Happy new year!

Aggie and the pumas

Henry and the snow

We took a family outing to Philadelphia yesterday, and hit the art museum, had lunch with friends, and then went to the zoo. A big success! And a mark of the kids' maturing; we'd never before attempted TWO major stops on one day trip. Agatha, though she missed her nap, was sweet and cheerful throughout, and Henry was... his usual self. When we were leaving the zoo, he was so wet and tired from stomping on every snow pile he could find that I carried him the last few yards to the car. "Mom, I love Philadelphia, I don't want to go home." he said. "There's so much SNOW here!"

Joy

We had a lovely Christmas. I missed those gone or far away, but embraced those nearby and dear. I hope you all did the same!

I look more surprised than Henry here at what Santa brought: a lego x-wing fighter with extra special figures. Henry actually said "I can't believe my eyes!" He was thrilled with it.

Building the fighter. Look at their identical postures!

Again, who is more excited unpacking the stocking, Agatha or Mommy?

Santa also brought a giant chocolate bar.

My angel.

For your listening pleasure...

Christmas cheer

Hello, long-lost readers! With the sporadic posting, I wouldn't blame you for straying. As my children grow and my life becomes less about the immediate panic of coping with tiny people, I find the compulsion to blog less intense. But it still fills an important role for me as a place to mark the moment. So here's one moment: our Christmas decorations this year are especially nice. The kids talked me into using colored lights on our tree and they look wonderful! I put up a small gold tinsel tree with our oldest ornaments, and I made a new wreath for that echoes the same retro colors. The kids-- Henry especially-- love decorating and crafts, and we made our best gingerbread house ever this year. With a couple of little snowmen sledding nearby. It's all very cheerful.

Christmas outtakes

It's been a bit of a rough week on Mary Street: a stomach bug flattened me on Tuesday, got the kids on Thursday, and came back for a second shot at me last night. But we've survived. We even managed to have some festive Christmas fun in between all the yucky stuff.

Santa suspicion

Henry keeping his distance, while showing Santa a picture of the Star Wars lego set he wants. Notice the careful calibration: he's not within arm's reach.

Autumn at home

Reading the Sunday paper

Vogue, November 2010: baby Ugg boots, pumpkin, and attitude

Studying the Lego website

How to eat your breakfast cereal without putting down your lollipop

Our autumnal backyard

Absorbed

Parenting My Strong-Willed Child

Back in September, when I reached my wit's end with Henry's behavior, I bought a couple of parenting books that came recommended including "Setting Limits for Your Strong-Willed Child." It turned out to be really, really helpful and things have been much better and more fun since then. I share a few thoughts here partly for a couple of friends/readers who have kids with similar temperaments, and partly to remind myself of the lessons.

There were several helpful insights for me: first, that some children are compliant and want to please, and others are strong-willed and want to test the limit of what's acceptable. Strong-willed children are "hard-way" learners, who need to test the limit repeatedly to see what the result is. Do not take it personally! They are not trying to ruin your day, embarrass you, or undermine you. It's not about you (me) at all, in fact. This is just how they encounter the world. This recognition has helped me stay calm and not get so upset by the negative behavior. Second, don't talk so much. The talking, explaining, haranguing, cajoling, scolding was worse than useless-- he wasn't learning from it (because strong-willed children believe your actions, not your words) and it was exhausting us both and poisoning the atmosphere. Instead, I should just be stopping the negative behavior immediately (and calmly) by sending him to his room for a 5-minute time out. Once the 5 minutes are up, there's no "lessons learned" or forced apologies-- everyone starts over fresh and with a clean slate. The time out in his room was a huge improvement over the screaming, protesting sitting on the step while the timer ticked. In his room, he can build legos or get into bed-- whatever he needs to calm himself down. If he plays in his room, great-- it's not about punishing him, it's about stopping the negative behavior. I also get to calm down. And with the moratorium on yelling, scolding, warning, etc, I'm much less annoyed and exhausted and the family atmosphere remains positive. Usually after 5 minutes he's back with a happy hello-- he knows he was out of control and doesn't like it, either. Natural consequences are also used where appropriate-- break the scooter rules, lose the scooter for a day, for example. The key is to remind ONCE and then follow through without getting upset when he makes the poor choice. He will make the poor choice repeatedly because that's who he is! My job is to take the scooter away when he does so. It helps me to remember this.

