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Summer Is A Time Of Self Esteem

My daughter and son came home from camp a couple weeks ago and we still have a few days before school resumes.  This year she'll be in 5th grade and he'll be in 8th.  She completed much of the summer math packet before leaving for camp, and she read way more than the minimum required number of books; now she has to write a couple of essays.  And it's hard.  It's hard to read a challenging book and interpret it on command.  It's hard to solve complex word problems.  It's hard to force yourself into the confining space of school -- can I type my essays or do I have to write them out by hand?  Do I have to write about something from the reading list or can I substitute books I like better?

This summer my kids went to camp.  They swam, hiked, did arts and crafts, hung out with friends, toasted marshmallows.  They did their best and competed only against themselves.  If they passed a swimming or boating test they got to move to the next level if they felt like it; along the way they got to keep trying until they passed or decided to stop trying -- no grades, no competition, no judgments.  The rules they followed focused on mostly safety and kindness.

Now that school is imminent, my kids have to follow a different set of rules in addition to those governing safety and kindness.  For the next ten months any reading they do for school will be followed by assignments, tests, vocabulary lists and instructions to identify themes, characters and relationships.

Summer for my kids is about feeling good and self-esteemish.  Whatever they accomplish comes about because they set their own goals and work towards them.  Now that school is coming, that hard won self image is going to take a beating.  They'll question themselves -- am I getting the idea?  Did I say that right?  Will I get all the points?  Did I write what the teacher wants to read?

While in law school I feverishly wrote down every word my teachers said, even if I didn't understand it, frequently losing sight of the big picture in my scramble to record a professor's every cough and sniffle.  I stressed myself so drastically that during one exam period I landed in the emergency room with chest pains; the doctor put me on tranquilizers and suggested I go home and get some rest because I was toeing the line of a heart attack.

School is work, and while it can deliver gigantic rewards, school is also a source of major vexation and anxiety.  Summer is a time for feeling good about what you're doing, and if it doesn't feel good, you don't have to do it.

Summer, the time when pretty much anything you do is okay as long as it doesn't interfere with anyone else, is over. 

Smart Kids: They May Be Unpredictable, But At Least They're Smart

Testing over and not a moment too soon.  Who'd have thought someone could be so resistant to being told she's smart?  Really, does Angelina Jolie tirade when someone tells her she's beautiful?  Does Bill Gates squawk when reminded how wealthy he is?  Does Justin Bieber demur at being told he's talented?

Don't answer that last one.

The tests confirmed my suspicions -- Cupcake's one smart cookie -- but I was forbidden to speak of it because she was positive that being smart equaled being a freak.  Every time I even tried to mention it she was all:

got it here.

So academic tweaks were made.  Stakes were upped, challenges were increased, special projects were introduced, pleas for home schooling subsided.  But not a word was mentioned to my daughter.

While I was at it, I applied her to one of those national gifted educational thingies offering on site programs and remote stuff through summer school, publications and web sites.  I figured it might be a good weapon to have in my arsenal, but again, Cupcake would have none of it.  She assured me, not too congenially, that she would never NEVER participate in any such program and she didn't want to hear anything about it from me again ever.  Ever.

 

here it is.

So I quietly ignored email updates from the organization describing courses, seminars, meetings, conventions, publications, web sites and a book discussion group.

But...

I must have muttered about the book discussion group one evening after I'd fallen asleep on the couch from exhaustion.

W?HAT!!??  she bellowed.  Did you say BOOK DISCUSSION GROUP??!!

As I picked myself up off the floor and brushed Cupcake footprints from my abdomen, I explained that the organization she wanted to have nothing to do with did in fact have an online book discussion group and that the first book on the list was the Lightning Thief.

Well.

Cupcake joined that group the instant it came online.  She prepared her comments in advance.  She stalked other members.  She fretted and nagged that our trip to Israel would interfere critically with her ability to get online while the discussion group was in session.

Luckily for her, we had a hotel with WiFi and she'd just happened to bring along her laptop.

And all that invective about testing and gifted programs?

She was all:

Home Schooling? No Way.

Option Two:

Home Schooling

Yeah.  Enough about that.  I love my kids but one of the things I love most about my relationship with them is that little thrill I get when I see them in the carpool line after a long day of separation.  I'd have missed that twinge of excitement if we were together all day, every day, every week, all school year and all summer.

