The Details of December

Today I've been thinking about small details. They are the things that are missed most when somebody passes, the things that make you laugh hardest during a stand-up comedy routine, the things that make a person most cranky, and the things that most demonstrate that somebody loves you. It's the small details that make life life. 

We went to the Met tonight to see the Angel tree as a family. I have very specific guidelines for people when I tell them to go see the tree: go at night -- so that there is that special evening-at-the-museum-hush, and so there isn't light coming in from the skylights; don't just look at it and move on -- wait for the "lighting" presentation that happens on the half hour. I didn't know that while the museum stays open late on Fridays, the last lighting is at 6:30. So we missed it this year. And it was okay. The children love walking around the tree and looking at all the details -- the dogs, the water, the tiny baskets with tiny fruit, the monkey sitting on the stairs holding cymbals and being watched by a wolf-dog... The lighting is a breathtaking tah-dah-oriented spectacle, but it is the small details that make it a rich process of discovery and personal connectivity. This year The Girl pointed out the little lamb that is peeking in at the Baby Jesus and she said, "I guess he's thinking, hmmmm, I know that he's special, I wonder if I can look at him and figure out  how to be special, too."

While at the Met Judd the Red Chicken requested that we briefly run through the Arms and Armor exhibits. He was so excited to show The Dad everything and tell him the details that he's been learning during our visits. This is indeed an area where we have spent a lot of time, and yet, we found out tonight that we had missed something very cool:

Yep. That's a helmet with a chicken visor. "It's like somebody said, what would [The Boy] most like and the answer was: something chicken in the Arms and Armor!"

While touring that school last week I was listening closely to the philosophies and values -- of the school and of the different teachers. One of the things that interested me was the idea of block time. They find that there can be deeper and more thorough experiences and projects if they don't expect the children to constantly be changing gears and then returning to old projects over and over. The art teacher said it most succinctly: something that takes ten hours can be exciting if it's only spread over two weeks, but can be detested if it takes six weeks because it keeps being dragged out over and over and over again. To that end they do things like concentrated art for a few weeks and then concentrated dance, as opposed to both dance and art being offered at the same time. It makes sense to me. Usually when I start a project there's a certain amount of tinkering and settling in before meaningful work starts to happen. I understand that in order to keep the attention of 30 kiddos a rapidly-moving schedule works best... But I wonder if that's most conducive to that deeper level work.  

Today I printed out a couple dozen of these templates from the Design Mom blog. I told the kids that working on them could be our math for the day if they cheerfully created and answered math problems as we worked ("I have twenty wreaths and two wreaths go on each house. How many houses can be decorated?" "Five elves sleep in a house. How many elves are there if there are ten houses?"). I figured it might be an activity for an hour or two, but I told them that they could go at it as long as they wanted. They created their village for about five hours -- just with markers and some glitter glue and three cotton balls -- the art bins never came out. They had fun thinking about, discussing, and implementing their ideas for the details. 

The village restaurant is a place where animals are as welcome as people.

The hotel offers parking for a fair price.

We are a family that loves glitter. We joke about getting glitter-lung. Our friend who is also glitter-addicted says that we're like so many raccoons. Since this is a Christmas village there needed to be a house devoted to glitter.

Santa's workshop has a gear on the side and a candy cane smokestack so that any pollution smells nice. 

Santa has two dogs to protect him and love him (love that exclamation point!).

This village was their version of Utopia, so just as there had to be glitter, there had to be the National Park Service (with a little coyote finding refuge).

And a zoo.

A pet store...

An aquarium...

Reindeer stables (or raindeer stabble)...

An animal toy workshop...

It could not be Utopia without Yucky Old House -- which is a dilapidated apartment building on 74th that The Boy has loved for the last few years. He has dreams of buying it when he's an adult and restoring it for the three of us (his parents and sister) to live in while he lives in the backyard in a mobile home with a pet rooster. My kids aim high.

We couldn't be happy without the City Museum (complete with a tunnel, zip-line seat and slides). 

Coast Guard headquarters (The Boy's office is the one (drumroll) with the chicken looking out the window). 

A maritime museum is surely a staple in most Christmas villages... 

