"I want that game!"
"That's not a game. They're getting kids to buy it."
"I want that Barbie movie!"
"They're getting kids to buy it and I don't want it!"
(Sounds like the Bean's been reading Naomi Klein.)
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Proof That The Grandparents Are Out of Practice
"What is that on his forehead? Is that a welt? Is that something new?"
(Babysitting my nephew, 11/08/09)
(Babysitting my nephew, 11/08/09)
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Progressive Education Fantasyland: a Rant of Rant-ish Proportions
I'm just going to enjoy this fantasy for a two months, give or take, before the lottery for the 2010-2011 school year at Unity Charter School in Morristown is held.
Yes, it's far. And yet:
There are many reasons I'm a huge fan of charter schools.
*For one, I believe successful charter schools can do a number of goods: attract students whose learning styles, needs and family educational philosophy match well with its mission.
*Urban charter schools like this school in Jersey City appeal to parents who might otherwise feel that the only way their children can avoid mediocre public schools is to decamp for the suburbs. Offering a new educational path creates a diverse school and improves civic health.
*Charter schools thin out overcrowded schools. E's first-grade class--at her school and nearly every other in West Orange--is a boomish blip on the population radar. When three schools in town requested an additional first grade teacher for this school year, the new superintendent granted only two schools their wish. E's school, where parents are less well-off and less visible, was not given another teacher. I can only imagine what slights public schools receive when their parents are even less visible or empowered. Like the East Los Angeles public school where my friend Amy taught: it received a bully of a principal that had been shuffled there from another school, protected from getting the firing he deserved.
*Finally, they remind traditional schools of alternative ways of teaching and learning. There are best practices within both kinds of schools, and they have the opportunity to share ideas, even if only in theoretical comparison.
***
The typical "kid-ness" of an elementary school is exacerbated by overcrowding.I'm sensitive to noise and chaos, and surely there are children in school who are, too. When crowded classroms meet the traditional, hardwired "school" mentality, the school day looks like this: children at recess are sent to the blacktop instead of the play structures for safety reasons--just too many kids. A flower garden on the grounds remains scenery to students, and never a lesson. Older teachers and aides raise their voices with no compunction. Cafeteria aides "punish" the entire cafeteria of children by assigning seats through the rest of the school year. In other words, school exacts a series of small injuries towards a child's peace and sense of option.
This is what I see, but it's not atypical. That is, unless the schools are created from a more deliberate, studied philosophy in a progressive community. There is lots of that in our neighboring towns. That could be, ultimately, our only option. But I still can't help but feel outraged that these options must be bought with a mortgage and taxes. Do other communities mistrust anything but traditional, sit-in-your-seat structure for less well-off children? Some people argue that the "structure model" is a gift for urban children who might experience social disorder in their home life. If so, then lets keep that, too. I'm not denying that it can be useful. Just not for every child.
I hunger for innovation. To see that spark in a teacher or principal's eye. I long for three-dimensional learning, especially for boys. I desperately wish for 90 percent less homework, and the abolishment of the bleak, take-home ditto. It is not my place to tell teachers how to do their job, but all my instincts tell me that my children will suffer under the current era of Educational Numbers. Even under Obama, the larger climate is still firmly entrenched in testville. Sec. of Ed. Arne Duncan wants schools to compete for extra money if they can "quantify" their success: faculty excellence, student scores. The children will be buried beneath the quantification of their "SUCCESS." Mr. Duncan, can you quantify students' love of learning? Or how many mornings they want to go to school? How about incentivizing for that? And how do you prevent schools, panicking about ESL children and overcrowding, from doing everything in their power to buck up those numbers, even if it means students spend time each day working on sample test sheets, bored to death? That's what a teacher-friend's suburban-district principal wanted him to do. He doesn't do it, but if the shit hit the fan, he wouldn't have a choice.
So, to the Lottery we go.