That's my story and I'm adhering to it.

Not to mention that part about well versed in art and literature and non-versed in math and gym.

Option One: A New School?

Option One:

Move Cupcake to a gifted program, either in a public school where she'd be singled out taken out of class a few times a week for personalized tutoring, or in a self-contained program where all the students yuk it up together over quantum physics jokes follow an accelerated curriculum.

Let me just say -- BLECH to both options, since either would necessitate contending with a kid who liked her friends and her school (except for the frustrating and boring part).  I sensed it was fairly unlikely I could convince her that her school that had just been repainted... and renamed... and relocated... and repopulated. 

Still, I had to explore all the options at once because I had no way of knowing which might flop and which might pay off.

In April I called the administrator of one of these programs to arrange a tour and learned that I was calling WAY too late in the season to have ANY hope of acceptance, there were NO spaces available, NOR would there be, as students simply NEVER withdrew from this PRESTIGIOUS program once accepted, and she wouldn't even CONSIDER allowing me to apply until AUTUMN.

Now, I recognize that this lady gets daily calls from parents who insist that their itsy-bitsy phenomena would be an asset to any educational program.  I realize that every potential student has x-ray vision that can melt away cellulite while giving a nice, even tan; or can recite Pi to 100,000 digits forwards and backwards in Aramaic; or can construct a working model of the USS Constitution out of matchsticks, dryer lint and maple syrup.  I get it.  I get that she's the gatekeeper for a program pursued by maniacal parents convinced that their children will develop a cure for tone deafness or homesickness before the age of 17. 

But I also know that, should Cupcake have been admitted to her precious program, this sentry lady would have instantly transformed into my bestest friend ever, inviting me over to enjoy a Nehi or YooHoo, house sitting when I traveled, and offering valuable advice on what to wear to the next American Idol concert.

Meanwhile, I had to scramble to get my ducks in a row before the beginning of the next school year.  If Cupcake was going to have to be relocated I was going to need to know that and prepare for it before the Gatekeeper started offering tours in the fall.

So. Transferring to a different school.  Can't even begin to apply until next fall.  Meanwhile, Cupcake frazzles herself daily.

Tune in next time for: Home Schooling? 

Spoiler Alert: No Way.

Smart Kids: Not So Easy, Actually

Third grade was not an easy year for the Cupcake. 

No, you're not in a time warp and no I'm not rerunning old posts.  You're right -- she did just finish fourth grade, but I have a point here.

One of her teachers, the poster child for the phrase salt of the earth, had recently moved up from teaching second grade and was accustomed to having to repeat each instruction eleventy times to guarantee getting through to the kids in the back who were busy shredding their shoelaces and drawing on their hands.  Cupcake couldn't stand it.  She didn't need to hear variations on the same instruction for the benefit of audio learners, visual learners, hands-on learners, and learners who learned only by being screamed at.  She didn't need to drill third grade spelling words like grass, smell or kitten.  She became frustrated to the point of nearly screaming in class (she saved the screaming for the ride home, bless her shrill little heart) because she rarely got called on even when she totally knew the answer. 

By second semester Cupcake moaned every morning about having to go to school, and implored me to teach her at home, which would have been fine with me except that the state might have cocked a few suspicious eyebrows upon discovering how well versed she was in art and literature and how non-versed she was in math and gym.

I tried to help her.  I asked her teachers to have the best spellers learn some of the vocabulary words in French or Spanish.  I asked them to call on her more often or try to give her more class responsibility or recognition; they swore all students were treated equally but I knew they were lying, the fiends.

Cupcake's frustration endured and intensified.  She could hardly stand it when other students dilly-dallied.  She began to lash out and blame it on everyone else.  The low point came when she punched her on-again off-again BFF and then claimed it was the other girl's fault because she didn't get out of the way of Cupcake's oncoming fist.

Misguided?  Perhaps.  A little full of herself?  A bit.  Somewhat justified?  Decidedly, at least the frustration part, not the punching.

