Eating Well

"Under the fence / Catch the sheep / Back we go / Off we leap"

Today Judd the Red Chicken had a treat. His favorite teacher (now retired from the public school system) teaches knitting, and so we have arranged for two knitting lessons a month (it's the last class we can add before I start donating plasma). He has wanted to learn how to knit for at least three years, so the stars certainly aligned for him on this one. In fact, he is so peacefully cheerful (THE balance one hopes for with a nine-year old boy... the other cheerful -- the explosive spastic kind -- makes me question the very principle of reproduction) that he agreed to teach The Girl how to knit once he gets it down. Makes me warmer inside than a cardigan and thick socks ever can. 

Here's what's brilliant -- other than that cute little rhyme that helps him remember how to create stitches, and a discussion on wool -- he's also learning MATH. Today the two knitters chatted about things like: "diameter" and "circumference." Fingers crossed that he will have to eat his words (those words being: I hate math and I don't agree that it's useful). If anybody can bring about word-eating it will be this teacher. She doesn't force-feed; she makes things appealing. 

I have some words to eat. I believe I documented here that I am leaving the kids to their own self-regulation when it comes to reading and submitting book reports. If they want their bank accounts to increase then they put the work in without prodding. I have stepped completely and totally out of it, and in so doing am providing a rich opportunity for success or failure... a lesson in self-motivation... an untainted case study in causal determinism. 

Except here's the thing: I really like reading the book reports. 

So I might have heard myself -- perhaps more than once -- maybe, sort of, almost providing the most modicum of modicums of encouragement to get going on the book reports. 

Now that I'm aware of it I'm going to totally snap back -- becoming once again the disinterested banker.

Here's why I'm hungry for more -- at the end of the form there are the questions: "What did you learn? What will you do differently?"

A snippet from the report on Ramona Forever:

"I learned that I should be nice to [Judd the Red Chicken] because it sounds tarribel when Beezus and Ramona fight so I should not do it."

From J.T. -- a tender book from the 70's:

"I learned that cats like bread. I think I'll not take a privete bathroom for granted." 

Glimpses inside my kids' minds -- it's what my son called his hot cocoa yesterday -- "the juice... no... no...  the nectar of the angels." 

Back to Regularly Scheduled Programming

Book reports. The kids read a book and fill out a book report form. Based on the difficulty of the book, the adherence to the form requirements, and the insight of the answers (expectation of "insight" = age) an amount is entered into their checkbook register. 

During the year as I see interesting stuff on sale for dirt-cheap I'm going to accumulate items for an auction. At the end of the year we'll have our auction and the kids will use the amount of money that they have in their "accounts" to outbid each other for the items that they most want. 

We did this in 3rd-grade and I loved it. I loved the checkbooks, I loved watching my account grow, and I loved the auction (I cleaned up). Granted, the competition was a lot more fun because I wasn't just bidding against one other person (my sibling), but nonetheless it's a fun memory that I have, and when I told the kids about it they asked if we could do it. For the most part they are turning in book reports rather regularly without me reminding them. 

The book report forms will morph into actual book reports in the next couple of months. For now they are learning to extract:  primary characters vs. secondary characters; the important events; the events that are cool/funny, but not important; and something that they learned and can apply to their lives. 

They are also learning small basics like writing about events in books in present tense and underlying titles. We are having two-second micro-lessons on which words are to be capitalized (not: articles, conjunctions, or prepositions, and usually not "to" -- unless those words are the first or last word in the title). To be honest, we are usually calling those "short words that aren't that important to the meaning of the title." I have no doubt an author of a book that has used an article in an inspired/critical/artsy/edgy/insightful way would freak out about that sum-up, but whatever... we're doing the best we can here. 

Adventure. A-D-V-E-N-T-U-R-E. Adventure.

Those are spelling bees and I chucked them at my kids today.

As mentioned, we are rereading a family favorite, Eleanor Estes's book The Witch Family. Written in 1960, it's charming and kind of quirky and perfect for Halloween. Like The Phantom Tollbooth, there are puns and clever exchanges. At one point the idea is posited that knowing how to spell is just as important as knowing a spell. One of the characters is a funky spelling bee named Malachi and he stings those who get things all wrong... 

