Bone Guy

Sis’s birthday box from Grandma contained goodies for everyone. Peanut received twenty pairs of princess panties because Grandma knows that the kid has a strong aversion to clothing, over which she is happy to go ten rounds every single day. Grandma made a twenty-pair investment in my sanity for which I am deeply grateful (and so far so good – she came home, put them on and promptly tried to marry her brother).

Mister unwrapped a plastic hand skeleton and very fine replica of the human pelvis. Papa is retired from his medical practice and did not need extra bones sitting around the house. Mister yelped, snatched the severed arm from its box and began waving it around the car like a flag. Sis alternated covering her eyes and ears, yelling, “Why did Grandma have to send that! It just freaks me out.” Peanut, dead-pan, weighed in. “It doesn’t freak me out.” I closed the slider on the van and pretended I couldn’t hear anything.

Sis used to think bones were cool. She even referred to her own skeleton affectionately as Bone Guy, as in “Good thing I have a Bone Guy, otherwise I would fall on the ground.” But somewhere between toddlerhood and elementary school she figured out that when we talk about bones we are usually talking about things that are dark, scary, unspeakable, shadowy, and permanent.

Tonight I walked by Mister’s room to find the bony hand reaching out of its box, across his pillow. I love that his curious mind loves bones. And I wonder if he remembers the conversation we had around the dinner table last October, when he told us he needed a brother with brown skin like him. That conversation prompted some real talk about how adoption works, birthmothers, and eventually birthfathers. We talked about how Mister’s birthfather had died after Mister was born.

Mister asked questions about his death, quietly processed the bits I could offer, and then asked if we could someday “go and find the spot.” I want our conversations about adoption to be open and honest and validating so I tried for a serious, empathetic response.

“Ya. That would be very special,” I said. “I don’t know if we could find it, but we could sure try.”

“Ya. We could find the spot, and bring shovels.”

I looked across the table to my husband for back-up before I remembered that he was working late.

“Shovels. Hmmmm. Why would we need shovels?”

“So we could dig him up.”

“I don’t know about that, Baby. We don’t usually dig people up after they die. Plus, after awhile, there isn’t anything to see except bones?”

“Yup. We could dig up the bones and bring them home with us.”

Whenever my son and I talk about adoption, I try to listen closely to the deep well of his heart, packaged as it is in little boy language. I listen for truth, as he has a history of telling it. And this conversation was no different. I had just told my son that his first father had died around the time of his birth and he had told me that he needs to be close to those bones. So we kept talking.

“What would we do with those bones, Baby?”

He had his answer ready.

“We could use them to decorate our house. We could put lights in them and make them glow up.” Sis giggled.

And I remembered that it was almost Halloween. Death, discussed in October, is flavored with celebration, glitter, and lights. Death, discussed in October, is mixed into a stew of masks, pumpkins and curling, golden maple leaves. Death, discussed with a four-year old in October, is strangely filled with mystery and promise. October lets my baby tell me that he needs to be near bones. October makes it okay to call from the earth all that has gone missing.

So, I guess is some ways, it is always Halloween at our house. I think about bones as symbols of loss and my baby boy sees bones as viable option for decoration.

We know that the things that hold us up and give us structure are breakable and we know that our breakable bones will likely be the last thing we give back to the earth. And we also know that the big Sis is scared of bones, which means the year ahead is one of rich promise for one very pleased and rascally little brother.

Exodus 13:19: Moses took the bones of Joseph with him because Joseph had made the Israelites swear an oath. He had said, “God will surely come to your aid, and then you must carry my bones up with you from this place.”

Ginnastix

Big Sis had her birthday party at the local gymnastics center. My husband and I stood by while ten sweaty kids looped around us – over barrels, through the foam pit, over the balance beam, down the slide, and back again. Peanut borrowed a leotard, four sizes too big, and did her best to keep up.

As I was packing the car in preparation for the party, Peanut wandered by to inform me that she would be wearing a gin-nas-tix suit for the party so that she wouldn’t get any ginnastix on her. But as it turns out, the place was stinky, smelling just like you might expect from a warehouse-turned-gymnasium (full of mats over which bare kid feet run amok). The two little ceiling fans did their best to spread the feet smell evenly throughout the building. We all ended up with a little ginnastix on us.

But it was worth it. Birthday girl had fun and all the tired babies were in bed by seven. Now that the 2012 round of kid birthdays is in the past, the children have moved on to planning for 2013. There are only 200 days left until KidBirthdays 2013, and the frenzy of planning may not subside. Peanut came down to our room at 5:45 am this morning to ask if it was her birthday yet. She plans to have her party at home. She doesn’t want to invite any people, only stuffed animals and presents. Mister wants to go bowling, with two lanes so that the boys don’t have to bowl with the girls.

All this ridiculous focus on birthdays is silly and wasteful and lovely. I am glad these little people know that we love to celebrate them in ways big and small, that the day they took their first breath was a day the heavens smiled.

