liked this one... though there was one about Sasquatch that was funny... but not really sensical.  

The Girl shares her middle name and her fervent love of animals with her great grandma.

Back to our main story.  Just after 6am we arrived and were directed to the line.  I'll say this, having recently played the getting-to-Central-Park-at-6am-and-camping-next-to-a-ranting-quasi-homeless-man/scalper-for-seven-hours-until-you-get-your-free-Shakespeare-tickets game this summer, the TODAY lineup is a snap.  I had a backpack full of games and blankets, the kids had their books and clipboards, but we only had to wait about half an hour before we got to move into position around the barricades.  Here's the thing: the driver of the Chock Full O' Nuts truck who was scattering his wisdom to those in line really did sound like he knew what he was talking about: don't bunch up -- go ahead and spread around the perimeter of the barricades.  Dude was Chock Full O' Crap.  If you ever go park yourself at the South East corner of the rectangle -- that is where viewers watching at home will actually be able to see you for longer than like .5 second.  It took us an hour to realize that Grandma's watching efforts would be in vain, and our 5:30 wake-up and vast amount of Sharpie ink was not going to be rewarded.  We needed to take action.  So we did.

During Tony Danza's interview I handed The Sister my sign because it was the most Grandma-specific and she went and pushed herself into the crowd outside the studio window.  I watched the monitor and signalled to her to go left or right or up or down.  I'm happy to report that Grandma's initials and our declaration of love was prominently displayed for the last half of the interview.  Now who's the boss? 

I then asked a crew member where the next outside shot was going to come from and he was sure it was not far from where we were (a.k.a. the only place that had NOT been in a shot up to this point), so we nestled in a bit further down.  This is where we met three ladies -- overly middle-aged and obviously Midwestern.  Two of them didn't give a rip about the show (amen, sisters), but the third, we learned, had talked of nothing else since they started planning their girls' trip.  So there we waited with more anticipation than you would believe: the three gals, myself, my kids, and my sister.  Finally the camera man took pity on us and swept past at the speed of light.  

"Did you see me?  You saw me."  Gal #3, the one standing next to me was on the phone with her daughter.  She pushed the button to end the call, looked up at her girlfriends and started to cry.  I started to cry.  They put their arms around her (I restrained myself -- just barely -- seriously), as she said, "I've watched this show for so many years and always wanted to come.  Now I have.  I was actually on the show."
Gal #1: "It was in your bucket list!  You did it."
Gal #2: "We all have our dreams."  

If dreaming of Al Roaker is your thing, I can say that he shook hands with all of us -- even The Boy -- who offered his left hand, palm facing the ground as though he was presenting it to be kissed.  We teased him about it, and when I explained that normal protocol is extending your right hand with the palm vertical rather than horizontal he said, "Huh.  I never knew there was a specific way to shake hands."  What do they teach these kids at school?  Maybe we were punchy, but boy did we laugh.

We laughed; I cried.  I harshly judged the knees of the woman who took Ann Curry's spot.  Overall a worthwhile experience.  The Girl summed it up well: "It was fun making the signs, and I hope Grandma felt special.  The thing they showed on TV of the bison chasing the kid was funny, but otherwise it was kind of boring standing there."  To that I will just add that it feels awesome to witness somebody attain a dream.  May we all be able to do so in such a sweet and genuine way during the course of our lives.  And may we all have grandkids and great-grandkids that love us.  Maybe those two things will be synonymous.  

We walked home, stopping at the playground for a bit as we passed through the park.  

I would be omitting an important part of this year's adventure if I didn't mention that this afternoon -- day three of the scheme -- after math and before the book report explanation -- there was a major tantrum.  I'm going to blame my behavior on my exhaustion.  

Signing off.  

Now Mindful of Being Stuck in a Shell

"To the scheme" we toasted last night during our annual back-to-school banquet.  The Girl picked out the linens, ironed them, and developed a "woodland creature" theme in decorations (rock on 1950's home ec!!!).  The Boy drew and taped up a poster, "The Year of the Skeem" it read (we have a bit of work ahead of us).  The kids went to bed happy.  We did not have our annual nighttime whispered conversations about being afraid or anxious.  No woodland creatures fluttering in their tummies for the first time.  

I had a hard time falling asleep.  I felt like I was made out of paper.

While I was making breakfast The Sister asked if I felt nervous.  "Not in the least," I replied in a shaky, crazy-high-pitched falsetto (funnier if I was a man, but still pathetic).  

She continued: "I think it feels weird knowing that everybody else is doing the normal thing... and we're just... not."  