By spring break I was becoming desperate.  If Cupcake was this unhappy in third grade, what was I going to be able to offer her for fourth?  Stay in the same school situation and expect different results?  Keep her where she was but hire tutors to give her the stimulation she needed?  Move her to a public school where she'd be entitled to special services for gifted students?  Take out a deluxe library membership and dump her there every day, hoping her evolving interests would eventually even out her education? 

I began to investigate various local options for gifted students because there was not way I was going to survive all the whining and complaining for another academic year. 

And I didn't want to hear it from her, either.

Next: weighing options

Time To Kvell

This morning I was privileged to see both of my kids shining like brand new pennies, although by the end of the morning I was gasping from the exertion of beholding all this dazzlingness.  It wasn't exactly the beholding that wore me out, but the shuttling from one event to the next that made my hair stand on end.  I swear, I'm still waiting for "Beam Me Up, Scotty" to hit the fan; or how about apparition like in Harry Potter?  That would be nice -- or maybe a portkey.  I'd even try floo powder if it meant I could get from one place to another without driving, even with all the fireplace ash to contend with.

Where was I...?

Ah yes -- kvelling.  Kvell is a Yiddish word that means "to be extraordinarily proud"; you could look it up at Merriam-Webster but don't bother because I just gave you their definition and saved you the trouble of clicking over and clicking back.

This morning Robespierre was the only seventh grader to receive a school pin for clocking at least 100 hours of community service in the past year.  He accomplished this by working three straight weeks last summer refurbishing school computers and getting them ready for the next academic year; he also worked behind the scenes at upper school wrestling matches, and helped load hundreds of grocery bags at the Jewish Food Bank.

Before attending his school's two hour awards assembly, however, I attended Cupcake's fourth grade poetry breakfast; all the students memorized and recited poems of their choosing and displayed the maps of the United States they'd drawn from memory after a month's practice and study.  When I get her map home I might post a photo of it; take my word for it -- it's beautiful.

Cupcake chose to recite "If" by Rudyard Kipling, and she nailed it.  She dedicated it to her brother:

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

The instant Cupcake finished her piece I snaked through the crowd toward the exit, knocking aside a foolish couple of grandparents who had ill-advisedly planted themselves between me and the door.  I bolted through the parking lot and hustled through traffic, arriving at Robey's school with no more than three minutes to spare before his name was called to receive his award.

And my contribution to the day's pride?  That I made it from one school to the other without having an accident or getting a speeding ticket.  Yay me.

Pluses And Minuses: Things We Like And Dislike About Our Neighbors

Advantages and disadvantages to living behind a high school:

• We have a gigantic field at our fingertips (foottips?) for walking the dog, flying a kite or kicking a soccer ball -- a distinct plus when your genuine yard comprises moss, moles and mud.
• The school staff objects when we use their grass -- something about the dog making a mess, I don't know, but really -- if they didn't want us to use their grass then they shouldn't have grass, right?  If we owned a cow we'd definitely be setting it out to graze there.
• Miss Puppy thinks that every time students are yelling in the playing field, they're summoning her to come out, race up and down the fence perimeter and woof at them.

• Sooner or later Miss Puppy overexerts herself chasing her imaginary friends, plunks down and sleeps it off.  This makes me look like a good and attentive parent who actually walks her dog.
• Students, teachers, lawn maintenance individuals frequently throw their trash over the fence into our yard since, apparently, even though the yard contains a house that from time to time has lights on, as well as a clamorous dog, no one actually lives here so no one will mind if you throw your Capri Sun pouch over the fence.
• We can throw our own trash onto their side of the fence and leave it for them to collect.

RELAX -- we don't.  We're composters -- we don't litter.  Geesh.

Anyone have anything else to add?  What are the advantages to your neighborhood?

Suspended For Inactivity

You know how department stores will call you if someone tries to use your credit card after it's been idle for a certain amount of time to make sure the Terminix man wasn't snooping through your desk drawers while ostensibly treating your house for weasels or carpenter ants?

You know how some gift cards expire if you don't use them before a certain date because the stores are counting on your forgetting the cards so they get to keep your money without having to surrender services or merchandise in exchange?

That reminds me -- I'd better schedule that pedicure soon...

Well, guess what?  BlogHer just sent me a plaintive note wondering where I've been and politely withdrawing my advertising until I post again.  But really, I have an excuse.  It might not be a good one but it's an excuse:

The bus was late.