The Sister has been working on her college applications and essays, but she did sit at the table for a while and contribute the NPS (except the coyote that was added by The Girl), and the two sweet shops.

The elves have a dormitory-like set-up. 

Practically speaking... I guess they figured that we needed a DR for our survival... As is evidenced by the slap-dash yellow exterior... it was a last minute "oh, yeah!" addition. 

The snow house is similar to the glitter house... you can't really have a solid Christmas without either one.

And you can't have a solid Christmas village without a prison... with a guard tower... we're realists around here.

In this family we know that parking isn't something to be overlooked.

I was in charge of Town Hall... the first building in the village.  My architecture/design contributions ended there and I was asked to do more manual labor (cutting and applying glue-dots). 

Each of these details -- and the combination of them -- tell me about the interests and values and concerns and dreams that are inside my kids. I learned about what matters most and what's currently floating on the surface, and now by documenting them I have a snapshot of who they were and how they saw life in December of 2012. Best math lesson so far. I'm grateful for this blog so I have a place to house our details.

Happy Winter Solstice. We have a lovely family friend who contributes pretty things to life, and the other day she shared a sweet poem about the solstice. Today both kids memorized it and presented it to The Dad and The Sister while we drove to the Met:

I Heard a Bird Sing

by: Oliver Herford

I heard a bird sing

In the dark December

A magical thing

And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring

Than we were in September,"

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December.

Transitions!

Yesterday the male kid hip-checked me in his enthusiasm to get into the closet where we keep the art supplies. His mission: obtain glitter glue. He put it and some water in two plastic bubbles that the Play Foam came in, and after taping it together put the entire thing on top of a flashlight. He said it was his crystal ball. 

According to the professor of ancient history who gave us a tour of the Mayan civilization (via the American Museum of Natural History), the future of the world is probably okay for a while.

We met at the meteor -- actually not arbitrary. She started us off by pointing to the meteor and positing that while things change (sometimes drastically) nothing really "ends."  That meteor is sitting in our museum still existing in some form.

To Mexico. (She said it was okay to pick his nose because he's a replica.) Apparently you don't start talking about the Mayans without first acknowledging their "Mother Culture" the Olmec civilization... where this fellow originates. This carving is huge. There's a counterculture that uses the size/weight to support the theory of aliens being responsible for its existence, because the Olmecs did not use wheels or draft animals. However interesting the alien theory is, the professor pointed out that there was a river nearby that very likely contributed to its movement. I liked this professor a great deal because she was knowledgable, yet frequently said things like: we aren't really sure why they did that... I like it when my kids hear that. She said that they aren't really sure who/what these big heads are. The most accepted theory is that it is a way to honor a king. The helmet he is wearing is most likely what that they wore during their "ball games." 

The ball games were crazy. Most likely used to settle a conflict, two men (usually leaders) would enter the court and use their hips to whack forty-pound rubber balls up and down the court. These belts might have been used to somewhat protect their bodies against the impact of the balls. 

At the end of the game a human would be beheaded. There are two opposing theories: one theory is that the loser would be beheaded. The other theory is that the winner would get whatever he was playing for, but then get beheaded as a gesture of great honor -- he would pass to the other side during the height of his glory. It takes some mental adjusting to understand the latter theory.

We had to do a lot of mental adjusting during the class. My daughter chose not to do any mental adjusting/accepting in regards to the chihuahuas.  Apparently chihuahuas were the only domesticated animals... and they wanted them really chubby... plump... 

"When she asked us what we had for lunch today to prove her point about meat everybody should have said, 'salad' to prove that the chihuahua thing was not okay." The Girl

This is not a chihuahua. It's a deer, and it's one of the most famous/best examples in the world of the wheels that did exist in Mesoamerica -- only on toys and made out of clay. I'm confused as to why an idea that was great for toys wasn't used in other parts of society, but there are not always answers.

I wish I didn't know the answer to this question: what are the scale/feather things on his armor?  Answer: bits of dried human skin that had been dried and would make a chinking sound when he walked. Nice.

