helping with the gravel/dry well project
it's noisy at the circus
dressed in red & white to match the circus (Henry's idea)
spellbound at the circus
cheesy grin
Easter 2012
off to a birthday party
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Chapter Books
Last week, Henry discovered that he could read chapter books. He loves the "Magic Treehouse" series, which I've been reading to him sporadically for a year or so, and I mentioned to him that his friend Frances reads those books to herself, and maybe he'll do that soon, too. When he started to do it a few days later, I thought it was because of his competitive nature and my nudging him. But no! It was his teachers. Every day he brings a book home from his book bag at school that is filled with a constantly changing array of "just right" books. It was his astute and observant teachers who noticed he was ready to leap, and who made a ceremony of him and his reading buddy going down to the library by themselves to get a special chapter book-- Magic Treehouse, naturally-- to add to their book bags. He proudly brandished it when he got in the car after school, and then ran outside to sit on the woodpile and read as soon as we got home. At bedtime, he read, too. And the next morning, at 6 am, he ran in to our room saying, "I finished it!" He had woken up at 4:30 am to keep reading.
All the "just right" books have to be returned the next day, and he figured he'd have to read the entire book in one day, I guess! (We assured him he could just keep bringing the same book home night after night till he finished it.) Now his routine is to crawl into bed around 7:15 pm and read to himself until he turns out his light at 8 pm. At 8, we hear a little rustling around, and then peaceful silence. Reading!
All the "just right" books have to be returned the next day, and he figured he'd have to read the entire book in one day, I guess! (We assured him he could just keep bringing the same book home night after night till he finished it.) Now his routine is to crawl into bed around 7:15 pm and read to himself until he turns out his light at 8 pm. At 8, we hear a little rustling around, and then peaceful silence. Reading!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
West Virginia
Friday, February 17, 2012
Small student
Henry's off school today, so he came with us to ART 251: The Twentieth Century, which Michael and I team-teach. Today's topic was Surrealism. He gave each student a handout at the beginning of class, then went and sat in the front row and took out his pencil and his blue book. (He loves blue books: he can write his name on the front and make lists or stories or "how to's" inside.) Michael started off the class with a discussion of Miro, and Henry's hand shot up; he took it pretty well when Daddy didn't call on him but gave the other students a chance to participate instead. Then we played some surrealist games: exquisite corpse, frottage, and "latent news." Henry joined the exquisite corpse group writing surrealist poetry and read his aloud when it was his turn. Then I lectured on Elsa Schiaparelli. At the end of class, when I told the students I'd see them Monday, he said: "Mom, can I come Monday?!"
I wish all my students were so eager!
I wish all my students were so eager!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Sick, sick, sick... and then glee!
Oy, we've been sick. Here's the organ recital:
It's been about two weeks all told, with all four of us visiting the doctor at one time or another and at least two mis-diagnoses. First Agatha had a bad cold. Then after five days, she developed fever and some diarrhea. I assumed it must be an ear infection or other secondary infection after the cold; the doc said her chest and ears were clear but thought it must be a sinus infection, and the diarrhea was simply due to the runny nose. So she started on amoxicillin. The next day, I started feeling bad, developing fever and body aches. Since I didn't have a cold but had had a freak allergy attack the day before, I wondered if I might have a sinus infection, too. After dragging at work for a morning, going home feverish in the afternoon and suffering terrible chills that night, the next day I went to doctor, who swabbed me for strep throat. Which, it turns out, I had! At least, I had the bacteria. I had no sore throat or sinus infection, just the upset tummy and fever and chills. But the doc surmised that what was making both me and Agatha sick. Michael had also started feeling poorly, so we thought maybe he'd be coming down with it next. Indeed, over the next day, his fever started, and he started on amoxicillin too. Meanwhile, none of us seemed to be really improving. In fact, the antibiotics were just making the diarrhea worse. Henry came home from school feeling poorly and I rushed him to the doctor, having been just waiting for his turn to develop strep. But he didn't have it, and the doc thought he just had a cold and sent us home.
