Aimee loves to read. Actually, that may be one of the hugest understatements of the decade, as Aimee lives, breathes, eats, and drinks reading. I often have to remind her not read while walking, or to read during a family meal. If we're not paying attention, she will read instead of doing her morning list (i.e. getting dressed!), and will read until she is propping her eyes open late into the night hours. I love reading, too, and I completely understand how she feels (even though she vigorously insists that I can't possibly know how much she NEEDS to read). I remember when I was a girl, my dad woke us up at a certain time, and we had half an hour to get ready and be in the kitchen for breakfast. I would read for 25 minutes, then hurriedly throw some clothes on and make my bed, sometimes requiring a stern knock or two on my door as a reminder.
So I am sympathetic when I find a reading Aimee in her room having done nothing at all that I've asked her to do, or when I've asked her to put a book down and come help me with something - and within a minute or two, the book magically reappears in her hands. I know the pull, and I'm still not immune to it, and we are working (still, and probably forever) on a happy compromise between the necessity of belonging to the hum-drum of ordinary life, and being lost in all the joys and delights of reading.
But it seems that we are faced with a challenge now that I have only thought of in passing once or twice before. In the earliest days of Aimee's private reading, I knew all the books she was reading, or if I hadn't read them myself, it was fairly easy to look through them if there was a question of their suitableness. Even these days, she's been sticking to a couple of series that hav seemed completely innocuous, and I've been providing her with regular supplements of meatier literature with which I am familiar. But she's had such a large volume of books lately, and she's read them so quickly, that I haven't been able to read through everything she's brought home. She's still reading through the Dear America series (how many books do they have, anyway?), and while I think they are rather "fluffy" sometimes, their historical settings seem to lend them some merit, and I haven't seen anything objectionable in them yet. But she picked up one at our last trip that caught my eye. Its time period was more recent, marked by a good many controversial and politically- and socially-charged events. It's not that I want to entirely shield her from all historical events that were dificult or controversial, but there are some things that I would like to be careful in the way the kids are introduced to them. And that's not to say I want to present those things in the light of one opinion; rather, in most instances, I want to look at events and people in an impartial light. In other words, just the facts, ma'am - and then the kids can process that information through the worldview that we've been striving to give them, ultimately developing their own ideas and decisions. What I don't want is for my extremely passionate and impressionable daughter to read a book - yet, anyway - that layers historical facts with strong opinion and even propoganda - oh, yes, and not mention one that broaches certain general life subjects that said daughter and myself haven't yet. When I read this particular book, I was very much wishing I had caught it when she first brought it home, but by the time I read through it, it looked like she had already read it. It's just going to happen that she will read and see things that I'd rather she didn't, I know, but it did bring to my attention that I feel we need some way to filter the books she's going to bring home. As far as she knows, the juvenile fiction section of the library is all fair game, but that simply isn't going to be true. I don't want to be the book police, and stand at the door scrutinizing every item before she takes it into her room, and I do want to trust her to be able to use some critical reading skills - but she is only 9 (almost), and I think I still have a responsibility to protect her still-developing mind. The trick is to use a gentle filter that isn't threatening and doesn't make her feel bad about her choices. Is that possible? Any thoughts from out there, anyone?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
An "Off" Day
I think we all have them (at least, for my own comfort, I hope we all do!) - days in which you reach 4:oo in the afternoon and suddenly wonder what's been going on all day, because you haven't done anything you had intended to do. It happened to me yesterday, as I had planned on a certain amount of schoolwork getting done, even allowing for the large chunk of time I knew we had to carve out for some errands, and yet when I glanced at the clock at the fateful hour, I experienced that familiar surge of panic. Yikes! We hadn't done the all-important math lessons, or polished away any grammar (just trying to get the books done at this point), or gotten anywhere on cleaning the house (although it seemed like I had been doing ALOT of that all day - but that's another matter altogether).
