Christmas on the Road

We started Christmas at Grandmom and Opa's, where we spent Christmas Eve with the Wallhausser gang. After good eats and the family gift exchange, we scattered reindeer food on the front walk and turned in for the night. Christmas morning, Hannah and John awoke to find gifts and stockings from Santa and hoof prints in the half-eaten reindeer food. A quick breakfast fueled us for the trek to Louisville, where all the cousins were gathered. We ate first--the traditional turkey, ham, dumplings, banana croquettes, etc., and then Uncle Jason distributed gifts. We were buried in wrapping paper within minutes. After a few hours, we drove back to Berea to pick up a few things and drop off Hannah (who stayed with Opa and Grandmom for a few days), and then came back home. John was up until midnight playing with his new toys.

A good Christmas. Enjoy the pics.

Happy New Year,
B.

Thanksgiving Photos

From Thanksgiving 2008

A Doll's House

Hannah was thrilled to be chosen to act as the daughter, Emmy, in the college theater's production of A Doll's House. Karl and I both said we'd never seen her so happy. She cherished everything about it: being part of a cast, being treated as a full-fledged member of that cast (in spite of being a child), learning her lines, wearing a frilly Victorian dress, being in front of an audience, etc.

The photo was taken at dress rehearsal during her scene with Nora/her mother.

Wish everyone could have seen it!

B.

Halloween

I'm slow but sure. Here are a few Halloween photos. I was proud of the kids. I asked them to think up costumes they could create using stuff they already have on-hand. (Those disposable jobs make me crazy). So Hannah chose a Brazilian soccer uniform she's had for a while, while John asked to be a cowboy. We did have to buy boots for that, but at least he can use the boots over and over again.

They had a blast. And right after trick-or-treat, Hannah reported to opening night at the college theater. She was cast as Emmy in Ibsen's A Doll's House, which ran for two consecutive weekends beginning Halloween night. The cast did an outstanding job. More on that later.

B.

The home-schooling decision

Home-schooling has been on my mind lately.

I started thinking about it recently when Hannah made a remark one weekend that cut me to the quick.

She was lying on the couch reading a book, and I was at the end with her feet on my lap. It was quiet, with nothing but the sounds of the dishwasher and John Matthew playing with building blocks in the next room.

She said, “Ahhh. This is so nice. You know, sometimes I feel like home is just a place I come to visit.”

She explained that she feels most of her time is spent at school, and so little of it at home. I had to agree. I feel that way, too. So I simply said, “I hear ya, sister.” Then I let it go.

It has bothered me since then. Children should feel rooted in home and family. If they feel home is just a place they visit, are they as rooted as they need to be?

But I’d been thinking of it before then. It started when I was pregnant with Hannah and has continued persistently throughout each year of both kids’ lives.

The most serious thought I gave it came in Hannah’s kindergarten year. She was five. So incredibly smart. She read the first Harry Potter novel at 4 ½, and then began plowing through one novel after another. She’d steal our jazz and classical CDs to play in her room. She wanted to have long conversations about the details of what she was reading. She did everything early and was so self-assured. A confident child ready to conquer the world. Then she went to school.

One day after school she seemed agitated and grumpy. After having a snack she went to her room. Ten minutes later I heard her yelling and sobbing. I opened her door to find her standing in front of her mirror, awash in tears, screaming at the image in the mirror that she was stupid and ugly. A little girl told her those things, and she believed them. She internalized them. She was wrecked by them for weeks. She was just five.

Then we moved here. I didn’t feel the public schools were an option after reviewing ACT scores and school rankings. We enrolled her in private school. The academics are okay. But culturally and socially, I’m still not comfortable with what she’s experiencing on a daily basis.

So I delved into lots of material about home-schooling this weekend. I’d do it in a heartbeat if we could manage losing one of our incomes, but we can’t right now. So I’m looking into how other parents who both work full-time during the day have managed the home-school approach. I’m encouraged by what I’m reading. We’ll see what happens.

It would require a significant sacrifice from Karl and me. Can we do it? I don’t know. We’re in the thinking, reading, talking stages.

But I’ll be honest—I want this to work more than anything.

B.

