Sitting on the child-size chair listening to the child psychologist, my mind started wandering to the possibility of a long, relaxing bath. The speaker was doing a great job explaining the emotional tasks at each developmental stage of childhood, but my feet hurt. Her outlines for promoting independence, dealing with sibling rivalry, and parenting with consistency were clear. The school parents were soaking up the information, but we were running out of time for the Q&A section of the evening.
"How can I get my 4 1/2 year-old into the bathtub in the evening? She wants to act like a kitty cat and play around instead."
What a flashback question! Not to my own parenting of young sons, though. I seem to have blocked out those memories. I can barely remember the bathrooms in our various homes, no pun intended.
Instead I remember being a child at bathtime. It probably helps that the bathroom in the house where I grew up hasn't changed much since I was three. When Mom announced our bathtime we would beg her for a "deep bath." She would remind us that we had to get ready fast if we wanted to have that treat.
A deep bath was not the norm. Mom didn't start running the water in the tub until we were in the bathroom ready. If we had dilly-dallied, there wasn't time for her to run the water more than the few inches needed for actual cleaning of children in assembly-line fashion. We could only play in the water until it got chilly.
If we had been "obnoxious" or "belligerent" during the day, there was no chance of a deep bath. We knew not to even ask.
A deep bath was a reward for getting ready quickly after a day when we didn't frazzle our mother. She kept the warm water running, filling the tub so full we could float boats, blow bubbles, and make shampoo-suds hairdos and beards. Mom would even hold the mirror for us to admire our sculpted hairdos. The mirror steamed up while our relaxed mother leafed through a magazine or filed her nails. We played until our fingers turned to wrinkly raisins and the water cooled. Washed, dried, and into our PJs, we made towel turbans and paraded to the living room to model them for our dad.
Just remembering a "deep bath" is a relaxing soak for my tired brain. "What is a natural consequence?" That's a great parenting question. Tonight I'd say a short chilly shallow bath is the natural consequence of dilly-dallying at bathtime.
And now, I need a hot soak and some relaxing time making shampoo sculpture antlers and antennae. Thank heaven my kids are grown up!
© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder
Showing posts with label positive parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label positive parenting. Show all posts
1/21/10
2/8/09
Standing O for Alvin Ailey at 50
I'm absolutely delighted to learn that the President and First Lady took Malia and Sasha to the Kennedy Center Friday evening to see the Alvin Ailey Dance Company. How exciting to have a president who appreciates the performing arts, enjoys sharing them with his wife, and wants to expose his daughters to the fabulous cultural opportunities in Washington, D.C. What a role model!
Friday night's program included fiftieth anniversary highlights of the dance company, and a performance of its most famous work, "Revelations". Alvin Ailey created "Revelations" in 1960, but its impact is undiminished in the new millennium.
I wish that Barbie, Midge, and I were in the audience at the Kennedy Center Friday. It's been nearly a quarter century since I saw "Revelations" performed at Omaha's Orpheum Theater, but the experience was memorable.
Mattel introduced the Barbie doll in 1960. Mattel is offering an Alvin Ailey Barbie dressed in the flowing white lace costume of dancers in the "Wade in the Water" segment of "Revelations". The doll honors the vision and talent of Alvin Ailey, Judith Jamison, and the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater "to inspire and unite people of all backgrounds through the universal language of dance".
© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder
Friday night's program included fiftieth anniversary highlights of the dance company, and a performance of its most famous work, "Revelations". Alvin Ailey created "Revelations" in 1960, but its impact is undiminished in the new millennium.
I wish that Barbie, Midge, and I were in the audience at the Kennedy Center Friday. It's been nearly a quarter century since I saw "Revelations" performed at Omaha's Orpheum Theater, but the experience was memorable.
Mattel introduced the Barbie doll in 1960. Mattel is offering an Alvin Ailey Barbie dressed in the flowing white lace costume of dancers in the "Wade in the Water" segment of "Revelations". The doll honors the vision and talent of Alvin Ailey, Judith Jamison, and the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater "to inspire and unite people of all backgrounds through the universal language of dance".
© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder
11/10/07
Tiger Cub Field Trip of '88
A hundred years after the famous blizzard, Cyndi and I took eleven first-grade Tiger Cubs to the 45th Infantry Museum in Oklahoma City. The boys loved the museum with its helmets, uniforms, tanks, artillery, and dioramas. The 45th is a fascinating history museum no matter how you feel about wars and the military, power and force.
I like to think we didn't create any little hawks or future military dictators that day. My sons all grew up with a love of history and an abhorance of war, even though they wore every camo "flage" item they could find for a few years.
