The Pledge

Connor left school early on Tuesday to go to a doctor's appointment. His teacher packed up his homework for him, which included an item or two that he would miss during the regular day. I have no idea if the following assignment was going to be completed in class, or if it was meant to be brought home and discussed. I'm guessing our discussion at home diverged from what would have taken place in the classroom.

The assignment was to draw a picture of yourself saying the pledge of allegiance, and then to complete the following sentence. "I say the Pledge of Allegiance because...". I'm sure I don't even need to fill in what Connor wrote, because most of you can probably guess - because it's the exact same thing you're thinking RIGHT NOW. But I'll tell you the story anyway.

As I walked Connor home from soccer practice afternoon, I told Connor about his assignment. I asked him if he knew what the Pledge of Allegiance was. He dutifully recited it for me. Then I asked him if he knew what it meant.

"No." 

OK - so let's discuss.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag" 

So you're promising something - making a pledge. You're promising allegiance, so you're promising to be loyal. You're pledging that you'll support something - in this case, a flag. What do you think the flag stands for?

"Our country"

Yes...so you're promising to be loyal to our country - which is pretty much what the next set of words affirms.

"I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United State of America. And to the republic for which it stands"

Right - so that's just saying the group of states, the country that you're promising to be loyal to is the United States. And then there's that part about liberty. Do you know what liberty is?

"freedom"

Yes. Do you know what one of the great freedoms we have in the United States? We can criticize our country. We can stand up and tell people we think the government isn't doing the best job it can. Some people, including me, think that this means we really care about our government. Can you pledge your allegiance to the country and disagree?

"Yes."

Right...so why do you say the pledge? 

"Because I support the United States"

Yes - even though that doesn't mean you have to like everything the United States does. So tonight when you're with Dad, you can write that you say the pledge because you support our country.

Then we came home and ate dinner together. I told Ed about the assignment. He predictably rolled his eyes. I told him Connor and I had already talked, and Connor had an answer about supporting the country.

When I got home I looked over the assignment.

"I say the Pledge of Allegiance BECAUSE MY TEACHER MAKES ME".

Yes, yes, that's probably true. Stay tuned for the teacher's response. 

Elaine

Second Grade - First Week Recap

The trouble with not blogging for an extended period of time is that I'm left with loads of photos and memories I'd like to capture, but life still moves forward. This blog has lost all concept of time. In that way, it's much like parenting seems some days.

Connor started school last Tuesday. He was given a gift of a teacher, and I very much appreciate that. Random luck or intervention from something in the universe - I'll take it. Although Connor does perfectly well in school, he is not one of those "can't wait for summer to end" kind of kids. He likes his summers, and he'd be fine extending them indefinitely. Having a great teacher at least takes the edge off of the end of summer.

The end of last year was hard. It took a lot to not just call it quits and end early, but a sense of obligation kept me bringing Connor to school daily. And true, the last week was fun, but I think everyone in this house was ready for the year to end. I am still, in fact, considering a vacation the last few weeks of school this year. I'm probably kidding myself that I would actually do this, but it keeps me going, so pretend it could happen right along with me, please.

This year started with Connor running into my home office after the first day of school letting me know we had to invite N to his (delayed birthday) party. Uh, sure, Connor. I love sending invitations out three days before events. Makes me feel like a rock star. Fortune of all fortunes, N has a September birthday, so his mom occasionally sends these emails out as well, so she completely understood and was happy to drop N off at my home at the appointed time. Phew. Connor sits next to N, and it's nice that the two of them like each other. Oh, how much difference a year makes.

Being that Connor is still at a public school, the urge to reward is irresistible, but his teacher chooses the one reward I can probably get behind - chocolate. Good behavior earns a chocolate kiss. By the end of the week, it took exceptionally good behavior. Connor has earned a daily chocolate, and he loves it.

His best day the first week of school was during math. His teacher showed the class her jar of kisses, and they shook it, moved it around, and discussed estimating. Then they made their guesses, and whomever had the closest guess would get 10 kisses. According to Connor, one student guessed 30, nearly every other student guessed between 60 and 120, he guessed 250, and another student guessed 600. The class laughed at his guess - until the correct answer of 258 was revealed. It was a real high point for Connor.

The teacher appears extremely organized and my challenge for myself is to match her organization by returning everything she sends home that needs input from my by the next morning. So far, so good. Of course, I must remember that with the loads of paperwork I'll be seeing, this is a marathon, not a sprint. I must not get too excited, yet.

My hopes for Connor this year are similar to last year. I hope his teacher recognizes that children change. And I hope she also knows that each child she'll teach this year, including mine, deserves her best. They are unique, they have something magical about them, and she might be the person that unlocks that magic. My own second grade teacher favored gnomes, could put a bunch of second graders in line if she needed, and created a real atmosphere of warmth and getting along. My contribution to her class was creating a "class book", which she kept up until she retired a few years ago. I didn't remember doing it until she showed me the project, but my friend Jennifer and I had drawn a picture of each student in the class and written a sentence about them and then given it to her for our "class library". Fine literature, that book was, I'm sure. I only wish I had that book now, because I remember when I went to visit her many years after I had left her class and she showed it to me, I thought it was extremely funny. I can't even remember what I wrote about myself. I do remember it included tidbits about people being "good in art" or "nice" and most of the sentences were three words, along the lines of "Jennifer is nice".

One thing I'm excited about for Connor is that students will be given difficult vocabulary words. Parents are asked to use these words in conversation throughout the week. This, I suspect, will be good, and could have the byproduct of improving my Scrabble skills. If you haven't already read it, search for the word "exaggerate" in this linked post. You will know why I adore vocabulary words.

Connor reported that his favorite class one day was Spanish, and his least favorite was art. Oh boy, not there again. I'm keeping my eye on this one early, and will try and meet with the art teacher if the feeling continues. Surely, we can figure out a way to work together.

