Get Your Green On

No, it's not St. Patrick's Day...but we could sure use some of Erie's green around the schoolyard! Locals, anyone want to join me at the HP Library on October 14th? The daily view of our schoolyard from my office sure does inspire me to help our school get our green on!


CREATING & SUSTAINING GREEN SCHOOLYARDSJoin Sharon Danks and Rachel Pringle, the authors of two new books - Asphalt to Ecosystems: Design Ideas for Schoolyard Transformation and How to Grow a School Garden: A Complete Guide for Parents and Teachers - as they discuss how to conceive, design and sustain green schoolyards and school gardens. Books will be for sale and a book signing will follow. Bring a brown bag lunch. Beverages and dessert provided by Moraine Township.Thursday, October 14, 12 p.m.-1:30 p.m. RSVP (847) 432-3240.Presented with Moraine Township, School Districts 112 and 113, and Climate Cycle.

P.S. No, we are not having an early winter (knock on wood, knock on wood)...that snow is from last March.

J on J

Twilight at the "Fall Frolic" next door.

Silly bands, pony tails, and bare feet--that's what little girls are made of...

The Quiet(er) House

Everyone tells you how fast it will all go--that they grow up before you know it. But it doesn't mean anything until they wave, rounding the corner into the old brick school house--and you return to a much quieter house.

Pilgrims, Precious Gift, and Pumpkin Pie

Dateline: T's Classroom.

Continent: North America

Country: USA

Why: Thanksgiving

What: Gratitude Bowl.

Introduced our family tradition of naming something you are grateful for, writing it down, and placing it in the gratitude bowl. We read these before meals during this season of the Great Feast.

What they said:

"I'm thankful for my Mom giving me money when I clean up my room."

"I'm thankful for hockey."

"I'm thankful for Max."

What we said:

Native Americans were the first Americans to greet the Pilgrims. Lloyd read his illustrator-sister, Woodleigh's book (The Precious Gift). Navaho myth that kept the children entertained and amazingly attentive. I sliced thick, velvety pumpkin pie and delicately placed tiny slices on small plates with sporks. Wished my camera was completely silent so I could take more photos. Put the camera down in the name of no distractions.

What they left:

Not a crumb.

Smiles.

Pleas for "seconds."

We left:

Giving thanks for the children in our midst. All of them. These little beings keep us in the present. Each is truly, a Precious Gift.

Post-script

Yesterday I wrote about my first-grader and his hopes that were dashed of lunching with Mr. Principal following the school's fundraiser.

As Gomer Pyle would say, "Surprise, surprise, surprise!"

I wrote a note to Mr. Principal suggesting that next year they should consider putting things (the almighty prize credits, for instance) into a handout for the younger grades to take home when the fundraiser arrives...lest another lad (or lassie's) stroll down Paul Harvey Lane, which meanders a bit before curving a slight right, and eventually landing on Disappointment Alley. Of course, it is not that I don't simply adore midnight shopping for wrapping paper and lavender-scented travel accessories that will sit in the closet for the next decade...or purchasing chocolates well-intended as gifts that will no doubt end up along my waistline for same decade. Heavens, NO! It's all in the name of school support, of course! I treasure those opportunities to learn what cello bags are, in fact, and look forward to our 16 packets of Cocoa Amore gourmet flavors and my Think It, Ink It sketch pad.

Much to my surprise, however, Mr. Principal said that despite the fact that we are not home to Top Seller, that he does like to eat lunch with the students as often as he can and that (drum roll), our L. would be welcome to bring a friend and join him for lunch someday...unrelated to the fundraiser, of course. OF COURSE!

Well you know it--we're dancin' in our rainboots today, folks! Dancin' and a howlin' with the blustery winds...thank you, Mr. Principal, thank you!!!!

"Honey, I shrunk the checkbook"

My first-grader came home with a skip in his step on the first day of the school's fundraiser. "I get to have lunch with the Principal if I sell 15 things." How adorable, I thought! I wondered at what age lunching with the Principal was seen as un-cool or punitive, and celebrated his eager little spirit.

"I have to sell stuff, Mom!" Dutifully, I sent out the mass spam that asked family and close friends to purchase chocolates or gift wrap for my beloved's goal. I felt a weird stitch...do I really want to encourage my 6-year-old down the capitalist lane already? Do I want to burden him with real-world concerns of sales and point counting? Can I hit "send" and still have my friends look at me with the same cyber eye again? Ahh well, I thought...afterall, it is lunch with the big man on campus that he's after. Send.

The night before the sale ended, I felt content that he had earned enough sales for the coveted lunch. Then the late-night call came in from Grandma. Wait a minute, 15 sales? The whole school would be having lunch with Mr. P we both realized at once! He must have heard it wrong...it must have been fifty sales.

Late night email attempts to the fundraising chief and PTA Prez yielded no results. Well, is it 15 or 50? I couldn't risk it...this was like watching empty stockings hang on the mantle on December 24th, hoping the mail carrier might fill them. There was only one thing to do in this situation. So back to EZ Order I went.

One fell swoop in Momdom, I went from peering at the catalog with a free-enterprise-sneer to looking for a-n-y-thing I could possibly order to rack up the prize credits. With a little luck, I just might be one of those "Mercedes Smart Car Instant Winners." Lunch for him, a new car for me. That'll work.

