Readiness

The question arose again recently about what we are going to do with Evie about kindergarten. She is a September birthday, which if we make no effort would mean that she would have two more years before entering kindergarten, shortly before turning 6. She has already completed one year of preschool, so if we were to do that, she would have had three years of preschool before starting kindergarten. 

For some reason, having this discussion always means that everyone present feels they should have a say in what we decide is best for our child. Never mind that we are the ones who spend every hours of every day with her (and seriously, folks, we have degrees and experience in psychology and education between us). People are highly opinionated about what the ‘right’ thing is to do. I completely understand that feeling. I feel the same way about birth - but most of the time I find a way to bite my tongue when I know that my input is not desired. So what are the issues here? And is there a right answer??

More than anything, I find it ridiculous that a child who had a due date very close to our own but was forcibly induced for non-medical reasons (a whole different story) - and therefore suffers all the known delays of babies brought out too early - will be starting kindergarten with no questions asked. Besides those children who were premature, whether by choice or necessity, if we evaluated every child on entry to kindergarten, how many would actually meet the criteria that someone with a September birthday will be asked to meet in order to enter? Every class will ALWAYS have a youngest child. There will ALWAYS be kids who are not emotionally ready for kindergarten, yet they go anyway and no one asks their parents for any evidence or puts those children through any amount of testing in order to start.

If we desire to go forward and attempt to have her admitted a year early (really only a few weeks early), we will be required to pay $600-800 for private testing; we will have to present these scores to the building principal, who then gets to make the decision regardless of the outcomes of the evaluation.

I do plan on pointing out that she is a third child, and therefore has been working hard to ‘keep up’ with her siblings, surpassing milestones at a faster pace than other children might. Not only that, but they have the school records for our older two children. Records that show that their parents are involved and care about their success, or at least that they are hard-working and intelligent kids. Sure, siblings could be different, but for some odd reason, our three are very similar when it comes to their drive to achieve. That is something that we as parents know that outsiders may not understand. 

It did occur to me that the building principal has other interests when making this kind of decision. Namely that in our current educational climate, she has to consider how this would affect the testing scores that now effect the passing or failing of her school. In light of this, I can see how it has become such an ordeal to bend the guidelines. Given another year, perhaps she would raise the test scores even more. And that is a decision that the principal gets to make. Not that I begrudge this position at all, but knowing where they are coming from when making a decision that ultimately effects my child more than the school as a whole, I do not think this is a justifiable reason.

People love to point out that she would not be driving when her friends are and other social issues. I know we are pretty far away form this time but like I said earlier, there will ALWAYS be kids who are last to get their driving license. Oh, and we live across the street from the high school, so I really don’t think her friends will be teasing her because she does not drive to school. I have heard that being on the other end can be just as tough when your younger peers are demanding rides form you and asking you to buy them cigarettes just because you are old enough to and they aren’t. For girls, there is the whole bodily development issue, a big issue to be sure. Having myself been 11 years old when I got my period, I would rather my daughter be in middle school than elementary school when dealing with this time of change. Girls who get 'held back’ or end up as the oldest in their grade have to face the awkwardness of developing well ahead of their classmates which can have just as much (if not more) of a negative impact on their emotional state as the opposite would have.

So really, you can’t win and it is ridiculous to say that anyone other than a group of people with an interest in one child’s future (parents, preschool teachers, and the building principal) should be making this decision.

Or we could just move to Michigan and start her there since their cut-off is December.

Oh, the Clutter!

