Last week we got Henry's first report card-- our first-ever as parents. First, the degree and specificity of feedback was amazing. There were eight categories (literacy, writing, science, art, music, PE, etc) and within each category, there were between six and fifteen individual grades, on a 1 to 4 scale. There's always something deeply fascinating about hearing about your child from someone else. At our teacher conferences in the past, I've always been starved for information and evaluation of my child, just to have an outsider's perspective. I don't know many children intimately, so my two define the norm for me. Preschool feedback generally seemed diplomatic and bland, and so I didn't get a strong sense of perspective-adjustment from that. If you had asked me to evaluate Henry's strengths and weaknesses, I would have said he's very physical and sporty, he's smart, and he's not too musical or interested in art. (One thing I do remember his toddler teacher saying, when he was two, is that he enjoyed all the activities in the classroom except painting. She was surprised to learn that his father was a painter!)
Now, for the first time, someone-- many people, actually, since each different specialty subject has a different teacher-- has graded my child's performance and abilities. And what do you think he's good at, at least right now? Well, overall he is doing very, very well, and we're very proud of him. But his strongest special subjects (outside reading and math) were music and art. He got high marks for accuracy in singing (have they heard the tuneless renditions of 'This Land Is Your Land' I get every day?!?), and special praise from the art teacher. They also do art projects in the regular classroom, and his regular teachers noted his careful, precise work as well. His two worst subjects, on average? Science and PE. In PE, he's not so good at the throwing and kicking skills. And the only item for which he received a "1" (which basically indicates complete cluelessness) was in the science category: drawing a conclusion from evidence.
Oh, the shame!
On reflection, of course, this makes perfect sense: while we have a crafts table in the living room, permanently stocked with art supplies, Henry is not enrolled in any organized sports. Of course he's good at art; our norm for artsiness is just probably far outside the social norm. (The failure at drawing scientific conclusions is harder to explain away; you can bet I'm ordering a science kit for Christmas!) Despite our sturdiest self-delusions, then, we are raising not a sporty polymath with a sharp analytical mind, but a little clone of ourselves: artsy, craftsy, very fit but not skilled at any team sport, creative and a good leader but not so good at observing the facts of the natural world, and a little high-strung with a tendency toward perfectionism.
Whose report card was this, anyway?
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Oy yoy YOY yoy yoy
Those of you who knew Ruth Rauser will recognize the title of this post!
Mommy feels a bit under siege. This is so both at work and at home. Despite my complete and utter reasonableness, people are not doing what I want. Imagine! Wherever I turn, people small and large, seem to be standing in front of me with their hands balled up in fists, on their hips, saying, "No!"
After a blissful fall of sibling love and cooperative play, we've entered a new phase-- I hope short-lived-- of constant bickering. They are both at fault-- Henry baiting his sister or instantly coveting and taking over whatever she's playing with, and Agatha, less subtly, just screaming at the top of her lungs or pounding her fists on his back when she thinks I'm not looking. Sniffles make it worse, because people are sick and grumpy. Tuesdays are hard, because Agatha stays till 3 pm at school those two days and thus does not nap. By 6 pm tonight (a Tuesday), I had had it. It was bedtime.
Agatha protested. "I'm hungry!" (We had just eaten lentil soup, salad, and bread.) This is a common stalling tactic, and we've developed an accommodation where I bring her a small bowl of nuts and dates in bed, which she eats while we read a story. It's just naughty enough to make her feel like she's had a victory. But tonight when I did that, her tantrum just continued. "This is NOT what I want!" After unsuccessfully trying to talk with her, I left the room and returned the bowl to the kitchen. She followed me, screaming and crying.
"You did NOT bring me what I wanted!"
"What did you want?" I asked in a neutral (I hoped) tone.
"I'm only going to say it ONE TIME. I said it ONE TIME, and you didn't bring it to me!"
This went back and forth for a while. Finally, she admitted, "I don't KNOW what I want!"
"We can continue to talk about food for two more minutes, and then it'll be bedtime," I said. "If you'd like to request any food, now is the time."
"I want YOU to tell ME what I want!"
"Okay!" I said brightly, "you want... some walnuts!"
"No, cashews!"
"We don't have any cashews. We have walnuts."
"Okay, walnuts!"
"I'll bring them."
"No! I don't just want ONE THING."
"How many things do you want?"
