From the Mouths of Babes

From Duncan about our upcoming visit from Paul: "After he's gone can we start messing up the house again?"

Rituals

I have read a lot about the importance of building rituals into the lives of children, and of course I give it a lot of thought in my down time and think about how we might do it in our house, but I never act on any of my thoughts.

A few weeks ago, Duncan asked me what was for dinner, and I answered "Grilled cheese and soup."  "YES!" he exclaimed.  I asked him why grilled cheese and soup were so exciting. We all have our favorite meals, but no one had ever discussed this one. "That means tomorrow is pizza day, and then it's the weekend."

Several years ago, probably before Duncan was born, we used to have grilled cheese and soup on Thursdays because I had a meeting and got home late from work. It was a meal we could throw on the table quickly and not have to think much about. I resurrected it recently as a staple; even though I don't currently have any late meetings, we're all pretty wiped out by Thursday, and this meal fits the bill. I didn't really think much about it. I felt like it was a cop out to put it on the menu each week, actually, but it was working. Now, when I put grilled cheese on the menu, I realize it has become an important ritual for all of us that helps bridge the time between Wednesday and the weekend, and helps Duncan process the path of days through the week. Without any of us thinking it, grilled cheese became a ritual.

And so I head off home to heat up the carrot soup (that he still doesn't know has carrots in it - "I don't LIKE cooked carrots!", toast some cheese, and ponder the wisdom of my 4 year old.

Bring Your Favorite Book Day

Since before Duncan was born, we have filled his life and our house with books. When I was pregnant, we read to him every night; we started buying children's books, and we even visited a book signing so that Mo Willems could sign our copy of Knuffle Bunny. We have scarcely missed a night of bedtime stories, and I doubt a day has gone by that he hasn't had at least one story read to him. Duncan's collection includes beautifully illustrated books, like Kitten's First Full Moon, by Kevin Henkes, Jamie's copy of Where the Wild Things Are, and a copy of Goodnight Moon that Jamie bought for me before we were married. There are alphabet books, counting books, and award winners. More recently, we have been collecting chapter books, such as The Magic Treehouse and Junie B. Jones and my childhood copy of The House at Pooh Corner. Duncan has a love of books that would make any parent proud, and he delights (and also often frustrates) us be saying "Now read THIS book to me" as soon as we have finished the previous one. It is clear that we value the art of books and the act of reading.

So imagine my pride when Duncan chose Scooby-Doo and the Thanksgiving Terror to take to school today for Bring Your Favorite Book Day.

Like many other aspects of parenting, I am learning to validate his interests and realize that while he appreciates all the quality literature we have brought into his life, he also needs to develop his own unique identity. I'm sure that Scooby-Doo will be long gone when Duncan passes Knuffle Bunny Too on to his own children. At least I can hope.

Like Giving Birth

This is what I've been doing for the last two weeks.

It may not look like much to you except a group of insane women who are about to go over the edge, but this is our latest Associate level Orton-Gillingham training class and the three trainers.  Training teachers is not my favorite thing to do. If you know anything about Orton-Gilllingham, it is sort of a sacrilege for me to say this. I achieved the level of Fellow in the Academy of Orton-Gillingham Practitioners and Educators, ostensibly, so I would be qualified to train teachers; the truth is, I would rather be teaching students. I'm an introvert, I don't like speaking in front of groups, and the whole thing leaves me in a constant state of anxiety. Now that I'm on the other end of it though (the course ended today), it's actually pretty great.

These women came into the course knowing little about dyslexia and about as much about the English as an average English speaker (i.e., not really enough to teach it in a logical, sequential way to a person who has a language-based learning disability). During the first few days, everything was new, from the structure of the brain and a working definition of dyslexia to the vowel and consonant sounds, six main kinds of syllables, and three rules of syllable division. And then just about when they worked their way through those challenges and had one nice day where we worked on lesson planning and no new content...we slammed them with everything they need to know to teach writing and advanced aspects of the language. By the time they were good and crazy (see photo above from Tuesday), we taught them about psychological assessment, gave them a fictitious student to plan for, and made them teach a lesson in front of us.  Mwah ha ha.  And then we gave them a test...and now they're gone.

But here's why it's a bit like giving birth. We have all already forgotten all the crazy stuff that happened in the middle. I have that warm and fuzzy feeling inside like I have helped to create something magical that I will now get to nurture as these people take on students, and we mentor them from afar. When we hugged good-bye and promised to keep in touch, and people talked of returning to take the next course, they were proud of everything they were able to learn in two weeks. I forgot all about the anxiety-ridden nightmares, sleepless nights, and early wake-ups of the last two weeks (do you doubt I have anxiety?), and all the juggling of course content, daily quizzes, the constant barrage of questions, books, materials, snacks, videos, tuition receipts...but I digress. The point is, I let go of all that and caught myself thinking "THIS is pretty cool." These people came together with a common purpose, bonded during the time they spent together, and are going out into the world to further the mission of teaching people with dyslexia. They will pay it forward in ways I can't begin to imagine.

