21st Century Boy

I've been a parent for nearly 8 years. Prior to that, I did a lot of time with the preschool set and if those years taught me one thing, it's that I love children but don't always love children's music.

Though there are some notable exceptions, I generally have found children's music to be tiresome. So I've always introduced the children in my life to adult music that is appropriate for them. No AC/DC singing about the "Highway to Hell" but plenty of other good stuff.

JT and I listen to CDs of music that I make on my computer. Between my own collection and the stuff at iTunes, I've burned plenty of good music into the boy's brain. It's something that we share and enjoy together. This past weekend, I collected a bunch of Eric Clapton songs together onto a CD and this morning we listened to those songs on the way to school. After song four, JT said, "These all sound like the same guy is singing."

"It is the same guy," I answered, "his name is Eric Clapton."

And as Clapton played the guitar in the background an astonished JT said, "Wow. I didn't know you could have a whole CD with the same guy on it."

Real Life Conversations with JT: Truth Avoidance Edition

JT and I stopped by Target today so that I could secure a timer for brushing his teeth (don't ask) and a few other things as well. It was my second trip to Target in two days and I was annoyed with myself for having forgotten some things.

But at least JT and I got to share a warm mother-son moment, while he looked at this box of goods that I had thrown in the cart.



JT: Oh.

Mama (warily): Oh what?

JT: I've seen ads for that on TV and I wondered what it was for. But now I know what it's for.

Mama (even more wary): What's it for?

JT: For when you work out. See, there's a girl exercising on the box. It's for girls when they work out.

Mama (relieved): Exactly. That's exactly what it's for.

Life as I Know It

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is "My first act as Queen......."

I have no idea what to write. Those of you who know me as a control freak par excellence are now pulling your jaw up off the floor. The notion that I have no idea what to do when given charge of the world is somewhat surprising. World peace; no more hungry sick children; safety and a comfy bed for everyone....these are all laudable goals that come to mind. But I haven't been able to figure out how I would get this done. Then there is the fact that I'm working on not being overwhelmed by the things that I cannot control. So.

In the meantime, things in the tiny fiefdom that is Sassafras House have been changing and I decided to write about that instead.

I haven't written much about this, largely because it seemed whiny to complain about my difficulties when my seven year old is managing a broken leg. And he's managing it incredibly well ---- the boy has been a trooper, rarely complaining, and generally managing his temporary handicap with incredible grace. So to whine about how his broken leg has inconvenienced me seemed like being a jackass.

Since we moved to this house two years ago, the playroom has been JT's haven. That has allowed me to roam the first floor in peace. Sometimes he'd watch TV downstairs, but mostly he'd play upstairs. My living room was free from the detritus of childhood (read: no tiny Playmobil figures under foot) and it was quiet (meaning I listened to NPR) while I went about my cooking, cleaning, reading, and writing. I am a pretty high energy person and I work with high energy teenagers, so the quiet is important to me. It allows me to relax and rejuvenate. On weekend mornings, JT would quietly head to his playroom when he woke up. I would hear him up there and then enjoy a little extra sleep, knowing that he was happily playing. Toys and games arranged in the playroom could stay out for weeks on end, because the door to the room could be shut and I didn't have to see the playroom chaos. It was a happy arrangement. And it helped to facilitate our mutual independence.

But one of the side effects of a broken leg was that JT couldn't get around easily. And he was afraid; preferring to be by my side. I love the boy to distraction but that by my side deal was sometimes overwhelming. At first, he couldn't really get to the attic and I didn't want him two floors away, unable to easily navigate the stairs. And he was also adjusting to his own limited independence ----- needing help to do EVERYTHING. The poor child couldn't even get himself a cup of water to drink. And don't get me started on going to the bathroom.

I realized that our newly circumscribed existence was temporary, but it was sometimes exhausting. From the moment JT woke up in the morning until he went to bed at night, he accompanied me. Running errands with a child on crutches is just not easily managed, so I saved those chores for the Sunday afternoons that he visited my ex. He's a chatty little thing (like his mama) and our constant togetherness could be overwhelming. The quiet in my home at 8:30 pm, after he went to sleep, felt just luxurious. But by then I was often so tired myself that I couldn't stay up long enough to appreciate it.