No, that was yesterday.  Hold on...

The dog ate my blog.

No... no -- not that she wouldn't try, but she's actually been on good behavior lately, if you ignore the recently shredded purple Ugg*.

Bar Mitzvah. 

Yeah, that's the ticket.  This Bar Mitzvah has had me busier than a one-armed man trying to paddle a canoe in a straight line. I've been busier than a termite in a sawmill.  I've been busier than a one-armed man trying to pitch a tent in a wind storm.

Hellooo?  Anyone out there?  I know you're there -- I can hear you breathing.

And, as if the Bar Mitzvah weren't enough, I was in charge of Teacher and Staff Appreciation gifts for the month of May at Cupcake's school and I chose to give 77 people each two 750 ml bottles of Pellegrino  sparkling water, which adds up to 156 bottles in thirteen 30-pound cases of twelve; each bottle had a ribbon and a mushy note tied around its neck, which took a month to accomplish, and then I had to deliver the bottles around a school comprising six three-story buildings equipped with precisely zero elevators, which is why the next time I tackle Teacher Appreciation the gift will entail an unsharpened pencil or a handful of feathers for each teacher although why they'd want feathers I don't know but it's enough already with shlepping 390 pounds of water.

So anyway BlogHer: I'm reallyreally sorry I've been ignoring you but it's nothing personal and thanks for your kind note of suspension which I totally deserved and I promise that I'll be more reliable as soon as this Bar Mitzvah has been accomplished and the kids sent off to camp exactly a week later, and while I have your attention can you do something about getting William Shatner to host Saturday Night Live?  Thanks.

*Spell Check suggested egg or fuggy and I don't know what fuggy means but I think it might be my new favorite word.

Thought From Someone At A Loss To Produce Coherent Thoughts

• Seriously, why do TV baseball announcers feel compelled to talk 100% of the time?  The worst part, aside from the stultifying boringness of everything they say, is that they rarely describe what's actually going on.  So what are they talking about Every. Single. Minute?

• Bar Mitzvah planning is continuing apace, and now that the invitations are out I can safely reveal the Top Secret details for which I took a vow of silence nearly a year ago:

1. We're having a New Orleans-style Jazz brunch, complete with Bananas Foster and beignets*; the shrimp remoulade*, however, will be displaced by smoked salmon because eww, we're not kosher but still -- eww -- shrimp at a Bar Mitzvah?  Noooo.
   
2. The invitations to the kids' dance party were silk screened in fluorescent green paint on black tee shirts and mailed to each guest, with RSVP information on attached laminated lime green cards.  This approach presumably cuts down the amount of glowing plastic rubbish we'll have to supply to guests at the actual dance party.
3. The celebratory video is still under construction, with estimated completion date some time before June 12, 2010.

• Shouldn't the phrase "Years of Age" have been abolished after Jane Austen died?

• Speaking of Jane Austen, Cupcake and I are reading Pride and Prejudice together and I am utterly thrilled to be sharing one of my favorite books with one of my favorite readers.

• Cupcake is attending a summer school program at a boarding school in Boston for three weeks after her month at camp has ended.  She'll take classes and seminars, go on field trips, and live in the dorms like a Hogwarts student.  I might be a little bit jealous.

• Today is my father's birthday.

* Spellcheck wanted dragnets, remonstrate or remodel

The Five Stages Of Valentine Candy

When did giving out Valentines in school become such a big deal?

1. Denial: No, you don't need to attach candy to all your classmates' Valentines.  The card is more than enough. 
   
2. Anger: When I was a kid we just gave out those dinky foldover Valentines and that was enough for us.  We didn't need to make a whole federal case out of Valentine's Day.


3. Bargaining: What if I just get you a big lollipop and we'll forget about candy for everyone else? (see original image here)


4. Depression: We're going to be in a Depression if we don't stop spending all our money indulging the entire fourth grade


5. Acceptance: Fine.  Go ahead and buy whatever candy you want.  I'm tired of arguing. (image here)

How long does it take you to give in?

No Bullies Allowed

Ever been the victim of bullying? Ever been a bully-enabler?

Chapter Eight.  That's all you need to know: CHAPTER. EIGHT.  The rest is prelude and epilogue, and while it might occupy you if you need something to read, you don't need it like you need Chapter 8.

