Finding the RIght Thing

I often am at a loss on how best to meet Sylvie's unstated wants and needs, those things I often can just sense with the other two. But, I suggested she give this a try the other day, and it was just the thing for my little monkey. Though probably not so good for my nerves.

Music for the Third Child- Part Two

Sylvie still had Pete as a mainstay for the first couple of years. She probably even had more of my soul through singing, because I had learned so many of the folk songs that were on endless repeat at our house.

But, when she was four and Ezra was nine-and-a-half, things began to slip. Partly, it happened because we were working in such a focused way, that my soul energy was less available to filter all the music Jason and I had as our first picks. Ezra was getting to a point where he was really interested in music beyond the folk stuff we had been hearing, and that seemed pretty reasonable.

Also, we all REALLY like the White Stripes, and, for those of you too foolish to know, their songs really are pretty kid friendly. The lyrics are pretty inscrutable, there are no curse words, and no dark clouds of hate and anger. The subject matter, rockin' music, amd clever lyrics mean that they are still 100% adult music. It was a happy thing...

and a gateway drug.

With a dash of Pandora and Slacker and a heavy dose of Ezra's interest in minutia, combined with his liking Cocteau Twins the best of all, you might see where this is leading. You know, about 45 seconds into any Cocteau Twins song, I fall asleep. Jason's similar opinion meant that he began suggesting other bands Ezra might enjoy.

And the ball rolled ever wider and farther until a couple of months back when Sylvie seemed to know all the words to "Kiss with a Fist" and most of the words to "Girl with One Eye".  It was completely charming to me that Ezra knew all the words to various propaganda songs at the age of seven, but these two did not make my maternal heart flutter warmly. I knew I had let things stray too far.

Now, I've made various edicts to the older family members about what we can play with Sylvie around. I explained that I do not listen to the Violent Femmes or Hole when any of them are around, and we need to extend this courtesy to her, but with still another couple of notches down on the content and subject matter ladder.

I still have trouble with this. I'm ready to listen to some of my own stuff more often, so I keep making playlists that I think will work. Today, L.A County came on while we were driving home; Sylvie says, "I love this song!" I guess I need to clean up that play list, too.

And the quote this morning that made this whole post come about was Ezra chastising Jason- "Daddy, don't you think it's wrong to listen to Jamie T. with your children around?"

Music for the Third Child- Part One

 Oh no! The dreaded multi-part blog post! How pretentious can you get!

When Ezra was little, I discovered how much I really loathe most anything labeled kids music. None of the funky, artsy performers praised in Mothering did anything but wrinkle my nose. The Putamayo music was tolerable, but who can stand listening to the same "tolerable" music day in and day out; it would be like spending your life in an elevator. The Waldorf approved tunes had the advantage of wanting you to skip recorded stuff entirely and sing to and with your children from your soul. While that sounds at least vaguely hokey, I was completely willing to learn a bajillion songs, and I did.

Part of the problem was that Ezra was definitely learning from what he was hearing. I'd had to give up public radio when he toddled into the room where I was nursing Phaedra and chirped in his sweet two year voice, "I am Diane Rehm." He could also do funny parlor tricks, like tell you the names of various dictators whose names were oft spouted in the top of the news hour. I had thought music would give me a bit of companionship and would bring less ugliness into my little children's heads. I went on the search for more music.

One night when Jason and I were on one of our first dates after Phaedra was born, we happened into the cd section of a bookstore chain- it was Texas; there were no local book or music stores that I knew of. I thought I'd check the kids' music section. And there was the artist who changed my parenting life- Pete Seeger. This was music with funny lyrics, older melodies, no stupid children as back up singers, no electronic flim flam, and a singer just begging you to sing along- not alone.

After that cd, many more Pete Seeger albums found their way into our house. There's a picture of three-year-old Ezra with his ear pressed to the speaker as he tried to learn all the lyrics to "Union Maid". Pete Seeger was followed by a little Woody Guthrie and a little Burl Ives, but neither of these replaced Pete in our familial affections.

And so, Ezra and Phaedra had a pretty good selection of music that I felt pretty comfortable with for the first few years of their lives.