When JT got the walking cast three weeks ago, he slowly began to expand his world again. It started with the ability to walk around the house and step-by-step, he's become more independent. He can walk short distances at school and at home (and, among other things, that means he can carry his own backpack again). He can get a drink of water and he can once again help with some of the chores around the house. We've been able to go to Target for short trips. We went to the mall on Friday night. And this weekend, he once again reclaimed the playroom as his own zone.

The impetus for his triumphant playroom return was some new toys ----- cowboys and Indians with a great need to engage in a long-term epic battle ----- and he wanted to leave them sitting out. That's playroom approved. So on Saturday morning I headed upstairs to organize the heap and clutter.

It was a giant mess.



A cataclysmic disaster.



But when the Mama cleaning tsunami was done, the chaos was reigned in.



And Sassafras House is peaceful once again.

Real Life Conversations with a Colleague

Note: Sensitive readers should understand that this post sacrifices good taste for humor. You've been warned.

The backstory: We're wrapping up our Friday afternoon here at prep school with a speaker from the Darfur region of the Sudan. It's a serious topic; one that our students deeply care about. But it's a bit of a downer to wrap up a long week and the kids get Monday off (while the teachers have faculty development), so there is a spirited tone in the halls. We're all a little slap-happy. As we got ready to attend the assembly, a colleague and I were talking about the afternoon's program.

X: I'm going to need a cigarette before this thing begins.

Me: I need a drink.

X: In fact, if I don't get a cigarette, by the time I get down there I'll make the janjaweed look like the freakin' welcome wagon.

It's been a long, long time since I laughed that hard at work. I entered the assembly in just the right mood.

More Evidence that I Hit the Kid Jackpot

Every day after school, JT and I follow the same routine. Since he broke his leg, I fetch him from the after school program by 3:30 (so he doesn't have to watch as the other kids play on the playground outside) and we head home. Once home, our first task is to secure a snack and get started on his homework. He usually has a few pages of math, some phonics, math facts to review, and spelling words to practice. It's actually useful stuff (and this is a well-known opponent of homework writing here) but it takes time, the most precious commodity in the life of a single mama.

Thursday is a different pattern for us; the math and phonics pages aren't due until Monday so we save them for JT to complete when he sees his other mom over the weekend. The burden is lighter: just the spelling words and math facts. At his instigation, we did both on the car on the way home, so when we walked in the door, the afternoon stretched luxuriously in front of us.

JT's snack secured, I headed upstairs to change for my workout. Working out before 4:30.......yippee! And then, as I was working up a sweat, my boy strolled by the glass doors of the study (where the magical elliptical trainer is located). He was sweeping the floors. Yes, that's right, sweeping. Unprompted and of his own volition, the child was sweeping the floors.

"I just wanted to help out, mama," he told me.

My kid rocks.

A Life in Books

I am a book junkie. From the moment I was pregnant , I was collecting books to read to my baby. Every night since he was born, JT and I have ended our days with a few stories. Back when he had two moms we would take turns reading to him each night. My favorite nights were the evenings we would all curl up together in his bed. I vividly remember the toddler JT who would respond, "No, no, no stories," when the time came to read Good Night Moon. He was looking to avoid sleep those nights. I'll bet that I could still recite every page of his beloved (and appropriately named) The Truck Book. Willoughby the bunny and his little sister Willa gave rise to our family phrase, "That's happy. What else?"

For several years now, we've been into chapter books. There are few pictures in these stories ------ JT says that you make the pictures in your brain. Chapter books have given me the chance to introduce my son to the stories that I loved as a child. We've read most of the Beverly Cleary books (JT loved Ribsy and Henry Huggins) and we've about worked our way through The Great Brain series. We've discovered some new books as well and so I now have additional favorites, including The Indian in the Cupboard and The Seven Wonders of Sassafras Springs.

I love sharing books with my son. It gives rise to a whole new world of characters and places for us to share. And it's still the very best part of my day.

