To the Library... and the Stars

It was actually kind of hard to come up with an idea for the last day of the scheme/school. For a while we considered going to the Queens County Farm Museum, as that was where we went on the first day... But that didn't seem quite right. While there is something lovely about creating a circle, I wanted something that broke some new ground to symbolize forward momentum. Besides, it's been too hot, not just to wander a farm, but also to schlep to a farm. 

The Dad came up with an idea after reading a review of the NYPL's new exhibit in the NYT. A library day. Yes, that was just the thing for our last official day of the scheme... properly academic, properly New York-y; a proper demonstration of "school" being everywhere. 

The first written statement of the exhibit posits a simple truth: "Our first books stir and shape us as few books ever can again..." Items and books were selected from the library's enormous collection to explore the roots of children's literature and highlight themes and ideas. We all would have been wound up into tight mummy-ness if all the connective threads offered were tangible. Aside from teaching historical and thematic connections between texts, there was also an emphasis on the explorer to make personal connections -- children and adults alike. As we learned today, W. H. Auden wrote: "There are no good books which are only for children."

Visually, the exhibit is charming.

And Judd the Red Chicken was convinced that the curator was a chicken appreciator.

We learned so much...

We learned interesting things about Nathaniel Hawthorne. As the great-great-grandson of the presiding judge at the Salem Witch trials he felt "forever haunted by his Puritan past." He thought that writing fiction (something that he started to do in earnest when his job as a government employee ended) was a way to shun that puritanism. I know him for The Scarlet Letter, and The House of the Seven Gables, and didn't know that the work that he was most happy with was that which he did for children, A Wonder-Book for Boys and Girls. Regarding his children's book, he told his friend, Washington Irving (did not know that they were friends... that Melville dedicated Moby Dick to him, that Emerson was his neighbor, etc.), "Being meant for children, it seemed to reach a higher point, in its own way, than anything I had written for grown people."

There was this gem:

It was in a section that discussed the different books available to the different classes of children. While this book that had actual mini-clothes between the pages looked like it would be for upper class children, it was actually for working children -- the Lilliputian clothes were not meant to charm, but to teach a useful skill. It was a book on needle-work and knitting referenced by girls in a religious charity school in London (National Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor in the Principles of the Established Church, 1847).

We learned about Pura Belpre. First, I found a quote by her:

"... He leaves the room richer than when he entered it." 

I looked around me, wanting to know more about her, and sure enough there was more knowledge to be found. Ms. Belpre was the New York Public Library's first Puerto Rican librarian. 

She worked primarily at the branch on 115th Street and in order to attract local families she came up with creative ideas that celebrated Latino culture. She held puppet shows, parties, and bilingual story hours. That branch became a gathering place for the growing Puerto Rican community. She also created relationships between the library and local schools.

Eventually, frustrated at the lack of quality Latino literature for children, she started filling the void by writing books herself. Now, in her name, there is an award (and grants) presented to author(s) who make significant Latino-culture literary contributions.  

While we were driving around England, I read the first Mary Poppins book to the kids. We were surprised and tickled with its quirkiness. The woman is an absolute sass (if you think the Mary in the movie or play is sassy, we-ell... she's got absolutely nothing on her progenitor). Here's what's charming: she's as uppity and self-centered and dismissive and manner-conscious as any parent on a bad day, AND YET she is magical. I love that. I love to think that I can be draggy human woman a lot of the time, and still somehow bring magic into my kids' lives. Aside from its optimistic message for those of us that are uppity, self-centered, dismissive and manner-conscious, it's also quite funny. Anywho. There's some information on MP, and her evolution once Disney discovered her, etc. My favorite part was the umbrella:

Here's what the information card reads: "P.L. Travers's umbrella: Umbrellas of this design, widely available during Travers's lifetime, had powerful childhood associations for the author. As a girl growing up in Australia, she had greatly admired a similar umbrella that a family maid considered her pride and joy, and had begun to save her pennies to purchase one of her own, only to hear her coolly sophisticated parents ridicule the servant's -- and by implication her own -- idea of finery." I like the fact that in the end, the idea that lived on was that of a servant -- with just such an umbrella -- who was not only heads and shoulders more awesome than those she served, but also used that "ridiculous" umbrella to fly away from it all... In books we can straighten out all the wrongs that life creates. And in so doing give us hope that wrongs can be straightened out. 

Frances Hodgson Burnett tapped into this. She wrote, "With the best I have in me, I have tried to write more happiness into the world." The author of The Secret Garden was considered, "the late Victorian era's most popular female author." I didn't know that she was most famous for Little Lord Fauntleroy. I read it years and years ago, but did not know that when it was published it "sparked a craze for dressing schoolboys in black velvet and lace, and made Burnett rich." I also didn't know that it was after the death of a son that Burnett went on a "spiritual quest that culminated in The Secret Garden. 'When you have a garden,' she wrote, 'you have a future.' Her contemporaries were unsure what to make of the tough-minded tale about two damaged but ultimately resilient youngsters. Subsequent, more psychologically savvy generations, however, have judged it her masterpiece..." 

