she's just saying...

In-de-pen-dance

Giant step yesterday on the 10-year-old front. Henry and his best friend Gavin* biked home from camp by themselves. To those of you without kids: this is a big thing.

Camp gets out at 11:30 am (as usual ignoring working parents' schedules), at which time I'm down at the Museum and don't feel like driving 10 miles back to town to ferry them a half mile home. So after I installed and loaded the new bike carrier, we rehearsed using the bike lock (with eyerolls and sighs) and I left them to find their own way home. They had their helmets, the lock, water bottles, jackets and $20 to get them through a week of junk food at 7-11. Then, of course, they got to stay home without adult supervision til I returned at 5:30.

The first time they stayed alone during the day the house was covered in spilled cereal, sticky ice cream dishes, various unmatched shoes and socks, squirt guns, video game boxes and random plastic legos that hurt like a bitch when you step on them. With the threat of a babysitter looming, they've been working on clean-up and are actually starting to catch on.

I wrestle with bad-mommy guilt over leaving them alone, never mind letting them roam the westside on their bikes. Being in a smaller, safe, family-friendly town helps. But still. I've watched too many "Law and Order" episodes to feel really comfortable. Maybe it's the natural progression toward independence or maybe they'll soon be smoking cigarettes behind the 7-11 (or maybe both). There's no manual for single moms. All we can do is make lists, check in frequently and trust in the goodness of the universe.

*Gavin is staying with us for a few weeks.

I was feeling pretty independent myself, having researched, procured, assembled and mounted the bike carrier on the car. Another episode in the endless series of "Girls Can Do It!"

Top Ten Tues. summer woes edition

Top ten things I am not enjoying about this summer:

1. the mosquitoes
2. little stinging wasps that ambush me
3. yellowjackets buzzing around my hummingbird feeders
4. mowing the lawn, over and over
5. packing Henry's camp lunch every day
6. removing sticky juniper sap from feet, floors, shoes and pets
7. having to work (versus last summer)
8. visitor traffic, especially when they can't figure out the roundabouts
9. the half-drunk glasses of lemonade that Henry leaves everywhere
10. that it's almost over.

Awww-gust

I've never really liked August. It's too damn hot, summer is as tired as three-day-old macaroni salad, and all those things you planned hopefully to accomplish aren't done and are mocking you.

My August was supposed to start with invasive eye surgery - fun! However, due to a lurking sinus infection, it's been indefinitely postponed, complete with last minute phone calls, faxes to doctors' offices, canceling airline tickets and general frustration. Not to mention the accompanying sinus infection. Meanwhile, Henry woke up with pinkeye, or eyes. So we're in an upbeat mood this lovely August first.

It's going to be another scorcher here in the (high) desert, so we have to batten down the hatches to keep the house cool. So we begin the slow sticky slide into the school year.

Don't say school!! Henry begs. He has five more weeks of various camps left, so school feels like it's years away. Labor Day being late this year has caused parents to scramble to fill one more week. I've been handing Henry off to whoever drives up, to go to the Fair, the lakes, baseball games and campouts. All things I usually enjoy but don't feel the urge to do right now. Meanwhile, all the Facebook families of the town are having wonderful laugh-filled, joyous, adventuresome summers (and even have time to post their photos and updates).

Hmmm. Mood getting ugly. I think H and I are going to hit the movies and stay out of the heat.

A post of the green-yellow persuasion

Henry was talking about colors the other day. What to mix together to make Crash Pink (pink and silver was his decision); the exact shades of Laser Lemon, Neon Lime, Racer Red, Quicksilver and so forth. These are the cool colors 10 year-olds talk about when talking about color, highly influenced by Crayola and anime.

Then he asked me, "What's your favorite exotic color?"

Oddly enough, I had an instant answer, because I'd been thinking about this myself.

"Chartreuse," I answered. He asked what it was and I held up my new handbag.

