Listen to him grow...

The teacher's report.

2011-10-09T14:06:00.001-07:00

Andy and I started our weekend off, on Friday, by listening to Ms. Alissa talk about how smart and willing to learn Turner is. What a beautiful beginning to an amazing weekend.

At the parent teacher conference she delivered Turner's assessment results to us. He's reading at a starting third grader's level. She said he was a proficient math thinker and lover of science. Good and good. His handwriting, though, reflects sloppiness caused because he rushes through. When I asked later in the day, "What happens once you finish your writing work at school?"

He said, "We get to read any book we want!"

"Ah. So do you rush through your writing work so that you can read a book?"

Shaking his head, he said, "I try to." Well, it shows according to Ms. Alissa.

The assessment figures:

Benchmark for reading is 6 for the fall and 12 by the end of the school year (May 2012). Turner is at a 24 right now.

High frequency word reading benchmark is 25 for the fall and 50 for the entire year. Turner is at 196!

The soccer report.

2011-09-17T12:42:00.000-07:00

Turner's first soccer game was September 9th. League rules state that we don't keep score, we can't play with goalies, and all the kids wear the same color uniform. Red. We showed up for the first game to find a sea of six year olds in red jerseys and black shorts scrambling over eight soccer fields. Andy is the assistant coach, so he knew which field and team of red was ours. Thankfully.

Turner scored his team's first goal. Though we didn't "keep" score, Turner knew that his team lost at game's end. He came ready to play and hustled. Because he played goalie so often last season, I forgot how fast he can move when someone shouts to him, RUN. Though we didn't "keep" score, Turner counted goals and was disappointed to have lost.

Dad pep talk.

Throwing the ball into play. One of his teammates was looking at her dad. Another two were nearly across the field closer to the coach. So Turner tossed is across the line and took off with it.

At the end of the game, players from each side shake hands and sit together in front of their coaches. The coach selects one player from the opposing team to win the spirit award, which is meant for a player that hustles, has fun, and is a good teammate. As soon as our coach explained the spirit award, Turner looked over his shoulder at us with a huge smile. But, he did not win the spirit award at his first game. Though he was an exemplary player, and we told him so time and again.

September 17th, Turner did not win the spirit award either. The kid who won it the first week won it at the second game too. By the third game, the coaches discussed who they were selecting before they announced it to the kids. Better plan.

Turner was a great teammate, passing the ball often and helping his teammates make some goals. When one of his teammates fell to the ground, Turner leaned down put a hand on her shoulder and said "You're okay" as he ran by to throw the ball in.

Feet off the ground!

Weekend hiking club.

2011-09-03T15:54:00.000-07:00

The past two weekends we've gone hiking. The mornings are cool, the afternoons are hot (mid 80s), though a breeze is always about. The sun seeks solace in the clouds occasionally, which offers a stark contrast to the desert hiking we've grown to know. This morning, Andy and I get things together twice as fast as last week. We know more about what to bring. We remember the map. And, the capri sun is safely tucked in the camelbak. Turner reads his Pokémon book while we pack and make sandwiches; he finished the 187 pages last night. This is his second time through.

"Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp," Turner says with each step as we descend into the basement. Mid-week we were doing this same routine, and he spotted our basement cricket. This is the cricket who brings us good luck. Wednesday was the first time we've ever seen him, though we've heard him quite a bit.

"Well, whatdya know?!" A shout comes from the backseat. "They're like the baked ones and the wavy ones mixed together." Baked wavy Lays. If you give a kid a bag of potato chips, usually his parents end up eating too many.

We wind through the wilderness, taking in beautiful sights on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Three tunnels through the mountains, winding up to 4325 feet in the air, we arrive at Mt. Pisgah Forest. We traveled here last weekend too, taking a different path. The first forestry school formed here in Pisgah Forest. The land was purchased from Master Vanderbilt, who seems to have owned just about everything around here at one point or another. An hour or more later, we arrive at Black Balsam Knob Road.

On the trail, we hiked the Art Loeb trail through Black Balsam Knob (6,214 feet) to another beautiful outlook at Tennent Mountain (6,046 feet) (elevation is according to our hiking guidebook). This trail is named for the man who started the Carolina Mountain Club. The mountain is name for the man who started organized hiking in western North Carolina. The haze was high given the heat (80 degrees at noon), but the view kept us breathless. After our last hike, Turner requested more rocks and less dirt. This trail allowed him to climb. Rocks piled high in the trail, but also when we'd reach a plateau (knob) with high grass and blue mountain tops fading in the background. So lovely. Other parts of the trail were tall with rubbish that towered over him, but he moved through without fear. Andy and I were wishing for hiking sticks, mostly to scare off snakes. With all the sunshine, it seemed a perfect day for sunbathing and migrating.

Just your friendly advice giver here to serve.

2011-08-31T12:10:00.000-07:00

On Mondays and Wednesdays Turner goes to the YWCA for after-school care. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays Turner gets to play on the playground with the other kids who have flexible-schedule parents. I've not been able to penetrate the mom's group that takes comfort under a shade tree each day. Andy says he really hasn't tried to penetrate the group. I imagine him on Fridays standing off to the side taking every body, gesture, and conversation in as is his usual custom. I, on the other hand, want to be liked by the women I have grown to not like. Though, I've not met them officially. Only two of the six have a 1st grader.

So, the first day I picked Turner up from school, I stood under a tree with great shade, and I noticed a mom group congregating nearer to the playground. The next time, I sat nearer to the playground and the mom group stood under the tree. The tree, I've come to see, is their usual territory. These women seem to know each other, perhaps from Kindergarten or because they have older kids attending Jones. They laugh out loud and seem to talk often about some of the teachers. Not to say anything negative about them, but to make explicit the things they know about a teacher's personal life, which is of course a negative practice. But whatever. I'd just like to make friends. Preferably women who like to drink wine and talk about social politics. I'm thinking I need a new scene to find such richness of conversation.

The dad scene is much more active and inviting. All the dads have talked to me. They are often involved in kid play, which might be what Andy does. I can imagine him chasing kids and helping pull one or more out of a tree. Since I'm usually in work clothes, which has included heels nearly everyday, playing is not practical or possible.

On Tuesday I'm sitting at the picnic table in full sun, heels, skirt, and a much too warm black long-sleeve shirt. Turner runs to me occasionally, as usual, to update me on who he is playing with and what they are doing. He keeps me abreast of who is a "friend" and who is just someone he knows or has seen or happens to know his name. Turner, like his mother, is pretty crappy at remembering names.

On this day, I'm swatting sweat bees and melting. Turner is as far from me as he can get, lurking (kind of) around a group of boys under a tree in the corner of the playground yard. I look up just in time to catch his eye, and he takes off running to me as fast as possible. Halfway there, he throws his arms wide and thrusts his chest to the sun. He flies over to me, circling this way and then that, as his feet pound the grass. I'm thinking, he's going to trip and fall because he's looking at the sky and not the ground. He gets to me, takes a big swig of water, and says, "Though those guys aren't my friends, I gave them a handy hint about life." He swigs more water and wipes sweat from his hair.

"Oh yeah. And what was that?" I ask.

"I told them that the more aerodynamic you are, the faster you can run." Another drink of water. "And I'm so glad that on the way up to you I remembered to put my head back. The chin is more aerodynamic I think." He pauses. I nod my head, unsure of what he expects me to say. If I wait long enough, he'll usually give me a hint about what my response should be. "Mom?! So what do you think?"

"About the chin thing?"

He looks at me like I'm very unintelligent, "Uh of course the chin thing. Was my flight convincing?"

"I was totally persuaded by it." He smiles.

"Good." He gives me a hug, which is all hot and sweaty and delicious. Then he says, "Well, I guess we can go now. I've done all I can do here."

All the firsts of first grade.

2011-08-17T16:40:00.000-07:00

1. Girls

The first day of school Turner made friends with three girls: Ella (who wears glasses all the time), Lilly, and ____. He sat next to Ella at lunch. The pattern was open-toed shoes next to closed-toe shoes. On day two, Turner became friends with Fiona. The lunch pattern was boy next to girl. He sat next to Fiona at lunch. After school on day two, today, Turner played for about an hour on the playground and big grassy area with trees. We were the first two on the playground after the bell rang. Another mom and her first grade son (Price, who is in T's class) came to play, but Turner was interested only in playing with the girls. He played on the swinging bridge and slide with Kamira, a girl who sat at T's table the first day of school. (She seemed really shy that day, but by day two she had lots to explain to me as we inspected shiny rocks and ants under the mulch.) A group of girls gathered under a tree in the yard, and Turner rushed over to them, and one of the girls splintered off to play with Turner. It looked like at times he and Ella were playing cheetah games. After about thirty minutes of play, running from one tree to another, lots of stealing of shoes and building some sort of nest, Ella's attention was redirected to the group of girls sitting under the tree. In her absence, Turner walked over to a couple of boys and stood shyly to the side for about five minutes. Then he walked over to the group of girls under the tree and was quickly turned away. He came to me next, with tears. He said he asked the girls if he could play their game and one of them, not Ella, said it was for girls only. As he says "girls" he draws out the "ir" and puts his hands on his hip. I responded, "Gosh. That seems silly and unfair." He agreed. I asked what happened when he tried to play with the boys, and he said, "You know, I just don't want to play with boys. I played with boys all last year and all the years since I was a baby. So this year I'm playing only with girls."

2. Ms. Alissa

Turner's teacher is about my age, and she has the most positive energy about her. Turner says she is very nice, and more than one person that I've met at the university or out in the community has described her as the "nicest" and "sweetest" teacher. Ms. Alissa hails from a family of educators; her mother and father teach at Dickson Elem, her sister teaches at Jones (kindergarten), and her brother (who passed away a few years ago) taught at Dickson Elem. The day before the first day of school, Turner and I went to meet her. She explained that she took sabbatical last year in order to study abroad (destination unknown to me), but her boyfriend became her fiancé and she stayed in Asheville instead. She said she taught because she had a passion for living, and I thought this was a thoughtful way of describing the work of educating young people. I expressed to her my respect for her work and told her something I'm sure no other parent said to her, "My son, he's very smart. He loves to read." She smiled sweetly and mooned over him while he drew a self-portrait for the bulletin board.

A few tokens that might better describe Ms. Alissa. She has a compliment jar in her classroom. When a student does something good during the day, Ms. Alissa adds a marble to the compliment jar. She can take marbles out too. Once the jar is full, there is a celebration. Turner knows of only two options so far, though Ms. Alissa says there are many, many kinds of celebration. Potential celebrations include getting recess and getting to come back in and watch a movie and getting to take your shoes off at the door and chew bubble gum all day. When I heard about this I asked Turner if it was sugar free gum and he said, "We'll have to make certain of that." As I stood in the hallway today waiting for Turner, there were children lining up along the walls and adults organizing them into bus riders, alternative transport 1 and 2. It was crazy. I stood with my mouth gaping as three women put hands on every kid and placed them in a line in a matter of one or two minutes. A well-oiled machine. I stood thinking about Aunt LaLa and what I had falsely envisioned as her bus duty; this was so much more than my assumptions. Every day hundreds of kids get shuffled out of schools and organized by transportation needs and somehow so few kids get lost, overlooked, stolen, forgotten, misdirected. More than one little boy passed me with tears in his eyes today and within a moment an adult was at his side offering reassurance: "I know where you are suppose to be, don't worry." She probably said it just like that every single time. After reading the little bus on the boys' shirts, she slid each one into the appropriate line. When Ms. Alissa opened her door, she is the first classroom in the hallway, children filed out neatly and quietly, each one stopping for a hug at the door. Every single child was hugged. My first grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson, hugged me everyday when I left too. Watching Alissa bend to every child, offering individual praise or affirmation brought on the sudden urge to cry. It just felt so sweet and absolutely perfect for my first grader. When it was Turner's turn at the door, he was surprised to see me I think, and he ran to hug me first. Then he went back and hugged Alissa. I'm not sure what she said to him, but he laughed and then came over and patted me on the leg. "It was a good day Mom. You don't even have to ask."

3. First tardy

Last year in Tucson I'm pretty sure Andy and I won the award for kid most tardy. Today, Turner and I tried desperately to leave the house on three occasions. On our first attempt at putting shoes on and going out the door, I remembered his teeth. "Did you brush your teeth?" No. So he went to brush his teeth. Not worried because it was just then 7:15 am. School starts at 7:55 am. Yesterday, as we were about to leave a 20 ounce water battle was dumped all over the dining room floor, thus delaying our leave time until 7:25 am. We made it on time yesterday. Turner came back with sparkling teeth and we put shoes on again. I reminded him of his lunch box and we get in the car. I don't have my computer (which i never even used today . . .). I rushed up the stairs and retrieved it. We drove about three minutes down the road. "T, you got your lunch box, yes?" Silence. Long silence. I looked in the rear view mirror and he had his hand over his eyes. We turned around and went back. We pulled out of the driveway at 7:40 am. I sped all the way there as I told Turner how risky this was given the amount of cops patrolling Woodfin (information courtesy of our neighbors). The fog looked beautiful over the lake, so we slowed down and took that in (40 mph). We caught a few green lights and arrived in the parking lot a minute after the bell rang. When I dropped him in Ms. Alissa's class, she smiled at me sweetly over the head of a little girl telling a big story. I helped Turner put his stuff in its spot and to make his lunch selection. All the other kids are sitting at their desk engaged in an activity. There isn't play time in the morning if you are early as was the case at Cragin Elem. T and I kissed and Ms. Alissa made eye contact again. I explained, "We forgot the lunch box." She said, "Take a deep breath." Yes, that sounded good. So I went to yoga and breathed for a solid 90 minutes.

The escalator ride.

2011-07-23T08:25:00.001-07:00

(Found this tidbit scratched in a notebook that I was cleaning out today.)

Turner and I go to the mall today so that T can interact with some kids and get some energy out while I drink a wonderful, cold soda and start planning my courses. I'm not familiar with the mall yet (and perhaps will never be . . . I mean who wants to shop at Gap when you have handmade clothes available in boutiques downtown for a decent price?!). So, we enter through a big box store, J. C. Penney, where we look for Turner some hiking shoes. He quickly lets me know he is NOT interested in shoes today, just in playing and making new friends. We move on. He spots the escalator and starts with the simple and convincing logic of a six year old, "Mom, please, can we go up the escalator just once? Only once, and then we can go to play. I haven't been on one in so long. Now that we don't need airplanes to visit people, I haven't been on a single escalator you know. I miss them. I mean, I really, really need this." I stand strong, because I know we'll go through the same conversation as we leave the mall no matter how many times I allow him to travel the escalator on our way in. A quick No with a reminder about all the friends waiting for him. He looks longingly up the escalator and then drops his head down low.

He quickly forgets his loss when we start the walk to the play area. I ask him what kinds of games he hopes to play with the other children. He says, "I don't know. But I hope there are boys there. I hope there are boys there that are my age or older. If not, we should go home to play with Liam and Oliver" [our neighbors who have parents that work during the day and, therefore, we only get about 45 minutes of play with them in after dinner but before bath time. Their mom keeps a pretty tight schedule; I'm sure she has to to ensure they all make it to work and summer camp on time.]

Turner plays for about an hour. He eats Chicks Fil E and wonders why the mall location doesn't do milkshakes. He plays for another hour. He meets more kids than he can recall names for, several of whom are older boys willing to play Pokémon or eager to chase monsters, which ended up being the boys who were younger than seven. Turner, of course, did not correct the boy who assumed Turner was seven. He just smiled really big at me when the boy thought up the monster game and said to Turner, "And you are with the big kids trying to outrun the little monsters."

As we are leaving the mall, Turner's hair sleek to his head with sweat, he tells me he is sleepy. This kind of confession never happens while the sun is still up. I laugh. He says, "Mom. It isn't funny. I wasn't making a joke."

I say, "So you think you need to go home and take a little nap so that you can be rested enough to play with Liam and Oliver tonight?"

He says, "Oh right Mom. Now that is a funny joke."

As we move slowly through the bright lights toward J.C. Penney he hangs on my arm and asks me to carry him more than once. Yet once he sees the escalator, his energy perks up and he looks at me as though to ask again, Can I? I take off running like something is on fire toward the escalator. He squeals, "Mom! Wait for me! Mom! Not fair. You have to give me a head start. Mom!" I mean, he's screaming at me loud. The grandmotherly women at the jewelry counter stare as my purse slams into something (not knocking it down, but making a loud noise). Turner never stops screaming and laughing from behind my heals, "Mom! I want to go first."

We ride the escalator until Turner decides we are finished. As we go up for one of the last trips, I smile really big and tell him I love him. He responds in his usual fashion. I'm struck in this moment by the memory of riding the escalator in the E-town mall when I was a child. Being dragged on shopping excursions with Janice and Mom was never my first choice of how to spend a perfectly good Saturday. Yet my solace was that I got to ride the escalator as much as I wanted while Mom looked at dresses, which were arranged near the up escalator. So as I'm riding the escalator with my son, who is talking a mile a minute about imagined animals and their need to ride an African shuttle to different levels of the rainforest, I am reminded that soon, much much too soon, this beautiful kid is not going to be the least bit interested in escalators. Or me, for that matter, his old mother who is not hip or interesting or whatever. Yet today, I am rewarded with a huge hug and small kiss on the nose as I open Turner's door for him. And then he says, "Mom. I loved being with you today and so glad we didn't get lost at the mall." This is a kid who has been lost every single day since our arrival in Asheville. We're learning to just roll with it and hope that within five minutes we find something familiar. If not, I ask for directions!

Mattress shopping.

2011-07-12T11:44:00.000-07:00

Turner has been upgraded to a queen size bed in our new house. He did not complain about the 3/4 bed, but we figure the larger bed will be more comfortable for guests. We threw away the mattress set for the 3/4 bed after I did the math and realized my folks bought nearly fifteen years ago.

Turner and I went mattress shopping yesterday and today, searching for the right firmness/softness for the 3/4 bed, to go in the sunroom. Turner's loved being with a distracted mom in a room full of beds that are just waiting to be bounced on. At the first store it seemed the beds called out to him. Even after I reprimanded him for jumping on the bed, he felt compelled to bounce. Though he offered an articulate distinction between bouncing and jumping that made me approach restriction more rhetorically in the second store. In it, I gave him a location where he could waller (as my grandma would call it) on all of the beds, but his feet could not leave the top of the bed. This rule doesn't allow for bouncing or jumping. Eventually, of course, he became quite creative and had his feet barely on the bed as he stretched other parts of his body to nearby mattresses. He fell a few times, which enhanced the danger I believe.

It was in this store, where they sell organic mattresses that will knock your socks off, that Turner experienced a Tempurpedic mattress. He lay down and let out this huge exhale, "Ahhhhhhhh!" The only other customer, thankfully, was a grandmother-type and she laughed so hard at his innocence and personality.

"Oh Mom. You gotta try this one. Oh my goodness. This feels SO good. Oh Mom, come on now. Lay on this one."

I stretch out beside him, my fiftieth mattress in two days. It does feel good, but not nearly as awesome as the $4000 organic set. But, I like soft.

"Wow. This feels great. I think this is the kind of mattress PK and Mer have."

He shoots out of the bed like lightning. "WHAT! They have this mattress at home?"

"I think so. I mean, their set is huge though. Like a king size."

"No way!" Total disbelief. I laugh.

"Um, yeah."

He climbs off the bed and we walk to the door. "Well I just. must. spend the night there sometime with Uncle Pat Pat's bed."

Car ride comedy.

2011-07-12T11:10:00.001-07:00

In my journal 6/16/11 I started a list of Turner colloquialisms experienced on the move back east, day one. It reads:

Me: "How's your Zbar?"

T: "Disgustingly yummy." [phonetic representation is Dis kuuus ting lee yuu uh uh uh uh UH mee] Z bar, by the way, is a protein bar with only organic ingredients. Great source of iron and calcium too. They taste really great, as a bonus.

As we are leaving Sedona, which was such a wonderful good bye to Arizona, Andy and I are pointing out beautiful red rocks jutting up out of the earth on both sides of the highway. We move roundabout to roundabout winding toward the interstate, captivated by the rugged landscape. Andy asks Turner, "Do you want to go to the painted desert?"

T responds, "No. I don't want to see anymore beautiful stuff." He sighs loudly, and then we sit in silence for several miles. Then he shouts out as though stung by a bee, "Oh!" He points out the window and sing songs with a big smile, "how pretty."

We're passing Lotawatah Road in Oklahoma. The interstate passes over a lake with a lot of water (lotawatah). Turner asks, Is that water from ____[can't remember what name of a city he offered]___. I respond, "Yes." He says matter of fact, "oh well then that's definitely crocodile creek." He nods his head up and down.