So today for "art" the kiddos made little bumblebees, then after studying their words (that they copied yesterday) they stood up on a bench and attempted correct spellings. As it seemed negative to pelt them if they missed the word, and because they rather fancied their bees, the deal was that they got a bee thrown at them if they got the word right.

Bees were made out of pom-poms wrapped in tissue paper and decorated... As it turned out they didn't "fly" very far. The Sister suggested using pennies for weight, but when The Girl looked scandalized and said, "Hello. That would hurt," I realized that this might just be on the cusp of abuse. So we used pom-poms. And it was a reward to be stung. The end.

By way of information: we are about to embark on what may be the biggest adventure since Pee-Wee's. I have an enigmatic uncle that I've only met once or twice and my grandma has taken the train across country to visit him in Chicago. My husband's brother and his family also live in Chicago. The four of us are all driving to Chicago to get us some of that family time. Should be interesting (unless I find out that enigmatic uncle buries people in his backyard, thus the secretive, I mean introversive personality... in which case I might choose a different word than "interesting"). After the weekend, The Dad has to fly home and the kids and I (sans Sister -- she has a class here she can't miss) are going to take Route 66 to St. Louis, see the sights, and then I'm driving by myself back to NYC. I haven't really driven a car for the past eight or so years. Driving is insane. As I was saying to a friend tonight, it's like everybody in the world being given a set of gardening shears and running at full tilt. Sure it's fine -- as long as there's absolutely no contact or the slightest of stumbles. I'm worried about merging. I'm worried about getting lost. I'm worried about having a heart attack at the wheel. I'm worried about a kid throwing up and choking. I'm worried about being assaulted in our hotel room and being left in a bathtub of ice after our organs have been harvested (yes, harvested) for the black market. You name it, I'm worried about it. Which is why I need to do this -- conquer my fears and all that crap. I was raised by a single mom -- if she hadn't struck out on her own then we would never have done anything. For the single moms -- I'm also doing this for you because I love you -- you represent my history, you are my model of what a parent who gives it everything looks like.  Darn it, family adventures and traditions are not just for those who are fortunate enough to have back-up. Wish me luck. I will try to update when I can... If you don't hear from me, just hope that my kidneys are going to a good home... 

Stuff and The Gotham Jazzmen

If you look for it, stuff actually is all around. 

I've been asked where I'm getting my materials and the answer is everywhere. At the fair that we went to in Maine there was a building full of displays with tables full of take-aways. We had no shame in filling our pockets: booklets that can be used to teach summary analysis, charts and graphs that can be used for math lessons, plant/fungi/nest/fish identification sheets that can be used to discuss grouping/organizing... all of it can be used for art projects...

Before we left on our trip I was in Muji (a slick "cool" store that I doubt many would consider a hotbed for home schooling...) and picked up a three-pack of notebooks for the kids to use as trip journals -- for under $3. 

Instructions for the journal: they needed to try to fill all the pages with not just facts/lists of what we did, but also ideas and pictures. The journals turned out brilliant. On Monday night the kids took turns reading out loud from them and they were happy.

Today, I went through each journal and found words that they had misspelled and wrote them on the old school elementary lined paper. Before we started our little lesson that incorporated both spelling and handwriting we gathered around the computer and discussed two caveats:

The kids are familiar with Pablo Picasso -- specifically they are drawn to Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. A year or so ago I went on a museum walk with a brilliant woman whose background was in art history and I returned home bursting with my newly acquired knowledge. Back I went to the MOMA, with the kids in tow, and shared what I could remember and what I could decipher from my notes ("Look how this one is making eye contact and this one looks like a mask and this one..."). Since then they like to visit that painting and share details that they remember and notice. Knowing that "Picasso" readily summons that painting for them I pulled up examples of his early works -- they were intrigued. We compared these examples with the "poor dears" (as Sister Wendy calls the prostitutes).

"Did Picasso paint her face that way because he couldn't paint a "realistic" face?" Apparently not. 