"I want SEVENTY-EIGHT things!" (78 is her favorite number. This afternoon she asked me how many fingers she was holding up. Although I answered three, the correct answer was 78.)
"I don't have 78 things. I have dried cherries, though!"
"YES, dried cherries! AND... a prune!"
"Okay!" I answered. "Walnuts, dried cherries, and a prune!"
"AND... a fig!"
"All right, four things: walnuts, dried cherries, a prune, and a fig."
I think everyone needs a vacation.
Mommy feels a bit under siege. This is so both at work and at home. Despite my complete and utter reasonableness, people are not doing what I want. Imagine! Wherever I turn, people small and large, seem to be standing in front of me with their hands balled up in fists, on their hips, saying, "No!"
After a blissful fall of sibling love and cooperative play, we've entered a new phase-- I hope short-lived-- of constant bickering. They are both at fault-- Henry baiting his sister or instantly coveting and taking over whatever she's playing with, and Agatha, less subtly, just screaming at the top of her lungs or pounding her fists on his back when she thinks I'm not looking. Sniffles make it worse, because people are sick and grumpy. Tuesdays are hard, because Agatha stays till 3 pm at school those two days and thus does not nap. By 6 pm tonight (a Tuesday), I had had it. It was bedtime.
Agatha protested. "I'm hungry!" (We had just eaten lentil soup, salad, and bread.) This is a common stalling tactic, and we've developed an accommodation where I bring her a small bowl of nuts and dates in bed, which she eats while we read a story. It's just naughty enough to make her feel like she's had a victory. But tonight when I did that, her tantrum just continued. "This is NOT what I want!" After unsuccessfully trying to talk with her, I left the room and returned the bowl to the kitchen. She followed me, screaming and crying.
"You did NOT bring me what I wanted!"
"What did you want?" I asked in a neutral (I hoped) tone.
"I'm only going to say it ONE TIME. I said it ONE TIME, and you didn't bring it to me!"
This went back and forth for a while. Finally, she admitted, "I don't KNOW what I want!"
"We can continue to talk about food for two more minutes, and then it'll be bedtime," I said. "If you'd like to request any food, now is the time."
"I want YOU to tell ME what I want!"
"Okay!" I said brightly, "you want... some walnuts!"
"No, cashews!"
"We don't have any cashews. We have walnuts."
"Okay, walnuts!"
"I'll bring them."
"No! I don't just want ONE THING."
"How many things do you want?"
"I want SEVENTY-EIGHT things!" (78 is her favorite number. This afternoon she asked me how many fingers she was holding up. Although I answered three, the correct answer was 78.)
"I don't have 78 things. I have dried cherries, though!"
"YES, dried cherries! AND... a prune!"
"Okay!" I answered. "Walnuts, dried cherries, and a prune!"
"AND... a fig!"
"All right, four things: walnuts, dried cherries, a prune, and a fig."
I think everyone needs a vacation.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Jerome the Gnome
Tiny books written by Jerome the Gnome, with a tiny folder to put them in
Yesterday after school Henry was full of gnome lore. A few weeks ago, his class went on a field trip to "Gnome Countryside," which sounded kind of lame to me but is apparently a major touchstone for the kindergarten experience. He was thrilled by the little folders left behind by the gnomes that were the same design as the ones they themselves use in their writing workshop! It seems that the gnomes also inhabit their classroom. Henry said sometimes their little toolboxes are left in the class, with tiny pencils in them. I grew fascinated, in spite of myself. Pretty soon Henry had installed himself at the craft table and was making a gnome's writing folder for a certain gnome: Jerome the Gnome. The folder has a "green light" side for works in progress and a "red light" side for finished works. He made a tiny alphabet chart with a tiny picture illustrating each letter. And then he wrote books-- miniaturized versions of the books they compose at school, with the same page design. But these were books from Jerome's perspective. The first one was "Gnome Countryside," which told the tale of how the gnomes heard a lot of noise and hid in their house-- hiding out from the marauding kindergarteners outside. The second one was "Writing, by Jerome," which showed the gnome at his writing workshop, writing a story. It was a boy writing a gnome's book about a gnome writing a gnome book. The next Don deLillo?
Friday, October 28, 2011
October celebrations
At a friend's farm in southern Lancaster County...
How many kindergartners can fit in a tree?
Happy birthday, Michael!
BIG, dead tree came down this week.
Visit from Grace and Jim all the way from California!