So I tried to rectify the situation by pulling out the grammar books, and I tried to dive into a quick lesson, but I couldn't get anyone's attention. And no wonder. Aimee was in her room reading (no surprise), and Drew was sitting on the couch quietly reading to himself from a book of fairy tales. Drew was sitting. Sitting still. Quietly. Reading. To himself. I have lost a number of brain cells over the past few years to motherhood, so I'm sorry to say it took me a little longer than perhaps it should to realize the significance of this, and to BACK OFF. But eventually I did put the grammar book down (without have had done any damage, as he hadn't even looked up at me once), and I walked away to do some more sweeping and to think over our day in a different light.
There are indeed days here and there that are lost to Wii play or (or perhaps "and" - depending on how badly the day is going!) TV time. There are days in which our time is frittered away, and nothing is left of it that we can honestly call "school" for the sake of that yellow attendance chart on my refrigerator, or even, more importantly, for the simple sake of the nurturing of my children's young minds. In short, sometimes we just do waste time, and have to write those days off. But most of the time, those days we call "off" days, with the 4:00 realization, aren't really failures at all. Which kind of day was yesterday? We woke up a little on the later side, granted, and the kids watched some TV after breakfast while I took a shower. But then the boys went outside while I got dressed and tried to straighten up a little, and when I went out to check on them, all three were in the tree fort (I've long given up on keeping Chase out of it, and he can nimbly climb in and out of it like the little monkey that he nearly is), which had become a ship, named "The Beauty", as its proud captain informed me. Some repairs were being done on the ship by all hands, so I decided to leave this magical moment alone. Aimee at this time was in her room playing with her new kitten and reading, so there was no lack of mental stimulation and imagination in that quarter, either. It did take me a frightfully long time to "get ready" (readiness being this elusive state of being that often takes me all day and is sometimes is never acheived), but at last, at about 11:00, we piled into the car to run our errands. We stopped at the grocery store, then the pet store for some supplies, and then ended up at the library just before it rained "buckets" ("It's going to rain buckets?" Ryan had echoed with concern and confusion when I had earlier made this prediction . I explained, and later in the library, after the rain began, he came up to me and exclaimed with great amusment, "Look! The bucket rain started!") We had brought along a picnic, because at first our plans had included meeting some friends at the park, but owing the impending rain, we all shoved down some peanut butter-and-jelly sandwhiches somewhere along the way, and Chase was still working on his right up until the entrance of the library. Because the park idea had to be abandoned, our friends decided to meet us at the library instead, and when they arrived, the older kids darted away into the back of the juvenile fiction shelves (only needing occasional reminders not to wrestle or run in the library) and the younger ones played with puzzles while the two of us moms sat and talked. When we arrived home later, we were armed with loads of books, which the kids immediately bean to devour. We had some about the Alamo in the mix, and even Ryan insisted that Drew show him a picture of Davy Crockett, who has become a favorite hero here (and whose sad but brave end is always mentioned with reverence. "I'll be Davy Crockett!" A pause, then in somber tones, "He died in the Alamo, you know.") Both Aimee and Drew also read with interest "Multiplying Menace," a math book that I haven't read myself, but it seemed to be engrossing. I made chocolate chip cookies while they perused the books and took turns, admittedly, playing on the Wii (but not for very long), and after the first couple batches were out, the boys had milk and cookies while I read aloud a chapter of the unabridged Peter Pan. Aimee excused herself, because she had already read the book, and she informed me recently that "she's too old to be read aloud to," anyway. I'll address that later, I guess.
