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.