Monthly Archives: June 2014

I think this is called falling before the first fence

Discussions on summer pastimes are ongoing. I am all chuffed/horrified because apparently I have let myself in for a serious regime of homeschooling over the summer, thanks to accidentally asking “What would you like to learn about?” when trying to get them to brainstorm things we might want to do.

Dash would like to learn about:

  • science and Einstein
  • the brain
  • Spanish
  • division, square roots, and algebra
  • Shakespeare, Plato, Beethoven, and Galileo

Mabel would like to learn about

  • monkeys
  • dog noses
  • math for Kindergarteners

Having settled that much and come up with a list of household chores that could be done for money (amount yet to be negotiated), we went to the thrift store because [oh I don't know, Mabel wanted to, I had some stuff to drop off, Dash didn't want to but he got in the car anyway, something something].

Mabel picked a soft toy. And then another. And then a different one. And finally settled on a baby and a puppy. (Not real.) As she had given away an even bigger baby, that was okay with me. Then we perused the books. Dash wanted to find something on mechanics, maybe. We found a book on birds and one on reptiles and he professed to want them. Then we had this conversation:

Dash, looking at a slim 80′s paperback entitled “Shelving” with a beguiling cover picture of a drill and some plywood:  That looks really interesting.

Me, to myself: That looks incredibly boring. To Dash: I’m so glad you find everything interesting.

Him, insulted: I don’t!

Me: Okay, tell me something you’re not interested in.

Him, after a long cogitation:  Things about babies. And love.

He was delighted with his acquisitions and told me how much he loves educational things. He promised he’ll read them himself. He glanced through them in the car on the way home. At home, Mabel sat down happily to play with her new toys, giving them baths and introducing them to their new family. Dash ignored his new books and spent the next twenty minutes bugging his sister, and finally tying a string to an old toy car and pulling it around the house noisily.

I don’t know how the summer is going to go. I really don’t.

Begin as you mean to go on

No, don’t. Who could ever live up to that? The pressure’s killing me already.

“Begin as you would like to go on” would be more accurate. Begin well even if you know you’ll never keep it up in a million years. Begin as if someone was watching. Begin as if you’re blogging it for your very beautiful lifestyle and homeschooling blog that makes people want your life and think your children are always perfect because you’re doing it right.

Begin by going all out, and some little part of it might stick and become a bit of every day.

This brings me to summer vacation, which is breathing down my neck. In fact, it’s practically here. It is  here, I’m just hanging onto denial with my fingertips. Mabel finished last week; Dash has two more days.

(I can’t believe he still has spelling homework for a spelling test on the last day of school. When they added those extra four days to make up for all the snow cancellations earlier in the year, they decided to really get their money’s-worth out of them.)

I have so many half-baked plans for the summer. On Monday morning we’re going to sit down and have A Meeting. We’re going to Decide “Together” what we will do this summer. Mabel will wander off and start drawing a picture after about three minutes, but Dash will like it, and I will have some sort of buy-in from the kids on every rule I lay down thereafter. I have notions, like…

- While I work out (I’m doing the 30-day shred again, day 6 today, woot) every morning Dash will do his reading. Mabel will… get in the way, probably, and cause this plan to be amended, but I’m going to try to get them to go for it.

- We will specify exactly which two hours, and no more than two hours, daily will be accorded to tv, and then we’ll stick to it yes we will. If this involves some time when they get to watch My Little Pony  or CyberChase  on my computer, I will put up with it, because that way I have to clean up the kitchen.

- We will allot some time every day to housework, which the children will partake in, my control-freakish tendencies bedamned. (Not that I want to do the housework myself, but I get all twitchy when they start trying to clean things because it never works the way I want it to.)

- We will write a list of things “we” want to do, or parks we haven’t visited, museums, whatever. Dash will put “Make a lemonade stand” on this list, and I will try very hard not to shoot him down with my killjoy attitude to him and lemonade, which always involves me buying a lot of lemons and doing all the work. (I think he actually can do the work himself by now. But see above re. control freak.) (See this whole post, I suppose. Shush.)

- We will write a schedule (what? what sort of crazy woman am I?) wherein all the things we are going to do get their own time of day, and we will put meals and snacks in this schedule so that we leave the allotted 3 hours between each, just as the doctor ordered. Or we’ll work up to the 3-hour gap, because so far we haven’t been doing very well with that. Going cold turkey straight from a grazing lifestyle to a rigidly French-children one has not been a good or practicable thing this week. There has been much whining and asking and yelling and being turned down and finally helping of oneself to unauthorized snacks.

- We will teach ourselves Italian from the Internet. That’s a great plan, that is. I have great faith in that one working out well.

And then we’ll just go to the pool every damn day we can and maybe that will do the trick.

Whatever the trick is. The staying-sane-over-the-summer trick. That one.

