"I Just Learned It"

I've been thinking a lot lately about the things my Son suddenly seems to know -- the stuff he apparently imbibes from the air or learns through osmosis.

He comes home singing songs I used to sing, "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg..." and I know, of course, that one of his friends taught him.

But where did that friend learn the song? It's not the sort of thing we parents tend to teach our kids. So who is passing on these hallowed torches of childhood?

This year, in Kindergarten, jump rope became all the rage. It wasn't just the girls jumping as it had been when I was in elementary school. No, in fact, the boys seemed to be even more enthusiastic than the girls.

One day, Son came home lamenting that all they had were short jump ropes and that he wished they had a long one.  "Maybe we could buy one," he said hopefully, looking at me with eager eyes, "and then donate it." So we did. Of course, we had to buy a long one for our own house too, for practicing.

The next day, the kids were outside, and I heard the old, familiar strains wafting through the open window,

Cinder-ella,
dressed in yell-a
went upstairs
to kiss a fella
made a mistake
and kissed a snake
how many doctors
did it take?
one, two, three...

I went outside, mesmerized by the rhyme that I could still recall after decades of forgetting. They were just moving on to

Teddy bear, teddy bear
turn around
teddy bear, teddy bear
touch the ground
teddy bear teddy bear
tie your shoe...

Maybe someone's mother taught them these rhymes, but all the kids seem to have no idea where they learned them. Like magic, these timeless children's games simply appear on the Kindergarten playground.

My Son, in this one academic year, not only learned to read, jump rope, and identify the parts of a worm. He also learned the power of traded objects and and the value of the "rare" item.  He gets that you don't trade a "plain" for a "rare" or it's a "rip off." He can negotiate. (On squishies: "I'll give you one large plus one small rare for your large rare.")  He apologizes nicely when explaining that he cannot in fact return to friend A the large that friend A traded to friend B who then traded it to my child -- "because I called no tradesie backsies when I traded with B, so I can't give it back to him, and I would have to give it back to him for him to give it to you."

He knows string tricks.

Granted, I taught him some of them -- but only after he had asked for a string and showed me his own prowess at cat's whiskers. Who, I asked him, taught him to do cat's whiskers. "I don't know," he replied. "I just learned it."

Like Athena springing forth fully-formed from Zeus's head, my child is quite suddenly competent in dozens of tiny skills that bring me up short. I realize with a shock that the rhythm of my childhood was shaped by jump-rope rhymes, string tricks, sticker collections and their attendant trades. I have no idea who taught me how to manage a collection or negotiate a trade.

I just learned it.

No one that I can remember ever taught us jump rope rhymes. We just knew them and practiced jumping to them until we could jump 100 doctors for Cinderella without stopping.

I hadn't thought about string tricks since I was about 8, but when my son handed me his string, the hundreds (perhaps thousands) of times that I had run through the series from cat's whiskers to Jacob's ladder emerged without even trying. My fingers still knew what my conscious mind had forgotten.

I know in a practical sense that someone must be teaching this generation of children these things.  Someone's mother remembers "eiffel tower"  and teaches it in string to her child, who teaches it to his friends on the playground, and so on.

And yet there is a wonderfully mysterious and communal quality to this knowledge that erases its apparent source. No one can recall who first sang "Teddy Bear" while jumping; everyone can only remember who is able to touch the ground without getting tangled in the rope.  It is as if, in every generation, there are songs and games, pastimes and hobbies that simply cannot be kept down. They will burst forth into the glory of the playground or the school hallway, capture the imaginations of  eager children and be reiterated once again.

I fully expect, one summer evening a few years from now, to look out the front door and see my children playing Kick the Can in the growing dusk. They will not know where they learned the game or who knew it first. They will simply revel in the warmth of the street beneath their bare feet, the rattle of the can, the thrill of hiding, the smell of damp skin and summer heat.

And, in an instant, I will be transported to a moment in my youth that I had forgotten to remember. And my senses will come alive in memory. And for a moment, I will be a child--through my children--once again.

To Allowance or Not to Allowance

We are coping reasonably well with the loss of our dog. Thank you all so much for your kind words and sympathy. It really means a lot. We have found that distracting ourselves -- with soccer games, ice cream cones, and plans for summer (tomorrow is the last day of school) -- is helping. In the interests of moving forward, I pose the following. I would love your input.