The Pink-Horse-Moose-Fox

The really fun thing about having small children is taking the occasional liberty with their complete and utter gullibility. They know next to nothing and believe you know everything. That’s a recipe for fun.

You have to be careful, of course. You don’t want to do anything that lands them in therapy for years.

What Karl did tonight is probably therapy-proof. I hope.

John Matthew was looking at the pages of his oversized zoology book. He was on the freshwater animals page, asking tons of questions: What does this one do? What does that one eat? What would happen if you ran into this one? Then Karl launched into this conversation:

Karl: “John, do you know what the neatest freshwater animal is?”

John: “No. What?”

Karl: “The Pink-Horse-Moose-Fox.”

John: “What’s that?”

Karl: “It’s a freshwater animal.”

John: “Where does it live?”

Karl: “It lives in streams. If you’re ever in the woods and you sit down by a stream and you turn your back to the stream, it reaches out and taps you on the shoulder.”

John, whose command of animal facts is super-impressive for a four-year-old, is very tuned in at this point and clearly wants to know everything about this new creature.

John: “What does it do?”

Karl: “It conjugates verbs.”

John: “Oh.”

Later on, I found John engrossed in the book again. He asked me on what page he might find the pink-horse-moose fox that “conshutates terds.” He’d been trying to find it for over 20 minutes. I had to tell him that it’s a new species, so it isn’t in this old zoology book. He’s now asking constantly if we can go to the bookstore this weekend to find a book that will have the new pink-horse-moose-fox in it.

That’s the one problem with taking occasional liberties with their gullibility. It’s hard to work your way out of the story gracefully.

B.

A Hopeful Season

As I was looking for a quote to use in our Christmas card this year, I remembered a line a good friend of mine used in her card several years ago. She handwrote in each of her cards these words: "and with ah! bright wings." The line seemed familiar (I must have paid more attention in my Romantic and Victorian literature class than I realized), and it sent me searching for the Gerard Manley Hopkins poem where I thought I'd find it. It's from "God's Grandeur," and the line captures so well the comfort, hope, and peace the holiday season should bring.

So I thought I'd copy the Hopkins poem here as an early-in-the-season reminder to launch into it at a pace that allows you to appreciate and take comfort in its hope-filled purpose. Enjoy. (The "bright wings" bit comes at the end.)

B.

God’s Grandeur

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.


And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

The Sock & The Pig

My kids have a history of insulting people's dogs. They always seem to choose childless people who spend copious amounts of money on expensive breeds on which they lavish affection and pride. Then my kids come along and reduce their costly companions to something cheap and offensive.

First there was our elderly, next door neighbor in Berea, who lived alone with her two daschunds. She walked them several times a day, and during one such walk she ran across Hannah and me as we were getting in the car. Hannah, then two, yelled, "Look Mom! A sock!" while pointing to the brown daschund. Our neighbor huffed at us before turning on her heels and going off in the opposite direction.

I've heard people call them "hot dogs," but I think Hannah was dead-on. They do look like walking socks.

Then, today, John Matthew saw a neighbor walking what I think was a little corgi. John and I were in the front yard raking leaves. John saw the dog and said, "Look Mom! A pig!" Our neighbor (and also a college trustee--ouch) shot me a wounded look and picked up the pace. I asked John why he called it a pig. "Because it's fat and has short little ears that stick up and it doesn't have a tail," he told me.

If someday I get the golden retriever I'm longing for, these folks will be able to get their revenge. (Though what on earth could you say a beautiful golden retriever looks like??)

B.

Back in the swing of things

Karl and the kids got me an iPod Nano for my birthday, which inspired me to get back into my walking/running schedule. I hit the pavement with it tonight, and it was SO much fun to be back out there, listening to my favorite podcasts--"Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me," which is great for laughs; Shields & Brooks from the "News Hour with Jim Lehrer," which probably requires too much thought while running; and "The News from Lake Woebegone" from "A Prairie Home Companion," which can make me either laugh or cry, depending on the episode.

And, of course, there's the music. To be alone again on a crisp fall evening, light drizzle falling, with everything from "Air on a G String" to U2's "Walk On" or Bruce Cockburn's "Pacing the Cage," makes me one happy chick.