After another day or so, Michael was still feeling horrible and we were beginning to suspect that something else was going on. He went back to the doctor who now decided we had a bacterial infection from raw milk. She gave Michael and stool sample kit and a second, more powerful antibiotic. He brought that home we sat and looked at it, and looked at each other. That didn't make sense, either; what we had was clearly contagious, not conveyed by contaminated food, since we were developing it in sequence. And it wasn't responding to antibiotics, which meant it was probably a virus. In fact, we decided it was probably the gastric virus that's been going around all our schools lately, and that we had just been fooled by its emergence after a cold (Agatha) and by the presence of strep (me) and by absence of vomiting in all of us. We all got off the antibiotics, canceled out of all our activities and obligations for two days, tried to keep to our beds as much as possible, and ate nothing but BRATY foods (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast, yogurt). It was slow progress, but every day we felt a little better. By now, about three weeks after it all started, we're all pretty much back to normal. Henry's the toughest of all of us: though he had it too, he never developed a fever or missed school or even complained much.
What a joy to feel healthy and energetic again! And what an intense relief to see the kids back to their normal, healthy, non-whiny, happy selves, too. Yesterday Henry had a big day: Michael picked him up from school early so that he could attend the printmaking demonstration that Michael and an artist colleague were doing with Michael's students. Henry's been getting really interested in printmaking and has carved his own wood block recently. Michael said he loved it and had to be restrained from being a know-it-all in front of the college students. Then the two of them went to a bowling birthday party. Meanwhile, Agatha and I had a girls' night at home: we ate toast with Nutella and (for the first time) watched a regular TV show together on the sofa-- an episode of "Glee." It's hard to put into words the joy of having such a daughter. She is my sweetest, dearest, most delightful companion.
It's been about two weeks all told, with all four of us visiting the doctor at one time or another and at least two mis-diagnoses. First Agatha had a bad cold. Then after five days, she developed fever and some diarrhea. I assumed it must be an ear infection or other secondary infection after the cold; the doc said her chest and ears were clear but thought it must be a sinus infection, and the diarrhea was simply due to the runny nose. So she started on amoxicillin. The next day, I started feeling bad, developing fever and body aches. Since I didn't have a cold but had had a freak allergy attack the day before, I wondered if I might have a sinus infection, too. After dragging at work for a morning, going home feverish in the afternoon and suffering terrible chills that night, the next day I went to doctor, who swabbed me for strep throat. Which, it turns out, I had! At least, I had the bacteria. I had no sore throat or sinus infection, just the upset tummy and fever and chills. But the doc surmised that what was making both me and Agatha sick. Michael had also started feeling poorly, so we thought maybe he'd be coming down with it next. Indeed, over the next day, his fever started, and he started on amoxicillin too. Meanwhile, none of us seemed to be really improving. In fact, the antibiotics were just making the diarrhea worse. Henry came home from school feeling poorly and I rushed him to the doctor, having been just waiting for his turn to develop strep. But he didn't have it, and the doc thought he just had a cold and sent us home.
After another day or so, Michael was still feeling horrible and we were beginning to suspect that something else was going on. He went back to the doctor who now decided we had a bacterial infection from raw milk. She gave Michael and stool sample kit and a second, more powerful antibiotic. He brought that home we sat and looked at it, and looked at each other. That didn't make sense, either; what we had was clearly contagious, not conveyed by contaminated food, since we were developing it in sequence. And it wasn't responding to antibiotics, which meant it was probably a virus. In fact, we decided it was probably the gastric virus that's been going around all our schools lately, and that we had just been fooled by its emergence after a cold (Agatha) and by the presence of strep (me) and by absence of vomiting in all of us. We all got off the antibiotics, canceled out of all our activities and obligations for two days, tried to keep to our beds as much as possible, and ate nothing but BRATY foods (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast, yogurt). It was slow progress, but every day we felt a little better. By now, about three weeks after it all started, we're all pretty much back to normal. Henry's the toughest of all of us: though he had it too, he never developed a fever or missed school or even complained much.
What a joy to feel healthy and energetic again! And what an intense relief to see the kids back to their normal, healthy, non-whiny, happy selves, too. Yesterday Henry had a big day: Michael picked him up from school early so that he could attend the printmaking demonstration that Michael and an artist colleague were doing with Michael's students. Henry's been getting really interested in printmaking and has carved his own wood block recently. Michael said he loved it and had to be restrained from being a know-it-all in front of the college students. Then the two of them went to a bowling birthday party. Meanwhile, Agatha and I had a girls' night at home: we ate toast with Nutella and (for the first time) watched a regular TV show together on the sofa-- an episode of "Glee." It's hard to put into words the joy of having such a daughter. She is my sweetest, dearest, most delightful companion.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Church
My new year's resolution this year, 2012-- the year of the dragon!--is to work on my spiritual growth, and to that end we have been attending church since Sunday, January 1st. I announced this to Michael on December 31st, and somewhat to my surprise he was eager and interested to join in this with me. So Michael and the kids have been coming too. We're attending the Unitarian Universalist church, which is the obvious immediate choice for so many reasons-- being the most liberal and accepting of denominations, it is accommodating of a person with so many doubts; some of our friends already attend there, so it seems comfortable; it has a beautiful building; and it is little more than a stone's throw from our house.