One thing that bothered me about this approach at first is that I felt there was no moral instruction happening-- if you don't explain how to behave, how will he learn? This method might stop negative behavior, but can it make him nice, kind, civilized? But the answer, of course, is to talk about it at non-crisis times. Scolding in the moment doesn't work-- at least not for us.

Every couple of weeks it seems we have to have a "crackdown"-- we've all ben going along happily and not noticing or policing bad behavior until suddenly I'm yelling at Henry and I realize: oh yeah, here we are. And then we get back to basics. All I have to do now is remind Henry in a calm moment about the consequences for negative behavior and breaking the rules-- and follow through on it a few times-- and we're back to a good atmosphere.

I like mermaids

I like mermaids.

-You do?

Yeah. They're kinda dusty.

-Dusty?

Yeah. They're dusty to eat. They're kinda dirty.

-To eat?

Yeah. I don't like to eat them. Daddy likes them. Daddy likes to eat them.

-He does?

Yeah. I like to hold them in my hand.

I like doggies.

-You do?

Yeah. They're kinda like... special.

I like horses. I like them to ride. Not to ride-- to pull my wagon.

-You prefer to ride in the wagon?

No, I like to SIT on the horses.

I like bunnies.

-Yes, they're nice.

They're nice to eat! I eat them! I like bunnies to eat!

Just some nice pictures...

Making Halloween cookies with Gran

Fall day at the vegetable farm

Halloween

For the past couple of years, Henry has been a tough customer at Halloween. Two years ago he was the sulkiest, grumpiest pumpkin you've ever seen. I remember saying to Michael, if a kid can't be happy on Halloween...?!?!? But Henry is just different. He doesn't like dressing up, being in the spotlight or doing what other people do. Last year he said he was going to be Superman, and although I waited until the last minute to start making his costume, he still balked and changed his mind. In the end, he put on his pirate bandanna and eyepatch-- which he wore all the time and often slept in-- and went trick-or-treating in that. Now, you might think, fine; what's the big deal? But Michael and I decided that this year we were going to explain the tradition of Halloween to him and expect him to honor it-- put on a real costume if he wanted to go trick-or-treating, or if he didn't want to dress up, fine-- hand out candy with us. But it was not okay to go around the neighborhood collecting candy without a proper costume. So, a couple of weeks ago, he decided to be Darth Vader. I waited. This week, I told him he needed to decide for certain by bedtime on Wednesday, because Thursday we'd go shopping for materials and start making the costume. He held firm on Darth Vader. Thursday, on the way to the store, he announced that he'd changed his mind to Obi-Wan Kenobi. I was annoyed, but accepted it-- after all, that's an easier costume to make! We got an excellent light saber and went home, and he started waffling about the different elements of the costume. This morning before school I tried to drape the hood/cape on him, and he started to get very upset. Today was trick-or-treating, mind you-- Lancaster sometimes decrees that it will be held on a different day from October 31. It deteriorated from there, and he was lobbying intensely for just carrying a light saber, but we held firm: either a real costume, or no trick-or-treating. He chose the no trick-or-treating-- no costume, no candy.

He was clearly troubled by the difficult choice, but once he made it he seemed to feel pretty good about it. We went to a little event at the college before trick-or-treating where we carved pumpkins, and he did a great job and enjoyed himself; he also liked spotting the trick-or-treaters coming down the sidewalk, climbing around on the porches, and generally being a bit on the outskirts of the community hubbub. He really did censor himself on the candy; we gather with all our neighbors on one porch and hand out all our candy together, so there were six or eight baskets there, but he just took one piece from time to time. It broke my heart a little bit when, as we tucked him into bed, he was reciting exactly which 8 treats he had had all evening, including a cookie at the pumpkin-carving and one fun-size Hershey bar that he had opened, noticed its divisions into three squares, and counted as 3 separate treats ("I'm going to eat one square each day, Mom, and then after three days I'll eat my last treat that I'm saving.").

Although I feel good about how we handled it this year as parents, I was saddened by the whole thing. I felt like Henry was holding himself back from having fun, from dressing up and running around like a superhero--denying himself fun almost like an anorexic denies herself food. Why? Michael was much more sanguine about it all. We should celebrate his difference, not lament it, Michael says-- he was respectful of the tradition but still went his own way, did what he wanted. I guess the key point is Henry's happiness-- if he really was happy with how things turned out, then great. My worry is that he really *wanted* to trick-or-treat but somehow couldn't make himself do it. Most likely, I'm overthinking the whole thing. Lucky for me, Agatha is still too young to have complex emotional struggles; though she's certainly getting more assertive and toddleresque, she's basically an open, enthusiastic participator. There's no doubt that she had a great Halloween!

