The Contents of My Pocket

Perhaps there are more glamorous pocket collections. I can imagine some, I guess, but this one made me laugh. Have you ever emptied your pocket and smiled at the randomness of it all? I mean, Mr. Potato head's tongue? A glass rock from the gift shop at the Maui Aquarium? Ten cents, a safety pin and a matchbox car? It's classic mid-motherhood fare.

What I Did On My Winter Vacation

The schools have all been closed this week (not to mention part of last week). With Presidents' Day on Monday, that will make a total of three full days of school over an eleven-weekday period. Now, I realize that there's no school during the summer and I have to deal with it and create schedules and such, but it's a whole different animal when we have to check the website each night to see what tomorrow will bring. Planning and expectations become difficult.

Finally, after the first storm was over and we'd gotten out of the neighborhood for a few hours, I felt like I could take control of the situation. And I did; I present my first (and possibly only) foray into homeschool. I made it all up using the resources suggested on the super Arlington County Snow Learning page.

Day 1

9:20 am: Morning meeting. The three-year-old chose "On Top of Spaghetti" for our morning song. We sang all three verses. He was then given a huge pile of coloring pages to work through at his leisure.

9:25: Science. I printed out two items for each girl from the Library of Congress's Everyday Mysteries page. The first-grader read about and presented a report on "How The Grapefruit Got Its Name" and "Fun Facts About Squash". The fifth-grader read about and reported on "Is a Coconut a Nut, a Fruit, or a Seed?" and "How Does Sunscreen Work?" Everyone learned something new. Next they were given the first half of a standardized science test for grades 3 and 5 respectively. (And they did very respectably.)

10:15: Art. The three older kids were given floam and the older two were asked to create a gallery of sculpted animals native to Australia and New Zealand. The three-year-old spent a long time making a perfect sphere.

10:50: Silent reading

11:30: snack

11:45: Music. The fifth-grader practiced her clarinet in one room while the first-grader was supposed to be doing one of two assignments on the keyboard. I was putting the one-year-old down for a nap and came back to a pouty and uncooperative young girl. Hmm. More musical guidance and instruction needed there, I guess. Half a concert followed.

12:20 pm: Physical Education: Yoga with Denise Austin. Lots of participation, even by the three-year-old. He does a funky tree-pose.

1:00: Writing. The girls were given the same writing prompt with 20 minutes to write and a recitation following. Today's prompt came from the 2006 Virginia Department of Education Standards of Learning Test for 5th graders. It read: "Imagine that you are suddenly able to fly whenever you want. Where would you go? What would you do? Write to explain your new talent and how you would use it." Interesting answers- too involved to go into here.

1:45: lunch, followed by recess

2:15: Math: I printed several first-grade worksheets and also half of the 2006 VA. D.O.E. S.O.L. math test for 6th graders. Just about right.

3:00: dismissal

They were very excited about the whole thing (or we wouldn't have tried to do so much!) and gave their reports to Dad that evening.

Day 2 was slightly different. Most of the first hour was spent on geography. The first-grader did a map study worksheet and some state shape-matching (from the same website as her math worksheets) and the fifth-grader did some online research and a report on Yemen. (Her conclusion was that she didn't think it was a very interesting place and didn't want to go there. Hilarious.) Next was Art and we spent a very long time making Valentine's Day cards for family and friends since I was pretty sure they wouldn't be having any class parties. I had them finish the rest of their science tests and more above-level math.

Finally, there was writing. The older one was assigned the first 2 sections of the 2006 VA. D.O.E. S.O.L "End of Course" writing test and she did pretty well. The younger one was assigned the 8th grade writing prompt: "Imagine you have a time machine and you are able to transport one person from the past to the present for one day. Whom would you choose? Write about why you chose this person and your visit with this person." She wrote about Betsy Ross (whom she mistakenly called "Betty Crocker" in her first draft) and how she wanted learn how to sew as well as Betsy did. This came complete with a drawing of a time machine. Now, it just so happened that Dad was watching the 1960's film adaptation of H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine" last night, so she had some idea what one might look like. (The kids didn't watch the whole film, just enough to get their imaginations going without scaring them.) Good times.