After this broke up, the boys went and played in the light rain, and it was shortly after this that Drew came back in and settled down to read the fairy tale book, etc, etc. So it was at this point that I felt badly about not having down much of anything, then realized that perhaps we had done quite a bit after all. Sometimes it's one step forward, then two steps backwards, though, and I was a little...hmm...frustrated during the dinner process. I was trying to clean up dinner, rather miserably, while the kids were playing outside without me, when I realized I could seize the moment and do the dishes later. I went outside with the kids and we played a rousing game of "Texas Rangers, "during which I realized that all my children are faster than I am, at least over the uncertain terrain of the backyard. Of course the dishes were still there when I came back inside, and so was all the other mess, and I did have another "moment", when it was 9:00, and no one was dressed for bed, the bedrooms weren't clean enough to sleep in, the kitchen still needed a little work, and - the last straw - Chase was hitting his brothers with a vacuum cleaner attachement. It was at this point that we piled in the car again, most people shoeless, and one in only boxers, for A DRIVE. Along our outing, we passed a Sonic, and Aimee pointed out that they now have Snickers Blasts. What's better for stress relief than ice cream at 9:30? We pulled and got deliciously sticky with eating ice cream in the car (I splurged on the Blast, but the kids were content with vanilla cones), finally pulling back into our driveway at about 10:00. The mess was still there, but we were in better frames of mind, and I got everyone into bed at last.
So - a wasted day to be forgotten, and perhaps to be made up so that I can check a box on the yellow chart? Or a completely worthwhile day, both for the chart and for our general well-being? I believe, ice cream aside, it was the latter - and maybe even the ice cream adventure was worth something, after all.
So I tried to rectify the situation by pulling out the grammar books, and I tried to dive into a quick lesson, but I couldn't get anyone's attention. And no wonder. Aimee was in her room reading (no surprise), and Drew was sitting on the couch quietly reading to himself from a book of fairy tales. Drew was sitting. Sitting still. Quietly. Reading. To himself. I have lost a number of brain cells over the past few years to motherhood, so I'm sorry to say it took me a little longer than perhaps it should to realize the significance of this, and to BACK OFF. But eventually I did put the grammar book down (without have had done any damage, as he hadn't even looked up at me once), and I walked away to do some more sweeping and to think over our day in a different light.
There are indeed days here and there that are lost to Wii play or (or perhaps "and" - depending on how badly the day is going!) TV time. There are days in which our time is frittered away, and nothing is left of it that we can honestly call "school" for the sake of that yellow attendance chart on my refrigerator, or even, more importantly, for the simple sake of the nurturing of my children's young minds. In short, sometimes we just do waste time, and have to write those days off. But most of the time, those days we call "off" days, with the 4:00 realization, aren't really failures at all. Which kind of day was yesterday? We woke up a little on the later side, granted, and the kids watched some TV after breakfast while I took a shower. But then the boys went outside while I got dressed and tried to straighten up a little, and when I went out to check on them, all three were in the tree fort (I've long given up on keeping Chase out of it, and he can nimbly climb in and out of it like the little monkey that he nearly is), which had become a ship, named "The Beauty", as its proud captain informed me. Some repairs were being done on the ship by all hands, so I decided to leave this magical moment alone. Aimee at this time was in her room playing with her new kitten and reading, so there was no lack of mental stimulation and imagination in that quarter, either. It did take me a frightfully long time to "get ready" (readiness being this elusive state of being that often takes me all day and is sometimes is never acheived), but at last, at about 11:00, we piled into the car to run our errands. We stopped at the grocery store, then the pet store for some supplies, and then ended up at the library just before it rained "buckets" ("It's going to rain buckets?" Ryan had echoed with concern and confusion when I had earlier made this prediction . I explained, and later in the library, after the rain began, he came up to me and exclaimed with great amusment, "Look! The bucket rain started!") We had brought along a picnic, because at first our plans had included meeting some friends at the park, but owing the impending rain, we all shoved down some peanut butter-and-jelly sandwhiches somewhere along the way, and Chase was still working on his right up until the entrance of the library. Because the park idea had to be abandoned, our friends decided to meet us at the library instead, and when they arrived, the older kids darted away into the back of the juvenile fiction shelves (only needing occasional reminders not to wrestle or run in the library) and the younger ones played with puzzles while the two of us moms sat and talked. When we arrived home later, we were armed with loads of books, which the kids immediately bean to devour. We had some about the Alamo in the mix, and even Ryan insisted that Drew show him a picture of Davy Crockett, who has become a favorite hero here (and whose sad but brave end is always mentioned with reverence. "I'll be Davy Crockett!" A pause, then in somber tones, "He died in the Alamo, you know.") Both Aimee and Drew also read with interest "Multiplying Menace," a math book that I haven't read myself, but it seemed to be engrossing. I made chocolate chip cookies while they perused the books and took turns, admittedly, playing on the Wii (but not for very long), and after the first couple batches were out, the boys had milk and cookies while I read aloud a chapter of the unabridged Peter Pan. Aimee excused herself, because she had already read the book, and she informed me recently that "she's too old to be read aloud to," anyway. I'll address that later, I guess.