As we drive through Oklahoma, our surroundings get greener. Grass shows up. Trees are tall with leaves. The sandy reddish clay is replaced by dark dirt. From silence Turner shouts out, "Hey. This is the route to my cousin's house!"

Day two, we get into Arkansas. Just as we cross the state line, Turner asks, "Where's a pirate's favorite place to hang out? In ARRRkansas." I asked Andy to write this in my journal. He also added, "This comes from our last night in town sitting at the kitchen table with the Juárez / Kirkpatrick clan telling pirate jokes." Kilan, Cielo, and Turner have entertained us so often at that kitchen table.

Our journey east was short and pleasant. It was not in the least tainted by the misfortune plaguing our move west. We're moving home, so I think we got some lucky breaks this time. Turner, as usual, was an interesting conversationalist and patient car-rider. We left Tucson Wednesday and arrived in Sedona that night in time to grab two glasses of wine and pack a snack for the sunset. We left mid morning and drove until we reached Oklahoma City, stopping to pee only when we had need for fuel. In the car it was a perpetual cycle of food. I made sandwiches to order and provided a rotating selection of healthy and sweet snacks. We drew pictures. We talked about memories. We read stories and stories and stories. I wrote. Andy drove. During the nine hours I drove during the 29 hour trip, Andy slept. We visited the Oklahoma City memorial and took the time and space to talk with Turner about this aspect of American history. We stopped in Albuquerque to eat at a pub Marissa and Todd took us to when our families went snow skiing together. We drove until 11 pm when we finally arrived at Dugantown Estates. Nanny was on the couch waiting as usual.

Movie gratitude.

2011-06-03T17:13:00.000-07:00

The discount cinema near our house offers two free movies each weekday, screened at 10 am. Turner and I watched Furry Vengeance on Thursday. He was allowed to eat as much candy as he wanted. He selected red vines. Later in the day he was getting his teeth cleaned and sparkly sealants put on, which, according to dad, restricts the kinds of candy he can have from now on. Something about the sealants chipping. He came out of the movie with red cheeks, lips the shade of Sunset Blvd lipstick, and red splotches all over his Star Wars t-shirt. As the credits started rolling, Turner and I gathered our water bottles and candy wrappers. He was the first kid out the cinema door. I walked through the door as he held it, thanked him, and opened the next door for him. Several children walked through, but not Turner. I peered around the corner and saw him holding the door open for the traffic train pouring out of the cinema. So, I went back to the second door and held it open for others. Keep in mind, this was a free movie for children. There were grandparents there with seven and ten kids. Play groups. Moms with a small football team. The cinema was packed. Turner held the door until the last person walked through, and it took awhile. Then he walked to me with a huge smile on his face.

"That was pretty thoughtful Turner."

"Just holding the door open." We made our way toward the front door.

"How many folks said thank you?" I ask.

"Just one. A kid." No one said thank you as they passed by me.

"Wow."

"Oh, and you. You said thank you."

"I did."

"Yeah. That's really bad isn't it?"

"I noticed your good deed. And I think it was awesome."

"Yeah. And manners will get to anywhere, right?" This is what Andy and I continue to drill in his head. Good manners open lots of doors.

Summer vacation day one.

2011-05-31T20:39:00.000-07:00

Heading out to Tohono Chul Park. We had not been before, and man have we been missing out!

The map of the grounds. We experienced about 10% of the 52 acres.

Pigeon enjoying Tohono Chul Children's Park.

Turner trying hard to not get wet.

Margot trying her best to not get wet.

A flying bug eating a crawling bug. It took nearly an hour.

Checking out a lizard next to the wall.

The three chose different animals to be, and these choices rotated. Sometimes Turner was a ferocious attack bird. Other times he was a tranquil turtle.

One of my favorite aspects of public education.

2011-05-26T07:42:00.000-07:00

The diversity at Turner's school is remarkable, and one of our favorite aspects of his Cragin school experience. Andy and I have spent nearly all, okay all, of our public education surrounded by teachers, other students, administrative faculty, and/or other workers at the school that shared our race and had cultural practices more like our families' than not. At Turner's school he remains a member of the white majority, but he has the luxury of a range of racial identities and diverse cultural traditions from which to experience the world and learn.

Cragin's final school event happened when Nanny, Pa Pa, and Aunt Amy were here for my graduation. Perfect timing. In preparation for the culture festival, each classroom selected (or was assigned, not sure which) a culture (not a country) to study. Students were exposed to historical texts, folklore, traditional music or musical ceremonies, foods, art, and guest speakers (when available). Each classroom spent weeks reading about the selected culture and they were expected to reproduce more than a few cultural practices of art, music, food, and/or horticulture. The Rainbow Room studied Mexican culture. Turner doubled his Spanish vocabulary and brought home some great stories in the folklore tradition. He learned a traditional Mexican dance and performed two songs sung in Spanish at an assembly the night of the culture festival, captured in the video below. Each classroom provided an authentic food associated with their chosen culture and displayed all the children's projects during the learning unit.

Turner showed us first, with such pride, his bark art. The medium is bark and the tool is pastels. We'll be framing this one for our new house.

Next, he showed us his fish picture, which is related to los pescaditos, one of the songs kindergarteners performed at the assembly.

He posed first, then told us the story about the little fish. In his aquatic scene, he included a squid, an octopus, two swordfish fighting (the black in the middle), a sea horse, a star fish on a rock ("like the one me and Kilan saw in Mexico, though this one is five armed and not one hundred armed like the Mexico one"), and a fish we can't remember its name ("you know, the one we saw on Artic Tale that has the horn that comes up out of the water so that he can test the temperature of the air").

Turner performed some music for us, showing off all that he'd learned in trio this year, and then we headed off to the assembly.

Look how pimp he is with his hand low on Margot's hip (she's a Catalina preschool friend).

Margot's bark art picture.

In addition to some sweet smelling food and great music, we received leis and other festive attire.

The kindergarten report card.

2011-05-26T07:41:00.001-07:00

It goes without saying, though I'm going to write it, kindergarten teaches valuable life lessons. In such a short time, Turner has learned to read: first letters, then sounds, next words, and now sentences. He went to school knowing how to count. Now he can do addition, subtraction in his head. He's learned to write, going from a sweet song for spelling his name to being able to write sentences with punctuation that implies a level of intonation. I'm impressed with how much he has learned, how exceptional our experience with a neighborhood school in Tucson, and how willingly Turner has approached the task of school. He's excited to share with us the skills and ideas he learns, with some prompting. He takes away the obscure facts related to the topic of conversation, kind of like Andy. So he can tell you lots of stuff about bats, oxygen, spiders, for example, but then he can always wow you with a little tid bit. Did you know that grey spiders lay 114 eggs at a time? Also, there once was a dinosaur the size of a chicken named Saltopus. Did you know that it could outrun the larger dinosaurs on its short bird-like legs? Did you know that the tarantula hawk (which I think we trapped in our kitchen window last week) got its name because, it lays a single egg on the back of a tarantula. Once it hatches the egg eats the tarantula for several days while it mutates into a wasp. It has bright orange wings that are much larger than its body, like a hawk. We've all learned a lot in kindergarten. We're so proud that Turner's desire to read has made him even more interested in learning. He sees the use of school and, therefore, has put his school time to good use. This, at least, is the message from Ms. Cipolla. She writes,

"Turner is a wonderful student who grasps concepts very quickly. His excellent work is a reflection of his attitude and effort. He has been a consistently well-behaved, responsible student who has demonstrated mastery of all basic kindergarten skills. His penchant for out-of-the-box thinking has earned him entry into the GATE program where I'm sure he will flourish. It has been refreshing to have a student who is totally invested in his own learning. Please encourage Turner to keep his work neat, paying close attention to the proper grip of his pencil/crayon (we've worked on that the whole year!) With his keen sense of humor and responsible attitude toward school, Turner will be a welcome addition to any first grade classroom. I will miss him greatly! Have a wonderful summer break!"

I feel like Turner was the teacher's pet. This stinks for the other kids who might not have gotten as much of her positive attention, but Ms. Cipolla helped us to cultivate a little fire this year. When we get home from school, he asks me to read his report card to him. So I explain the columns (semester 1 and 2), the rows of information (assessment categories), and the rating scale (1-4). He reviews the numerical data that places him in the top of his learning cohort. We talk about what a big responsibility intelligence and the ability to learn is. How exciting it is to get to attend a good school, and how important it will be this summer to exercise our brains. We get to the bottom of the progress report where absences and tardies are listed. Parental assessment. 9 absences. 13 tardies. Ouch! [On the second to last day of school Turner was mad because he didn't get a certificate for never being tardy. I wondered, at that moment, how many tardies does Turner have? Five or six, maybe. I mean, usually, I rush him in the door and the attendance clerk looks to the ceiling and says, "Run," which doesn't count as a tardy.]

Nine absences includes several unauthorized field trips. There were three days in Mexico where we saw the amazing hundred arm starfish, ate the insides out of a whole fish, and watched marine life while snorkeling, not to mention all those Wii manual dexterity exercises. Two days of calling in sick, see "I must confess . . ." entry. One day to travel to the bluegrass state for holiday break. Two days to tour San Diego Zoo and the USS Midway with CiCi and D. One day for the desert museum with Nanny, PaPa, and Aunt Amy. Now the thirteen tardies, that's a different story. Mostly it involves me and/or Andy wanting just a little more sleep. Once it was a forgotten lunchbox.

On the second to last day of school Turner walked out with this huge envelope of goodies to read and admire. I include some of his favorites.

First, the writing journal.
A baby parrot looks like it[s] mom. Spelled as: A babee perit locs like it mom.

I like to go to the park. I like to go with my dad. Spelled as: I like to go to the porek. I like to go wif my dad.

I am thankful for my water turtle. My turtle is black. Spelled as: I am thankful for my watr trdl. My trdl is black.

A butterfly can flap. Spelled as is.

If I was a cowboy I would rest a cow. Spelled as: If I wus a cowboy I wod rest a cow.

They did not find the dog at home. They found it at [on the back] the park [spelled "the pork."].

I was fishing when the monster totmey on the shoulder [spelled "sholdr" on the back].

I want to be a marine biologist when I grow up Spelled as: "I want to be a mreeen biyolalist win I growe up."

A snowman, "Take me to Mount Lemmon."

A mother's day campus tour.

2011-05-09T14:56:00.000-07:00

F A M I L Y

Turner and I went to campus to hang out for mother's day. There are museums, art installations, climbing sculptures, fountains, and plenty of other distractions, and parking is free on the weekends. It was a lovely day for a long stroll, imaginative play, and iced treats. Since there was a baseball game starting not long after we arrived on campus, parking was not as easy as expected. But, we prevailed and found a spot in a parking garage basement. It was half way between the Planetarium and the turtle pond, so it felt meant to be. We started on our adventure with a camera, several plastic zoo animals, a long sleeve shirt for Mom, a water bottle filled with ice, a notebook, a pencil, a stuffed deer, and zero snacks. Turner and I do not usually travel without snacks. . .
Our first official stop was at the fountain sculptures in the Women's Plaza of Honor, just outside the anthropology building. It is one of many quiet spots to rest on campus to be meditative and listen to wind in the trees and water moving. Turner and I tried to capture a picture of a hummingbird that was drinking from the water. It hung around for a long time, but it was moving about so quickly we never got it on camera. Turner finished our water bottle and asked again why I didn't bring even one little cheese stick.

Turner's new friend Hooves traveled with us. He also calls him Deery or, perhaps, Deerie. He wasn't particular about the spelling. It is a nickname, though I figure this out only after four hours of talking politely to a stuffed deer. You'll notice above that Hooves is stuffed safely in Turner's shirt, throughout the day, this became the special place "like a pouch on kangaroos so my sweet deery can share my heartbeat." We did just watch a movie about mammals, so he's really in tune with how different kinds of animals care for their young. In this picture, Turner is instructing Hooves on crossing-the-street protocol.

Showing off his silly band.

Another formative Turner/Hooves moment. Hooves, it seems, was ran over more than once by some "insensitive driver" who broke both of his back legs and then laughed at him. Turner was having an angry moment, telling Hooves how unfair life can be. "I know," he said after a long period of silence, "it just seems like it doesn't make sense. But sometimes you get to be the right one and sometimes you get to be the wrong one."

We walked and walked along Park Avenue thinking we'd encounter the turtle pond. After I asked two random people who knew nothing about the turtle pond, Turner caught up with a young woman who was rushing down the street and said, "My mom and I are looking for the turtle pond. I've been there before, but she hasn't. Have you heard of it? There is a big tree on its side."

The young woman pointed us in the correct direction. We pass Main Gate Square and the rose garden.

On one side of the gate you come into the university near the turtle pond and Old Main (the oldest building on campus; the previous administration building, of course). On the other side of the gate is University boulevard where there are tons of shops (urban outfitters, american apparel, thrift stores), fancy and not so fancy eateries, coffee shops, hair boutiques, and the Cereal boxx (they sell every kind of cereal you can imagine). After we cross the street, again, Turner remembers the way. He takes off running and leads us straight to the turtle pond.

There are more than a dozen differently sized "Finx" turtles in the pond. One that is not much bigger than our very own Finx the sheriff.

Dragon Fly. We also took pictures of a hummingbird drinking from a fountain (though it flew away before the photo snapped) and a lizard with blue on it (which was scared off by young girls before the photo snapped).

Turner standing on the sideways tree.

After our long journey to the turtle pond, we were ready to relax a bit. We took notes about how the pond was designed so that we could replicate this for Finx in a few years. He'll grow to be 12 inches AT LEAST, total news to us until about two weeks ago. Yes, responsible pet ownership means not going into a reptile store uninformed. We love Finx, which is good because he lives three or four decades with proper care. After we'd had enough relaxation and 90 degree temps, we walked to the Student Union and had Eeegee's and a bagel (that was so stale, but apparently okay for Turner and his one front tooth).

Sun Dial at the Planetarium

At the Planetarium we toured the mineral museum and saw tons of "crystals" and other elements from the periodic table. We played games. We anxiously awaited the 2:30 pm laser show.

Turner roughed me up in this game more than once. The logic behind winning is pretty simple, and yet felt difficult for me to execute against Turner, who always gets to go first.

More brainteasers.

The heat sensor camera was a huge hit. And when an old friend from preschool, Noah, showed up, the dance party was on. Moms, a grandma, a grandpa, and three little boys shaking it.

The Stars Wars trooper ship (pretty sure I'm getting that language incorrect) as it gets ready for take off. He is securing bolts and "double triple checking all this stuff."

Two funny stories (I carried a notebook with me to capture anything I could). First, we are on our way to the turtle pond. Turner is climbing the rock wall with a little assistance. Once he's up, I walk to the end of the block. He yells to me, "Mom. If we were at the beach and you were looking as beautiful as you are today I'd call you a beach angel." He laughs and laughs. This sounds super sweet, but just wait.

"What is a beach angel? That sounds familiar."

"Oh come on Mom. Don't you remember from the last Amazing Race? A beach angel?" He throws his hands into the air expressing a perplexed tone. I shake my head in confusion and he continues, "It was on a commercial. Remember the girl who built the huge sand castle and her brother turned a stick with a float-y on the end of it into a metal detector [I notice now, he has a stick in his hand as though it is a metal detector]. It looked like it shouldn't work, but it did. And the dad said to the mom, 'our boy is a genius.' And the mom agreed. Then the dad kissed her and said, 'You beach angel.'" [Sunday night as Andy, T, and I watch The Amazing Race, this very commercial comes on and Turner and I start laughing. It was just as he relayed it.]

On our way back from the turtle pond, and strangely, in the same spot as the previous story, Turner yells to me, "Mom you know what would make a great fertilizer for these trees?"

"What?"

He smiles. A student walks down the sidewalk past Turner, who is climbing on the rock fence. The student smiles at Turner, and then Turner smiles at me, "I must whisper it to you," he yells.

So I walk to where he is and he whispers, "Dried leaves and chicken poop." He giggles, "I mean, I didn't want to yell poop in that other guy's ear you know." After a moment we talked about earthworm farming that Mr. Anderson educated us on a few weeks ago. He has a friend in Asheville that is an earthworm farmer.

The laser show, which was the real purpose of going to campus today, was kind of a let down, but I loved our time there. It was pop music and a bunch of laser images dancing around; clip art representing song lyrics is what it felt like. And these song lyrics aren't particularly deep and meaningful. There was also fake fog so Turner was sneezing and my eyes were watering. We were trapped for forty minutes. There were periods of dancing in our seat, but less than halfway through the show Turner put his head in my lap. Twenty minutes in he was sitting in my lap with his head resting on my chest, which is a difficult thing to do given that my lap seems to be shrinking. His legs were heavy on my knees, his feet stretched all the way across the adjacent seat, his shoulders barely fit in the bend of my arm, and his head pushed up under my chin. It was like he'd grown an inch since we last sat this way. Therefore, I loved the laser show, if for no other reason than I got some quality cuddling with a semi-sleepy boy who is usually too busy to sit down and relax once in awhile.

Illustrator, Turner.

2011-05-01T19:56:00.001-07:00

Today, Turner is waiting at the kitchen table for me to finish unloading the dishwasher so that we can play Gobble it (a cool game the Andersons sent to Turner for his birthday). He entertains himself with a pad of sticky notes, a pencil, and some colored pencils. As he completes one sticky note, he attaches it the others to form a comic strip. Once he finishes the drawings and has them assembled in a particular order, he brings them over to me and shares the story. I slam the rest of the dishes back in the dishwasher, dry my hands, and I ask him to repeat the story while I type it up. For your enjoyment, "Star Hero Land."

Up at the top there is a super hero star.

Right below him there is the evil goblin.

Right below that is the ground where the bird is searching for her hatching babies.

Under that is underground where the scorpions and rattlesnakes are hiding until dawn.

I ask, "What happens at dawn."

He replies, "It is too hot in the desert for them to come out in the day time so they hide out until night."

I reply, "But dawn is morning time."

He says, "No, I mean the NIGHT time of dawn. Fireflies come out right after dawn."

I try again, "No I think you mean dusk."

He relents, "Yeah. Right after dusk. And under that is the Earth's core where there is warming lava for a volcano waiting to erupt."

He continues, "And then say One part above the Earth's core you will see a volcano where the mother bird continues to search for her hatching babies."

I inquire, "How'd she lose her babies?"

"They fell out of the tree limb. Then say The volcano will erupt and you can see cracks as a sign of it erupting. The End. Narrator Turner. Author Turner. What is the narrator?"

I reply, "Tells the story."

"Oh, well who is the person who draws the pictures?"

"The illustrator."

"Oh OK. Illustrator and narrator Turner. Author Amanda."

"Transcriptionist maybe."

"Sure. Whatever."

I beat him twice in Gobble It! and he beats me twice. It was an honest battle. The game is more than strategy; it also demands a lot of attention (my weakness).

Loving the Earth, one tooth at a time.

2011-04-24T10:34:00.000-07:00

Turner was out of school two days in February for rodeo, which leaves only three days for spring break in April. TUSD students took off Thursday, Friday of last week and this coming Monday. I have tons of pictures, and I'll update the blog once I can get them posted. LIFE can't keep up with the blog right now, and it is such a wonderful thing!

Wednesday--School Earth Day Celebration

Turner's class and their 3rd grade reading buddies took a field trip to a local park in celebration of Earth Day. Turner's buddy is Sharmila. Watching her interact with Turner is a real treat. He sings her praises often, and she totally deserves it all. She is so patient with him and gentle in redirecting him when he gets too excited and loses control a bit (a problem common to field trips for all of the kinders). She kept a hand on his shoulder just about the entire day when they were suppose to be working together. And, she is gorgeous. Turner says she makes his stomach float about a little.

At the park, parents created four stations and the students circulated. They designed Earth Day t-shirts (Turner's says "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle"). They also created recycling badges/necklaces and planted a flower (Turner's is a marigold). The main event, though, was the tower building contest where the Kinder and 3rd grade buddy worked together to build the tallest tower of recyclable goods. There were SO many options for constructing the tower, and the students were instructed to think critically about their design. Our family sent four bags of goods we saved in ONE weekend; I was amazed by the amount of trash we keep out of the landfill by recycling. Turner's group did not win the contest, but he told me "It was a learning experience."

I agreed that learning was the only experience we needed anyway, and then I teased him and said, "We win at life every single day."

He got serious, hugged me and said, "We sure do Mom. We sure do."