I was not a tidy child. In fact, my older sister got so frustrated with my messes that she would clean up after me! But then I grew up. I went to boarding school where our drawers were inspected every Saturday morning and if our underwear was not neatly folded, we were not allowed to leave for the two hours of freedom given us each week. And then I was on my own and had no one to clean up after me. Maybe I had become accustomed to having clean spaces, having never known anything else. Whatever the reason, I became a tidy adult. I often recall Jeremy’s uncle Doug laughing at my organization of my junk drawer (I still reorganize it sometimes, thinking of him laughing from heaven).
So it bothers me that childhood involves so much clutter. And I don’t mean the toys. I love the toys, sometimes more than the kids do. What I am talking about is the unnecessary STUFF. The birthday party favors that are bought because ‘you HAVE to have favors’; the endless papers that come home from school; the weekly deluge of stuff made in Sunday School. THEY DON’T NEED IT!!! Any kids would be happy enough to just be at a party and walk away with happy memories, a belly full of cake and an awesome sugar high. There are favors that are not just junk - my sister just gave the kids at her son’s party a little canvas bag full of up-cycled crayons and notepads with an applesauce crusher - she’s a genius  (and a pediatric nurse practitioner). One party my son went to, all the kids got one of those cool bubble wands. Loved it! But the plastic made-in-china garbage stuff has got to end. It makes me nuts!
Then there is all the school clutter. The endless papers and crafts. I want the to keep some memories of their childhood but when they can make a foot-high pile of paper at the end of each week, it is out of control!!! Thankfully Hannah and Eli have become pretty good at pitching papers into recycling (often times now without me even seeing it, so hopefully I don’t miss something important). That is just the worksheets. Then there is the stuff that is supposed to be meaningful, the craft projects, the Sunday School projects. I know that learning requires some hands-on activity but when I have every surface of my house covered in ‘meaningful’ crafts, something has got to go! I don’t think it is enough to say that parents ought to just make up their own minds about what to keep and what to pitch. That is not fair. I worry that someone will come to me with a crumpled piece of art one day and tears in their eyes because their work was not valued. Can’t we please find other ways to make meaning? I mean think about it - someone, some organization spent their money buying the supplies to make whatever this is. Often times, someone has put in hours of work cutting out pieces of the finished article for each child in the class. Then the kids spend ten minutes throwing it together and they bring it home. It may sit on a counter for a few days but eventually someone has to ask, ‘is it okay to throw this out now?’. And that person feels like a jerk, knowing how much time and effort (and a bit of money too) went into making it.
So please, please, can we stop this ridiculous trend? Can we let kids have lessons that don’t involve making STUFF? I think they’d learn every bit as much and even more.

Paper Airplanes and the Holy Spirit

I’ve flown a lot in my life. I think I was a week old when I rode in a plane for the first time. A little Cessna. My parents and sister and I had to fly to another town to get our groceries when we lived in the highlands of PNG. In high school, I flew home to PNG from Australia at every term break, totaling sixteen flights a year for four years.
I know that some people are terribly scared of flying. I was never terribly scared, but I will not say that I never worried. When I did worry, I would close my eyes and picture the hand of God, holding our plane and guiding it to its destination.
Jeremy and I were shepherding the second grade class this morning and the lesson they were being taught was about the Holy Spirit. And paper airplanes.
After this past week, I figured I needed this as much as they did. A neighbor in his last days, a former co-worker (can you call them that when it was student teaching??) with potentially bad news about his cancer, and family friends dying in a plane crash and leaving behind three daughters who are just entering adulthood. As well as the more trivial, yet ever present, worries about kids and money and daily ‘stuff’.
I was not at all surprised when the second graders replied that they did not know what the Holy Spirit was. But I was pleasantly amazed at the beauty of this lesson.
The children were lined up and given a piece of paper and told to throw it. What a disappointment, the papers all fluttered to the floor. This symbolized us trying to go about our lives without paying attention to the directions we are given through Christ. Then they were told to fold the paper once, and again, and one last time, never more instruction than just to fold it. Each time they added a fold, they got to throw it and see what happened. Each time a disappointment. Just because the Holy Spirit is with us does not mean that we get to stand by and do nothing and still expect everything.
The kids were then given step by step instructions to make their own ‘Holy Spirit Flyer’. They were thrilled to see the planes take shape and then could hardly wait to fly them.
Isn’t that something like parenting? We are amazed as we watch our children grow into their own person and then at some point, we let them ‘fly’ off on their own.
Now the kids lined up and took turns throwing their planes. And as seven year old boys will do, the jokes about crashing began. The connection sunk in immediately and I wanted to shut my eyes, to block out their words, to stop imagining that dear sweet couple and their last moments as their plane’s engine blew up, sending them plummeting to the earth with one final explosion. But then I caught myself and began to piece it together. Was not the same Holy Spirit with them in their final moments? God’s hand was still with them, it just continued to carry them away, up to Heaven as their plane dropped away. They were good, kind, generous people who raised kind and loving daughters.
While my heart aches for all the suffering of those around me, I have found a bit more peace today, knowing that that very same hand of God that I pictured so long ago is with us all as we fly, whether literally or metaphorically. I just pray that I can live as he taught, follow his instructions, and help to bring some of that peace to other people’s lives.