Nice to Meet You

Sis had a birthday this weekend. She and I frosted cupcakes Friday afternoon and I told her again how happy I am that she was born. “I am happy I was born, too.’ She said. “And one of the best things about being born was getting to meet you.”

My heart smiled deep and wide. It was a sweet thing to say. It was also quintessentially her. This little miss came from the womb fancying herself an individual. And as such, she has been making plans (since birth, I think) about moving away: when she was two weeks old I couldn’t find her because she had wiggled herself out of sight under the coffee table. At two years old we had to promise to carry her to the sea when she turned into a mermaid. And the other day she asked me with a straight face if she could take a book she is fond of when she moves out. I said yes. So, I am so glad she is glad that she got the chance to meet me. And I am also so glad that I got the chance to meet her back. She is smart and silly, earnest and caring, a tornado of creativity and a really good friend. She may not think she needs me, but I know the big wide world needs her and I am thankful to be her mom.

Proverbs 31: “Her arms are strong for the task, she can laugh at all the days to come.”

Almost Summer

It is almost summer, the season where I hope to write more and teach the children how to cook and clean for themselves. But it is not quite summer yet, so I leave you only this photo which captured a tender family moment when one of my aunts said, "Someone get that homeless girl out of the picture." There is nothing funny about being homeless, so I should just keep the moment to myself. But I share it as a symbol of my summer dream of ill-dressed and seldom-bathed children running beneath a forest canopy looking for slugs. Here's to dirt, sunshine, and so much time with the babies I go cross-eyed.

Mama Art Docent: Calder

Round Two of Mama Art Docent was fun, fun, fun. On my first day was had studied Diego Rivera. This time the teacher chose Alexander Calder since the class had already started making mobiles as part of a science unit on balance and motion. In social studies they were beginning a unit on Antarctica and so the teacher also requested that we use penguins in the lesson.



We reviewed our last artist and project using our art words (line, shape, color, texture, value, space). Then I read Sandy’s Circus: A Story about Alexander Calder by Tanya Lee Stone. The book is great and the kids loved the illustrations. We kept pausing to discuss the elements of art that the illustrator chose to us, and the kids made lots of interesting and substantive comments tying the illustrations to the story. The kids were excited to find out at the end of the book (*spoiler alert!*) that Calder is credited with inventing the mobile (they had begun studying mobiles the day before). We talked about how artists are inventors and that when they do art they are inventing things. We talked about how art and science go together. Then we followed up by looking at some of the examples of Calder’s mobiles in The Life and Work of Alexander Calder by Adam Schaefer.



For the project, I had bought a second-hand book of penguin photos ($5.00) and sliced out all the pages. I also brought nine photo-laden library books about penguins so that each table group (six kids) had a few to look through as they worked. Each table group got a nice fat stack of beautiful and interesting photos of various penguins. Some kids glued penguin photos to existing pieces of the mobiles they had made the day before. Others ended up reconstructing their mobiles almost completely to accommodate the photos they wanted to use. We talked about how mobiles spin, which means we have to think about what is on either side of the paper. We talked a lot about size, shape and balance. The room was energetic and curious; kids would work, then get distracted, talking with classmates about photos. They kept pulling me aside to show me pictures that they liked. I would ask them to describe what they liked about the photos using their art words, and they would answer – thoughtfully and comfortably using their art words.

In sum, Calder was a huge hit and a great way to pull together art, science and social studies curriculum. I love being a totally-unqualified-yet-excited-about-kids-doing-art Docent and can’t wait to go back next month.


(you can't see the mobile very well - but it was awesome, I promise)

Mama Art Docent: Rivera

Hats off to the woman who brought the Art Docent program back to life at Sis’ elementary school. We had Art Docents in the schools I attended as a kid, and I think the idea of getting volunteers (armed with a boost of enthusiasm and a few details about an artist) into classrooms is wonderful for everyone. And so, in support of the program, I thought I would use this space to keep track of the projects we do. I am hoping that the whole thing will seem simple and fun, inspiring others to think about supporting some version of Art Docent programs in their respective communities.

At our school this is how it works:
- The school makes a one-time purchases of the curricular materials
- The program coordinator set up a curriculum that suggest 5-6 artists per year for each grade
- Art Docents (like me) work with their classroom teachers to set times and strategically organize the order of the lessons in a way that supports the general classroom curriculum
- Art Docents use the materials provided and the world wide web to put together a short lesson on the artist and a classroom project

Sis’ teacher is GREAT. She looked at the artists and fit them around class themes in science and social studies. The first artist we studied was Diego Rivera. The class was studying South America and looking particularly at fabrics and clothing. I wanted to focus on the fact that Rivera wanted his art to be public.

Here’s the play-by-play of how we tied it together:
- I first wanted to make sure we had some shared vocabulary so I made a handout with six blank boxes where the kids could write-in the six element of art (line, shape, color, texture, value, space) and draw themselves some example to help them remember. I included un-labeled examples of the elements on the back of the handout which we also discussed.





