Granolavirus, Week Two

Almost every night, Eleanor asks me to “tuck her in,” aka sit on her bed and talk with her. It’s something I enjoy. But my heart sinks whenever she repeats the question: “So what do we have planned for tomorrow?”

I don’t know what she’s expecting me to say. I suggest a few fun ideas, but none of them entice her. I’m not a cruise director. Eleanor turns her face to the wall.

We’ve snuggled tight into our little routine, here. In the morning, I expect the kids to meet me around the kitchen table by at least 9:00 a.m. for “scripture power” time. (9:00 a.m. may seem like a late wake-up call to you, but it’s a challenge for the teenagers.)

After scripture power, everyone goes their separate ways for homeschool. I supervise William and Katie on their schoolwork while I practice piano (I’ve found some left-hand etudes by Bach, Saint-Saens, and Scriabin to work on while my right hand heals). Usually the littles manage to finish almost all their schoolwork before lunchtime, which is how most homeschool curricula is supposed to go (only 2-3 hours a day).

Meanwhile, Jeff pesters me for internet access, which I deny him until he’s done all his “analog” tasks, such as read for an hour, practice his piano assignment, work on the math assignment Brian gave him, and go for a walk. He’s … okay at doing all of these, and then spends the afternoon doing “homework,” which is whatever his teachers are emailing him. It’s almost impossible to know how much of this homework he’s actually doing.

And where is Eleanor during the morning hours? Usually back in bed. Most days, I usually haul her out of bed around noon, which is when we drive to the school for lunch. The school district runs a drive-through lunch program for ages 18 and under, and it’s a great excuse for getting out of the house.

Is it progress that Eleanor is at least coming with us to lunch? Last week she refused.

Afternoons are spent finishing up any remaining homeschool: reading our history chapter aloud, doing hands-on science experiments, playing outside, building with LEGO, etc. Eleanor spends her afternoons in her room, working on the math assignments Brian gives her. Jeff often takes advantage of my distracted state to vanish upstairs with a computer.

One would think I’d spend this afternoon block to get some writing done, but it’s hard. Having all the kids around is sucking the energy out of me. Interruptions happen about every 15-20 minutes. It’s difficult to focus on anything knowing that my teenage daughter is dissolving into the bedsheets down the hall.

A few times I’ve gotten up early to write before the kids wake, but when faced with that quiet space to myself, I found that all I wanted to do was nothing. “Pure nothing, in the middle of the day,” like the line from the Rita Dove poem.

Besides, most of my early morning hours are already devoted to my own sanity-saving exercise routine.

I don’t even want to think how things are going to shift when my music theory class resumes in another week.

Yet my brain can’t let go of writing: it is constantly, constantly working on the novel in the background, formulating scenes, plot points, reams of dialogue, descriptive paragraphs, character arcs. After a few days, I feel pent up and congested inside, and panicked that I’ll never get around to finishing the project.

So to state that I’m feeling frustrated with myself is an understatement. Am I really too busy for this? Or am I using my kids as an excuse?

Around 3:30 p.m. we still gather for kuchenzeit. This week in Panic Baking: Caramel Apple Dapple Cake (not as good as my mom’s apple cake), Wednesday Night Brownies (of course), Chocolate Chip Cookie Brittle (similar but vastly improved version of a recipe I already have) and Next Level Krispy Treats (they have double the butter and 4 ounces of white chocolate).

Brian’s been returning home from the hospital at odd early times, which can be frustrating, especially if he has more office work to do at home: I get all excited about having another adult to take a turn with the child labor, only to hear that I’m not getting a break after all.

On Friday, Brian worked entirely from home. I asked him to create his office space on the third floor, where I won’t be able to hear him. It’s disheartening to be constantly reminded that he’s able to accomplish his adult intellectual work when I cannot. I don’t blame him; this is the arrangement and partnership that we knew would work best for our family. And I’m kind of relieved that it’s possible for him to be home instead of going into the hospital, where he’s at risk for getting sick. But still — stay away where I can’t hear you, Other Adult.

Worst of all, because the kids don’t have any early-morning wake-up times, then bedtime tends to slide later and later into the evening. More nights than I’d prefer, the kids aren’t in bed until ten or ten-thirty, all of them needy for their mom, for the kind of stability I can provide them, since their lives are all upside-down. And I love that I can do that for them, and I love how our relationships are all deepening and improving as a result.

BUT — I am going a little crazy without having much alone time these days. I love my big boisterous family, but I’m someone who has always thrived on having “the gift of solitude” to recharge. Last night, a reasonable 8pm start time for the bedtime routine was upended by a Harry Potter board game. None of the children went to sleep until 11p.m. I tried to close myself up in my room with a book, but children kept popping in. It was great to get those extra cuddle times (Jeff came and talked to me! Voluntarily!) but afterwards I felt ragged, and furious.