All in all, I'm hoping for a good year, with a few good friends, and a sense of accomplishment at the end. I'm also hoping for a year of no surprise phone calls. I learned last year that I'm not good at handling them.

Here's the first day photo. Connor started the year off biking, and I'm hoping it continues.

Good luck, everyone. This time of year is filled with so much hope.

Elaine

Final Week

We made it. We're in the last week of school. It will include 2 early release days (thank you, Arlington County!), an awards day (where Connor has predicted he will get an award for being so well-behaved. Confident little dude - don't you think? [edited to add he received the award of class mathemagician]), a game day (where hopefully he will find someone who loves Monopoly as much as he does, I'm looking at you, A!), and a picnic in the park. This seems like a pretty fine wrap-up to me. Only thing better would be if school was already out.

Today was the award ceremony and picnic. During the award ceremony, Mrs. H. showed a slideshow of class photos and a photo of Helen was included. Nice touch, I thought. Helen could not have been more pleased. When her photo came up, Mrs. H. announced "honorary member". And at the picnic today, Helen spent her time bouncing from friend to friend in first grade.

I looked back at the post I wrote to start the year, and what strikes me is that what I wanted most was for Mrs. H. to recognize that she had a great kid in front of her. She did that in spades. From start to finish, Connor has felt loved. She challenged him when he needed to be challenged, she called him on a piece of sub-par work when it was necessary, and wow did she give it everything she had, particularly in those scary first days. Connor's teacher was as steady as could be with him. She was gentle, she was kind, and she absolutely recognized that though his background was different than most, it was not inferior.

I learned that it's a hard thing to drop your kid off in a classroom knowing that your child (my child), because of the background I had chosen, was going to struggle with reading. This, followed with the realization that Connor did not know how to hold a pencil. There was, most definitely, a moment or two when my stomach flip-flopped, and I questioned my choice to keep Connor at the Waldorf school - and for reference, I regularly tell people that sending my children to a Waldorf school was the best parenting decision Ed and I ever made. Those were hard days for me, and though Connor never came home mad at me, I'm guessing they were pretty hard for him, too. Now? I'm totally giving myself a pat on the back. As it turns out, that year of Kindergarten at Potomac Crescent was the perfectly right year for Connor. But I'm well aware it could have ended up being disasterous, if Connor had another first grade teacher. One day, I asked Mrs. H. how burdensome it was for her, and whether I should consider sending Helen to Kindergarten at public school. She was so cool. She told me things always worked out and there was no need for me to change course with Helen.

I learned a few nights ago at an evening event with adults from Connor's school about something else Connor's teacher did those first few weeks. She specifically instructed another parent when the parent was helping Connor with work that she should only discuss letters in terms of their shapes - that he came from a non-academic background. Does she even know that's how the alphabet is taught at a Waldorf school? It's as simple as straight lines and curved lines. That's a little gift Connor's teacher gave me without Connor or I even noticing.

The most important thing Connor's teacher did for Connor - and I'm sure she does it for all the students in her class - was to recognize that things change. So while he started out in the worst reading group (and I'm using the term "reading" very loosely), when he finally caught on to reading, she advanced him right up those reading groups until a few weeks ago when she announced to me Connor was reading at the 6th grade level. Connor is, for the most part, a very easy going kid - and he never would've protested a placement in a reading group. His teacher could've easily left him to the side of the road and not watched his advancement, but she didn't. She was on it the whole time.

In the end, kids stuggle. People struggle. It's probably where we find our humanity. And from beginning to end, Connor was supported by a great teacher. She may, in fact, be the one he remembers for a long time.

We won't be doing a single academic thing this summer. We'll be playing and painting and vacationing. We've earned it!

I sent this kid to school in September:

I'm getting this one back for the summer:

Elaine

Field Day! a.k.a. Ways to suck up time hoping the school year will end.

I'm ready for school to end. I even wrote a grumpy post about it over here. My neighbor up and went to a wedding in California about a week ago and I'm sitting on my deck drinking mojitos at night wondering why the hell we didn't try and stuff ourselves into his suitcase. He actually did what I have dreams about doing. He ended the school year early. Poof. It's over.

Connor's classroom has a system where each kid has their name on a fish that sits on a rock. If a child misbehaves, they move their fish to blue. If a child misbehaves a second time, their fish goes to yellow and they score a note home. One more strike and your fish goes to red and you get a visit with the Principal. Some offense are large enough to merit instant red or yellow. Follow that? Yeah, me neither.

In any case, Connor's fish sat on the rocks for nearly the entire year. It was moved once when the whole class got their fish moved. Then, a few weeks ago, I do believe that fish decided it was too hot on those rocks, so off to the comfort of the blue water it went. This happened four times in six school days and at this point, I started getting notes from the teacher and holy-moley, those notes are shockers and cut right to the core. Knife, meet stomach. Now twist and add lime (and I wonder why I always feel like drinking a mojito these days).

That's when I gave some consideration to ending the year early. I have full-time childcare, after all. And Helen's school is finished for the year. Ending early isn't particularly difficult for me logistically. Connor has had a couple of sick days (one of them being lice - so that surely doesn't count against him, right?) and he was gone for a week of skiing. It seems to me that adding another couple of weeks of absences wouldn't be enough to cause him to have to repeat the year, although that's probably a puzzle not worth solving.

Here's the thing. The last misbehaving was Connor truly being an a** (that word rhymes with pass, in case it's not obvious) to a classmate. Apparently the class failed to get a "mystery motivator" (which I have now learned is a class prize like extra recess) because a couple of kids had their fish moved. Connor not-so-kindly let one of the offenders know she was responsible for their lack of prize. She cried. I got a note. He didn't actually feel that badly. My first thought was, OMG my kid has turned into a jerk, and my second thought was "wow, kid can really bring the pain when he wants". After I freaked out inside, I emailed my friend Jean, because she is master of all things behavior related and school. She talked me off my ledge, and then I summoned Connor and told him to knock it off. I also informed him how few days of school were left and further informed him that his fish had better not swim again. So far, so good.