I want my children to have a sense of what money is worth, of how long it takes to save. I want them to value the things they hope to own and to appreciate the hard work it takes to earn and save enough to buy something expensive. You want a skateboard? You have to show me that you are physically skilled enough to ride it by first learning to ride your bike without training wheels. That will earn you half the purchase price. Then you have to save up your own money to pay for the other half. (In the long-term interest of preserving your brains and bones, I will spring for the protective gear.)

This, of course, begs the question of where "your own money" is supposed to come from. Right now, it's all idiosyncratic. They have piggy banks, into which we have made a habit of depositing random change lying around the house. If you find a quarter under the sofa, and you report with glee, "look what I found, Mama!" you will be met with "go put it in your piggy bank, quick! before you lose it!"

Recalling my own first bank account, which we opened when I was about five or six, I decided it was time for the kids to have accounts too. I vividly remember my father teaching me the mysteries of the dusty pink paper sleeves that could turn into rolls of pennies.  We spent considerable time rolling $2 worth, and that was my opening deposit.

So I went to the bank and got coin roll sleeves a few months ago, and the kids and I broke into the piggy banks. It took us about two hours to roll $34 from Son's bank and $25 from Daughter's. We went to the bank and opened the accounts. They did not get the cunning pink folder I had gotten, printed with a tiny grid, on which to record deposits and withdrawals. But, being 21st century children, they can check their accounts online.

In the two months since their accounts were opened, however, the savings process has largely consisted of random found coins dropped gleefully into the piggy banks. When Son checked his last week, he discovered that it contained about $6.

Given that he now has desires for spending...squishies, and skateboards, and Club Penguin memberships...I feel that we need to come up with some kind of system for his gaining pocket money that is more reliable than collecting whatever coins happen to roll under the arm chair and annually depositing birthday money from grandparents.

I remember getting an allowance for a little while as a very young child. $1 per week. Maybe this lasted a few months or a year. But I am certain that I didn't have any money to speak of until I started babysitting at age 11 (fifty cents an hour that first summer, as I was a young and in-training sitter). I want something more systematic than that for my kids. But I also want it to be a process that is not just about handing them money. How is that any different than me just buying them the stuff they want? I want it to be about earning the money they get.

But the question is: what exactly can a four and six year old do to earn money? I can think of three methods.

Option One

One experiment involved a daily incentive system for behavior modification: we went through a horrible phase of whining, so I tied lack of whining to earning financial rewards. 25 cents for a day of no whining at all; 10 cents for a day with only one lapse in self-control.  Within a week, the whining had all but stopped completely.

In some ways, I like this allowance method for small children. We set a goal (say, sleep in your own bed all night long or remember not to respond to antagonism with more antagonism), and each day they have a tangible way to monitor their progress at reaching that goal. Each evening at bedtime, we review the day and discuss WHY they've earned what they've earned, so I feel like they are learning to be more purposeful and self-conscious about their behavior. At their ages, it helps them remember the goal better to have a daily accounting of their successes and failures, rather than a once-a-week review. 

But spun another way, I am bribing them with money for good behavior. Which, of course, sounds ridiculous.

So I feel conflicted about whether this is the best plan or not.

Option Two

I've considered setting a weekly opening allowance, say $2, and then fining them for certain infractions (fighting in the back seat of the car? Lose a nickle...) or charging them for certain privileges (you get 30 minutes of computer time per day; want more? it costs 15 cents per half-hour...). This has the merit of providing a new week-long math problem that supports learning money counting, as well as getting them to think about what they value more--another half-hour on the computer or that big purchase they are saving for.

Down sides to this plan? I'm not sure, since I haven't tried it yet.

Option Three

I know many people tie allowance to family chores. You do your daily/weekly jobs satisfactorily, you get your allowance on Saturday. If you forget to take out the trash, for example, you get docked some amount.