Perhaps the most significant thing the Tiger Cubs experienced on that field trip was a lunch at the McDonald's across the street from the museum. Each boy brought money for a Happy Meal, and I know for a fact that this was not their very first Happy Meal! I do not carry a burden of guilt for creating any Super-Sized fat Americans.
Cyndi and I talked to each Tiger Cub:
Do you know what you want for lunch? Great. You told me so clearly that I know you can give your own order. You are big enough to carry your own tray to the booth, too.
The looks on their faces and the squaring of their shoulders when they received this gift of empowerment was magical. None of the boys flubbed their orders or dropped their trays. It was as if we had knighted them with Excalibur!
Nearly twenty years later, I note that parents are still doing too much for their kids. That day was an eye-opener for me as a parent who tended to do too much and anticipate too many needs for my sons. We must give our children that permission to attempt new tasks, our patience as they gain self-sufficiency, and our vote of confidence. "I know you can do it yourself," is a far greater gift than, "I will do it for you, my precious iddle-widdle boy."
Sorry about the preaching. I'll now push my soapbox over to the sink and load the dishwasher all by myself.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
I like to think we didn't create any little hawks or future military dictators that day. My sons all grew up with a love of history and an abhorance of war, even though they wore every camo "flage" item they could find for a few years.
Perhaps the most significant thing the Tiger Cubs experienced on that field trip was a lunch at the McDonald's across the street from the museum. Each boy brought money for a Happy Meal, and I know for a fact that this was not their very first Happy Meal! I do not carry a burden of guilt for creating any Super-Sized fat Americans.
Cyndi and I talked to each Tiger Cub:
Do you know what you want for lunch? Great. You told me so clearly that I know you can give your own order. You are big enough to carry your own tray to the booth, too.
The looks on their faces and the squaring of their shoulders when they received this gift of empowerment was magical. None of the boys flubbed their orders or dropped their trays. It was as if we had knighted them with Excalibur!
Nearly twenty years later, I note that parents are still doing too much for their kids. That day was an eye-opener for me as a parent who tended to do too much and anticipate too many needs for my sons. We must give our children that permission to attempt new tasks, our patience as they gain self-sufficiency, and our vote of confidence. "I know you can do it yourself," is a far greater gift than, "I will do it for you, my precious iddle-widdle boy."
Sorry about the preaching. I'll now push my soapbox over to the sink and load the dishwasher all by myself.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
8/4/07
Let's not guess my lunch!
Do you like see food? That's the age-old school cafeteria joke about chewing with your mouth open. See food is not appealing. It ranks in the gross kid behavior Top Ten list between chewing the neck of one's t-shirt, and running both hands up one's shorts' legs to take attendance.
At some point in the parenting process you have to confront these behaviors, and it should be well before your child goes to college. By the time your child is four, you must be getting pretty tired of being grossed out. The whole bodily fluids adventure is getting really old. Even grandmas are tired of hearing about soft and firm stools. That's why you potty-trained your daughter, of course. That's why you're teaching your son to wipe by himself, to flush, and then wash hands with soap.
Kids age four are easily taught to cover their mouth when they cough. Some can learn that sucking the neck of their shirts makes ugly laundry stains. See food's your parental cue to start some serious manners instruction.
Socialize, in my old American Heritage Dictionary, means 2. To fit for companionship with others; make sociable in attitude or manners:
Socialization
Learning the customs, attitudes, and values of a social group, community, or culture. Socialization is essential for the development of individuals who can participate and function within their societies, as well as for ensuring that a society's cultural features will be carried on through new generations.
Somewhere in the Sixties socialization got a bad rap, along with discrimination. Discriminating is differentiating, drawing fine distinctions, or being perceptive. One cannot do any meaningful work without the ability to discriminate. The word just got tangled up with prejudice and preferential treatment. Socialization became a bugaboo associated with forced acceptance of gender role cultural norms. One cannot be a part of any group without socialization.
The essential functions of parenting are to raise children to be self-sufficient, self-motivated, and able to participate as citizens of the world. Parents must raise children to challenge gender role norms in society, but without devaluing the process of parenting itself. Being a parent is more important than any other work. Our cultures are merging to become a worldwide society. Our children need to be able to participate as fully-functioning members of that worldwide community. They certainly need responsible parents to achieve that ability.