All the cool kids at school have lunchables. Andy and I have battled this from the beginning. We have explained to Turner that eating what others eat doesn't make it a good choice. Turner is educated about food and the importance of different colors in your diet. He knows about Red 40. We talk about what different kinds of food do for the body, carrots for the eyes, apples for the fiber, brussel sprouts for the phtyochemicals, and things like that. Turner makes good choices, and he enjoys, as we do, the treats, like Skittles, that are chocked full of cancer-causing agents. The ingredients in lunchables reflect a hodgepodge of fourteen letter made-in-a-lab food products. It is disturbing, but we agree that one shouldn't kill him. The last field trip that I went on, Turner turned to me during lunch and said, "See Mom. He gets the pizza lunchables." So, in preparation for his Earth Day field trip, Andy and I select a pizza lunchable. The one without the fake fruit juice and the dessert. We provide our own versions: Capri Sun (which seems less fake because it doesn't lie about being a fruit juice) and caramels for dessert. At lunch, of course, Turner is disappointed that he didn't get the whole lunchable package. A little at a time, son, I tell him, and he accepts this without argument.

I ran swing detail for an hour or so. Some of the kids still have this baby way of talking. (You know all those cute mispronunciations that Turner has so few of now. Sigh.) I'm called "Turner's Mom," but they all have a different way of pronouncing it. Some leave off the apostrophe. Others say Turner's name with a really long "u." One kid called me Tía, and that made me feel important and cool. At one point, I had five kids taking up two swing sets, and I'm shuffling down and back pushing them all. At a certain point, they all started laughing and yelling, "Turner's Mom," over and over hoping that I would speed up. I was a little relieved when we had to gather the kids for a group picture.

We took about twenty pictures and I doubt any of us got a single photo with all the children looking in the same direction.

Thursday--College Day with Toothless

For about two weeks, potential UA students and their parents have been taking up all the sidewalk space and moving slowly. Since Marissa and I had to teach on Thursday, we switched off some childcare and brought both boys to explore campus. I took the first shift. We played football and danced a bit on the mall. Then we drew pictures of cheetahs and black leopards and colored in the doodle book from CiCi. Once these fun and games were over, we walked to the planetarium to explore and to climb in, what Turner calls, the "church" windows (they are stained glass and have ramps that the boys climb and pretend are dens in the African desert).

During Marissa's shift, she took Turner to get a bagel for a snack (because he doesn't like their strawberry jelly so he wouldn't eat the PB&J she packed for him). The first bite into the bagel and Turner yells out to Marissa. "My tooth! My tooth!" She said he spit his bite of bagel out and the tooth fell between the cracks of the table to the floor. For about fifteen minutes, Marissa (in her skirt and teacher clothes), Kilan, and Turner crawled around on hands and knees searching for the lost front tooth. For weeks and weeks this tooth has hung by a thread (or nerve or whatever). Andy and Turner have spent more than a few nights sprawled out on the bathroom floor "working it" in hopes that the tooth would come loose. Nope. It totally waited until Marissa was alone with the boys in the middle of campus. After much fanfare, the tooth was discovered and tucked neatly into a napkin and secured into a snadwich baggy. After all that, Turner treated Kilan to some Eeegee's, and they all walked to the turtle pond. It is amazing the resources on UA's campus. I'm consistently amazed by the exhibits, installations, artwork, and natural landscapes created to entertain those who find themselves on campus.

After I shoo my students out of the classroom, I took off running to the car in the garage (trying to save myself $1. And, you know what, it didn't work. Someday I'll realize that one dollar is not worth so much trouble. I mean, I easily give $5 to bums on the street, and then nearly kill myself trying to save $1 at the parking garage. Whatever. . .). My students submitted on Thursday their public arguments. Many of them did digital presentations using Prezi, YouTube, and video editing software. Others stuck with the 3rd grade mentality of science projects: glue, poster board, and some streamers. I have five of these to carry. Two of them are trifold cardboard. The other three are posters. One has baby balloons attached to it, streamers hanging off, and something made a noise (it is an argument for sex selection procedures in favor of preventing life-long illnesses). I also had my big bag with 25 writing portfolios in it and my teaching materials. I was weighed down. The car was far away. I thought, of course, No worries. I totally can make it if I run. So I ran, or tried to.

Don't forget the tons of parents touring the university and the disinterested students asking foolish questions about what kinds of food were on campus and how easy it is to get basketball tickets. In these tours, they'll tell you anything so that the university can suck parents' pocketbooks dry with tuition, fees, and the millions of dollars needed to keep kids in the appropriate ranks of other fashionistas driving Range Rovers. The sidewalks near the Physics building, empty. No one cares about the amazing work that physicists are doing on campus. So I easily galloped down the street with all this baggage, at least at first. A balloon flew off at some point. A kind-hearted Latina chased after me to give me the little mylar balloon, which I quickly threw in the garbage (seriously, how rhetorical are these baby shower decorations when your selected audience was research professionals?!). When I got to the sidewalk by the library, pretty empty. As I passed the all-night grill with greasy hamburgers and fries, the parents and prospective students form a wall. I said excuse me and tried to maneuver between them. They were all listening intently to their guide, who was explaining that the salad bar has shorter hours. I tried again, Excuse me, and one father-type said, Oh I'm sorry. Looks like you have your hands full. I smile, Yes I do. And in a hurry. He steps aside just as the mother-type turned to walk and she bumped face to face into me. I dropped the trifold cardboard and the other baby balloon dropped into the street. A car ran over it, there was a soft pop, and parents jerked their heads around as though a gun went off (it was a tiny little pop of a sound). I gathered my students' works, again, and stepped into the street trying to avoid the throng of people. A car honked loudly at me (it is at my backside and I was not paying attention). I yelled, Sorry. He honked again, as though to tell me to get out of the street (there is a line at the light, so I'm really not preventing him from doing anything except waiting in line). Yeah, I scream, you think this is easy? He honked again just to let me know who had the power in the situation, and I tried to wave at him in a smarty pants kind of way. In so doing, I dropped a poster board (it is actually three poster boards taped together to make a banner in support of teacher unions). I got myself out of the street, dragging the super long posterboard behind me. I got all the materials organized again and took off jogging to the parking garage only to arrive two minutes past the hour.

Turner and I spent the rest of our day relaxing at the house, eating snacks, and avoiding any kind of work.

Friday--Engineering Design

For his birthday, Turner received a K'Nex rollercoaster. You put the track together and then a battery-powered rollercoaster can soar up and down and go through a loopty loop. He thinks it looks like the rollercoaster we rode at Leggo Land, and I suppose it kind of does. Turner and I have worked on it a bit at a time. It has sat on the kitchen table for weeks in a state of semi-complete. On Friday, we decided it was time to complete our project. We worked on it. We had lunch. We worked on it. We constructed the bar that works as a pulley to propel the rollercoaster. We discovered we are missing one grey piece. It looks like a washer, except thicker. It is extremely important to how the coaster functions. We looked for it and looked for it. In fact, looking for things has become the new hobby in our house. Lost stuff is a symptom of a disorderly house. And we've got some serious disorder issues. Andy lost his keys (and still hasn't found those), other things on the lost list include: an envelope of money meant for San Francisco trip (update: recovered this in our wedding cookbook, a perfect hiding spot for it!), a nonfiction library book, actually several books spread among three family members, and now this grey piece. The rollercoaster sits nearly constructed on the kitchen table, and Turner and I head out for the English Graduate Union social. We skip the meeting because we're just in it for the free food.

At Auld Dubliner, Turner worked with me and others to construct an ATV out of Leggos. It is pretty swanky. We ate as many tater tots as we could, and then we headed home to read books in bed for a couple of hours. Bed jumping extravaganza got us in the mood for the night's slumber.

Saturday--Another Earth Day Celebration

I had a baby shower to attend at 2 pm, so Andy and Turner went downtown to the children's Earth Day celebration. The Capoeira group that Marissa and Todd are affiliated with hosted some special events. Kilan and a few of our friends' kids performed acrobatic stunts they practice each week in the kids Capoeira class. Adults worked with the little ones, Turner included, to show off some cool moves and acrobats. There were adult performers who wowed the crowd, and then the kids used recycled goods to make arts and crafts. T came home with two masks and now we have "scare" contests. It is a great stress reliever to make such mean noises while protected by a wicked looking milk jug.

When the men returned, Turner helped me work up some pizza dough for dinner. Andy and I made calzones, stuffed full of our favorite toppings, and Turner dressed his no sauce cheese pizza. We had a picnic in front of the TV. When Andy and I sat down to eat, we realized just how tired we were. Then our bellies got full. Then there was wine. Then Turner says, "Hey! What about our Easter eggs."

Oh yeah. So we went into the kitchen, pulled out tea cups, and dyed some eggs. We failed to take pictures, but we had some really creative ones with multiple layers of color.

Sunday--Our Easter in the Desert

Turner woke up to easter eggs hidden throughout the house. He spent a good deal of time locating and popping open the 22 eggs Master/Mistress Easter Bunny hid for him. He opened his Easter basket: Cheetos, Baseball Packet of Bubble Gum, a three-pack of Layers of Flavor, Peeps, Cadbury egg, a new Bionicle, and plenty of chocolate bird eggs and jolly ranchers.

Turner built his Bionicle with little to no help from Andy or I, and I am struck again by how much he knows, how independent he tries to be, and how lucky we are. At one point, I looked at facebook, checking out Easter egg hunt pictures of my friends and family. Turner leaned over my shoulder and said something like, "Wow. Look at all those kids together. That would be fun." I smiled, "Those aren't just a bunch of kids. They are all cousins. This is their family Easter event." He got quiet. I pulled him to my lap and said, "You know next year, we'll get to be with our family to celebrate Easter. All your cousins will come together and hunt eggs with you. You'll do it all day. Hide and find. We'll eat dinner together. Have dessert. It is a big celebration."

He smiled, and nestled his head on my shoulder, "That will be nice. I bet my cousins like hiding eggs too."

Andy had to work a day shift, so Turner and I walked Fourth Avenue much of the day. We ventured in and out of thrift stores, looked in the windows of stores closed for the holiday, danced a bit to the sidewalk musicians, had a long conversation about a man down on his luck (relayed below), talked briefly with the man who was down on his luck, and had a great lunch sitting in front of the fish tank giving each fish an exotic name and life story.

Just after we parked, Turner and I stepped on to the sidealk and a dark man was standing on the corner. He asked me for fifty cents and I opened up my change purse and gave him all that I had. I told him Happy Easter, and he returned this. We talked a bit about how we were away from our families on this holiday after Turner told him, "This isn't our usual Easter celebration. But we need Derby Hats."

I explained what the Derby is, and the guy laughed, "Man. Horse racing makes some huge money."

"Yeah," I said. "I think horse racing generates a lot of money in many different ways for the state."

He said, "It sure is expensive to keep a horse."

"Yeah. I bet." The guy thanked us, and we moved on in search of Derby hats. In the last store we tried, we found a perfect hat for me. HUGE and purple. I have a lot of work to do in order to prepare it for Saturday, but I can't wait to show it off. Turner, after trying on a million hats, decided, "I don't care a bit about a Derby hat. I thought it might be fun, but this is too much work. I'll just wear my regular head to Crystal and Brad's party. Okay?" Sure thing.

After lunch we headed home to pick up around the house a bit. While at lunch, we decided to have an Easter party, so Turner and I texted our friends and made the plans. At 5:30, Andy was home from work and not long after our friends--Marissa, Todd, Kilan, Erica, and Rob--came over. The adults hid 67 eggs inside and outside and, surprising to us all, the kids found every single one of them. And we had some great hiding places (an egg I hid in the living room under the lamp was the last egg found). After egg hunting, we fired up the grill and prepared eight or nine kinds of veggies including different kinds of squash, onions, two kinds of peppers, corn, and brussel sprouts. The roasted and grilled vegetables were put over this beautiful salad Marissa made with nuts and skanky cheeses; it was delicious. Andy and Rob, the only two eating meat, grilled pork chops. The boys had vegetarian corn dogs. It was a great party that came together with only three text messages. The promise and peril of digitized human interaction.

Pima Canyon hike.

2011-04-23T18:45:00.000-07:00

Sunday, Turner and I went for a hike at Pima Canyon. The trail has lots of rocks and climbing, and there are plenty of places to get out of the sun and enjoy a snack. We have only one car, so we dropped Andy off for his 10 AM shift a bit early, and Turner and I made our way to the trailhead on Ina. The heat was pouring into the canyon already, but a late start was better than sitting around all Sunday waiting for Dad to get off work and being bored.

" U of L thumbs up"

The hike got hot fast. I pushed Turner to make it thirty minutes in before we stopped for the first snack. A cheese stick for him. I had some craisins and walnuts roasted with honey.

This photo has not been edited to make him look taller. He really is this big.

All the spring cacti were in bloom and the flowers were bright against the brown desert.

The second snack spot. Turner and I climbed up on the slanted rock. I have pictures of he and Andy on this same rock, which were taken months ago when we last did this hike.

We made it to the lunch spot where we relaxed in the shade with several other hiking groups. Turner and I shared an apple and finished off all of our other snacks. One woman, who was 72 years old, said she and her husband have been hiking this trail every New Year's Day since they were in their forties!

At the second to last snack spot, which didn't actually include food, Turner found a huge rock that was sitting so straight up that it worked as a slide. I was surprised he was so brave (without any encouragement) to climb to the top. It was a tall rock. Then he said, "Watch this," and he raised his feet and slid quickly to the base of the rock.

At the top.

Preparing to slide down one last time.

As we walked back to the trailhead, Turner told everyone we passed (probably ten groups of hikers), "You better have plenty of water. We're getting into the heat of the day you know." And boy was it hot. After three hours of hiking, we were so glad to be heading home to ice cream and cool showers.

The view from Campbell Avenue on a Thursday.

2011-04-14T11:50:00.000-07:00

I have taken time to notice some beautiful sunsets in my short life (sunrises, not so much, but perhaps as I grow older I'll see more of these). When I was a kid, we often caught the beginnings of the sunset as we pulled our tired and sun-burned bodies off the lake. While the adults packed up gear, tied stuff up, and yelled for us to help, I'd often be lost in the evolving colors of the sky watching as the sun dipped closer to the tree-filled banks around Dale Hollow. I've enjoyed many late afternoons--sitting alone, with my dad, or with Turner--watching the sun dip below the corn field behind my parents' house. Andy proposed at sunset. I just love this time when the day is going out and the night is coming in and all the world is shifting it seems. I take great joy in finding time to enjoy the sunset regularly. Turner and I have an ideal spot to watch Tucson sunsets where the view is unobstructed by power lines, houses, and people. It is quite a drive, but Frost is near and we ususally consider gelato a good enough excuse to burn fossil fuels.

As usual, we packed a picnic with fancy glasses for drinking our juice. Turner hiked around while I took a couple of pictures and cleaned up our dinner. Then he sat in my lap and we watched the last fifteen minutes together. The entire sky opened up; the mountains glowed; the sun created a breathtaking medley of reds, oranges, and yellows just as the full moon popped up behind us. It was perhaps our most beautiful sunset. Sadly, the camera needed a new battery so we got few pictures. I wasted most of its juice taking pictures of a sleeping Turner (who caught a power nap on our drive up the mountain).

Ankles crossed.

A photo essay by Turner.

2011-04-12T22:36:00.000-07:00

A photo essay by Turner Klapheke

"My Tucson Home"

03/28/11

Tattoo

Close Up: Tree

The Climbing Rocks

Close up: Tree 2

This tree fell during a wind storm this winter.

Noland's place.

Expressionist photography. Tree hugging rock.

"Hey Mom. Take my picture while I drink (a.k.a. spit in) this water bottle."

Shadows.

Now, shadow puppets.
Rose bush.

The mom pose.

The space-superhero-saving-the-people-from-lava pose.

Off to the zoo.

2011-03-25T14:46:00.001-07:00

This is a "preaching to the choir" kind of blog. Before I begin the sermon-like part, I want to address you, the choir. There is bias here; an overwhelming love for Turner affects how you interpret all the stories collected in this blog. As a reader, it is most likely that you find Turner to be an interesting kid who says insightful things at the appropriate time. (In rhetorical terms, we might consider Turner adept at kairos, that is, capturing the moment.) Through this blog, my aim is to capture not just the innocence of Turner's life and adventures, but also his personality. How he tells stories and the kinds of stories he tells says a lot about the kind of kid Turner is. Today, I chaperoned a field trip to the zoo with all four Cragin kindergarten classes. From 8 AM to 2:07 PM, I watched him interact with the other children in his class. And, perhaps more importantly, I got to know a bit better the kids who appear in his stories about school, which taught me oh so much about our little man. So, before I begin a sermon singing Turner's praises, I ask you to remember, we are biased. The other children in his school have folks who look at them in all the same ways that we look at Turner: with affection, pride, gratefulness, and love. Yet, there are those parents who ditch their kid's zoo field trip.

Four teachers, two school volunteers, and a host of parents showed up today to accompany nearly 75 kindergartens to the Tucson Zoo. Ms. Cipolla boasted the most parent volunteers (9 of us, I think). Each parent was responsible for his/her own child and one other child. Our buddy was Isaiah with an "s." In Ms. Smith's class, the one Margot is in, four parent volunteers showed up at school to chaperone the field trip. Somehow, only two of the four made it to the zoo. Apparently, one kid's parents ditched us. I felt so horrible for this kid, though I never knew who it was. The teachers and other parents were buzzing about it all day, and I couldn't help but think about the kid's disappointment. Having your parent on a field trip is, apparently, a source of pride and a factor in who is popular at school.

So, Turner and I have Isaiah as our single buddy. The volunteers in Ms. Smith's class had four or five kids to keep track of. I spoke with one grandmother and she was exhausted. She thought the field trip ended at 11. When we started walking to the park for two hours of lunch and playtime, she turned to Ms. Smith and said, "Where are we going now?" with such a tone that I snickered. It did kind of feel like a long day. On Thursday, I spoke with Ms. Cipolla and she said I would be in charge of a small group. I jokingly said, "Well make sure to give me the good ones." Turner gets picked on at school sometimes by two girl bullies and one boy bully. It isn't cause for concern; these are just "those" kids at school that make trouble. So I really wasn't too half-hearted in my request to Ms. Cipolla. Isaiah proved to be a great kid, though he is high energy and not the greatest listener. We lost him only twice, and Ms. Cipolla was really proud of us. Apparently, though he tells great stories and had an incredibly creative imagination, he is a real challenge in the classroom because he doesn't listen and can't focus. At the end of the day, for example, Turner said to him, "Great job Isaiah. You stayed on green all day." All the children stayed on green (I'm fairly certain it was because we didn't bring the discipline chart with us).

I asked, "Oh do you get yellow cards sometimes?" Isaiah laughed.

"All the time," he said.

"Oh. What happens at home if you get a yellow card?"

"Nothing."

"Do you get a red card ever?"

Turner chimes in with his own laugh. "Oh yeah he does."

Isaiah says, "Yeah and then I have to sit in my room when I get home."

"Yeah. Turner loses privileges when he gets a red card too."

After Ms. Cipolla set us free at the zoo entrance, the boys want to see the lions. While Turner and I chat over the rail, Isaiah inches away from us. Walking, talking, and getting farther away. I tell Turner we have to stay together with Isaiah so we need to move along, and we do. I turn the corner, and Isaiah is not there. I grab Turner's hand and we run down the fence of the lion cage. I'm looking for a kid in a black shirt I met about four minutes ago. We find him, sitting on the ground at the base of a rock kind of hidden. He stands up and within a moment Ms. Cipolla is beside us. She leans down to him and says, "Isaiah, you are to listen to Turner's mom. Stay with her. Do not run off. Pay attention to whether or not you are with her. If you run away, she will call me and you will sit with me all day. You will miss out on all the fun. You must listen." I was petrified. Scary Ms. Cipolla is quite convincing. Isaiah nods, and he and Turner return to the lion cage. Ms. Cipolla says to me in a serious tone, "And I mean that. You just call me because he needs, um, well a lot of attention." And, this is true. As long as I was talking to Isaiah I figured I couldn't lose him, so this was my strategy. This gave him enough attention, I think, so that he didn't run away as much. I mean, he totally ran away more than he stayed with us between exhibits, but as long as I was talking to him while we looked at animals he stayed by my side. After we lost him the second time--this one much more serious and involving a panicked Amanda screaming "ISAIAH" at an intersection of three paths--I make the little one hold my hand for five minutes. He hates every moment, though he doesn't complain much. With subtlety he would try to worm his hand out of mine, but he wasn't successful. I figured that my heart should, at the very least, return to its normal rhythm before I let go of this kid's hand again.