After this broke up, the boys went and played in the light rain, and it was shortly after this that Drew came back in and settled down to read the fairy tale book, etc, etc. So it was at this point that I felt badly about not having down much of anything, then realized that perhaps we had done quite a bit after all. Sometimes it's one step forward, then two steps backwards, though, and I was a little...hmm...frustrated during the dinner process. I was trying to clean up dinner, rather miserably, while the kids were playing outside without me, when I realized I could seize the moment and do the dishes later. I went outside with the kids and we played a rousing game of "Texas Rangers, "during which I realized that all my children are faster than I am, at least over the uncertain terrain of the backyard. Of course the dishes were still there when I came back inside, and so was all the other mess, and I did have another "moment", when it was 9:00, and no one was dressed for bed, the bedrooms weren't clean enough to sleep in, the kitchen still needed a little work, and - the last straw - Chase was hitting his brothers with a vacuum cleaner attachement. It was at this point that we piled in the car again, most people shoeless, and one in only boxers, for A DRIVE. Along our outing, we passed a Sonic, and Aimee pointed out that they now have Snickers Blasts. What's better for stress relief than ice cream at 9:30? We pulled and got deliciously sticky with eating ice cream in the car (I splurged on the Blast, but the kids were content with vanilla cones), finally pulling back into our driveway at about 10:00. The mess was still there, but we were in better frames of mind, and I got everyone into bed at last.
So - a wasted day to be forgotten, and perhaps to be made up so that I can check a box on the yellow chart? Or a completely worthwhile day, both for the chart and for our general well-being? I believe, ice cream aside, it was the latter - and maybe even the ice cream adventure was worth something, after all.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Test Results
This is my third post of the day, I know, but I received Aimee's Iowa Basic Skills test reults today. Don't worry, I won't offer a breakdown of how she did, but I did want to say that she did GREAT! It didn't really matter either way, since I just wanted to give her the opportunity to do it, and actually, it told me what I already know about her - that she's a phenomenal reader, and that she needs a little work with math. But she scored fairly well even in the latter. I think overall it will be a good boost for her confidence.
Food for Thought
The only downside to helping Aimee achieve her goal for the week (see previous post) was that I didn't have much time for Drew's schoolwork this week. I'm not usually concerned with that, because I do believe in the theory that boys should only begin to be concerned with formal schoolwork at around 7, and Drew is not even there yet. But I do at least like to throw him something now and then, so yesterday evening at dinner, after he had done nothing at all that could be considered "school" (which doesn't, of course, mean he wasn't learning), I wanted to see if he could tackle some division.
"Ok, Drew, let's say I have 12 pieces of candy, and I want to give it to the four of you. How many pieces will each of you get?"
He tapped his chin in concentration as he thought about it. "Well," he replied, "the first person would get four..."
I waited to see if he would correct himself.
"And then the second person would get four... and then the third person would get four..." He furrowed his brow. "Oh man - someone's not going to get any!"
The combination of his perfect logic that gave him the wrong answer to the original problem, but yet an entirely correct answer to the "switch-around" problem (after all, he did divide the candy evenly), and his genuine concern that someone was going to miss out, was all so funny, at least in the moment, that I laughed until I cried, while his father helped him figure out how to get that fourth person some candy, dang it.