Unless parents expect a child to live a solitary life in an isolated cave surviving on lunches of grasshoppers, it's a good idea to suggest chewing with one's mouth closed. [Because of their long legs, it is difficult to chew crunchy grasshoppers with your mouth closed.] Age four is the time to start. Model the behavior you want to see. Let kids know they are becoming more delightful dinner companions, and they will rise to the challenge. It's okay if they still put pitted black olives on their fingertips, though. I'd be very worried if they didn't!
As for the shorts, I told my sons to do that in their own rooms, then wash their hands! They turned out pretty well, and probably won't need years of therapy.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
At some point in the parenting process you have to confront these behaviors, and it should be well before your child goes to college. By the time your child is four, you must be getting pretty tired of being grossed out. The whole bodily fluids adventure is getting really old. Even grandmas are tired of hearing about soft and firm stools. That's why you potty-trained your daughter, of course. That's why you're teaching your son to wipe by himself, to flush, and then wash hands with soap.
Kids age four are easily taught to cover their mouth when they cough. Some can learn that sucking the neck of their shirts makes ugly laundry stains. See food's your parental cue to start some serious manners instruction.
Socialize, in my old American Heritage Dictionary, means 2. To fit for companionship with others; make sociable in attitude or manners:
Socialization
Learning the customs, attitudes, and values of a social group, community, or culture. Socialization is essential for the development of individuals who can participate and function within their societies, as well as for ensuring that a society's cultural features will be carried on through new generations.
Somewhere in the Sixties socialization got a bad rap, along with discrimination. Discriminating is differentiating, drawing fine distinctions, or being perceptive. One cannot do any meaningful work without the ability to discriminate. The word just got tangled up with prejudice and preferential treatment. Socialization became a bugaboo associated with forced acceptance of gender role cultural norms. One cannot be a part of any group without socialization.
The essential functions of parenting are to raise children to be self-sufficient, self-motivated, and able to participate as citizens of the world. Parents must raise children to challenge gender role norms in society, but without devaluing the process of parenting itself. Being a parent is more important than any other work. Our cultures are merging to become a worldwide society. Our children need to be able to participate as fully-functioning members of that worldwide community. They certainly need responsible parents to achieve that ability.
Unless parents expect a child to live a solitary life in an isolated cave surviving on lunches of grasshoppers, it's a good idea to suggest chewing with one's mouth closed. [Because of their long legs, it is difficult to chew crunchy grasshoppers with your mouth closed.] Age four is the time to start. Model the behavior you want to see. Let kids know they are becoming more delightful dinner companions, and they will rise to the challenge. It's okay if they still put pitted black olives on their fingertips, though. I'd be very worried if they didn't!
As for the shorts, I told my sons to do that in their own rooms, then wash their hands! They turned out pretty well, and probably won't need years of therapy.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
3/29/06
No z-z-z-z-z for these bees
Some mornings we don't want to climb out from under our quilts to get the day going, right? It helps if we have had enough sleep. Elementary age students need nine hours of sleep under their warm and comfy quilts to really concentrate and learn at school in the daytime. Preschool students need ten or eleven hours. Moms need a solid twelve but that will happen when pigs fly. Art teachers are still trying to catch up from when their own sons were little.
Being The Bedtime Enforcer is tough and rarely applauded duty. No parent wants to be the consistent bedtime villain, but teachers silently salute your efforts. Well-rested children are focused, inquisitive, conscientious, polite, and imaginative. They are the kids who make it worth throwing off our comfy quilt, starting the Mr. Coffee, and heading to the shower in the morning.
We have been playing with the word "bee" during our quilt art project as we piece together many art techniques to create some fine collages. The quilting bee is a symbol of collaboration and community. Bees are just fabulous creatures, and so easy to draw since they look like flying hotdogs with stripes!
My preschool children are insistent that bees "stink". They claim all bees have "stinkers" on their tails. I'll be planning an art project with lots of G forces next, as I, in my apparently delusional grown-up teacher state, thought bees had "stingers".
Alas, it isn't the bees that stink. You ain't smelled nothin' until you've opened a vintage bottle of overly warm Chateau de Elmer's . When you reach to the back of the art supply shelf scary things await. They may remind you of the stink of the 1968 Heidi Bowl, a vivid memory of my childhood:
My father tells stories of the Great Depression. As a young boy he learned that the best way to get a delicious lunch in the dusty Thirties was to hang around the ladies making quilts. I just hope they won't serve cottage cheese.
Being The Bedtime Enforcer is tough and rarely applauded duty. No parent wants to be the consistent bedtime villain, but teachers silently salute your efforts. Well-rested children are focused, inquisitive, conscientious, polite, and imaginative. They are the kids who make it worth throwing off our comfy quilt, starting the Mr. Coffee, and heading to the shower in the morning.