Catching up

Last Thursday we celebrated Michael's birthday. When we were having breakfast and I had informed the children that it was Daddy's birthday today, Henry asked Michael what his theme was going to be. "You know, do you want knights, or pirates, or Star Wars...?" Michael answered that he wanted his theme to be Happy Family Day. Henry thought a moment. "Okay! We can make a cake and put big smiley faces all over it, and then we can get strawberries and make a face with a big smile, and then..."

It *was* Happy Family Day, too. We went out to the autumnal garden plot, then came home and had a Three-Pie Dinner: chicken pot pie, apple pie, and pumpkin pie.
The next morning I was off at 5 am for Chicago. I'd been anticipating this event for a year: a symposium in honor of my graduate school advisor, a chance to see old colleagues and to speak at the Art Institute, and to see some dear friends who live in the area. It was a wonderful, moving, emotional weekend. I spent Friday at the beautiful North Shore home of my college roommate, Cynthia. It was so great to reconnect with this special, special person in my life, and to see her beautiful family. Here's our elegant lunch table.

And her darling son, Sam, making a bubbling cauldron at 7:30 am.

The symposium was great. Academia is a kind of family-- your advisor is your academic mother or father, and her advisor is your kind of grandfather; you are affiliated with them and influenced by them, you bear their unmistakeable traces and yet you rebel against them. The other students are like your siblings-- your rivals for Mom's affection and attention. And just like in a real family, when you grow up you realize that that bond, however fraught, is unique and irreplaceable. So this weekend I reconnected with my academic "siblings" on an adult level, one of enjoyment rather than rivalry. We marveled at how much we had in common in our research questions, and made promises to keep in touch and work together on future projects. And of course I reflected on my journey since I left Chicago 13 years ago. Some of my "siblings" are in bigger, flashier jobs than me, but I felt really happy, lucky, and blessed all the way around with the way things have worked out. I'm so fortunate to be able to research and teach art history for a living, and still to have time to do all the other things I like to do. And then I couldn't wait to get home on Sunday evening!

Autumn

We had a lovely, normal, calm weekend-- no trips, fundraisers, or anything weird. Divine! Here I am making ricotta gnocchi on Sunday-- also pretty divine. This coming weekend I'm off to Chicago, but that's our last big event of the fall. Life is settling down and we are enjoying it.

Clappers do DC

We took our students to Washington last Saturday to go to the museums, and for the first time we took the kids with us. I'd been looking forward to this for years-- I love our twice-a-year trips to the big museums, and I'd anticipated the day when the kids were old enough to skip an afternoon nap and come along. It was tiring, of course, and nerve-wracking to keep track of the two of them in crowded conditions, but it was fun. And it'll get more fun as they get older and more able to appreciate what they're seeing. Right?
Mostly it was a tour of the courtyards, water fountains, and bathrooms of Washington museums. Here we are re-hydrating at the National Gallery (we borrowed the cool stroller for the day).
Here's a picture of Henry riding his scooter in the courtyard of the American Art museum. Oops! got away again. Except for him getting too far ahead of us in the crowds, the scooter was great on the mall. While Michael saw the Rockwell show, the kids made pumpkin pictures at a table set up for crafting in the courtyard. Fortuitous! Because they didn't like Rockwell, for some reason. At the end of the day, we were waiting for the bus and Henry was scootering around the smooth piazza outside the National Gallery. I asked him if we could please pop in for just a moment to see the Rothkos in the tower (his all-black chapel pictures). He cooperated, and we saw them. But Henry wasn't too impressed. "Mom, these are just big black rectangles!"

Then Agatha drove us home. Just kidding!

Things are definitely improving in the stress and over-commitment department. Partly I'm crossing things off the list and getting into a routine, but I think the larger part is that I'm just getting acclimated to this pace again. It's like going for a run after a long layoff-- the pain! the agony! how did I ever do this?!? And then by the third or fourth time, you're puffing along, enjoying the sunshine. I'm doing all the same things I was three weeks ago, but I'm not flattened by it. Thank goodness! Tomorrow is an easy day-- all I have to do is bake snacks for 15 toddlers, teach a class on Renaissance painting, pick up Agatha, and meet the refrigerator repairman at home-- by noon! :)

Artful Dodging

Reader, we did it: we hosted the Artful Dining event last evening. This was a fundraiser for the Lancaster Museum of Art. A board member had asked us to be a host last spring. Each host chooses the artists, theme, and date of their event, and then invitations are sent out to the museum's list and hosts' own invitees. Guests pay a fee that goes straight to the museum, and hosts donate all the food and drink. We decided to do it as part of our initiative to get more involved with city institutions beyond the college and broaden our circle. But I'd been nervous about it for months, feeling awkward about inviting our friends to our home for a fee and worried first that too many strangers would come expecting a lavish spread and then that not enough people would come.