I'm reading Jodee Blanco's Please Stop Laughing At Us... One Survivor's Extraordinary Quest to Prevent School Bullying.  Ms. Blanco offers a stirring (although frequently wordy and sometimes garbled) memoir of relentless persecution by classmates beginning in elementary school and enduring all through high school.  Her story is gruesome and at times so extreme as to be barely believable, except that we've all seen it, inflicted it or lived it.

Visit Blanco's excellent and attractive web site for information on her program, It's NOT Just Joking Around!, and by all means pick up her new book (I am NOT being compensated in any way for this review.  Jodee Blanco doesn't know me from Adam.  I feel very strongly about this issue), but if you don't have the inclination, merely bookmark this post because I'm going to give you the quick and dirty intro to her program right now.

Here we go.

"How often are you hanging out by the lockers with your friends when someone who you don't think is cool passes you in the hall?  You and your friends look at each other and roll your eyes, perhaps even snicker.  I know that you're not trying to be mean,' I explain.  "You're just joking around, right?"  Heads begin to nod.  "Wrong!" I shout.  "To that person, it's not just joking around.  When you ridicule, bully, exclude, or ignore someone on purpose, treat that person as if you wish they didn't exist, you're damaging them for life," I exclaim."

...

"I thought things would be different [in high school].  There was this girl who let me sit at her table every day as long as I promised not to talk, to her or her friends.  Can you imagine how hard that was?  ...Then, one afternoon, one of them gets up and tells me that I can't sit there anymore.  'It's not like we hate you or anything,' she says.  'It's just that everybody else does, and we don't need them to start giving us a hard time too.'  I begged them to reconsider, explaining that no one else would let me sit at their table.  'Look, Jodee, it's nothing personal.'  I then began what would become the most humiliating journey of my life, going from table to table begging people to let me sit with them."

"Eventually I ran out of the cafeteria and into the bathroom and cried," I say.  "But if a teacher had gone up to any of those kids and said, 'Hey, you guys, I just saw Jodee weeping in the lavatory, what did you do to her?' they would all have responded, 'We didn't do anything.'  And they would have been telling the truth!  Bullying isn't just the mean things you do," I say.  "It's all the nice things you never do!  Letting someone sit alone at lunch pretending not to see how badly that person wishes to be included?  Bullying!  Letting someone walk to class by themselves afraid to talk to anyone for fear of being rejected?  Bullying!  Always choosing the same person last whenever dividing into teams for gym or class?  Bullying!  It's all bullying!"

Recognize yourself in any aspect of this story?  I'd be surprised if you didn't unless you were home schooled and even so -- who knows? maybe your mother was a bully.

Bullying is like psychological kudzu: we might never eliminate it, but we can fight like the dickens to control it.  Whatever protection we can offer our children and each other will be better than what our parents and teachers offered us (not assigning blame here -- they did what they thought was right), which amounted to: "Ignore them.  They're just jealous because you're so smart/talented/pretty/bipedal/straight haired/curly haired/bucktoothed..." 

Blanco's most surprising, yet sensible, piece of advice is not to ignore bullies at all:

"Never ignore the bully and walk away.  You must look the bully in the eye without any emotion or fear, command him to stop, and then stare him down just long enough to let him know you mean business.  Next, begin walking away, and then turn briefly back toward him and say "See you later."...  [S]tanding up for yourself nonviolently in the moment abuse occurs is your human right."

Thoughts anyone?  If you had to choose a side, which would it be?

NOTE: According to Strollerderby, today marks the beginning of No Name-Calling Week.

How Do You Spell "Excited"?

My kids are pretty smart.  And talented. 

No, really -- they're both geniuses, each destined to bring me home scads of awards, including but not limited to the Nobel prize each owes me for enduring unspeakably queasy pregnancies.

The latest evidence?  Cupcake has made it through the first round of her school's spelling bee.  She'll be one of four students representing the 4^th grade at the all-school (well, actually 4^th, 5^th and 6^th grades, since allowing the lower grades to compete would be time consuming and demoralizing, albeit hilarious) spelling bee.

She got in the car yesterday afternoon screaming, and for once the screaming had nothing to do with being hungry or hating homework or the unfairness of having to run laps in gym class.