I love fall.

B.

Where Soccer Isn't King

I love soccer, and I’m fortunate to live in a place where soccer takes a back seat to football, tee-ball, and little league.

This is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, our fields are so bad that battling for the ball in some sections stirs up a massive cloud that gives players an inadvertent history lesson on what the dust bowl days were like and leaves them coughing and sputtering as they try to see through the grit in their eyes. What would be a simple tumble on a good, grassy field can mean cuts and scrapes from a surface pock-marked with stones. And forget learning ball control when various bumps and hollows can send the ball in any direction at any time.

Then there is the stench of sewage—yes, sewage—that bubbles up in some places in the field and is connected to a problem with the civic center’s plumbing system, and the demoralizing sight of shiny, new, even, rock-less fields being installed right next door for use, I hear, by youth football.

But there is a silver lining to that filthy dust cloud. Our game days and practices are generally and delightfully free of some of the biggest problems that plague youth sports.

I’ve heard parents at soccer games talk about their experiences in other sports. They complain about parents coming to blows during games, coaches and parents screaming at each other, bad sportsmanship that goes unchecked and in some cases is ignored or even rewarded. And they worried about the example this set for their children.

This isn’t unusual. There have been countless stories from all over the country outlining the bad behavior of parents in youth sports. So I feel fortunate that my kids are able to play the sport they love without the depressing spectacle--and disturbing influence--of mom telling little Johnny to go kick that guy’s ass, Johnny’s dad screaming obscenities and threats at an opponent’s father, or either one of them locked in a battle with a referee or coach.

If soccer were king here, we’d have the same problems. And though youth soccer parents and fans aren’t perfect, the culture of youth soccer is pretty positive. You are far more likely to hear Johnny’s mom rooting for Johnny’s teammates and even, God forbid, his opponents when they do something particularly well. Johnny’s dad is probably chatting up another dad, telling him he’s noticed how much his daughter has improved over the years.

There is definite cheering and, sure, sometimes even a disappointed groan or two, but for the most part these parents are relaxing on the sidelines where they belong and letting their kids shine.

Since most kids can’t count on being professional athletes, it stands to reason that youth sports are probably more about physical activity, character, the virtue of competition, and good sportsmanship.

Here, where soccer isn’t king, my kids are able to glean those messages and values while on that pock-marked field, though, granted, their ball control skills will suffer.

B.

Leaving Home

So a few weeks ago, I was walking home from work when Karl met me at the front door. He’d been home with the kids for a while.

“Just want to give you a heads-up before you go in,” he told me. “I think the kids are leaving.”

“What’d you do to them?” I asked. He was perfectly calm and said nothing at all had happened. They were just ready to leave.

I went inside and set my bags down. There to meet me were Hannah and John, with bulging backpacks, somber faces, and big pillows in their arms.

“Mom, we have something to tell you,” Hannah said.

I sat down, feeling intuitively that this was one of those episodes that I couldn’t brush off with “Later guys. Gotta get dinner started,” or “Go put those things up. You’re not going anywhere.” Something about how very serious they looked told me I needed to hear them out, preferably without laughing--which was hard.

So I sat down and Hannah came to face me, with little John flanking her. Her speech went like this, with occasional interjections from John:

“It isn’t that the house isn’t clean,” she said.

(Well that’s good, I thought, because the state of the house is entirely the fault of you and your brother. Besides, if anyone gets to run away because of a dirty house, it’ll be Daddy and me. So hand over those backpacks and remember to feed the cats. But I held my tongue.)

“It isn’t that you and Daddy are too hard on us,” she continued. “It’s just that, you know, it’s REALLY hard to be in the same place every day. It’s boring. John and I…well…we want an adventure. So we’re going away for two days.”

“We’ll miss you guys,” says John, with utter seriousness and with a reassurance in his voice that I found a little jolting coming from a four-year-old.

Hannah went on: “I’ll hold John’s hand and we’ll stay together. We have books to read. We’ll be careful when we cross streets. We’ll sleep under trees.”

“We love you guys,” John interjects again, and I’m beginning to wonder if he’s been coached.