By our standards, it was indeed a gruesome civilization. The Aztecs and the Mayans were quite similar -- with the two most obvious differences being where they were located geographically (the Aztecs more northern in central Mexico; Mayans southern -- into Guatemala) and the amount of human sacrifices/religion. While the Mayans did participate in human sacrifices on certain ritual days, the Aztecs sacrifices hundreds daily -- so that the sun could win the battle against darkness. The sacrifice consisted of pulling out the still-beating heart while people held on to the four limbs. Nice. 

The Mayans participated in blood-letting: the king/leader would tie/tourniquet the end of his tongue and cut it so that blood could drip into a cup that would then be consumed by somebody else. Most likely enough blood was let for the ruler to feel light-headed and receive visions.

So what did all of this have to do with the end of the world? The Mayans were chihuahua-eating, death-ball-playing, human-sacrificing worshippers of a god who wore scales made of human skin... OR, domesticators of animals, conflict-solvers, star-gazing religious scholars... It's apparently a matter of perspective. What is agreed upon is that some calendars that they created are "accurate," and by some estimates tomorrow (actually today -- Eastern time), 12/21/12, is the end of the 13th baktun. Significant because of a glyph found that said that at the end of the 13th baktun there would be a return of a king... but no specific mention of the world ending. When a baktun ends it's pretty much the equivalent of a calendar year ending (but instead of 12 months it's 144,000 days). 

On the coffin of Pakal, lord of Palenque (died in the year 683 AD), there is an inscription that says that he will return 2,000 years from now. Clearly the Mayans did not think that the end of the 13th baktun signaled the end of the world... but rather the transition into the 14th baktun.

The idea of transitions was the central theme. As we were looking at a reconstructed burial site the professor talked about the idea of an apocalypse and how that somehow got tied into all of this. She said that an apocalypse meant that a veil was being lifted -- a moving on that would happen to all people -- not necessarily at the same time. For the many people that have already died throughout history, an apocalypse has happened. 

We talked about their thoughts on the afterlife and the gods that they worshipped -- as depicted in their sculptures (carved with rock, not metal). 

At one point she said: "Imagine walking through the jungle and in the midst of the foliage seeing this..."

And she pointed to this enormous sculpture (you can't tell in this crappy picture, but it's about twenty feet tall). Now, I am not the adventurous type -- I'll choose a book in front of a fireplace in a English country cottage over hiking Machu Picchu any day -- BUT, the visual that I got when I imagined what she told me to imagine was rather exciting. Having somebody to build context around pieces in a museum is a priceless experience (for the record, the class was $25/kid -- parents were free).  

The main take-aways that our professor impressed upon us:

1. When you google "Mayan calendar" you will get this:

And that's not a Mayan calendar. It's an Aztec slab used for that still-beating-hearts pulling-out business. She made it very clear that a lot of "information" that is on the news and pops up on the internet is NOT accurate... so we should all take the time to learn how to acquire knowledge. We can't be knowledgable in all things, but we will at least understand how one finds out the best information available.

2. The Mayan people never had one cohesive empire. There were many different groups that could be found in various cities. In the larger cities there were Mayan areas similar to China Town. Each of these groups could have different traditions, beliefs, and values. That is why it is hard to make generalities about "Mayans."

3. We know that at one time the civilization had approximately two million books. There are 8 in existence. There were precious few oral traditions that were recorded hundreds of years after the conquest with Latin letters in the Mayan language. The material culture of the Mayan world supports the stories. It isn't much to go off of. Why the academic carnage? The Spanish came and they were afraid. They burned or destroyed most everything. Unquestionably, the civilization was different than certain sensibilities, but as our teacher pointed out -- we would be able to understand so much more if those books weren't destroyed. Fear and ignorance leads to destruction which causes more fear and ignorance. 

4.  The Mayans didn't evaporate in 900 AD. That's when the decline of their civilization occurred. There are still Mayans and a Mayan language alive today. Things don't just go away. They change. They transition. 

Perhaps 12/20/12 was the end of our world as we've known it, and 12/21/12 -- as the beginning of the new baktun -- will be the beginning of the end, what with global warming, or nuclear accretion, or rampant mental illness/cancer/autoimmune diseases... Will our apocalypse be explosive and wide-spread, or quiet and individual. We don't know. 