As we're leaving the zoo, Isaiah and Turner grab my hands. Isaiah says, "Turner, I like your mom. She's pretty alright." Turner doesn't respond to him, but he looks up at me and smiles big. On the way to the playground equipment at the park Turner turns to me and says, "Mom, I don't want to play with Angel anymore." Angel is one of the bullies though Turner wants desperately to be his friend because he only allows two boys to play Mario Game with him. The chosen two change to reflect Angel's whim, but Turner takes it deeply personal. I ask Turner, "Why do you say that?" Very loud and with passion he says, "Because he said he was going to kick my ass." Everyone stops walking. Four or five parents hear it. Ms. Cipolla. All the children. I drop Isaiah's hand, and Turner and I fall out of line and talk.

"I was just telling you what he said."

"I know, but you must ask permission to use adult words."

"I know, you asked me to tell you what he said and I did." He apologizes. Then he goes to Ms. Cipolla and apologizes to her too. We fall back in line.

Ms. Cipolla asks Turner, "Now who used that kind of language with you?"

Turner replies, "Angel."

Ms. Cipolla, who has kept such composure all day amidst some very disturbing behavior, throws her hands into the air and says, "That's it!" She looks forward and starts walking a bit faster. "Angel is not coming on the next field trip. He is not." She looks at me, "There have been problems all day."

"Oh," I say, trying to sound apologetic. How does she do this five days a week?! Five girls in a class of twenty. Ms. Cipolla has her hands full with more than a few rambunctious boys. "Was it behavior issues that kept the other two kids from the field trip today?" Two girls, the bullies, were left at school to do homework all day.

"Yes. And there was a third. I talked to his parents this week about his behavior and that he wouldn't be allowed on the field trip. I thought it was a great conversation. And then the dad stood up and said, well we'll be taking him on a trip this weekend since you won't let him go on the field trip. Okay, well reward him for that bad behavior then."

"Did you say that to them?" I'm kind of joking.

"Oh yeah I did." Good for you Ms. Cipolla.

We have lunch together. Isaiah has a cool Spiderman lunchbox filled with a lunchable, which is something that has changed dramatically since I was a kid. His pizza lunchable came with chocolate chip cookies and a fruit punch drink (a mini water bottle and the powder to pour in). It was high tech and totally loaded with corn syrup and sugar. I mean, you know I checked out the ingredients list. One or both--corn syrup and sugar--were in the first five ingredients of every aspect of the lunchable, even the "pepperoni." Turner requests lunchables all the time, but they are way over-priced and so processed. I remember my mom giving me these justifications when I was a kid, so I'm sure they sound equally lame to Turner now. He and I brought our lunches from home, and we share our carrots with Isaiah. Turner tells him that carrots support great night vision, so Isaiah wants to eat them all up. Food trivia is a great rhetorical strategy to get kids, who secretly want to be superheroes, to eat their vegetables. It works for us at least.

After lunch, Turner and Isaiah rush off in opposite directions to play on the playground. There are about 75 students from Cragin, plus another bus load of kids from another school. It is impossible to keep eyes on the boys at the same time. For nearly an hour I am a mess walking around trying hard to prevent a child theft. Finally, I suggest we play a game together. Mario perhaps. Isaiah says, "That's Angel's game. We can't play that. He wouldn't like that."

"Okay. So what would you suggest we could play?"

"Power Rangers."

Turner jumps up and down and the boys play Power Rangers with two other boys from their class (Diago and Jason). Angel power subverted. He spent much of the playground time sitting in time out anyway. Something about pushing. Diago's dad Chuy, who was Angel's buddy for the day, filled me in on several phone calls to Ms. Cipolla. Apparently, more than once, the child took off running and wouldn't stop. Chuy chased him, Diago under his arm. There was also a spitting incident and something about attempting to climb into an exhibit. Diago's dad is amazing and at every single field trip.

A few other things I learned today.

1. The little girl who scratched Turner's face last week has a mom who takes phone calls in the middle of Ms. Cipolla's circle time. She also spent her time at the park sitting outside shouting distance from the rest of us, and when it was time to leave she didn't know where her daughter or her buddy were. We found them at a water fountain. One of the other mothers said to her, "Who was suppose to be watching your kid? Wasn't it you?" Since the lost girl's mother was semi-blaming the teachers for being irresponsible. I walked away before things got ugly.

2. Turner has little problem listening. I mean, we complain a lot about him not listening. But really folks, I think we have nothing to fear. At the end of the day I shared my admiration with Ms. Cipolla for keeping all these boys focused enough in class to learn. "I know Turner can be high energy sometimes," I said, "but Isaiah definitely has more."

Ms. Cipolla looks at me with seriousness. "Turner is not high energy. He is great in school. Isaiah is all over the place, but Turner is so helpful at keeping others on task."

Oh, I know this. And I got to see this a bit today. For an hour we sat in the classroom before the field trip and went through the morning rituals. Calendar, weather, counting lunches, writing number sentences that reflect attendance, and so much more. Turner sat pretty quiet. The other kids had to be reminded several times how to sit, where to sit, to be quiet, to do their job, and so on. Ms. Cipolla didn't once say Turner's name. At one point, he leaned to Chol and said "You better stop that or you'll have to turn your card." At the end of the day, circle time, Ms. Cipolla asked everyone to explain their favorite part of the field trip. Turner said, "My favorite part was the jaguars and watching them lounge around and one put all four paws over the branch, balancing to sleep. It was so cute. And playing in my imagination the rest of the day that I was a jaguar."

3. Parents on field trips should not consider themselves the "boss" of their kid. When we drop our little ones off at school, we entrust them to teachers and we must respect their rules. On the last field trip that I attended, a mom attended that spent much of the time screaming at her son. He was ill-behaved, but I was so glad to be away from that woman and her constant need to threaten and never ever make good on it. Her son steps on the back of Turner's shoes regularly. On this field trip, Ms. Cipolla instructed parents to not buy ANYTHING for any of the children. Not even a drink since this would be unfair to the other kids who didn't get something extra at the zoo. Easy enough rule. The screamy mom, however, bought her son and their buddy a toy from the gift shop and then paraded it about a little. When we returned to school and the mom was gone, Ms. Cipolla instructed the boys to place the toys in their book bag out of sight. The step-on-the-shoes kid gave her some lip about it being from his mom and SHE said he could have it. Ms. Cipolla said very calmly, "I am your teacher. I am not your mom. As your teacher I instruct you to put that in your bag right now or it will go into my desk."

4. Parent drama can be avoided if you stand alone. One poor kid (Izaiah with a "z") was chaperoned by two parents who can't speak to one another. The mom regularly volunteers at the school. The dad was the one entitled to this field trip given a prior agreement. The mom, then, was not there on behalf of her son, but on behalf of the school. This meant she was not suppose to be near her son while her ex was. This resulted in some awkward exchanges as one parent tried to facilitate lunch and the other did bathroom duty and so on. Unfortunately, I heard all this drama while I was eating lunch with Turner and the other children. Yes, we all were subjected to stories about the baby daddy. After I fled the scene, I was careful to not interact with anyone for too long except Diago's dad, who is a bartender at the restaurant across the street from our house. He and Andy do playground time together with the boys and we find them to be the not-airing-dirty-laundry type.

5. Without a doubt, Turner is the best kid in his school. He was patient with me all day when I asked him to rush through some of our favorite exhibits--tortoise, sea otters, rhino, and giraffes--because Isaiah took off running without us. During lunch, he was careful to share, and he provided some helpful distraction from Ms. Drama by telling some great stories about jaguars. When one boy tried to coax Turner to the duck pond, which was outside the boundary Ms. Cipolla established for our park play, Turner was the first to turn back and get an adult. Tattle-telling, perhaps, but at least he wasn't the kid dragging another little boy away as Ms. Cipolla darted over the hill after them. Notable, for sure, is that he was the only kid to hug Ms. Cipolla at the end of the day and thank her for a wonderful field trip. Then he came and hugged me and thanked me for going. Without prompting, of course.

Busses and books.

2011-02-23T20:17:00.000-08:00

Cragin's kindergarten classes went to Bookman's, the local used bookstore, for their first field trip. Turner's class went Friday, February 11th. We walked from the school to the bus stop. I was amazed at how organized and controlled the whole experience was. I have such confidence in Turner's teacher. So, we rode the city bus a couple of blocks to Bookman's, and this isn't your regular used bookstore. It attracts an eclectic crowd, and it caters to the wandering reader as well as children. If you have a dog, feel free to bring it along as you peruse the shelves. And, they always play great music.

When we first arrived, the children were asked to sit down and listen to the rules.

We received a tour of the store and saw where the books are bought from the public, priced, organized in the back room, shelved, and then put back out into the store.

We learned about how books are grouped by subject, and the kids were allowed free reign in the children's section.

They even saw the break room and the administrative offices (most of the folks stood in the stock room in uncomfortable silence. Andy and I found a book to buy).

Chol and Turner checking out the Pokemon collection.

Turner's selections.
He also chose a movie, one of the bonuses of having your folks tag along on the field trip.

After Bookman's, we boarded the city bus again. We rode a few blocks north and walked to the park near Turner's school. The kids played while Ms. Cipolla and other adults distributed lunch.
Turner had peanut butter and crackers, fruit water, carrots, and part of a huge Eegee's chocolate chip cookie.

After lunch, there was a lot of swinging.

Ms. Cipolla and the other teacher were respected by the kids, and the field trip went off without a hitch. But tonight, Andy relayed to me information he got from Diago's dad. Apparently one kid, who will remain nameless, hit melt down when the kids had to leave the park. His mother was unable to control him. At one point, and this comes from Turner's mouth, he told his mother to shut her *expletive* mouth. So, Diago's dad carried this kid all the way back to school while he kicked and screamed. Turner said he still had a *great* time.

Family hiking.

2011-02-19T16:27:00.000-08:00

Hiking in Tucson is full of surprises with unusual animals to see, critters to chase, pokey things to avoid, and plenty of cloud formations about which to create stories. Turner and I hike regularly, and when Andy is off work (and not afflicted with some sports injury), he joins us.

February 19, 2011, the family tackles Blacklett's Ridge in Sabino Canyon in the Santa Catalina Mountains. Trail is 6.2 miles in length with an elevation change of 1810 feet. The peak hits at 4410 feet. We didn't make it that far. About halfway up the mountain, Turner gets scared. The view was amazing, but the hike was steep. And, rain was coming in from the east, so we thought it best to head out before we got soaking wet.

View to the southwest. Beautiful skies.

But turn around and the clouds had a different story.

At the start of Blacklett's Ridge. We'd already hiked for an hour just to get here.

Storm rolling in. We just missed the rain as we started down the mountain.

Teddy Bear Cactus (if you get close, it reaches out and hugs you. Kilan was attacked by a Teddy Bear Cactus when we first moved here.)

Weekly hiking club.

2011-02-15T20:23:00.000-08:00

Hiking is a fixture of entertainment in Tucson. Last year a few of my female friends and I started hiking each weekend. Usually it is pretty leisurely. We hike for a couple of hours. Eat snacks. Look out into the desert and wonder how it is we find it so beautiful and full of life. Sometimes partners/dogs/kids/friends go with. Since we hike on Sundays, Turner usually prefers to chill with Andy, so I go alone. Andy worked last weekend, so Turner and I met up with our friends at Sabino Canyon at 9 AM. Normally we carpool, but I didn't know how long Turner would hang tough, so I thought it best to drive separate.

We start with Esperero trail, take bluff trail on to Rattlesnake. Early in our hike, Turner and I start telling stories about rattlesnakes (since this is our destination). We locate a rattlesnake in the cloud pattern in the sky. Sky Diamond Turner calls it, and it follows us throughout the day. More than once Turner says to Erica, "The rattler is following us." She had no idea what he was talking about so she'd just scream a bit and act scared. :)

Turner leads the pack all day. He climbs up the first set of rocks so quickly, we're all a bit breathless at the top. We stop for snacks four times. Honeycrisp apples. Trail mix with yogurt chips. Cheese sticks. PB and crackers. Lots and lots of water. During one break, Turner teeters across the stream, one side to the other. He makes it back and forth twice without incident. Then, as he told the story to Andy later over dinner, "I was on my way back across and I went elbow down first on the rock and foot down last into the water." Both pant legs ended up wet, even though he insists it was only one foot in the water.

As we stroll along, Erica is telling a story that concerned animals in unusual places. When she finishes her story, Turner yells back to her, "We saw a Mexican coyote at our house. In the street. Just walking along."

Erica laughs. "How did you know he was Mexican? Did he have a special hat on or something?"

"No. He was just a Mexican coyote."

"Mexican wolf actually," I say. And, yes, there was a Mexican wolf taking a leisurely stroll down our street last summer.

At another point, Turner is walking with Elise and telling her stories. "You know, I'm the year of the rooster." Just like LaLa.

"Oh. How do you know that?" asks Elise.

"My CiCi told me. She read me these things while she was here."

"Yeah? Did you have fun while she was here?"

"Yes. And she is the year of the rat. And you know, she hates rats. Really hates them."

"Hmmm," says Elise.

"Can I tell you something else? I'm also the year of the most precious wedding gift."

"Yeah. What's that?"

"The diamond."

After two and a half hours of hiking, Turner and I are quietly enjoying the crunchy shell on dipped cones. "Mom, you know the reason there is gravity is because the Earth turns."

"Yeah. I think I knew that."

"Sure. Right." He nods his head in total disbelief.

Obama comes to town.

2011-02-13T07:24:00.001-08:00

January 12, 2011, President Obama spoke at a memorial service in honor of the victims of Jared Loughner's shooting rampage. I anticipated a long wait to get into McKale Center, but it also seemed like a rare opportunity to have the President come to town. Plus, I knew I could work this speech into my teaching, which I did.

Turner and I joined some other friends in line about 2:30 pm. And we waited and waited. Turner made plenty of friends. Margot arrived and they played baby turtles.

The doors opened at 6 PM and by 7 PM we were going through security. The speech started a little late, at 7:10 PM. We didn't wait in our seats long before the devil, um, Jan Brewer arrived on the floor, hugging and greeting suits. President and Michelle Obama emerged from the left stage and walked with little fanfare to their seats. I mean, we were all clapping and on our feet, but they waved once or twice, graciously shook hands with the beast in blue, and took their seats. There was a Native American blessing. Nancy Pelosi spoke (missing her). Others spoke. Jan Brewer graced us with some incoherent babble.

Then President Obama came out on stage and spoke of political unity and he criticized a humanitity divided by ideology. He memorialized the victims, telling us personal stories about who they were/are and how they ended up in Tucson, AZ. At the end of his speech, he charges us to go into the world with a greater respect for one another. With some love in our hearts for other Americans who may not look like us, think like us, or even believe in us. But that an "us" is an important component of being American. I was left to wonder how all those folks in Mexico feel about the unity of Americans. They are, after all, inhabitants of North America and yet are never included in the rhetoric of American patriotism. I didn't speak on these things, though, when I was interviewed by a couple of news sources on the outside of McKale Center. Instead, I praised Obama's speech and his willingness to come here and spread a hopeful message to a community devastated by such loss. I did not feel the impact of these shootings as deeply as others, but they made me scared to live in a state that respects gun rights by allowing for very little regulation. Who needs access to thirty bullets in less than a few seconds? Someone who wants to snuff out the life of a community.

There are several cute stories from our long wait in line. I'll share one.

Turner picks up a newspaper. He's walking around in the grass with this newspaper, flipping the pages, stopping to stomp his foot occasionally, and pretending to read and think over the paper's content. I ask him what he's reading. He is quiet. Hey Turner, Tell me the story about what you're doing.

Without looking up he says, "I'm an old man reading a newspaper."

His back is bent a little. His feet are shuffling along in the bermuda. A group of young college men behind us start laughing. "Watch that kid. He's acting something out." The young men stop their joking (and horrid tales of last weekend's conquests). They watch Turner. He never comes out of character. He turns one last page. Folds the paper to his chest and looks at the boys.

"Hey. What you acting out?" One of them asks.

Turner smiles, "I'm old man reading the newspaper."

The guy laughs. "Bravo. Very convincing performance."

Turner, embarrassed, comes to my side and buries his face in my leg and asks for Skittles.

As you can see, fatigue was high by the time we made it inside. Turner took a power nap at the end, missing some of the best parts of President Obama's speech. But, he'll forever remember the hours of waiting in line. I'm happy to recount the other parts to him as time moves along.

First school play.

2011-02-13T07:23:00.001-08:00

We hear that Turner is to play an important role in the kindergarten play. The class selected a book to act out. [This is part of the OMA (Opening Minds through the Arts) program.] The kids read a series of books, vote on one, and then select parts to play. The children create the costumes, work on the set, and are "fed" lines by the OMA instructor. Older kids, like in Kilan's school, sing with choreographed moves that the students create in addition to writing the text of their play. It is pretty amazing. SO, Turner breaks the news to us (kinda late) that he's going to be in a play. Andy and I both are able to make it for once.

Turner did a great job. And, after it was over, this is how he described his work, "I was a boy named Nikki. I looked like a ninja." Ninja (I think) = Person who wears a belt tied around the waist.

Move anxiety.

2011-02-13T07:22:00.001-08:00

The preparations for moving loom over us. A long list of to do. We've interviewed moving companies but we haven't selected one yet (update: we have selected United). We must, though, or else we're going to pay a $4.00/gallon gas cost. Moving is this vague concept to Turner. He's concerned about missing out on Tyler and his Pokemon game this summer (Tyler usually gets her in July) and he's worried about how he'll see Kilan in the future. What friends we've made. Four years feels like a whole big chunk of our lives together.

I'm standing at the island making lists of stuff to do and sorting through the moving company estimates. Turner is working at the kitchen table.

"Mom? When the movers take our stuff, what will happen to my stuffed animals?" Turner has taken on a small zoo of stuffed animals that surround him as he sleeps. Since he doesn't make his bed regularly, he just crawls back into a nest-like space each night with LaLa Bear, two cardinal birds, several Webkinz, and a lion that Kilan gave him when we first moved to Tucson.

"We will take some stuff in our car and drive it to Asheville. All the rest will go in the big moving truck. So you can put your animals in a box to go on the truck or you can bring them in the car. Up to you."

He thinks on this. "Will we write on the box what is inside?"

"We can. That makes unpacking easier. Usually we write the room at least, like 'Turner's bedroom' on the box."

"OK. Well can you make sure that the movers get all my stuff into boxes with my name on them?"

"Sure thing buddy."

Spelling.

2011-02-10T18:43:00.000-08:00

I am a pretty terrible speller. Ask my students. I put things on the board, misspelled, often. I think it humanizes me to them and, therefore, they like me more. So, I guess I'm okay with being a terrible speller. Undereducated. Whatever.

But, it is difficult for us to not correct Turner's misspellings in his homework. In a single night, in a single hour, Turner completes his homework, eager to beat all the other kids in submitting it to his teacher the next day. Love that initiative lots. Today, his classwork comes home in his backpack, and it is focused on the weather.

Sunee. Windee. Roude (suppose to be rainy). Klaudee (cloudy). Ranee (second Rainy).

Also today, the Kinders watched Turner's documentary about penguin migration. He says, "Ms. Cipolla taught us some stuff about penguins."

I say, "What did you learn?"

He says, "Nothing. Really, nothing. I already knew it already. Penguins slide on their bellies to the water. They carry their babies on their feet. They have beaks, on second thought, they have bills. And they poke with them for food. They give it to their babies of course."

At the park this afternoon, near Turner's old school, we take advantage of the "really tall slide." He goes down it several times, as do I. Fourteen steps to the top. A REALLY tall slide. And, fast moving. When I get down to the bottom, I can't keep my feet under me. I must do those several extra steps to regain my balance after all the momentum of shooting down the silver and slick slide. Turner and I do the high five slap-my-hand-as-I-go-down bit several times. When I get tired of getting my teaching clothes so dusty and gross, Turner meets with an older boy who wants to show him tricks on the slide. His mom sits in the swing *laughing* about how her son sprained both wrists falling down from the slide not long ago. This after, of course, he'd broken both his wrists falling off school gym equipment a year before. So, he's wanting to teach Turner tricks down the slide. I'm nearby and ready to discourage. The kid shows Turner a trick. Without missing a beat Turner says, "Dude that is dangerous. Why do that to yourself?" Turner refuses to go down the slide back first with his legs tucked under him. When the older kid does it, he lands on his face. He laughs and does what cool kids do: pretend it didn't hurt. Before we left, Turner's courage grew and he ended up going down backwards while on his belly. We continued with the high five game, which is a bit more Mom's speed.

Turner sits down to clear the sand and rocks from his shoes, perched on the fourth step of the slide. As he stands up, somehow, he rips his pant legs. Huge hole. "Oh mom. Did you see that?!"

"Yep. These things happen."

"My first ripped pants kind of day."

Exactly what I texted to the aunts and uncle.

Karate photo essay.

2011-01-30T13:49:00.000-08:00

Learning the proper technique.

I must confess. . .