And Now What?

In early December I got word that my doula certification was official. Two weeks later, I finished my student teaching - the end of my master’s degree program. While I am still teaching my natural birth classes, co-leading Girl Scouts, and volunteering with Sunday School, I was worried that I would be bored.  
Not to worry! I had forgotten that I had signed up (out of Mommy-guilt) to put together Hannah’s class quilt and volunteered to teach an Art Explorers lesson for her class as well. Oh, and the house has a number of projects that are long-overdue for attention. I managed to attack both kids’ rooms and do a clean-sweep for outgrown clothes and ‘stuff’. And now that I bought that nice fabric to make the quilt and I have some left over, I’m thinking of making some clothes and accessories for the girls. And there is that scarf I started knitting for Eli. And the book I’m supposed to be reading for my book club (which I’m hosting). Guess I won’t be bored.
It is funny how, for the past half year, I had built up this long list in my head of everything I was going to do when I was done with student teaching. I managed to grossly over-estimate how much could actually get done in a day (or week)!
I had also forgotten how nice it is to have lunch with Evie. We both like to sit in the sunlight at the end of the table at lunch time and soak up the warmth as we eat. I always joke about having a nap, hoping that one day she will humor her mama and cave in. No such luck so far.
I had applied for a half-time teaching position at a nearby school but I think it was filled before my application even got in. I’m not too worried. It would be nice to earn some money to refill the empty coffers after paying for grad school. But as my wise younger sister said, “it is just money and we have each other.” She is right. Evie will never be three again.
So for now, I will continue to teach natural birth classes and hopefully get some doula clients so that we can plan our summer trip. And I will marvel at how blessed I am.

The Lord Giveth and The Lord Taketh Away

Wednesday morning, I held the foot of a mother as she pushed her newborn son into the world. Thursday evening, I held the hand of my husband’s Grandma as she passed away. There was crying both days. Tears of joy and tears of pain at both. It is the natural ebb and flow of life.

In what was some amazing timing (or perhaps a mama and baby who were really wanting me there as their support) the baby came five days after his due date, the day after I returned home from vacation. Leaving on the baby’s due date was very hard for me as I had really hoped to be at the birth to support this family that I had come to know, not to mention complete the requirements for my birth doula certification. I hoped and prayed throughout our vacation, believing it impossible, that this baby would wait. And he did.

The labor and birth were perfect, classic second baby labor with very speedy pushing and birth. Everything went as it should with no complications. But birth is never a ‘blah’ event, no matter how textbook it is. There are moments of self-doubt, of anger even at having to go through such a struggle to bring this new life into being. And then there are moments of incredible joy, when the baby is placed lovingly on the mother and all is known to be well. When the tears of relief and wonder escape the eyes of all present.

Gram’s passing was similar in a way. She was 93, she had lived a long and richly blessed life. She passed her driving test almost a year ago and was still getting about mostly on her own only months ago despite her repeated wonderment at when it would be her turn to go. She knew her race was nearly done, she was at peace with going on to meet the Lord (she even quoted her mother, saying “Jesus doesn’t want me and the devil won’t take me”). She fell and broke her hip two months ago and recovered well from the surgery, even walking a bit right before returning to her own condo a few weeks ago.