One thing that kept me from ending the school year early was the promise of Field Day. Really.

Back in the day, Field Day was awesome, if only because it involved no actual work, and did involve a lot of sitting around. It was always on a day that really tested the stuff Kansans were made of. And to think, kids these days have air conditioned classrooms. So. Soft!

Field Day, at least for Connor, is not like Field Days of yore. No. Field Day involved no potato sacks, no giant bands strapping legs together for the "three-legged" race. And it did not involve running around the entire school. I told you, kids these days are soft.

It did involve games with a parachute:

an unattended bucket of water:

crab soccer (note to Therese, perhaps Ireland was confused with this and football last Sunday?):

and Gatorade.

Connor was thrilled.

Nine more days, Connor! You can do it!

Love,
Mom

P.S. My spellchecker is a teetotaler. It doesn't know the word mojito.

Happy Month 81, Connor!

Dear Connor,

Counting your age in months is truly ridiculous. I get that. But my mind is a sieve these days, and I feel the memories of you and your sister slipping almost as soon as I think to myself "I hope I remember this"! Your sister and you compound the feeling by requesting stories "about me" all the time.

In the past two months, you have fire balled into a Monopoly mania that calls you like heroin calls it's addicts. If the mania doesn't stop soon, there's going to be an intervention. You now have three versions of the game, and one of these versions has three games within it. You have mastered the art of "buy-buy-buy", and only occasionally find yourself too strapped for cash to survive. When nobody will sate your desires to play the game, you've been known to just play by yourself. You have not been known to have the imaginary person you play against make good decisions. You're a lucky man that your babysitter seems to have missed out on Monopoly when she was growing up. She's making up time with you.

You are a two-wheeled rider and adore your new 20" bike. You are totally rocking it.

My friend Jean wrote an amazing post about her son with autism. In it, she carries forward an analogy from Paul Collins' book "Not Even Wrong". In the book, he states "Autists are the ultimate square pegs, and the problem with pounding a square peg into a round hole is not that the hammering is hard work. It's that you're destroying the peg." Jean carries this forward by noting that all people are different. And here is where I started thinking about you.

In a Waldorf school, the early childhood program uses a wet-on-wet technique to paint. It's one of the more serene artistic experiences I've ever been witness to. The rationale behind the method is well documented, the chief reason for its use being that at this age, children should experience the emotion and feel of the color, not be concerned with the shape. In our public school, the children are asked to paint with Tempera paints. The most common exercise with paint seems to be filling in previously drawn lines. You can probably imagine how Connor felt when faced with this task. If you can't, I'll lay it out for you. He was in tears. In art class. Does that strike you as extremely sad? Because that's how it strikes me. Isn't art supposed to be one of those classes where a kid gets to express him or herself creatively, without being super constrained? I tend to think so.

Here's an example of some of Connor's work from last year.

I have to give the art teacher a hat tip, though. I like her a lot. She used to belong to the same studio I belonged to. She's clearly a great artist. The day after Connor cried in class, sobbing "yes, I understand you're not mad at me", she found me in the hall and told me the story. I almost started crying right there. Maybe we both wear our hearts on our sleeves, Connor? As soon as she started telling me about the class and about the tears, I started explaining Connor's background. I talked to her about the merits of the technique he was used to, how it evolved each year of schooling, how Connor is actually quite skilled at it.

At first, the art teacher was mostly "well, he's at public school now, and this is what we do", but then she softened and said she could see why wet-on-wet would be a good technique. She offered to give Connor an extra painting lesson so he could have a better chance of doing what was expected of him in art class. I took her up on that offer - even though it is the ultimate in capitulation. Connor and I attended a painting class with her a couple of days ago. During that class, she started talking about the technique they were performing in class. So I asked the question I wish I heard more often: "WHY?". Her answer was generally "Because it's part of the curriculum, and I see your point that it's not really painting, per se, it's more like illustration, but in the end, kids here can produce a painting that looks like something they want very early". BINGO. Parents, apparently, want to see finished work that has real forms in it, so our children are being taught the most uncreative method I can think of in order to accomplish this. Draw lines. Fill them in. Rinse. Repeat. Don't let the paint influence the art, make the paint fit into the art.

And the whole thing made me feel like some square part of you, Connor had just been damaged. And that just hurts. And it doesn't just hurt you and me, it hurts everyone who won't benefit from this particular creative strength you bring to the process.

I can say, this is by far the biggest disappointment I've had with your school, and I must also remember that just a few days, I was on cloud 9 because two non-teacher staff members had gone out of their way to tell me "I know I'm not supposed to say this, but I just love Connor". When that happened, all I could think was "I'm counting on you to love him". I was glad.

Much love, Connor. Just know that I celebrate your square edges. I'm sorry one of them got pounded.

Love,
Mom

Inclusion

I learned a very important parenting lesson when Helen was 2. Another parent was cool as a cucumber when Helen laid a kiss on his baby and rather than freaking out at the potential germ transfer he said "Everybody likes to be treated nicely.". And while it seems like such a simple lesson, I feel like some folks make it so hard.

A few nights ago, I was busy knitting at the PTA meeting, when the subject of the school dance marathon came up. The person running it gave a brief overview, and noted that teams needed to get registered soon.

Another parent noted that sometimes in the upper grades, navigating the social ins and outs of putting a team can be difficult, and asked if there was any plan for what to do with kids who didn't yet have a team.

The person in charge of the dance said that while anyone could attend "we won't make them go home", prizes could only be awarded to a pre-registered team. I get that she's put a lot of time into this fundraiser, and I suspect she's a very organized person that doesn't like surprises. But let's face it, this is an absolutely ridiculous position to take. This is a fundraising event at an elementary school. This is not "Dancing with the Stars". But, because I know how unhelpful comments late in planning can be, I kept my mouth shut.