"Oh, you mean swamp green!" he replied.

No, I did not. But it had occurred to me recently that I have accumulated a lot of chartreuse. Which is odd because green is not one of my go-to colors. Black, definitely. Pale pink, white and cream, yes. Denim blue, brown, tan, occasionally a periwinkle; but green, purple, orange, yellow, red, not much. (I do have a weakness for garish floral designs that I indulge in summer skirts, but whatever.)

So I've been noticing all this "swamp green" around me. Maybe I'm branching out.

For your edification I looked up the color chartreuse (used the Google as my mom says) and learned entirely way too much on Wikipedia as usual.

I now know that the shade I like is yellow chartreuse or traditional chartreuse (versus web chartreuse), in the shade family of pistachio or pear. Also known as green-yellow (not yellow-green). The wiki entry is kind of funny (Chartreuse in human culture, anyone?) but now you know much more than you want to, so I won't copy it here.

So what's your favorite exotic color?

A single mother's day

1. Fed dogs, cats, fish and Henry
2. Did laundry
3. Epoxy'ed front gate screws
4. Raked one of 7 garden beds
5. Made Henry lunch
6. Felt sorry for self
7. Picked up dog poop
8. Made Henry sweep the decks and wash the porch chairs
9. Wet-vacced out the scummy pond
10. Patched liner again
11. Repaired the hoses
12. Filled and watched the waterfall
13. Realized it was still slowly leaking
14. Went inside, poured some wine and watched the Red Sox
15. Kissed my sweet boy goodnight

Summer camp crazies, one more time

Once again, I find myself reviewing a year-old post and realizing that nothing has changed in the intervening time. This is about registering Henry for summer camps.

As a working single parent, I have to book him for twelve weeks of activities this summer. At an average of $160 a week, it adds up quickly. To avoid the hell of standing in line this year, you can register on-line for a mere 6% more, which also adds up.

Here's last year's post on the subject, comin' round again:

Hell no, I won't go.

"I can't face getting up at 4 am Sat. to stand in line to sign Henry up for the Bend Parks & Rec summer programs. The doors open at 7, so to get your choices, you truly have to line up at 5. 5 AM outside, that is. It's cold and dark and miserable. We huddle in chairs and blankets, wearing our ski gear, waiting it out. Many jokes about how a few years ago, it would have been for concert tix.

Just as bad is the upcoming signup for Kids Inc, the before/after-school care BPR runs in the local schools. Great program, limited space. Last year I got in line at 5, and people were camped out from the night before. It was miserable, boring, cold and damp under the trees at Hollinshead Barn. I love our Parks & Rec for the incredible job they do with programs, parks and trails. But there's GOT to be another solution for this registration fiasco. What it does is reward the most determined, obsessive, clued-in parents who are able to stand in line for hours those mornings. Those who aren't in the know, are new to town or don't have the resources to get there early are screwed for summer camps or childcare for the school year."

April 1 breakfast

April 1 breakfast, originally uploaded by Meltrier.

I got Henry pretty good with this one.

I told him we were starting a new all-vegetable diet: no sugar, no dairy, no butter, which cuts out about 50% of his food intake.

His face fell as he started to work through it, though he did pick up a carrot and start chewing.

I know he's working on something for me for this evening. Luckily he's not very good at keeping a straight face.

He took a zucchini in his backpack for an April Fool's snack in class.

Dancing fool

I'll have you know I was once really hip. I networked at Area with Jerry Rubin in NYC in the 80's (you had to be there), frequented underground after-hours clubs in LA, danced til 10 am at a gay club in SF, did the rave thing. And I'm not a klutz. I took dance and taught advanced step aerobics for years. Really. I'm cool. However, I suck at Dance Dance Revolution.

First of all, there's clearly something wrong with the program. I step on the right arrow exactly when it shows the right arrow and I always get an "almost" or "boo." And when I dial down to beginner and start to get it right, the whole thing resembles a Frankenstein stomp in slo-mo. When does the "dancing" part come in?