On principle, I think I'd rather not do this. I want them to understand that it's simply part of being in a family that everyone has to help clean up messes, weed the garden, put away dirty dishes, or take out the trash. We have a few weekly and daily chores assigned to each person, and a check chart we use to assess how well we're doing at keeping up with them. I wouldn't object to a long-term goal (say, two whole weeks of getting all your daily check marks = a family ice cream party), but it won't be money. No one pays me to do laundry; it's just part of the job description. I think cleaning up after themselves, and learning how to do things like clean a bathroom or water the plants, should be similarly part of their jobs. (I'm open to counter-arguments on this one, though.)


What do you do in your family? Do your kids get an allowance? Starting at what ages? Is allowance tied to any particular responsibilities on their part?  Are there chores that are just part of family expectations, unrelated to spending money? Are your kids required to save a certain proportion of their allowance, or can they do with it as they will? I'd love to know what works for you.

Rest in Peace

my patient,

galloping,

hilarious,

(yes, she could tuck herself in like this)

adventurous,

family loving,

tolerant

Dog.

The thing they never tell you when you get a puppy? Is that people far outlive dogs. Yesterday, we had to face that fact ourselves and put to sleep a loving and loyal member of our family.

She was the first joint anything that Husband and I had.

She chose us, the only pup in her large litter to cross the room the moment the gate was opened, climb into my lap without hesitation, curl up, and go to sleep, as if to say, "You are my person. End of story."

She died quietly, her head in my lap, her recently sad eyes no longer suffering.  Where we buried her, we will plant a lilac so that we can always remember her with a smile when that glorious scent wafts across the yard in the springtime.

But no other dog will ever be my first, my loved, my sweet and beautiful, Thandie.

Books, Glorious Books

The Bloggess asked people for book recommendations for her five-year-old now that she has moved out of the land of books that make noises and have fuzzy inserts on the page made to satisfy a toddler's tactile desires.  I left her a comment with suggestions. Then couldn't resist leaving another comment because I had more ideas. Then realized that I could ask you all the same thing and potentially come up with a HUGE list of great books for different ages.  (I'm pretty sure the Bloggess won't mind me jumping on her bandwagon.)

So here's the game: I've organized my list below based on rough reading levels of appropriateness assuming we're talking about the kids reading to themselves (obviously, you can go up a few levels if you're reading aloud to them).  You add your suggestions in the comments (with grades/ages mentioned), and in a few days, when the list is really giant, I'll compile the whole darn thing and email it to anyone who wants it. Deal?

I realize that with the exception of the Lemony Snicket and Magic Tree House books, every single thing on this list is something I read as a child -- duh, since they're my childhood faves.  But what I mean is that nothing here is less than 30 years old because the only books I know to hand to my kids are the ones I read myself. I'm guessing there are some good things that have been published in the last 30 years. ;) Can you tell me what?

Early Readers (learning to read/Kindergarten)
Dr. Seuss: The Cat in the Hat, Hop on Pop, One Fish Two Fish
P.D. Eastman: Are You My Mother? Go, Dog, Go! 

First chapter books to read to self (Kindergarten/1st grade)
Frog and Toad books
Henry and Mudge series
Amelia Bedelia series
Magic Tree House series

First-Second(ish) grade
Encyclopedia Brown series
Mrs Piggle-Wiggle series
Pippi Longstocking series
The Bobbsey Twins series
Beatrix Potter (Peter Rabbit, Squirrel Nutkin, The Tailor of Glouchester, etc)

Second-Third(ish) grade
Little House on the Prairie series
Beezus and Ramona
Superfudge 

Third-Fourth(ish) grade
From the Mixed up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
Lemony Snicket series
Roald Dahl: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, etc.
E. Nesbit: The Treasure Seekers, The Wouldbegoods, Five Children and It, The Boxcar Children, etc.
Noel Stretfield: Ballet Shoes, Skating Shoes, Dancing Shoes, Theater Shoes
George MacDonald The Complete Fairy Tales
the Narnia books
Little Women (and its sequels)

Fifth-Sixth(ish) grade (though by this time, they're pretty much choosing their own reads, I think)
Nancy Drew
The Three Investigators
Octagon House
Madeline L'Engle: A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, The Swiftly Tilting Planet
the original Wizard of Oz series by L. Frank Baum
Freckles
The Girl of the Limberlost
Black Beauty

And beyond...(a.k.a. books a precocious tween or early teen might love)
The Lord of the Rings
Jane Eyre
David Copperfield
Dracula (not for the faint of heart)

What were your favorites as a kid? What are you reading now to your kids? What are they reading and loving?