It was that theme of: what is valuable and worthwhile to read -- especially for young people who have yet to fully grasp the nuances of life that permeated the exhibit. As well as the reality that retrospection quite often alters value. 

There was a fascinating section called: "'Write' Off the Assembly Line," that explored the machine created by Writer-entrepreneur Edward Stratemeyer. He had two heroes: Horiatio Alger, Jr. and Henry Ford. He combined, "the fast-paced, character-driven storytelling... with the assembly-line production techniques," and for over twenty years cranked out the top-selling juvenile adventure series: the Rover Boys, Tom Swift, the Hardy Boys, the Bobbsey Twins, and Nancy Drew. He did this with an army of ghost-writers and other support staff. ("Mildred Wirt was among his younger staff writers... when Stratemeyer sent this letter offering her the chance to launch the Syndicate's next major series, about a girl detective whose original name had been Stella Strong... Writing as 'Carolyn Keene,' the gifted ghostwriter hammered out the first three Nancy Drews at four-week intervals for the flat fee of $125 each." The information in this area also read: "High-minded librarians shunned the Syndicate's standard-issue chapter books as subliterary and 'cheap,' but a 1926 American Library Association survey of 36,000 young people told a different story; fully 98% of respondents placed a Stratemeyer title at the top of their list of all-time favorites." 

And we can't not have a Beatrix Potter reference. Just as those youngsters in 1926 thumbed their noses at the librarians, my kids rolled their eyes when we approached the Beatrix Potter section. They like to have their little jokes, and having to hold Beatrix Potter at bay so she doesn't consume us is a favorite since our trip (where she somehow popped up almost everywhere). The information about BP was cool. Anne Carroll Moore got the job of my dreams. In the early 1920's she was put in charge of pulling together/improving/growing the juvenile department at the NYPL. On a trip in 1921 she arranged to meet Beatrix Potter while she was visiting England. "Potter knew of Moore's pioneering efforts to promote children's literature and thanked her for championing it as an art form -- a case seldom argued in Britain. As a parting gesture that sealed their friendship, Potter opened her portfolio and invited her discerning guest to 'choose any one you think your children in New York would like.'" And what did Moore choose? A sweet picture of bunnies in the snow.

The Girl is on a campaign to get a rabbit (that's a story for another time), so she agreed that New York children like the picture. The Boy fancied another artifact in the case. Potter and Moore remained friends until Potter died. During WWII Potter wrote to Moore -- a letter that mentions the planes and bombings happening -- and attached at the top of the letter is a piece of tin. Apparently, during the war people were encouraged to send small pieces of metal in their letters in the hopes that all these random pieces skittering about would scramble the enemy's radar. Now, that's not something that you expect to learn at an exhibit on children's literature. But there you have it. That is how learning works -- you open yourself up and things just fall in. 

There was a time when children's books were just starting to really become something. At that time, the covers became very beautiful, because giving books as gifts became the thing for middle-class and upper-class folks to do. The gift of books. I have to hang my head when I consider the painful progress that we made in math this year, but this I can say: we did a bang-up job when it came to reading. A bloody-brilliant bang-up job. The gift of books was given, received, enjoyed. 

(That's not a picture of me during math-time, but rather an example of one of the richly crafted children's books that was considered worthy of gift-giving.)

Before heading out I went with The Boy up to the third floor to see the famous baseball card that was on display. Who knew that one of the most expensive (if it came up for sale it's estimated around $3 million) baseball cards is of a player named, Honus Wagner? He played shortstop for the Pittsburg Pirates during the late 1800's/early 1900's and was considered a great player -- but that's not the main reason for his card being legendary. Because he didn't like the idea of his card being dispersed via cigarette boxes (that's apparently how one collected early baseball cards) to kids, he demanded his card be pulled from circulation (some cynics say that it was pulled because he felt the tobacco company should pay him more). So it's a classic case of supply and demand. 

(Honus's card is in the middle on the bottom row.) 

After the library we stopped for a ride on the carousel before heading home.

This evening we had a "final" (presented as "festivities"). The Sister spent hours while we were gone creating a wall that highlights moments of the scheme. (Note: The Sister is brilliant. She has added more vibrancy and happiness to the scheme than I can articulate. She has kept me sane. She leaves in a couple of weeks, and I can't express ardently enough how grateful we are that we've had this opportunity to have her with us.)

And coordinating games.

"What Time Is It?"

"Minute to Win It -- Multiplication" 

"Make a Caramel Apple" (Nana won with her pleating skills; The Dad got points for style -- his apple sported a beret.)