I could do more to make our public school reflect my hopes. Everyone could. I have done more in a few months than I expected I could. That felt great, and of course I want to do more. I continue to propose ideas. I help out. But it astounds me when basic things continue to be overlooked: an absence of outdoor recycling bins, a nearly useless bench for parents near the play structure. Apparently parents continue to sit on the single slat while their children play, saying nothing. As if they don't deserve better.
(This leads to considerations of self-esteem and community empowerment. Immigrant parents speak up less, according to research for my last book. At the simplest level, it leads to mild alienation. At the worst, it allows the school to fail their child's needs. Yes, I'm making a lot of huge generalizations here. I'm just observing and learning as I go, even as I come from my own perspective.)
Involved parents are sometimes seen at PTA meetings, where agenda items include: fundraiser catalogs, Cheesecake Sale, soda pop tabs for the Ronald McDonald House, even a program in which Perdue gives a small school donation for each purchase of certain chicken products. (I'll bet the list includes nuggets.) For the food services staff, Perdue steps it up with the Perdue's Loyalty Program. Food services staff can purchase points toward electronics, sporting goods, office and foodservice equipment. Hope the school gets those goodies. One can only wonder, really, or doubt.
The takeaway message? It's the same as at many PTA meetings across the country. If you want to support our school, don't really worry about the details. Just be a good parent and shop. (Then please sign up for the gift fair, where you can help the children shop.)
I've told the Bean's principal that I'm not invigorated to help with these fundraisers. Families don't need catalog cheesecake, I told her. I say it with kindness and tact but also with conviction. She's allowed to think I'm a giant pain: I also have helped in a big, tangible way. So, as Obama likes to say, Let's Be Clear: my desire to shift the entire dialogue will not win me any popularity contests. But if school wants to teach values, lets move past lessons on bullying and self-esteem into an "others-oriented" approach to education. There's more self-esteem to be taught in that.
(The irony of DRIVING to a charter school focused on sustainability has not escaped me. We'll see how this all plays out: I haven't the slightest. Certainly, we can join one of the school's carpools.)
There are thousands more words to write on this, but I need to process and research them for another forum. There are issues of school segregation and innovation, race and the problem of the "good schools." Even the most progressive parents have conspired to make testing king, even as they give lip service to social learning. And no one wants to talk about it, beyond their line that they "found the best school for their child." To crib Bill Clinton, it's our own anxiety, stupid. And mine, too.
Yes, it's far. And yet:
There are many reasons I'm a huge fan of charter schools.
*For one, I believe successful charter schools can do a number of goods: attract students whose learning styles, needs and family educational philosophy match well with its mission.
*Urban charter schools like this school in Jersey City appeal to parents who might otherwise feel that the only way their children can avoid mediocre public schools is to decamp for the suburbs. Offering a new educational path creates a diverse school and improves civic health.
*Charter schools thin out overcrowded schools. E's first-grade class--at her school and nearly every other in West Orange--is a boomish blip on the population radar. When three schools in town requested an additional first grade teacher for this school year, the new superintendent granted only two schools their wish. E's school, where parents are less well-off and less visible, was not given another teacher. I can only imagine what slights public schools receive when their parents are even less visible or empowered. Like the East Los Angeles public school where my friend Amy taught: it received a bully of a principal that had been shuffled there from another school, protected from getting the firing he deserved.
*Finally, they remind traditional schools of alternative ways of teaching and learning. There are best practices within both kinds of schools, and they have the opportunity to share ideas, even if only in theoretical comparison.
***
The typical "kid-ness" of an elementary school is exacerbated by overcrowding.I'm sensitive to noise and chaos, and surely there are children in school who are, too. When crowded classroms meet the traditional, hardwired "school" mentality, the school day looks like this: children at recess are sent to the blacktop instead of the play structures for safety reasons--just too many kids. A flower garden on the grounds remains scenery to students, and never a lesson. Older teachers and aides raise their voices with no compunction. Cafeteria aides "punish" the entire cafeteria of children by assigning seats through the rest of the school year. In other words, school exacts a series of small injuries towards a child's peace and sense of option.