Gender Deconstruction in the Second Grade

I am the mother of a boy. I grew up with a sister, but no brothers. I had plenty of experience babysitting and teaching boys before this boy of mine came into being, but it is fair to say that the world of little boys was foreign to me.

In many respects, my son is a great deal like me. In him I recognize my way of thinking, my approach to problem solving, my compulsion for organization. At the same time, I see in him things that are all together different from me: he likes weaponry and destruction; loud noises thrill him; we are never far away from a stick or a rock that must be retained for unnamed future games.

He often attributes these differences to the fact that I am a girl. I can't say that he's wrong. In fact, he's quite interested in the differences between boys and girls and we have interesting conversations about such issues. In his second grade class of 15 children, there are 10 boys and 5 girls. When we discuss his school day each afternoon, reflections on gender nearly always appear. He announced today that the girls all have tidy desks, whereas some of the boys are, in his words "so messy I wonder how they find anything" obviously, my young man isn't in this category). He's not surprised by this difference and in fact seems to expect it.

The teacher uses a number system to encourage good behavior: your first infraction is a 1, then a 2, on 3 you need to take a break from the classroom and sit in the "thinking chair." A few days ago he mentioned that a number of boys earned a 2 that day. "What about the girls?" I asked. He looked at me like I was insane and explained, "Girls don't get on numbers."

I allowed that maybe a girl would get in trouble some day. He paused and asked, "Did you get in trouble in school?"

"No," I answered.

"Exactly," he responded.

Sometimes I worry that he takes such a stark view of gender roles. But then I remember the comfort that structure and set expectations bring to children. I remind myself that I'm a good feminist and surely I'm showing him the multi-faceted world of gender roles.

Math Facts

In pursuit of the rote memory skills one needs to go to the next level of math, JT has been working on his basic math facts. We do this every day, practicing addition and subtraction facts for at least a few minutes. We report the time allocated to the task on a chart provided by Mrs. W, JT's second grade teacher.

It's not always an enjoyable task. The other day, weary of the constant quizzing, JT suggested that I should take a turn in the hot seat while he played quiz master. So while I complained and hemmed and hawed and asked if we were done, he quizzed my math fact knowledge. I thoroughly enjoyed my new role in the game, but JT was not amused, eventually employing his mama's favorite line, "This is not fun for me."

Indeed.

An Observation

Had it been Al Gore who won the presidency in 2000, is there any chance at all that George W. Bush would have gone on to receive the Nobel Prize for Peace?

Kind of says it all, don't you think?

Working It

I've had plenty of jobs, though career-wise I've always been a teacher. I actually have my dream job right now; I love what I do and the place where I do it. I'm a history and government teacher and that's a great part of why I love what I do: I get paid to read and talk about the things that I love.

I write about my job and my students every once in a while, so this blog is filled with reflections on my work. But the prompt at Sunday Scribblings got me thinking about why I love my job.

I love the autonomy of my world. The classroom is mine and I guide our discussions. I can be flexible so as to engage the students and myself. I can think about something that interests me and spend the entire day focusing on that. Most recently, thanks to a couple of articles in Newsweek magazine, I was thinking about the idea of women and power. So all of my classes spent a few days talking about that. We talked about women in ancient India in 2nd period; women and income inequality in 3rd period, women and voting and representation in 6th period, and women in colonial history in 8th period. I was excited; the students were engaged. It was a really good couple of days.

The autonomy that I enjoy so much is largely a function of the fact that I teach at an independent college prep school in central New Jersey. No federally-mandated test is going to come along and assess my success. This is not to say that I don't feel any responsibility to my students. I feel a terrific obligation and think a great deal about where my students are headed (college....all of them) and how well what they have learned from me will serve them there. I work methodically to improve their skills and, because my classes are small, I know exactly where the students are in that journey.

I've taught many other places, and while I've always enjoyed that work, it hasn't always been the same. I think that it's a luxury and privilege to teach at my school. And as I look at the bright faces in my classroom I hope that they can find the same level of satisfaction when they enter the world of work.