I'm sort of glad that I won't have to organize this course again until next June, but I think I will suffer a little bit of postpartum depression. Good-bye Debbie, Alison, Nonette, Margaret, Melisca, and Chere. Thanks for coming and being a part of the magic we make at Kildonan. I hope you will love teaching dyslexic children as much as I do.

P.S.  My hair looks insane.  Don't know what that's about.

Eye Candy

In the time since I wrote last, I developed a little writer's block. Although there is plenty to write about, the second half of the summer seems too broad to tackle. It's not as if we really did THAT much, but sitting here on August 27 and looking back feels like standing at the bottom of a very tall hill and looking up. Each time I think about writing, I give up before I begin. But, as I tell my students, you have to start somewhere. Just write. So I'll begin my return with this lovely picture of the summer dishes in the drainer.

I didn't need new Fiesta Ware; I had at least 8 place settings, but somehow, they were all dark, wintry colors. Serving the summer's bounty on cobalt blue and persimmon seemed wrong somehow. I bought a few dinner plates from eBay in lovely summer colors, and I was really happy when I saw them lined up in the drainer. Even if I can't be eating corn-on-the-cob on the picnic table under the oak tree, looking at the pink, yellow, and turquoise plates makes me giggle a little, like sunshine.  They feel like bare feet in the summer grass, and I will enjoy them until snow is on the ground!

Happy Birthday America

Thank goodness, America keeps having birthdays. I may complain about the governance from time to time, but I'm really glad to be able to live in this fine country. This year, we returned to the Clermont Historic Site for our Fourth of July celebration. It was hot as blazes, and we were all a bit droopy, but we spent a nice afternoon in some historic pursuits. Duncan was again transfixed by the fife and drum band.

We watched some children's games, like the three legged race and a cherry spitting contest, and Duncan tried out some historic games. We watched a rifle demonstration on the bank of the river, and luckily no one set the very dry grass ablaze.

Duncan and I decorated fans at the craft table, and they came in handy in the heat. After we all ate Italian ice, we enjoyed free ice cream provided by Stewarts. Hey, it was the only way to keep cool. 

We enjoyed some more music and storytelling with Tom Hanford.

When it was dinner time, Duncan insisted on leading us off to the perfect picnic spot he had picked out. We were afraid it was a wild goose chase, but we got to enjoy this view with dinner. (It did have the added attraction of the train tracks below. We watched several trains rumble by while we were eating.)

And this guy watched over us while we ate:

It was a nice, summer afternoon. I do think we've worn out the entertainment value of Clermont's Fourth of July so we should start thinking about what to do next year, but it was a beautiful backdrop to celebrate our country's independence.

Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater

Unless you're the kind of "sneak vegetables into your loved ones" freak that I am, it may have escaped you that there's a pumpkin shortage going on. Seriously. When I embarked on my project of baking random sweets full of vegetables (in an effort to combat the effect of Duncan's poor attention span on his nutritional intake), I researched a lot of recipes. I've accumulated recipes for zucchini, beets, carrots, sweet potatoes, and who knows what else. I was sort of saving pumpkin for a desperate moment. Since I buy it in cans still, it's always there. But I went through this phase last fall when I loved pumpkin and gorged on pumpkin beer, pumpkin coffee, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin cookies, and pumpkin muffins. At the beginning of June I went looking for a new muffin to try for Duncan and thought I'd break out the sweet potato muffin recipe, which calls for canned pumpkin. I thought, why not? I was excited because I had kind of missed the pumpkin. Easy peasy.

I couldn't find pumpkin anywhere in Stop and Shop. I thought, it's a big store, we're in a hurry, I'll get it next time. I popped into the local Freshtown to pick up a can. I KNOW where the pumpkin is in Freshtown, but there was none to be found. I looked in Stop and Shop again, to no avail. On my fourth attempt, I actually asked someone in the store to help me with the pumpkin. The nice boy walked me to where the pumpkin should be (the Jell-O and pie filling section, by the way), and the shelf was empty. He apologized profusely when he saw the sign, which read "This item is temporarily unavailable." Jokingly, I said to Jamie "Either there's some kind of pumpkin shortage going on, or everyone in the tri-state area is baking pumpkin pies for the summer."

On a whim, I typed "pumpkin shortage" into my web browser that night. Low and behold, there is a shortage of canned pumpkin. (I did read several articles from reputable news sources, but go ahead. Try it yourself). The growing conditions for the last two summers (overly wet and cool) resulted in lower pumpkin harvests and reduced production of canned pumpkin. In fact, people have even been selling cans of pumpkin on eBay. (It's true.  I looked. I did not, however buy. I'm not CRAZY. Just touched. Special, maybe. Crazy, no.) Mystery solved. I'm kind of sad because I really do enjoy pumpkin. I'm also disappointed that I didn't have the sense to roast my own pumpkin, like SOME people I know (Matt and Courtney...who probably still have last year's pumpkin in their freezer).  But there you have it. If you were thinking pumpkin pie, think again. And if you happen to live in an area lucky enough to still carry canned pumpkin, pick me up a can, would you?