2011-01-27T18:18:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning Turner says his stomach hurts. Andy and I go through a list of potential causes, trying to assess his symptoms. No fever. He feels full. But, no, he doesn't need to poop. He doesn't want breakfast though he takes some Life cereal in a snack bag. I take my seat at the kitchen table intent on making chapter five appear. At 9 am I am talking to an empty kitchen about "group think" and Andy calls. Turner has thrown up at school.

I rush out of my robe, into dirty gym clothes and boots, and out the door.

Turner looks so sad and pitiful when he shuffles toward me in the nurse's office. I ask, "Did you throw up in class?" I'm concerned that he is embarrassed for getting sick at school. This, I learn, is just a girl concern. "No. In the bathroom," says the nurse. I smile at her. She says, "I didn't take his temperature. I was afraid it would make him throw up more." Okay. So.

Turner walks out the front door of school, takes a little jump off the last step, and runs to the car.

We get in the car and I ask him to tell me what happened. "I mean, how are you feeling now?"

"I feel like I need to go home and watch TV."

"Oh yeah? Well if you're sick, we need to drink fluids and rest."

"Yeah." Pregnant pause. " On TV when the kid gets sick they get to lay around on the couch and watch movies."

"This is life. Not TV. So, where were you when you threw up?" I pull away from the curb and head home.

"I must confess. It was more like spit up than throw up."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"Who did you tell that you'd thrown up?"

"Ms. Tara. But I didn't tell her I threw up."

"Okay. What did you tell her?"

"I just took off running to the bathroom with my cheeks pushed out with air."

"Hmmm. I can understand how she misunderstood."

"Mom I didn't really feel good."

"Okay. Just know that mom has work to do today, so it isn't a play day."

He eats his lunch on the way home. Fake chicken nuggets. Honeycrisp apple. I won't let him drink the juice box. Sugar and upset tummies don't go well together, right?

When we get home he lies down on the couch "to nap." Two minutes later he is in the kitchen asking what he can do now. He does some homework. He wanders the house a lot. He completes a few activities in the Pirate book. He watches a movie. He talks to me. Lots. Endearing and wonderful and I learned so much yesterday. But, I totally needed to write.

On the way to school this morning he says his belly hurts. I tell him that I can't pick him up today because I teach. So if he was sick that was one thing, but if he was avoiding school that was another. He says, "I know. But you know what, I had fun being sick with you yesterday."

Holiday 2010. The last flight sequence.

2011-01-04T07:28:00.000-08:00

I think I'll start this story at the end. This was our last cross-country holiday flight. Next year, we are driving home for the holiday.

We arrived in Tucson at 11:25 pm last night after two delays, three stops, and some horrible cardboard pizza in Denver. Three legs, two hours each. We get here, and Andy goes after the truck in the parking garage. The bags from the previous flight, which landed fifteen minutes before ours, finally come around the belt and Andy texts me, "I'll be there soon. Have a flat tire." I respond with vulgarities, telling him this is not a funny joke. No joke, of course.

Our bags don't come down the shoot for another twenty minutes. Turner and I secure from baggage claim four suitcases and one hugomongo Fed Ex box of toys and shoes. Somehow Turner and I get all this stuff to the curb to meet Andy, who pulls up just as I teeter around with that box. Turner talks nonstop the entire way home, wound tight from too much travel and a four hour nap. When we get home we all collapse into bed, with school/work starting much too early this morning. Turner did not notice the presents from Santa until this afternoon after we'd been home from school for nearly twenty minutes!

I'll let the rest of tour holiday trip speak for itself. Thank you all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cf9U0k_31nc

Thanksgiving 2010.

2010-11-26T07:28:00.000-08:00

Growing sourdough bread rolls. Start at 5 PM on Wednesday. Finish baking Thursday around 2 pm.

Sausage Balls. Andy has them popping out of the oven fresh and hot throughout the afternoon.

Pie crust. Poked too many holes. Sealed them up a bit. In the end, sealed too many. Nice flaky crust though.

Meringue. Never as tall as mom's, but equally tasty.

Rolls still growing, but finally in the oven.

Mimosas, of course.

Decorating the blessing cards. He worked for hours. They looked so distinct and personalized.

The finished product. Chocolate pie. Erica told Andy, this filling does not taste like regular pudding. He said, "It's because it isn't." Lots of milk, eggs, good chocolate, and sugar (cornstarch too of course).

Corn pudding.

Kentucky cheeses thanks to Grandmother (again! this year).

Two chickens. A ridiculous amount of buttery broth. The making for some rich chicken and dumplings, of which I did not get a picture.

Snatching dinner rolls between frisbee games.

Turkey Dancing
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4R1q1NU0iU

And the morning after. We washed dishes for hours.

Volleyball: Fast times at Peter Piper.

2010-11-06T11:21:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, Turner and Andy went to Peter Piper Pizza (think Chuck E Cheese) to meet up with Turner's soccer team and take a photo. I am not a lover of noisy, smelly places filled with flashing lights, screaming kids, and a winter's worth of cold germs, so I stayed home. Andy kept me updated via text. The first one said, "Be glad you aren't here!"

It was team photo night for ALL the sports teams associated with Tucson's national youth soccer league. Peter Piper, already a pretty busy place, was overrun with kids in soccer, indoor and outdoor, ranging in ages from 3 to 12 or 13 years. There were other sports there too, but I only know of volleyball (more on that in a bit). There are about five or six teams per age group. To make the frenzy even more fun, the "professional" photographer forgot the camera batteries. Instead of walking next door to Best Buy and purchasing a new battery, the photographer drove back to the office, which is nearly twenty miles west of Peter Piper. Over an hour later, kids waiting in line with and without patience, the photographer returns and starts snapping photos.

Andy and T get a free father/son picture, and then they cheese together as a team, or what remained of them. Four of the teammates had to leave during the long wait for camera batteries. T FINALLY gets to play the games. He has $5 in tokens and, according to Andy, that can really take a long time to spend when you're frustrated, tired, and hungry. In the end, Turner earned 190 tickets and, therefore, brought home a host of plastic stuff made in China. And a dinosaur from the Philippines. The men make it home near Turner's bed time, but we sit down to dinner together anyway. Fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, and D's favorite, brussel sprouts.

After we finish eating and done our plate duties, Turner tells me, "Mom, I want to whisper something to you."
"Okay."
He whispers, loudly enough for Andy to hear from across the table, "I stood next to a hot volleyball chick tonight."

I pull my ear away and make eye contact with him. He smiles and looks down in a bashful kind of way. I look at Andy who is dumbfounded. I laugh.
"Oh really?" I can't keep the smile from my face.
"Yeah," Turner says with pride.
Andy says, "I saw you watching her."
"Yeah. And I told Cam to look at her too." He giggles. Andy laughs out loud. I feel as though I should say something feminist, but . . .

Later Andy tells me he saw Turner checking her out from behind his hand. Sneaking glances while she looked away. She was blonde and about 12 years old.

Fall festival.

2010-11-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

Our Saturday line up: Gym, Soccer Game, Fall Festival at Turner's school, Tutoring, and Making Manicotti for Dinner. We won the soccer game. Turner had two great saves. He is such an effective goalie; he almost refuses to play another position. Last week he flat out refused citing evidence of his replacement's inability to block some important goals. This week he played half a quarter after his coach assured him that at all other moments he could play goalie.

We arrive at the fall festival about 12:45. It ran 11 - 2. We bought our tickets, jumped in the jumping castle twice, ran the maze twice, fished twice, got hair painted, stuck hand into frozen goo to search for eyeballs, walked and won at the cupcake walk, and hit the toilet with toilet paper rolls.
He won a small stack of slinkies, tops, poppers, and twirling things (another round of cheap Chinese plastics). I wasn't allowed to put these things in my purse; I had to carry them around in my hands, dropping something or other a frustrating amount of times. I got to meet some of Turner's friends' parents, and we all made comments about how hot it was (sunny and 80).

There was great music though, loud loud loud, and Turner and I found plenty of opportunities to shake our bodies.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhAy9R0ZCM8

A letter to Turner as we approach halloween.

2010-10-26T11:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Turner,

I had the best afternoon with you. Thanks for the purple bats, the dance party after Word Girl, the gym time, the "cuddlin" with Finx (who has a new, longer name of Finx Sheriff), the rounds of Go Fish over "Mom's not Nanny's macaroni and cheese," the hide and go seek, and for doing your homework because you're excited and not forced to do it. Thanks from PaPa for calling him to make sure he didn't blow away in the storm today. Thanks also for being so entertaining and such great company. I love to hear the conversations you come up with between paper bats and the arsenal of toys that take up space in our never-ever-clean bathtub. I don't know how you do it, but you smile so often and so wide and with such enthusiasm that you make my body warm inside.

I love our Tuesdays, and the way I get to just let every setback and discouraging moment go at 2:10 pm. I rush out of my class, abandon my students, hop on my bike, pedal like the wind, stuff the bike in the car, and drive to your school. There, I wait outside and make small talk with strangers who love their kids like I love you, and then the bell rings and you come running to me like you haven't seen me in days. You are eager to double-check whether you read my lunchbox message to you correctly and to share the details of your day. I'm thankful you don't say "nothing" happened.

Tonight, I ask to read Good Night God. You aren't interested. I ask if you talk to God. You say, "Yes. I ask God about Grandma Bow. I ask God to take care of her because she is so special." I'm all tears in a moment, but I try to hide. I tell you how important it is to have someone to talk to about life and the ups and downs and the people we love. You agree. Then you are quiet.
"I wonder who will pass away next."
"I don't know. You never know that T. That's why it is so important to grab at what is in front of you and love with conviction." I reach out to you, grab you, pull you down onto the bed and find the special spots that make you squeal. Finally we get settled into bed and read Swimmy, the Little Fish with Big Ideas. At the end I say, "You know Turner, Swimmy has the right idea. When you want things in life you gotta believe in them. Believe and be stubborn. That's always worked for me. Figure out that thing you want more than anything, and then get it." You think on this for a minute.
I turn out the light and get nose-close to you. "You know the thing I always wanted? Wanted more than anything?"
You look in my eyes and put your hands on my face and say, "Me." Exactly. More tears, these I can't hide.

Yes, son, you are the most amazing thing I've ever known or could ever hope to experience. I am so filled up by life because you are absolutely amazing at being you, the very thoughtful, courageous, understanding, and curious you. I wish I could do again each of those nights that I rushed through stories, nights when I "needed" to grade papers, catch up with a friend, clean the kitchen, or work on my never-ending dissertation. Never again will you be five. I will always have work in front of me, behind me, around me, and consuming me. But, you will never be five again. Thank you for the perspective tonight. For reminding me that I already have all that I ever wanted. And. It. Just. Keeps. Growing.

Love from here to the moon and back,
Mom.

Soccer.

2010-10-24T11:30:00.000-07:00

Supporting breast cancer awareness.

Getting (or giving) advice to his teammate Austin.

A break away but, sadly, no goal. We didn't need it anyway. End score was 4 to 3.

The Injury. The kid who kicked Turner in the knee is on his team. J. continues to misunderstand the concept of "team" play, so he just steals the ball from whomever has it and is happy to push and knock down anyone. Turner had to sit out the last quarter so he could nurse his wound.

It means excited-like.

2010-10-13T07:45:00.000-07:00

It was a green card kind of day, so Turner and I went to the park to swing after school. Usually homework is our first stop. It was hot, and I was in dress clothes, but we got in a solid forty minutes of swinging. Then like lighting Turner was out of the swing and ready for home. He needed to potty. At home we had snacks, and Turner “adjusted” his squirrel game. The squirrel game is a big piece of white paper on which he has created a board game. There are three squirrel figures, and you move these around a board. There is a “glider” where your squirrel can skip ahead, moving through the air over trees and other things. He has names for the different stops a squirrel can take, each has a story. And, there is a complex set of (shifting) rules.

After the gym and tutoring, Turner and I played Simon Says at MagPies while we waited for pizzas. At one point, Simon said to Turner "Read this word." And he did it. It wasn’t one of the words we’ve been working on, sight words. He just sounded it out. And just like that, the word “for” turned into other words: west, on, and a few others I can’t remember. I was so proud of him.

Over pizza, Turner told me he got two new books today from Ms. Cipolla. She has been sending books home with him to borrow. I assume all the kids get to do this, but Turner takes this responsibility pretty seriously, the caring for Ms. Cipolla’s books. We’ve been reading the books to him and then we return them after a few days. He also creates these books that contain all of his sight words, and he reads those to us. I saw a cow. I saw a dog. That sort of thing. So, tonight he said he wanted to read to me. I asked him what the books were about and he said it would be a surprise.

When he was in the bathtub, I said to him, “I’m going to tell Dad that you want me to wipe your bottom until you’re eighteen.” He had said this earlier in the day, angry with me because I would not come “check” him. We talked about how he goes potty at school independently, and that he can do that at home too. My least favorite parent task is butt duty.

Turner said, “I want you to check me not wipe.”

“Well whatever. I think Dad will smile about it. You made some convincing arguments.”

He got quiet. I rubbed his face with a wash cloth, a chore he hates, and he said, “Oh Mom! You’re hurting my molars.”

We make it to bedtime and Turner chooses What Are You? to read first. He puts his finger at the base of each word and moves across the cover.

What are You? I am a cow. I am a horse. I am a sheep. I am a pig. I am a chicken. [He stumbled here. I told gave him the “ch”and he remembered the word.] I am a duck. What are you?

The next book: Pets.

I had a frog. It jumped out of its bowl. I had a mouse. It ran back to its hole. I had a fish. It ate too much. I had a rabbit. It got out of its hutch. I had a parrot. It flew out the door. I wanted a dog . . . but Mom said, “No more!”

He raised his voice as he read the last sentence. Then he smiled at me, clearly proud of himself. I tried to inconspicuously put the water on my cheeks down my sleeve. He points to the exclamation point, “You see that. It means you read that line excited. Like you are surprised but not always mad. It is an exclamation.”

Tonight, Andy read with him. We met on the stairs and he said, “He really sounded out the words. He read it!”

I said, “I know!” That's excited-like.

Swimming turtles.

2010-10-13T07:40:00.000-07:00

We have a new pet. A swimming turtle name Finx. Turner has waited patiently for him to arrive, and Andy and I were nothing but shocked to discover how expensive he was. Nonetheless, he is giving us loads of entertainment swimming around the tank, crawling over trees, and resting on top of his floating rock. After seeing all the possible spelling for his turtle's name, Turner selected the one with the "x," an underutilized, special kind of letter in the alphabet.

*An update. Since the reptile shop had so little information about Finx's breed, we did some Internet research. Come to find out, Finx will grow to at least 12 inches in length and has a life expectancy of "several decades." I told Turner he would be taking Finx to college. I do wonder, how will we find a tank and a space in the house large enough to house a turtle so large. Life is an adventure; so we'll figure it out. Perhaps we can dig a pond in the backyard for Finx once we move.

Vocabulary is important, but correct pronunciation has long-time been optional.

2010-09-26T08:09:00.000-07:00

It is difficult to remember the time when Turner did not talk. He was playing with sounds, testing out words and trying to contribute to conversations long before his feet were moving him around the house. We all have our favorite Turner pronunciations, and I thought it was about time to record them. So, I hope you'll add to the list memorable Turner colloquialisms.

Tic Tocs (Tic tacs)
Hepicopter (Helicopter)
Hoppy Poppy (Hushpuppy)
Ci Ci added Desert Newseum (Museum)

Some recent (and favorite) stories:
We are always having toilet trouble here. There is nothing wrong with the pipes in the house; it is a family ailment, I suppose, of bad pipes in our body. No need to say, then, that the plunger gets good use. Turner comes out of the bathroom, where Andy has left a surprise, and he says to me, "Mom you need to plumb that toilet." Not sure how you "forget" such a wonderful surprise, but I really don't love when Andy leaves them for us to find after he's jetted off to work.

Andy brings some cotton candy home to Turner from a special event at Chili's. Turner pops some into his mouth and says, "Mmmm. Cotton candy exhausts in your mouth." (Dissolves)

We have chocolate covered granola bars that Turner enjoys having for dessert. Most of you know, though, it is still really hot here, so chocolate covered anything equals big mess in the desert. So, we put them in the freezer before we give them to Turner. In the middle of dinner last Saturday night, he asks me if I'll put a granola bar in the freezer in prep for dessert. I throw one in the ice, and we spend about forty minutes chatting over dinner. Our usual Saturday night date (Andy works a double on Saturdays). After we finished eating and Turner had completed his chores (taking out the recycling and cleaning off dinner dishes), I retrieve the granola bar. "You think it is frozen enough yet?" He replies, "I don't know." I hand it to him. He taps it on the table and it makes a knocking sound. He smiles. I open the package, and he pushes on the chocolate. "Seems pretty stable. The granola part I mean. The chocolate part will do."

Catching up with catalina peeps.

2010-09-26T07:50:00.000-07:00

Margot's 6th birthday party was yesterday (Margot goes to Turner's school and is an old friend from preschool). The kids wore costumes to her party so that they could act out a play. There was a stage set up, though the kids preferred to act out their play away from the stage so that they could engage in free form acting. The play featured a fighting match where Margot was a wolf attacking everyone while the boys protected the other women present. All of Turner's friends from Catalina were there (or most of them anyway), so it was a big reunion.

Most of the kids attend Sam Hughes elementary now, so it was really great to get to see them all again. Turner was Obi Wan Kenobi. Noah was Darth Vader. Thorsten and Joaquin were pirates. Margot was a ballerina slash wolf. Ginger, Annie and Erin were princesses laden in pink (Ginger, by the way, is going to be a big sister AGAIN. Another girl too). Hansana forgot his costume but wore a pirates hat and his brother transformed himself into a cowboy with a creative hat. Rowdy was Ben Ten. Tatum was the wizard from Wizard of Oz (still a movie T needs to seem *update, he's seen it now). The kids built weapons out of foam, and they only briefly stopped their battles when we called for cupcakes and when Margot opened her presents. Turner made her a card with lots of horses drawn on it, and Turner picked her out a pair of socks (M. wears cool socks everyday pulled to her knees), a kangaroo animal, and a special toy that you put your hand in and the pegs reproduce the shape of your hand. Turner was a most convincing Obi Wan.

And, of course, there was chocolate cake.

San Diego 2010.

2010-09-18T08:15:00.000-07:00

Cici and D met us in San Diego this past weekend. We went to the zoo one day, Leggoland part of another day, and to the USS Midway for a tour. We have tons of pictures. Here are a few.

Saw some monkeys.

Loved the hippos.

Inquisitive kids: Not a real elephant, but it did have "real" parts.

She pranced a bit in front of us to show off her shiny and magnificent fur. Then she placed herself right up front and took a rest. So beautiful.

For La La who couldn't stay up for Miami Vice

Plenty of animal sculptures to ride on, and Turner tested most of them out.

The bears playing. They entertained us for awhile.

Lego Land. Thanks to Marissa, Todd and Kilan.

At the U.S.S. Midway listening to our guided tour.

Flying planes.

Landing planes.

The world is so big.

Talking to each other.

2010-09-16T09:21:00.000-07:00

Andy, Turner and I are on a journey to Sam’s to pick up lunch-packing supplies in preparation for the start of school. Turner wants to play his Nintendo. “Hey buddy, let’s wait to play your game until we get to Sam’s. You can play it while Dad and I do the shopping.” He protests. I try again. “Well, we don’t really get to spend much time together as a family. And even though running errands is not an ideal way to be together, it counts. So let’s talk to each other on the way to Sam’s and get caught up with each other. Then when we get there you can play your game. Compromise?” He concedes, “Okay. Then let’s talk.” So we do. At first we do the usual, ask Turner a question. Listen to his answer. Think of another question to ask to get him talking. He tells us about video game characters and relays life stories to us about them. We nod and do the “uh huh” tradition. Around about Alvernon and River (10 minutes from the house), Andy and I get into a conversation about the week’s plan and the business of organizing a too-busy household. Another five minutes down the road and Turner says, “Are we EVER going to get to Sam’s?” We are turning on Stone, the road Sam’s is on. “Yes, we are almost there buddy.” “Good, I’m getting tired of you guys already.”

Parent and teacher conference.

2010-09-16T09:20:00.000-07:00

I've spent two weeks working, sporadically, on writing my teaching philosophy, which goes out in my dossier for jobs. It is really hard to explain why I'm a teacher and how I do that, especially when I only get two pages. I love my students, that is why I teach. I like the process of learning and watching that happen over and over again; it's a bonus that I feel somehow part of students' growing consciousness and critical thinking about existing in and being active with the world. Being a parent is this feeling a million times over. I love watching Turner grow. Each day getting to know a little more about him and his personality, what he likes and doesn't as well as why. He likes school. He's excited to practice what he's learned, trying to impress Andy and me. I mean, we've always been impressed by Turner. He is easy to be around, and he is entertaining. This week, I found out how much so.