Overall, this was a very productive experiment. The kids appreciated having structure, brain food, and fun. Yes, flying by the seat of my pants was a lot of work- maybe more than real homeschooling is since normally one would make up lesson plans way ahead and could order helpful kits, etc. Tomorrow will be a light afternoon version since we're spending the morning with Grandma. But Monday will not be a "school holiday" here at our house... three day weekends may never be the same again (cue evil laugh).

Enjoy the pictures of snow and school.

My path for the garbage bins and other backyard access.

We both did a fair amount of upper-body/lower-back strengthening exercise over the last week.

One kid even helped!

Highlighted in blue is the path I shoveled for the little guys. Two feet is too deep to be fun when you're 3.

Monday was "Indoor Fort Day" and it was used as a Native American tent- mostly.

Good Night

As I was tucking the 3 year old into bed tonight, I said, "Have a good sleep. I hope you wake up all happy in the morning."

He giggled and said, "Goodnight, Mom. I hope you have a good sleep and wake up with a happy mess inside."

Sounds about right, I guess, if you're three.

The Babies' Books

I have good intentions. I even have waves of true inspiration. I have supplies, paper, photographs, and memories. I don't even have babies anymore. Why doesn't it get done? I'm way behind on the baby books.

I opened up the book for the "baby" today and noticed that it stops with pictures of him as a 1-week old. Oops. He turned 17 months old this week! Somewhere there must be evidence of his life so far, I just need to get it organized and begin scrapbooking again. (Is "scrapbooking" honestly a verb?) I enjoy it- I really do- it gives me a real sense of satisfaction when I finish a page and flip through the book again to see how it all fits together. I'm not a fanatic, obviously, or I wouldn't be behind in my work.

The girls' books are 8.5x11 and the boys' books are 12x12; each has a slightly different theme. My older sister made the first one with beautiful hand-lettering, colored pencils, gold paint and a sprinkling of marvelous old postage stamps throughout. It was genius as well as a form of genesis. I loved the stamps so much that I began a stamp collection for myself an my daughter. I have used them in each child's book and still have plenty left over.

As fun as the process is, however, the process is not the real point. I do it so my little ones will never forget how much I love them. Sure, I can tell them every day of their lives, but reading about it in your mother's handwriting years and years after the fact is different. Everyone desires to be loved purely, unconditionally, and as if they were totally innocent. This is the kind of love a mother has for her tiny child. Then it changes some over the years- grows bigger, stretches, takes on it's partner: discipline. And that's the kind of love a small child remembers later: the kind that has occasional conditions. She cannot recall the sweet, pure love she enjoyed as an infant- the love her parents gave her freely simply because she existed.

And it isn't possible to put it all in the pages of a book... but I can try.

The Last First Birthday

Happy First Birthday to the baby of the family, who loves:

walking, singing in the car, pushing the little wagon, climbing the stairs, 

story time, laughing along with the family, sticks, cats and birds, 

swinging in the hammock, any beans but especially jelly beans, 

and snuggles.

Spring Love

Happy Mother's Day to everyone!

May Poetry 3 (2009)

Another favorite

In Reference to her Children, 23 June 1659

BY ANNE BRADSTREET

I had eight birds hatcht in one nest,

Four Cocks were there, and Hens the rest.

I nurst them up with pain and care,

No cost nor labour did I spare

Till at the last they felt their wing,

Mounted the Trees and learned to sing.

Chief of the Brood then took his flight

To Regions far and left me quite.

My mournful chirps I after send

Till he return, or I do end.

Leave not thy nest, thy Dame and Sire,

Fly back and sing amidst this Quire.

My second bird did take her flight

And with her mate flew out of sight.

Southward they both their course did bend,

And Seasons twain they there did spend,

Till after blown by Southern gales

They Norward steer’d with filled sails.

A prettier bird was no where seen,

Along the Beach, among the treen.

I have a third of colour white

On whom I plac’d no small delight,

Coupled with mate loving and true,

Hath also bid her Dame adieu.

And where Aurora first appears,

She now hath percht to spend her years.

One to the Academy flew

To chat among that learned crew.

Ambition moves still in his breast

That he might chant above the rest,

Striving for more than to do well,

That nightingales he might excell.

My fifth, whose down is yet scarce gone,

Is ‘mongst the shrubs and bushes flown

And as his wings increase in strength

On higher boughs he’ll perch at length.

