Family

Twelve girls sat in a circle on the floor of my family room. The carpet down there is green, which any girl with a good imagination can imagine into a lovely lawn for a spring-time picnic. The girls were decked out in dresses and eating dainty sized treats from plastic plates. It was Gleek’s Anne of Green Gables birthday party, and everyone was participating fully in the spirit of the event. There was much discussion about being lady-like and What Things Were Really Like For Anne, as the girls ate gold fish crackers, PBJ sandwiches, mini fig newtons, and Kit Kat bars. It was the dainty afternoon-tea feel of the food that was important not true period-accuracy. Gleek sat among the girls, glowing with happiness.

“10 is like the perfect age.” Gleek said to me one night as she was carefully tucking her blanket around the sides of the bed. Blanket tucking was an essential ritual before crawling under the blanket to go to sleep. “10 year olds can do big kid stuff and still play. It is kind of like the middle.”
“That’s why it’s called tween, because it is between being a kid and a teenager.” I said handing her a stuffed animal.
“Tween.” Gleek said, savoring the sound of the word. “Being a tween is perfect. When I got to heaven, I want to be 10 forever.” She tucked the stuffed animal carefully into place before sliding her legs underneath the comforter. “And I want wings.”

After the Anne themed picnic, the girls gathered for a shadow play. The shadow puppet theater hid the two teenage girls from the sight of the twelve younger ones. These girls had never seen a shadow play before and they were fascinated by the way the shadows could move and seem life-like. There is no shadow play in Anne of Green Gables, but it feels right for the party. Similarly appropriate are the little paper fairy boxes that the guests construct out of printed paper and tape. The girls sang songs as they cut and taped. Twelve tweens singing in chorus is very charming.

I first introduced Gleek to Anne of Green Gables several years prior to the party. I felt the knowing Anne would be good for Gleek. She could see how an imaginative, impulsive, energetic, creative girl could grow from someone who was always in trouble into a person to be admired. Gleek listened to Anne’s adventures nightly via an audio book. I think it helped. I know that Gleek came to love Anne.

“Happy birthday to you!” sang the girls. Gleek blew out the candles on her cupcake, and everyone cheered. Beside Gleek were the presents she had unwrapped a few minutes earlier. Craft supplies, art supplies, clothing, make-up, and jewelry. She received no toys, and did not even notice that she had not. The party wound to an end and the guests went home.

Gleek is 10, just one year younger than Anne at the beginning of the book. Her life will be quite different than Anne’s in detail, but the themes will be strikingly similar. This is why Anne of Green Gables is still beloved generations after it was written. 10 is a threshold. Gleek has entered double digits. She is beginning to leave behind her toys and heading off to new interests. She is still small enough to scoop into my lap and snuggle, but big enough for ear rings and pop music. I have to agree with Gleek. 10 is pretty close to perfect and I’ve got 365 days to enjoy it until we’re off into the adventure that 11 will be.

15 year old Kiki was obviously crying when I picked her up from school. Her eyes and nose were red in a way that can only be achieved through extended sadness. I knew that she had stayed up late the night before to finish off three homework assignments, which was simultaneously responsible (yay she got her homework done) and frustrating (she spent the entire afternoon playing a video game.) I was not thrilled to see her crying. I was really tired of emotional drama. Kiki climbed in the car and handed me a sheet with her term grades, all Bs and Cs with one No Credit.

I could have:
A. Responded immediately and negatively to the grades which did not represent her highest capability, thus goading her in the guilt and inspiring her to do better.
B. Looked at the grades, acknowledged they are not what we had hoped, and asked her if anything else is wrong, thus catering to her obviously fragile emotional state.
C. Vented a frustrated rant about exactly how she earned each of these grades through various forms of procrastination and irresponsibility, while hoping that she’ll get mad enough to prove me wrong.

Just like those old Choose Your Own Adventure books, even the “obviously right” choices could lead to dead ends, and each of the choices had the potential to backfire depending upon Kiki’s response. Unlike the books, I did not have the luxury of carefully pondering or peeking ahead in the pages. I had seconds to pick a response. I chose B.