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Two pictures from the past month
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
A New Blogging Routine
Hello, loyal blog readers...
Times have changed. I no longer have perplexing little babies that I need to vent about every day. I've thought about bringing the blog to an end, but decided that I do love having a place to write about our family life on a semi-regular basis. So my new routine will be to blog once a month or so, to keep a record and some contact with my far-away loved ones about our daily lives.
So here are some reflections on the last month.
It's a new era! Henry is in school five days a week, all day, and although we expected him to be exhausted after school, he really isn't. He is absolutely thriving. I don't know that I've ever seen him so happy. He is singing, laughing, and cuddling with us more than ever. He gets up and puts his uniform on right away in the mornings (sometimes even on Sunday). He scooters a mile to school and back (usually) without complaint. He is reading voraciously, every street sign and poster and t-shirt he sees. We are so, so pleased to see him blossom like this, and although it could just be a developmental phase or coincidence, we do correlate it with his new school. One thing that has surprised me about the new school is the air of innocence there. I used to hear all about Transformers and superheroes; I even spoke with the teachers at his old school about it when he was three-- their philosophy was all peace and love! and yet all the playground talk was war and materialism. They shrugged and told me there was nothing for it. Yet now I don't hear anything about TV shows or new brands of processed treats. Instead, an example: Henry brought home the classroom teddy bear, Paddington, for the weekend last Thursday. Each child gets a turn; he came with his own blankets and changes of clothes, and a journal for us to write in about what we did with Paddington over the weekend. Henry tenderly carried him along to the store and out to lunch, and slept with him in his bed, and proudly wrote all about it in the journal to share on Monday. Interestingly, at the shoe store he left Paddington in the car, saying he didn't want the kids in the store to make fun of him. But clearly, school is a safe place for boys to love bears, even if the wider world isn't. I wonder if this atmosphere of innocence and love isn't contributing to the greater open-heartedness, laughter, and cuddliness we see in him.
Agatha is also in school until 3 pm on two days; the other three we pick her up at 11:30 am (trading off between Michael and me). For me, it's a perfect schedule, perhaps the best schedule in the six years that I've been a mom; I have long days in the office on Monday and Friday (usually), till 3 pm on Tuesday, and home with my girl on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons. I love the days when I realize hours have gone by and I have not thought of my children; and I also love the days when I can read Agatha her story for naptime and start dinner at 3 pm if I want to. I realize I am very, very fortunate.
Speaking of dinner, the other significant change in routine in the last month has been in our eating schedule. I went to an Ayurveda workshop a few weeks ago, mainly to support my friend who was giving it. But I came away with the vow to, as is customary in so many cultures, make lunch the main meal of the day as often as possible. On the weekends, we try to cook and eat the main meal before naptime. During the week, I pack the children large, healthy lunches when they're eating at school, and do the same for myself. Michael and I eat together on campus one day a week, and another day we pick up Agatha and take her out for Indian food lunch buffet. Even when it's a weekday and just Agatha and I are eating lunch at home, I try to make a nice meal and sit down to eat together (today it was a cheese omelet, arugula salad, bread, and a glass of local beer!). I still cook dinner in the evenings, but the pressure is off. Sometimes we have leftovers, sometimes I feed the children first and just eat lightly after they're in bed, sometimes we eat a "normal" dinner but because we are not all starving (and because I have decided that the family dinner is NOT the most important meal of the day) it is less stressful than it used to be. Lots of days I feed the children right after school, when they want to eat, instead of making them "wait for dinner." Then we might have a smoothie or fruit before bed, if they're hungry again. Whatever the supper plan, we try to eat early, by 5 pm. I sleep so much better, have more energy, and find the end of the day so much easier and more fun. I highly recommend it!
Times have changed. I no longer have perplexing little babies that I need to vent about every day. I've thought about bringing the blog to an end, but decided that I do love having a place to write about our family life on a semi-regular basis. So my new routine will be to blog once a month or so, to keep a record and some contact with my far-away loved ones about our daily lives.
So here are some reflections on the last month.