We have been playing with the word "bee" during our quilt art project as we piece together many art techniques to create some fine collages. The quilting bee is a symbol of collaboration and community. Bees are just fabulous creatures, and so easy to draw since they look like flying hotdogs with stripes!
My preschool children are insistent that bees "stink". They claim all bees have "stinkers" on their tails. I'll be planning an art project with lots of G forces next, as I, in my apparently delusional grown-up teacher state, thought bees had "stingers".
Alas, it isn't the bees that stink. You ain't smelled nothin' until you've opened a vintage bottle of overly warm Chateau de Elmer's . When you reach to the back of the art supply shelf scary things await. They may remind you of the stink of the 1968 Heidi Bowl, a vivid memory of my childhood:
Trivia: This was the TV adaptation of "Heidi" that, through no fault of its own, became embroiled in a U.S. broadcasting brouhaha known to this day as the "Heidi Bowl." On Sunday, 17 Nov 1968, the NBC television network was scheduled to begin airing "Heidi" at 7pm Eastern Standard Time, following coverage of an American Football League game between the New York Jets and the Oakland Raiders. The game ran long; however, with the Jets leading the Raiders, 32-to-29, NBC broke away to begin "Heidi" on schedule. During the remaining minute of play (which was extended by penalties and timeouts), Oakland managed to score two touchdowns, and ended up beating New York, 43-to-32. Outraged football fans inundated NBC switchboards. The network expressed regret, saying it had intended to stay with the football game until it ended, and blaming a series of miscommunications for the gaffe. A result of this fiasco is that NFL television contracts require games to be televised in their entirety.
My father tells stories of the Great Depression. As a young boy he learned that the best way to get a delicious lunch in the dusty Thirties was to hang around the ladies making quilts. I just hope they won't serve cottage cheese.
9/30/05
Too many answers, not enough questions
I have an idea that kids need mysteries as much as they need answers. They need unstructured time to ponder the mysteries, to let their questions steep like a jar of sun tea on the front step. Mysteries fuel our imaginations, spur our studies, and add layers of richness to our human experience.
As parents it is often easier to give a snap answer to a child's question than to ask, "What do you think happened?," "What ideas do you have about that?," or "How would you fix that?" We often feel like we have failed as parents when we see our kids lying on the floor staring at a sunbeam, or digging a canal in the dirt with a stick. We rush to enroll the kids in yet another adult-structured activity to "better use their time".
My third grade teacher read a chapter about Howard Carter's discovery of King Tut's tomb to the class every day after lunch recess. She was reading a chapter when we learned that JFK had died. My curiosity about ancient Egypt helped me through that difficult time, and I may have linked JFK with the "Boy Pharoah" for several years. I wondered if other tombs and treasures awaited my patient and meticulous discovery in Egypt. I still read both fiction and nonfiction about ancient Egypt over forty years later, even though I didn't become an archaeologist. Maybe it is a romantic notion, thinking that our life is enriched by a sense of wonder about other places, other times, but I think it helps us find both our life's work and our most restorative leisure.
The mysteries that intrigued me as a child were not very scientific or mechanical. They were mostly historical or mythical, with an occasional dose of biology--Atlantis, Knossos, Incas, Easter Island, Odysseus, Roanoke Colony, wagon trains to the West, cave paintings in France, Viking exploration, the Anasazi...butterfly cocoons and praying mantids, family trees. Finding out for myself how many different greens I could mix with a simple set of watercolors, or how many ways I could rearrange a set of square tiles set me off on my path as an artist and teacher. Reading narratives and journals of women pioneers headed west colored the way I look at our modern lifestyle and conveniences.
This week I got to chat with a group of kids about the Anasazi cliff-dwellers of the Four Corners region. The kids had so many great questions. Their brains were really storming! They are obviously aware of hurricanes and flooding, but quickly latched onto the ideas of drought and irrigation. They got intrigued by the ideas of the wearing down of teeth by the sand and grit in the corn flour diet, and of the T-shaped doorways for people carrying backpacks or heavy baskets on their backs. They have questions about why people used to be so much shorter (5' 4"), and only lived to be forty or so. They wondered if cancer killed the Anasazi. They began imagining mesas--teeny tiny people living on table tops! They liked the "camoflague" stone buildings and wondered about how the Anasazi trapped food, and why they grew corn, beans, and squash, because ew-ick they don't like those vegetables. And they loved the idea of standing at the corner of four states.