Kiki then told me that two of the three assignments that she had stressed over the night before had been the wrong assignments. Despite staying up until 1 am to finish, she only got half credit because she’d done the wrong list of math problems. The English assignment she still had to do over the weekend. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. This conversation featured a return of the familiar “School is too hard, I want it all to go away” refrain. I’d hoped that the new year had gotten us out of that useless emotional eddy. I asked a chain of questions to make sure I had the facts straight. Getting all the facts required me to turn the car around and go back to the school so that we could find out why Kiki was listed with No Credit in PE. I certainly did not want to repeat any part of what we have been through this year. A conversation with the attendance office solved that problem and we got back in the car to go home. Kiki said “I’m Sorry.” in a very small voice.

I could have:
A. Delivered a lecture on the importance of keeping track of her assignments and when they are due, which emphasized that this is her job.
B. Praised her for the fact that she did buckle down the night before and get her work done, even if it happened to be the wrong work.
C. Ranted about how tired I am of helping with emotional crises over things which never need be crises in the first place.
D. Aired my worries about the fact that she seems to respond to pressure by crumpling. This has not always been the case, she is amazingly strong at times, but not about school work this year.

The car ride was just long enough for me to get through choice B and then choice A. We arrived at home, and I realized that somewhere in my words and Kiki’s responses my primary emotion had shifted from frustration to sympathy. After that there was hugging and we sat together on the couch to really focus on the grade sheet. We were able to identify exactly where each grade had come from, which assignments had been the ones to lower the grade. We could see that she got exactly the grades she earned.

I hugged her close and told her “I’m sorry this year has been so hard.” And at that moment I felt the truth of my statement. This year really has been hard for Kiki. It does not matter whether I think it should have been hard, or what little things she has done to make things harder for herself. It has been hard on her and therefore hard on me. But, and this is important, that does not mean it has been a bad year. At the beginning of the school year, when we shuffled her schedule around, this set of classes felt like the right choice for her. I reminded her of that and she nodded. Then she told me how one of her friends sat with her and talked through her sadness. He listened to her and opened up about some things in his life as well. They had a really good conversation and Kiki shared it with me. When the tears were dried up and the snuggles were over, Kiki said to me “This has been a really hard day, but I think it was a good one.”

From the moment Kiki climbed in the car, our afternoon was surrounded by a cloud of possibilities. I made choice after choice, like the branching decision trees in those books. This time we found our way to a happy result. That is not always the case between Kiki and I. Many discussions have ended with anger and slamming doors. I don’t think this was the only possible happy result, but I’ll keep it.

I learned another lesson from yesterday’s post about Plants Vs. Zombies. I am extremely motivated by check lists and reward systems, even when the rewards are imaginary. So today I put together a little motivational check box system that lets me measure my revision progress. I spaced things out into a fairly reasonable schedule so that I can finish the revision in about three weeks. I will now try to exceed that schedule, because that is always what I try to do with schedules.

I finished my allotted segment for today, but was stymied in my intent to get ahead because I had to sit next to Gleek for two hours while she caught up on all the homework she hasn’t done for two weeks. Gleek was awesome. She slogged through 6 pages of math problems for the reward of one gold fish cracker per problem solved. We upped the price to chocolate chips for the last couple of pages, because her enthusiasm was flagging. In the end we got it all done, which means she’ll be able to go to her class “I’m Caught Up” party on Friday.

It felt really good to sit there and give Gleek my complete focus for a couple of hours. Patch has been getting more focused attention as well. He doesn’t appreciate all of it, because it has involved much more regular bathing. Link and I had a time to sit down and talk about his school work, which I’ve not done since some time in October. That felt good too. Perhaps best of all, I gave less attention to Kiki and her homework. She’s stepping up and handling it herself, which is a mighty relief.

Here’s hoping tomorrow will bring as many good things as today did.

“Tra la la!” said Mary as she made the little shadow puppet move behind the back lit screen. In front of the screen my four kids sat spell bound, watching the surprisingly life-like motions of the little shadow man. A second player entered the stage and Mary gave this character a distinctly different voice. “Is this the road to London?”