What Sylvie Talks About

Sylvie steals every private moment she can to tell me things. And what, you might ask, does Sylvie tell me?

Well, she tells me she will use paper diapers. ("Those are single use, landfill bound plastic diapers, sweetie."  "I know, Mama, but paper diapers sounds nicer.")

She tells me she will buy Barbie when her children are 5, but she'll knit them wool teddy bears when they are one. ("No, I will not buy your children Barbie, but they will be yours." "I know, Mama, but what if I TELL you to buy them Barbies?")

She tells me she will live with me, so I can hold her babies sometimes. She tells me we will have to have a stroller that we can push when we're opening and closing gates in electric fence. ("But, sweetie, if we just put the babies in a carrier, the fence won't be a problem." "I know, Mama, but I like strollers.")

She tells me she doesn't want to be married, so she'll get married, have babies, then divorce. Unless of course, she can figure out how to have babies with one of her friends like Ella or Bea. ("Sweetie, these are big plans; you have lots of time to figure that out." "I know, Mama, but I just don't know any boys I want to marry.")

She tells me I will have to let her use my room, because she will be a mama. She tells me about flip flops and bottles and cribs and plastic, glowing, electronic toys. She tells me that she just has to live with me because she loves me. She tells me endless things about the twins she'll have or maybe triplets. ("You never know what will happen, sweetie." "I know, Mama, but what if I DID have triplets!")

Then, she tells me she doesn't even quite like me. Daddy is really her favorite.

Sylvie Starts Kindergarten

 I am definitely in the better-late-than-early camp of education. The time, however brief, I spent as a Montessori teacher telling parents their six-year-old OUGHT to be able to read left an extra wrinkle between my eyebrows. It wasn’t hard to find the writings of dear John Holt and Rebecca Rupp and Charlotte Mason and Rudolph Steiner and David Elkind who all, to one degree or another, thought it best that children have a bit longer to play and grow and pretend  before being set to learn the alphabet.

When Ezra was kindergarten age, there was a new baby in the house, and it was easy to recite nursery rhymes and sing songs and tend house very purposefully to support his further unfolding. When Phaedra got to be kindergarten age, she wanted nothing to do with our “school” time and went off to play with her toddler sister in the simple land of early childhood. So, I deliberately did “kindergarten” things with Sylvie, like singing seasonal songs and doing simple crafts and taking walks, which Phaedra and Ezra also enjoyed.

Now, Sylvie is five, and she just wants to do whatever we’re doing. She has more friends than her brother and sister did at this age and she’s more socially aware than they were. She wants to do what she knows some of her friends and almost all of her cousins (there were 5 born in 5 months that year) are doing. And the cousins and friends are starting kindergarten and her siblings are back in their school routine. Sylvie wants to do that, too.

The problem is that Sylvie is a bit of a butterfly. It feels wrong to encourage her to sit quietly when I would even prefer she go off to play. Fortunately, I could see all this coming and I’ve devised a plan. We’re only one-and-a-half weeks into this plan, but it’s working so far.

I keep a lesson plan book, because it makes me feel good about myself, and in that book I’ve devoted a line on each page to Sylvie’s school work. If the book says we’re supposed to sing a song and recite a couple of poems and read a chapter out of Peter and Polly, then that’s what we do. Then I say, “You’ve finished your schoolwork! Would you like to dry dishes for me?” And she happily gets on with her day. Some days, like today, she ends up doing a page or two out of a workbook I got last year when I was at sixes and sevens with occupying her during school time. And that’s okay, too.

So, she can count past 100 and identify all her capital letters and copy words to send a brief letter, but she is satisfied with that. She has a day every now and then when she wants to learn to read or add or use the big chef’s knife. I make room in our school time to give her a lesson on these things, but if she wanders away, I let her. Five is really little, and this five-year-old is really airy. I think she and I will both enjoy more focused academics when her feet are a little closer to the ground. I like watching her fly for now.

What I See

Look! We have a rain barrel. It catches from about ten feet of gutter and it completely filled in a storm. I was able to water the trees and cow and chickens with this and another rain barrel. I got to play with the kids with a siphon.