The best part of the whole thing was what you see above: the collaboration with our artist friends and the way their work looked installed in our house-- beautiful. All the sculptures are white and the drawings are black ink on white paper, which looked great against our colored walls.

But I'm annoyed and disappointed by the whole event. I'm embarrassed that we had a small number of people who signed up, and then several of them didn't wind up attending, including the museum director. Maybe we picked the wrong weekend, or time of day? Or we priced it too high, or didn't write a very inviting description? But we had never done this before and didn't get much guidance from the museum staff. I'm annoyed at the museum for asking us to take this on and then leaving us to our own devices. It ended up being a lot of effort, for us and for our artists (not to mention my mom), for pretty few attendees.

But I'm most annoyed at myself. Why did I exert so much mental effort on this paltry party? I'm quite used to giving parties. With this one, I worried about the guests, who they'd be, what they'd expect, what they'd think of us. When we went to the organizational meeting last spring, we sat in a fancy living room in someone's fancy house and looked around, realizing we were the youngest, dumbest (least-experienced), poorest people in the room. Somehow I thought all those people and their ilk would be coming to my house. But of course they didn't; they're probably going to each others' events. A few of our acquaintances came, but they tended to be the group among whom we are the oldest, stodgiest, least-tattooed, and, again, poorest. (There is a hipster-mama circle in town that I don't quite belong to. They tend to be married to rock-n-roll show designers and producers. No joke! There's a firm here that does all the biggest rock tours. So these people are both rich AND cool.) So I felt wrong no matter which direction I looked.

But really, why should I care? I'm annoyed that I let all this get to me, and consume my and my family's energy at a time when we really don't have that much left over. Reader, all I can say in summary is that not all new initiatives work out as you'd hoped. Sometimes doing things that are outside your comfort zone results not in broadening the comfort zone but rather in reaffirming its boundaries. It was good that we tried it. And now I'd like someone to invite ME to something for a change, okay?

Gran to the rescue

My mom has been a huge help to us during these busy weeks. Sunday she fed us meatloaf, potatoes and green beans and provided a calm respite after Henry's birthday party. Monday she collected Agatha when she was dismissed at an odd time (still phasing-in!) during my class, then returned to watch both kids so Michael and I could attend the faculty meeting (and so I could take the minutes; I'm the faculty secretary again this year). Plus, she brought over leftovers: the meatloaf restyled into sandwiches with nice bread, the beans remade into three-bean salad, and the potatoes accompanied by a chopped onion, ready to saute into fried potatoes. So this was my delicious, mom-provided dinner plate last night, and much appreciated! Today she picked up Henry from school, took him out to lunch and to the toy store for his birthday. All in all, she is a capital Gran. Thank you, Mom!!!!

Crazy insane birthday party-- with weapons

This afternoon we had Henry's birthday party, with a "knights" theme. I think it went pretty well, although it teetered on the edge of chaos more than once. No one was seriously injured, no one's feelings seemed too badly hurt, and a lot of cake was eaten.
This is Sir Daniel, calling a halt to the knights on horseback. We outfitted the kids in armor, belts, shields, and Michael even made wooden swords which were awesome. Except we had not thought through the concept of arming several 5-7 year olds with wooden swords. We had to quietly hide them away about halfway through.

We'd asked the kids to bring a scooter or a bike, and the knights made two crusades around the block. There was a minor injury when Daniel wiped out on his bike, and the younger kids got left behind by the older ones, but all the knights did return safely to the house eventually.

We had a tournament, of course, featuring Tests of Skill, Speed, and Strength ("The three S's!" Daniel shouted.) Here is Michael setting up for the Test of Skill, knocking bottles over with a ball. (I had wanted to have a joust with foam pool noodles, giving each kid a target on his chest, but luckily Michael talked me out of it.)
And then, cake. These kids were definitely big, loud, and fast, and Michael and I decided we can't really do this again next year the same way. We just barely kept everyone in one piece, and by 4:30 I was anxiously watching the moments tick by slowly, waiting for parents to come take these children away before someone fell out of a tree or broke an arm (one boy did fall in the pond). Maybe a playground party next year?