The teenagers are starting to feel the negative results of their messed-up sleep schedules and sedentary lifestyle. Eleanor and Jeff complain that they are restless in bed and unable to sleep until one or two in the morning. Jeff seems amenable to making the lifestyle changes required to fix this, but Eleanor shuts down whenever I bring up the solution of basic exercise and earlier wake-up times, retreating into her shell of “I’m fine” and a quelling glare.

Last night was a breakthrough — Eleanor said she would like to spend some time walking on the treadmill, but when would she have the time? I pointed out that she might have to spend less time in bed in the morning, only to be burned alive with the Quelling Glare once more.

Ugh, the worst is knowing that I likely would have behaved in the exact same way at her age. What does it say that your mini teenage clone-self is occasionally intolerable?

So anyway isolation’s going fine.

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jdee…

jdee

y2y43

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New Feature! Get Yer Shiny New Feature, Here!

See that? Up there on the top of the right hand column!

That’s right — I’ve decided to keep a small compendium of my favorite snippets of info gleaned from the kidlitosphere from the past few days. Doesn’t it look all lovely, streamlined, and alphabetized?  (Just like those numerical binders!)

Alas, figuring out how to make that thing ate up my alloted blogging time for the day. And . . . someone has stolen my copy of The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin off my desk, so I can’t write about it tonight as planned. Is someone sabotaging my blog? Or do I just need to clean my desk off more often?

(Don’t answer that.)

In Other News, I feel it would be remiss unless I mention the main reason why my work on this blog has been shortened to weekends only: I’ve started a second blog about my family. I’m just figuring that, thirty years from now, I’ll be happier that I spent more time recording The Tale of Eleanor vs. The Blue Marker, or The Tale of the Embalming of My Glasses, or The Tale of the Lamest Game of Charades Ever than, say, my thoughts on How the Hangman Lost His Heart (and, for the record — it’s pretty swell).

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Set Coveting Sensors on “Stun”

Ooooooh. It’s only February, and I already know what I want for Christmas:

“Yeah,” you may say. “I’ve seen tabletop theaters before.” Take a closer gander:

Those are tiny little marionettes! With spiffy little 3D pop-up scenery! You can do your own rendition of the “Lonely Herdsman” from The Sound of Music! Also:

It does shadow puppets, too. A feature after my own heart. Pretty, although a bit pricey.

Learn more here. Thanks to Planet Esme for the info.

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Baker’s “Dozen”: IT’S GROUNDHOG DAY!

As a Pittsburgher, Groundhog Day is something of a Big Deal — admittedly, not a tremendously big deal — something on a scale between President’s Day and a Steelers Super Bowl win. We’re the closest major city to Punxutawney, the home of Groundhog Phil, who is the designated rodent for predicting the weather via shadow. (Yes, I know you probably knew that. But there are many who don’t. My father once spent a Feb. 2nd on an airplane next to a British gent. Said gent listened to my father’s explanation of the day and seriously thought he was getting his leg pulled. If you really need to know All the Facts, go to groundhog.org, where you can find interesting tidbits such as the fact that Phil was, until the reign of King Philip, once known simply as “Br’er Groundhog.” Huh.)

I meant to pull together a full Baker’s Dozen booklist of the best Groundhog Day books, but to tell the truth, there really aren’t that many worth getting excited about. My library system buys every single Groundhog Day-related book it can get its paws on, and Lo, many are lame. There’s one that actually called — I kid you not — “Andrew McGroundhog and His Shady Shadow.”  (Can a shadow be anything besides shady?  The word makes it sound as if the shadow was up to dodgy dealings in some dark alley.)  But here’s what is worth taking a gander at:

Note: A common theme I’ve noticed with these books is that the plot usually goes like this: Joe Groundhog is about to predict the weather.  An Obstacle prevents him from doing this.  Joe racks brain, overcomes Obstacle via Clever Solution, does/doesn’t see shadow and Life is Good.  I understand that there’s only so much a person can do with this nutty wannabe holiday, but really.  The repetition made me a little jaded at the end of writing this booklist, and I’m only annotating five books.

Substitute Groundhog by Pat Miller —   In this case, the groundhog is sick and must interview other animals to take his place for the Big Day.  But I’m not complaining in this case — the text is funny and interesting enough to get a roomful of preschoolers to engage in some creative thinking about what animal they would choose for the job.