“Really,” says Hannah. “We’ve got it all planned out. We just want to see more of the world, you know? We just want to be on our own for a little while. So can we?”

Silence.

I took a few deep breaths before I answered. Not because I was angry, but because it took every ounce of energy I had to fight back the belly laugh struggling to get out and also because, frankly, I was trying to think of a good answer. I wanted to appear to take this very seriously, in the spirit in which it was presented to me. And, again, I had that intuitive sense that a lot was riding on my response. I had to give an answer that let them know I had listened, I understood, that their earnestness meant something to me.

So I did what any good parent would do: I dodged direct responsibility and kept it simple.

“I hear what you’re saying,” I told them. “And I understand. There’s only one problem.”

“What?” they asked in unison, with expectant little faces.

“It’s against the law.”

I went on to tell them that the police would return them home as soon as they saw them out alone, because children aren’t allowed to roam the streets without their parents. "You have to be 18 to do that."

“Sorry,” I said. “It sounded like a good plan.”

“So, can I do it when I’m 18?” Hannah asked.

“Sure.”

“OK!” she said. And it was that easy. They put up their backpacks and went on with the rest of the day.

When recounting this story later, I told a friend that Karl and I have since wondered why we didn’t just give them 20 bucks and send them on their merry way. Two days alone without the kids sounds like heaven.

“We learn slowly,” I told my friend, “but we learn.”

B.

An update from Jennifer

I've been trying to reach Jennifer for a few days, but haven't been able to. I finally found this email tonight, and she asked to post it. Here it is:


What a mess. Still no power here in Louisville. Nearly 300,000 customers lost electric due to Sunday’s wind storm and power has been restored to only 130,000 of those as of right now, 72 hours after the fact and counting. Not to minimize LG&E’s work…crews are going strong. However, there are still downed LIVE power lines throughout the city, especially in the residential neighborhoods on the outskirts of Downtown (west end, south end, etc.). Kids are out of school and out of their usual mind numbing electronics. Parents have been warned to closely supervise those children seeking some sort of stimulation in the outdoors. With the live lines still on the ground, it makes for some scary possibilities (yes, our public school system is STILL closed due to the storm).

Only a small handful of gas stations have power so, filling up the tank takes an average of at least an hour with lots of traffic issues. My gas light came on Monday night and I had to drive quite a bit to find an open station. I was convinced I was going to run out of gas looking for gas…scary!

Only a few grocery stores throughout the city are open (not that anyone can cook or refrigerate food) and open restaurants are few and far between as well. Long lines EVERYWHERE.

Though these situations can bring out the worst in some of us, it also reminds us of the best in the rest of us. For instance, when waiting in line for gas, I noticed that two young female employees took it upon themselves to direct traffic in and out of the lot. Every patron gratefully accepted their leadership. I saw an elderly lady standing near a car and wondered if there had been a collision. Turns out that an employee was busy backing the lady’s car out of a tricky spot.

Here at my Y, we’ve pretty much implemented an open door policy so people from the community can come in and shower. Laundry services are also being extended to staff.

When picking up Jaren at his Y last night, I was handed a flyer that advertised free dinner for childcare families AND lodging in the gym, showers, etc. if needed. Sure enough, I peeked into the gym to find rows of Red Cross cots. It’s very relieving to know that meals for Jaren during these times will not be as challenging as they potentially could be.

As we count our blessings, we’re reminded that no deaths have resulted from the storm. The weather has been absolutely mild and beautiful since Sunday.

LG&E estimates that it will most probably take two more weeks to restore power to all. Let’s hope the good will and patience outlasts the outage. I’ll keep you posted.

B.

Soccer Season

It's that time of year again. Hannah just started her first U10 (10 and under) season. The field is bigger, the goals are bigger, and the kids are bigger. Being nailed in the chin by a 90-lb, ten-year-old boy or finding yourself buried under 3 kids weighing a combined 200 lbs is just part of the fun now. Hannah, still at just 60 pounds, is thankfully so fast and aggressive that she generally comes out of it unscathed.

John missed the 6 and under cut-off by about 5 days. So Dad plays with him on an unused field while I root for Hannah and her team from the sidelines.