But it was her time. In the last three weeks her congestive heart failure progressed more rapidly and she was unable to get comfortable rest at night. She still wore her beautifully radiant smile when we visited her only three weeks ago, she lit up when she saw the children. But we could tell that the end was nearing and she was struggling more and more each day.

On Thursday evening, Jeremy got home from work and I had dinner packed up to eat in the car. We had talked with his parents and knew that we needed to go and say our goodbyes. When we arrived his mother met us and told us we had just made it. Gram’s breathing was very labored and her breaths were few and far between. It picked up as we talked and as she listened to her other grandchildren talking to her on the phone.

Evie sat with grandma on the bed pulled up next to GG as Jeremy and I held her hands. Hannah and Eli came in to hold her hands and say goodbye and then Hannah made a friendship bracelet for GG. We put the bracelet on next to Gram’s rosary and Hannah started working on another behind me on the bed. Evie and Grandma moved to the floor to play with stuffed animals and conversation turned to the birth I had attended the day before.

As we talked, Gram’s breathing slowed more and more and then stopped. Mom looked up from where she and Evie were playing, noticing and came to Gram’s side. Aunt Peggy also came over from where she had been sitting and hugged her mother. There were tears. I sent Hannah to the living room and gave Gram one last kiss.

Then I found Hannah, GG Rosebud, in a puddle of tears.

Life, even when it goes as we know it should, is not easy. I guess that is good, but man it hurts. We moved here with the purpose of raising our children close to their family. I wanted my kids to know what I never felt I had - to have relatives at all their birthdays and all the holidays and even the in between days. Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, and by God’s amazing grace, two Great Grandmas that they would grow up knowing and then live their lives with the wonderful memories of them. And we have that at a cost. The cost of true sorrow over the loss of a loved one.

My own Grandpa died when I was six years old. I knew him and loved him but I had also spent a large part of my life very far away from him. I remember when he died. I remember my Mom being very sad but I also remember thinking that there was something wrong with me because I was not as sad as she was.

A year ago last week, my own Grandmother passed away. We had the fortune of being with her to say goodbye two days before she passed. I felt a different kind of sorrow at her passing, more a sense of wishing that I had gotten to know her better. I did have some great memories of times spent with her and her old cabin in Marquette marks the one place in this world that I truly feel connected to (being the one place I have returned to repeatedly in my life since I was a baby).

Gram Jennings I will miss more in the everyday. I had the good fortune of getting to know her well over the past fourteen years since Jeremy and I were engaged. I have always been impressed with her sense of style and her generously loving spirit. She made the best lemon cream angel food cake (which I tried making and failed miserably at - I’ll have to work on that). St. Patrick’s day has always been celebrated with corned beef and cabbage since I met her and I love it (being a non-red meat eating person these days I still allow myself some corned beef on St Paddy’s day). I have always loved that she likes silver as much as I do, she got the kids beautiful silver baby rattles. I loved that she loved my kids and enjoyed watching her eyes light up when the kids came to visit. I know they are going to miss the games of hide and seek they always played at her condo. All the family festivities will be a little less without her. One less place at the table for Christmas and Thanksgiving and birthdays and just plain old family get togethers.

So there are tears of sadness. And perhaps there should be tears of joy. Joy that she is finally in heaven where she so badly wanted to be for the past few months. The joy of her passing from this life on earth on to her eternal home, something like the joy of a baby being born.  Once the baby is born, the mother begins her worrying, "is he cold? hungry? wet? hurt?". And now our worrying over Gram is done but our sadness remains.

It is as it should be, just not easy.

My Ideal School

I am a fantastical idealist. I believe that everything can be done better and that there is always room for improvement and that maybe, perhaps I could be the one to do it.