Henry and I tried to double-team it: he took the left and up arrows, I took the right and down. We were pathetic. Meanwhile, on screen, they're gyrating and hip-hopping and krumping the moves. Us, we're just stomping around lamely and clueless and off the (non-existent) beat.

This is obviously a video game for people who have too much time on their hands (aren't they all). However, though I appear to have no funk in my trunk, I'm going to keep trying to crack this code. Anyone know of a Dance Dance tutor?

This is not me.

Top Ten: Breakfast edition (by Henry)

1. My mom's leftover pad thai, without shrimp. She makes the best.

2. Pesto.

3. Pancakes or french toast with butter and syrup.

4. Frozen egg rolls in the microwave.

5. Eggs sunny-side up with bacon.

6. Cereal. My favorite is Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

7. Oatmeal. With cinnamon sugar.

8. Egg McMuffins. Only the ones on the biscuits.

9. Biscuits and gravy!

10.And my mom's steamed vanilla milk with all of it.

Biscuits and gravy, Seattle 2008

A (blasphemous) adoption memory

 Ten years ago today, I got a phone call at work. The woman on the other end of the line said: “We have a baby boy for you! But I have one question I need to ask you first.” I prepared myself for a tax issue, a concern about my boyfriend, something on my medical form, but was not prepared for what came next. 

“Do you take Jesus as your personal savior?”  That stopped me. 

Clearly they were trying to ascertain if I was Christian. I had been evasive on the adoption forms and the required autobiography, and they were now pinning me down. My agency did not require a particular faith, but the Texas agency they were working with did. (Their website states: ... the policy of the agency is to place our children in Christian homes where both parents believe that their salvation is through Jesus Christ, the Son of God as written in John 3:16. Very specific.)

So, standing there in my office, I stumbled on about God loving everybody, going to the Unitarian fellowship, etc. She said, “Right, but do you take God as your personal savior?” I realized she was trying to give me an out, changing “Jesus” to “God.” I thought about the newborn baby in Texas waiting for me; contemplated my principles, and said: “Yes, I take God as my personal savior.” I anticipated some vengeful God who I didn’t believe in sending down a lightning bolt through the phone.

“Good – just stick with that,” she said, and started to discuss travel plans.

.

Escape from Antcatraz

The inevitability of this post was set in motion the moment the ants arrived in their tube, ready to get busy and start farming.

They've actually been pretty lethargic ever since they realized that their frenetic digging and tunneling ended them up in the same blue gel, a few inches away. Since then, they've hung out down in the clubhouse, apparently on strike. If we open the lid and blow softly on them, they get stirred up and run around for awhile before the futility hits them again and they go sulk.

Things being how they are in a (almost) ten-year-old's room, it was surprising it took this long for a flying stuffed animal to knock the farm off the bedside table and upside down on the floor, with a crack in one corner and the lid knocked sideways. Screams of panic brought me tearing into the room, where instinct caught hold and I started stomping on escaping ants. (I justified it to Henry by saying it was illegal to let them loose in the wild and we'd start an epidemic.)

We probably ended up with 8-10 casualties, a paper towel stuffed into the hole and the ants taking attendance and reconstructing their gel towers. Henry doesn't want them in his room anymore, and I have to say I spent the next half hour brushing imaginary ants off my arms and legs.

Everyone's a little shook up from the event, and I'm counting on a knock on my bedroom door at 2 in the morning due to nightmares about ants swarming over the bed.

Long division, the coin jar, and our tax dollars at work

I just spent the last hour and a half teaching the basics of long division, again. In that time, we did five fourth-grade division problems. And once again, I ended up hauling out the penny jar, counting out 47 or 65 or 128 pennies and helping Henry divide them into camp tents, soup pots, and ounces of milk, trying (again) to demonstrate the concept of dividing one thing into another.