To her credit, the principal stepped in and said maybe as children came in the night of the party without a team, they could be formed into an ad hoc team, and there appeared to be general agreement on this.

While this was going on, all I could think about was how the daughter of the woman running the dance marathon has probably learned from her mom that it's appropriate to create arbitrary rules that everyone has to follow that make her own life easier. And when they don't get followed, the appropriate response is to exclude, rather than include.

What I wish the mom were teaching was that "everybody likes to be treated nicely", even if it is sometimes inconvenient.

In our own house, Connor did not wish to participate in the dance party when I initially brought it up. Then a buddy's mom in his class sent me an email letting me know a team was forming and asked if Connor wanted to be part of it. The next morning, I said to Connor "remember how I told you about the dance party at school and you said you didn't want to go?" "Yeah, I don't want to go." "OK - F's Mom sent me a note and wanted to know if you wanted to be on a team with F, D, etc." Connor did a complete 180 and exclaimed how he had "always wanted to go to the dance party - that it was his most favorite thing in the whole world - and that he definitely, definitely did NOT want to miss it".

Thank you, moms in Connor's class, for including him. Because just like everyone else, Connor loves being treated so nicely.

We have the power to change the world. I'm not even exaggerating here.

Elaine

Making the World a Little Bit Better - Connorstyle

I dream about the day my children discover how they're going to make their mark on the world. I'm hopeful that they'll leave this Earth better than they found it. I'm not necessarily expecting huge things, but a small gesture here and there would make me feel like this work of raising children was worth it.

In this week's Friday Folder was this gem from Connor.

"I have a dream. My dream is: [for] Glebe to be a better place."
"I can help my dream come true by: eating lunch fast so I can tauc (talk) a lot"

His teacher called it one for the "saved papers folder". I called it "one for the blog".

Elaine

I Survived First Grade Boys' Night - and So Did All the Boys!

About a month ago, I had the great idea that Connor could invite the boys in his class over. Because we're new at the school, I'm never quite sure if my ideas are good or odd, so I asked a super nice mom in Connor's class what she thought, and she said 'go for it'. She also noted that Saturdays work better because kids get so tired from the long week of school. This all made sense to me, but before I got around to organizing the evening, every Saturday was booked.

Thursday and Friday were days off from school this week, so I decided Thursday would be the day (because it's kind of like Saturday when you don't have school on Thursday and Friday, I reasoned). Thankfully, it was gorgeous outside, and even though Connor wanted to play xBox (an item we won a while back, that I recently broke out to entertain visiting neices) the boys were happy to run around in the backyard. Sadly, they wanted to play football, which is a game Connor doesn't know how to play. He can play soccer, but it took a while to convince the others that soccer should be the game of choice. Tears were involved, but not too many. They also played in our neighbor's treehouse and played capture the flag before spending about a half hour in front of the TV playing games we borrowed from our neighbor. Did I mention I have the best neighbors in the universe?

There was one injury - but thankfully it was the child of a mom who stayed to help out and she took care of it. The kids ate the pizza, downed some juice and water, and played hard until their parents arrived. At one point, Ed did a quick head count to make sure we hadn't unintentionally lost anyone, and luckily we did not.

All children were returned to parents that appeared to know them.

SUCCESS! But for the record, I was totally lucky that the weather was nice and that half the boys were traveling over the long weekend. It was a bit ambitious to think I could entertain all of the first grade boys!

Elaine

A Lesson in Not Volunteering

I am a volunteer, at heart. I volunteer at Miriam's Kitchen, which is just about the best run organization I've ever been in contact with. In the past few years, I have also been the Treasurer of the board at Potomac Crescent Waldorf School, been involved in handwork at PCWS, edited and written for the PCWS newsletter, and now sit on the finance committee of PCWS. At times, this has resulted in feeling like I have another part-time job, which I actually do not have time for. I also go up to Connor's classroom regularly - in part because I know I sent the teacher a kid who didn't read and in some respects, was certainly behind his peers at the start of the year, and I realize he needed extra time from the teacher. The least I can do is try and lighten her load on occasion.

I'm very interested in what's happening in Connor's school as a whole, and I recognize there is a lot of work behind a lot of wonderful events there. And normally, I would be all in, trying to figure out where I could pitch in. However, after getting totally burned out as a volunteer last year, I made a firm rule that I would not - under any circumstances - volunteer in any major way at Connor's school this year. I will, when I have both children there, find something to do - I PROMISE!

The problem is, even though I know I should not be volunteering any more if I want to keep my sanity, it's very hard for me to resist. So, before every PTA meeting, I arm myself with knitting needles. I am the only person in the room knitting through the entire meeting, but I find that the time it takes for me to set my needles down and volunteer, has always been enough time for someone else to volunteer instead of me. Brilliant, right?

And as a side note, I now have TWO PAIRS of hand knit socks. I have also completed a dress for Helen and a scarf for Ed this year, and have a sweater for Connor over halfway done.

I am available for knitting lessons. But that's the only volunteer commitment I'm picking up this year!

Elaine

Girls ARE Good at Math - Despite What Connor Says

A few nights ago, we walked to a nearby restaurant. I love walks like these, because I can almost always count on one of my kids saying something entertaining. Connor threw me for a curve with this ditty.

I asked him how he liked his new math class.

"I like it. It's THIRD GRADE MATH, so it's fun!"

"Are there any other kids from Mrs. H's class in Mrs. R's [new math teacher] class?"

"No. But there are five other kids that went to Mrs. Rs class with me. One from Mr. F's class isn't that smart. He had to leave. It was too hard for him."

Imagine me being a little blown away by how insensitive this sounds. What happened to - he had a little trouble, so he might try another week? Or, he doesn't really love math so he went back to Mr. F's class?