Whining

No, not whining from the kids (actually, Agatha never whines, now that I think of it): whining from me. This work is really cutting into my free time! I have TOO MUCH to do and not enough time to do it, and it gives me a slightly out-of-control feeling that I do not like. For the blog record, here's the state of affairs in mid-September, a couple of weeks into the fall semester:

* I'm teaching the Survey of Western Art to 28 students, three times a week. Their first paper is due Friday, so I'll have 28 of those to grade over the weekend.

* I'm curating a show at the Quilt & Textile Museum downtown, which will open in March. I've never curated a show before. Also I know nothing (but am learning fast!) about Amish quilts. That class meets once per week and I have to find four or five good readings each week, read them, write up study questions, read them again, make slide presentations, and teach the class.

* Henry's in school 5 mornings and 2 afternoons, but Agatha has so far only spent a scattered hour per day with her teachers. So Michael, Mom and I are constantly juggling her. This means that I have very little time in the office beyond my teaching obligations.

* This weekend we're hosting a dinner party on Saturday for two new faculty members, and having a birthday party for Henry on Sunday afternoon. Also Monday morning I have to send special birthday snack to school for 22 children and an array of photos for his birthday ceremony.

* Next weekend we're hosting a fundraiser for the Art Museum at our house. 40 people are paying to come, there will be an art installation of cast plaster body parts in our living room and kitchen, and a dozen figure drawings in the dining room. Also we must provide all the food and drink. Also we did not finish the house projects we were hoping to, so the hallway still has two colors of trim paint, and the doors are off the old cabinet in the kitchen.

* Four days after that our fellowship applications are due. We have to get our provost to write a letter of support, which (we've learned) means we have to fill out many irrelevant forms. Plus write the 10-page essay, 3-page bibliography, and some other things I haven't figured out yet.

* The next weekend we are taking two giant busloads of students on a day-long trip to Washington DC. With our kids. So far we are the only faculty members on the bus.

* The next weekend Michael is gone all weekend for a conference in Brooklyn, and Mom is in Austin. (sigh)

* Two weekends after that, I'm giving a paper at the Art Institute of Chicago, at a conference in honor of my grad school advisor. Many mentors and colleagues will be in the conference and/or the audience. I'm presenting my new work. Which I have not written yet.

* I'm a room parent in both kids' classrooms.

All this stuff is good stuff-- great stuff. I'm swamped with fantastic opportunities in my work, teaching interesting classes, learning new things. The kids are flourishing and loving their school. (We are still having trouble with Henry's behavior, though, which definitely adds to our stress. More on that another day.) I'm just panicked about finding enough time in the day to meet my obligations. I could arrange for more childcare, but not only is that costly, I just don't like to be away from the kids much more than I already am. So this is clearly an internal struggle most of all.

Meanwhile, I've squandered 30 pre-dawn minutes writing this blog post when I could have been responding to students' email requests for me to give feedback on their paper drafts. Back to work, Mama!

Work

It's Labor Day, and we're back to work. After a year on sabbatical, it is exciting and a little overwhelming. With little or no childcare so far, our normal juggle has been exacerbated by having to factor in teaching classes, preparing syllabi, and shuttling the kids to their various phase-in school meetings. Tomorrow, it will get easier as Henry starts in on his regular schedule (five mornings plus two afternoons per week). His first day of kindergarten! He excited, but also a little puzzled. Although he knows he's starting kindergarten and he's been talking about it since last year, he doesn't quite get what's *new* about this year. I noticed he told his friend Frances that his teacher was named Katie-- that's the one new teacher he has, out of four, this year. I think he would like the drama of a new classroom for his big kindergarten year. Yesterday I took him out and bought him a shiny new scooter for kindergarten. It will help us zoom him to school and back while we walk alongside and push Agatha in the stroller. He's seeming to take to it quite well!

A beautiful, golden, Labor Day weekend. We spent a lot of time with our neighbors, on porches talking and at a block party. Our friend Eric visited and he and Michael worked on some woodworking projects. It was cool and fresh and sunny. I launched in with the Ancient Near East this morning in class, Michael met his Eakins seminar, and I planned my seminar on Amish quilts, which will meet for the first time tomorrow. School is in session!