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

Sowing Sorrow

This morning I toured an elementary/middle school -- thinking ahead for potential middle school options. The mission statement of the school centers around creating and sustaining a nurturing community. That's a good mission statement. I was impressed by the different ways it was implemented -- kids allowed to flop on the rug, or sit up in a chair; sweet notes written by the teachers... 

I was surprised and concerned with how a significant amount of people -- parents, volunteers, etc. moved freely throughout the enormous facility. How vulnerable the kids looked walking by themselves. How casual the security guards seemed. At 10:30am I texted my friend about the tour: 

"Love the philosophy. Hate the lack of safety."

My instincts after visiting the school were fibers -- warm, damp webs -- cocoon-like, organic, and visceral. I wanted to draw my children close. I wondered if the words in my text were going to stand as not just my position on that school, but my feelings towards school in general now that I've had them home with me everyday. I wondered if being away from the school environment had messed me up.

My feelings two hours later after hearing about the tragedy at a Connecticut elementary school were like little humming wires charged with static electricity. Nothing organic -- certainly nothing that could grow a plan or instigate purposeful action -- just shock. Like every other parent today, it messed me up.

How can we teach them how to be nurturing members of a community if there are no safe places to teach them? And if we don't teach them -- how safe can our communities be?

"Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground." Oscar Wilde.

I suppose the question going forward is how to make holy ground fertile. 

Definitely Not a Loss That We Don't Have a TV

Central Park is the perfect classroom in all seasons. 

We set out late afternoon to uncoop the kids. Originally the plan was to just go to the playground. As we were going through the gate we were were hustled by a Good Morning, America cameraman /intern who needed clips of kids and their parents talking about the new year and resolutions. I told him that we were not having a camera-ready day and actually pointed out a much better looking family for him to chase down. He looked at me like I was a nutter. Finally, I told him that I would ask my moppets, so I called them over and gave them the choice. The Boy shrugged and said, "Sure." The Girl looked at me like I was a nutter and said, "Why would I?" The cameraman decided that one out of three was better than nothing and so it began...

"What do you hope will happen in the new year?"
"That I'll get a chicken."
"Say: 'In the new year I hope that I'll get a chicken.'"
"In the new year I hope that I will get a chicken."
"Why?"
"Because they are my favorite animal."
"What is your resolution for the new year?"
[Aside to me: "What's a resolution?"
"Something that you hope to do better."]
"I hope to do better at math."
"Say that your new year's resolution is to do better at math."
"My new year's resolution is to do better at math."

The thing is, this isn't the first time we've played this game. Last year the same thing went down: The Girl said no way, The Boy said okay and the next thing you know the kid has a camera pointed at him and he's giving it the ol' college try with his very cute smile and saying completely random things. That time the questions were about President Obama and the question and answer that we laughed about all the way home was:

"What do you know about The White House."
[Note: I thought he was going to knock this out of the park because of all the details he noticed and talked incessantly about after we took a tour.]
"It's big... and it's white."

That time he was such a good sport as we laughed and laughed and through his giggles he said so cute: "I sounded like an idiot!"

Today after the cameraman cleared out he asked how he did. I said something about how it was great. As a joke I said that maybe hoping for world peace would have been good, too. He went and played and came back over to me ten minutes later:

"World peace would have been good, but everybody probably says that. And I really do want a chicken."
"Then that was the perfect answer."
Sometimes I forget how much our comments and approval mean. 

The playground experience wasn't meant to be for some reason today. It felt flat for all of us, and the late afternoon light was perfect, so we wandered. The kids each gave $1 to the man playing Christmas carols on his saxophone and he was really great and stopped and took his gloves off to give them each a high five and thank them. We thanked him for playing --  there are few things that are better than a good street musician. And then I guess once his gloves were off he decided to take a break, and as we walked away down the now-silent path my ever-astute girl-child said, "I guess we shouldn't have paid him. Now he's not playing."

We opened pods. 

We walked around The Pond and found, for the first time a little built-in model of The Pond. 

With no homework to hold us hostage we enjoyed the park. The only very-minor issue was that the elastic in the waistband of my tights died an honorable death, and in so doing created the need for me to do strange wiggles and hoistings in order to get them back up and over (as opposed to off, under, and heading for my ankles). The person painted and draped to look like the Statue of Liberty got to witness the wrasslin' match. Your huddled masses yearning to be free took on a whole new meaning, I'm sure. 

In the mail today came The Girl's Web Ranger patch. 