While I was trying to decide how to respond, Connor carried on: "And, there are only boys in my class.[PAUSE] Maybe because girls aren't good at math."

And then I exploded right there on the sidewalk and hopefully Connor learned that girls are, in fact, good at math. Or, perhaps he learned I am crazy. But either way, I was more than a little annoyed by his postulation. I could see Ed was tempted to laugh and I can assure you, that reaction was stifled quickly. Because nobody - especially not my daughter's father - will have any role in convincing her she can't be good at math.

So now, I've spent the past several days wondering if there's a perfectly good explanation why no girls are in Connor's gifted math class, like the girls are in another group that meets at another time. Six IS a small sample, after all. But a small part of me wants to march into the principal's office and let her know that she needs to drum up some female business for that class - quick.

Because the principal? She also already knows I'm crazy. So in some ways, I've got nothing to lose. Anyone want to toss out some advice?

Elaine

His Brain Told Him

Connor loves math. In his Christmas letter to his teacher, he told her that. I think the letter was something like "Merry Christmas, Mrs. H. I love math. Love, Connor".

The first time he had a math test, he aced it, and there was a note on it instructing me to "celebrate Connor". I then asked Connor about the test and he proceeded to tell me from memory every question on the test. My next thought was, if the test was so easy you memorized it, it's hardly worth celebrating. So as not to be a total Scrooge, I told him he could pick what game our family played that night. He thought that was pretty groovy.

At times like these, I always remember approaching my dad for a monetary reward after receiving my grade card. You see, every other person in my elementary school received money for getting A's (or at least I think they did!), typically $1 - $5. I let my dad know about this fact so he could step up his efforts in the reward department. He looked at my and dryly said "I'm not going to pay you to do something I expect you to do". Point taken. There would be no monetary reward from my dad for getting good grades. (Which is maybe where my hatred for prizes stems from - latent jealously!)

On Wednesday last week, Connor came home and told me he had another math test and he got every question right.

Me: "Did Mrs. H. tell you got every question right?"
Him: "No, my brain told me."

And then I had a meeting with Mrs. H. on Thursday to discuss his recent freak-outs, and in the course of our conversation, she told me he had scored 100 percent on his math test. She also told me she hadn't told Connor that yet. I told her, don't worry, his brain already told him that. And she was a little blown away, because apparently in class, he lacks this sort of confidence.

What gives on that front?

Elaine

Connor's First Open Mic

Connor participated in his elementary's school's first ever open mic night. Modeled after the Busboys and Poets Poetry Slam, children were asked to submit a piece of writing they had completed. The PTA would choose works across grades in a random selection, and would supplement the line-up by asking teachers to nominate students as well.

I never turned in the submission form, because Connor's writing lacks depth, shall we say? For him to string two sentences together is a near miracle, but for whatever reason, participating in this event stuck in his craw. I figured he'd forget about it but the day after entries were due, he came to me waving the reminder flier (how he found it amongst the approximately one bajillion items sent home every Friday I will never know) and begged me not to forget to submit something for him.

Craptastic.

So I figured I would submit something late, and hope the committee would have mercy on me. You see, every other time this year there has been a deadline, I have met it. Only to get an email the day after the due date saying "if you didn't meet the deadline, don't worry. Submit whatever random thing you were supposed to submit by the end of the week".

But for that event? The day after entries were recieved - just minutes after Connor had reminded me not to forget, I received an email in my inbox proclaiming "everyone who signed up gets to participate!". So I emailed the PTA president immediately, begged forgiveness, explained that Connor wanted to do this the entire time but I was too lazy to work with him and submit something, and if they could not accept something from him I totally understood because they'd sent home many reminders and this was ALL MY FAULT. And really, I'm a bad mom sometimes, but that's my problem, not theirs. The PTA president forwarded my pathetic email to the committee chair and she took pity on me and said she'd be happy to include Connor.

So then we spent Christmas break writing a story. I have to hand it to Connor. The story started out with his typical two sentences (something along the lines of: She dropped her fishing pole in the water. We couldn't find it.") but he was thrilled to keep writing as I asked him questions about the story, asked if there was anything else an audience who wasn't actually at the event being described would want to know, who is "she", etc. It was hard work, and he rocked it. We even went so far as to cut up his written work into sentences that he could easily re-arrange and write another sentence to insert in between.

Prior to leaving for the evening, I told Connor he needed to wear "fancy clothes" which means, no sweat pants. He took it up a notch and hung one of Ed's ties around his neck as well. We are nothing, if not an awesome dressing family.

Connor is so thrilled with this piece, I cannot possibly capture it in words. However, I can present to you his performance (yay video camera!) and let you know that in Ed's completely biased opinion, Connor's was the best first grade piece.

I thought the collection of storytellers was a complete hoot. Helen seemed to enjoy several pieces and only criticized one as being "really long".

I hope they have the event again. The only thing that really annoyed me is that Connor was so proud of himself - just beaming, and then at the end they announced, in typical public school fashion "and all our writers get a prize". I know Connor loves these prizes, but I really feel as if the school is doing everything it can to eliminate all internal motivation. I hope they don't succeed.

Elaine

NaBloPoMo Advice Column - Day 14 - Sometimes, You Just Have to Ask

The five first grade classes at Connor's school have an inner-grade mail system. On Thursday, Connor received his first piece of mail. I was from P, a girl in his class who seems quite nice.

"Connor i am glad you are in my clos"

This morning, I volunteered in Connor's class. Connor completed the scheduled activity with a few minutes to spare, and so he excitedly ran over to the mailbox to fill his spare time. He grabbed a postcard, looked across the desks to see how to spell P's name, and then wrote on the card:

"P - plees send a note to my" (he meant to write "me" for the last word).