I was excited about parent teacher conferences. I was worried about how he was adjusting given the Kinder switcheroo. On our end, things seem great and he is loving it. But, I was really curious to hear what his teacher thought, and eager to know what kind of student he was. Ms. Cipolla, by the way, is a dynamite teacher who easily summarized her teaching philosophy for me before she began our conference (I didn't ask, she just offered it up). She is articulate and thoughtful in why she teaches what she teaches and how she goes about doing it. I wanted to bottle her philosophy up and drip it all over Microsoft Word. I was so grateful as a parent, to get to know her in this way.

So, after Ms. Cipolla explained her approach with Kindergarteners, she pulled out a Ziploc bag full of Turner goodies. There were pieces of art and she explained their learning objectives. There were examples of his writing and several drawings (she called T a 'real artist'). And, there were the tests. Public school means standardized means of assessment. The entire district takes the same tests to measure learning objectives. They are: how many letters can the student identify in the alphabet, how high can the student count, how many colors student could name, how many numbers can student recognize, in one minute how may "initial sounds" can student identify when given a word, in one minute how many phonetics can student name (they tell him a sound and he identifies the letter).

So, here's my warning. This is going to sound like bragging, because it totally is. Turner could identify all the letters, upper and lower case, in the alphabet. He counted to 29 before she cut him off. He recognized all his colors and all twenty numbers offered to him. In one minute he identified 21 initial sounds. 8 was the goal for students to get in the middle category (those above expectation) category. Students below 8 were divided into those needing extra reading instruction and those marginal, who might need it but maybe not. Two other children were above the middle category (which ranged 8 to 12). One of them got 13 in a minute and the other 12. Turner, again, got 21 (I read her paper, she didn't show me the numbers for the other kids of course). In the next test, phonetic naming, the goal was again 8 in a minute with categories distributed as before. More children were in the bottom two categories in this test. Turner scored 22. In the math tests, he did equally well though her results weren't as quantified. He was to count the number of blocks in an object and his method of counting was studied. Turner pulled all the blocks out of the object, lined them up and counted them, moving one to the side as he counted. Then, he double checked his counting. Ms. Cipolla was impressed that he counted twice before answering her. She said this is something they try to teach the kids, later in the semester, and that he was one of two kids that did this (the other student was female). Ms. Cipolla said that he has met all his kindergarten learning objectives already. So, the pressure's off, not as though there was any.

Now, for the 'bad' news. Turner had two bullet points to work on. They are: "will follow classroom rules by sitting quietly and refraining from distracting behaviors (talking or touching/bothering other students and/or disruptive behavior (talking out of turn, shouting out answers or general disobedience)" and "will be an active listener focusing on the speaker and not playing with clothing/shoelaces, items on the floor." Ms. Cipolla smiled as she delivered this news to me. And these things were not a surprise to me. She said, "He's a real entertainer you know. I laugh so much at him." Yes, he does always want to share a joke or find a way to be funny. "And he has this crazy vocabulary. He tells these stories..." Yep, he can totally tell a story. "But, he does a good job of entertaining his classmates too. They pay attention to him instead of what we are talking about." Oh, and "He tackled a kid on the playground. I think he was trying to hug him, but he took off running wide, I mean, wide open and his arms were stretched out. He grab onto the other boy and they went down like a football move." No one was hurt, but the other kid wouldn't play with Turner the rest of the day. Turner got a yellow card that day. I ask Ms. Cipolla if we need to really worry about any of these things, or can we just reinforce at home that we are Peacebuilders and practice more active listening. She smiled and said she thinks Turner is just wonderful and that he is still adjusting to the new school. She said she "loves" having him in class, and that he has times in class when he is so quiet and engaged in an activity or in what she is saying. It is just other times, always on the mat surrounded by his classmates, that he has a story to tell or something to do to make the others laugh (I think dancing has made an appearance or two).

Acting out imagination.

2010-09-05T09:22:00.000-07:00

I pull Turner from Dragon Tales to help me cook dinners, yes plural. Sundays we usually cook a bunch of stuff to get us through the week. Turner enjoys being in the kitchen with me, but he has slowly moved from helping me cook to just being in the same room with me while I cook. He gets lost in imagination. While I do miss the conversations we had while we cooked, I love getting to watch and hear his brain work. Today I am making lasagna (for tomorrow) and pasta salad (for lunches next week). Turner comes into the kitchen and starts the search for a lizard with red stripes.

It was on the kitchen table the other night when Margot was here. I suggest he look on the table by the front door where most everything in this house "lands" at some point. He finds it there. On the kitchen table are three dinosaurs, two of which eat meat and one that doesn't, a bird, a tree, and about a thousand pieces of paper (but that is unrelated). He tells me he needs something, and he starts snooping among the dirty dishes on the counter. He finds shrimp cocktail sauce that should have been refrigerated two days ago (the oral history cluster had catered meeting this month and I came home with lots of yummy stuff. cocktail sauce excluded). He puts the little jar on the table and then asks for "an applesauce container and two washcloths." From the table, dinosaurs are blasting off the cocktail sauce, landing into the washcloths. Sometimes they jump from cocktail sauce to applesauce to table and into the air. They are usually shooting some sort of weapon or power blast or special element of nature at one another, all the while the animals are speaking to one another in English and some "foreign tongue." Occasionally a dinosaur "camps" on the applesauce, as though s/he is taking a rest from battle. At other points in his play, dinosaurs got onto special moving objects that shot them through the air and around the island, into the living room, and back to the patio before landing back at the kitchen table. Cooking lasagna is not a short process, and these dinosaurs had a lot to say and do with one another. They were strategic in battle, angry at times, laughing at other times, and terribly mobile. There were a few points when one dinosaur comforted another. "It's okay," he said, "I understand that this is hard for you." I love the way this kid thinks and lives with compassion, understanding, and encouragement.

Another kindergarten update.

2010-08-27T09:18:00.000-07:00

I volunteered at Turner's school this morning. The kids sang their hello song while some kids were showing up late, others were doing lunch selections because they forgot on the way in, and others bouncing around on their bottoms, stretching out on the carpet, and a few kicking at each other. Then there was Turner and a hand full of other kids sitting criss cross with their hands in their lap as they've been instructed to do. After a few songs, the 42 (!) kids who were present today broke into smaller groups and each group had a station they went to. Each of the stations were explained well at the beginning of class and it became clear to me that the teachers have a great approach with the kids. But, there are so SO many kids and they are all over the place in levels of behavior and attention span. I went to the station where Turner went, upon his request. He was coloring the letter "T" that was huge. He was in a group with all girls, and I am thankful. Thorsten's group was all boys. They were decorating book boxes at a table next to ours. Two of the boys were pretty rowdy, knocking chairs over, climbing under the table, hitting Margot's chair and yelling. Poor Thorsten was quietly decorating his box when James laughed at his box. He just got up from the table and walked away. When Thorsten returned, I told him how cool his box was with all the fish on it. Turner barely got one corner of his T filled in. The girls out-paced him in coloring speed and Margot kept prompting him to color faster. He just responded to her, patiently, that he wanted to take his time and he was trying to be careful.

Two other families and I met with the principal after school today to discuss the increase in class size. (When we picked Borton we thought he would be in a K/1 split class with 25 students.) The straight K class, which is team-taught by two teachers and one aid, was to have 35 students. We found out today that they may have up to 52 students in ONE classroom with TWO teachers. Yes, I get that the ratio is still relatively low compared to most TUSD public schools (right now we are at 22 students per teacher). But, that many kids in one room is total chaos even when two teachers are doing their best to organize everyone in smaller groups. I imagine that much of Turner's attention during class time is on the forty+ other bodies around him on the carpet and not on what the teacher is saying.

So, the principal, who is new to Borton this year, expressed her concern with the team teaching model of the straight K room. She explained that the other classes, the K/1 split classes, do team teaching in a different way. The students-25 per room and teacher-switch classrooms during the day and the classes eat lunch together. Each classroom has a theme at Borton where there are interactive elements in the classroom that relates to theme. Tree room learns about plants. Shooting Stars learn about astronomy. Turner is a caterpillar. I jumped all the hoops I was suppose to jump so that Turner could be in the shooting star or Tree room, but somehow it didn't work out. Moving on, the principal said she would propose to the teachers a team teaching model that allowed straight K students to be in smaller cohorts, and join together some parts of the day like lunch. They would start and end the day in separate classrooms with one teacher, and they would go to special activities like PE, music, art as separate classes (which is already in their model, but just haven't started yet). I think this will work out much better for us, and give Turner a chance to learn the names of his classmates. Now, he is inundated because there are so many kids to remember. They all run together to him. Being there today meant I learned the names of the kids he liked and those he said were mean to him.

My problem with our meeting was that the teachers weren't there. I felt shady for talking about these problems without them there to explain WHY they like their method and HOW they think it benefits the kids. I'm sure they have these reasons b/c the principal said the teachers CHOSE this method of teaching even knowing they might get this many students. I just want to stress again, it is total chaos in Turner's class. I don't know why in the world they would prefer to spend their time putting out fires than actually conducting class, but I'm not a Kindergarten teacher and I have no authority to know anything about such. I just do NOT want the teachers to feel targeted. But, leaving that meeting, I felt like the principal might be one of those ladies who can't deal with confrontation. She asked us to create a formal report and to "rally" other parents behind us as though we are going into battle. It made me nervous. Why wasn't she inviting the teachers into this conversation? All five of us at that table were educators, and it was an interesting conversation about pedagogy and purpose. But, I have no idea where we will end up. If 52 kids are in Turner's class--which the principal said was "possible"--then I canNOT imagine letting him stay. He absolutely will not compete for attention, and he would have to do so. Today, for example, he didn't raise his hand to answer a single question. When I asked him why, he said "Why? I never get called on." And, in the first two weeks of school, he hasn't been yet.

Kindergarten update.

2010-08-26T09:23:00.000-07:00

This doesn't really count as a blog since I wrote it for a different purpose originally (a response to Thorsten's mom who emailed me with her Kinder woes). I've tried to clean it up a bit so it will make sense without having read her email.

Kindergarten is tough business, but we are in the business of being tough. Are all new Kinder moms this jaded? Probably not. Probably it is just Erika and I, but that is because we both are the kind of mom who enjoys getting lost all day with our little men in imaginative play and not-planned-out-very-well adventures. I thought Kindergarten would big this huge adventure where he came home everyday, like he did with the summer bridge program, excited about all that he that he did. Each day was a new lesson, a new activity, a new friend. Now, however, he comes home exhausted and having learned mostly new rules and ways of behaving (and policing behavior). I can hear you now LaLa, I know all kids aren't as well behaved and that a huge part of Kindergarten is getting kids accustomed to rules and how to follow them. But, what about all those kids sitting there bored out of their mind because they know how to behave already? Well, those kids (Turner) start acting up because they don't want to learn more about rules. They are ready to start learning other things. I don't know. I admitted already I'm jaded. That said, I'm going to volunteer in his class tomorrow, and hopefully that will help me feel more comfortable and knowledgeable about what is going on.

We are packing Turner's lunch everyday (his Hot Rods lunch pail of course). I cut him out a creation each day and write him a message on it. Today it was a star with the S-T-A-R written on it. The best one so far was a flying dinosaur. He wanted me to send that one two days in a row. So, we stuff the lunch box with some interesting creations: edamame, peanut butter on wheat thins, hard boiled eggs, apples, cheese, macaroni and cheese, broccoli, sandwiches. . . just about anything to get all the food groups in. Last week he only got a dessert three days because he was bringing everything home uneaten but the cookies. This week has been a lot better. More often than not, he eats most of his lunch on the way home from school. Two days ago we made mac and cheese, and he complained when I picked him up because I forgot the fork. His teacher opened the container for him, but no one got him a fork. Ugh. Today I wrapped up a turkey and cheese sandwich but he couldn't get the plastic wrap off of it at lunch, so he ate it on the way home from school. It's a learning experience for us both. I think he sits with Margot everyday at lunch. He's mentioned sitting with Thorsten a few times. One thing is for sure, he can't remember anyone else's name. He says he has friends and that he plays with them on the playground (and Thorsten usually), but he can't recall their names.

He's had a few "friend" mishaps though. Emmi hit him one day. She has some kind(s) of developmental issues and has a full-time aid with her while she is in the classroom. But when Emmi hit him, Turner was cool about it and made sure to give her a hug at the end of school (without any prompting). We were walking down the hallway. He said, "Emmi hit me today."
I said, "Oh really. Why? What happened?" (I didn't know Emmi).
Then he walks to this girl who is very large for her age and taller than T. He gives her a hug and then says, "I'm still your friend, okay. Then he grabs my hand and we walk on."
He said to me, "That was Emmi."
I said, "Oh. So why did you hug her?"
He said "Her grandpa said she just gets excited and is trying to hug too hard. So I didn't want her to feel bad for hurting me because it was an accident." Not sure how Turner met her grandfather, but whatever. I was glad to see his thoughtfulness and sensitivity flag flying way high that day.

Another day he came home and the neck of his shirt was all stretched out. He looked like he was bringing back the 80s. He said two of his guy friends were pulling on his shirt while they were sitting inside. Another day he said two boys pushed him on the playground. Today he was kicked (by accident) in the face by another boy on the monkey bars. Turner said the boy walked him to the nurse's office, which I thought was nice.

I just feel so left out of kindergarten, like I don't know anyone and don't have any idea what is really happening at school. He says he isn't learning anything and that he is bored, but he knows new songs so he must be learning something. I was glad to hear this morning about open house next week. Perhaps that will relieve some of my anxiety.

It seems like Turner doesn't really get good reports from school. I mean not that I get a report, or even always get to talk to a teacher when I pick him up or drop him off. (I am missing the Catalina attention-to-parents big time.) But, he told me a couple of days he had to put his head down, and two days ago he got his first day of being in the "role model" box all day. I suppose the other days he wasn't good enough to get into the box. It feels like they are learning so many rules, and perhaps that is because there is such a range in how the kids behave. I don't like the whole strict rhetoric of "bad" and "good" that Turner is coming home with though. Yesterday he told me he didn't make it into the role model box, but that it didn't matter to him because he thought he was being a good boy all day. He was sad. I had no idea what to say. I wanted to whisk him up in my arms and promise he doesn't have to listen to people tell him he's "bad" just because he didn't go above and beyond every moment of the day. I was feeling dramatic. Instead, I just hugged him and said I thought he was so special and that everyone is getting adjusted to school right now and that not everyone can make it into the superstar box all the time. Keep your nose clean, basically, was my advice. Stay outta the way until all the hellions learn some manners and then your light will shine bright enough for the teacher to see it.

I think I'll volunteer on Friday. That might make me feel better and help familiarize me with his classmates. I think he likes school, but he did ask to take this week off. I'm always encouraged when I see Margot and Thorsten there, and Hansana in the hallways. I know at least Turner has a few comrades.

Theme of the day in K'Nex.

2010-08-16T09:23:00.000-07:00

We are later than we wanted to be getting to Turner's school, but it worked out fine. There were tons of other equally nervous parents learning the ropes. And most of the kids were in the courtyard jumping rope and dancing to music. Tomorrow, we hope to catch more of the dancing time. Today, however, we had tasks to complete. Turner created his name card and chose a cubby to put his backpack in. He learned how to select his lunch: express bag, tray lunch, PB&J, salad, or lunchbox from home (a lot of food options, that's a good thing). Turner put his name under lunchbox (a Hot Rods lunchbox filled with a PB&J, apple boats, animal crackers, granola bar, and juice box). Turner went into the classroom and did not find his name tag. He came back out into the hallway upset he couldn't find his name. I go to help and sure enough they had his name as "Klapkek." We corrected this mistake with all the teachers and on the fifteen places they had put his name (that's an exaggeration). A teacher was reading a book to the class while some of the parents lagged around the room. It was a book we read with Turner two weeks ago. After the book, the teacher asked the kids to raise their left hand, put it to their mouth, and blow kisses off to their folks. Turner gladly kissed us good-bye and parents were dismissed from the Caterpillar Room with Ms. Stephanie.

At 2:40 Andy and I joined the crowd of parents taking up wall space outside the classroom. Andy inspected the lunch box (one bite out of the sandwich gone, the juice box empty, and some animal crackers eaten.) When Turner came out the first thing he said was, "I didn't really learn anything today." We gathered his book bag and stack of papers and headed to the car, where he ate his sandwich, half his apple and almost all his animal crackers. I asked who he ate lunch with and he said Margot. She had yogurt, pineapples, and some other things that I can't remember now. They didn't talk much during lunch, only when Turner asked Margot a question. At dinner, Turner recited this summary of his day:

"I didn't really learn anything, but I played with K'Nex. And I wrote my favorite thing that I did today, which was K'Nex. I read in circle time, and I had lunch with Margot. And I loved my teachers very much, but they didn't tell you that I got in trouble only once. It wasn't very much. It wasn't a bad thing I got in trouble for but I forgot what kind of trouble it was so I cannot tell you. And I really did get to make some observations on K'Nex, and I made a sea monster out of K'Nex. The end."

Later, he told us about the school tour his class took today. "And there's a nurse there that takes care of you but she doesn't give any shots. Well, she does give shots but at some other place."
Andy asked, "Does that mean she has another job some other place?"
"Yeah. I think it's a doctor."

*Forgot to add this to the original post. A perk of public school="Entertaining" adult apparel. One of the parents dropping his kid off this morning was wearing a T-Shirt that read: "It's not a beer belly. It's a gas tank for a sex machine." Seriously?!?

Second to the last day of summer.

2010-08-15T15:41:00.000-07:00

Soccer. Family Astrology Night. The Raptor Show. It was a great, big day.

Soccer Game at 9 AM. This was a make up game cancelled for rain. Today, the grass was way too tall, and the other team had only three players (one of which was confusing football with soccer; his dad chased him around the field for a quarter preventing him from tackling our players).

Turner totally stuck with it.

One goal.

Two goals.

We rush home and shower. Turner cleans soccer off himself, and we chat about the Desert Museum and the kinds of snacks we'll need. I tell him I've had fun playing with him all summer. He gets out of the shower.

"I just can't believe this is the second to last day before summer is over, and then you'll be in school."

"Yeah. I know. But, you know mom that I can come home from school and we can still have time to play. I mean after I get my homework done or play my game a bit maybe."

"We'll still have plenty of time to play after school."

He gives me a hug, "I've had a lot of fun with you too mom."

For a few weeks Turner and I have taken turns reassuring one another that Kindergarten is going to be the most amazing fun thing ever. Dropping him off the first day, I anticipate that will be difficult. But for now, the second to last day before summer vacates, I'm keeping the tears inside.

The Desert Museum has special summer programs on Saturday nights. They stay open until 10, and the night's activities reflect themes. Tonight was family astronomy night. Turner and I got to the museum about 5:30 pm. We had our picnic in the car, sang a couple of songs to sharpen our senses and then rushed out into the 104 degree night. More than once I heard others, and thought it myself, what a nice night it turned out to be. The breeze was strong, like it was going to rain; it was so SO hot today that a 100 degree breeze was welcomed company tonight.

As we walked through the parking lot, Turner asked about ice cream. So, from the beginning, we were on a quest. But first, we went to the "Sky Hunters" demonstration where we watched an owl eat a live mouse and we ducked to miss a flying raven. A parrot flew around the room too, and its feathers sounded heavy and rackety where as the feathers of an owl (not sure at all what its species), a white owl that looked like a huge cotton ball, it had feathers that absorbed sound. It is a night predator. The demonstration was 45 minutes long and Turner and I thought it rocked. All of the people involved in the demonstration tonight were volunteers. Amazing.

Owl

Noisy Feathered Parrot

After "Sky Hunters," Turner and I resumed our quest for ice cream.

Detour at the tortoise, who was out snacking. Only the second time we've seen him in all our trips to the museum. We watched him for a long time with great enjoyment. Detour at the sea otter and beaver homesteads. Had to check in the den and found only beavers. The sea otters were too busy playing. Then, ice cream.

Because it was astronomy night, there were docents set up along the path with huge telescopes. On our way to the cave, we saw craters on the moon, and you could distinguish mountains. It was awesome. After the cave and the sand dig - too dark for that so we passed on by - we stopped at another telescope. This guy, had a light/laser/pointer thing that shined light all the way up into the stars. A docent at our very first telescope had shown us this light. But it was still dusk so we could not see how far the light went. At the second station, though, we could see sparkles where the light bounced off of dust.