Remember: tell me at what grade level(ish) the books are most appropriate for them to read on their own, so I can add them to the master list. (You know your kids and their reading skills best, so we'll all assume this is just a rough guide.) And leave me your email address in the comment if you want me to email you the whole list once it's compiled.

Win-win: summer reading all around!

It's Okay if You Feel the Need to Call Me Old-Fashioned and Out of Touch

We take our kids out to eat a lot. Husband and I love food, love cooking, enjoy trying new things -- and we want to pass all of this on to our kids.

Restaurants themselves are such a treat. The vast array of choices on the menu. (Everyone can eat something different! Exactly what he or she likes! And I don't have to explain why we should all be eating the same thing and liking it! You get what you get and you don't pitch a fit can be thrown out the window.) The drink refills that I don't have to get up and procure for myself. The trying new foods and introducing our kids to new foods. The slow eating and conversation that has not been preceded by standing in front of a hot stove. The eating of things I cannot make at home -- chicken katsu, Korean barbecue, perfectly sizzling fajitas, sushi. The getting up at the end of the meal and leaving all the dirty dishes behind. Unwashed. For someone else to deal with.

We don't take our children to really fancy restaurants. (If we were going to get dressed up and make a reservation, we wouldn't want to have them sitting on our laps.) But there are plenty of local places that are family friendly without being in the genre that rhymes with Schmapplebees. We go to Chinese, Thai, Japanese, Middle Eastern, Indian and Italian restaurants. We go out for great pizza, thick burgers, fish and chips, soups and muffins. About once a week, we eat out somewhere.

But lately, I've been finding that ALL of these places -- in some misguided effort to cater to their customers' desires -- have been sporting television sets. It makes me completely crazy.

The one thing we never do in our own home is eat in front of the television set. Sure, we make big bowls of popcorn for movie night. But we do not carry our plates to the family room for dinner. We sit around the table, all of us, and talk about our days and about whatever we are thinking about. It's not always scyntillating conversation, and far too frequently we have to remind them that potty talk doesn't belong at the table, that they need to stay seated in their chairs, that spaghetti is not finger food. But we talk.

I think it is important to eat together as a family, and I think it is important to learn to have conversation around a table. And when I go to a restaurant? I don't want to watch some random baseball game or Japanese game show. With subtitles in Japanese. I don't want my kids' attention to be so distracted by the giant box of moving pictures in the corner that they don't even notice what they are eating.

It's gotten to the point that I almost don't want to eat out any more, since the TV infection seems to be so widespread. I HATE trying to have a conversation with someone who is watching the game over my left shoulder.

If we were taking the kids to a lot of sports bars, where people gathered on purpose to watch the game and eat wings, that would be one thing.

But do we really need a television set in the local pierogi place? The corner sandwich shop? The hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant?

What is the point? Are people so unable to converse over dinner that they cannot exist without a television at dinner?

TV at dinner: what's your take? TVs in every restaurant: evil or good?

I'm not sure if I love this Monday Potluck button. But maybe I do. In any case, the second half of this past week has been all wedding all the time, as some younger cousins of mine took the plunge and we spent an inordinate amount of time eating, dancing, eating, talking to relatives we don't get to see very often, eating, and well, a little more eating for good measure. So this banner, which I came up with earlier in the week, is just going to have to do for now.

Since I am up to my eyeballs in deliciousness, jello with pimento-stuffed olives seems even more extreme. Hopefully, the tidbits below are easier on the palate than that 1950s "delicacy."  Enjoy the morsels.

Because there is just no figuring out where or how they came up with that sometimes...

Loud singing coming from the backseat: 

"I'm driving in my car, 
driving in my car,
driving in my car,
all the way to Middle-y-apolis.."

[pause] If consternation made a sound, she'd be making it. Clearly, there is something not quite right about her lyrics. She tries again, somewhat more softly.

"I'm driving in my car, 
driving in my car,
driving in my car,
all the way to Minny- Minny- Minny Mouse.."