I intended to tell them about the Wetherill family finding the cliff dwellings in the late 1800's, but I'm still reading a biography of Marietta Wetherill. ...Then I need to read Nebraska author Willa Cather's novel about Mesa Verde, The Professor's House. In about 1964 I read a story in National Geographic, or maybe National Geographic School Bulletin, about Richard Wetherill riding off looking for stray cattle on the mesa and discovering Cliff Palace. The image I created in my mind of that moment of discovery is still there, even though I know it probably didn't happen quite that way. I also have a strong memory that I read the story while lying on the living room carpet with sunbeams pouring through the window. I'm betting I had Grofe's Grand Canyon Suite playing on the hi-fi. I'm thankful that my parents gave me that time to wonder and hear my own questions.
There's are hummingbirds, lizards, and butterflies out on the patio. It's time to do some restorative recreational wondering.
As parents it is often easier to give a snap answer to a child's question than to ask, "What do you think happened?," "What ideas do you have about that?," or "How would you fix that?" We often feel like we have failed as parents when we see our kids lying on the floor staring at a sunbeam, or digging a canal in the dirt with a stick. We rush to enroll the kids in yet another adult-structured activity to "better use their time".
My third grade teacher read a chapter about Howard Carter's discovery of King Tut's tomb to the class every day after lunch recess. She was reading a chapter when we learned that JFK had died. My curiosity about ancient Egypt helped me through that difficult time, and I may have linked JFK with the "Boy Pharoah" for several years. I wondered if other tombs and treasures awaited my patient and meticulous discovery in Egypt. I still read both fiction and nonfiction about ancient Egypt over forty years later, even though I didn't become an archaeologist. Maybe it is a romantic notion, thinking that our life is enriched by a sense of wonder about other places, other times, but I think it helps us find both our life's work and our most restorative leisure.
The mysteries that intrigued me as a child were not very scientific or mechanical. They were mostly historical or mythical, with an occasional dose of biology--Atlantis, Knossos, Incas, Easter Island, Odysseus, Roanoke Colony, wagon trains to the West, cave paintings in France, Viking exploration, the Anasazi...butterfly cocoons and praying mantids, family trees. Finding out for myself how many different greens I could mix with a simple set of watercolors, or how many ways I could rearrange a set of square tiles set me off on my path as an artist and teacher. Reading narratives and journals of women pioneers headed west colored the way I look at our modern lifestyle and conveniences.
This week I got to chat with a group of kids about the Anasazi cliff-dwellers of the Four Corners region. The kids had so many great questions. Their brains were really storming! They are obviously aware of hurricanes and flooding, but quickly latched onto the ideas of drought and irrigation. They got intrigued by the ideas of the wearing down of teeth by the sand and grit in the corn flour diet, and of the T-shaped doorways for people carrying backpacks or heavy baskets on their backs. They have questions about why people used to be so much shorter (5' 4"), and only lived to be forty or so. They wondered if cancer killed the Anasazi. They began imagining mesas--teeny tiny people living on table tops! They liked the "camoflague" stone buildings and wondered about how the Anasazi trapped food, and why they grew corn, beans, and squash, because ew-ick they don't like those vegetables. And they loved the idea of standing at the corner of four states.
I intended to tell them about the Wetherill family finding the cliff dwellings in the late 1800's, but I'm still reading a biography of Marietta Wetherill. ...Then I need to read Nebraska author Willa Cather's novel about Mesa Verde, The Professor's House. In about 1964 I read a story in National Geographic, or maybe National Geographic School Bulletin, about Richard Wetherill riding off looking for stray cattle on the mesa and discovering Cliff Palace. The image I created in my mind of that moment of discovery is still there, even though I know it probably didn't happen quite that way. I also have a strong memory that I read the story while lying on the living room carpet with sunbeams pouring through the window. I'm betting I had Grofe's Grand Canyon Suite playing on the hi-fi. I'm thankful that my parents gave me that time to wonder and hear my own questions.
There's are hummingbirds, lizards, and butterflies out on the patio. It's time to do some restorative recreational wondering.
4/11/05
A Gift for Coach
At the end of each season there's a tiny panic about giving an appreciation gift to the coach. I've been a soccer mom for a ridiculously long time now, pretty much since the Neanderthals first played the Sapiens. I know that people don't volunteer to coach youth recreational soccer or other sports in expectation of receiving an appreciation gift. True, some of them get roped into it the same way I got roped into being a Tiger Cub leader back in Edmond, Oklahoma. Usually they find they get at least as much out of the coaching experience as they put in. Hanging out with young children will supply a coach with whimsical comments and blooper moments to last a lifetime.