"Venn Diagram" (Each circle was their respective "scheme favorites."  Most activities ended up in the overlap section, as one would mention something we did, and the other would say: "Oh, me, too!" 

Note: I just removed the picture because I realized it had the kids' names on it... Not that it matters, but to have gone this far with my silly little game, only to botch it up in the last entry would have been too lame, even for my standards.) 

"Name That Bone!"

"Shut the Box Championship"

"Arrays"

"Find the Alligators" (In a swamp of oatmeal.)

In addition to alligators, we found that we've had a beautiful and important year. 

If you supported us -- gave us ideas, offered your talents, shared your chickens, said pleasant things, didn't say unpleasant things -- thank you. You have contributed to one of our great life accomplishments. It's not only what happened this year, but also other decisions that we might now have the courage to make in the future.

It needs to be said: the blog turned meta fast. I intended for it to be a place to document our curriculum, a way to pass along fun activities for other families, an opportunity to show that we were being productive. Point of fact: it just became a rambling mess of a family journal where I dumped random details and every possible sub-thought that might give context for my kids someday... An attempt to help them to understand why parents make the decisions that they do, and how this experience looked from the parent's angle... An exercise in working out for myself what it was I was trying to do with these small people... A reminder that if you pull the slenderest of threads hatboxes of memories, piles of unbalanced baggage, bowling balls of doubt, stacks of old news, bins of decorations, and a fluttering of love letters -- all of it -- can come cascading down around you. Some of it you dodge. Some of it you pull out of the clutter... It was harder than I thought it would be. For somebody that believes writing is a process that includes substantial revision, it was humbling to "publish" writing that I'm not proud of. For somebody who thinks most social media is narcissistic/voyeuristic, it was complicated and confusing. In the end, I suppose that raw, bumbling, poorly-executed, well-intentioned-("Harrison-Bergeron"!)-attempt is congruent with the scheme. 

And however imperfect, I am elated to have this history, this recording of our days, and my thoughts as we went through our days. Had I not kept the blog, a goodly portion of the scheme would be lost. Theoretically, I could have kept a private journal... but I don't think that I would have. I was too tired every night, and I didn't know as it was going along what I would find worthwhile come the end. However, knowing that there were a few of you out there reading along was that extra bit of motivation that I needed each night. And so if you're still here: thank you. I'm going to have the blog printed out, put on the shelf. The Girl will see she's a heroine. Judd the Red Chicken/The Boy will read that he's a hero. Like we learned today at the library -- we read books to make sense of the world. 

As has been mentioned, our family motto ("Timshel") comes from a book by John Steinbeck. John Steinbeck had his own motto: "Ad astra per alas porci." Latin. Translated it means: "To the stars on the wings of a pig." 

Equally Appreciative

Today I contemplated what things we would still be able to do once the kids were back in school, and what things strictly happened during school hours. This came about because we went to the Gotham Jazzmen concert. Always at noon. So, this was the last one the kids will attend. I hope that they soaked in all that great music... and all that great old-people-ness. 

The truth of the matter is this: many of the things that we did this year could totally happen after school, BUT there are only so many hours after school... and once we're out of school for the day and ready for an adventure, so are all the other boys and girls, so no longer will we have those neat moments of exploring places without lines or crowds. But I will focus on the fact that many, many things that we've done can indeed happen on weekends or after school. We will just need to be good time managers and always aware of priorities. 

The Girl started another pottery session today, so The Boy and I showed Nana (my mom is still in town) Bank Street Bookstore. They didn't have the book we needed (Swallowdale -- the second Swallows and Amazons book), and when the employee asked if she could order it for us I hesitated. Of course the thought came to me that I could just order it myself... and it might even be less expensive. But then I said, "Yes." As she took my information we chatted, and I told her of my moment of weakness. "No, you always have to order through us! I'm glad that you know it's important to support the independent bookstore!" she said. And then she followed it up by saying that while books are very clear to her, she finds herself not supporting the local shoe stores. 

I know it was just a quip, but I've been thinking about that. I think that perhaps partly it's because bookstores do more than sell things -- they provide a place to be. The Boy and I could not have hung out at a shoe store week after week. A place to be. A place where you can spend hours and always find something new to do, something new to learn, something new to be. And be enfolded in with the others who are turning pages, or shelving, or reading back covers, or plopping down on the floor and shamelessly reading a book from front to back. 

We all know that bookstores are on the endangered species list. But schools are not -- they will always be places were people will come together, and form a community, and turn pages amongst others who are also turning pages. 

There are great things that come from homeschooling in a city like New York; there are great things that come from attending school. If asked today which I prefer, or which one I think is "better," I would say that I'm 50/50. 

Tomorrow's the last day of school... 