It's a new era! Henry is in school five days a week, all day, and although we expected him to be exhausted after school, he really isn't. He is absolutely thriving. I don't know that I've ever seen him so happy. He is singing, laughing, and cuddling with us more than ever. He gets up and puts his uniform on right away in the mornings (sometimes even on Sunday). He scooters a mile to school and back (usually) without complaint. He is reading voraciously, every street sign and poster and t-shirt he sees. We are so, so pleased to see him blossom like this, and although it could just be a developmental phase or coincidence, we do correlate it with his new school. One thing that has surprised me about the new school is the air of innocence there. I used to hear all about Transformers and superheroes; I even spoke with the teachers at his old school about it when he was three-- their philosophy was all peace and love! and yet all the playground talk was war and materialism. They shrugged and told me there was nothing for it. Yet now I don't hear anything about TV shows or new brands of processed treats. Instead, an example: Henry brought home the classroom teddy bear, Paddington, for the weekend last Thursday. Each child gets a turn; he came with his own blankets and changes of clothes, and a journal for us to write in about what we did with Paddington over the weekend. Henry tenderly carried him along to the store and out to lunch, and slept with him in his bed, and proudly wrote all about it in the journal to share on Monday. Interestingly, at the shoe store he left Paddington in the car, saying he didn't want the kids in the store to make fun of him. But clearly, school is a safe place for boys to love bears, even if the wider world isn't. I wonder if this atmosphere of innocence and love isn't contributing to the greater open-heartedness, laughter, and cuddliness we see in him.
Agatha is also in school until 3 pm on two days; the other three we pick her up at 11:30 am (trading off between Michael and me). For me, it's a perfect schedule, perhaps the best schedule in the six years that I've been a mom; I have long days in the office on Monday and Friday (usually), till 3 pm on Tuesday, and home with my girl on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons. I love the days when I realize hours have gone by and I have not thought of my children; and I also love the days when I can read Agatha her story for naptime and start dinner at 3 pm if I want to. I realize I am very, very fortunate.
Speaking of dinner, the other significant change in routine in the last month has been in our eating schedule. I went to an Ayurveda workshop a few weeks ago, mainly to support my friend who was giving it. But I came away with the vow to, as is customary in so many cultures, make lunch the main meal of the day as often as possible. On the weekends, we try to cook and eat the main meal before naptime. During the week, I pack the children large, healthy lunches when they're eating at school, and do the same for myself. Michael and I eat together on campus one day a week, and another day we pick up Agatha and take her out for Indian food lunch buffet. Even when it's a weekday and just Agatha and I are eating lunch at home, I try to make a nice meal and sit down to eat together (today it was a cheese omelet, arugula salad, bread, and a glass of local beer!). I still cook dinner in the evenings, but the pressure is off. Sometimes we have leftovers, sometimes I feed the children first and just eat lightly after they're in bed, sometimes we eat a "normal" dinner but because we are not all starving (and because I have decided that the family dinner is NOT the most important meal of the day) it is less stressful than it used to be. Lots of days I feed the children right after school, when they want to eat, instead of making them "wait for dinner." Then we might have a smoothie or fruit before bed, if they're hungry again. Whatever the supper plan, we try to eat early, by 5 pm. I sleep so much better, have more energy, and find the end of the day so much easier and more fun. I highly recommend it!
Saturday, September 3, 2011
At bedtime, when I was tucking Henry in:
"Mom, turn on my light so you can look at my [lego] ship."
"That's awesome!"
"Do you like it?"
"I love it!"
"Mom, do you just say you like my things because you're trying to make me happy?"
(Considering) "Well, I am biased. Because I'm your mother, I think pretty much everything you make is great. But I could try to give you a more objective opinion, if you want."
"Yes, that's what I want. I want you to tell me which ones are really good, and which ones are not. In the morning, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to separate all my ships into the ones that are awesome, the ones that are medium, and the ones that are not good."
"That's a good idea. You can use your own judgment."
"But I want your opinion too, Mom. And if we disagree about what category a ship should be in, I'll break it in half and put half of it in each category."
"Mom, turn on my light so you can look at my [lego] ship."
"That's awesome!"
"Do you like it?"
"I love it!"
"Mom, do you just say you like my things because you're trying to make me happy?"
(Considering) "Well, I am biased. Because I'm your mother, I think pretty much everything you make is great. But I could try to give you a more objective opinion, if you want."
"Yes, that's what I want. I want you to tell me which ones are really good, and which ones are not. In the morning, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to separate all my ships into the ones that are awesome, the ones that are medium, and the ones that are not good."
"That's a good idea. You can use your own judgment."
"But I want your opinion too, Mom. And if we disagree about what category a ship should be in, I'll break it in half and put half of it in each category."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)