(And I'm not entirely a bad mother for laughing - I did assure him, through my tears, that it was one of the best answers to a word problem, and 100% right, in its own way.)
"Ok, Drew, let's say I have 12 pieces of candy, and I want to give it to the four of you. How many pieces will each of you get?"
He tapped his chin in concentration as he thought about it. "Well," he replied, "the first person would get four..."
I waited to see if he would correct himself.
"And then the second person would get four... and then the third person would get four..." He furrowed his brow. "Oh man - someone's not going to get any!"
The combination of his perfect logic that gave him the wrong answer to the original problem, but yet an entirely correct answer to the "switch-around" problem (after all, he did divide the candy evenly), and his genuine concern that someone was going to miss out, was all so funny, at least in the moment, that I laughed until I cried, while his father helped him figure out how to get that fourth person some candy, dang it.
(And I'm not entirely a bad mother for laughing - I did assure him, through my tears, that it was one of the best answers to a word problem, and 100% right, in its own way.)
Incentives
I have posted before about how my children have each dealt with the stress of recent months in different ways. Some of them have coasted through, apparently just enjoying the extra freedom that comes from one parent being gone most of the time. Others, who are sensitive to the slightest changes, have struggled greatly with the big changes and have not fared well at all with the - ahem - looser schedule of late. Combine that with the fact that every spring we get a little cagey about the school routine, despite a year-round schedule that was designed to eliminate that problem (by interspersing short breaks throughout the year), and last week I was frequently texting Dave about how close I was to registering certain people in the local public school for next year.
I don't know how to adequately describe the struggle I sometimes have with my precious daughter, particularly without betraying too much. She is very spirited, which I do appreciate most of the time, very opinionated, and very strong-willed. And from toddlerhood, she has been playing elaborate mind games with me, the rules of which I have not to this day fully unravelled. Often I have found myself backed in a corner by her completely logical arguments, when I have failed to be specific enough about something, and even her illogical arguments have often left my head reeling. Lest you think you might know what to do with such a child in such cases, I implore you not to be too hasty to judge. Childrearing tactics that "should" work often just don't with Aimee, for various reasons, and certainly not all them negative. I was first confronted with this when she was only two, and potty training. The parenting logic that insisted she should care about being a "big girl" fell completely flat, and in fact so did every other tactic. She already believed she was a big girl and wasn't about to stoop to proving it, and I realized quickly that if she didn't want to potty train, she just wouldn't. If it came down to a battle of wills, she could hold out for a very long time. Her character and personality has only grown over the years, of course, so that's still a central issue. But at the same time, she craves order and firm boundaries. The trick, then, is to provide clear and consistent boundaries without crossing the line into arbitrary tyranny, which she always recognizes and never fails to challenge. Our homeschooling experience with her, therefore, is far from easy in the best of times, and in these more difficult times, it leaves me wanting to pull my hair out. On some levels, Aimee is similar to the kind of student I was, but I wanted to do well just for the sake of it, and that simply isn't true in Aimee's case. She often has a more important point to make, and grades, which I don't like to emphasize anyway, don't matter to her in the least. And, too, while I think it would be great to have the freedom and flexibility to go outside for a little while, then do school here and there when we get a chance, she develops an overinflated sense of entitlement with that kind of freedom. When I do spring math, or any other subject for that matter, on her, the result is often disasterous. And she can effectively refuse to do it, simply by not understanding - almost, if not completely, on purpose. Perhaps I'm just paranoid, but so in this case. It's difficult to explain, but I really do believe she's that smart, and while logical solutions may come to mind, I assure you, again, that it's never that easy. We struggle mightily with providing the right boundaries and incentives that don't come across as punishments for something she insists she can't help (it's not her fault if multiplication facts don't stick, is it? or that borrowing is impossibly hard? and do I really expect her to know what an adjective is?) - even if I do believe that blank look on her face is really just her planting her feet firmly in the ground. Without going into too much more detail, I have to say that it isn't that I'm unsympathetic to difficulties with schoolwork, or that I care anything about grades. You must, again, take my word for it that I KNOW she can do these things, and I can tell the difference between not being able to grasp something, and flatly refusing to learn it. It's the latter that makes every step of a math or grammar session rather tortuous for all parties.