There are blackberries in the hills, but we've only picked enough to graze on. The canes at the north end of the garden have been a challenge all summer and I'm trying to think of a way to have them that close without them being such a bother.

Ezra made three gallons of bubbles and he has been constructing bubble cities with them. It's amazing to me how long he can spend building something ephemeral.

Elmer and Nico are the best of friends. You might note that Elmer is patiently awake in this picture. Nico is sound asleep.

A view of our kitchen- abundant tomatoes, bread rising, empty jars, cluttered counter, and the doll ever at the ready.

There is now a swing set at our house. We're not convinced of its stability but it's lasted a week. I'm repeatedly surprised about the amount of joy swings can bring to our children's lives. We had agreed that it was time to devote a weekend to a project for them, and I think it was a weekend well-spent.

Here are a few of the flowers blooming around our house right now. These are zinnias, cosmos, and borage. I still do not like how the borage tastes- it's nothing like cucumber. The pink one is bee balm, and it has a tangy smell. The hummingbirds seem to particularly like it and the borage.

The mammoth sunflowers are getting very tall. The shorter varieties have already begun to open. I love the really tall ones because I remember my grandfather growing them. (He also grew blackberries.)

This bed is the most beautiful to me. I think the asparagus and raspberries look very happy, and I like their long, trailing tendencies.

Here are the baby Brussels sprouts. My cabbage crops look pretty bad this year. I'm not sure what I did wrong. I saw a friend's cabbages last night and mine are a tenth of the size of hers. Maybe it'll be better next year. Also, my beets are not looking as good as hers. I think I'll plant beets and carrots in a more traditional way next year.

Berry Picking time

We went today for a first round of berry picking. After calling around, I found out about an organic pick-your-own in Plainfield called Littlewood Farm. In the past, we picked organic berries at Adam's Berry Farm; we really like Adam's, but it is so far away now that it feels too onerous.

Littlewood Farm was a very nice place to pick berries. The field was well-maintained (as in, we did not have to sort through the weeds to find the berries). The people were friendly, and the spot is lovely. It was also not too busy and was bursting with ripe strawberries. We picked 2.5 flats of berries in about 1.5 hours.

The children were very helpful. Ezra picked 3 quarts to every six I picked, Phaedra picked two to my six, and Sylvie picked 1 quart total. The thing I used to dream about is finally true. I was able to pick berries without stopping every 20 seconds to ride herd on one child or another, and I did not have to pick all the berries myself. Sylvie picked slowly, sampling as she went, and talked to all the other pickers. I kept thinking about Dudley Pippin, and I wondered what all she was telling about our family. Phaedra announced,"Sylvie is making friends again!", and then Phaedra jumped Sylvie's train. Sylvie would start talking, and then Phaedra would chime in. I worried that they were bothering people, but they seemed to share the wealth of their conversation evenly, and no one seemed bothered. Most even seemed a little charmed. Ezra focused on picking in a very bird-like way. He would pick three berries on one row, then wander two rows over and pick five, then move down twenty feet and pick one more. It was very aggravating to watch, so I quit looking, and he was obviously picking plenty fast.

Toward the end, Ezra regaled us with poetry. It started when Phaedra and I were trying to remember "Custard the Dragon", and Ezra began to help us. We did pretty well. Then, Ezra launched into "One Winter Night in August" and "Isabel". It was a delight to have poetry recited as we picked.

Then, Jason and I capped berries tonight. We'll do one more round of picking, because I owe a few jars of jam. So, once we've all the berries, we'll make jam. Then we can sing, "If you want the best Jam, you got to make your own."

Sylvie Sunshine is FIVE

I call her Sylvie Sunshine because she is almost always happy. Even her storms are passing phenomena.

She is a very helpful lass, and she wants to do whatever I am doing if Phaedra is not available.

For her fifth birthday, she learned to climb this tree.

And she lost her first tooth. This meant a tooth pillow and lots of dancing- as photographed by her sister.

We made it to Cincinnati

And I knew it was all going to be fine when Little Miss Sunshine began singing "Do You Realize" before we got to Woodbury.