The discussion wasn't belabored, just a quick exploration of this idea: we learn the basics that everybody learns and then we are prepared to understand and create our own style. I even said that I hoped that their handwriting wouldn't look like everybody else's when they got older, but for now we learn how to maneuver the pencil -- make it do what we want it to -- and having a standard to use as a goal is helpful. While many parents here on the Upper West Side of NYC are sure their children are geniuses (and perhaps geniuses don't have to learn the same boring stuff as the rest of us), I am pretty sure that my kids will have happier and more successful lives if they learn the value of practicing.

Caveat 1 (handwriting): we learn established practices so we share a foundation with society -- but hopefully they will have their very own handwriting eventually.

Caveat 2 (spelling): if the choice has to be made between getting an awesome idea out on the paper and spelling something right, by all means spell it RONG! But for all other times, and when we go back to reread our awesome ideas, we need to be spelling things according to standard practices -- using the dictionary if necessary.  Unlike handwriting, spelling isn't enhanced by creativity. 

Aside from creating ready material for school-type lessons, our trip was also critical in another way -- being outside a lot. This article that was in the NYT scares the snot out of me, as does this one for that matter. I'm not sure that being scared snotless is going to help anyone, and so I scrabble around and find solace in this. I discovered the book Last Child in the Woods at Eaglefest last year... 

If you look for it, stuff -- to teach, to help as we try our best to raise our kids, to keep our chins up when the worry gets really BIG -- actually is all around. 

(I won't lie though -- it is a full-time job weeding through it...)

On another note -- music appreciation!

While this was happening:

Two other things were happening:

1. The kids wrote really cool little stories.
2. All was right in my world (I *heart* the Gotham Jazzmen). 

Wilde, Exploration

No school today because of Columbus Day, but the students still went to a class that they take through Different directions. (Dd is an impressive organization; while still in its startup stage, its strength is that every student is treated with more genuine interest and respect than I often see in the child-student relationship. There are classes for preschool, home school, after school). 

The kids read and discuss an Oscar Wilde fairy tale with the instructor for the first hour. During the second hour they learn different theatre games and exercises as a way to explore the themes and details that they discovered in the literature. Today at pick-up Judd the Red Chicken was being asked to walk like a character from the tale and as he did so the instructor asked for his reasoning. He gave it and she pushed for more substantive proof from the text for his decision. She said that they would infer later, but for now they were only to bring in what they could prove. I appreciate that the environment is supportive so he felt encouraged to push further, as opposed to feeling like the questioning meant he was lacking. 

Before class we went with some of our favorite people to the Columbus Day Parade along 5th Avenue. Google informs me that the parade has been happening here since the 1920's and it's the largest Italian-American celebration. We cut through Central Park (still mostly green, but smelling like Fall), and felt fortunate to find a good spot. I clapped like I was more than a wee daft when some kilt-wearers marched past (you might ask why there were kilt-wearing bagpipers at an Italian parade... I only ask what I ask every day: why aren't there more kilt-wearing bagpipers...). Friend A was all aglow when Susan Lucci went by waving from the top of an Italian car. (Speaking of Oscar Wilde, that woman clearly has a picture of her decaying self tucked away in a locked room. Wow.)

Each of the five kids were given some sort of picture-taking device. The process was good (they were focused while I clapped daftly over kilts, and the other mom absorbed Erica Kane glow); and the products were great:

To appease Berkeley-esque sensibilities, we did discuss Columbus's faults today. Brave explorer or total jerk? Interestingly, the kids didn't seem to care. I kept trying to get a conversation or debate going, but they were amenable to all suggestions. I read this to them. They were okay with that. Geez, if they've already got it down that rarely does a person, ideal, idea, organization, experience stand up to harsh scrutiny, and that there's usually something redemptive in almost everything(body)... Well, then show me a kilt and call me Susan Lucci -- life is good. 

Awesome (Adj.) Service (Noun)

Again with a birthday.  Today The Dad turned... something (note: the skeleton made it into the decorating scheme because he's part of the family, which is why he got his own party hat, he's not there to represent old age).  Sadly we didn't get to spend too much of the day with the birthday boy because he is taking some days off next week for our annual pilgrimage to Acadia National Park in Maine.  The birthday was a part of the kiddos' day though as we incorporated some of the festivities-prep into "school."  