Gregory’s Shadow by Don Freeman — This title was published posthumously by Freeman’s estate, and as a result, the illustrations look a little sketchy and unfinished, but I don’t mind.  He who gave the world Corduroy can do little wrong, in my opinion.  In this sweet story, Gregory’s best friend and confidante is his shadow, but when Greg accidentally leaves his shadow on a friend’s doorstep, it disappears.  How will Gregory do his weather forecast without it?  There’s a sweet solution, but the what’s appealing to me is the whole notion that a shadow can be lost — as I child, I encountered this idea in Peter Pan and Jack Kent’s The Biggest Shadow in the Zoo.  Chances are, your kids will think it interesting, too.

Go to Sleep, Groundhog! by Judy Cox, illus. Paul Meisel — Hibernation takes a holiday — three of them, in fact — when Groundhog decides to wake up earlier than Feb. 2nd and experiences Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas for the first time.  Fearing that he will be too tired to predict the weather (see what I mean by this pattern?) various holiday characters — Santa, a witch, etc. — take turns tucking groundhog back in.  Meisel’s acrylics are colorful, bold, and full of fun details — who wouldn’t want to be sung lullabyes by a Thanksgiving turkey?

The Secret of the First One Up by Lois Hiskey, illus. Renee Graef — the story gets cuteseyfied in this book, and by that, I mean that the illustrations feature a groundhog sporting a waistcoat and bow tie.  Which I think is pretty wonderful.  All groundhogs should, by law, be required to wear bow ties.  But, anyway, in this story, a young groundhog discovers why her Uncle Wilbur is always the first to rise on Groundhog’s Day (I, uh, won’t give away the obvious reason why).  But it’s neat to see the Groundhog Ur-Story done over as a passing-of-the-torch kind of family tradition.  Besides, most little kids I know wake up at the crack o’ dawn anyway, and this book does a good job at capturing that bit of magic at being the first one up and about in the house.

Punxutawney Phyllis by Susanna Leonard Hill, illus. Jeffrey Ebbeler — Phyllis wants to predict the weather — BUT — her family won’t let her because she’s a girl.  When she decides to take up the job anyway, she proves to be superior to her Uncle Phil (the current official forecaster) and proves that Girls Can Too.  Okay, okay — I do seem a little jaded with this book.  But you read the note at the beginning, right?  The redeeming part of this book are Ebbeler’s illustrations.  Oh, how I loves them cute groundhog clothes.  They really are adorable lil’ cuddly animals.

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The Potter Project: The Tale of Peter Rabbit, or, Stay Away From the Man Who Ate Your Father

Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself.

Here’s why I love this book: it uses the word “implored.” Also “dreadfully,” “fortnight,” and “chamomile.” There are a lot of abominable dumbed-down versions of this story on the market, and I detest them all. Not just because it marrs with perfection, but because I’ve learned that the prose of Beatrix Potter has a similar-yet-gentler effect as that of Shakespeare: when you read it out loud, you sound like an embroidered-tongued GENIUS. Even the bunnies’ names ring out with a simple rhythm that I love: “Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter.”

This book is the Big One — the Potter story that just about every kid in the English-speaking world is somewhat familiar with; if not with the story, then with the cartoon, the film, the puppet show (my library puts on one of these every spring), or the various P.R. merchandise that was invariably given to their parents at a baby shower. (The levels of Peter merchandise is astounding — almost reaching Pooh-levels of stuff.)

It’s also one of the few Potter books that I have a strong memory of being read to by my mother. I still remember dutifully repeating the Moral of the Story afterwards to her, and feeling awfully lucky that I wasn’t as naughty as poor Peter. There’s something to be said for that little feeling of smugness that comes with a book wherein the protagonist is far, far dumber than you are.

Let’s start with the pie, shall we? I love how specific Mother Rabbit is with her warning: not to stay away from Mr. McGregor’s garden because of “danger” or “Because I Told You To,” but because “your father had an accident there; he was put into a pie by Mrs. McGregor.” And yet — “accident.” As if — whoops! — Mrs. McGregor mixed up her bunnies and cherries and put Father Rabbit in a pie by mistake. Silly misunderstanding, that.

Peter, one of the great dim bulbs of children’s literature, runs off to the garden the second Ma makes for the bakery (oh, how I love the way his jacket turns up at the edges when he ignores his mum!). He then proceeds to stuff his bunny belly until he is sick, setting an odd custom in the Potter books — characters who eat lots of vegetables almost always end up getting sick. Alert the pediatric nutritionists, if you will.

Then — the exciting part of the book! Mr. McGregor pops up from behind a cucumber frame and proceeds to chase our hero until he’s in naught but his nuddy-pants, but then — just gives up. No, he doesn’t fall down a cliff like a Disney villain, or get outwitted by Peter, he’s just “tired of running after Peter” and goes back to his work.