Era’s end

Things here on the blog have been pretty Dash-centric lately, but I have to note the end of an era for Mabel. And for me. For all of us, really.

Mabel’s school year has finished. She’s done with nursery school for ever. She’s a rising kindergartener now, as they say in these parts.

Mabel aged almost 3

First day ever, three years ago

The nursery school is a co-op, which means all the parents help to run it. Or at least, we have a board and we all pitch in, but really it’s run by the very effective director and the administrator, without whom the whole place would be nothing. But when we decided seven years ago to send Dash there, it turned out to be a decision that would long resonate as a good one.

Mabel at a table

Last day I was in the classroom

I don’t doubt the children would both have got perfectly adequate preschool educations in many other places. But joining our co-op gave us a community, a place to belong right in the centre of the town (the school is located in the Community Center), physically and metaphorically. It also gave them a lovely play-based preschool education that I probably didn’t even understand about back when I chose it with no research further than asking my local friends and visiting on open day.

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Showing me the fish

So the week before last I helped in the classroom for the last time, last week I attended my last board meeting, Mabel had her little performance and graduation ceremony, she had her last “water day”, and this weekend I did my last ever cleaning shift for the school, as we cleaned it out preparatory for the summer.

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I asked her to pose and this is what I got (she’s dressed for water day, when they all get very wet)

When their teacher described them as “The class of 2027″ on Tuesday, it did give me pause for a moment, and on Sunday I won’t say I left the place for the last time without a backward glance; but it’s time to move on.

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Onward and upward, Little Miss Contrary

The cool kids

On the way back from the food specialist appointment , I had the most enlightening conversation with Dash. Not about food. More about a peek into his world as a second-grader.

He said, out of nowhere, “It seems I’ve been elected as the president of our club.”

“What club is that?” I asked, thinking it was something with the other kids who live on our road.

“In school. Not exactly a club… ”

Let me synopsize, because Dash’s thought processes tend to be roundabout and I had to worm it out of him and we were navigating the traffic and I can’t remember exactly how it went anyway. But the gist is that he and the other “not cool” kids in his class are a club, of some unofficial sort. I asked if the cool kids were also a club, and he said he thinks so, but he’s not sure.

He thinks he’s not entirely one of the uncool kids, but maybe somewhere in the middle. It seems to be settled in terms of who sits where in the cafeteria, and the cool kids never sit with Dash (or vice versa, I suppose). But once, one of them talked to him. He thinks. And he “mumbled” something back. (I don’t know why he didn’t say it. Maybe it’s not cool to say things when you could mumble them. Or maybe he didn’t know what to say, so he hedged his bets.)

I don’t remember being aware of cool vs. not cool when I was eight. Then again, we didn’t have a cafeteria in my primary school. Maybe it would have played out earlier if we had. I remember knowing who was cool (and that I wasn’t) by the time I was 10 or 11, when the cool girls were listening to Duran Duran and wearing stonewashed drainpipe jeans with zips on the bottom. But that seems like it was an oncoming-adolescence thing. Tweens hadn’t been invented in the 80s. I didn’t have to be a tween, so I didn’t have to decide if I was cool when I was eight.

He has to navigate his own way, and I’m confident he’ll find it. I can’t do it for him and I wouldn’t know where to start. We talked about how it’s okay to be not cool, but he was way ahead of me on that front; and about how even the cool kids mightn’t feel like they’re the cool kids all the time, and about how it’s good to talk to everyone whoever they are.

But I’m glad he’s got his little band of buddies, of the not-cool-kids. Proto- Freaks and Geeks , even. They’re really the coolest ones, everyone knows that.

Picky eater central

So we had the long-awaited meeting with the food specialist nutritionist doctor lady yesterday. I’m honestly not exactly sure what you’d call her, but she’s in the gastroenterology department of Children’s Hospital, and she seemed to be exactly the right person to talk to to begin with, so if you’re hunting up information on super picky eaters, that might be the sort of place you would start.

First of all, I didn’t get lost finding it, didn’t ding anyone else in the parking lot (I never have done, but if I’m going to do it, chances are it’ll happen at a vital moment like just before a medical appointment we’ve waited two months for) and got through the iron-clad security of the hospital front desk. So that augured well.

The doctor talked to Dash and to me for a long time, asking me about what he ate as a baby, right from the beginning of solids, and asking him about what he eats now, and how he feels when he thinks about trying new foods, and so on. She was totally non-judgemental and was very nice when Dash wandered off at tangents that seemed irrelevant but would eventually turn out to be actually quite pertinent, if you had the patience to listen all the way to the end. I didn’t have to get defensive at all – she really just wanted to know what he eats, not why I didn’t give him x, y, or z. She has a superpicky daughter herself, so she knew EXACTLY how life is.