My other three still with me nest

Until they’re grown, then as the rest,

Or here or there, they’ll take their flight,

As is ordain’d, so shall they light.

If birds could weep, then would my tears

Let others know what are my fears

Lest this my brood some harm should catch

And be surpris’d for want of watch

Whilst pecking corn and void of care

They fall un’wares in Fowler’s snare;

Or whilst on trees they sit and sing

Some untoward boy at them do fling,

Or whilst allur’d with bell and glass

The net be spread and caught, alas;

Or lest by Lime-twigs they be foil’d;

Or by some greedy hawks be spoil’d.

O would, my young, ye saw my breast

And knew what thoughts there sadly rest.

Great was my pain when I you bred,

Great was my care when I you fed.

Long did I keep you soft and warm

And with my wings kept off all harm.

My cares are more, and fears, than ever,

My throbs such now as ‘fore were never.

Alas, my birds, you wisdom want

Of perils you are ignorant.

Oft times in grass, on trees, in flight,

Sore accidents on you may light.

O to your safety have an eye,

So happy may you live and die.

Mean while, my days in tunes I’ll spend

Till my weak lays with me shall end.

In shady woods I’ll sit and sing

And things that past, to mind I’ll bring.

Once young and pleasant, as are you,

But former toys (no joys) adieu!

My age I will not once lament

But sing, my time so near is spent,

And from the top bough take my flight

Into a country beyond sight

Where old ones instantly grow young

And there with seraphims set song.

No seasons cold, nor storms they see

But spring lasts to eternity.

When each of you shall in your nest

Among your young ones take your rest,

In chirping languages oft them tell

You had a Dame that lov’d you well,

That did what could be done for young

And nurst you up till you were strong

And ‘fore she once would let you fly

She shew'd you joy and misery,

Taught what was good, and what was ill,

What would save life, and what would kill.

Thus gone, amongst you I may live,

And dead, yet speak and counsel give.

Farewell, my birds, farewell, adieu,

I happy am, if well with you.

Source: The Complete Works of Anne Bradstreet (1981)

May Poetry 2 (2009)

Richness
by Maren Mecham

I love this day,
the snail’s pace of little children
as they discover this and that.
I’m glad we have nothing on the calendar today.

I love the tender softness of the baby.
I never appreciated it with the first one
or the second one.

I love the way is fat finger
briefly tries to understand
the hole in my sock.

I love the long epic songs
that reveal the inner workings
of the five year old.

The wit, humor and gentle care
of the oldest child
as she shows her little brother
how to ride a wooden stick horse-
this is my paycheck.

The fistful of squished dandelions
melts my heart.
“I picked these for you, Mommy.”
Does he know how timeless and universal those words are?

Someday he won’t bring me such treasures.
Someday I will think my own thoughts as I eat my dinner-
and I will taste my food again.

Maybe that day will never come.

May Poetry 1 (2009)

Some poetic thoughts on Mothers

Maternal

BY GAIL MAZUR

On the telephone, friends mistake us now

when we first say hello—not after.

And that oddly optimistic lilt

we share nourishes my hopes:

we do sound happy. . . .

Last night, in my dream’s crib,

a one-day infant girl.

I wasn’t totally unprepared—

there was the crib, and cotton kimonos,

not just a padded dresser drawer.

And then, I knew I could drive

to the store for the tiny, funny

clothes my daughter wears.

I was in a familiar room

and leaned over the rail, crooning

Hello, and the smiling baby—

she’d be too young for speech,

I know, or smiles—

gurgled back at me, Hullo.

—If I could begin again,

I’d hold her longer, closer!

Maybe that way, when night opens

into morning, and all my windows

gape at the heartbreaking street,

my dreams wouldn’t pierce so,

I wouldn’t hold my breath

at the parts of my life still in hiding,

my childhood’s white house

where I lunged toward the flowers of love

as if I were courting death. . . .

Over the crib, a mobile was spinning,

bright birds going nowhere,

primary colors, primary

as mothering once seemed. . . .