So last week, I was feeling at the end of my rope - more so than usual - and I prayed that either God would provide the money for that awfully attractive private school, or that he would HELP ME. At any rate, I needed help just to make it though the next couple weeks, because I wasn't sure how we were even going to get to the end of third grade. On Sunday, Aimee received an invitation to a birthday slumber party for the following weekend. Ding, ding, ding! I told her I would love for her to go, but that she would have to work with me to have a better week. I reminded her that it's perfectly ok to have feelings, opinions, and difficulties, and also that I would love to have "fun" during school (we can do more art and fun projects, but that math and grammar still remain), but there are appropriate times and ways to express those feelings, and that sometimes we just have to do things we don't like. I made a chart for her, since she loves those, and gave her forty-five opportunities over the next five days to earn stars, forty of which she would have to have in order to go to the party. She would be allowed to express frustration and to ask for help, as long as she accepted that help, and heeded warnings to calm down if she grew angry. She could only earn a star by doing her chores and assignments with complaining (excessive- everyone has their moments), and outbursts (about the tyranny of education, the uselessness of grammar, or the unfairness about having to do "all the work") would not be tolerated, even losing her points.
And don't you know, she suddenly knew most of her multiplication facts and parts of speech, and she attacked all her work with dillegence and patience. She dug deep and earned her forty stars, glowing with a sense of achievement by the end of the week. Of course, I don't know how she would have reacted if she hadn't done it, but I think that wasn't even likely. Once we tap into her determination, it's a wonderful thing.
I don't know how to adequately describe the struggle I sometimes have with my precious daughter, particularly without betraying too much. She is very spirited, which I do appreciate most of the time, very opinionated, and very strong-willed. And from toddlerhood, she has been playing elaborate mind games with me, the rules of which I have not to this day fully unravelled. Often I have found myself backed in a corner by her completely logical arguments, when I have failed to be specific enough about something, and even her illogical arguments have often left my head reeling. Lest you think you might know what to do with such a child in such cases, I implore you not to be too hasty to judge. Childrearing tactics that "should" work often just don't with Aimee, for various reasons, and certainly not all them negative. I was first confronted with this when she was only two, and potty training. The parenting logic that insisted she should care about being a "big girl" fell completely flat, and in fact so did every other tactic. She already believed she was a big girl and wasn't about to stoop to proving it, and I realized quickly that if she didn't want to potty train, she just wouldn't. If it came down to a battle of wills, she could hold out for a very long time. Her character and personality has only grown over the years, of course, so that's still a central issue. But at the same time, she craves order and firm boundaries. The trick, then, is to provide clear and consistent boundaries without crossing the line into arbitrary tyranny, which she always recognizes and never fails to challenge. Our homeschooling experience with her, therefore, is far from easy in the best of times, and in these more difficult times, it leaves me wanting to pull my hair out. On some levels, Aimee is similar to the kind of student I was, but I wanted to do well just for the sake of it, and that simply isn't true in Aimee's case. She often has a more important point to make, and grades, which I don't like to emphasize anyway, don't matter to her in the least. And, too, while I think it would be great to have the freedom and flexibility to go outside for a little while, then do school here and there when we get a chance, she develops an overinflated sense of entitlement with that kind of freedom. When I do spring math, or any other subject for that matter, on her, the result is often disasterous. And she can effectively refuse to do it, simply by not understanding - almost, if not completely, on purpose. Perhaps I'm just paranoid, but so in this case. It's difficult to explain, but I really do believe she's that smart, and while logical solutions may come to mind, I assure you, again, that it's never that easy. We struggle mightily with providing the right boundaries and incentives that don't come across as punishments for something she insists she can't help (it's not her fault if multiplication facts don't stick, is it? or that borrowing is impossibly hard? and do I really expect her to know what an adjective is?) - even if I do believe that blank look on her face is really just her planting her feet firmly in the ground. Without going into too much more detail, I have to say that it isn't that I'm unsympathetic to difficulties with schoolwork, or that I care anything about grades. You must, again, take my word for it that I KNOW she can do these things, and I can tell the difference between not being able to grasp something, and flatly refusing to learn it. It's the latter that makes every step of a math or grammar session rather tortuous for all parties.
