Month: August 2009

Less Obvious Free Ranging

LinkI very much like this essay about “free ranging in less obvious ways” on Free Range Kids (an excellent blog I highly recommend). The author, Leah R. Weiss Caruso, discussed the less visible side of free range parenting. She describes a variety of ways that children need to be let to fail in order to learn to pick themselves up.

I could not agree with this more strongly. I have often lamented my own lack of resilence and perhaps as a result of my own insufficiency with this vital trait, I desperately want to help you both develop it. I think this is exactly what letting children fail accomplishes: it develops self-sufficiency and the ability to recover from setbacks.

This is, for me, a tremendous parenting challenge. When I hear Grace and Whit starting to bicker I am quick to jump in, shushing them and asking them to stop fighting. I think what I should probably do is leave the room and assume they will figure it out (hopefully, though not certainly, without an ER visit ensuing).

It is about letting my children be, even when there is conflict between them. It is about letting them lose at games and sports. It is about not shielding them from the world’s ugly and hard edges, not coddling them when things are going to hurt. It is about sticking with rules even when they cause disappointment or, more likely, screaming tantrums. It is, fundamentally, about teaching children that the world – and my world – does not revolve around them. This is a hard lesson to impart, full of discomfort and sadness. But it is also probably the most important thing I can teach Grace and Whit.

Farewell to nursery school

Grace on her – and my! – first day at CES, September 2004.

Today was the last day that I dropped off and picked up a child at CES. Grace started at the age of one (she turned two the next month) in the fall of 2004 and I’ve had a child in either school or summer camp there continuously for five years. Wow! Whit was born when Grace was in the red room, which the lovely receptionist remembered today as I said goodbye, tears pouring down my face (oh I am a sentimental, mushy soul!).

CES has been a magic place for my children. Grace was there for three years and Whit for two. I participated in the community as well, serving on the board for two years, one on the executive committee, and chairing the search committee for a new director during a third year.

The school combines an incredibly thoughtful, almost academic approach to early childhood education (most of the teachers have graduate degrees and many years of service) with an infectious atmosphere of joyful play. There was not a single day that either of my children didn’t bound into the building, thoroughly excited about what lay ahead.

I’ve had a child in five of the school’s six classrooms and there hasn’t been a weak teaching team in the bunch. I think a first school experience is all about teaching a child that school, and learning, are fun and something to pursue with gusto. There is no question that CES instilled this belief in both Grace and Whit and for that I am deeply thankful.

Each year I felt as though all three classroom teachers truly knew and loved my child. The parent-teacher conferences were mostly very articulate, with detailed feedback and wonderful, rich stories of how Grace or Whit participated in their various activities. The concerns about Whit’s speech and all of the question marks that raised were handled delicately and supportively; I always felt as though the school was entirely behind us as I evaluated him. As an aside, it seems amazing that I worried that he was not talking enough. He. Will. Not. Stop. Talking.

The school has wonderful traditions; each child has a pattern, each year, and within weeks even the 2 year olds know their own and all of their classmates’ patterns. This clear pre-reading practice is handled with a gossamer lightness, and the children think it is special and fun. They have an identity and a place in their classroom, marked by their pattern. The pattern accompanies all of their various names (on the job board, on the cubbies, etc) as well as covers a small square pillow that they take home at the end of the year. Both Grace and Whit still use and cherish their CES pillows. I think I will recognized all five of their patterns for the rest of my life. There is a weekly informal assembly, and many school songs that I learned in 2004 and will likely recall the words to forever. I can’t count how many assemblies ended up with me in tears.

I am wistful today not only because it represents the end of a phase of my children’s childhood, but also for the very real loss of a community and school that meant a lot to me. CES is a truly wonderful place and I feel immensely fortunate that my children had their first school experience there. There is truth behind the adage that the community recites, with raised eyebrows, for the first time at the new parent welcoming event in September and then, frequently, throughout the year: no school ever lives up to CES. That is a reality both happy and sad.
Whit on his (also my) last day at CES, August 2009

Playground

Grace yesterday. Apparently she shucked her shirt, made a new friend, and then assumed the Christ-while-crucified position and held it for a while. I have so many questions about this photograph, which Anastasia sent (and let me be clear, I love the photographic reports I get from the days when I am not around). How did she get up there? How long did she hang there? Is it cool for a 6.5 year old to run around topless (she’s clearly not bothered by it)? Should I worry about those ribs? Where does she get her freakish upper-body strength?
Whit took a (surprisingly, given the launching-of-self-into-pool he’s been doing of late) more conservative approach to playgrounding, sticking to the actual swings and keeping his helmet on at all times. Just call him Safety Man.

As much as the sky


Last night I went in to kiss Whit goodnight. He was sound asleep but rolled over when I kissed his cheek, half awake. He was, as usual, lying on top of his covers, clutching his monkey to his chest. He had that intoxicating child-asleep smell.

“I love you, Whitty,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he murmured back.

“How much?” (shameless)

“As much as the sky.”

Oh, my little man! Me too.

Redheads

Well, I have seen this referred to anecdotally, but now there is data and the official imprimatur of a New York Times story.

Redheads require about 20% more general anesthesia to knock them out. I have always viewed this as all the evidence we need that my kind (which includes my sister, my mother, and some of my dearest friends – two minority groups wildly overrepresented in my close friends are redheads and lefties) are just a little more feisty than the rest of the world.

Currently 4% of the world’s people carry the gene for red hair, which was only discovered in the 1990s (what??? not a priority, people of science? how can this be?). I’ve heard about this frankly terrifying claim that redheads will be extinct by 2100, but I cannot reconcile the tenacious, hard-to-knock-out (is it any surprise that I sometimes need elephant tranquilizer style drugs to help me sleep?) reality of redheads I know with genetic extinction. No sirree.

And MMG, about to turn one, I have great hopes that you will carry the flag into the next generation … no pressure, babe, but the Sun In is coming out for Grace if your hair doesn’t bloom into redness!