[pause again.] The murmurs begin. 

"Middle-y-apolis . . . Minnle-y-apolis . . . Minny Mouse...apolis?" 

She falters. Then decides just to give the whole thing another go. The volume increases. Singing becomes more confident. 

"I'm driving in my car, 
driving in my car,
driving in my car,
all the way to [mumble]apolis!"

"Do you mean Minneapolis?" I ask her, finally daring to break in and offer help. 

"I don't know," she replies serenely. "I just can't say that word. It's in Spanish, so I don't know it. The rest of the words are not in Spanish, but that one is. The only words in Spanish I do know are in Dora."


Because it's always worthwhile to try new things...

I've had Elizabeth Mitchell's "You Are My Little Bird" CD in my car's player for the past three years. Maybe four. It is one of those rare albums for children that is musically pleasing and interesting enough for an adult to enjoy--even when it is played approximately 1000 times.

This past week, I suddenly couldn't bear to play it again, though, and so I did something astonishing, radical, and unexpected when my children moaned from the backseat that "all this talking is boring" in response to my perpetual tuning of the radio to NPR.

I put in a different CD.

The world did not end. The car did not stop suddenly. The children did not implode.

No. We kept driving down the road, all singing together, and I suddenly realized: I am no longer chained to the only acceptable car (read: children's) music I've ever found. I can hardly explain my elation.

Because my body isn't as young as it used to be...

This week, I rediscovered the value of glucosamine. It's the stuff your body naturally manufactures to lubricate your joints. We've been giving it to our ten-year-old dog for about a year and a half now to help combat her arthritic/stiff hips.

Turns out, medicine that soothes the joints of old dogs works wonders on a runner's aching knees.

Which, I'm pretty sure, means I qualify as an old dog of a runner.

 

Because everyone deserves a little space to rant once in a while...

Back in February, I made the claim that I should be an Editor-in-Chief of something. Basically, that claim was self-puffery elaborated through a series of ranting observations about the idiocy that passes for magazine covers these days.

But here's the crazy thing.

Recently, Atlantic Monthly started putting tiny page numbers under the article teasers on the covers of their magazines, just like I said they should to combat the fact that they run cover teasers completely unrelated to their article titles. Coincidence? I think not. 


Because my children need to learn to eat "mixed up foods"...

They are quite good eaters, as long as the veggies are steamed al dente and served plain, the protein or rice isn't coated in any kind of sauce, and the pasta is prepared with your basic home-made cheese or marinara sauce. I know I shouldn't complain about kids who love brocooli, sugar snap peas, tomato soup, and roast chicken.

But try to go for a Thai curry, containing ONLY ingredients they love? They won't touch that "mixed up food" with a ten-foot pool.

Husband I think they're old enough to start developing more complex tastes. And, we want to be done reserving half of the cooked ingredients to plate up without simmering, or rinsing the stew sauce off the veggies (yes, we have, more than once), or forgoing risotto because it's rice! but with sauce!  Hence the summer-long new foods eating contest.

Successes of the past week include: black beans and peanut noodles for Daughter, and ham-and-cheese quiche and roasted potatoes for both kids (it's true, neither of them has ever liked a potato that wasn't deep fried).

Somewhat dubious: the Green Soup.

Up next week: fish tacos, risotto made with a mushroom reduction, and--you guessed in--Thai curry.

Because you really need to know...

Turns out, a Slinky does not make a good jump rope. (At least, not good for the Slinky.)

I know it seems like there should be more to this story.  But there isn't.


Because awesome readers deserve props...

Comment of the Week this week goes to the always hilarious Nanny Goats in Panties, who threw me back to high school with one simple line, "Who's zooming who?"

And then found it necessary to backtrack and qualify because she didn't think the comment was funny enough on its own. How can you not adore someone who edits even her comments on other people's posts to make them funnier? If you have never read her blog, run over there right now. It's awesomeness wrapped in a package of adorable goats. In panties.


And don't forget to check out Holly's Potluck this week. She's the one who started it all. Thanks Holly!

Who Fooled Whom?

In an effort to get beyond the perpetual making of macaroni and cheese and steaming of broccoli, we have instituted a contest in our house: whoever tries the most new foods this summer gets a prize at the end. We are keeping an official running list of new foods tried. 