Having almost finished my masters degree in education, my head is full of the latest and greatest teaching methodologies and theories, some of which are in use around the world and led to greater successes than what we see in our own public education system. Things as mundane as ‘what do the kids sit on?’ cross my mind regularly (form what I know about our natural physical state, I cannot stand to see children made to sit in seats all day - an exercise ball would be so much better and more natural for their bodies - as would getting up and moving more)!

Make no mistake, I know that we are blessed with some pretty darn good schools where we live, but that is not enough to stop a dreamer from dreaming!

So what would my ideal school look like?

It would be situated near the river and near an open park with natural spaces for exploration and hands on learning. The children would wear uniforms (yes, I did just say that). The building(s) would have windows that open and stay open on all pleasant days. The school would have a garden that is tended by the kids and that provides food for the lunches. School days and annual calendars would be made to work with families - slightly longer days that start a little later and longer school years that have more long breaks within them, similar to the year around schedule. There would be a pool and tennis courts and basket ball hoops and fields for more sports.

And these are just the visual trimmings. The meat of the school comes from the approach to learning and assessment. Teaching would be student-centered with more choice available to students in their learning and more flexibility in assessments, allowing for an individualized education that allows and encourages each child to reach their fullest potential. No cookie cutter test driven learning here, thank you very much!

Oh! I almost forgot, kids would be allowed time to wash their hands before lunch at a long trough-sink that would run down the hallway leading to the cafeteria.

Teachers would be respected as professionals and would have onsite childcare and preschool available for their young ones with time allowances for breastfeeding moms so that returning to work is not wracked with guilt but with pride.

Experts in al areas would be consulted in an ongoing basis to keep the school running at maximum potential and serving families in the best and most honest and straightforward way, keeping communication open to allow for constant improvements.

Students would interact with the world and use technologies to stay abreast of current trends in society - using new technologies to forge international learning communities that support one another and sharing students work in a way that connects them to their parents (imagine being able to see a poem your kid just wrote while you are at work!) and with other learners (think shared subject area blogging about current learning).

The possibilities are endless!!

Someday, someday.

For now, I am preparing to student teach in the fifth grade and hope that I can use some of this enthusiasm to get my students excited to continue learning where they are headed - the terrifying halls of middle school!

Tot at the Wheel

I was recently telling someone this story and though I should write it down for posterity.

When I was about 2 years old and we were living in the Southern Highlands of Papua New Guinea, my dad had flown somewhere and while we waited for his plane to return, my mom and sister and I were visiting our friends at the Catholic station on the top of a mountain. Mom was talking with Father Hans while my older sister and I were playing around, running in and out of the house.

Now, you have to understand that out in the bush where we were, there were not many vehicles and even fewer people who could drive one, so everyone who had a car occasionally left their keys in the ignition.

So I am told that I heard and then ran out to confirm by sighting my dad’s plane coming in for landing at the air strip. I ran in to tell my mom and she must have, in good mommy fashion, said something like, “okay, just a minute,” and resumed finishing her conversation. being impatient, I ran out the our Suzuki jeep that had it’s doors off and jumped right up on the driver’s seat. Did I call my sister to come join me, or did she just run with me, I don’t know. But at any rate, she jumped in the passenger side and was holding on to the roof with her feet on the seat and her rear end hanging out a bit. Which was probably a good thing because I turned the key in the ignition and the jeep began rolling backwards down the mountain.

At that point my mom and Father Hans must have come running form the house and one of them managed to pull my sister out of the side while the other tried to pry me out. Did I put up a fight, not wanting to get out of my sweet ride? Maybe. Somehow, I must have fallen for a brief moment so that my legs were under the jeep and the wheels were rolling toward me. Someone pulled me to safety and stopped the car only inches from a large rainforest tree.

Whew!

Maybe this was just another day on the mission field for my parents.

They say that your earliest memories are usually traumatic events that your brain stores with whatever language you have available at the time. So when I was five years old and woke up from a dream about an airplane rolling over my legs, my mom put it together and told me this story.

Crazy. But that is my life and there are plenty more where that one came from.