Cholera and Whores

I’ve just finished Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera, and this sentence wants to stick with me for some reason:

“It was a meditation on life, love, old age, death:
ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them.”

I don’t know why it grabs me the way it does, except maybe that motherhood makes me feel that way. Not only do the big ideas dissolve and trickle, but the little ones too: who was I supposed to call, what was I supposed to buy, where am I supposed to be tonight, etc. Reproduction has completely compromised my ability to hold any one thought in my head for too long before it flutters away.

Maybe it’s too easy to blame motherhood. It could be adult-onset ADHD.

Now onto 100 Years of Solitude.

And about those whores….

John’s inability to pronounce certain words correctly led to a profound misunderstanding last week. It went like this:

John: “Hannah and I are playing whore-land.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

John: “WE’RE PLAYING WHORE-LAND.”

Me: (exchanging bemused glances with Karl) “And what exactly happens in whore-land?”

John: “Well, there are whores and they have horns on their heads. Two horns.”

Me: “Why do they have horns?”

John: “Because all whores have horns.”

Me: “Where did you learn about whore-land?”

John: “In Goosebumps.”

At this point, I understood what was going on and cracked up. He was talking about horror land, something that comes up in the Goosebumps series, but the poor kid couldn’t say it right. Our main concern was that he’d play horror land at school, where mangling that word might get him in serious trouble with Sister Mary. For much of the week I worried I’d get one of her notes: “Must talk. John is playing whores at recess.”

Happy Sunday,
B.

Oedipus R Us

Last night, John Matthew reached up to grab my face with his little hands. Holding each of my cheeks and pulling my face close to his, he said, “I’m going to kiss you like Lancelot kisses Guinevere.”

If he can hold on to lines like that, he’ll have a very successful romantic life.

Karl overheard and yelled, “Oh no you’re not.”

It seems John watched Camelot while visiting his Opa a few weeks ago. He’s been in a fantasy world of knights, kings, castles, and courtly love ever since.

Maybe the movie explains why he came home from school one day last week with a story about being “in loved.”

“Mommy, Maia hugged me and now we’re in loved,” he told me.

“You are?” I asked. “And what does that mean?”

John said, “It means I’m going to marry her. She likes animals like I do.”

“Where will you live?”

“We can live at Maia’s house.”

“And what will you do all day at Maia’s house when you’re married?”

“I guess just play a lot.”

Sure enough, I met Maia a couple of nights ago and her story is the same. She introduced herself to me and Karl—all the while with her arm around little John’s shoulders—and told us she loved John and was going to marry him. Bold little thing. And awfully cute. John blushed the whole time. Amazing.

B.

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.