She's right.  Having an awesome off-the-grid plan is indeed awesome, but when feet hit the floor it feels... furtive.  

For the record we were up and out of the apartment, with backpacks, by 8:15.  We took our first-day-of-school pictures in our usual spot.  And we promptly... walked ourselves to the park.  We passed by a gorgeous private school on our block that had its sassy balloons tapping against the brick in the breeze.  All the students wearing their new clothes and excited smiles walked up the steps with their parents...  It felt very similar to two years ago when I showed up at Starbucks by Lincoln Center wearing sweats, tube-socks, and sandals, and the line was nothing but Fashion Week runway models: short, and so not part of the group.  I saw the kids watching the traditional back-to-school scene.  This could have been my moment to teach a valuable lesson... something like, Children, remember, there are so many right and beautiful choices in this life!  Or something more lowbrow, but still great, like, Different strokes for different folks!   Instead I opted for rock bottom and channeled Eddie Haskell, "The poor saps.  Hahaha."   

This was our walk to school.

Along with the 20 billion dogs -- all off leashes -- ducks, 

sparrows, and squirrels, this guy was a classmate.

Our first classroom was a bench at the Conservatory Water.  We all did DEAR (a term we learned from the Ramona books -- Drop Everything And Read... only we didn't really have anything to drop... it was more like I Needed Everybody Reading Directly (NERD) in order to get myself centered and breathing regularly.  The Girl read Esio Trot, by Roald Dahl, and Judd the Red Chicken read Teddy Roosevelt, Young Rough Rider, by Edd Parks.  After 45 minutes we packed up and transitioned into our Physical Education.  

Do you see that fireman pole?  Whoever designed it made it way too far out, so most kids don't ever use it without first whispering, "Goodbye cruel world..."  Mine have never dared.  But today was a day to conquer.  There were many aborted attempts.  Then their auntie showed up, hurled her cute 16-year old self down it, and encouraged them to do the same.  And they did.  Judd the Red Chicken wrote about this accomplishment tonight in his journal.  They also ran a few "laps" around the playground (their idea, not mine), and played until it was time to catch the train.  

Their backpacks were light (they kept laughing about how light they were -- usually they are bowed forward at a 45-degree angle because their backpacks are so flippin' heavy) -- only containing a snack, a bottle of water, their book, a clipboard, and a pencil.  On the clipboard were some of those clock worksheets, which they worked on during the subway ride to Queens.

The Dad works in Queens, so he picked us up, took us to an awesome deli where we grabbed sandwiches and pasta, and then we headed out to the Merchant Marine Academy, where he showed his offspring where he went to school for four years.  En-route he also showed them what happens when you go over the speed limit (regardless of whether or not the car in front of you is going over the speed limit).  I would like to point out that I said nothing after the officer handed the ticket through the window... except, "The scheme just keeps getting more and more expensive."  

The Dad then dropped us off at the Queens County Farm Museum (which is free) where we wandered around for a couple of hours until he could retrieve us and take us back to the subway station.  

While at the farm the kiddos pulled out their clipboards and wrote down verbs, adjectives, and nouns of what they were seeing (on Octopus paper -- because that's a well-known farm animal for us city kids...).  Asparagus plants are "feathery."  

Finally home -- having finished the clock worksheets on the return subway ride.  I thought that the children would be tired and grumpy, but they were happy.  After showers, piano practice, and dinner they didn't complain one bit when I handed them their journals and asked them to write.  

"How was school?"  I asked when I was tucking them in.

"I hate school."  Judd the Red Chicken responded.

"No.  I meant what we did today."

"I love school."  

The day that I was so nervous about ended up being bright in all respects, but one.  When The Girl went to take care of our hermit crabs before bed she discovered that Stuart had passed.  My brilliant Friend A is mindful and heart-ful of the various undertones and harmonies of all living things, and she had mentioned a couple of weeks ago that our little guy might be stuck in his shell.  I meant to look into that, but quite frankly, since he was eating and moving regularly, I forgot -- until tonight.  Who knew that being stuck in a shell could be that dangerous?  

The kids asked that I honor him:  

R.I.P. Stuart  

(That's his little casket that The Boy wanted to bury in Central Park.  I don't think that's legal, so Stuart went where small NYC pets go -- the shoot.)  

It has been a full day.  We will all surely come down with the West Nile virus from the mosquito bites we acquired.  I promise -- assuming I don't die of West Nile virus -- that I will  never make you suffer through such a long post again.  The first day is always so much bigger than subsequent days...