So last week, I was feeling at the end of my rope - more so than usual - and I prayed that either God would provide the money for that awfully attractive private school, or that he would HELP ME. At any rate, I needed help just to make it though the next couple weeks, because I wasn't sure how we were even going to get to the end of third grade. On Sunday, Aimee received an invitation to a birthday slumber party for the following weekend. Ding, ding, ding! I told her I would love for her to go, but that she would have to work with me to have a better week. I reminded her that it's perfectly ok to have feelings, opinions, and difficulties, and also that I would love to have "fun" during school (we can do more art and fun projects, but that math and grammar still remain), but there are appropriate times and ways to express those feelings, and that sometimes we just have to do things we don't like. I made a chart for her, since she loves those, and gave her forty-five opportunities over the next five days to earn stars, forty of which she would have to have in order to go to the party. She would be allowed to express frustration and to ask for help, as long as she accepted that help, and heeded warnings to calm down if she grew angry. She could only earn a star by doing her chores and assignments with complaining (excessive- everyone has their moments), and outbursts (about the tyranny of education, the uselessness of grammar, or the unfairness about having to do "all the work") would not be tolerated, even losing her points.
And don't you know, she suddenly knew most of her multiplication facts and parts of speech, and she attacked all her work with dillegence and patience. She dug deep and earned her forty stars, glowing with a sense of achievement by the end of the week. Of course, I don't know how she would have reacted if she hadn't done it, but I think that wasn't even likely. Once we tap into her determination, it's a wonderful thing.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Recovering (a Hasty, Unpolished Version of My Trip to NY)
You must bear with me a little longer - still no deep or witty observations to offer. I am always running short on time and energy these days, and all the more so this week after a trip to New York last weekend. After having agonized over whether or not the whole family - or maybe even just some of us - should go see my baby sister graduate from Nyack College, I had finally agreed the best option would be for me to leave the kids with Dave and take a girls only trip with my Mom and sisters.
Having done so, we all left very early Friday morning and hit New York City before lunch, cruising Chinatown and having lunch in Little Italy. We walked and shopped after that until we had had all the noise and crowds we could stand, then made our way to our hotel in Nyack. We had dinner at the Asian restaurant where Erica (the graduating sister) works, and where they pleasantly surprised us by taking care of the entire bill! Alas, that was the only thing that didn't cost us money on the trip! The graduation was the next day, and we spent the morning relaxing, then finding ourselves scrambling to get ready, and some of us scrambling just to get there! My dad had taken a flight in that morning, and my mom had driven back into the city to pick him up, but his flight was delayed a couple hours because of fog, and my mom was still waiting at the airport at the time when we should have been leaving the hotel to get seats at the graduation site. Those of us still at the hotel, therefore, had to take a taxi. We arrived on schedule, but were dismayed when the driver casually asked us for $75! Feeling exactly like the inexperienced small-town girls that we are, we offered him all the we could scrape together (funy that we had thought we were carrying more cash than we would need!), which was about $20 less - and he "graciously" accepted it. At least we were there, though, which was more than we could say for our parents, who were tearing their way there from the airport. They arrived just in time for my mom to change into the dress we had brought for her, and the service had only just started when they took their seats. Of course, they really needn't have worried, because it was rather a long time before my dear sister, sporting cute white flip-flops, had her turn to traipse across the stage to receive her diploma. We shouted enthusiastically at her, and she swept the president of the college into a big hug rather than politely shaking his hand. After another long stretch of time, we were swept by the crowd out of the building, and we all managed to meet up for pictures.