She called various relatives to bask in the glow of their praise.  My favorite exchange was the text messaging between Cupcake and her incomparable cousin, Artypants:

Hi AP!  It's Cupcake.  Today we had our class spelling bee and guess who's going to the school spelling bee?  That's right.  Hope you're having a good day!!! :-)

And the following response:

Congratulashons thet's grate!

I'll be there on January 15^th, trying to keep my lips from moving as I spell each word along with her in my head.

PS: It's National Lemon Cupcake Day!!  It's all about the cupcakes.

Declaration Of Independence Composed By My Fourth Grader: Interesting Homework Assignments

The assignment was to compose your own version of The Declaration of Independence, without reading the original first. 

Here's what Cupcake produced, with, I swear, no help from me or anyone else:

We the citizens of the United States of America hereby declare independence against England. We believe that monarchy is a poor form of government and we should live in a democracy. We will vote and make laws together. We will decide our taxes fairly. We will rule all in one place, not 3000 miles away from each other. We will rule better than the British Empire ever has because we will choose our leaders fairly, not just let them rule because they were born with the power. The British shall tell us what to do no more. We believe that King George III, King of England in this year, 1776, has done many things wrong, and we know that while we govern ourselves, we shall not repeat these mistakes. King George permitted the British parliament to tax us without a representative. Because of that, we were given horrible taxes and laws such as the Stamp Act, the Townshend Duties, the Declaratory Act, the Coercive Acts (which consisted of the Boston Port Act, the Quartering Act, the Administration of Justice Act, and the Massachusetts Government Act) and the Tea Act.

We are now the United States of America, free and happy in our own country. No longer are we the 13 Colonies, enslaved by the power of the British. No longer shall we pay un-approved taxes. No longer shall we give our money to the British for their selfish reasons and unworthy causes. No longer shall we endure the tyranny of King George. No longer shall we do as the British say. Now we shall open our arms to embrace the new life we have chosen to take. Now we are free! And that is why, on this day, July 4th , 1776, we declare independence!

I covered the American Revolution in 4th grade too.  We spent a considerable amount of time talking about linsey-woolsey, wooden teeth, and chopping down cherry trees.

Are your children getting a better education than you got?

Can This Girl Be My New Best Friend?

Cupcake and I saw this girl perform this poem at the convention where Cupcake's choir performed yesterday.  I want to have lunch with Taylor Phillips every day for the next year.  And dinner.  And tea.  I want her to come to my house and just talk and be brilliant.  Knowing someone like her might make me feel smart.

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When I Was In School, Field Trips Seemed A Lot Less Strenuous

Field trips seemed to be a bit more fun when I was in school.

Gained some unanticipated Fun Mom points this morning by going on a combo fourth grade / first grade field trip to the pumpkin farm, which had been rescheduled from Monday because it's been raining nonstop here since, oh, September.  2007.  Or at least it feels that way.

Cupcake is in the fourth grade and each fourth grader partners up with a first grader as writing buddies.  One of the first grade classes is taught by my sister, so I had the opportunity to collect double points for going on a dual field trip.

Did I mention it's been raining since, oh, April?  2004?

Today was the one day this week predicted to be rain free (not cloud free or gloom free, but at least rain free), so the field trip was rescheduled.  I put on my schlucking-through-the-mud boots and drove and drove across the river and into another state (what, we don't have any pumpkin farms in our own state?) and got to the pumpkin farm before anyone else, and in fact before they were even open.  While I stood in a less muddy spot waiting for the buses to arrive, I saw farmhands scattering mulch and other organic stuff that I didn't have the courage to examine any closer over some of the many goopy spots (remember?  raining since July, 1997?) near the entrance to the farm.  I waited as one yellow school bus arrived.  And then another.  And then about fifty more, all piloted by extremely hefty women with tattoos on their ankles, cigarettes in their hands and curses on their lips.

When I got cold I considered getting back in my car and retreating home, but knowing that Fun Mom points don't kick in until the children actually arrive at the field trip destination, I put on another sweatshirt (I travel very heavy in the winter, schlepping coats and jackets of every size and weight in the trunk of the car just in case), and returned to the parking lot to await the little darlings.