I have to credit yoga with opening me up to spiritual experience. The quieting of the mind that happens after vigorous physical activity has been a revelation. My natural inclination to be critical and analytical and intellectual has been honed by years of training, and turning the volume down on that part of my mind has helped me open up to other modes of perceiving the world, to be more peaceful and connected to others. The presentness of yoga has also been a gift: the idea that the past self is truly gone, and there is only the now. Thinking about this deeply can be transformative. Whatever I would like to be, think, do-- do it now. So I am.
I have also come to see the wisdom of the old saying about consistency being the hobgoblin of little minds. That I don't believe everything is no reason to believe nothing. That I see flaws is no reason to avoid it altogether. Walk the path, learn, and see where it takes you-- that's what I'm trying to do.
Besides wanting to become a better person and to grow, I also want to serve, to help the community more, and the church provides a structure for doing that. One realization of the last year has been the extent of our privilege, especially now that we are sending Henry to an elite (for Lancaster, at least) private school. It's taken me a while to adjust to the idea that we and our children are not really "average" anymore; we're well and truly the insiders, the ones with all the opportunities. If we are going to have all these privileges, we have to take more seriously our responsibility to give back.
It's a cliche to begin attending church only once you have children, and I partly resisted going because of this. But remembering the idea of presentness helps extraneous concerns like this melt away. And I do want Henry and Agatha to have a framework for thinking about the big questions of life. Even more of a stumbling block was the fact that my favorite yoga class occurs on Sunday mornings! So I have to miss it to go to church. Bummer. I'm trying to make it up at another point during the week.
So far, so good. Agatha goes to the nursery, which is a well-equipped preschool room where she can play and dress up and eat applesauce. Henry has gotten up his courage to join Sunday school-- or Faith Development Classes, as they're called there-- the past two weeks, and likes the crafts and songs. Actually, Henry took to the whole thing immediately, like a duck to water. Our first morning, he was first in line to place his stone in the dish of sand to mark a joy or sorrow. He sings heartily along with all the hymns, and wonders when it will be his turn to light the chalice. The boy loves ritual! Michael and I both love sitting in that beautiful space, hearing wise words, and singing in community. I know there's been some drama and conflict in the church, though I don't know the specifics, and I don't really care to know right now. It might not be the right place for us forever, but right now it is a new source of peace and contentment in our lives.
I have to credit yoga with opening me up to spiritual experience. The quieting of the mind that happens after vigorous physical activity has been a revelation. My natural inclination to be critical and analytical and intellectual has been honed by years of training, and turning the volume down on that part of my mind has helped me open up to other modes of perceiving the world, to be more peaceful and connected to others. The presentness of yoga has also been a gift: the idea that the past self is truly gone, and there is only the now. Thinking about this deeply can be transformative. Whatever I would like to be, think, do-- do it now. So I am.
I have also come to see the wisdom of the old saying about consistency being the hobgoblin of little minds. That I don't believe everything is no reason to believe nothing. That I see flaws is no reason to avoid it altogether. Walk the path, learn, and see where it takes you-- that's what I'm trying to do.
Besides wanting to become a better person and to grow, I also want to serve, to help the community more, and the church provides a structure for doing that. One realization of the last year has been the extent of our privilege, especially now that we are sending Henry to an elite (for Lancaster, at least) private school. It's taken me a while to adjust to the idea that we and our children are not really "average" anymore; we're well and truly the insiders, the ones with all the opportunities. If we are going to have all these privileges, we have to take more seriously our responsibility to give back.
It's a cliche to begin attending church only once you have children, and I partly resisted going because of this. But remembering the idea of presentness helps extraneous concerns like this melt away. And I do want Henry and Agatha to have a framework for thinking about the big questions of life. Even more of a stumbling block was the fact that my favorite yoga class occurs on Sunday mornings! So I have to miss it to go to church. Bummer. I'm trying to make it up at another point during the week.