This is what I see, but it's not atypical. That is, unless the schools are created from a more deliberate, studied philosophy in a progressive community. There is lots of that in our neighboring towns. That could be, ultimately, our only option. But I still can't help but feel outraged that these options must be bought with a mortgage and taxes. Do other communities mistrust anything but traditional, sit-in-your-seat structure for less well-off children? Some people argue that the "structure model" is a gift for urban children who might experience social disorder in their home life. If so, then lets keep that, too. I'm not denying that it can be useful. Just not for every child.
I hunger for innovation. To see that spark in a teacher or principal's eye. I long for three-dimensional learning, especially for boys. I desperately wish for 90 percent less homework, and the abolishment of the bleak, take-home ditto. It is not my place to tell teachers how to do their job, but all my instincts tell me that my children will suffer under the current era of Educational Numbers. Even under Obama, the larger climate is still firmly entrenched in testville. Sec. of Ed. Arne Duncan wants schools to compete for extra money if they can "quantify" their success: faculty excellence, student scores. The children will be buried beneath the quantification of their "SUCCESS." Mr. Duncan, can you quantify students' love of learning? Or how many mornings they want to go to school? How about incentivizing for that? And how do you prevent schools, panicking about ESL children and overcrowding, from doing everything in their power to buck up those numbers, even if it means students spend time each day working on sample test sheets, bored to death? That's what a teacher-friend's suburban-district principal wanted him to do. He doesn't do it, but if the shit hit the fan, he wouldn't have a choice.
So, to the Lottery we go.
I could do more to make our public school reflect my hopes. Everyone could. I have done more in a few months than I expected I could. That felt great, and of course I want to do more. I continue to propose ideas. I help out. But it astounds me when basic things continue to be overlooked: an absence of outdoor recycling bins, a nearly useless bench for parents near the play structure. Apparently parents continue to sit on the single slat while their children play, saying nothing. As if they don't deserve better.
(This leads to considerations of self-esteem and community empowerment. Immigrant parents speak up less, according to research for my last book. At the simplest level, it leads to mild alienation. At the worst, it allows the school to fail their child's needs. Yes, I'm making a lot of huge generalizations here. I'm just observing and learning as I go, even as I come from my own perspective.)
Involved parents are sometimes seen at PTA meetings, where agenda items include: fundraiser catalogs, Cheesecake Sale, soda pop tabs for the Ronald McDonald House, even a program in which Perdue gives a small school donation for each purchase of certain chicken products. (I'll bet the list includes nuggets.) For the food services staff, Perdue steps it up with the Perdue's Loyalty Program. Food services staff can purchase points toward electronics, sporting goods, office and foodservice equipment. Hope the school gets those goodies. One can only wonder, really, or doubt.
The takeaway message? It's the same as at many PTA meetings across the country. If you want to support our school, don't really worry about the details. Just be a good parent and shop. (Then please sign up for the gift fair, where you can help the children shop.)
I've told the Bean's principal that I'm not invigorated to help with these fundraisers. Families don't need catalog cheesecake, I told her. I say it with kindness and tact but also with conviction. She's allowed to think I'm a giant pain: I also have helped in a big, tangible way. So, as Obama likes to say, Let's Be Clear: my desire to shift the entire dialogue will not win me any popularity contests. But if school wants to teach values, lets move past lessons on bullying and self-esteem into an "others-oriented" approach to education. There's more self-esteem to be taught in that.
(The irony of DRIVING to a charter school focused on sustainability has not escaped me. We'll see how this all plays out: I haven't the slightest. Certainly, we can join one of the school's carpools.)
There are thousands more words to write on this, but I need to process and research them for another forum. There are issues of school segregation and innovation, race and the problem of the "good schools." Even the most progressive parents have conspired to make testing king, even as they give lip service to social learning. And no one wants to talk about it, beyond their line that they "found the best school for their child." To crib Bill Clinton, it's our own anxiety, stupid. And mine, too.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Kornukopia
Today I reminded the Bean of how, last year, she became preoccupied with candy corn. In fact, she put it on her Christmas List.
