Family

Howard staggered in the door looking gray and exhausted. A massive, slow-moving customs line made him miss his flight home from Canada yesterday. “You really need to be here 3 hours ahead of your flight.” The customs man said. The next morning, after an additional hotel night and an o’dark-thirty cab ride, less irritable customs agents greeted Howard with “Wow, you’re here early.”

That was all in the past. He was home and I hugged him tight. He smelled of airports. I sat in the kitchen while he fixed himself french toast and bacon to go with the Canadian Maple Syrup he bought in the duty free store. He was too tired to tell me stories, so I was the one talking. I picked my words carefully. Nothing could hint of things-for-Howard-to-do, that would merely depress him. I spoke of tasks I’d completed and quiet things which had happened at home while he was gone.

Food consumed, Howard headed up to bed. I swiped my finger in the maple syrup as I watched him go. Amazing flavor, it had aromatics and connotations. I’m pretty sure it was the cheap stuff which gets pawned off on tourists. I wonder what the premium would taste like. Howard slept and I finished my work for the day. Life is better with him in the house.

***

I was headed down the stairs for a restroom break, when I heard the lawnmower start in the front yard. I about faced and dashed back up. Gleek was out there with the mower, apparently a little too excited for her first lawn mowing job. At 10 and completely untrained in lawn mower safety, I was not ready to leave Gleek and a running mower unsupervised.

The mower sputtered to a stop before I got half way up the stairs. Gleek came dashing into the house.
“I started it!” Her grin took up her whole face.
Scolding withered in the face of her joyful triumph. “Yes, but don’t start the mower until I’m with you.”
“Okay!” she answered and bounced bak out the door.

I mowed the edges for her. I intend to do that all summer. I like the flowers in my beds to grow more than two inches tall. Then it was Gleek’s turn. I walked right behind her for the first time round the lawn. Then I sat on the steps and watched my little girl manage the big mower. She was handling it like a pro before she was done. She did have to give a little jump in order to put enough weight on the handle to turn the thing. Straight. Jump. Turn. Straight. Jump. Turn. It made me smile, particularly as the circles got smaller.

When she was done, Gleek was ready to do the back yard too. That was Link’s job. Before the end of summer, she’ll probably be tired of mowing, but for now she loves it.

***

“Look on the front, see there’s a button which says stop/eject. Push that.” Kiki said.
Patch peered at the front of the VCR, a video tape held uncertainly in his other hand. He found the button and reacted with delight when a tape emerged from the machine.
“We’ll have to rewind that one later, but for now put in the other tape.”
Patch put down the first tape and looked at the second, turning it left then right.
“Bring it here.” Said Kiki. She reached over the sleeping cat on her lap. The cat was the reason that Patch was being given verbal instructions on this strange technology. I was too amused at the process to interfere. At eight years old, he had only known DVDs. The idea that a movie could be contained in this clunky box called a tape felt strange to him.
“See this arrow? Put that end in first.”
Patch complied and grinned when the VCR pulled the tape from his fingers. Then Kiki talked him through fast forwarding through the interviews at the beginning. They didn’t want to watch George Lucas talk about his movies, they wanted to see the movie.

The tape was as old as Kiki. We bought the set when the movies were advertised in their original format for the last time, before things were digitally tinkered with. Han shoots first, and the Death Star explosion is small. Perhaps someday our VCR would break, or one of the tapes would break. Then we would buy the films again.

Patch pushed play and bounced over to the couch to sit next to Kiki. The opening strains of music swelled a deep nostalgia inside me. I stood and watched too. Just for a minute, before going back downstairs to finish my accounting.

Canada has decided to keep Howard for another day. Or rather, the massive line for US customs prevented him from boarding his plane on schedule. The Ad Astra folks were marvelous. They retrieved him from the airport and offered to pay for his extra night’s hotel stay. I’m glad he is in a place where there is a chance he can relax and visit with good people. I’m sad it will take him that much longer to get home.