As a professional puppeteer, Mary Robinette Kowal is quite accomplished at this sort of performance. She has performed all over the United States and some other countries as well. Having her perform in my kitchen to an audience comprised of just myself and my children was an opportunity not to be turned down.

I stood at the back of the room, watching not just the slapstick antics of the shadow figures, but the larger scene of Mary and the children. The same light which turned cardboard cut outs into shadow figures also illuminated Mary’s face from below. Both Mary and the children were completely focused on the shadow play as it wound to its comic ending. The Children laughed with delight as one of the figures went head first into the river.

“I want to see it again!” Patch declared
“Me too!” said Gleek.
Mary laughed and re-set the stage for an encore performance. My older two kids wandered off, but the younger set laughed again as the figures moved through the now-familiar play. Once the play wound to a close, Mary invited the kids behind her screen to see how the puppets worked.

“You hold these two little rods in one hand and roll this one between your fingers so it moves his leg.” said Mary as she demonstrated.
Gleek hardly waited for Mary to finish before she took the puppet and tried it for herself. Patch claimed the other figure, delighted that he could make the little guy pound away with his axe. Mary saw that the kids were exploring the possibilities of the puppets and stepped back to stand with me.

“Tra la la!” said Patch
“Is this the road to London?” Gleek chimed right in. As we watched the two kids do an impromptu encore performance of the play they just watched. Mary and I stood silent and smiling until the ending arrived for the third time.

“If you have cardboard and a shower curtain, you can make a stage like this.” Mary said quietly to me. “Then they could make their own puppets.”

This second prospect was so enticing that I went and fetched cardboard right away. Mary was struck with the idea of making a little puppet Schlock. She settled at the kitchen counter and began to sketch and cut. Gleek wandered over and decided to make a puppet of her own. I fetched supplies and cut coat hangers for rods. Puppets were made and tested behind Mary’s screen. All too soon it was time for Mary to leave.

“One more time!” pleaded the kids. Mary was kind enough to comply, this time there was a difference. She used the Schlock puppet in place of the second little man.

The little cardboard Schlock is still on my counter even though Mary is now gone. I keep picking him up and using the coat hanger rod to make him wave. When I do I think about the joy and magic that can be created out of a few household supplies. The little Schlock makes me happy every time I see him. We will be making our own shadow stage and puppets.

The thin layer of snow glittered in the morning light as we made our way toward church. Under the layer of snow were the lumpy sheets of ice that have been covering the ground and sidewalks since just after Christmas. I was trailing behind Howard and the four kids, all dressed in Sunday best except for footwear. Skirts may look odd with sturdy snow boots, but they look better than being covered with snow after taking a painful tumble.

Most of the time I watched my own boots and the ground right in front of them sot that I could select my path with care. At the corner I paused a moment to look toward the beloved people tramping along ahead of me. No one else was out yet, the Stake Conference church meeting did not start for half an hour. Link had declined to wear a coat despite the 22 degree temperatures. He was at the head of the pack, moving quickly to get inside the warm church. Patch carried his newly-acquired art binder. We’d re-purposed an old school binder just that morning so that he had a place to carry his blank paper and markers. Gleek also had a new binder. As soon as she spied Patch’s she needed one too. In her case the binder was shoved into her shoulder bag along with pencils, paper, notebooks, pencil sharpeners, markers, erasers, and a small ball of clay. Gleek was quite thoroughly defended against the possibility of boredom in the meeting to come. Despite her preparation, she was the one most likely to be bored. I had my own emergency boredom kit in the bag on my should.

Kiki and Howard walked along together. Kiki had a binder of her own, simply organized and arranged. Howard moved among the kids, guiding and helping them pick their way along the icy sidewalks. I could hear his voice as he gave directions. A deep breath and the chill air filled my lungs. Then I continued on. It was a beautiful walk to a good place.

I watched Kiki working on a jigsaw puzzle. She’d been working on it for an hour and bedtime was near. I knew she had homework. I knew it was not done. It was only a couple of days ago that I made an agreement with her that I would not be pushing her on her homework or preventing her from failing. The puzzle was avoidance. She was headed for failure, not by choice but by default. I thought very carefully before I said a word. I really do need her to be taking responsibility for her own homework. I need that for my own sanity, but also because she needs to learn how to be responsible. She needs to know how to track time and make plans without me standing at her elbow reminding her that she should. I chose to make a general reminder to all the kids in the room that they should do their homework if they had any. Link piped up that he didn’t. Kiki crumpled and the tears began.

