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.