Encourage children to write a letter to their coach at the end of the season. You can prompt your child with questions. What was your favorite drill? What was your greatest moment of the season? What new skill did you learn? What new rule did you learn? What was the funniest thing your coach did?
Parents can write a letter to the coach, too. Thank the coach for keeping the emphasis on learning skills, being good sports, working as a team, and having fun. Enclose reprints of all the photos you took, even the ones of children picking dandelions, picking noses, getting entangled in the goal net, staring up at hot air balloons, or wearing their socks all the way up under their shorts.
While you are at it, be sure to thank the refs at your child's games. Model respect for rules and good sportsmanship for your young player.
Encourage children to write a letter to their coach at the end of the season. You can prompt your child with questions. What was your favorite drill? What was your greatest moment of the season? What new skill did you learn? What new rule did you learn? What was the funniest thing your coach did?
Parents can write a letter to the coach, too. Thank the coach for keeping the emphasis on learning skills, being good sports, working as a team, and having fun. Enclose reprints of all the photos you took, even the ones of children picking dandelions, picking noses, getting entangled in the goal net, staring up at hot air balloons, or wearing their socks all the way up under their shorts.
While you are at it, be sure to thank the refs at your child's games. Model respect for rules and good sportsmanship for your young player.
2/26/05
Transplanted to 1965
My parents gave me the gift of solitary downtime to daydream and recharge. Parents want to give their children the best of everything, but sometimes the best gift is the time to do nothing.
My parents were strict, thank heaven. They expected us to be out of our PJs and into clothes by noon on the weekend. Until noon we could stay under the covers reading about Laura and Mary Ingalls or Robin Hood, build with Tinker Toys in the living room, or play Barbies if we put on our bedroom slippers. We had some really keen gold space boot slippers. Funny, but the slippers didn't even have a Disney princess or registered trademark movie tie-in on them. We were free to imagine what they might be.... and they were magic.
We survived without adult-organized activites and sports for the most part. Some winter Saturdays I did ride the city bus downtown to my swim lesson at the YWCA, then bought a large Tootsie Roll for a nickel, and checked out some new biographies at the main Bennett Martin Library next door before catching a bus back home.
In the afternoons I could draw floorplans for fantasy homes on graph paper to the background sounds of Celtics/Lakers games with Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain in quite short shorts, or the heavy breathing of Kurt Goudy stalking the elusive trophy African velpdeeloop on "The American Sportsman". I could play quietly while my dad napped on the couch with the newspaper over his face. Often, I tore interesting photos out of old magazines to make into collages or just keep. I still have some of those clippings in my files.
The sounds of my napping dad's slow breathing, the dryer running in the basement, the rain, and maybe my mom's sewing machine gave an underpinning rhythm to my day. I didn't have to accomplish anything or be anywhere, except as I devised. As the afternoon ran out, a calm would settle in. All is well with the world. All is well with the world. The living room would become darker. I would lay on the carpet studying the pictures in books of architecture and art, or Herman Miller furniture catalogs. I could stack three LPs on the spindle of the hi-fi. "Rhapsody in Blue", Prokofiev's march from "Love for Three Oranges", Cole Porter or "Claire de Lune", Mary Martin in "Peter Pan", Ethel Merman in "Gypsy", Lena Horne or Petula Clark, Ray Walston singing either "Those Were the Good Old Days" from Damn Yankees or "There Is Nothin' Like A Dame" from South Pacific. When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way.
Accomplished incredible feats early today--bagged a pair of those elusive trophy perfect shoes, mailed packages to my dad and nephew, swam laps at the Aquatic Center, called a friend and laughed until my sides hurt. This afternoon has been for the rain and the dryer, sorting photos torn out of old magazines, quietly recharging.
In the mid-Seventies I participated in a group listening to classical music with Nelson Potter in UNL's Centennial College. I especially liked the clarinet music of Poulenc. Next winter the Fort Worth Opera will perform Poulenc's opera, "Dialogues des Carmelites". I sense that I'm supposed to attend, so I'm listening to this lovely music, and becoming curious about the French Revolution and religious orders. There's studying ahead!
I'm struck today that the very kind of afternoon that gave me great peaceful and creative energy forty years ago is still the most wonderful sort of Saturday afternoon.
My parents were strict, thank heaven. They expected us to be out of our PJs and into clothes by noon on the weekend. Until noon we could stay under the covers reading about Laura and Mary Ingalls or Robin Hood, build with Tinker Toys in the living room, or play Barbies if we put on our bedroom slippers. We had some really keen gold space boot slippers. Funny, but the slippers didn't even have a Disney princess or registered trademark movie tie-in on them. We were free to imagine what they might be.... and they were magic.