When you look at the photos you'll get a sense of how hard-working and competitive Hannah is. And this was on a morning after dealing with a stomach flu during the night!

Here's the photo album: http://picasaweb.google.com/mamabphotos/SoccerHannahSFirstU10Season#

B.

A Pick-Me-Up

There’s this professor at work who likes to tease John. He’s in his 60s, has as much energy as a 4-year old, speaks like a good Jersey boy (which he is), and drives John to distraction with wacky conversations. Here’s one from today:

Professor: Hey, John! Come on. Leave your Mom here and you come with me to McDonalds.

John: No (hiding behind my legs).

Professor: What?! You’re not going to eat?? But then you’ll never grow tall!

John: I will too grow tall!

Professor: No you won’t. Not if you don’t come with me to McDonalds. You’ll always stay this tall (lowering his hand to John’s height).

John: I will not! I will eat, but not with you. Mommy says not to go places with people.

Professor: What are you going to do when you’re in high school and you’re just this tall, but you’re girlfriend is THIS tall and she wants to kiss you? How can she kiss you if you’re just this tall????

John: complete silence for about 30 seconds while he tries to understand high school, girlfriends, and kissing, then he screams at the professor . . .

“WELL SHE’LL HAVE TO PICK ME UP!!!”

Oh, we all laughed so hard.

B.

Sad, Sad, Sad

I've been limping around all day. Why? Because I've hurt my hamstring. How, you ask? Was it from running or walking? Maybe during Pilates, Yoga, or while lifting weights?

Nope.

I did it while vacuuming. I'm so out of shape that I harmed myself housecleaning.

How pathetic is that??

Now I feel guilty about not exercising more, so I'm going to make myself feel better by having homemade apple crisp with vanilla ice cream (which will make me gain weight, which makes it harder to run/walk, which makes it more likely that I'm going to kill myself dusting).

B.

P.S. The apple crisp is really good. I made it from apples that fell out of a neighbor's tree. (I had to bend repeatedly to pick them up off the ground--I get points for that, don't I?)

The Garden?

I've just started this blog, but I copied over several posts from a previous site of mine that I used for keeping in touch with far-flung family. All posts prior to this one span about a year of time in order from most recent to oldest.

Why "Still in the Garden?" Well, it comes from an expression I used to use--and still have some occasion to use--when our kids showed that utter lack of self-consciousness that only kids have.

I remember the first time the expression came to me. We only had Hannah at the time, and she was just a toddler. She did what all little ones do when she had to, well, poop. She just did it. It didn't matter how many people were around or what they were doing. She just pooped, with all the accompanying facial expressions (furrowed brow, red face) and sounds. She might be in the midst of playing with a toy, just jaunting around the house, or even sitting at dinner table, and she'd proceed to do her thing while barely interrupting her play (or her walk, or her dinner).

Then, one day, Karl and I were sitting in the family room watching Hannah play with blocks in the floor. All of sudden she rose, walked over to the recliner, and ducked behind it. And she pooped back there! It made me a bit sad, so I looked at Karl and said, "Ohhh...she's not in the garden anymore!"

This is of course THE garden. Eden. Before serpents, apples, and fig leaves.

Now that Hannah is 8 and John is 4, neither one has too many "in the garden moments," but I love it when they do. On occasion John will get into his sister's clothes and put on a beautiful pink dress and model it for us downstairs. That's a garden moment. Or even Hannah, "old" as she is, will walk buck naked in front of our big living room window for all the world to see, and I'll be thankful that she's still got a bit of the garden in her, too. (Then I'll drag her out of the room and tell her to put some clothes on).

Just last year, Karl used the "garden" expression as part of a new song that he wrote for the kids. They love it.

These garden moments don't go on forever. Someday soon both of them will be nearly incapable of doing, saying, or even feeling anything without wondering if it's right, wrong, expected, discouraged, relevant, appropriate, normal, etc. That's okay and necessary, of course, but in the meantime I'm going to delight in the few and far between moments in the garden!

Anatomy Lesson

Today I learned that Hannah's grasp of anatomy may not be what it should. She was playing with a neighborhood cat. It scratched her on the inner thigh. Hannah screamed, "Oh no! Help! It scratched my uterus!"