Later, I wonder why I dreamt

that dream, yearning for what I’ve had,

and have

why it was my mother’s room,

the blonde moderne bedroom set

hidden under years of junk—a spare room’s

the nicest way to put it,

though now all

her crowded rooms are spare—

Gail Mazur, “Maternal” from Zeppo's First Wife: New & Selected Poems (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2005)

The Fourth Child's Freedom

The Doubtful Guest

We bought this small 1957 gem by Edward Gorey for our oldest daughter when she was little, though she is only now old enough to fully appreciate it. We laughed at its oddity and randomness. We were charmed by the title character, though grateful he didn't live at our house.

And yet, he does. As I revisit it now, I see that the story is something of an allegory of raising a child. Not a complete match, for the guest never speaks, but similar enough to bring some deeper meaning to the strange tale. It's like a dispassionate observer's condensed account of the first 17 years.

Tearing out whole chapters from books? I've seen that. Seemingly deaf to whatever I say? Hmmm. I know several little "guests" in my house who would gladly eat all of the syrup and toast, though they usually stop short of the plate. Every page has a thing or two that I, my siblings, or my children have been known to do. Vanish for hours? I remember that time we found my older sister asleep under her bed... after much searching. I was the one who peeled my shoes. Now, where has my bedside alarm clock gone...?

If you have this Gorey classic, give it another read-through, preferably aloud to your spouse (pausing to show the pictures, of course). If you don't, check it out at the library or bookstore for an amusing, slightly bemusing story.

Baby 2.0

The parental units have now updated their operating systems to comply with the new version of Baby 2.0.

Meaning, of course, that the baby has learned to crawl and it's a whole new ball game- again. We're on the next level, so to speak, as we readjust our expectations. He gets faster every day at reaching, pulling up on things, crossing rooms and generally exploring the world at his level. I can't seem to keep the floor clean enough, it will be a long time before the bookshelves are in order again, and his siblings' toys are no longer out of reach... it's one of the most exciting times of babyhood!

Not The Luckiest Day

This boy is 2 years and 4 months old today. While he was supposed to be taking a nap, he found a big jar of Vaseline and smeared it all over his wall, his clothes, his face and his hair. He worked it in pretty well and I'm not sure when it will all be gone, from his hair especially. The clothes may never recover... we'll see. Fortunately, his mother still loves him.

Happy Friday the 13th.

A Mouthful of Spiders

Sometimes a two-year-old has to get creative in his language because he lacks the exact words to express himself. Take, for instance, this morning:

"Daddy, I have a spider in my mouth."

Now there's an attention-getter. "What?!"

"Maybe it's a bug."

"Hmm. Let me see." Nothing obvious in his mouth.

"Daddy, my mouth is broken. Can you kiss it?" Sticks out his tongue.

Now we're snickering. Kisses are administered to his cheek. But some underlying problem remains and all morning he makes comments about fuzz in his mouth or something broken. When he won't even eat a soft piece of pear, Mom puts 8 and 8 together and comes up with the answer- 2 year old molars! A pinkie check confirms the emergence of two little molars in the back. This might also explain the recent fever, whininess, and poor eating.

Man, I love that kid- spiders and all.

To The Nines

My oldest child turned 9 today. Nine! Wasn't she in preschool just last year?

That means she was born in nineteen ninety-nine. My mother pointed out to her that this is her last year of single digits. I pointed out that it would be a very, very long time until she hit triple digits. She wrinkled her nose and said she wasn't sure she wanted to live that long. We lit nine candles on her angel food cake and sang "Happy Birthday" in the high key of nine-year-old girls. They played in the backyard, she and her friends. Who taught her to throw a frisbee? I was impressed.

Nine is not a little girl. It is not a tween, nor a young lady, just yet. It's more child than lady, yet more knowledgeable than a child. It's all cart-wheels and fairies and puns and climbing trees. It's real math homework and finding books you can't put down and games of backyard hide-and-seek. It's discovering that there's both unfairness and generosity in the world and writing to pen-pals and field trips to the state capitol.

Eight is great. And nine? Well, nine is... living life to the nines.

When the New Day Dawns, I've Just Got to Entertain...

If you live in my neighborhood, you might have seen me rocking out to this tune as I pull out of my driveway. It sticks in my head and I sing it everywhere (except in the shower). It's on the Sandra Boynton/Michael Ford album called Blue Moo.