So far, so good. Agatha goes to the nursery, which is a well-equipped preschool room where she can play and dress up and eat applesauce. Henry has gotten up his courage to join Sunday school-- or Faith Development Classes, as they're called there-- the past two weeks, and likes the crafts and songs. Actually, Henry took to the whole thing immediately, like a duck to water. Our first morning, he was first in line to place his stone in the dish of sand to mark a joy or sorrow. He sings heartily along with all the hymns, and wonders when it will be his turn to light the chalice. The boy loves ritual! Michael and I both love sitting in that beautiful space, hearing wise words, and singing in community. I know there's been some drama and conflict in the church, though I don't know the specifics, and I don't really care to know right now. It might not be the right place for us forever, but right now it is a new source of peace and contentment in our lives.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Holiday round-up
The Clappers came for Thanksgiving...
And the Texas Rausers came for early Christmas...
And the then Pennsylvania Rauser-Clappers had a quiet and relaxing holiday. Wait-- who am I kidding?!?! There're a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old residing here. Christmas was a high-stakes affair. Henry in particular seemed consumed with anxiety for much of December, with a quite-visible internal struggle alternately to express and to master his strong desires for stuff. I decorated our stairwell with garland and dangling Advent presents on little ribbons. It was so pretty, but I'm not sure if it added any daily joy or wonder to our household. As Michael put it: "Advent presents: Something to fight about every SINGLE day." On Christmas Eve, Henry rehearsed how it would go the next morning: he'd stay in bed till 6 am, then come into bed with Mom and Dad, and wait till Agatha woke up, then we'd open our stocking presents, then we'd have oatmeal and "do our morning routine," then we could open one gift every hour till they were gone. This idea was another of his strategies to demonstrate his control over this crazy holiday, when all normal rules seem to be suspended. (We didn't, of course, do this; we opened all our presents right away like normal people.)
We did have a very nice holiday, season, though, high-strung children's occasional tantrums aside. We had many lovely invitations to parties and dinners with friends. We got beautiful, thoughtful gifts in the mail from Tim & Kirsti, Grace & Jim, and our dear friends Eric & Meg. On Christmas Eve, I made a special midday meal of chicken, sweet potatoes, and this amazing French pastry (the Paris-Brest!), and then in the evening we had pate and cheese at Mom's house by the fire. On Christmas Day we ate turkey and stuffing at Mom's house. We did LOTS of crafting, including a whole village of five gingerbread houses. (Then at a family New Year's Eve party last night, the hosts gifted us with MORE gingerbread house kits! I think seven houses is enough for one season, don't you? I have gotten pretty good with the pastry bag, though.)
Quiet wonder and peaceful reflection are not the way to celebrate Christmas with little children. But as I said to Michael on Christmas Eve, after we'd tucked in the kids and I'd stuffed their stockings and put Agatha's new scooter under the tree: truly, happiness is being the parent of a 6 year old and a 3 year old on Christmas Eve. It is a great joy to provide for them, to create sparks of amazement and pleasure, to feed their imaginations and cause them to think about hope, surprise, and light amid the darkness. We are so greatly blessed to have one another, and we celebrated that these past few weeks, as we try to every day.
And the Texas Rausers came for early Christmas...
And the then Pennsylvania Rauser-Clappers had a quiet and relaxing holiday. Wait-- who am I kidding?!?! There're a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old residing here. Christmas was a high-stakes affair. Henry in particular seemed consumed with anxiety for much of December, with a quite-visible internal struggle alternately to express and to master his strong desires for stuff. I decorated our stairwell with garland and dangling Advent presents on little ribbons. It was so pretty, but I'm not sure if it added any daily joy or wonder to our household. As Michael put it: "Advent presents: Something to fight about every SINGLE day." On Christmas Eve, Henry rehearsed how it would go the next morning: he'd stay in bed till 6 am, then come into bed with Mom and Dad, and wait till Agatha woke up, then we'd open our stocking presents, then we'd have oatmeal and "do our morning routine," then we could open one gift every hour till they were gone. This idea was another of his strategies to demonstrate his control over this crazy holiday, when all normal rules seem to be suspended. (We didn't, of course, do this; we opened all our presents right away like normal people.)
Quiet wonder and peaceful reflection are not the way to celebrate Christmas with little children. But as I said to Michael on Christmas Eve, after we'd tucked in the kids and I'd stuffed their stockings and put Agatha's new scooter under the tree: truly, happiness is being the parent of a 6 year old and a 3 year old on Christmas Eve. It is a great joy to provide for them, to create sparks of amazement and pleasure, to feed their imaginations and cause them to think about hope, surprise, and light amid the darkness. We are so greatly blessed to have one another, and we celebrated that these past few weeks, as we try to every day.
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