Once they arrived, unloaded lunches and water bottles and split into groups, I trailed along after Cupcake and her little friend as they sampled the corn maze and another corn maze, paused briefly to compose the obligatory haiku paeans to pumpkins and corn mazes, and then queued up for the scenic hayride through the pumpkin fields.

The hay was fresh, golden and cozy.  The kids cuddled up to make room for everyone.  Cupcake and I ended up at the front of the wagon where we could see every bolt, gear and fleck of mud on the tractor.

Have I mentioned that it's been raining since, oh, 1492?

The tractor took off, its eight foot diameter wheels churning through the mud at the perimeter of fields filled with crackling weeds and rotting pumpkins.  We could see the tracks gouged in the glop by the enormous wheels, unless we were driving through standing water, in which case we saw waves and maybe even tides.  Thank goodness tractors can drive through anything without becoming mired.

The tractor became mired. 

The wheels spun, lurching the vehicle to one side.  The driver turned, gave us a grin that would have been toothy if he'd had any teeth, and announced that we were stuck and everyone would have to get out and walk.  After noting the horrified expressions on the faces of fifty city slickers wearing Uggs, he grinned, winked and started up the tractor with a gigantic lurch.

Remember?  Rain since the beginning of time?

Let me give you some valuable advice.

1. Don't wear nice clothes to the pumpkin farm.
2. Leave the nice shoes at home if you're going to the pumpkin farm.
3. Find a coat that's not white if you're visiting the pumpkin farm.
4. Don't sit in the front of the hay wagon on the pumpkin farm hayride.
5. If you're going to the pumpkin farm and you're riding a tractor and the tractor gets stuck in the mud and has to be lurched free, keep your mouth shut so that once the lurching is finished and you have mud on your coat and face, you don't also have a generous serving of mud in your mouth.
6. Bring lots of wet wipes to the pumpkin farm.

Fun Mom Points: well earned and well deserved.

What's your advice on traveling to the pumpkin farm?

If There Were A Prize For Sincerity She'd Be The Undisputed Winner: Comforting A Child Who Doesn't Win A Contest

Maybe someday I'll remember not to believe her when she swears that this time she positively won't care if she doesn't win.

Cupcake's school hosts a fall picnic with your run-of-the-mill hot doggage, face painting and canned food drive.  Part of the picnic tradition is the bake-off: kids compete with entries of cookies, cakes and brownies they've baked and decorated "themselves."  Five school administrators serve as judges and the entries are labeled with codes to maintain anonymity.  My favorite entry this year (aside from Cupcake's, naturally) were tiny burgers made from vanilla wafers sprinkled with sesame seeds and filled with brown stuff and green stuff and red and yellow stuff:

My favorite entry two years ago (aside from Cupcake's, naturally) was a poster that said: "My dog ate my cake," with a photo of the intact cake and a shot of the dog covered in icing.

The first year she entered, Cupcake (with my help) made orange poppy seed muffins.  They were delicious.  They didn't win.  Cupcake wept.

The second year she made yummy lemon bars.  They didn't win.  Cupcake rent her garment.

Last week Cupcake read Strudel Stories, a book about passing down oral histories, family traditions and recipes.  She decided to make apple strudel for this year's competition, using the recipe in the back of the book.  I told her how my grandmother, for whom she's named, used to make strudel that was famous, and suggested that strudel would be a sweet tribute.  So I peeled and sliced apples and she measured and mixed sugar and spices, and we spread out layers and layers of phyllo dough, and then I helped her roll it into a tight log.  While it was baking she prepared a label describing why she'd chosen to bake strudel.

The strudel didn't win.  Cupcake wailed in despair.

I don't want to give the impression my daughter is a loser.  Far from it; she's one of the most frighteningly bright and creative people I've ever known.  She writes her own blog, for heaven's sake, and this summer she made her way through and beyond her school's second semester fifth grade Greek mythology curriculum (and yes, she did just enter fourth grade).  Starting on Tuesday she'll be attending Greek school (more on that later) because... because she just really wants to learn to speak and read Greek.  So it's not that she's a dork.  She just happens to enter contests and then takes the results VERY seriously.  She just happens to wonder occasionally whether being athletic might be more desirable than being preposterously smart.  She just happens to be vulnerably sincere and earnest in everything she does, and to beat herself up if she doesn't come in first. 