We're Good (Just a Tiny Bit Sad)

Today was a transition day. I pulled together two piles of paperwork: 1. the materials I needed to re-enroll the kids, and 2. the last Quarterly Reports and Annual Assessments to send off to the Office of Homeschooling. 

The process of re-enrolling was really stupid. I was told last year when I called Office of Enrollment that as long as I re-enrolled within one calendar year the kids would get their spots back. Officially, they were "un-enrolled" at the very end of August when we sent in our forms to the Office of Homeschooling. So, in April I called the Office of Enrollment -- several times... And emailed -- multiple times... Finally, I was told that I could re-enroll them, and that I should go up to the Office of Enrollment. I trekked up and after navigating past the front-desk, feeling every bit like Office of Enrollment was a doppelganger office to the DMV, I thought: "How could these people already be so cranky -- the office has only been open for fifteen minutes?" 

"I can't talk to you until you fill out these forms."
"Okay."
"When are you enrolling them?"
"For September." 
"We don't enroll now for September. We only enroll for right now. We enroll for September in August."
"Oh... okay..." (I set the clipboard back down on the desk)
"What are you doing? I said fill out the forms."
"But you said I couldn't enroll my kids."
"I can't talk to you until you fill out the forms."

Forms completed, she talked to me. And told me the most ridiculous thing... Once your kid is NOT enrolled for the upcoming year, they are retroactively un-enrolled on July 1 -- regardless of when they were un-enrolled/enrolled elsewhere. But enrollment for September doesn't start until August. Thus, the one-calendar-year stipulation is actually impossible to fulfill if you're trying to coordinate with a school year... Ergo, the promise that your kid can return to his/her elementary school is void. 

I fully went in to the scheme understanding that there was a very real chance that the kids would not be able to return to their school. And I honestly felt that whatever worked out would be workable. That said, the sheer MEANNESS of the situation made me feel like I was going to POP! I can handle losing... but losing to cheaters feels almost unbearable. 

After willing the tears of frustration to stay in my ducts, I looked at the lady and said: 
"Okay. We will not be in town for the next month, when we return, can I enroll them for the last day of school -- that will make it "within one year" considering the July 1 fake-date."
She cracked a smile and raised an eyebrow, and said she would call me. She did call me, and told me that it would work, but I would need to contact the principal.

And so I contacted the principal, and she apparently contacted "the network" (the mafia-like group that principals have -- they share resources, back each other up, etc.). She said that she would get back to me. I checked in and emailed repeatedly while on our trip. I tried to carefully walk the line between making sure our case didn't get buried, and not being obnoxious... Finally, we got the email that not only would we be allowed to re-enroll, but the kids wouldn't have to start again until September (hooray for the mafia... I mean network!), BUT we would need to re-enroll before the end of school.

As soon as we got home I emailed the parent coordinator... and didn't hear back... and didn't hear back. Time was getting short. Again, what's "reminding" and what's being obnoxious?  Anyway, this story is already longer than it needs to be (believe me, that's what I was thinking: why is this so much more complicated than necessary?) Come now, no, don't come now. We need this, we don't need that... blah, blah, blah... 

Today we finally went to the school -- with our pile of paperwork -- and re-enrolled. It's official. Or at least as official as anything can be when dealing with the DOE. 

The thing that was strange, when walking into the school, was that it was like we had never left. Everybody's hair styles were the same; the PA room that I helped paint/decorate was still decorated the same. I know that it was just one year, and yet it made me think that while our family had been having one of the most memorable years to date, another year could have just slipped by. I don't know how to articulate that. It made me feel like I had just barely caught the train, or something... I went to college in Hawaii, and one morning my friends and I got up before the sun and planted ourselves on the beach and waited. We watched the sun come up over the ocean, and saw hundreds of tiny crustaceans pop up and dance around the waves. We marveled that THIS happened every morning while we were sleeping. I don't know -- something about seeing that painted PA room reminded me of the incredulous what-do-we-miss-every-morning!?!-feeling that I experienced that morning on the beach. I'm a grateful, grateful gal that this year has happened. 

And the kids were totally okay with being back. While sitting in the main office waiting to fill out all the paperwork, The Boy -- who has been most resistant to returning -- said, "I think it will be just a tiny bit fun to be back." 

So we're good. We're good. 

(I'm a tiny bit depressed about the scheme being about over, and about the bulk of the family clearing out today, but it's okay. I'm grateful that The Girl and Judd the Red Chicken get to go back to such a great school where there are so many kind and smart people. I know that this is absolutely what is best for the kids, for our family. We're good. I'm good. Transition days -- even if they're good, are still a bit sad.)

Two more days of "school." 

Extended Family

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. 

Choose the Right

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. 

New Decor... Almost Saw Heaven... or Hell...

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. 

Seven More Days of School... and the Blog

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.