One day I had been rolling my eyes at the slick catalog filled with Tar-jay-esque

gift bags and boxes of truffles. Now I sat scrolling the on-line version of the same, debating over over silver embossed or the silver flat wrapping paper. I found myself subscribing to magazines I knew I'd never read, and getting my 3 year-old who can't read some of his own. Bring on the peanut brittle and cashews...almond cluster gift boxes and teacher notepads. Chocolate Stars of David? Multi-cultural treat, I'll take two. Good Lord, yes, even the garden flag and crock pot cookbook. Too bad all crock pots nowadays have lead in them, better order the 50 Recycling Ideas spiral-bound primer to break even on my Eco-conscious on that one.

I bid adieu to EZ Order, and it bid me free shipping and an order confirmation. I tucked myself in with the sweet assurdeness of The Lunch secured. Or so I thought.

Monday morning newsflash. Turns out that The Lunch is given to only the top-seller at the entire school. Of that, I am sure, he is not. And so with gentle tone and perhaps a wrapped chocolate of my own in hand, I will explain Paul Harvey's "rest of the story" to L. when he comes home from school today.

Quite the disappointment. But at least we will have no lack of mediocre chocolate, gift tags, and tissue paper in da house.

Molo Mama

Continent: Africa.

Every month my son's class studies a different continent.  Parents are invited to volunteer their time to help the 3 to 6-year-olds explore a new continent.  

I have not been to Africa, but thankfully I could call upon my sister Caitlin, who spent a summer in South Africa volunteering with children.  She suggested I first teach the boys and girls how to say "hello" in the South African language of Xhosa--"Molo" and "Molweni." Hearing their sweet chorus of high voices echoing "Molo" and "Molweni" in perfect unison, I felt the oceans that separate us grow smaller for just a moment.  I also felt the instant intersection of contrast and connection--two continents with more than the separation of physical distance; two sets of young children whose sweet voices melt your heart, no matter your culture.

We sang a little melody in Xhosa that Caitlin had taught me.  But the highlight for the children was letting loose on all the instruments I brought to class.  I had envisioned the room coming alive to the beat of the African music playing in the background.  And alive it was: once those little hands hit the drums, there was no hearing anything but the loud, louder, and even louder drum beats.

I found all kinds of great African recipes to cook with the kids.  Spinach stew, lentils and rice, and couscous were at the top of my list.  When I relayed these options to L., his face looked identical to the time I gave away raisins for Halloween.  Not wanting to always be That Mom, I decided to go for a South African cookie, much to L.'s delight.  We added bananas and peanuts to the plates, reminding them of where some of "our" food comes from.

Here's the crowd, eating the "crunchies"  and drinking iced rooibos tea.  After the children patiently listened to the very long African folktale, "Where Stories Come From," one question remained, "Was that true?"

Images from our inspiration,  "Aunt Cait-Cait's" South African trip as a Warren Wilson College Worldwide participant.  Caitlin worked in Nynga Township with pre-school children, in a community affected like so many others by HIV/AIDS.

Bringing things full circle, as I write this post, our Aunt Roxie has joined a Florida hospice team trained to comfort terminally ill South Africans.  For this moment in time, it feels as if All roads lead to Soweto.

Media Mama

this post was lost in cyberspace, found today!

There are a lot of seeming contradictions in my life: I don't eat meat, but I married a hunter.  I'm a pilot, but I'm afraid of heights.  I grew up in Florida without air-conditioning, but now I can't function in heat.

But probably the biggest one--the one that gets the most eyebrows raised, is that we are an American family that lives without TV.  Crazy, I know.  I'm surprised there is not a TPS, a Tube Protection Service, that you can report us to.

Aside from the many conversations that I can't follow or can't contribute to, not having a TV is a great thing.  And lest anyone feel the need to report us to the media-deficit-watchdogs, our boys do get to watch a DVD on the computer every weekend.  We've recently introduced a new-old rule, adding yet another contradiction under this roof: young kids, no Disney.  Why?  That's a whole other post...maybe its own blog. Maybe in another lifetime.

So when this week's school field trip came up to watch a live production of Disney's "High School Musical," you can guess my response.  "Ummm...no."

Commonsensemedia.org listed the age appropriateness of this show for 9-14 year olds.  "Yes, I think we'll pass."

My search for something fun, entertaining, and educational on this day of playing hookie led us right to our own High School backyard.

This week our town's High School is host to one of the most amazing events, Focus on the Arts.

Every media of artistic expression in represented.  For this one week, we have winners of Pulitzer Prizes, Tony Awards, Pushcart Prizes....you name it.  They are here to perform, to teach, to create.  Yes, to spread the gospel of Art!

So instead of Disney's "High School Musical," we enjoyed The Langston Hughes Project.

I can't begin to describe how inspiring it was to sit in the audience with my two lads, soaking up the live jazz and powerful poetry of Langston Hughes.

The description reads:

The Langston Hughes Project is a multimedia concert performance of Langston Hughes' kaleidoscopic jazz poem suite. Ask Your Mama is Hughes' homage in verse and music to the struggle for artistic and social freedom at home and abroad at the beginning of the 1960s. It is a twelve-part epic poem which Hughes scored with musical cues drawn from blues and Dixieland, gospel songs, boogie woogie, bebop and progressive jazz, Latin "cha cha" and Afro-Cuban mambo music, German lieder, Jewish liturgy, West Indian calypso, and African drumming -- a creative masterwork left unperformed at his death.

The rest of our day of hookie was spent picnicking in the fresh, spring air...outside soaking in the sun at the park with friends--one of whom is named, Langston.

So what to do when a field trip doesn't really resonate with you?  Ask Your Mama.