Writing Life

I often feel selfish when I'm at the computer--something I already use excessively for my job--and am writing at home. I shush the kids, and decline invitations to make cupcakes with them. I leave to go to writing groups on school nights. I leave for longer periods to go on fabulous writing retreats with various colleagues. I have frequently questioned the parental economics of this. Sometimes I feel guilty, other times defiant, and still other times just lost in a piece of writing and indifferent to the environment.

But this week the conversation at our house shifted from the usual ("but why won't you come and do X with us?"; "have you written that story I wanted you to yet?") to something new ("I want to write a story on the computer like you"; "I want to start a writing group").

I was quite happy to finish up my story and open a new file so my daughter could get typing. She managed two paragraphs, and kept having insights through to bedtime. She couldn't get to sleep with the excitement of planning a writing group at school. In order to get that started, we talked through possible objections her teacher might have (available time during the school day, equal access to everyone who wanted to join). Daughter made extensive notes about things a writing group at school could accomplish. And then we ALL had to get up 30 minutes earlier, and do everying in our morning routine 30 minutes ahead, in order to get to school the minute it opened and talk it over with her teacher.

By the time we finished proposing what Daughter had in mind, her lovely teacher had already begun to think of ways to implement the idea: perhaps when they each finished their research paragraphs they could go to the back room and begin if they wanted to? And later that day, several did. Daughter came home and told us that several kids in her class had decided to do a collective story, beginning with some illustrations "to get character ideas down."

I have done a couple of writer sessions at school in my Son's class, and even met one on one with students from his class to work on story maps during school time, at his teacher's request. But with my Daughter's newfound interest in wanting to be a writer herself, I'm enjoying a new sensation along with my writing time: lack of guilt.

It's early days, but I like Daughter's decision: if she can't get me away from the computer, she might as well join me here. She also suggested that she and her brother blog their travels later this year when we go overseas. We already set up the site. It looks like a fun way to write, to journal their trip for archival purposes, and also for them to stay in touch with their friends and classmates for the six months they will be gallivanting about. I see tussles over computer access in my future, but I'm okay with that.

Classical Studies

So, this was a reminisce about two great teachers from my past, in a "creative non-fiction" frame of mind. I hope you like it!

I've only worn a toga to class for two teachers in my life. The first was my Classical Studies teacher for two years in high school. With Mrs. Evans, at an all-girls high school, we read Homer's Odyssey. All of it. We learned the architecture of the Parthenon, in Greece. To be fair, they were on the national exams curriculum, but discussing Plato wasn't. I'm pretty sure that just came up in conversation.

Mrs. Evans had a dry sense of humor. That epiphany was suspiciously late in coming, given that it occurred at some point during the evening meal one night in the school library while we students were serving our teachers their food. The teachers were reclining on one elbow on cushions on the floor, and eating Roman-style. We had dates, and honey. I'm sure we had other food to eat as wel, but they all had to be Roman recipes. Mrs. Evans sent a recipe book home with us, and our mothers had fits in kitchens all over town.

As a Brownie Girl Scout later in life I had earned a "Hostessing" merit badge by helping Brown Owl to cook scones, make tea, and then serve the results to parents. I remember carrying a tray through a swinging door in the basement of the church where we met. I was terrified that the teapot would slosh, or smash, and either way I'd be robbed of a merit badge. I think fancy may have supplied the cup and saucer later, but the teapot was certainly there.

For Mrs. Evans' Roman dinner we all wore togas: teachers and students alike. Maybe that was another reason why our mothers had fits, but I don't think it would have occurred to anyone to get up to anything salacious in the school library. If they did, I never heard about it.

I remember that if it was hard to wait tables as a Brownie, ten years later it was harder still in the complete absence of tables. I remember clamping my teeth together and sweating as I tried to serve teachers who were lounging on the floor. Surely I would spill something on a teacher? And if by some intervention of the gods I didn't, then I would destroy a cushion or (worse) incur the wrath of the Harpie librarian by getting honey on the library carpet. Mrs. Evans laughed a lot that night, but all of it was kindly meant. I would have walked on lava for her.

So I signed up for Roman Studies my freshman college year. The professor, Norm Austin, was a Rhodesian who had published a book on Roman spying techniques. He was so popular his classes met in the drama lab to fit us all in. Inspired by the setting, he crouched, leapt, and pantomimed every doomed elephant getting Hannibal across the Alps. From Norm, I learned what a Pyrrhic victory was and so have been able to have many of them since.