Connor was thrilled to be sending something through the mail system, and definitely a little nervous about it. I thought it could've been a little more meaningful, perhaps telling P. something nice, or asking if she wanted to play with him at recess, or any number of things. But, I guess "sometimes, you just have to ask" for what you want. No need to mince words, I guess.

Elaine

Building a worldview:
Day 1: Surround Yourself With Brilliant People (though my friend Susan makes a good point that clever is pretty good, too).
Day 2: Whatever, it works.
Day 3: Surround Yourself With Beauty
Day 4: When You Go Through Something New - Drag Someone With You
Day 5: No sweatpants.
Day 6: Embrace the Crazy
Day 7: Listen to Your Friends or Fight Old Fogey-dom. Get out there. Keep experiencing fun, new things.
Day 8: Don't Let Anyone Sell You Short
Day 9: Take a Lesson From Your Child
Day 10: Consume the best chocolate you can
Day 11: Help your neighbor.
Day 12: Take Breaks
Day 13: Establish a Realistic Rhythm

NaBloPoMo Advice Column: Day 6 - Embrace the Crazy

I'm writing 30 thoughts in 30 days for NaBloPoMo. In no particular order, I'm giving you my worldview. I draw the topics from things that come up the day I post, or the day or two before I post.
I lead a relatively calm life. Most of the time, things are basically under control. I consider myself a rock for my children, and I'm happy to serve that role.

However, sometimes, I find it just works better to embrace the crazy. You know, those moments when both kids are running around as if they snuck a cappuccino in on me, and it is clear that there is no possible way order can be restored with a simple suggestion of calming down. We run, we dance, we laugh, I scoop them up and pretend to drop them on their heads to "shake their sillies out".

The principal at Connor's school embodies this philosophy. The woman knows every student and parent associated with the school. She can recall information with little to no preparation, and she knows EVERYBODY in the school system - and can put you in touch with them quickly if needed. Parents adore her. When we leave our children in her building, we know they are in great hands. I did a lot of nosing around before deciding to send Connor to public school and I heard no negative comments about this woman. Not even the "I totally love her but..." type. I might cry if she ever leaves our school. I'm grateful for her extraordinately sensitivity in the transition to public school.

The greatest thing about her, however, is that the kids love her too, and I think it's in part because of her ability to embrace the crazy. There is no doubt when a kid is around her that she loves them. She's willing to join in whatever a child is doing.

Earlier this year, after I dropped off Connor with a substitute teacher, I walked by the Principal's office as she and her assistant were marching down the hall. I made some remark to her about it looking like a fun day in Connor's class and she looked at me, laughed, and said "we're on it". And with that, she marched down the hall with her assistant, looking like someone in the Wild West heading out to a dual. They knew exactly what they were walking into, and they had the confidence of knowing exactly what they'd be walking out of. I have no doubt that Connor's class was calm in minutes - after having a great laugh with her and her assistant.

Another day, I mentioned to her I was having lunch with Connor that day and she advised "bring ear plugs". I didn't follow her advice, but it was good advice. She seemed to stay away from the cafeteria in general, but then a few weeks later, she started being the disc jockey at Friday lunches, which have turned into a big dance party. This, by the way, is "totally funny and really, really, really fun!", according to Connor. She even plays "really old music - like, from the 1980s". (Note to Connor - I learned to dance with that music. It's not that old!) Apparently, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

She dressed up for Halloween, she tells hilarious stories at PTA meetings, and she knows more about education in this county than anyone else, I believe. She sends out appeals for families in the school that need assistance, and privately makes sure that her students have enough to eat by throwing her full support behind and school food pantry. Amidst all the seriousness of the work she does - and she does take it seriously, she's willing to embrace the craziness that comes along with being an elementary school principal. This weekend, she read a silly story to the kids at a book fair, and when the story mentioned Yugoslavia, she looked up at the adults and said "when was this book published?". So there she was, with all the kids laughing, and all of the parents reassured that indeed, we were leaving our children in the hands of a smart woman.

Embrace the crazy. Sometimes, I've learned, it's the only way.

Elaine

Building a worldview:
Day 1: Surround Yourself With Brilliant People (though my friend Susan makes a good point that clever is pretty good, too).
Day 2: Whatever, it works.
Day 3: Surround Yourself With Beauty
Day 4: When You Go Through Something New - Drag Someone With You
Day 5: No sweatpants.

NaBloPoMo Advice Column - Day 2 - Whatever, it works.

I'm writing 30 thoughts in 30 days for NaBloPoMo. In no particular order, I'm giving you my worldview.
2. "Whatever, it works". This one is borrowed from my friend Aglaia.

Details. They're often important. How well you capture them will often dictate how good your outcome will be. For example, if you bake a cake, and forget an ingredient, you'll probably know it with the first bite. In junior high, I didn't know there was a difference between baking powder and baking soda. My group's assignment was to make a recipe titled "baking powder biscuits". We unintentionally substituted baking soda. Wow, were those biscuits fantastic looking. Tallest ones in the class. But take a bite? They tasted like a salt bomb. We couldn't even gag down enough to pretend we'd gotten the recipe right. The distinction between baking powder and baking soda? It matters. In this case, "whatever, it works", is terrible advice.

But that's not always the case.

My dad often says "there's a right way, a wrong way, and a mymom'slastname way. Everyone married to one of my mom's siblings relates to this. And for a long time, so did I. And then I got busy, and I learned that I could actually skip vacuuming beneath my bed weekly, so long as I did it regularly enough that no dust bunnies formed. I no longer completed the task the mymoms'slastname way, instead, I applied "whatever, it works".

At a PTA meeting last night, the math coach was going over the new math program at Connor's school and she noted that the big improvement in the program was that it allowed for multiple pathways to solve a problem. This, she said, is the key to true understanding. Which reminded me of a story on NPR about solving math problems

Multiply 19 and 4.