Our conversation lasted over an hour. It was very hard for me to not jump in and offer solutions. It was even harder for me to not try to guide her toward what I could see as clearly the right decision. My purpose in the conversation was merely to act as a foil. Occasionally I commented on which lines of thought were adult and which were like a child. This adult/child comparison is part of a larger conversation that she and I have had over the course of several days. It was actually a helpful and informative part of the conversation rather than me applying labels. I watched and listened as Kiki worked her way through a forest of emotions. I watched her wend her way through anger and denial. She paused briefly at the desire for someone else to make her do her homework so that the homework would be done and she would have someone to be mad at. Then she recognized this as childish and moved onward. Eventually she cleared away her anger enough to see that she really is at fault that this assignment is late. She accepted that responsibility. This led to the further knowledge that she really does want to go to college and that this assignment will make or break her grade in that class. More immediately, there is a class she wants to take for which this class is a pre-requisite. Finally she sat down and did the assignment.

Watching the process was like watching someone do long division when I am possessed of a calculator. It took Kiki a highly emotional hour to arrive at the same conclusion I reached in less than a minute. But because the process was hers, she learned from it. All that sorting and digging through her own emotions taught her things about herself. It showed her how costly procrastination can be. She is a stronger, more mature person than she was while doing the puzzle. In the middle of it, when I was not sure to what end her path would lead, I worried. Now I see that my worry was needless. Kiki is amazing, smart, and able to discern what she needs to do even when she doesn’t like it.

At 10:30 pm it was just me and the cat. The two teens in our house had scattered for parties with friends. Howard was also out. The younger two were abed and asleep. I was pretty content, particularly when the cat decided that our house needed a vigorous defense against the ravages of hair bands. Only she got embarrassed if I watched her play, so I had to snicker quietly.
11:00 Howard came home. He’d been having fun, but decided that he wanted to come home and be with me.
11:10 Link came tromping through the back yard. He’d also had a great time but said “I decided to spend New Year’s with my family.” The three of us sat down to play a game of Poo, which is a card game about monkeys who fling. (I can now honestly say that I got Howard monkey poo for Christmas.)
11:40 Kiki came in through the front door. She repeated Link almost verbatim “It was fun, but I decided to spend New Year’s with my family.”
So we played Poo until the fireworks let us know that the date stamp had changed over.

I think this counts as a family win.

“No, it’s okay. I can do it myself!” Gleek says firmly. The attendant releases his hold on the bungee cord and Gleek proceeds to shift her body to increase her bounce height. She is safely tethered between two poles above a trampoline, but I can see the slight uneasiness in her face. This “sky flight” looked so much easier from the mall floor when she decided to spend five of her precious Christmas dollars. I see her shift in the harness, uncomfortable, but not willing to let that discomfort prevent her from doing the tricks she wants. Bounce by bounce she goes higher until she dares a flip. Her hair flies back to reveal her triumphant grin.

My body moves in sympathy with her bounces, as if I could somehow help from my seat on the bench 20 feet away. I don’t mean to do it, but some part of my brain knows that if she would only shift just so, her bounces would be higher. My muscles flex in a vain attempt to telegraph motion to her. Gleek soars into the air again, flipping, bouncing, only occasionally glancing at me to see if I am watching. This is what she needs from me, a witness to her efforts.

Sometimes Gleek’s motions go wrong, killing the bounce. She jiggles on the ends of her tethers, trying to regain lost momentum. The attendant reaches to help and Gleek waves him away, just as she waves away help both at home and at school. I’d watched this guy with the other kids. He pulled on the bungee and they flew much further than they can get by their own weight. He keeps his hands by his sides and watches as Gleek builds her own bounces. I still my body yet again.

When time is up, she comes back to the ground both glad to be done and wanting more. We gather her purchases and collect her shoes, mall trip complete. Then we head out into the bright world to find a new challenge for me to witness.