It turned out I wasn't well suited to learning history: dates looked too much like math and I've always been more literate than numerate. But it was for Norm that I donned a toga and roman sandles to present a tutorial, and it was from Mrs. Evans that I borrowed the toga. (The roman sandles were part of the high school summer uniform, so they were not hard to come by and may have provided some of the inspiration.) If I would have walked on lava for Mrs. Evans, I would change in the bathrooms and walk the halls of the university in a toga for Norm.

He referred to that memorable incident often in the years I visited his office as an undergrad and later a grad student returning to visit. He died of cancer just after I got my first teaching job. I haven't worn a toga for anyone lately, but I often think of him talking about the Roman army as "these boys," as if it all happened recently and their exploits just came up in casual conversation. I haven't had a student don a toga for me, or feed me dinner while I recline on cushions, but I don't teach Roman Studies so it wouldn't really be appropriate.

Still, I've seen the occasional glint of fervor in a student eye every now and then, and some students have gone several extra miles on a project. One group of my students convinced the university to turn on the lights of the baseball diamond so they could do a night shoot for a class. I know I have Mrs. Evans and Norm Austin to thank for that.

Why Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late is a Palpable Hit

This book is justly famous and wonderful. And here's why.

Daughter, far past bedtime: Is there another meaning for "lean." Not like "lean on me," but "fat and lean"?
Me: Yes. Now go to sleep.
Daughter: I'm lean. Brother is lean. You're... kind of lean.
Me: Go to sleep.
Daughter: Dad... Well, he isn't fat, exactly. But he isn't lean, either.
Me: Enough already.
Daughter: Hey! I'm asking some pretty good questions here!

[Still Later.]
Daughter: Did Brother's tummyache get better?
Me: Go to sleep.
Daughter: I know! [sitting up in bed, eureka style] I'll make him a Get Well Card!


Here, on the other hand, is why there should also be another Mo Willems treasure, called Don't Let the School Give Up Early. (Or if you prefer, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Summer Vacation.)
Note, sent home this week from third grade. "We have a lot of activities going on this week! Tuesday, AR points Pizza Party! Wednesday, Reading Celebration! Trip to Mini-Golf. Thursday: Wings party! Health Party! and AR Points, Ice Cream Party! Next week I have attached a number of notes for activities. Monday is a school-wide luau. Please send beach towels marked with your child's name. Also, I will take our class fishing next week. Please return permission slips!

Please help your child stay focused in school this week as we have several tests for grade cards."

Work It, Baby

Last weekend's lemonade stand was such a success (home made! hand squeezed! made with simple syrup! best in town...) that the kids decided to reprise. Bigger. Better. Three times the number of lemons! They were assisted in this by friendly neighbor having yard sale who invited them to set up in her yard.

The kids have had lots of teachable moments. They are now investment savvy and profit addicted. They understand much about selling consumables (eg: don't pick your nose while making. Absolutely don't pick your nose while selling).

I'd say, based on these two comments, they are now cresting the learning curve.

Me, to Son: Can you get the other pitcher?
Son: Could you? I need to be here, looking cute.

Customer, to Daughter: Here. And keep the change!
Daughter: Oh, we will.

It Was a Young Newbery Back Then!

I'm working on a new novel. As background reading I reread Scott O'Dell's Island of the Blue Dolphins, for the first time in *cough, indistinct* years. In the process, I re-loved these things about it: the stakes are high; understatement does much of the work; action and pathos blend so well. But I also loved that I could still hear the voice of my school teacher who read it aloud to us, a chapter an afternoon. I don't remember his name any more, but I do remember that I was furious he wouldn't let me take the book home and just finish it. He knew I'd bring it back. He knew I'd read it overnight. And (being a teacher, I guess) he knew it would be better if I had to wait. It was torture to have to wait for a single chapter a day, but I loved it.

I had eye surgery when I was ten or so, twice. As an avid reader, I also remember being frustrated at not being allowed to read. And I do remember my mother reading to me from Enid Blyton's Famous Five series, which was my fave. And I remember how mad I was when she had to go make a start on dinner, instead of reading another chapter. We found out this morning that, like Son, Daughter also needs glasses, and prismatic lenses, as we suspected. (Hey, at least they'll both appear to be bookish types!) I'm glad there are so many alternatives to eye surgery these days, after *cough, indistinct* years.

Still, I enjoyed Daughter's take at swim classes this week: I can't see. I need gobbles.

Magic!

Son tromped all over Silver Dollar City yesterday refusing to spend his pocket money on Frivolous Items like those his sister bought: slushees, and lollipops. Instead, he remained determined that there was a Magic Shop he remembered from last year, and We Had To Find It.

Won over by his persistence, we backtracked through the entire place, reading maps and getting lost, because that is how one arrives at a Magic Shop. I swear it wasn't there when first we passed by that street.