It’s here that I really notice what makes the Potter books different from other stories with anthropomorphized animals — although they walk, talk, and wear clothes, humans and animals tend to have the same kinds of relationships as they would in the real world — that of hunter/prey, or bandit/gardener, in this case. Mr. McGregor responds to Peter in the way that any middle-aged gardener would — he chases him for a while, then gives up — and Peter is very bunnyish in that he spends most of the book randomly running around scared without any sense of direction.

It’s that lack of direction that makes the middle of this story sag a bit; Peter runs in random circles around the garden before finding his way out (again, not through wit or cleverness, but by randomly passing the gate through which he came in). Every kid I’ve read this story to tends to get bored during this part. But perhaps Edwardian children knew more about the various pitfalls lurking in an English kitchen garden. Beware the white cat! Look out for that gooseberry net! The SIEVE! Stay away from the SIEVE!!!

Finally, Peter escapes, his clothes are scarecrow-ed, and once at home he is punished with — oh no . . . I can’t even type it! Camomile tea.

Nooooo! Er, well . . . I suppose I’d yell “noooo!” if I’d ever drunk camomile tea.

Again, this is something that I think the children of 1902 would appreciate more than the kids of today. Except maybe the children of hippie herbal tea enthusiasts.

However, every kid, Edwardian or not, can appreciate the good bunnies’ reward: “Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.” That’s good eatin’, folks.

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Hansel & Gretel: Live on Stage!!

A few days ago, Fuse #8 posted a bit of news saying that Lotte Reiniger’s The Adventures of Prince Achmed was going to be shown at a theater in Brooklyn.  It made me so happy — as some of you may know from this previous post, I’m something of a shadow puppet enthusiast and a definite fan of Reiniger’s work.

Case in point: this past Saturday I did a shadow puppet production of Hansel & Gretel at my library.  I think it turned out rather cute, so I thought I’d share a few images with you.

The first show our hero and heroine (volunteer kids from the audience) talking to their father in the forest.

Here the kids look hungrily at the fabulous gingerbread house.

Lastly, the evil witch casts a spell on Hansel.  See that green glow?  That’s the magic spell.  Green is always the color of magic, right?

The more astute among you will see the great debt I owe to David Wisniewski’s Worlds of Shadow for this production.  If you’re interested in shadow puppetry, I highly recommend picking up a copy.

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Just for the record . . .

This was how the holiday bake-o-rama turned out:

Not bad, if I do say so myself.  It wasn’t as complicated as it looks — all of these cookies came from the same batch of dough, believe it or not.  The orange cookies with the chocolate drizzle are what the spritz cookies turned into.  Delicious to the hilt; I sure hope my neighbors like ’em as much as I do.

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Why I Haven’t Been Posting

Wanna know why?  It’s because of these, the Cookies of Doom:

I think that spritz cookies were invented by a particularly diabolical alien race to keep us busy and frustrated while they secretly take over the government.  Because I don’t think real, actual human beings can make these.  They defy the laws of physics.  And yet they are so cute that I always want to make them.  The little wreaths!  The sparkly flowers!  A pox on those aliens!

Granted, the culinary episode I just experienced involved a cookie press held together with Duct Tape, but this isn’t a solitary incident: every single stinkin’ time I’ve tried to make these kind of cookies, it JUST DOESN’T WORK.

How do you get the darn dough to stick to the pan?

Don’t say and ungreased sheet don’t say an ungreased sheet don’t say it . .  .

Because if you do use an ungreased cookie sheet, then you will need a jackhammer later on to get the darn things OFF the pan, leading to

1. Much noise and profanity in the kitchen, which is hardly befitting of a home with young, innocent children

2. Cookies that more closely resemble shrapnel and/or a pile of chicken feed than some delightful holiday sweet.

So, enough!  This is my last, very very last attempt to make spritz cookies.  CURSE YOU, foul calorie-laden packets of saccharine impunity!  I condemn thee to the Hall of Epicurian Horrors!

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Kitlit Holiday Shopping: Part Two of a (hey, whaddya know!) Series

I must say that I’m impressed with myself for making this series of shopping posts and actual series. A series of, um, two so far, but still.

The latest goodie I’ve found comes from, of all places the Hanna Andersson website (or as I call it, “the Land’s End/IKEA crossbreed!”). But she’s soooo cute:

Note the patch on the mismatched sock. Love it, baby — although I think she would be perfect with tiny Pippi accessories, like strap-on scrubbing brushes for her feet, or a few dozen coffee mugs. A not-too bad bargain for only $18. Mmmm, makes me want to park a horse on my front porch and hide things in tree trunks for the kids next door.

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