What I do know is that transitions happen, and one of the most obvious human transitions is from childhood with family of origin, to adulthood. I'm grateful for the time I get to spend learning with my little ones. I'm grateful for fun and beautiful things that make us feel good.

Today after The Boy's knitting lesson his so-amazing knitting teacher gifted him and his sister an origami bird kit. It was fun to look at the origami tree at the museum after our class and see what masters of origami can make. We will start with a crane, and see where it takes us.

Every year at the tree there are new creations and little signs encouraging a search-and-find. We found the apple, but not the angler fish. I was pleased to see that there was a reference to collective nouns (you blog-readers that have been with me since the beginning will remember this). If the world did end now, at least I would die knowing that with this picture my blog made a nice tight connected circle. That's perfection.

When we first moved to the city it was November and a trip to the natural history museum was one of the first outings that I took alone with the two babies. I still remember how rich and full the experience felt. In front there were two enormous topiary dinosaurs holding wreaths. I thought that the dinosaurs were permanent and just the wreaths were seasonal. Imagine my dismay when a couple of months later the dinosaurs came down! For the next few years we celebrated the arrival of the dinosaurs -- one time we even got to witness the workers building them with the greenery around the wire skeletons. And then the renovation began. The dinosaurs didn't come. Then they didn't come again. Last year the external renovation was done, and yet the dinosaurs didn't return. That seemed like a bad sign to me. Christmas-time used to bring an enormous Christmas tree with blue lights and instrument ornaments to Lincoln Center, but once the renovation that happened there was complete that tradition was not picked back up again. Perhaps the dinosaurs would become as extinct as that blue-glow Christmas tree...

They're back. They've been Vegas-ized; there are way more lights -- multi-colored rather than white, but I can accept that. What our professor said today must be right: things never really cease to exist... they just change. 

On Cupcakes and Cavities

I always find the small regrets the most frustrating. The big regrets are tragic and help us understand Joyce, and find redemption, and be better... but the small ones... they're just lame. 

This evening The Girl, The Sister, and I went to see The Nutcracker. We haven't seen it since The Girl was three... because frankly, while I like the music and the dream-driven "storyline," the sets kind of suck (with the exception of the falling snow scene, which is lovely), and Act I draaaaags (until the falling snow scene, which is lovely). However, this year it made sense to go: this is The Sister's year with us (her ticket was her "Christmas Bonus"), and The Girl's friend's older sister (saw somebody pass out at Baskin-Robbins... sorry... I was channelling an 80's flick there for a minute) is IN the ballet. The mom told us that if we went her kiddo would want to come along with us and sit by my kiddo and pass on all the inside info. That's exactly what happened tonight (absolutely fascinating how the bed moves!  I would write it here, but then I would no longer be on the inside... sorry...). 

The girlies were excellent art appreciators -- they whispered ever-so quietly and stayed attentive throughout. My favorite moment was when I asked them if they liked Mother Ginger and the friend was like: "It's a guuuuyyy." Clearly "like" and a cross-dresser on stilts with children under his skirt should not be in the same sentence. We had a nice time. When it was over we went down and met the mom, the ballerina/sister, and a big group of her friends from school who had come to see her. Here's the set-up for the regret I mentioned: I'm handing off the kid and somebody mentions a cupcake and the mom looks at us and says, we're all going to [cupcake shop six blocks up], you're welcome to join. Would you have gone? Clearly it was the sister/ballerina's night, but it still would have been fun for my girl and her friend... Wait. Let me list today's "highlights" and then we will revisit...:

1. Girl I've been helping with admissions crap for boarding schools/top privates completely disregarded our last two sessions and set us back... Now, it's no skin off my teeth -- they're her applications -- but it felt so frustrating to be questioned on the ONE thing I actually know something about. Being a parent: I know nothing about, so when I suck at it, fine, I accept the lack of appreciation... But application packets? That's what I was born to do. Don't take that away from me.
2.  One of the kids found out at the dentist that he/she has two small cavities in a back permanent tooth that will need to be filled. A crying session that broke capillaries -- and could break a heart -- ensued. This child has now learned that you can be a far better brusher than your sibling, and still be the one to get a cavity. In other words: life is not fair.
3.  I found out that I have several dentist appointments in my near future. I already knew that life is not fair, but felt like crying anyway.
4.  My apartment is a disaster and tomorrow the kids might be wearing their pajamas all day until laundry gets done. If the fish tank gets any thicker we might have an awesome science lesson... as we watch the fish drag themselves out of the water in a pathetic attempt to hedge their bets...
5.  Christmas cards, among other things, still have not been finished. It's really hard to do Christmas preparation with homeschoolers... they're always here.
6.  One of my children who shall remain nameless completely lost it around 3pm, and in so doing lost some privileges, thus impacting the plans for Man-Night-Sans-Nutcracker that he had been looking forward to. A crying session that could break glass ensued. 

It was with this list in my back pocket that I stood there thinking: I cannot walk to the bloody cupcake shop and be social. I am tired. The girl does not need sugar between her teeth right before bed. 

And I'm convinced it was the wrong call. My girl was very sweet and didn't complain or question my decision, but was clearly disappointed as we walked home. The inconvenience of the cupcake date would have been forgotten, but the cheerful time associated with the night at The Nutcracker probably would not. I should have followed my own mantra: convenience should not trump everything.

Sigh.

Somehow, between the moments of despair and drama, both kids worked independently on things today:

Without being asked, Judd the Red Chicken sat down and wrote a very informative essay on the Coast Guard.

The Girl used every bubble of Play Foam (kind of cool stuff -- nice and sensory and doesn't make a mess) to make a life-size puppy. 

The cupcake might have given her nightmares. It could have just as easily sparked dreams that surpassed Hoffman's and Tschaikovsky's  and Balanchine's combined vision. It doesn't matter now. Sometimes we suck. Sometimes we're lovely. An awful lot of both can happen in a very short space of time -- sometimes even one act. 

We Have Time

Since The Girl's first Christmas we have gone to Macy's on 34th Street for a snap with Kris Kringle. That first year Big Sister was visiting and suggested it, so we headed out in the piercing cold that made her boy scream in agony. While standing in the line with my sister, her son who was still recovering from the cold, a baby, and a boy with a wet wipe draped over his head in an attempt to tame his hat-head -- he looked more like he was waiting for an Indian wedding -- a 20-something guy explained to us that he had been coming to sit on Santa's lap every since he was a baby, and had no plans on stopping the tradition. I imagined him as a baby. I looked at my baby and two-year old and decided that it would become our tradition as well. It would mark the passage of time. 

Today, for the eighth time we found ourselves walking towards the elevators in the men's department that would take us up to Santaland on the 8th floor. At the very moment we approached the elevators an enormous swarm of preschoolers shoved ahead of us. The Sister and I looked at each other, realization dawning at the exact moment... their group was surely headed for Santaland... and would surely add 15-20 minutes to our wait time.

Now, if you've ever been to Macy's on 34th you know that it houses the world's second slowest bank of elevators (the number one slot goes to the natural history museum). If you don't believe me, stand there and see how many Macy's employees start swearing up a storm if they miss/can't fit into an elevator car. So, we had a chance. We had a chance (read with appropriate dramatic emphasis). The four of us sprinted to the escalators (note: some of them still have the wooden slats on the steps, and I hear that when the big reno happens soon they might not make the cut... go see them if you haven't), and we tried our best to sprint  eight flights up the moving escalators (gym class). Unfortunately, while the group of Russian tourists happily moved aside, some of the middle-aged gals were like: nope. We got to the Santaland line out of breath and just behind the school group. 

Standing in line actually isn't that horrible if you're not in a rush.

Our favorite thing to do is sidle up to the elves and whisper: "What's your elf name?"  Today we met: Snickerdoodle, Muffin, Sprinkles, Cookie, Prancer, Silver Mist, Zuzu, Pine Tree, and a couple of others I can't remember. Every elf smiles at this request -- it's kind of secret code for: "I've read Santaland Diaries -- I know that you're in hell right now." 