I realize my boy has some kind of learning obstacle when it comes to math, or actually, arithmetic. He will appear to grasp a concept, then the next night seem to have never encountered it before. I know that his teacher (who I think is great and deserves a hero award) has to deal with this daily, times 27 kids take away 2 remainder 4 carry the 1 and subtract the divisor. His school has pulled together a "care team" meeting for him at least four times so far, consisting of the principal, his teacher, the special ed teacher, the counselor, the school evaluator, the school nurse, the janitor and me to discuss how he's doing and where to go next. I'm very impressed and grateful that our public school system is so thorough and is not letting kids fall between the cracks. But honestly, it's not helping.

The meetings are good, honest and efficient. The thrust, however, is that the school would rather not approve him for an IEP (individual education plan), which would trigger evaluations, tests, paperwork, follow-up meetings, accommodations, monitoring, and all kinds of state and local red tape that they would have to deal with. I realize they're overworked and overwhelmed with kids needing help. But, none of that matters when I have to explain the basic concepts of division at 7 pm on a school night while needing to do laundry, dishes, pet care, baths, cleaning, paying bills (and, of course, blogging!).

At one point tonight, after counting out 128 pennies and then putting eight of them into one of 16 cups, the thought crossed my mind that what the hell am I paying my taxes for, if I have to end up teaching school every evening. Now remember, I'm a knee-jerk, bleeding heart liberal, and I believe in taxing the citizenry for the common good and that the government is best equipped to manage our public resources. But, damn it, it's not working for us. And I'm in a very well-managed and well-funded school system.

What about the families who can't spend the evening re-teaching the basics? If they have another job, other kids, a sick parent, addictions, food "insecurity," no home or just no ability? How the hell do we expect our kids to learn enough to divide a gallon of milk into 16 cups?

Well, I certainly don't have a solution. I'm just realizing the problem. Henry's starting to hate school, feel like a failure, and turning negative. It will take all the effort the school can provide us to keep him positive and motivated, and I welcome the help. We can't afford a private tutor, so they're all I've got. I just pray it's enough.

Priceless

Hearing my sweet boy saying "Yes, we can!" as he falls to sleep...

Down on the farm [caution: disturbing images]

If you're ant-phobic, you might want to skip this post.

Update on our 30 28 new gal pals. (Dropping like ants around here.)

They're weirdly fascinating, and truly exhausting to watch. After digging to the bottom of their gel and building a girls-only clubhouse down there,

they're now branching out with the tunnels they're known for. We were holding our breath til they finally broke through to the top of their first tunnel, but they didn't seem too excited. They just kept going.The digger ant in front gets tired now and then and takes a nap right where she's stopped, so others just push up past her to keep up the pace.

Some of them simply run up and down the tunnels -- I can't really tell what their assignment is.

Others haul gelballs around on the surface, building up their escape route to the lid.

I can sit and watch their little world for long periods. It's haunting me, honestly.

I worry about their diet, though the booklet says the gel is edible and all they need. Should we drop in some sugar crystals at happy hour? What else do ants eat, other than picnic food? Or will that just distract them from their main purpose? (which is...)

The shipping form has strict instructions against letting them loose, but I think one escaped on the pokey stick provided to help start their tunnels. I'd hate to be the person responsible for causing invasive-ant-species havoc in Central Oregon. 

I'm also concerned about their (and our) mood if they start dying off. We're supposed to take out the dead, which the ants carry to the surface in a little funeral procession. It's going to be pretty depressing around the clubhouse when half the gang croaks.

I now feel responsible for them, on top of the cats, dog, fish, occasional kitten, child and garden. (I'd worry about my worms, too, but I can't find them.) Really, just what I need, another source of guilt and stress. If you're considering an ant farm of your own (Kathi D), you might want to think long and hard about what you're getting into. J.s.*

*just saying, of course.

the light at the end of the tunnel

Club Ant, or, We have 30 new pets

Henry received that classic boy project for Christmas, an ant farm. In case you don't have a nine-year-old, ant farms are now very hi-tech with edible (by ants) gel and disco lighting. 