- We talked about the six elements, using two Rivera prints. The kids totally got it and had a great time making comments about the prints using their art words.
- Then we discussed a few details of Rivera’s life and work using books I had checked out from the public library.
- I brought in photos of murals from our town and we discussed where they were and how they made us feel.
- For the project each student created a 6x6 inch square design (on cardstock) using fabric scraps and Mod Podge. I asked that they use the elements of art in making their design choices. I showed a few examples, and we discussed the use of the elements in each example.
- Small groups of students each received:
o A bag of fabric scraps
o 6x6 inch squares of cardstock (one per student)
o Mod Podge
o Felt paint brush
- While the squares were drying, we played Jenga, with students getting to take a turn after answering a question about Rivera or the elements of art.
- Then we organized the 23 squares on a grid I numbered ahead of time. Students were encouraged to move and/or rotate the individual squares, using their art words to justify the move. This part was really fun!
- I then took the squares home and put the mural together.



In the end, the mural was pretty random, but overall, the project allowed for a lively discussion of the elements of art and circumvented any performance stress (“I can’t draw!”) since the materials (Mod Podge + fabric) were somewhat unusual.

It was messy and loud (in a good way). The kids had tons of fun. I was totally impressed at their ability to make substantive comments about art (Rivera’s and their own) rooted in the six elements. And I think they got the idea that art can/should be something we enjoy publicly.

Give it a go!

More Fall Magic

I want to remember Halloween with my kids this year. But it seems a little late to say anything about it. Three of my favorites from trick-or-treating:

Be Carried

Yesterday the kids made a list of things babies should know about their parents. Mister was the first to make a suggestion. And he did not need any time to think of his answer. “Let them carry you,” he said.





I keep thinking about the words of his heart, so ready on his tongue. My baby knows something about being carried. He was carried on the back of his mother as she tended to soil and hearth. He was carried away by a social worker, when his mother knew there was nothing left to give. He was carried up and down the alley at Horizon House by the Nurse, who said he refused to be comforted, howling through sunrise and sunset. He was carried by me – the Embassy, airports, the streets of Wiesbaden and Chicago. We did not bring a stroller or even a backpack with us to meet our baby. We knew – or someone told us – that our child would need to be carried in our arms.

At first, Mister did not let his Daddy pick him up. And we respected that. We trusted that there was time for bonding, and we could be patient as he learned to trust us one at a time. But after three weeks at home, one day my husband picked Mister up and headed downstairs. I listened to the protests dampen as they rounded the right angles between upstairs and down. Then it was quiet. And then there was giggling. Now, that moment – being scooped up into Daddy’s arms – is one of Mister’s favorite stories to tell.
“Remember when I didn’t want Dad to hold me but he picked me up and we went downstairs to play?”
“I remember,” I smile.
“Ya,” He says patting me on the back.

Now he is 54 pounds. When he falls asleep in the van, I have to wake him up to walk instead of carrying him inside. If he falls asleep when we rock, I have to wait for his Dad to come by and take him to bed. When he asked to snuggle on my hip during singing time at church, I have to say no. He has gotten to big to carry.

So now we hold hands, which will soon be uncool. When we no longer hold hands maybe we will walk side by side. And talk on the telephone.







My dad once told my husband to carry the kids whenever they asked, warning that the window of time for carrying is shockingly brief. He was right. My babies are growing up and out of my arms and into a world that asks much of them. So, Mister’s timely word to the babies of the world feels sweet, wise and old like his soul.

Be carried.



“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” Isaiah 46:4

Dear Baby

In celebration of news that a friend is becoming a Mom, the kids compiled this list of things babies should know. The list is in order of suggestion, with the first coming from my sweet baby boy, who does (I think) know a thing or two about getting to know parents.

Dear Baby,

Here are some things you should know about your parents and this life:

1. Let them carry you.
2. They snuggle you.
3. If you fall down the stairs, they can catch you.
4. If you are scared, you can tell them.
5. Don’t whine and cry and jump out of your crib when you are too big for a
bottle.
6. Parents can help you reach stuff.
7. Parents are fun.
8. They can help you when you have an owie.
9. If you don’t listen to your parents you can get into a lot of mischief.
10. If you get a bump on your face, you have to let them squeeze it.
11. Mommies say, “Its okay, Baby.”
12. They can take you back to the sidewalk if you run in the street.
13. Parents will make things for you.
14. Don’t wake your parents up.
15. Don’t try to climb on top of the table and fly off it or pull things off of
your parent’s computer.
16. You should hug your parents.
17. Your parents will sing to you if you ask.
18. Don’t wipe yourself if it’s a messy poop.
19. Kiss your parents.
20. Listen to do them and do what seems right.
21. If you go to the beach, you might want to know, “Don’t eat the sand!”
22. You can sink.
23. Don’t be scared because there are lots of nice people here.

Late October

A few from today that I want to remember.