At third third telescope the docent was so knowledgeable and entertaining that he had a following. Turner and I waited for him to get set up. The docent, of course, explained each step to Turner. 8:00 pm. We looked first at the moon. We saw more craters and mountains and a sea. Then the docent moved the telescope so we could see saturn. It looked just like the pictures. The docent pointed out to us the moons (there are 53 total) that surround Saturn. Turner and I counted two tonight. While we all waited in a line to look through the telescope, the docent pointed out constellations. He told stories about Greek mythology and showed us how the moon was in virgo tonight, and we saw Sagittarius and Scorpio shooting into the heart of Pisces? (can't remember but another astrological sign). The whole night made me want to read.

What. An. Amazing. Summer.

Reading (that is, cutting back on TV time).

2010-06-30T18:41:00.000-07:00

It is amazing how much work I can accomplish when I hire a babysitter. John Anderson, who I started tutoring three years ago when he was in high school, is now a sophomore at the UA. He’s happy to make some cash in the summer and Turner loves having another man around. Yesterday and today John took Turner to swim lessons and to the library while I finished my fellowship article. What a luxury.

I have written almost every single day since April for two to five hours at a time. Sometimes, this leaves Turner supervised by the TV while I churn it out at the kitchen table. He’s had plenty of imaginative play, of course, and we have some big adventure every day. But, sadly, he’s also watched tons of TV and movies this summer. My friends assure me that they grew up watching this much TV and they turned out okay, but I’m not convinced by it. I spent nearly all my time as a kid getting dirty in the backyard using my imagination. Turner’s imagination, though, was taking a scary turn. It wasn’t uncommon to hear him say things like: “I’m going to crack you in the head, stab your ear, then twist your arm until it pops.” Usually, tirades such as these would be followed up with some kind of kung fu move demonstrating how deadly he could be with only his body as a weapon. So. Andy and I decided we needed to cut back on the TV and to do a better job balancing Turner’s play fighting with non-violent DS games. DS, by the way, makes very few games where the object is not to get rid of, in some fashion, your opponents. Imperialism.

With only one movie a day and nature TV at night, Turner has learned to play in his room as long as I sit in the hallway with my computer and work (he can’t stand being in a room alone and never ever will be upstairs without us or downstairs without us; makes putting laundry away are real game of cat and mouse). He acts out plays for me (and he’s a great actor). He plays computer games online, which has made him so interested in reading. And, I’ve learned to write for thirty minutes, play for an hour, write for thirty minutes. We’ve built dinosaur worlds where we chase each other around the house hunting for defenseless bugs (and there are plenty to find in our place). We’ve built car villages where cops and robbers chase ice cream thieves and while they are resting in jail we go find our own ice cream (and we have eaten SO MUCH ice cream and gelato this summer I think they should name a flavor after us). We’ve cooked a lot together, cut paper, glued things, colored, painted, created greeting cards, played matching games and bingo and Go fish about everyday, and we’ve read book after book after book. Halfway through any of these activities, I’ll get a good idea for something I was struggling with in my writing, so I’ll rush to the computer and address it. At first, Turner would rush after me, but now he knows I’ll return in a few minutes more concentrated than before on our task. Not watching TV has been good for us all.

This afternoon, for example, I’m making pad thai for Turner and I to share as we watch the sunset (he had milk and an apple too, and he takes his noodles plain). Turner sits at the table and reads one of his new library books to me while I cook. It is a Scooby Doo chapter book. He reads to me often, and he does a wonderful job thinking up imaginative details and dialogue to go along with the pictures. He begins on the first page and says, “The author and the illustrator are...” and he pauses. Then he says, “the author and the illustrator are the same guy named John.” I’m so glad he recognizes that the author and illustrator are note-worthy. Most folks skip right over this page and get into the story, but there would be no story without the writer and illustrator. My pride in this is self-serving, I’m sure. So, then Turner turns the page and reads the title of the book (which he heard me say when I handed it to him as my requested read). Then he begins the book and talks me through it for the next ten minutes. He even does the Scooby voice! Can’t wait for you all to hear it.

After the pad thai was finished we went to the gym so that Turner could interact with other little people and so that I could celebrate finishing my article by working out some stress. Then we gathered our picnic dinner from the house and headed to the very end of Campbell Ave and watched the most beautiful sunset together. Turner and I chatted about what makes the sunset so purple and pink (I have no idea but I figure it has something to do with moisture so we came up with different theories). We sat in silence for a bit and watched the sun drop out of a cloud. Just before Crystal and Brad arrived to take in the sight with us, Turner sat his apple in the cup holder and climbed out of his camping chair. He put his arms around my waist and said, "Mom this is my favorite part of today." Me too.

Dance moves.

2010-06-26T18:51:00.000-07:00

Turner is a dancer. He loves to move his body to all kinds of sounds, and he doesn’t just move around. It’s as though he is compelled to move around and appreciate the sound of another person. Many of you know this first hand because you’ve danced around our kitchen with us. We are a music loving household. Tonight Turner and I went to the baseball game—Tucson Toros—with my school friend Denise and her 8 year-old son Noah. On Friday nights there are fireworks after the game, win or lose. We lost this week. But for several Fridays in a row, Turner and I have (half-heartedly) tried to make it to the fireworks. You know, just sit in the parking lot and take in the free show. But, they don’t start until late (10 or so), and one week the game was delayed because our team hadn’t arrived. We made it tonight for the fireworks, and we decided to take in a game.

Before Turner and I left the parking lot he said to me, “Mom, can you smell that?”
I said, “What?” Knowing this might be a loaded question because usually when Turner talks about smells, something smells unpleasant.
“I think I can already smell the cotton candy.” (Cotton candy, by the way, was a total rip off, but he got some anyway.)

After the fireworks, the boys ran the bases. Turner became separated from Noah and for about four minutes I didn’t know where he was. Noah ran the bases alone and there was no Turner. I trusted in him, kept looking and finally he appeared. (I kind of remember now a time when my mom was frantic in a store and having me paged. Her reaction seemed so irrational then.) When he got onto the field I was so glad to see him, I didn’t take any pictures, so I had him run them again for the photo opp.

We said our good-byes to our friends and walked toward our car. A musician was on the sidewalk playing a variety of buckets. I pulled out my camera because I just knew Turner would want to dance. Before I had any words in my mouth, he was out in front moving his five-year-old self around.

Once he finished and we resumed our long journey to the car, he said, “Did you see those other kids?”
“Yeah. You got them dancing too.”
“Yeah. They were all dancing with me. We were dancing as a team.”

This is the greatest summer ever!

"The Bionicle Dance"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2-_g2-EaV4

Soccer Saturday.

2010-06-12T18:54:00.000-07:00

Turner's first soccer game was today. At 8:15 a.m. we're trying to get out the door because the school where he plays is way far away. Turner arrives in time to do some practice shots. I was SO excited for this game. We even bought camping chairs. I get set up next to the other soccer moms and we make small talk about how beautiful the weather is (70s this morning). The whistle blows and the kids take off like they know exactly what is going on. Let me remind everyone I know about zilch when it comes to the rules of soccer. I don't know how score is kept. I didn't really know what to expect today. I'd heard that kids this young just huddle around the ball and kick shins. This game was not like that at all. I cheered like a fool, joining the other moms, a grandmom, and the dads, and I didn't expect that I'd be that excited about a kid's soccer game. But, it hasn't been our kid out there before. It was an action-packed game, and I am so proud of Turner.

The kids ran the length of the field playing defense and knowing which goal was their goal (well, our team's first goal was compliments of the opposing team). At practice, if feels like the kids aren't always listening or organized as a team, but today they worked together. They play 20 minute halves. The coaches run up and down the field offering advice to the players. Turner was chosen to sit out the first quarter. He ws not particularly happy about this, but the tears didn't last long. He cheered for his teammates and even stepped into the game at one point when the play was in front of him. He ran out to intercept the other team. Actually, a little boy on the other team is dribbling down the field and Turner ran out in front of him and the ball hit the back of Turner's foot. Then he ran back to his spot standing out of bounds. The moms and I were all excited and cheered for him anyway. There are a few kids on the team that are good players. Six players on the team. Cameron, the coach's son, is fast and really good at handling the ball. Turner runs fast. He chases the ball down and is good at stopping it and, sometimes, taking it away. He's the tallest kid on the team, and he looks ginormous compared to the three year olds, who are both small for their age. Cain is good at aiming goals. Only one kid got hurt (busted lip, on our team). Check out the videos to see Turner in action. He was impressive. After snacks are passed out and Turner has the usual lip hickey from the small Gatorade bottle, we split ways with Andy, who has to go to work.

Turner and I go to Thorsten's birthday party. His folks are patients of Dr. Duchon, and they are the coolest (she's a grad student in hydrology and he is a professor, studing soil). It was the best kid party ever. Mimosas and the World Cup game on the big screen. A kiddie pool with sprinklers. I got to meet lots of new people who do all sorts of cool jobs and came home with an email list. Turner admonishes us to find friends with kids, so I came home with a list of email addresses.

We catch the last five mnutes of the soccer game at Trident Grill, where some of my lady friends and their spouses watched the game. Turner entertained Star, Elise, and Crystal and refused to eat macaroni and cheese. I suppose all that candy at Thorsten's made him full. Or it could have been the brownies.

After the game we go to the bookstore to buy Kilan's birthday present. It is after 2 pm. The parking lot is full and we drive around for a bit. I give up. We go home for twenty minutes so Turner can eat a PB&J and I can drink a Diet Coke. Yeah caffeine. We go back to the bookstore and buy Kilan a present. We go to Kilan's birthday party.

There, Turner gets to hit his second pinata of the day, and he collects more candy. Andy arrives just in time to watch. There are also chocolate cupcakes (Cheryl's recipe), water balloons, a few party games, and tons of jumping on the trampoline.

Eleven and a half hours after we first left the house, we made it back home.

Role play.

2010-06-09T18:55:00.000-07:00

Hibiscus has put on the best show this year. I've had as many as five blooms in a single day. This morning Turner came charging into the bathroom to tell me the hibiscus, which he totally pronounces correctly, has four blooms. "It is beautiful Mom. So beautiful. Can't wait for you to see it." My mother has some beautiful flowers, but as a child I did not love the duty of standing in front of them. Thankfully, Turner is a much better sport.

The theme of summer vacation could be, at this point anyway, "Role Play." Most every sentence out of Turner's mouth begins with, "Pretend that..."

Today, we had a busy day. Not just of role playing, but a busy errand-running kind of day. I do not like them. Turner does not like them. Errands are necessary, but in this kind of heat they seem not just burdensome but almost ironic and comical. We seek solace in cheap, sweet treats: Eegee's frozen lemon ice (made with real lemons that Turner gets to spit out the window) and humungo chocolate chip cookies (that melt in the first five seconds, but never stop tasting good). Our errands today were: 1) Pick up keys at Andy's work (which actually meant we went to Andy's work, picked up some water, used the bathroom, visited a bit, got a new tooth toy, and left without the keys. Drive back, secure keys.) 2) Drop keys with Realtor and sign tons of paperwork. Get more depressed about housing market then remember money doesn't matter. We can make more. Turner eats his lunch and plays with the water cooler. 3) Pick up soccer uniforms in the middle of absolute nowhere. 4) Go to grocery. Be so so so thankful for summer fruit and how absolutely amazing it smells and tastes. I can't really even get home without some sticky goodness running down my chin. 5) Go to pharmacy. 6) Take groceries home and move all the junk we don't need into the car. Takes just an hour. 7) Take junk we don't need to Savers to be recycled for other folks who consistently buy junk they don't need. 8) Meet at soccer field and distribute uniforms. Mom says seven times, You're welcome. No problem. To all the other mothers who are glad they weren't saddled with soccer family team responsibilities.

Then go to gym. Then cook dinner. Then watch weird documentary about soap salesman.

The things we pretended today. 1) "Pretend that I am Puss the cat" (from Shrek. He wears cowboy boots, which Turner wore yesterday in 100 degree heat as though they were not scorching his legs and feet.) Puss the cat fights bad guys and woos them with his big, sympathetic eyes. Turner and I have practiced "the eyes" too many times. 2) "Pretend that I am a Bionicle, but I don't speak your language." This becomes several hours of Turner making funny noises and loud screaming sounds from the back seat as we run errands. Then he'll whisper to me the English translation and I try hard to sound interested in foreign worlds where people refuse to seek peace with one another, no matter how convincing my argument for peace is. "Yes Mom, I know that we should get along. But we are different people from different places and we all want to have this land." Yes, I'm familiar with the perils and promises of colonizaiton. 3) "Pretend that you are in a pet store picking out a new puppy." I walk around the kitchen opening each cabinet and detailing what I "see" and why this puppy is insufficient. Then I come across THE puppy. He has beautiful brown eyes. A nappy tuff of hair. A really happy face that makes me think we'll be life-long comrads. For the next thirty or so, the puppy wants to do "tricks" for goldfish. Then we take a nap. The puppy naps by playing a mysterious DS game. Thirty minutes on the dot, the puppy kisses my face and says, "I'm ready for you to play with me again."

Loving summer vacation. Three chapters drafted and one article nearly complete, by the way. Writing every single day and wishing it were over. Hello July vacation, can't wait.

Nanny and PaPa coming on Tuesday!

Memorial Day weekend.

2010-06-01T19:02:00.000-07:00

Friday Turner did the farewell tour at school. Hugs and kisses all around and plenty of assurances that he will be missed. We can't say enough good stuff about Catalina. It was the major bright spot in our first two years of living here. Most everything was difficult and what wasn't difficult proved impossible in trying to establish a new life for ourselves after the move. But the teachers, kids, and Ms. Jo at Catalina always had words of encouragement, hugs, and laughter to push us forward through some really dark times. They have helped to teach Turner compassion, patience, listening, and thoughtfulness for things big and small. It was a really sad farewell tour for us all.

Saturday was birthday extravaganza. We got up early and went to the gym only to discover childcare doesn't open until 9 AM. So, Turner watched Avatar in the cardio theater while I did more lunges that I should ever do again. Annie's party was at 11:30 at Pump It Up (a room of jumping castles and slides). We bought her a Zhu Zhu, pink. She opened it, loved it, and we jetted. Noah's party started at 12:00, but he knew we'd be late to drop off his Gresh Bionicle. We arrived at 2 just in time for a babyquail funeral and some battle galatica in the living room with Bionicles (the girl--there is only one and she is named Kerik--was the most in demand character today).

We got home around 4 and "relax" with a movie (this is Turner's new language to get some TV time. "But Mom I really need to relax myself in front of the TV for a bit.") When Andy came home from work we went to the football field to practice soccer. T and I walked but Andy decided to drive. After a major fall in the crosswalk of 5th street, Turner and I made it to the field just before sundown. We practiced. Andy showed off some superstar moves. And just to bring back all those high school memories of track star days, the three of us raced around the football field. Turner took the shortcut through the football field to beat us both.

Sunday the boys went to the gym while I put an argument together for the Warnock Fellowship article, something I hope to pick up again on Tuesday. Then family pool time (so that I can start final edits of chapter one). Turner engaged in the usual casual flirting with the lesbian ladies down the street. After the sun had sufficiently kissed Andy's shoulders (because he still thinks 6 SPF at the pool is sufficient protection), we headed home. Turner and I go to the grocery for our party supplies and stop at the pharmacy again, only to be reminded again of how incompetent they are! We play scrabble, make banana pudding and cauliflower salad, do our watering chores, and read a stack of books. While making pudding and playing scrabble, Turner asked if he could eat as many cookies as he wanted. I agreed. An hour later he was whining to go to bed with a stomach ache. He said, "I don't want to ever eat that many cookies again." When he woke up Monday morning, he remained steadfast in his assessment that 3 cookies will be his limit from now on.

Monday is the pool party. Most of our friends come and hang out from 1 until Turner's bedtime. Turner makes a new friend, Star (in July she is moving to Southern FL for a super awesome job in Rhet/Comp). Star is her real name, by the way, and she looks like she stepped off a SoCali boardwalk: blonde hair, designer sunglasses, huge purse that harbors illegal aliens without papers, and the kind of attitude that exudes confidence. She fell in love with Turner because "he says smart things, like really smart things, that most normal kids don't express interest in. I mean really, he is a great conversationalist." Uh, yeah, we know. She and Turner had swim lessons. They laid out in the sun trying to get into the Brown family (seriously, that is what Turner said to me, "Hey mom. Come over here with us and be part of the Brown family.") Before the party stragglers moved to the house for dinner, Star and Turner hung out at the other end of the pool soaking up the last rays of sunshine (from behind 80 proof sunscreen) and talked about who knows what. She was smitten and, in the total giving way that is Star, she offered to watch Turner one day next week so that I could have an ENTIRE day to write.

Summer vacation starts today.

2010-05-27T19:16:00.000-07:00

One summer goal (of many I suppose) is to document all of our adventures - and there are going to be many. I am so very excited to have gotten a fellowship so that I can hang with Turner all summer without having to navigate our fun around teaching and grading schedules. Thank you Tilly Warnock for being generous with your retirement money, and thank you Theresa Enos for being a huge advocate for this academic mom (she was one too).

Summer preparations began over a week ago when we registered for soccer. Practices every Tuesday and games on Saturdays. There are five kids on his team, all boys. At sign up, we had no coach, no team mom and no one really eager to take on these roles. It seemed as though we did not really have a team, just a small group of mothers who wanted their kids to kick a ball around a bit and socialize in a team environment. We all got out our phones and started making calls trying to find a coach. One woman convinces her husband to coach (and we all listened to her make huge promises about home cooked meals four nights a week, foot rubs on Fridays, and something else that I won't repeat). Already I know this woman more than I'd like, but oh well. We have a coach. I offered up Andy's services to help with practices on Tuesdays (b/c he works on game days). So, we secured an assistant coach. One of the moms agreed to be Team Parent. We established our meeting spot for practice on Tuesday and we are set.

On Tuesday I picked Turner up from school. We came home and changed into our soccer gear. We put the socks on and then the shin guards on. Took them off and put the shin guards on first and socks on second. Then Turner told me there is a special way the shin guards go, as in a left one and a right one. We take all this off again and replace it in the appropriate fashion. Twenty minutes later, shew, we were at the table so Turner could eat a PB&J. We talk about all the What Ifs about practice. He is so excited! I say, "I'll take the camera so we can take pictures of your team in action. OK?" Turner goes chew chew chew. Long Pause. "Mom, I sure do hope that you'll be able to see me because I might be too fast for the camera." :)
We are the last to arrive at soccer, which really shouldn't surprise anyone. All the kids do a wonderful job listening and moving the ball around. The coach has been training his little boy since birth, according to the mom obligated to weekly foot rubs and home cooked meals until August. Turner is the tall kid. Two of the others are three, and the rest are five. On practice day, we secured a new player who is pretty good. The best on the team is of course the coach's kid. But, once Andy starts practicing more with Turner I'm certain he will improve. He's excited enough about it that he would probably practice everyday. I tend to teach him how to do things incorrectly and then Andy 'fixes' my lessons later.

The Team Parent's little boy hated soccer and doesn't really participate in the practice though she does all she can to engage him in it. At the end of practice she came over to me as I'm wanting to jet away to writing group. She handed me a stack of paperwork and said, Guess you are Team Parent now. Leverette is not interested in soccer. I say, "Me? No. Not me. I don't want to be responsible for anything but watching." She said, "Oh it really isn't that much to do. Really." She was totally lying to me.

So, Today.

So today, Turner and I have breakfast at the Hungry Fox. When we arrive the hostess remembers us and makes mention that we haven't been around in awhile. Turner says, "Yeah. We've been in school." While we wait for hashbrowns with cheese and a cinnamon roll, Turner and I draw out the cast of Mario Kart. I get to draw Mario and the girl (she has a name but in total anti-feminist fashion I don't remember the secondary characters' names, yep all those female ones). Turner draws all the rest of them and critiques my Princess figure's car. I didn't like that she drives a sports car so I created something akin to Luigi's car and the donkey's car. Our breakfast arrives. "Mom, this cinnamon roll tastes better than yours." "I know. But mine are healthier." "Yeah. I know." We scarf it down since the food comes to the table at the exact moment we are suppose to be at the dentist.