On the home front we successfully navigated our second Sunday dinner where the kids were required to assist in the cooking. Link was in charge and I had ample opportunities to teach him how to read a recipe. It is not as intuitive as I would have previously assumed. The resulting meal was a big pan of lasagna. We’ve still got 3/4 of it. I’ll have to see if it freezes well. I think the next time we do lasagna, I’d like to find a recipe which is lighter on the meat and includes vegetables. Next week Gleek will be our chef.

The non-chef kids have assignments as well. One is tasked with helping clean up. One sets the table. The last one has to sit down and plan the food for the next week. I’m well aware that this schedule is only the tiniest of baby steps toward teaching my kids self-sufficiency in the kitchen, but at least we’re shuffling in a good direction. I don’t have the energy or focus to require anything more rigorous. Hopefully this plan will prove to be one that settles in rather than disappears.

This week is our Spring break. For the first time in 3 years I am actually looking forward to having my kids home for the week. I managed to clear the business calendar so that I have time to calmly plan fun things to do. Howard’s life is a bit crazy this month, but mine is not. I think that because mine is not, Howard’s will be simply busy instead of crazy-stressful. I’m doing what I can on that front.

I think it is going to be a good week.

My house is full of sword wielding boys. twas not supposed to rain on party day, else I’d not have put ‘bring a sword’ on the invites.

It turns out that 10 boys with padded swords do not need a party plan. They just need melee room. Will intervene with pizza before tears.

Serving soda to 10 boys is surprisingly similar to bar tending as seen in films. “two orange/root beer blends and a 7up!”

All boys will be disarmed before presents and cake. No exceptions.

Bugs Bunny is always a great way to end a party.

Once again I discover that my favorite part of kid birthday parties is the quiet afterward.

Every six months our church broadcasts a General Conference. Over a weekend there are 10 hours of prepared talks on various doctrinal subjects. The leaders of the church prepare these talks on a variety of subjects some encouraging, some admonishing. The membership of the church are invited to listen either in person, on TV, on Radio, or over the internet. For the Saturday sessions Howard and I listen on the Radio. On Sunday we hook a computer up to our big TV and gather the family for Conference. This is when the Festival of Yarn begins.

The kids rejoiced when I plunked the tub full of yarn, scissors, and crochet hooks down on the floor. “You got new yarn!” someone cried. Yes I got new yarn. I remember last Conference when we had to argue about yarn colors. The kids each grabbed a skein and as the choir began the opening hymn, we began our crafts.

Sitting still for two hours at a stretch is a challenge for young children, even in their own home. I always tried to plan activities for them to do while they were listening. We bounced from one choice to another until I dusted off my old crochet hooks and yarn. I made all sorts of creations using crochet when I was young. None of them were particularly useful, but I liked making them. My rhythmic motions and the growing granny square drew the attention of my kids. Soon they wanted to make things with yarn too. I handed out what yarn I had and the creativity began.

This year both Link and Patch tried their hands at crochet, but defaulted to making long finger knitted ropes. Gleek made several small crocheted pieces, none of any particular shape. She also made yarn flowers, yarn dolls, and a finger knitted rope. Kiki worked a little on the knitting project which she’s had since she was 11. After awhile she switched to a school painting project. Patch took a break from finger knitting to make yarn constructions using knots. I made granny squares. Howard worked on assembling miniatures at the table behind us. Our hands were busy and our ears were open.

“I like Conference.” Patch said.
“Me too.” Said Gleek.

I looked around the room. I knew what Patch and Gleek were not able to articulate. The atmosphere in the room was calm and cozy. We were all together in a way that seldom happens in our crazy scattered lives. For two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon we were together listening to words which helped us think about how to be better people. It was lovely.