We've been fans of their Philadelphia Chickens for five years. Grandma Connie brought it to Sonja when Laurel was born and I remember singing Pig Island as a lullaby for little Lu. Snuggle Puppy is one of Torin's most requested diaper-changing ballads. For some reason, the albums Rhinoceros Tap and Dog Train have not interested me, but Blue Moo is red hot. Grandma Carol sent it along to entertain us when Peter was born, and it has. We love everything- except Big Band Sound and Loud/Quiet. Speed Turtle and The Uninvited Loud Precision Band had us cracking up during the first listening of the album. That's the magic of the Blue, Blue Moo.

If you have kids, this was made for you. If you don't have kids, you might find this stuff lightens up your day and makes you happy. If you have grandkids, go here and order them each a copy, pronto!

(D&M, your kids will be getting this for Christmas unless you already have it.)

The Summer Fun Club

When I was a kid, my mother made up something called the "Summer Fun Club". We each had a membership card with our picture on it, and when it was time for the fun, we went on field trips to historical sites, made crafts, and went swimming. (At least, that's how I remember it.) Looking at the next 11 weeks of unstructured summer time and knowing the intense social needs of my soon-to-be 5-year-old, I'm considering a similar venture, something fun that I plan ahead of time and have control over. I can even print out some ID cards for everyone (which is fun for me).

What should I put on the list? Here's what I have so far.

Fruit-picking (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries in turn)
Yard games (enormous tic-tac-toe, races, croquet, frisbee, badmitton?)
Nature crafts from a book I have
Jell-o toss, decorate a jell-o flag
Food making (pretzels, home-made sodas, ice cream, anything)
Making play dough
Field trips to: Lake Dunmore, Shelburne farm, Montshire Science Museum, Echo Center, Rokeby Museum, Sheldon Museum
Play dates
Trip to Pizza Putt or mini-golfing
More crafts (trip to Michael's)
Hiking on the Trail Around Middlebury
Making musical instruments
Boat making
Indoor fort
Piano performances (our own made-up songs)
Maple Landmark train, visiting other new playgrounds
Sewing projects
Kites and bikes (with Dad, too)
Photography Day (taking pictures then printing them later)
Sun prints
Board game day
Making a book about summer (or other seasons)


What fun things can you think of for kids 2-8 year old?

Post-Partum Dementia

I feel like expounding on something really deep and interesting. Unfortunately, I always suffer a seriously foggy brain, which I call post-partum dementia, after a child is born. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation. Yeah, I'll blame most of it on that. Some number of years ago, it occurred to me that what a mother goes through in the months after she has a child would be considered a form of torture if taken out of context: a total lack of REM sleep, a roller coaster of chemical changes, the breaking of your own will, etc.

Sometime during this blissful experience we all say, "I'm never doing this again! One kid (or insert number) is enough." But then we are redeemed by the grace of post-partum amnesia. We forget some of the pain of pregnancy, some of the anguish of labor (or surgery), and some of the weariness of those first six months or so. It's easy enough to do; parenthood takes over your days and the past gets a little blurry. Besides, it isn't all pain, anguish and weariness- some is, but the rest of it is absolutely heaven. There are plenty of good reasons to give your first child some siblings if you can. After you've been through it a few times it begins to stick with you a bit better- the hard stuff and the incredible joy.

Worth it? Oh yeah!... as far as I can remember.

Announcement

We haven't made printed baby announcements since Sonja was born. Hers were on a beautiful pink card with scalloped edges, purchased at a local Cambridge stationery store. I printed out the information on some nice starry paper and hand cut and glued them to the cards. We probably mailed out 20.

With the next two, we were either moving right afterwards or it was too close to Christmas (and thus Christmas cards) to make a separate mailing. Not only that, but the availability of online printing (both standard and photo cards) has improved greatly since 1999. I took a peek at what a place like Snapfish might have to offer, and found it was quite a bit of fun. So, sorry child #2 and 3. I still love you. Peter's announcement will be a postcard with this picture set on the front and a short announcement on the back.






In other printing news, my sister has a post on her blog about "mom cards". Interesting idea. I might have to make some up, either of my own design or customized to fit the names of 4 kids.

Introducing...

Peter Quinn
Born May 20, 2008
8lbs 3oz 20 inches
Rather mellow... so far.
We're all very happy.