We go to the dentist; no cavities. All his grown up teeth are pushing out all the baby teeth. We compared Xrays with those a year ago and there, right on that little white screen was another reminder of how quickly he is growing. Huge inhale and exhale and mom pulls it together. We leave and go to the bullet proof room (bank lock box). Turner gets a real tour. He locks and unlocks doors, and he makes echoing noises. We go pick up Kilan (his mom is leaving for MN today for RSA, a conference). Kilan turns 7 in June! He tells Turner all about his birthday party plans. Then he says, "You know I'll be your friend forever if you'll buy me a car." Then he goes on to explain the kind of car it is--sounded like a battery-powered car. When he's done Turner says, "I'm going to be your friend no matter what. And I don't have lots of money. I'm saving for Indiana Jones game. But you know what my mom gave my $5 to charity once. Charity is people who have nothing. Like really Kilan NOTHING. It felt unfair that she gave my money away, but my dad explained it and it sounded okay." So a little back story here is that Turner wanted to cash in this bag of change he collected while home for Christmas. We never got around to cashing it in. When Andy moved the living room around I re-discovered this bag of change, mostly pennies. I took it to Fry's when I was grocery shopping, two birds one stone. Turner had almost $5.00 in change. A really big bag of pennies, two quarters, and very little other silver. The options were to pay $5.00 to get cash back or donate the money to charity. I chose the Food Bank. Thank goodness this was before he was saving for the Indiana Jones game. That is all he talks about.

The boys and I run my first Team Parent errand: turn in uniform requests at the office which is 40 minutes one way from our house. But, I'm totally over it. Turner and I love driving around in a car without air conditioning when it is 100 degrees in the desert.

One last pre-summer preparation happened last night. Turner and I went to the downtown library, which T described to Marissa as "the building called children's downtown." They have a huge space for kids to play on computers and tons of books. His favorite, of course, is Star Wars: The Complete Visual Dictionary. It is bringing up some talk about politics here, and that is fun.

Birthday number FIVE.

2010-04-02T06:47:00.000-07:00

I must begin, of course, by remembering Turner's other birthdays first. His first birthday was at our place on Coriander Lane in Lexington. Nearly everyone from our families were there, friends too, as Turner dug through chocolate cake. He got a riding toy that year and took the drive way. He wasn't walking yet, but he could ride with force. His second birthday was much like the first. Folks at our house in Lexington celebrating anniversary 2. Turner had more of his friends at this party, and he got a soccer goal from Ashley that was a huge hit with the cousins. Birthday number 3 was our first birthday in Tucson. It was a great party at a nearby park with many of his Catalina friends and my friends from school with their children. I made six different kinds of sandwiches, cupcakes and a regular cake. Birthday number 4 was at Ft. Lowell park again. I made cupcakes again this year (from cake mix) and saved the good cake for home. It is too much work to make Cheryl's fudge layer cake just to pass it out to children who couldn't care less how homemade or store bought it is.

Turner's number five birthday celebration began last Saturday (nearly a week early) when we started piece by piece making shopping trips to secure supplies for his party.
He made special cards for all of his guests, to thank them for coming and to put with their party bags (we ended up with about twenty extra of these).

Tuesday (I think) I wrapped all his presents. They've stared at him the rest of the week, piquing his excitement. We baked for two days--a bunny cake, 24 cupcakes, and 1 fudge-y cake (a Cheryl original).

Good Friday arrived. Andy and I tried to be strategic about Turner's party this year, planning the time and location to encourage more of Turner's friends to come. (Last year we didn't have the best turn out). Good Friday arrived and the school closed at noon. Andy and I distributed bunny cake widely to the kids and staff who are left at the school. And we tried to remind as many parents as we could that Turner's birthday party was later in the afternoon. Most of them were taking their kids to an alternative childcare arrangement for the afternoon. Others were going out of town for Easter weekend. It is times like these that we MOST miss our family. They would show up and help make it a party if only they were near.

The party is at 4 at the park across the street from the school. We get there at 3:15. Annie arrives first, about 4:15. Denise--a friend from the program--arrives with her two boys (Noah, who is Turner's age, came up to him and wished him a happy birthday. This was the first time he or I had ever heard Noah speak. I cried. He is autistic and the ability to speak is huge given where he falls in the spectrum). Ginger gets there around 5. Thorsten and his brother arrive at 5:30 or so, and Erica and I proceed through the dissertation melodrama ritual. We have cupcakes in shifts. Cheese sticks. Capri Sun. Lots of bubbles. We decorate Easter eggs and hand balloons out to many of the kids at the park. It was a fun-filled party with a small guest list. I don't think Turner found the party to be anything other than HIS day to be the center of attention and to have FUN, which he got plenty of.

Running with Noah playing Bionicle.

At home, we have a big dinner and fudge-y cake. Open some more presents.

Turner stuffed about half a piece in before he leaned back in his chair and burped some satisfaction. "My belly hurts." The mark of a great fifth birthday.

Turner colloquial.

2010-03-25T07:08:00.000-07:00

Turner is cutting out shapes at the kitchen table while I make corn bread and black beans. I couldn't find paper, so he's refashioning the pages of Martha Stewart's Living. He tells me a long tale about how to fold paper and make multiple shapes at once. It is the Mary method (Turner's teacher). He brings his shape over to me at the stove. It looks like a pteradactyl, which is my incorrect guess. It is a spaceship. He unfolds it, hands it to me, and then gets a mischievous grin on his face, "See, there are two." He pulls another spaceship from behind the other like magic. I express amazement, and then struggle as I place the nearly too-full skillet of cornbread into the oven. Shew. Done. I turn from the oven just as he smiles and says, "Pull my whiskers and poke my head, there are three of them." Who knows where he gets these things, but I'm glad he has such a flair about delivering them and such personality in thinking them up.

The olympics.

2010-02-22T07:13:00.000-08:00

Turner had TV privileges revoked for most of last week. Four days of time out in a row at school. He took Friday off. We've not let him watch anything but the Olympics. Really, the punishment has worked out well for the adults around here too. We think Turner could be an Olympic athlete, and we are prepping him for the summer games (winter games are much too cold for his onlookers). We listed the events to him, explaining a few. When I mentioned gymnastics he proudly pointed to his chest and said, "I do gymnastics."

"Well during gymnastics then you should listen closely and do the very best you can." This was Sunday.
Gymnastics class is Monday at 3. Today was his final class in the winter session. Last session we skipped the last class, not knowing it was the last class and unaware that the last class is The Routine. So, in an effort to make up for last session's missed routine, I recorded this session's.

At the beginning of the routine Turner indicates to his teacher that he wants to perform the routine solo. Turner is the last kid to go in his class (because he was the tallest), and the teacher has performed the routine with each child. Turner starts out alone with his special walk, into the forward roll. Then he bends down for an unknown move not part of the routine and realizes his mistake just before the straddle leg jump. There is a donkey kick. A gallop or two. Then a formal landing with hands outstretched.

Next session begins in March.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Is9IkRXZXYU

Chipmunk ski school.

2010-01-19T07:16:00.000-08:00

We left Albuquerque at 6:30 am, just as planned. Andy was up at 5, sick. Marissa’s mom held her sickness in until the second lost turn around in Sante Fe. Marissa, her sickness not food related, had no voice the entire trip. But, at 6:30 am we were in the car moving toward Sante Fe and snow. The sun came up over the mountains while two small boys and one Grandma snoozed in the back of the rented Chrysler something or other, a car that whined anytime we wanted to do more than 60 mph but always got us where we were going. Twyla, Todd’s mom, packed us each breakfast burritos in brown paper bags and hung them on the back porch to chill during the night. Fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, cheese, and the famous Burque green chiles. Both sweet and spicy. The kids got orange slices, half a banana, an apple, and several napkins in their bag. The adults got small tomatoes and oranges. Twyla runs a daycare in her house, so she is an expert at feeding many and feeding them fast.

We picked up the snow gear at a ski shop halfway up the mountain. Turner’s skis were tiny looking, and he was so very excited, wanting to put them on his feet in the ski shop. While Andy was adjusting boots and getting gear together, Turner stripped down to his skivvies so I can layer him up. Undershirt, Spiderman pajama shirt because it was the tightest long sleeve I could find, a thermal, a sweater and the $8 UK blue Columbia ski jacket found at Savers the day before we left (it looks brand new). On the bottom half he had underwear, long pants, his flannel lined pants from Christmas, and his bibs from Amy. Smart wool socks, toasty toes from Pa Pa, and new snow boots from Savers. He never complained once about all these layers; he just kept asking when we were doing the snowball fight and how he would walk around in those big skis. Having secured the snow gear, we got back into the vehicles and made our way up the mountain. It was a beautiful day with lots of sunshine and little wind. A perfect day for a woman who does not tolerate the cold well.

At the ski resort, which was more like a huge cafeteria with lots of windows, Andy made a dash to the bathroom again while I checked Turner into chipmunk ski school. I have not been snow skiing since high school and never before considered how much ski school might cost. Can you even imagine my sticker shock? Shew. All kids had to be checked in by 9 am. We were there on the nose and the tiny, tiny room for check in was overcrowded with tons of kids and parents that knew exactly what they were suppose to be doing. I, on the other hand, was carrying kid skis, a pair of ski boots, a pair of adult bibs, a backpack with my computer and books, a purse, like three sets of gloves, sunglasses, and the camera. All while trying to keep Turner near and dear. Finally, some woman behind the counter saw my confusion and directed me to the necessary forms, vest, and name card to enroll Turner in ski school. As we were standing in line, a little girl started talking to Turner and telling him all about ski school. She showed him some moves, explained to him the terminology, and encouraged him to be brave. Up until this point Turner had been so excited to ski and to be in ski school, but after encouragement from a seven year old he became scared.

“Mom,” he whispered to me when I finally made it to the floor to hear him, dropping piece by piece of gear as we chatted, “I’m not sure this is such a good idea. What do I do?” He picked up a glove and piled it back on my pile while I reached out quickly to balance myself by grabbing for the leg of the desk.

“The teachers will show you. They will be there with you the entire time.” I sounded reassuring, even as I questioned whether this would be true. I really had no idea what would happen once he stepped on the other side of the yellow chain. There seemed to be a million kids here, getting shuttled through like cattle as eager parents rushed out the door and toward the slopes. I was more nervous than he, but I had paid for the chipmunk experience and by golly he was going to get it. Andy arrived. He offered reassurance to Turner and within moments we watched him waddle down the hallway with a friendly teenager carrying his so tiny skis. Another mother saw me cry and in a tone that was so my sister she said, “Oh come on" a giant smile across her face, "my kids have been here for three days. They love it.” Okay lady. Thanks.

Andy pats my shoulder and tried to be sympathetic as he headed to the lavatory again. For the first hour of the day, I watched Turner in ski school. The chipmunk area was a huge square as long as a football field. There were several trees that snagged more than a few little bodies coming down the hill. There were some cones set up in the middle for the more advanced children. I saw several times the young girl that Turner and I met in the check-in room as she slid around the cones like an expert. At first, Turner was cautious and seemed to get lost in the swarm of 3 and 4 year olds. All of them big round circles of puffy synthetic fibers. I could always identify Turner by the blue and green striped hat bobbing up and down on his head. He would ski, slowly, while holding the hand of his instructor. He could not stop except to drag his butt down the hill. More than once he pelted the little boy in front of him, a child who wore a bright blue coat and red pants; a kid moving slower than any of the others. After an hour, I retreated with Grandma Irene to the lodge where we picked a table in the sun. From there, I could watch T go up, over and over again, on the kid ski lift. It was a moving escalator without the stairs. At one point Turner was lost in looking at the trees, and his ski slipped off the narrow moving belt. I saw a woman in red, an instructor, go rushing to his aid as another jumped to turn off the moving belt. The woman who helped him re-place his ski on the belt walked up the hill with him as he continued on the belt. I figure he was scared and she offered him reassurance. As she turned to walk back down the hill I saw she was laughing and I wondered, What is it that he said to her?

At lunch I went back and watched him for another hour so that he could actually see me watching. He was stronger and more willing to crouch, holding his knees as his instructor had taught him. He had learned to stop. He was proud of his hard work, willing to wave at me as he tried to ski down the hill. There were fewer kids and his instructor moved him to the first in the line. She and he talked a lot, who knows what about, but he was always pointing here and there as they rode up the ski lift.

By the end of the day, Turner was one of four kids remaining in the class. His instructor was no longer near as he swooshed from one side of the hill to the other. At one point she came running down the hill after him as he slid around a tree and then turned so that he slid right up to the end of the escalator. He did this without knocking into the ten or so kids lined up at the bottom. Too bad I forgot to bring my camera for this final leg of ski school. I really wanted to take a video of him.

Last night we got back home and Turner tells La La all the rules of snow skiing, in even more detail than we've gotten then ten or so times we've heard him talk about it. I can't remember them all...put your hands on your knees, turn skiis to the side to fall, turn with your knees and something else I think. Anyway, clearly ski school paid off.

Our fake yoga moves, entertaining us as we walked around and around Albuquerque.

Dance performance.

2009-12-17T07:40:00.000-08:00

Turner's music and dance class came to a close yesterday. He and seven little girls danced their stuff to "Deck the Halls." The morning of the performance I was rushing him out of bed, into the bathroom, and into the shower. He was still half asleep, but he stopped me in the middle of the bathroom after I turned on his water. "Mom!" all sudden-like. "Yes." "Wait a second." I waited. "I need to busted out this move." He took his foot, does some forward and then backward motion that included a tap. He clapped. Then he looked at me and told me the official name of this move, which I don't remember. He took his socks off and got into the shower. "So is that one of the moves your making today in your performance?" "Oh I can't tell youuuuuu." He sing songed his words to me. They have been practicing for the performance since Halloween. We have not heard a SINGLE detail about it from Turner. He has been quite close-lipped. His "busted out" move was my first glimpse of what was to come.

The performance was great, of course. When it was Turner's time to step onto stage he leapt two-footed onto the stage, then laughed out loud as the audience took note.

Knee. Tap. Heal. Tap. Clap.

The dance team.

View the performance on YouTube

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WwOpmQ6La90

Soccer rules.

2009-12-12T07:49:00.000-08:00

Turner and I are playing soccer on the sidewalk out front. He wanted us to be on different teams. I was UK and he was UofL (we watched UK play IU earlier in the day, and Turner was convinced the “blue boys” were playing UofL). I threw the ball ‘in’ and we chased it around a bit. He made his way toward the goal. I jumped around in front of it trying to look authentic.
"Mom stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Stop jumping around like that. I can’t see the goal."
"That is the point, right? I am not on your team so I am suppose to make it difficult for you to get a goal."
"Yeah but you are on my team sometimes too. OK."
He made the goal. I cheered. Since he got the goal, then he gets to throw the ball in this time. His rules. He threw it in. I chased him down the walk and tried to do defensive gestures. Turner said I’m making him nervous and then he kicked the ball into the flowers. I got it and then kicked it toward the goal. He ran all the way there and blocked my first attempt. Then I get a goal.
"Mom!"
"Yeah? I try to high five him."
"You got a goal."
"Yeah. For our team, yes?"
"Yeah but you aren’t the one on the team that gets the goals. We are the kind of team where you try to get the ball from me, but I always hit the goals."
"Hmmm. Well that doesn’t sound like much fun. I don’t think I want to play that kind of soccer."
"Oh okay. You be on your own team, but don’t make too many goals." Surely that couldn't be a real danger.
He threw it in again. Turner got the goal. He threw it in again and I got a goal.
"Mom!"
"Yes?"
"That doesn’t count as a goal."
"Oh really, why?"
"Because the goal moved a little." And, well, the side of the goal did move a bit. I did not put the stakes into the dirt (much too hard), so it moved with each goal.
"So what does that mean? If the goal moves, I don’t get credit for it."
"Yep." There was a short pause, then he turned on his heals to face me, “and it means that your point goes to the other team. To me.”
"So I just got a point for you?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I think I understand. But, you know that when you play real soccer, like on a league, that you’ll have to go by one set of rules. And they won’t be the rules that you make up."
"I know. But in the real soccer the goals don’t move. So it won’t matter."
True.

Veterans day.

2009-11-16T19:03:00.000-08:00

Turner and I are sitting at the kitchen table. It is 2pm. He is picking at his lunch (still….after almost forty minutes spent staring the food down and dancing around with a plane acting out a video game). I am typing and writing in preparation for the conference. We’ve talked about a variety of things, some of which are related to Veterans and what they do. Turner explains to me (for the third time today) that D is a veteran (which he says with difficulty and somehow adds an extra vowel or two). He gets quiet before he finishes the story about D and him being an “Army guy.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?” He puts some cheese into his mouth. I look up from my work. “What’s on your mind?”
“Oh I was just thinking. I wish we lived in a story.”
“Well, we kind of do. We all have our own stories to live and to tell and when we share those stories we invite others into our life.” (I resist explaining to him the feminist philosophy about narrative as a way to bring meaning to experience).
“Oh.”
“What kind of story would you like to live in?” He throws a few cashews into his mouth and makes stacks with his square cheese and “special” crackers (a.k.a. Wheat Thins).
“Well,” he pushes his plate to the side of the table as though he wants to perform the story for me, “we would live in Kentucky and we would live in a house close to a lake. A big lake. So we could drive to PaPa’s house and ask him to come fishing. And we’d try to have a contest to see who got the most fish.”
“Interesting. Does mom get a garden in our story?”
“Of course.”
“And what is the prize for winning the contest with Pa Pa?”
“Well,” without missing a beat, “ a remote control airplane. And you wouldn’t have to eat tired eggs anymore. At all. Though eating lots is important and to winning most contests so I guess that really isn’t a good prize. But the airplane sure is.”
“Yeah. What do you think Pa Pa would do with a remote control airplane?”
“What?”
“Well, I mean if Pa Pa wins the contest, what would he do with the airplane?”
“Oh I think he would give it to me. Yeah. For sure he would want to give it to me.”
I figure our story is over. I return to my paper, hoping to finish the conclusion so I can send it back to the journal before the conference (which did not happen). Turner sits for a moment more then, as though in deep thought, he gets up from the table and puts his lunch remains in the trash and puts his plate in the sink. Be impressed folks. He doesn’t always do this without being reminded, but he does always do it without complaint. He walks back across the kitchen and snuggles up to my arm. “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“My belly hurts again.” Turner has been having some stomach trouble this week and he occasionally complains about it. I think it is mostly gas trouble. Before lunch, for example, he was walking through the house making noise and apologizing as he went. When he got into the kitchen where I was making his lunch he said, My butt won’t stop talking to me today.
I pull him into my lap and rub his belly in the special soothing way he taught me how to do in preparation for his entire day of being a cat (which was weeks ago). He purrs like a cat.
“Is it feeling better?”
“Yeah a little.”
“I think your belly is just upset. Do you feel your intestines working?”
“What are isteninals?”
“Intestines.” We practice this a few times. He gets closer to saying it correctly. His way is much cuter so we move on. I describe to him the work that intestines do and I talk about different kinds of food we are suppose to eat that improve how our intestines function (Turner is so interested in the inside parts of his body that he can’t see. We’ve been reading lots about anatomy of the body and talking about how the food we put in our body affects how the body works. This started after Andy and I took T to watch Food, Inc. and T started asking lots of questions about food and what it does for us and where it comes from. We have looked at pictures of meat in the cookbook and talked about which part of the animal it is. Sometimes he says it is nasty to eat these things. Sometimes he refuses to eat any more dinner until he gets a meat on his plate. Either way, it is his choice.)
After we talk about the work that intestines do and how they do it, he says he wants to see a video about it. Hmmm. Google. Sure enough there are 150 videos about the small intestine. We watch two of them. The first is a scientific video that is a bit boring (to me) but fascinating to Turner. The second video is of a man dressed strangely and brightly and he is explaining the function of the small intestine in the body. The tone is more kid-friendly and the guy seems to be talking to our level, but Turner says “Mom. That one is boring. He is talking to me like I'm a baby.” We spend a bit longer browsing images of intestines (some Halloween decorations, some photos that look like they came from PK’s camera phone, and some really really gross images of intestines not working properly. Oh, and a picture of a diseased liver from an alcoholic man that made me want to never open my computer again. Ugh Gross. Turner saw it, though, and said it was cool, long o and lingering l with just a hint of surprise in his voice.

Howl-o-ween.

2009-11-02T18:36:00.001-08:00

Introducing....The Bat.

First house.

The Anderson's. Mr. Anderson is the guy on the left. The lady on the right is Mrs. Anderson's sister. Thanks to Mr. Anderson for digging out an old (and awesome) bat costume from his boys' stash. It was a signature Cheryl moment: "Hey Turner what do you want to be for Halloween?" "A bat." "Wow. We probably have one of those somewhere." Mom said, "Wow. Really?" Before we left Mr. Anderson appeared with the costume. It took him an hour to find it, but he did.

The boys before trick or treating.

Kilan's mom is way better at putting make up on. Turner asked, very gently, if next year I could try to use the "awesome kind of face paint" that Marissa had used on Kilan. I don't think it was the paint that was the trouble as much as me thinking, Ah slap something on there and he'll think it is cool. He was very gracious about it. Very.

Grandma Irene (Marissa's mom, her friend the lady bug, and the boys)