The prize? The winner gets to pick a place where we will all go as a family to eat a meal. Any place, we emphasized.

"Isn't that a good prize?" I asked as Son's face fell a little.

"Nooooo," he said, with only a slight moan in his voice. But then he brightened up. "Wait, can it be any place?"

"ANY place," I affirmed.

"Any place in the world?" he asked, his eyes gleaming.

Fearing Paris as his choice, we quickly amended the offer and told him that he could choose any kind of place, with any kind of food, as long as it was within driving distance.

He had his choice firmed up in a matter of moments, and then, in whispered collusion, convinced his sister that his choice should also be her choice, so that no matter which of them wins, we will all get to eat our Adventurous Eaters Prizewinning Meal at...

Cedar Point.

Where, I'm sure, the hot dogs and elephant ears and cotton candy and corn on the cob dipped into a vat of melted butter and deep fried Snickers bars and other carnivalesque delicacies will do wonders for expanding our palates.

They are completely gleeful over the fact that they have totally pulled one over on us by choosing an amusement park as a place to eat out. ("Get it? We picked it for our dinner, but if they take us there, we also get to ride roller coasters!")

We, on the other hand, have remained completely silent on the fact that we'd already considered a late-summer Cedar Point trip as a prize. Because this past week, their sense that they've hoodwinked us got them to eat quiche, pureed spinach-and-pea soup, and cod cakes (like crab cakes, but with cod).

"Ha ha! In your face, suckas!" [forks waving gleefully in the air for emphasis] "I'm eating this, and you're going to have to take me to the roller coasters! Gotcha!"

Gotcha, indeed.

Dear Students: Here are some (FREE!) writing tips...

Whatever has been going on "since the beginning of time" is probably on too large a scale for your three-page essay, even (especially) as an introduction to the topic. If you can be precise about what is going on in the book you've read for this assignment, I will be delighted.

Apart and a part are not the same thing. In fact, they are pretty much opposites. To be a part of something is to be included in it. To be apart of something is to be distanced from it (both in space and in grammatical correctness). Cheese and macaroni are each a part of the same dish. For most people, a nice fillet of salmon, no matter how tasty, should be kept well apart from grandma's homemade macaroni and cheese.

Plagiarism. Just say no. You will get caught. And the only one it really harms is you.

Its and it's are not just different ways to write the possessive form of it.

We all make mistakes. We all write things that would be better if they were revised one more time. We all could benefit from having someone push our ideas further and proofread for our typos. That's why we call writing a process.  

The 1800s constitute the nineteenth century not the eighteenth century. In the 1800s, no one spoke Old English. In the Renaissance, when Shakespeare wrote, no one spoke Old English. Not even Chaucer, the great Medieval writer, wrote or spoke in Old English. (P.S. the Medieval period should not be confused with the Mid Evil period, which theoretically comes between Early Evil and Late Evil.)

There, their and they're are not interchangeable.

Plural's and possessive's do not both take apostrophe's. It is worthwhile to learn which one's do, if you want to avoid looking foolish.

"Would of" and "could of" and "should of" are not verbs. They are the grammatical equivalent of potpourri (random elements bumped up next to each other in the same bowl). Though you might pronounce the phrases this way, what you really mean are would have and could have and should have.

If you don't know how to do something, ask. There is no shame in asking. That's why we're called teachers.

Commas and semi-colons -- and punctuation marks in general, really -- are sometimes likened to condiments in that they lend flavor to your writing. However, it is important to remember that these small dots are, in fact, not to be applied liberally in an eyes-closed-while-vigorously-shaking-the-pepper-mill kind of way. Unlike pepper, it actually matters where in the dish you put these little black flecks.

Ideas are the most important part of any paper. Nearly all errors of the grammatical and punctuational variety will be muted by really interesting thinking. If you can show me that you've read, pondered and bothered to wrestle with complex issues, I will celebrate that. So will almost any teacher I have ever met.

There is no job in the world in which being better at communicating is a liability. Language is powerful. Using language is a power. Taking the time to build your writing skills, to strive for more articulate and persuasive prose, is a gift you give yourself.