In one short year, even she sees the humor in that.
In one short year, even she sees the humor in that.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Making Room for Magnetism
After a September of adjustment, we've gotten our feet wet with some new things recently. Ballet for the Bean, Skool for L., who is blossoming within those three mornings. The younger sister--who so desperately wants to be bigger that she points out each time her shadow stretches tall on the sidewalk--glows from having her own space to play, create, sing, leap, make a mess, be curious. I am so proud of her, because her joie de vivre will bring her great things in her life, I hope.
We're also bringing some familiar communities along into fall, because they fit me, and inspire me, and the girls fit there, too. L's Waldorf-inspired class, and our twice-monthly volunteer morning at the food co-op (which has become dear time for me to enjoy work and food and issues and the sensory joys of a farm's haul).
I am enjoying the ongoing ways in which I find my tribe. It has taken me some time, but I have begun to feel that when I walk my walk--the walk that is right for me, that walk leads to the tribe. When I leap instead to "meeting," it's a little blind, a little sloppy and wobbly. I find myself wondering, is this where I should be? Do I like it here? When my own paces has led me there, there is the tribe, and I simply need to introduce myself. It's a much slower but easier way for me, and truer. Less exhausting.
"For my children, I wanted to be the sermon, not give the sermon," said Cornell West in an interview with Tavis Smiley that I heard today on my drive home.
We're also bringing some familiar communities along into fall, because they fit me, and inspire me, and the girls fit there, too. L's Waldorf-inspired class, and our twice-monthly volunteer morning at the food co-op (which has become dear time for me to enjoy work and food and issues and the sensory joys of a farm's haul).
I am enjoying the ongoing ways in which I find my tribe. It has taken me some time, but I have begun to feel that when I walk my walk--the walk that is right for me, that walk leads to the tribe. When I leap instead to "meeting," it's a little blind, a little sloppy and wobbly. I find myself wondering, is this where I should be? Do I like it here? When my own paces has led me there, there is the tribe, and I simply need to introduce myself. It's a much slower but easier way for me, and truer. Less exhausting.
"For my children, I wanted to be the sermon, not give the sermon," said Cornell West in an interview with Tavis Smiley that I heard today on my drive home.
Monday, October 05, 2009
Age 6 and Race
Questions about upcoming calendar days - Night Owl Bean lately likes to know what is "coming up" and lately her mind seems to contain a giant calendar that she is trying to fill in - led to talk of Columbus Day, which led to talk of:
*Who the heck Columbus is and why did he come to America?
*Native Americans
*Where Native Americans live now and what do they do?
"Do they take care of white babies?" she asked.
It was the first time I'd heard her use the term "white"--typically we would refer to physical descriptions of "lighter skin" and "darker skin," which I'd also heard an African-American girl in her Daisy Girl Scout troop use as well. But more significantly, it was the first time I'd heard her recognize a color construct and relate it to power.
Part of me wanted to ask her why she'd think they were taking care of white babies. But then I realized that asking that was sort of hopeless.
Because we can live in a liberal, relatively integrated community and talk equality all we want. But the jobs that people DO speak their own stories.
*Who the heck Columbus is and why did he come to America?
*Native Americans
*Where Native Americans live now and what do they do?
"Do they take care of white babies?" she asked.
It was the first time I'd heard her use the term "white"--typically we would refer to physical descriptions of "lighter skin" and "darker skin," which I'd also heard an African-American girl in her Daisy Girl Scout troop use as well. But more significantly, it was the first time I'd heard her recognize a color construct and relate it to power.
Part of me wanted to ask her why she'd think they were taking care of white babies. But then I realized that asking that was sort of hopeless.