This was the second or third year we've asked for elf names, but the first year I've told the kids where it comes from. We even read part of SantaLand Diaries when we got home, but I was editing so heavily it was like watching movies on not-cable that have been cleaned up for general consumption -- weird timing, strange transitions, the lingering feeling that everybody is getting a joke that you're not privy to... Maybe next year we will read a bit more of it. I guess we are in a transition from Natalie Wood to David Sedaris. Perhaps a brilliant metaphor for growing up. 

In the essay Sedaris mentions that some families request Black Santa. Well, next year I'm requesting Jack-Lemmon-in-Some-Like-It-Hot Santa because that's who we had today and I can't ever go back to Run-of-the-Mill Santa. The kids are convinced that Real Santa stopped by Macy's and helped out. He was attentive and funny and completely over-the-top (but I don't think he was acting...).

Santa to The Boy: "What would you like to ask for?"
The Boy: "A genuine coonskin cap."

Santa -- in very annunciated whisper to me over their heads: "OMG. Love. It. Ugh." 

We proudly wore our pins:

We walked around a Christmas Village by Columbus Circle, and as the children were being treated to a free hand-softening with Israeli salt scrubs I felt really happy for the extra time. Sure, we could go to the Christmas Village if they were in school, but now we have time to look in the nooks and crannies, and do so when things aren't quite so crowded. The man who digs up artifacts told me that I have exceptionally good children who are welcome around his stuff anytime. 

Of course we did some math today, too. And this evening we went to our piano teacher's apartment and had a little Christmas carol recital. 

The children were sweet. Their teacher, an opera lover, our friend and neighbor who builds us up and makes us feel well every time we run into her, gifted our family the Marx Brothers movie: A Night at the Opera. A perfect gift in every way. And we have the time to watch it... Perhaps it will be a cross-curriculum history/music/social-skills lesson. 

Art and Talking and Choices

In the afterglow of their theatre class grand finale last week, they filled the vacant slot in their schedule by trying out an art class today. They both said that it was "fine"/"okay," but there "weren't opportunities to chat with the other kids," and the actual projects were "things that we could do at home."

However we do it, I know that art must be a part of our days. When we all sit together and work on something creative the spirit of our apartment seems to take yoga breaths. 

My grandma has been saturated by the media coverage of Friday's tragedy. As of now, I am still holding to my decision to not tell the kids about it. Whether or not his school was safe was actually always a concern for The Boy, so I'm not sure that any good could come from talking about this. If they had heard about it -- at school, or on the news -- I would definitely provide an opportunity to talk about it and explore feelings... But since they haven't heard, I've yet to feel impressed to discuss what happened, and in fact feel grateful that by being away from an institution I get to make that choice. Of course my perspective could change, but for now, I certainly don't feel like my cute grandma is better off for all the exposure she's had. She was very sweet and reminded me often on the phone to "keep them close... they are just babies."

I received an email from the JCC and think that it's very nice -- not only for this tragedy, but in regards to all sad things that occur in the world:

Dear Friends,  I write at a moment when there are no words.  But because we are community that stands together in these very difficult moments, some things should be said. An email cannot take the place of a hand, a shoulder, a person-to-person connection in a time of such pain and disbelief, but it can serve as a reminder to be there for one another and as a reassurance that the world that you live in is in fact bigger and better than the unspeakable actions of one individual whose action caused such loss and such pain. We hear things like "I cannot get my head around what had happened," and,  " I cannot even imagine such loss."  Indeed, we should not need to understand or come to terms with a world where these kinds of things happen.  We choose to continue to imagine, to create and to live in a world where neighbors care for neighbors in times of need, a world where people come together and share day-to-day joys and where hope triumphs over fear. So yes, we hold our children and those we love a bit tighter in these moments and we are reminded that life is fragile. We hear the stories of teachers who gave their own lives to protect the children in their care and we are reassured that most people are very good. We reaffirm our need to be part of a caring community and help heal the broken world in which we live. ... Please take a moment to look in the eyes of a neighbor, to say hi to the person on the treadmill next to you, to thank a teacher--- these are the moments that express the humanity in all of us and remind us that as we mourn for and with those we will never know, we are part of a world where hope is possible and goodness can prevail. May the memories of those who died in Newtown, Connecticut on Friday be for a blessing. Joy Rabbi Joy Levitt