We had to order the ants separately, and have been waiting and worrying about them in this cold shipping weather.

They showed up yesterday in their special ant tube, looking all crumpled and dead. We were really bummed and I was steeling myself for the customer service call and the ant return shipping , when we detected an antenna or two waving feebly.

I popped the cap and the fresh warm air must have been resuscitating, because they started to stir. We got their new compound ready and dropped them in. They all woke up and ran around like crazy, waving arms and legs and trying to storm the lid.

Since it was nighttime and they'd had a grueling flight, we thought they'd like to relax and party a little, so turned on the blue lights and cranked up the tunage.

They were clearly organizing for the great escape when we went to bed.

The booklet said that it might take them one or two days to start tunneling, but our ants ignored the instructions and got busy. Overnight, they found a fault in the gel by the side wall and carved out a little ramp and a long drop with a landing area at the bottom. They carried gel boulders up to the surface and started re-landscaping, building little hills and slopes and rock piles all over.

Henry of course wanted to name them. The booklet says they're all female. "This includes all the ant workers, soldiers, etc. that you find outdoors. Male ants are created only as needed by the colony for reproductive purposes and they die shortly after mating."

Hmm. Maybe they've got something there. Just saying.

Top Ten: Year in Review edition

You know the purported Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times." This has been an interesting year, both globally and personally. Because this blog is ALL ABOUT ME, here is a top ten list of interesting things that happened in my life this year. (in chronological order - I'm not about to rank them!)

1. I started the Bend Knit-Up, which grew from six people to over a hundred in a year.

2. My dad turned 90, and we all celebrated together in NC and everyone got along.

3. AT&T bought Edge Wireless, and we no longer had any work, though we still had jobs.

4. Neighbor X and I broke up, got together, and finally broke up.

5. I taught myself the whole blogging thing, that which you are reading at this instant.

6. Henry and I went back east for a family trip and went to Fenway. Go Sox!

7. We were finally released from AT&T, though were still paid, allowing me a summer off.

8. I spent the summer off shoveling dirt and hauling rocks for my waterfall.

9. I got a new job at the High Desert Museum - yay! and patted a badger.

10. My dad broke his hip and I flew back east for the third time.

What were your interesting times?

CC #6 (belated): Fambly Christmas

 This may be an off-year Christmas for my family. It's the first time in years that Sister #1 and I (and the kids) haven't had Christmas together, and I'm seriously bummed about it. This year was Henry's and my turn to fly back east, but after three trips back there already and a new job, it was not going to happen.

Sister #2 has an interesting relationship with Christmas. She's a converted Jew and they've raised their kids in a Jewish household, but old memories die hard, so she gives and receives presents at Christmastime slash Hanukkah. I'm always careful to wrap theirs in blue and white non-denominational paper. 

Big Bro is not in the Christmas mood this year, for various reasons. He'll be at the parents' house but both he and my mom have said they're not planning to do much for Christmas this year "except for the food." Of course, with my dad still in rehab and my mom coping alone, we don't expect her to have energy left for making merry. We're sending presents anyway.

It will be a quiet Christmas here, but we're looking forward to it. No travel, no guests; except our bestest friend Mark who's flying up from LA to be with us again - we've shared Christmas with him for seven years now. Mark's the fun, bad-boy uncle-figure for Henry, and a funny, supportive partner for me. We plan to play in the snow (Henry), drink a lot (Mark and me) and not do anything we don't want to. We might even (shock of shocks) go out for Christmas dinner. That to me would be the ultimate Christmas treat.

So, what are your plans? Full-on tradition or a more unconventional approach?