Because we can live in a liberal, relatively integrated community and talk equality all we want. But the jobs that people DO speak their own stories.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Another Blessing: Joan Didion's "In Bed," an excerpt
"And once it comes, now that I am wise in its ways, I no longer fight it. I lie down and let it happen. At first every small apprehension is magnified, every anxiety a pounding terror. Then the pain comes, and I concentrate only on that. Right there is the usefulness of migraine, there in that imposed yoga, the concentration on the pain. For when the pain recedes, ten or twelve hours later, everything goes with it, all the hidden resentments, all the vain anxieties. The migraine has acted as a circuit breaker, and the fuses have emerged intact. There is a pleasant convalescent euphoria. I open the windows and feel the air, eat gratefully, sleep well. I notice the particular nature of a flower in a glass on the stair landing. I count my blessings."
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I Hate Time
...and it hates me. I'm 36 in a senseless stream, and that's fine with me. I like feeling lost in time, so that the now surprises me, and the past, too. Like an old person, the streams of present and past woosh and recede, woosh and recede. I was only 11 the other day, racing with the boys through the woods to spy on the older girls and boys beginning the awkward mating rituals of 12. And just the other day I walked down Park Avenue, having taken the train back from Bronxville for class; I was in my twenties.
"There is no loneliness like theirs, wrote James Wright in "A Blessing," as if it was a good thing. Walks in Ocean Grove towards the water, was that yesterday? This morning? It was usually cold, the wind funneling the breezes up the wide street off-season. My roommate, Andrew, said, "When I was deciding where to live, I knew I needed to be able to walk to someplace beautiful." In my whole life, I have never come across any other idea that made more sense than that.
In this time and in this town, I write and find flow like Wright's blessing. And loneliness. It's my truth, and it can be crazy-making, but in this world, really, what is better than crazy?
So thank you James Wright. For that poem with the two shy horses and the feeling at the end that you are about to break into blossom. Because it's just that: breaking and blossoming together. A kind of painful truth: that time continues unabated and loneliness is hard to defend and the memory of walks are always more delicious than walks today.
***
In our family, people need to get places on time, though, and that is a different way to be. Things need to be delivered places on time. I do my best. I take the fall. I get angry. I withdraw. I take time. I try to emerge with a different sense of how to be in this life without feeling completely trapped by time. In the past, there was joy in movement, but the rushing, rushing. It's nothing. It's squall.
"There is no loneliness like theirs, wrote James Wright in "A Blessing," as if it was a good thing. Walks in Ocean Grove towards the water, was that yesterday? This morning? It was usually cold, the wind funneling the breezes up the wide street off-season. My roommate, Andrew, said, "When I was deciding where to live, I knew I needed to be able to walk to someplace beautiful." In my whole life, I have never come across any other idea that made more sense than that.
In this time and in this town, I write and find flow like Wright's blessing. And loneliness. It's my truth, and it can be crazy-making, but in this world, really, what is better than crazy?
So thank you James Wright. For that poem with the two shy horses and the feeling at the end that you are about to break into blossom. Because it's just that: breaking and blossoming together. A kind of painful truth: that time continues unabated and loneliness is hard to defend and the memory of walks are always more delicious than walks today.
***
In our family, people need to get places on time, though, and that is a different way to be. Things need to be delivered places on time. I do my best. I take the fall. I get angry. I withdraw. I take time. I try to emerge with a different sense of how to be in this life without feeling completely trapped by time. In the past, there was joy in movement, but the rushing, rushing. It's nothing. It's squall.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Two Poems by Rilke
I love the dark hours of my being
in which my senses drop into the deep.
I have found in them, as in old letters,
my private life, that is already lived through,
and become wide and powerful now, like legends.
Then I know that there is room in me
for a second huge and timeless life.
But sometimes I am like the tree that stands
over a grave, a leafy tree, fully grown,
who has lived out that particular dream, that the dead boy
(around whom its warm roots are pressing)
lost through his sad moods and his poems.