I know that even the smartest people need to learn to deal with disappointment -- that almost nobody comes in first and best every time.  I know that the occasional failure or disappointment will benefit her in the long run, and believe me -- her failures are only occasional.

My sister says the judges want chocolatey and gooey.  I know she's right.  If I were judging that's exactly what would hold my attention.  But I hate to quell Cupcake's enthusiasm for preparing a recipe that she chose herself and to which she attached such a degree of sentiment.  I don't want to discourage her from trying something different.  Besides, even if she made a pile of chocolate chips held together with a paste made of cocoa and chocolate sauce, with chocolate sprinkles on top, there's no guarantee she'd win.

Can you remind me to skip the contest next year?

My Daughter Doesn't Get Called On In Class Very Often

No matter how smart, the less athletic kids sometimes seem invisible.

It's not that she doesn't know the answers; she almost always does.  It's because she knows the answers that she rarely gets to answer questions; I've told her many times that if her teachers called on her whenever she had her hand in the air nobody else would ever get to answer a question.

This treatment distresses Cupcake to the point of tears.  I try to help her understand that teachers call on other kids who need help more than she does, that her teachers and classmates know how smart she is, but she still moans about feeling ignored.

Add to this the fact that Cupcake comes from a notoriously unathletic family and therefore rarely gets recognition for her exploits on the field or the court, and you can imagine how frequently I'm left to console her and assure her that she actually does have loads of redeeming qualities, even if athleticism isn't on top of the list.

So when I finally (after two years of trying) convinced her school to participate in the Box Tops for Education program (they thought it was tacky; since when is free money tacky?) by installing an unobtrusive mailbox on a wall outside the school office, I asked Cupcake to create a sign to help draw attention to the collection spot.

She drew it, laminated it and signed it, and this afternoon she called me from school to report that the box has been installed and looks "awesome."

I figure if I'm organizing the program and the box needs a banner, I'm going to give my kid the glory of pointing out her handiwork to the entire school.

What's wrong with favoring your own child occasionally?

Robespierre Has A Job

Robey's school provides each student with a laptop to use through the academic year.  Every year the teachers and administrators get new laptops, and theirs from the previous year are passed on to the seniors, who pass theirs on to the juniors, all the way down to the sixth graders, whose laptops are held together with duct tape and bungee cords.

During the summer break the IT people (yes, the school has its own IT staff, but these days most schools probably do) run diagnostics on each laptop and load new software.  What with new computers coming in and old ones going out, 900 laptops will need to be assessed and prepared by the end of the summer.  The school offers internships, some paid but mostly volunteer, to any students who care to participate, and Robey applied.  Since his position is volunteer, he can come and go as he likes.  He'll be there every day this week, then we leave for a trip, and after we return he'll work another two weeks until leaving for a month of camp.

I'm proud of him for his motivation and willingness to work.  In addition to the experience and goodwill he'll accumulate, he'll have a tidy resume decoration, which never hurts.

No humor or witty conclusion today -- just pride for my guy.

Except: I forgot the meaning of "IT" and had to look it up.

Wordless Wednesday, With A Brief Explanation

Cupcake's class spent a month preparing for their Market Day.  They learned about businesses and economics, business plans and partnerships.  Each team was given a loan of up to $60, with which to purchase advertising and lease retail space in the third grade rooms.  They planned, manufactured, and priced their merchandise; everything had to be made from recycled materials.  There were bookmarks, banners, autograph books, jewelry, even miniature paper kites.

Last Wednesday the market was open.  Cupcake and her partner manufactured and sold out of cardboard flag keychains; just before closing time she managed to sell the strips of denim on which the merchandise had been pinned for display.

This sign caught my eye, posted on the booth across from Cupcake's:

 

Well, I say bravo for them!  Every store has to have rules, and this one makes way more sense than restricting bathroom use to employees.

Grammar Girl Gets The Language Arts Homework Done First

Cupcake brought home her getting-ready-for-4th-grade summer homework packet yesterday.  The school year ends next Friday.

The language arts section?  Finished, proofread and corrected.

The math packet?  Unsullied by human hands.

She's so much like me.