There’s no question, she said in the end, that Dash is a supertaster, and probably a supersmeller as well. He has what they call “Oral Hypersensitivites” and “Sensory Food Aversions”. Which is just a fancy way of saying he’s super picky, but I like it because it means there’s a physical reason, and it’s not because I fed him oatmeal at 2pm instead of 2.30pm one day when he was 7 months old. Or whatever.

I’m probably not going to go round telling everyone “Oh, he’s a supertaster” because it does sound pretty poncy, actually, I realise. But it makes a difference to me. And, I think, to him. He’s not just not trying new foods because he’s a stubborn brat (me), or because he’s not as brave as other kids (him). It is actually legitimately harder for him. That’s something I’ve known at least since his sister started on solids, but it’s nice to hear it from an outside source.

The upshot is as follows; no quick fixes here, I’m afraid:

- We got a blood draw to check that he has no deficiencies that aren’t obvious to the naked eye. (Not that he has any deficiencies that are, either.)

- He needs to start taking a daily vitamin with iron. Extracting a promise that he would do that was not easy for the doctor, but he did agree eventually. (In case you didn’t know, the gummy vitamins don’t have iron, but the Flintstones Complete chewable ones do. He used to take a vitamin but started to refuse a while ago when one sort was too sugary and the other was too … I don’t know … something…)

- He needs to start eating with us at the table again. This has fallen off lately in spite of all my earlier great intentions, what with baseball games at 6pm twice a week, and other things. We will go back to the bigger table so he can sit as far away as possible from the smells of other food that assault his nose so terribly.

- Breakfast cereal with added vitamins and minerals (like the frosted mini-wheats he eats so many of) are actually very good because they’re probably the only place he’s getting those micronutrients at the moment. So, extra servings of mini-wheats all round!

- The doctor will set up an appointment with a psychologist who will take it from here, working with Dash to list what foods he’d like to try, which ones he thinks will be easiest and hardest, and then taking it back to first principles and starting with touching the food, getting familiar with it, finally licking it, etc.

(I do feel like in theory I should be able to do that myself instead of spending time and money having someone else do it. On the other hand, I’ve been trying to do it since he was a baby and clearly haven’t succeeded. Probably the mere fact that it’s someone other than a parent asking you will help. Not to mention the fact that I’m not, in actual fact, a food therapist.)

- Big thing: We have to leave a three-hour gap between meals/snacks. So he should come home from school at 3.30 and have a big snack. As much as he wants to eat in 15-30 minutes. And then nothing more until dinner at 6.30. I don’t know how I’m going to withstand the whining, but we’ll try hard to deal.

- Finally, the doctor made sure that Dash himself  wants to eat new foods. She said she gets plenty of parents who want their child to eat more foods, but until the child wants to, there’s no point in working with them. At 8, Dash is pretty young for this, apparently, but she was happy to go ahead and said the psychologist will tease out if he’s definitely ready or not ready at this point.

The reasoning here, she said, is that there’s a window between about 1 and 3 years when children are willing to taste new foods. From about 4 to 8 that window closes, and therapy won’t really help until they’re older and social reasons for wanting to eat a greater variety of foods kick in, like wanting to eat out with friends. I think Dash’s worries about what he’ll eat when we’re on holiday and his unwillingness to do camp this summer because he thinks he’ll be teased about his lunch fall into that category. He’s very aware that all the other kids eat more things than he does.

Dash eating an ice cream

Dash contemplates lemon custard ice cream, which he has no problems with, luckily.

Faking it

Yesterday in the car, Mabel made one of those piercingly self-aware comments she is sometimes prone to.

“Sometimes my voice sounds confident, but inside I’m feeling shy.”

This girl. She slays me.

And I was really glad she’d said it because it was a great opening to tell her something I wished I’d known sooner, something I want to become one of her mantras.

“That’s great, I said. “Because if you sound confident, and you pretend you’re confident, you’ll turn out to be more confident. Fake it till you make it.”

(I may not have said that last part. I didn’t want to confuse her with unfamiliar idioms. But we talked about feeling shy and looking shy, and how nobody has a face that looks shy – she thought she did – but if you act shy by hiding behind your grownup or not wanting to talk, then people might think you’re shy. But also, it’s okay to be shy, of course…)

Later on we went swimming and found some friends at the pool. Mabel wanted to tell her friend’s mom about The Princess Bride , but she wanted me to do the telling.

“Remember what we talked about this morning?” I asked her. “About acting confident even if you don’t feel it? Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

And she waded out from behind my back and went up to her friend’s mum and asked her straight out, without so much as an introduction to the out-of-left-field topic, “Have you seen The Princess Bride ?” They had a great old chat, and my friend remarked that Mabel was very talkative today.

(I suppose for other people sometimes she’s quiet. It’s not a side of her I see too often.)

Mabel running through long grass

Just like Little House on the Prairie, right?