***
The Way In
Whoever you are: some evening take a step
out of your house, which you know so well.
Enormous space is near, your house lies where it begins,
whoever you are.
Your eyes find it hard to tear themselves
from the sloping threshold, but with your eyes
slowly, slowly, lift one black tree
up, so it stands against the sky: skinny alone.
With that you have made the world. The world is immense
and like a word that is still growing in the silence.
In the same moment that your will grasps it,
your eyes, feeling its subtlety, will leave it. . . .
Rainer Maria Rilke (The Way In as translated by Robert Bly)
in which my senses drop into the deep.
I have found in them, as in old letters,
my private life, that is already lived through,
and become wide and powerful now, like legends.
Then I know that there is room in me
for a second huge and timeless life.
But sometimes I am like the tree that stands
over a grave, a leafy tree, fully grown,
who has lived out that particular dream, that the dead boy
(around whom its warm roots are pressing)
lost through his sad moods and his poems.
***
The Way In
Whoever you are: some evening take a step
out of your house, which you know so well.
Enormous space is near, your house lies where it begins,
whoever you are.
Your eyes find it hard to tear themselves
from the sloping threshold, but with your eyes
slowly, slowly, lift one black tree
up, so it stands against the sky: skinny alone.
With that you have made the world. The world is immense
and like a word that is still growing in the silence.
In the same moment that your will grasps it,
your eyes, feeling its subtlety, will leave it. . . .
Rainer Maria Rilke (The Way In as translated by Robert Bly)
Friday, September 25, 2009
Overheard in the Cafe
(Glen Ridge High School students eating lunch next to me.)
"I have to have a family dinner every night! Do you have dinner with your mom?"
"No, I eat in my room. Do work."
"Does she try to be a mom?
"If I need something sewn, she'll do it. She's really nice. I have no problem with her. (after a while) She's kind of like a little child sometime...She's gonna get married. Eventually."
"Does she want to have kids?"
"(Unintelligible, then) My dad CANNOT have another kid."
"I have to have a family dinner every night! Do you have dinner with your mom?"
"No, I eat in my room. Do work."
"Does she try to be a mom?
"If I need something sewn, she'll do it. She's really nice. I have no problem with her. (after a while) She's kind of like a little child sometime...She's gonna get married. Eventually."
"Does she want to have kids?"
"(Unintelligible, then) My dad CANNOT have another kid."
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Four Down...
...Including her two top front teeth, both of which fell out within two weeks of each other. This year we have noticed that she seems to feeling more secure with her sense of herself, which is such a joy. That is indicative here: she has relished the fuss that these teeth have brought!
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Monday, July 06, 2009
A Memory of Plastic Turf
Found from my notes of Dec. 04. Made me nostalgic but glad we can still walk to strange urban discoveries:
Ella swoons over every cheesy Christmas display in downtown Jersey City. Even the plastic winking Santa face--no sturdier than a paper plate--on the door to the building next door. The nativity scene at Holy Rosary on Sixth Street enraptures her: "Mommy, Daddy, dogs," she recites, though the dogs are really sheep turned away from us. The nativity scene is missing a baby Jesus, so the Mary, Joseph, wise men and animals are all turned inward to a large blank spot of plastic turf.
Ella swoons over every cheesy Christmas display in downtown Jersey City. Even the plastic winking Santa face--no sturdier than a paper plate--on the door to the building next door. The nativity scene at Holy Rosary on Sixth Street enraptures her: "Mommy, Daddy, dogs," she recites, though the dogs are really sheep turned away from us. The nativity scene is missing a baby Jesus, so the Mary, Joseph, wise men and animals are all turned inward to a large blank spot of plastic turf.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Productive Citizen Barbie
At least the Barbies this morning were having this conversation:
"I am working on my garden. I want it to be growing by the spring. I am picking raspberries. Would you like to help?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, come with me and we'll pick raspberries."
"I love raspberries!"
"I am working on my garden. I want it to be growing by the spring. I am picking raspberries. Would you like to help?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, come with me and we'll pick raspberries."