We survived without adult-organized activites and sports for the most part. Some winter Saturdays I did ride the city bus downtown to my swim lesson at the YWCA, then bought a large Tootsie Roll for a nickel, and checked out some new biographies at the main Bennett Martin Library next door before catching a bus back home.
In the afternoons I could draw floorplans for fantasy homes on graph paper to the background sounds of Celtics/Lakers games with Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain in quite short shorts, or the heavy breathing of Kurt Goudy stalking the elusive trophy African velpdeeloop on "The American Sportsman". I could play quietly while my dad napped on the couch with the newspaper over his face. Often, I tore interesting photos out of old magazines to make into collages or just keep. I still have some of those clippings in my files.
The sounds of my napping dad's slow breathing, the dryer running in the basement, the rain, and maybe my mom's sewing machine gave an underpinning rhythm to my day. I didn't have to accomplish anything or be anywhere, except as I devised. As the afternoon ran out, a calm would settle in. All is well with the world. All is well with the world. The living room would become darker. I would lay on the carpet studying the pictures in books of architecture and art, or Herman Miller furniture catalogs. I could stack three LPs on the spindle of the hi-fi. "Rhapsody in Blue", Prokofiev's march from "Love for Three Oranges", Cole Porter or "Claire de Lune", Mary Martin in "Peter Pan", Ethel Merman in "Gypsy", Lena Horne or Petula Clark, Ray Walston singing either "Those Were the Good Old Days" from Damn Yankees or "There Is Nothin' Like A Dame" from South Pacific. When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way.
Accomplished incredible feats early today--bagged a pair of those elusive trophy perfect shoes, mailed packages to my dad and nephew, swam laps at the Aquatic Center, called a friend and laughed until my sides hurt. This afternoon has been for the rain and the dryer, sorting photos torn out of old magazines, quietly recharging.
In the mid-Seventies I participated in a group listening to classical music with Nelson Potter in UNL's Centennial College. I especially liked the clarinet music of Poulenc. Next winter the Fort Worth Opera will perform Poulenc's opera, "Dialogues des Carmelites". I sense that I'm supposed to attend, so I'm listening to this lovely music, and becoming curious about the French Revolution and religious orders. There's studying ahead!
I'm struck today that the very kind of afternoon that gave me great peaceful and creative energy forty years ago is still the most wonderful sort of Saturday afternoon.
12/27/04
What did we do without them?
Mary Jacobs has an op ed piece in today's Dallas Morning News called, "Hey, Mom and Dad, kids really can create their own fun" . Good golly, yes, and it's a weird form of almost-abuse not to let them. Boredom is one of the best things to ever happen to a kid.
I won't go into my long rant on the subject today, as I have so many things I want to do. That's what happens when you are privileged enough to be bored as a kid. You get curious about many subjects. You use your imagination. You create games and cooperate with other kids. You plan. You acquire these wonderful lifelong habits because you weren't rescued from your boredom by your parents.
You also burn a lot of energy playing outside. A dear demented friend and I have just been reminiscing about all the wonderful time spent running, chasing, and hiding in our childhoods (right after the dinosaurs died out). My neighborhood called this everybody's-welcome-to-join at-any-time-game, "DuntalaUt", and we sang our own soundtrack as we ran. This is how it goes:
Dunt a la ut,
dunt a la ut,
dunt a la Dunt A La Dunt A La Ut.
The tune may have been Keystone Kops, or some other classic black and white movie chase theme. The game can be played in any weather. Send the kids to the bathroom, bundle them up, and shoo them outside. Smile and wave when they run past the window.
I won't go into my long rant on the subject today, as I have so many things I want to do. That's what happens when you are privileged enough to be bored as a kid. You get curious about many subjects. You use your imagination. You create games and cooperate with other kids. You plan. You acquire these wonderful lifelong habits because you weren't rescued from your boredom by your parents.
You also burn a lot of energy playing outside. A dear demented friend and I have just been reminiscing about all the wonderful time spent running, chasing, and hiding in our childhoods (right after the dinosaurs died out). My neighborhood called this everybody's-welcome-to-join at-any-time-game, "DuntalaUt", and we sang our own soundtrack as we ran. This is how it goes:
Dunt a la ut,
dunt a la ut,
dunt a la Dunt A La Dunt A La Ut.