Adjectives: words that describe nouns.  This is a surprisingly difficult concept.  "Likes to sing" is a lovely way to describe one's dad, but it's not an adjective, so sadly it didn't make the wall (apparently we're kind of fascist around here when it comes to parts of speech... wow).  

Judd the Red Chicken came up with: "Good-tempered (most of the time)." It made me laugh... so then the kids started getting very silly and as usual, silly spiraled into scandalous.  They argued that "Naked" is in fact an adjective and so wrote: "Naked (newd nude) (most of the time)."  For the record, that's not true, but it certainly captures the children's ages, if not The Dad's.

The Dad is indeed: "Tall," as noted by his daughter... but the time and effort that went into this one also says that he's loved... 

Getting to spend two hours in the DMV on his birthday (which is fortunate because I'm so glad I was born is exactly the phrase that most people think while at the DMV), combined with a hectic work schedule limited his opportunity for racking up the acts of service. It needs to be said though: he certainly hits his quota throughout the year.

This morning Friend A came by with a beautiful birthday cake -- a service and gift for The Dad, and incidentally one for me, as the resident cake baker (or rather, boxed-cake-mix stirrer). The kids watched it come through the door and marveled. Many times, as we anticipated the celebration, it was said, "That was so nice of her to make a homemade cake!"  I pointed out that nobody asked her to do it, and she didn't ask if there was anything she could do... She just thought about it and did it. That is a valuable lesson to learn. If my students (and I, for that matter) took that lesson to heart today -- to look for ways to make people feel loved without waiting to be asked -- well, then I don't mind if we still need to work on adjectives. 

Happy birthday, Daddy-o (you tall, good-tempered (most of the time) guy)!

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!

Organizing the Random

Yes, hellpigs101 got locked last night/this morning.  Apparently the ol' blog had to be read by a Blogger employee and deemed not-spam after their computers flagged my content and links for being too random.  Welcome to my brain.  

On the school front, we are still in the finding-out stage.  Figuring out what will work, what won't work, and what turns me into a muttering, swirly-eyed mess of a mom.  

For example, we thought we had our schedule for swimming figured out, but ten minutes earlier than expected Judd the Red Chicken started climbing out of the pool, promptly followed by the dripping and distracted instructor (his aunt).  As The Sister was hustling towards her towel, I realized that the lifeguards had just switched, and the new one was an attractive young lad...  Fine.  We have to adjust pool-time if I want the swim coach to feel focused and confident.  

We're also figuring out which things should be broken into smaller chunks so they are available to fill in gaps, and which things can be put into bigger chunks so we can pack up supplies and work somewhere other than the apartment.  It's all a learning process; there is more than one right way to do all this; there are a lot of options and resources.  

Today I was volunteering for our church -- something I do twice a month -- so The Sister managed some things:

1.  Classifying/organizing information... On Tuesday we rode the carousel at Bryant Park and on Wednesday during a play date we rode the carousel in Central Park.  We aren't usually so carousel-oriented, but it was ready-made material for Venn diagramming (note: an interesting observation: some of the carousel animals at Bryant Park wear clothes... or "close" -- we are starting spelling soon... despite the fact that one of my charming children screamed at me yesterday that I'm not "respectful of the fact that" he has his "own way of spelling things").  

2.  Getting them thinking about Spanish... They watched a Scooby-Doo episode in espanol and then created little scenes and labeled the nouns.  They then looked up the nouns on Google translate, listened to the pronunciation, and added the Spanish labels.

3.  They stopped by the NYCHEA not-back-to-school picnic and came home with some awesome books from the swap (we didn't actually swap... we just snatched).  NYCHEA is a deep and wide resource.  You pay $36/year and every morning you get an email compilation of classes, social opportunities, book suggestions, etc. from other families that are home schooling.  The families that participate appear to be dedicated and smart and into sharing -- it's quite inspiring (if you're into that whole humans-should-be-cool thing).  What I've been most impressed with is how roomy the group is.  Seems to be ample space for different perspectives/philosophies.  Because again -- there are so many ways to do this.  

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...