"I love raspberries!"
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Toothiness
I learned today that Rudolph Steiner, the founder of Waldorf education, believed an individual's childhood could effectively (for intents and purposes) be divided up into three seven-year periods:
1. The first "physical" stage, in which the child exists very much in-body and adjusting still, ends upon the loss of baby teeth, or around seven.
2. At seven, academic learning can commence, a "spiritual" life commences, "the heart being a veritable vortex of forces and streaming currents (Steiner, n.d.)." In Waldorf, reading commences. This seems right to me. According to Lena's Waldorf-trained teacher, awareness of the world's danger also sets in (feeding the nightmares of fantasy?) and the internal wrestling with these occurs.
3. From ages 14 to 21, Steiner defines the "astral" body as taking over: "the bearer of instincts, drives, passions, desires, and of the ever-changing content of sensation and thought," organizing ego against the physical body, carrying joy and sorrow simultaneously.
(Though it seems to me that Steiner's quotes for both #2 and #3 seem similiar both in their poetry AND their implications...?)
***
I can only observe, at this point, the transition from the first to the second stage, and even then, just the stirrings. I am fascinated by the way E.'s physical and psychic selves seem to be shifting at once, calamitously. Last night, she had an awful nightmare--so bad, she said, that she could not tell me. Today she realized that her bottom tooth was suddenly taking on a wobbliness of huge proportions. Her first tooth to lose. What is being lost? What is changing before our eyes?
Oh, tooth fairy, oh magical beings, oh Fairy Una, oh creatures that protect this six year-old girl, come out and form a ring.
1. The first "physical" stage, in which the child exists very much in-body and adjusting still, ends upon the loss of baby teeth, or around seven.
2. At seven, academic learning can commence, a "spiritual" life commences, "the heart being a veritable vortex of forces and streaming currents (Steiner, n.d.)." In Waldorf, reading commences. This seems right to me. According to Lena's Waldorf-trained teacher, awareness of the world's danger also sets in (feeding the nightmares of fantasy?) and the internal wrestling with these occurs.
3. From ages 14 to 21, Steiner defines the "astral" body as taking over: "the bearer of instincts, drives, passions, desires, and of the ever-changing content of sensation and thought," organizing ego against the physical body, carrying joy and sorrow simultaneously.
(Though it seems to me that Steiner's quotes for both #2 and #3 seem similiar both in their poetry AND their implications...?)
***
I can only observe, at this point, the transition from the first to the second stage, and even then, just the stirrings. I am fascinated by the way E.'s physical and psychic selves seem to be shifting at once, calamitously. Last night, she had an awful nightmare--so bad, she said, that she could not tell me. Today she realized that her bottom tooth was suddenly taking on a wobbliness of huge proportions. Her first tooth to lose. What is being lost? What is changing before our eyes?
Oh, tooth fairy, oh magical beings, oh Fairy Una, oh creatures that protect this six year-old girl, come out and form a ring.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Turning Point
Today's forecast of our sunniest Sunday yet seems to usher in the news.
This summer L. will be three. That seems big to me, a turning point at which the baby is no longer the baby, and we may have reached a new stage.
When E. turned three, her little sister was already in utero doing her best Mia Hamm. (She is still doing her best Mia Hamm.)
Nearing three, she is waaay more level-headed that when she was closer-to-two. She makes for a great companion: young enough to still prefer being with mom, young enough that unexciting errands still are pleasant enough, provided she is not hungry or tired. (Not that we have had time for even this: I have literally had to put work first for 3+ weeks, and am actually looking forward to things like a movie or housework.) She is funny in the extroverted, get-you-to-laugh-out-of-the-blue way. I appreciate that.
This summer we might have a sandbox. The kids can play in the yard without intense supervision on the steps, etc. It's a new era of more independence for everyone, and new ways of relating, and new ways of soothing.