In the vicinity, maybe, but a bit off the mark.

In an unrelated dialogue, John Matthew said something sweet tonight. We were having dinner and talking about the fact that tomorrow is Hannah's birthday. John asked why we have birthday parties. I said it's to celebrate a birth--to celebrate the day that someone was born. He said, "Oh. Well. It's to celebrate that Hannah's a gift from God, I think."

How true. A gift from God, delivered via my uterus, which, thankfully, is not an exterior organ somewhere around my inner thigh.

Smell the Future

I've been collecting great quotes from my kids, and Hannah served up a new one this weekend.

Hannah and I woke up at the same time and came downstairs Saturday morning when the following dialogue took place:

Hannah: (sniffs the air) "Mom, I think I can smell the future."
Mom: (trying to find coffee pot through sleepy eyes) "Huh?"
Hannah: I just smelled pancakes and syrup!

Hannah begs for pancakes every weekend. Sometimes we make them, but many times we don't. This was either a clever new approach, or she really did smell pancakes and syrup. Regardless, she got her homemade pancakes and syrup. How can I deny her the future? Further, when will giving her a future ever again be as easy as cooking it and serving it up on plate?

Christmas

I enjoyed it, but I'm glad it's over. Somehow I didn't get around to shopping online this year, so I actually had to go fight the mobs for three consecutive days to get it all done. On top of that, there were the countless side dishes to bring to various holiday events, cookies we had to make for Santa, the reindeer food to scatter on the front lawn for Rudolph and his entourage, and the task of staying up later than the kids on Christmas Eve so as to sneak their Santa gifts under the tree. This gets harder as the kids get older. Hannah, in particular, couldn't seem to call it a night.

Mom made an enormous spread that, as always, provided more than any of us could possibly consume (we all tried, believe me). She also let Karl and me have a hand in the dumplings, which was both courageous and slightly careless (though it turned out okay in spite of us!).

Now we prepare for the New Year, which for Karl and I will involve staying up as late as we can force ourselves (10pm if we're lucky) and then quietly calling it a night (and a year). Much less exciting than in our younger days, but it has a certain appeal nonetheless.

I hope all of you have a Happy New Year...one filled with family, friends, good books, great coffee, big thoughts, and a great deal for which to be grateful.

Spirits, Scary Cats, and Fireflies

Summer is in full swing here. Hannah completed her first camp Friday. She signed up for Kids College Art Camp, where the children spend a week exploring a story through the arts. This year, the story was “Sadako.” The camp culminates in a simple production at the college theatre. The kids are involved in making costumes, set decorations, and other crafts during the week and then act out the story on the final Friday. Hannah was a spirit. The kids all did a beautiful job. “Sadako” is the true story of a Japanese girl who dies of leukemia as a result of the bombing of Hiroshima. You can learn more about her at www.sadako.com.

Next up for Hannah is Vacation Bible School at our former Lutheran church. She'll stay with her grandparents for a week while attending VBS.

John is, of course, too young for a camp. He got a special treat yesterday, though. Karl’s godmother sent him the movie “Napoleon” for his birthday. He watched it yesterday afternoon, and it was his first, full-length film. He handled it well, though there was a scene involving an adorable puppy being accosted by a scary cat. He talks about the cat incessantly, and likes to make cat-fight sounds. Hopefully he’ll give that up soon. A full day of John sounding like he has fur balls was enough for all of us.

Friday night we were all treated to a truly spectacular firefly display. We have hoards of them here. We were on the back patio until nearly midnight, which is apparently when they really get going. Hannah, especially, got to enjoy them. She slept outside on the trampoline with the little girls next door. Their dad slept on the trampoline with them. When I kissed her good night before I went inside, she said she wanted to go to sleep counting fireflies. I wondered if I’d hear her come in the middle of the night, but she actually did stay out there until Saturday morning. When I woke up at 7:00, I looked outside and saw her and the other two girls jumping on the trampoline in their pajamas. The girls' father was apparently still trying to sleep: his prostrate body was being flung about like a sack of potatoes.