I made five granny squares in those four hours. We already have a dozen from conferences past. They’re made of random colors, because I use which ever colors the kids don’t want at the moment. Some day I will have enough squares to crochet together into a blanket. It will be a crazy patchwork of mismatching sizes and colors. It will be perfect, a representation of all those conferences together, when we stitched together things far more important than yarn. At the end of the final conference session, everyone tossed their yarn projects– finished or not–into the tub. I’ll put it away downstairs until next Conference when we will have another festival of yarn.

I have notes for three blog entries which I scribbled down over the weekend. I wrote notes for two more on Monday. It was delightful. I loved the fact that my brain was spontaneously percolating more than one blog entry at a time. That used to happen, but hasn’t for months. Then I stumbled across Tuesday. It wasn’t Tuesday’s fault really. Nothing inherent to the day was problematic. I just woke up with a sense of stress and sadness. Sometimes that happens. I tried to muddle through anyway. Then in the afternoon, Tuesday did provide new food for thought. I’ve been thinky with it ever since. Gleek was accepted to a gifted program which will require a two year commitment and a transfer to a different school.

I am a graduate of GATE (Gifted And Talented Education) a program that was run by my California school district in an effort to meet the needs of kids who learned things really quickly. Being one of the Honors kids put me with a group of peers who valued school and learning. I made great friends and had a good experience. Towards the end of high school I noticed that there were kids not in the Honors classes who were every bit as smart as I was. They just didn’t quite make the cut due to class size limitations. That was when I first questioned whether test-to-get-in gifted programs are a good thing.

I’m good at learning new things very quickly. My brain picks up information and stores it even when I’m not consciously trying to learn. Know what I’m not naturally good at? Following through. I’m happy to make a herculean effort for a project, but I frequently fail at do-a-little-every-day type tasks. In school, I was great at learning, but awful at studying. I’m told this is common to gifted people. Which is fine, so long as the word “gifted” is being used as a descriptor for a particular pattern of brain function. Instead it is often used to mean “special” “smarter” “better” and is held up like some golden prize that one must simply be born with. I think this reverence comes in part because those who think in careful steps are in awe of intuitive leaps. I am in awe of the people who know how to work steadily on a single thing until they get really good at it. That story about the tortoise and the hare is true and gifted people get to play the part of the hare.

This gifted program that Gleek may be entering, Kiki was in it six years ago. Now Kiki says it was really good for her and that she is glad she went. I have vivid memories of some very hard months. It was only after we emerged from the program that I read several articles which made clear to me the fact that whether or not a person is gifted or talented, the people who succeed are the ones who work hard. That was when I learned to praise and reward effort no matter whether the effort succeeded at what it set out to do. I’ve learned so much since Kiki was in the program. I am better prepared to handle it. Yes I do have to handle it. This is a program which expects parental support. It is a high-intensity program. For that reason I have reservations about committing to it. But then, Gleek is a high-intensity person. It is possible that this is exactly what she needs. I know for certain that the school she’s been attending isn’t right for her anymore.

In the article I linked yesterday there is a phrase “narrative in the public discussion.” One of the things I don’t like about gifted programs is the narratives which surround them. “These kids are special” is in the air. That is often followed by an admonishment to the kids that because they are gifted they have a responsibility to live up to their potential. The problem with that narrative is that it only sets a high bar without showing the kids how to reach it. If they don’t hit it on the first try, it feels hopeless to them. Instead these kids, the ones who learn by intuitive leap, need a narrative which talks about the value of work. They don’t need lofty goals, they need practice pacing themselves toward far goals. The program is structured in such way that kids can learn pacing there, but when Kiki was in it the narrative was off. Of course the only way for me to affect the public narrative on giftedness is to participate in the discussion. I can be the voice which says that we all have things to learn and it doesn’t matter how fast we learn them. Education is not a race. There is no prize for getting there first.

We will probably accept the placement for Gleek. We have a couple of weeks to decide and a few more factors to weigh, but early indicators point that way. This is yet another of those parenting decisions which I must make without knowing what all the repercussions will be.