I also recently had a chance to spend some one-on-one days with the Bean, and that was a joy. I took her out for tea in Montclair at one of my favorite shops--one that I don't get into as much as I'd like. She drank her tea served in a tiny porcelain cup and delighted in her berry scone. We discovered that her favorite Montclair shop, Dolls in the Attic, had closed and been replaced with some repetitive boutique. (That was sad for both of us, because to enter its doors was to celebrate childhood.) The Bean has a bit of the city in her, somehow: she likes to socialize, tour, eat and create. The trip also had a bit of indulgence in it: when she was young we would include shopping in our routine as we could or were driven to do. These days, shopping is rare and now a little special again. What I mean is, it's special in the way you might spend time with others while doing it, like when the Bean was tiny and we would take shopping jaunts with another new, shocked mother.
What I want to say is this. Watching two different children develop into their original selves is absolutely fantastic. We are a year past intense two-child craziness, and now past the follow-up year of less-intense two-child craziness. If I can keep work in check until we have two-child schooling (or some other adventure) I expect to just have loads of fun watching them become themselves: close, but very different, sister friends.
This summer L. will be three. That seems big to me, a turning point at which the baby is no longer the baby, and we may have reached a new stage.
When E. turned three, her little sister was already in utero doing her best Mia Hamm. (She is still doing her best Mia Hamm.)
Nearing three, she is waaay more level-headed that when she was closer-to-two. She makes for a great companion: young enough to still prefer being with mom, young enough that unexciting errands still are pleasant enough, provided she is not hungry or tired. (Not that we have had time for even this: I have literally had to put work first for 3+ weeks, and am actually looking forward to things like a movie or housework.) She is funny in the extroverted, get-you-to-laugh-out-of-the-blue way. I appreciate that.
This summer we might have a sandbox. The kids can play in the yard without intense supervision on the steps, etc. It's a new era of more independence for everyone, and new ways of relating, and new ways of soothing.
I also recently had a chance to spend some one-on-one days with the Bean, and that was a joy. I took her out for tea in Montclair at one of my favorite shops--one that I don't get into as much as I'd like. She drank her tea served in a tiny porcelain cup and delighted in her berry scone. We discovered that her favorite Montclair shop, Dolls in the Attic, had closed and been replaced with some repetitive boutique. (That was sad for both of us, because to enter its doors was to celebrate childhood.) The Bean has a bit of the city in her, somehow: she likes to socialize, tour, eat and create. The trip also had a bit of indulgence in it: when she was young we would include shopping in our routine as we could or were driven to do. These days, shopping is rare and now a little special again. What I mean is, it's special in the way you might spend time with others while doing it, like when the Bean was tiny and we would take shopping jaunts with another new, shocked mother.
What I want to say is this. Watching two different children develop into their original selves is absolutely fantastic. We are a year past intense two-child craziness, and now past the follow-up year of less-intense two-child craziness. If I can keep work in check until we have two-child schooling (or some other adventure) I expect to just have loads of fun watching them become themselves: close, but very different, sister friends.
Monday, March 30, 2009
#19
Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.
And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.
And another man, who remains inside is own house,
stays there, inside the dishes and the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.
from A Book For the Hours of Prayer
Rainer Maria Rilke
Robert Bly, trans.
Harper & Row, 1981
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.
And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.
And another man, who remains inside is own house,
stays there, inside the dishes and the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.
from A Book For the Hours of Prayer
Rainer Maria Rilke
Robert Bly, trans.
Harper & Row, 1981
Monday, March 16, 2009
A Conversation Our Fifth-grade Neighbor Has With Her Friend
Fifth-grade Neighbor's Friend: "Your hair is so soft. Why isn't it curly like your sister's?"
FGN: "I am not like my sister. I hate my sister. Her favorite color is red; my favorite color is blue. Also, she is a liar."
FGN: "I am not like my sister. I hate my sister. Her favorite color is red; my favorite color is blue. Also, she is a liar."
Sunday, March 01, 2009
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