What did you do? As it turns out, some people think "19 + 19 + 19 + 19", others think "38 * 2", some think "9 * 4, carry the 3, add the 4" and still others (me!) think "20 * 4 - 4". All are correct. My method blows Ed away.

In the context of raising kids, sometimes boots must be worn when sneakers would be more appropriate, or a giant puddle of glue finds favor over a little piece of tape. Occasionally, Helen swims with her wetsuit and top to her bathing suit because the bottom of the bathing suit has gone missing. And when I need a quiet moment in the car I have been known to hand Helen a Starburst. In the quest for these lost items or quiet space, I know life isn't perfect. I try and remind myself to take a deep breath and adopt Aglaia's philosophy - "Whatever, it works!".

Building a worldview:
Day 1: Surround Yourself With Brilliant People (though my friend Susan makes a good point that clever is pretty good, too).

Halloween at School

About a week before Friday, I lost my mind. You see, I foolishly decided to volunteer in Connor's classroom in the morning for "the Great Pumpkin Caper" and then decided to do double duty and volunteer for the Halloween party as well. When I got home, I wanted to collapse. Connor? He wanted to run around and play baseball. Clearly, he has more stamina than I give him credit for.

First...the Great Pumpkin Caper. There are no photographic records of this, because it would've meant ruining my camera by getting it full of pumpkin goo. First, have the children estimate how many seeds are in the pumpkin. Guesses from the table I was helping: D - 20; P - 80; F - 129; Connor - 200; me: 432. Actual number: 672 - plus a few more because D got tired of counting and his piles of 10 were not exactly even and F decided to make a last grasp for additional seeds on the floor that I had deemed out of play and didn't add to our total. Yeah, I can CRUSH 6 year olds in the estimating department. I'm proud.

Second step was the counting. I needed to remove the top of the pumpkin, but some parent who donated the pumpkin to the table I was at was an a$$hat and though they cut around the top of the pumpkin, they never actually removed the top, and apparently they missed a spot because I could not pry that FU**ER off, so I had to climb on a cabinet and get a knife, while D decided to wander around the room, break the stem of the pumpkin, and then start beating on the damn thing because he. is. so. strong. But not strong enough to make actual progress in the quest to remove the top.

Connor was thrilled at getting to count piles of 10 and then make groups of 100. F was pretty diligent in his task, P gave up around 100 and D counted about 30 seeds and then decided to just make random piles of seeds. I guess I can't blame him, but F and Connor were not thrilled about the inexactness of it all. Eventually, Helen joined the counting because we were never going to finish. Connor was perfectly happy to reach into the pumpkin and get the seeds and goo out. D just wanted to reach into it, mash it around, and then wave his hands wildly. P was too precious to get too close to the goo, and F kept waving his hands wildly whenever he decided there was too much goo near him. So, for the team, I scooped those seeds out like a pro and kept telling my little counters to keep going. I also told F repeatedly that if he kept flicking pumpkin goo on me, I might start smelling good to a wild animal and be attacked on the way home. This deterred him ever so briefly.

Next, we measured, counted ridges, and then eventually, the Great Pumpkin Caper ended.

Helen and I dashed out to sanity only to turn around an hour later to get kids ready for the parade and then make sure the number of children lost at the parade stayed at acceptable levels. Although Connor was happy enough to march at the end of the first grade line, Helen prefers the front. So, she just marched right up to Mrs. H. and walked with her. And then she spent the two laps of the field waving at all the moms she knows, pretending she was in first grade. She loved it.

Next, Helen and the first graders went to music. I'm not even sure the music teacher realized she had an extra kid in her class until she told me I didn't need to watch (which was code for: I'm doing such an embarrassing job at teaching today, I'd prefer you not witness it) and I told her I had a little one in the class. She let Helen stay (which thrilled Helen) and I went downstairs to prepare for the party.

Anyone notice the kids who's not actually in first grade pretending as if she is?

I taught the kids how to make bats. Totally cool.

Then, the kids cleaned the room up a bit, we went home, and I wanted to lie in a ball and sleep. Too bad my kids didn't want to do the same.

Elaine

First Week of Public School: Recap

Ha! I was going to be so good at recording my impressions of Connor's new school, but between preparing for the Potomac Crescent Waldorf School Silent Auction (which I am running - although I have three people helping that have been an enormous help!), an ear infection for Connor, and a crazy project ending at work, I never seemed to hit send. So...pretend you're reading this a few weeks ago.

Day 1. Helen and I took Connor to his classroom. Only, we arrived a few minutes early, so we were there alone. I didn't know we were supposed to drop off in the multipurpose room, but apparently everyone else knew this. I swear, I read every single piece of paper and email that comes to me (and the amount is vast!) and this was not mentioned. This is a problem with starting a school in first grade, rather than Kindergarten. The Kindergarten parents received instructions on what to do. I was supposed to just figure it out, I guess.

After putting a photo of me and Connor up in Connor's locker (from our recent trip to the Red Caboose motel) and showing him where his lunch would be, we went searching for the other 21 children in his class, and found them in a super crowded room. I figured out where Mrs. H's class was sitting, and Connor joined the line. Then I walked with the line to Connor's class, but Mrs. H. wasn't there yet.

Connor was noticeably thrown by all of this. He then followed the other children in taking his seat.

Imagine this - for an entire two years of your life, you've started school by saying a morning verse with your parent and then running around outside on a playground. Now, you're supposed to just sit at a desk. Connor tried very hard to hold back the tears, and I do believe he would have, had another girl not started bawling. She thought her parents had failed to get her school supplies, and she was super upset about it. Her emotional outburst validated his own insecurities.

Connor became very pale, like he does when he's about to cry, and a single tear slid down his face. He wiped it quickly away, and did his best to ground himself in his chair. It was then that my heart broke into a million tiny pieces. I really felt like I had betrayed him.