I hope that they are always people who enjoy learning about and being in nature/outside. I hope that if Judd the Red Chicken ever gets himself a chicken that that chicken treats him right. I hope that I never have to walk home with broken tights sans long puffy coat -- that's the only thing that stood between me and a walk-of-shame past the doormen. 

12/12/12 Was Indeed a Lucky Day

Somebody made a crane out of his/her subway wrapper and left it as public art smack in the middle of the sidewalk. We did all the things with it that one is supposed to do with public art -- we walked around it and viewed it from different angles, we considered its origins, and we talked about the artist and what might have been his/her vision. You have to know that the day is going to be filled with serendipitous creativity when you stumble upon a new installation in this manner.

Friend A is fully capable. Full stop. Period. I honestly think that she can do all things. I shouldn't attempt a list, but just a sampling: she can tune our zither by ear (which is a much bigger feat than some would acknowledge), she can cook/bake anything without a recipe (and everything, with the exception of one mediocre pumpkin granola is as good as, or better than anything I've ever ordered), her haikus have the proper spin following that seven-syllable line, her shrinky-dinks are quirky, and she hears me -- and my offspring. We all love her. So today, when I needed to run over to check something out I asked if it would make it feel like she was stepping out on her own -- in-schooled -- children if I brought my moppets along for her to do "some sort of project" with them. Who can you give such vague instruction to and feel totally confident that the outcome will be awesome?  Precious few.

Felting. She showed them magnified wool fibers on the computer and explained that when wool gets wet those scale-like fibers open and if a bit of friction occurs those opened fibers tangle together and become felt. The students then chose the wool roving that they wanted to work with and began tearing it and making wispy little piles. With the help of warm soapy water they took those piles and made the felting process happen. The technique to make a ball takes a bit of finesse (i.e. don't squeeze, let it drop from hand to hand).  Friend A/Teacher kept saying lovely things like: "Imagine there's a baby bird that you're cupping in your hands and you're gently transferring him from one hand to the other; you don't want him to fly away." I was like: "She said not to squeeze. Hello. She said not to squeeze." In the end, neither nurturing nor tough-love worked and one child ended up with something that looked like an S.O.S. pad rather than a ball. Again, people named Not-Me handle things like this beautifully. Did Friend A start ranting about listening to directions? She did not. She asked him what they should do with that. In the end, he did the obvious thing: he made it into a toupee.  

Friend A knows somebody who bought a rather expensive toupee over a decade ago and apparently feels like that type of investment should last a life time... even if it no longer matches his fringe hair. Further, this high-end hairpiece has a suction cup -- important for when he wears it waterskiing. We might have looked up some pictures on The Facebook. Come on. Now that's called getting an education. 

My daughter, who will focus for all her life on something artistic, especially if Friend A is at the helm, made her little ball with some embellishments (when we got home she used a Sharpie to add a face and turn it into an animal).

Friend A showed us the felt geodes that she and her kids made. You essentially felt a tiny ball and then continue to felt layers over the top, with the final, outer layer being grey or brown (rock-colored). You then crack the geode (by way of slicing with a sharp knife) and see all the layers inside. The kids are rather interested in investing in some wool roving and setting aside a chunk of time to make some geodes. Which is exactly what you hope happens after learning something new -- a desire to do more, to go further. Today, they made a tiny little marbled ball and sliced it open for an experiment.

Later, we were home and actually enjoying math. This happens when we read through the Life of Fred books. I don't know if these books will help with the state standardized tests someday, but they did prompt the creation of these elephants today:

And when we got to this page in the book:

Both kids instantaneously shouted: "Wool!" and triumphantly waved their little creations that both were still holding. Serendipity, you are a fun friend. 

School was done. Judd the Red Chicken was working on his Police Department (an enormous box that we have taking up a goodly portion of our living room), and he created this "Wanted" sign:

"WANTED by NYCPD for busting open mail boxes and stealing letters. Bean Bust Wager [name]. Description: 5 feet 2 inches. Weighs about 191 and a half pounds. Wears a pinkish red wig otherwise is bald. Has 19 realtives who live in Iowa. Under August's FBI 10 most wanted list. Cation: He could be dangrous because of his prying and crowbar skills. You might need to know his favorite food are bananas. His favorite drink is diet Sprit. He is non church related too and his finger prints are arches. That's what you need to know. Also he got his wig at the berlin womans wig store. BE CAREFUL. If your a bounty hunter stay out of it."

I've said it before: no knowledge is ever wasted.