Having done so, we all left very early Friday morning and hit New York City before lunch, cruising Chinatown and having lunch in Little Italy. We walked and shopped after that until we had had all the noise and crowds we could stand, then made our way to our hotel in Nyack. We had dinner at the Asian restaurant where Erica (the graduating sister) works, and where they pleasantly surprised us by taking care of the entire bill! Alas, that was the only thing that didn't cost us money on the trip! The graduation was the next day, and we spent the morning relaxing, then finding ourselves scrambling to get ready, and some of us scrambling just to get there! My dad had taken a flight in that morning, and my mom had driven back into the city to pick him up, but his flight was delayed a couple hours because of fog, and my mom was still waiting at the airport at the time when we should have been leaving the hotel to get seats at the graduation site. Those of us still at the hotel, therefore, had to take a taxi. We arrived on schedule, but were dismayed when the driver casually asked us for $75! Feeling exactly like the inexperienced small-town girls that we are, we offered him all the we could scrape together (funy that we had thought we were carrying more cash than we would need!), which was about $20 less - and he "graciously" accepted it. At least we were there, though, which was more than we could say for our parents, who were tearing their way there from the airport. They arrived just in time for my mom to change into the dress we had brought for her, and the service had only just started when they took their seats. Of course, they really needn't have worried, because it was rather a long time before my dear sister, sporting cute white flip-flops, had her turn to traipse across the stage to receive her diploma. We shouted enthusiastically at her, and she swept the president of the college into a big hug rather than politely shaking his hand. After another long stretch of time, we were swept by the crowd out of the building, and we all managed to meet up for pictures.
That's my family - from left to right, my sister Sarah, my dad (who had worked all night and hadn't slept yet that day!), my mom (who treated us to the trip), Erica (who darted to and fro after the graduation meeting up with her many, many friends) Mary K. (who is married, but with no little ones yet -it's Sarah's baby Jack she's holding), and myself. We were quite exhausted when we finally made our way back to Nyack. Some of us stopped at a real NY pizza place before heading back to the hotel. Later we dropped by Erica's apartment for the graduation party she hosted, but didn't stay long, anticipating getting up early to go back into the city the next day.
It wasn't exactly the early start we had hoped for, but we did make it out before lunch, and this time hit Times Square, joining in the crush of people in that part of the city (random question - why do so many people in NY city dress in winter attire?!). We had lunch, and then we walked, and walked, and walked, and walked the entire rest of the day. We did stop by the Empire State Building, which was fabulous, although dissapointing on some levels. In the movies, people dash up to the top in romantic fashion, but that's not at all possible in real life. And not at all free, of course! But the view was spectacular, and I was pleased to discover that I experienced no vertigo at the top (well, not quite the top - you have to pay extra to get there!). I was much like being in an airplane, I thought, except windier.
After that, we walked some more, had a terrific row while considering riding the Subway (a family's still a family, even when we all grow up, it seems!), then split up and walked some more. My mom and I walked back up (or down - I don't know, since I had no sense of direction while I was there through Times Square) and over to Rockefeller Plaza and other sights that I considered classic NY City. I enjoyed all that much more than Chinatown. We all met back up to pile into 2 cars and head toward the airport, but we got lost in the city, and my sister's car began overheating, so we were quite a sight (and in not very good moods) when we pulled over somewhere near the Brooklyn Bridge to sort everything out. Amazingly, we all made it to our gate in time (some of us just barely) and endured a hot, crowded, and bumpy ride home. We finally made it to my mom's apartment (where Dave and the kids were staying) at about 10:30 Sunday night. About 20 minutes later, Dave had to leave for home so that he could get to work in Charleston early Monday morning. :-(
The kids and I made our way home Monday, and took it as easy as we could, but I was still quite tired, and not feeling very well, Tuesday. It has taken us all week to unpack, and neither schoolwork nor housework has received very much attention!
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