The resident Store Owner, a Magician named Mark, was very taken with Son's dedication to the craft and his patient deliberations over products for sale, and suggested The Best Buy. Son deliberated further, and agreed on the purchase.

Mark then took Son aside to teach him a Magicians Only trick, going so far as to turn away a customer who came close enough to see. (Being the anxious/responsible sort of mother, I hovered in the doorway, because I don't know Magician Mark.)

Mark said if Son practices and shows him a trick or two on our next visit, Mark will include him in his live show (outside the Magic Shop). Son is ecstatic.

We were waylaid home by severe weather, having to hide out in a bookstore (my choice, of course) until 11pm when the sirens were all turned off before continuing our drive home. Both children were of course up early, wanting to work on their tricks.

I've discovered the best part about having Magician's Apprentices for children: parents are simply not allowed behind the scenes. So I'm looking forward to much time with children behind closed doors working on their Magic Skills, showing up every now and then to be admired!

Didn't See That Coming, Either

Daughter to me, as I'm lying in bed, reading: We're going to play.
Me: I'm snuggling.
Daughter: We can play Snuggle, then. But you have to pick a color. I'm white snuggle.
Me: I'm red snuggle.
Daughter, lying across my tummy: Mmm. I like snuggling. Now, a hawk picks us up, and flies us to the nest, ready to be eaten.

**
And in other news, I am wading through many pounds of paper sent home from elementary school over the last week or two. Son's homework includes a book about Godzilla in Australia fighting a monster kangaroo ("dedicated to my grandmother who lives in Australia, who gave me the insperation" [sic]).

And also, a list of proverbs to be creatively completed by Son. Herewith, a couple:

You can lead a horse to water but... not a bird.
Don't bite the hand that... gives you stuff.
A penny saved is... better than none.
The pen is mightier than the... eraser.

And So It Begins...

Children slaved over valentines cards for their respective classes last night.

Daughter's mishap caused tears (hers) frustration (mine) and jubilation (ours): when I turned my back for two seconds she decided not just to write her teacher's name on giant, hersheys heart shaped box of chocs, but to open said box, and rearrange all of the contents, with her hands. She cried, I sighed, and then we all ate chocolate. I know where we can get more.

Son (second grade, you will recollect) announced that he was giving a valentine to a girl in another class: "because it's been all over the school for two years that she likes me, mom, and this will keep her under control."

???

Those Blasted, Pasted Tenses!

Daughter, contrite: I'm sorry! I spillded it, and it leakded out, so then I calleded you right away!

Tomorrow is my first day auditing Children's Literature, as taught by the Curriculum and Instruction department on campus. I'm so excited! I had to rearrange the schedule (now hubby will take Son and Daughter to school 3 mornings a week, for which I will do 4 of the daily pickups after school) but now get to go to class three days a week. My expedited (cheaper) textbook arrived today, and I have never been so excited to start reading a textbook. I'm looking forward to the whole topic presented from the other side of the curtain: teachers-in-training, and early childhood development.

I will have to jog from that class to the two I teach back-to-back immediately following, but at this stage it all seems completely worthwhile.

The Two Year (k-12) Itch

Son, eating breakfast: I'm not going to school today. Yesterday, I quit.
Me: No you didn't.
Son: I... retired?
Me: Nope.
Son: Oh! I dropped out!
Me: NO, YOU DIDN'T.

Shakespeare in Love

So Midsummer Night's Dream was gorgeous, in every respect. My two carried themselves beautifully, bien sur! Daughter and her BFF, another 5 year old, wooed and won the audience easily. Son was on stage a bit more as the changeling boy, and also did well. We (I, and mom of daughter's BFF) spent the first three of the four productions (and all rehearsals) in the green room, getting the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern view of the production. It was lovely to be out front and actually see it all from the flip side. It was great spectacle.

And now, we have bona fide theater brats. This minute, they are creating a three-ringed circus, in PJs. Daughter is tech designer and props manager. She has taped elaborate cutouts from construction paper to the legs of chairs tipped upside down. Son has balloons, and a stick. He is trying to kick balloons from a handstand position. He says all he needs now is a hula hoop, and fire, and he'll have a ring of flame... I think they are applause junkies, but have locked away all sources of fire.

And a thank you to wonderful teachers: Mrs G, the kindergarten teacher of our two five year olds (and both their older brothers) who came on Friday night and stayed to adore them for ages after the show, which is why we adore her too; Mrs S and Mrs T, the second- and fourth- grade teachers of both brothers, who also came and were generous with their time. The kids felt so proud to have their own comp tickets to bestow, and felt even prouder when their teachers came. Thank you so much for giving so much!