CC* #9: The Tree

*Christmas Countdown

 #9 in the 10-Day Countdown: Trimming The Tree

I was bumming that we got our tree so late this year, until I talked to Sister #1 this weekend, who was amazed we had it up "so early." For all the effort that goes into it, and for the wonderful feelings it evokes, I like it up for a month. But I was traveling, etc. so we got the tree last week.

Rather than going out in the woods and cutting one down, we usually drive to the nearest Tom's Trees lot and strap one on. This year, there was a (non-Tom's) tree lot at the bottom of our street and over a little bit. I decided our tree adventure would be walking down there and carrying our chosen tree home ourselves, Henry and me. Which we did, and enjoyed. From leaving the house to having the tree up in its stand was less than a half hour. Efficient and a memory! That's my kind of Christmas experience.

It sits there awhile, beautiful in its purity, til I haul out the boxes and begin the mini-light fight. God, I hate mini-lights. And putting them on the tree, to be truthful. A few years back I unfortunately read how Martha Stewart lights her tree, and have had to follow the master's teachings ever since. This involves running a light wire up EACH BRANCH and wrapping it back down again, then moving to the very next one. There are a million branches on your normal tree lot tree. Tedious, uncomfortable, and absolutely fabulous results. The tree takes on an inner dimension, with lights twinkling throughout the branches, adding depth and magic. Pain in the butt though.

Then the next step, putting on the ornaments. No one wants to help with this, I've learned, so I do it myself, indulging in my most obsessive-compulsive design tendencies. First the breakables, then fill in with a few choice non-breakables, stepping back frequently to assess the placement and balance. Then it's done. I turn on the tree, turn out the lights, drink a winter libation and enjoy the view.

Bob waits for Santa Claws

Fibonnaci and the Fourth Grade

I had to reprint this answer to my quiz yesterday from Sarah, as it's pretty amazing.

Here is a terrific summation: Lattice, or sieve, multiplication is algorithmically equivalent to long multiplication. It requires the preparation of a lattice (a grid drawn on paper) which guides the calculation and separates all the multiplications from the additions. It was introduced to Europe in 1202 in Fibonacci's Liber Abaci. Leonardo described the operation as mental, using his right and left hands to carry the intermediate calculations. Napier's bones, or Napier's rods also used this method, as published by Napier in 1617, the year of his death.

As shown in the example, the multiplicand and multiplier are written above and to the right of a lattice, or a sieve. It is found in Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi's "Arithmetic", one of Leonardo's sources mentioned by Sigler, author of "Fibonacci's Liber Abaci", 2002.

During the multiplication phase, the lattice is filled in with two-digit products of the corresponding digits labeling each row and column: the tens digit goes in the top-left corner.

During the addition phase, the lattice is summed on the diagonals.

Finally, if a carry phase is necessary, the answer as shown along the left and bottom sides of the lattice is converted to normal form by carrying ten's digits as in long addition or multiplication.

This is absolutely helpful if Henry is interested in computer programming in C language especially.

Well, right now Henry only uses his computer to watch Pokemon cartoons on Cartoon Network, but I'll keep this in mind!

Contest: 4th grade math quiz

Are you as smart as a fourth-grader?

Apparently I'm not. Henry came home the other day with this.  

I studied it for some time and had NO IDEA what it represented. Once he explained it, it made sense, though I can't understand how it teaches any math principle in a usable way. Hello! Can parents get a cheat sheet here?!

So, my dear mathophile readers, here's my challenge: Explain what those diagrams are illustrating and win a DARLING HANDMADE CATNIP TOY. For either you or your cat. If you don't have a cat, I'll fill it with a more human-friendly hallucinogen. Just kidding, Homeland Security! (They monitor this blog, you know. I'm a known radical. Atheist, black kid, suspiciously single...)

Here are the rules. Figure it out, post your best guess answer. If y'all are stymied, I'll publish a hint on Thursday. First person to figure it out gets the prize. And the admiration and awe of your fellow blog readers. Priceless.