Helen and I began our exit, because I knew I'd lose my positive disposition and be a mess of tears in minutes if we didn't leave fast. When we reached the door, Helen ran back to Connor and gave him the biggest hug ever. It was as if to say "I'm sorry she's doing this to you. I'll figure out a way to get her to spring you from this place, but I need a little time".

Little did Helen know, but I had plans for her, too. Quickly, we set about mopping the floor.

I felt so awful that I called Ed and I think we were both convinced that we'd be writing a tuition check to the Waldorf school soon. At noon, I emailed the principal and asked if she'd seen him and told him he was very sad when Helen and I left.

I liked her response. She emailed back that she had seen Connor three times that morning, and although he could be holding it in, he seemed fine. I appreciated that she was aware that, having met him only a couple of times, she might not have a complete handle on how he would show his emotions.

When Connor came home that evening, he reported that snack was good, music was not good (no instruments!), that they didn't get to play with the toys in class, and that two boys had their fishes moved to blue for being naughty. Apparently, his fish is on the rocks. If he's naughty once, it gets moved to blue. Twice, it goes to yellow and your parent gets a note. Three incidents of being naughty result in moving your fish to red and a visit to the Principal's office. And this next part is what I love about Connor. Mrs. H. told the class that if your fish stayed on blue for 10 days in a row, you could get a prize. So Connor, always the good listener, decided that he needed to be naughty once in order to get his fish moved to blue, but then not be naughty again for 10 days so he could get his prize. I *think* I convinced him that rocks or blue would qualify for a prize, but I'm not sure. I sent a note back on the "daily news" about this so Mrs. H could clarify.

He then told me I needed to sign a paper for him, because if I did this 10 times, he could get a prize. If we remember to do this 20 times, he's going to get a prize for Helen, too. He'll look for something pink. [Edited to add: And since I am publishing this much later than it was written, I can add that the very first opportunity Connor had to get a prize, I was volunteering in his classroom. He noticed that there was one wristband bracelet like the ones all the first graders received on the first day of class, and he plunged his hand right into the prize jar and told Mrs. H "I'm getting this bracelet! Helen loves mine and has been wanting mine for so long. Now she can have this one". I was not actually surprised by this, because Connor does sweet stuff like this for Helen all the time. Mrs. H. about fell over though, and pretty much stopped the whole class to tell them what a nice thing Connor had done, and in honor of his nice thing, she gave him a second prize. I did want to punch Mrs. H. when she did this. You see, I don't like external motivation and prizes, and I wanted Connor to just be proud of his action, which would then motivate him internally to continue to do nice deeds. Attaching an extrinsic reward to it all cheapens the act. Connor was thrilled, of course. Psychology be damned!]

Day 2. Initially, Connor wanted to be dropped off at his class door. Then, he decided he wanted me to take his stuff to his locker, and he would go to the gym. He did an about face to head to the gym, missed the door, and managed to get to the front of the school as I swam upstream to try and get him back to the right place. When he saw the front door of the school, he realized he had gone too far, and spun around. He seemed relieved to see me - so I took him to the gym door, and he disappeared inside. Helen and I waited by his classroom to make sure he found the right line. When he passed us, he gave me a big hug, and then he picked Helen up and carried her all the way into class. He and Helen were laughing up a storm, and Mrs. H. joined in. The woman is a saint. She could've easily been annoyed.

That evening, he brought me the paper "the daily news", and although it was lacking in details yesterday, on Wednesday it reported that he played with the cash register and had the names of the four little dudes he played with. Apparently, the torrential downpours we're experiencing here meant indoor recess - a phenomena previously unknown to Connor as Waldorf kids play outside, every day.

Day 3. We were really getting into the groove by now. Connor went to the gym, found his line, and repeated the whole carrying Helen thing in. Every girl in the class is now in love with Helen and Mrs. H. stops whatever she's doing to give Helen a hug and let me know how much she loves her. This was the first day of science. The experiment? Eat a gobstopper. Observe what happens to it. Now put a gobstopper in a dish of water to sit overnight.

Day 4. Connor was excited to go to school, and was starting to know the names of the kids in his class. He was eager to learn what happened to that gobstopper, and I do not believe he was disappointed. He impressed Mrs. H. with his mad math skillz, and he is reportedly her best sitter and listener. That last trait is a trait many Waldorf educated children have. They hear stories all the time, and it's important to listen in order to know what's going on because there are no written words for them to rely on. That was Friday, and thus concluded Connor's first week of school.

I have mixed emotions about the whole thing. I think this will be true for a long time. Connor most definitely feels loved and cared for, which is very important to me. He's also happy and he's certainly learning lots of random things, which may or may not prove useful at some point. The one thing I wish I'd done prior to sending him to first grade? Teach him to hold a pencil. I was so worried about the reading, that it never occurred to me that he would need to know how to hold a pencil. His teacher has asked me if I think it's an OT issue. No, it is not. You can take that to the bank.

Elaine

Registration

Today, I registered Connor to attend our local public elementary school. He'll start first grade in the fall. As confident as I am that this is a fantastic school, I still almost cried. You see, earlier today, Connor spent some time painting during summer camp at his Waldorf school. Just like every other time he has painted this past year, he was given three jars of paint - red, yellow, and blue, a high quality paint brush, and a wet piece of paper affixed to a painting board that the painting would dry on. It's a beautiful setup, and one I can now replicate at home since I finally purchased painting boards.

When I arrived at the public school, children were painting in the flower garden out front. Their supplies? They had one of the crappy plastic paint trays where you have to dip your paintbrush in water to free the paint. That was not inspiring.

But I turned in my deed showing that I lived in the neighborhood, a health form, several other random required forms, and that was it. Connor was enrolled in first grade.

I sent the following note to Ed:

"Your son is now registered to be a tiny cog in a very large machine, where he will be issued sub-standard art supplies and asked to thrive.

Welcome to government schools."

So, in short, we are now officially part of the problem.

Elaine