The tune may have been Keystone Kops, or some other classic black and white movie chase theme. The game can be played in any weather. Send the kids to the bathroom, bundle them up, and shoo them outside. Smile and wave when they run past the window.
11/21/04
Magical Museum Time
If I could wave my magic wand, I would give every family a year's membership to a local museum! We are so lucky to live in a city with many museums. Sharing a museum with a child is a very special joy.
In art class we try to become better observers. We look closely at pictures and objects, we discuss and analyze what we see and how it makes us feel, then we express our own ideas in our art. Visiting a museum is a chance to practice those skills, and to have fun as a family.
Many museums have become hands-on and interactive, which is fantastic. I hope you will also visit hands-off museums, and I will explain my reason. As a young mom I invited an acquaintance to go see a special exhibit at an art museum. She responded, "Why? You can't buy what you see at a museum!" It's been twenty years, but remembering that still makes me sad. Are the only things worth seeing and experiencing in life for sale? Even preschoolers can learn that there is much to enjoy at a museum without touching or buying. They can learn, too, that they need to behave appropriately in different places. Collagemama is always dismayed when children of all ages behave at an orchestra concert as if they were at a football game. Who let the dogs out, indeed?
What we see at a museum can energize and inspire us long after a Happy Meal toy has been forgotten. A museum visit might be a special one-to-one parent-child outing for the "big sister" or "big brother" at your house while the younger children (and other parent) stay home and take naps.
Go often to the same museum with children, at least once every 2-3 months. Children learn through repetition. They feel safe and proprietary about the objects and building. Each time you go, be sure to see their very favorite thing, but don't try to see everything. You needn't bother about reading the labels on the art or science displays. Just sit down together on the floor or a bench in the middle of the room. Chat about each object. What does it look like to you? How does it make you feel? There's no right or wrong answer. This is a sensory refueling moment. If your child says the Mark Rothko painting looks like a "bandaid in orange juice" it's okay. In between talking, allow time to be quiet and just look. I can tell you that both parent and child will have an intense personal aesthetic connection to that painting forty years later because of the "bandaid" description.
One of my favorite Dallas museums is small, free, playful, and closely related to children's art endeavors. The MADI Museum is at the corner of Carlisle and Bowen. Take 75 south to the Blackburn exit, go west, then turn left on Cole. Cole becomes Carlisle.
*****5/5/07 Please note that the MADI Museum no longer has its wonderful facade. It has changed its focus and mission. It is still interesting, but a better choice for families might be the Valley House Gallery.
In art class we try to become better observers. We look closely at pictures and objects, we discuss and analyze what we see and how it makes us feel, then we express our own ideas in our art. Visiting a museum is a chance to practice those skills, and to have fun as a family.
Many museums have become hands-on and interactive, which is fantastic. I hope you will also visit hands-off museums, and I will explain my reason. As a young mom I invited an acquaintance to go see a special exhibit at an art museum. She responded, "Why? You can't buy what you see at a museum!" It's been twenty years, but remembering that still makes me sad. Are the only things worth seeing and experiencing in life for sale? Even preschoolers can learn that there is much to enjoy at a museum without touching or buying. They can learn, too, that they need to behave appropriately in different places. Collagemama is always dismayed when children of all ages behave at an orchestra concert as if they were at a football game. Who let the dogs out, indeed?
What we see at a museum can energize and inspire us long after a Happy Meal toy has been forgotten. A museum visit might be a special one-to-one parent-child outing for the "big sister" or "big brother" at your house while the younger children (and other parent) stay home and take naps.
Go often to the same museum with children, at least once every 2-3 months. Children learn through repetition. They feel safe and proprietary about the objects and building. Each time you go, be sure to see their very favorite thing, but don't try to see everything. You needn't bother about reading the labels on the art or science displays. Just sit down together on the floor or a bench in the middle of the room. Chat about each object. What does it look like to you? How does it make you feel? There's no right or wrong answer. This is a sensory refueling moment. If your child says the Mark Rothko painting looks like a "bandaid in orange juice" it's okay. In between talking, allow time to be quiet and just look. I can tell you that both parent and child will have an intense personal aesthetic connection to that painting forty years later because of the "bandaid" description.
One of my favorite Dallas museums is small, free, playful, and closely related to children's art endeavors. The MADI Museum is at the corner of Carlisle and Bowen. Take 75 south to the Blackburn exit, go west, then turn left on Cole. Cole becomes Carlisle.
*****5/5/07 Please note that the MADI Museum no longer has its wonderful facade. It has changed its focus and mission. It is still interesting, but a better choice for families might be the Valley House Gallery.
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