Next up for us is a week of birthday activities. On Tuesday, Hannah’s birthday, Grandmom and Opa will come down for dinner. The following Saturday, Hannah is hosting a birthday sleepover party for three friends. We’re going to have homemade pizzas and a make-your-own ice cream sundae bar.

Chucking "Book-It"

"The more kids see books as a way to get pizza or some other prize, the less interest they'll have in reading itself," Kohn, a former teacher, said in a telephone interview. "They tend to choose easier books to get through faster."

That’s a quote from Alfie Kohn, one of my heroes, which appeared in a news article(http://www.cnn.com/2007/EDUCATION/03/02/reading.for.pizza.ap/index.html) about Pizza Hut’s Book It program. I read his book, Punished by Rewards, a few years ago, and it changed my outlook on a number of things. So when Hannah started school and came up against the Book-It program for the first time, she and I had a long talk about whether participating is a good thing.

Teachers have all the kids set a goal for how much daily reading they should do. They then keep track of how long they read each day for a month. If they reach their goal, they get a coupon for a free personal pan pizza at Pizza Hut. I didn’t want to tell Hannah not to do it. But we did have a talk about why she likes to read. Turns out, it has nothing to do with pizza. Also turns out that, according to Kohn and others, once you make it about pizza, even kids who love reading learn to resent it when it gets between them and pie. They also begin to read less challenging material and report enjoying reading less than children whose reading isn’t connected to a rewards program. Isn’t that interesting?

So, in kindergarten, Hannah opted out and felt fine about it. In first grade, earlier this year, it came up again. This time she wanted to try it. I bit my tongue and went along with it, just out of curiosity. She stopped after two days. Why? Because she hated keeping track of how many minutes she read. It seemed “stupid” to her, she said. “I just do it because I like it. I don’t want to count it.” So she chose to opt out of the program. When her teacher asked her why, she said, “Because a personal pan pizza is just enough for me. I won’t have enough to share with my family.” Not exactly the point, but I’ll take it.

I really dislike this program. It epitomizes all that’s wrong with American education. Kids know before they go to school that there is an inherent value in learning. They do it naturally. They love it. It’s when they go to school that their innate love of learning is attacked on a daily basis by adults who have long forgotten how natural it is for them, and who believe that a child won’t do anything without being bribed, punished, or rewarded. What a depressing and limited view of human nature.

Not Missing Much

I thought I'd miss television when we chose to ditch it a while back. Apparently, I'm not missing much. My ABC news feed, which I read online, had these headlines tonight:

Rats Run Wild in KFC-Taco Bell in N.Y.
Man Does 40 Squat Thrusts on Elephant
Lawmaker Comes Down on Plastic Gonads

If that's what's making headlines in the world, missing out is just fine with me.

Instead of sitting in front of the tube, we get out and do other things. Tonight, for instance, there was a concert at the college with Mamadou Diabate. He was nominated for a Grammy in 2005 in the World Music category. He's African, and plays a traditional African instrument called the "kora." He was joined by four other musicians, some of whom played traditional African instruments (the balafone, calabash, and talking drum) and some who played ones my kids could actually identify (bass and acoustic guitar). The ensemble played a lot of really rhythmic African music, but they also performed original compositions that were much more like American jazz and blues. It was a great thing for the kids to see. They bobbed their little heads and danced in their seats. We had a good time. Afterwards, one of the musicians asked me to take a picture of him with John. I couldn't get the blasted digital camera to take it, or I would post it.

You can hear samples of Mamadou's music on his Web site: http://www.mamadoukora.com/.

Forgiven

Hannah stumped us again last night. She had a difficult row with her dad over being disrespectful. He took her into her room, gave her a stern lecture about being respectful, and left her there crumpled in tears on her bed. When I went in several minutes later to dole out her punishment (she’d have to stay in her room until bedtime), I played good cop (it was my turn), soothed her for a bit, and went back downstairs. Just before bedtime, I asked Karl to go up and make peace with her before she went to sleep. When he sat on her bed and asked if she understood why she’d gotten into trouble, she said “I said things I shouldn’t have and I was disrespectful. That’s why you yelled at me.” Then, for her coup d’etat, she added “And as a Christian, I forgive you.”

Next time I won’t leave her in her room long enough to think about what WE did wrong.