Labeling Children

I am calling her shy but she really is not. I use that word to convey an apology to the adults around her when my daughter rejects them. Sweetpea is strong minded and strong willed and will not put on a show of sweetness for strangers. I have mixed feelings about this. Part of me is happy that you have to win her respect and interest that she knows she does not have to put on a show of liking everybody just because they say hi. The other part of me is worried about her being impolite and wondering why she carries all this distrust of people she is just meeting? So I use the word shy, an indifferent, non offensive term that seems to make the adults around her understand when she gives them a pouty frown and hides behind my leg till they stop noticing her.

The folks that stay in there and don't get turned off by her initial reaction get to know my daughter in all her glory. She opens up like a fresh spring crocus if they try to engage in a slower fashion. I was quite similar at her age, hiding behind my mum and warming up quickly after the first meeting. She will put on shows, is easy to laugh, and likes to play and explore and try new things. She is good at saying what she wants and she is good at showing people how she likes them on her own terms.

As she gets older I am slowly introducing social graces. Sometimes I let her know before we have an interaction or go in someplace like my work or church I say, "remember we are going to be friendly to people." She seems to get this and all it takes is a reminder once inside to get her ok with meeting new people. This usually looks like just being neutral about meeting them not exactly friendly yet.

Its a touchy balance I want her to have the tools to know how to maneuver well in our society but I also don't want the oppressive force of sexism to set up the expectation that she is always sweet or has to be. I don't like labeling her shy I think kids live up to their labels. I am looking for the right word for it. Maybe giving adults a hand with their feelings of rejection is a place to start. 

Wannabe Children's Librarian

Somehow this whole post I wrote was lost, so sad! I know I should save my work on more than this blog.  I often make extra copies but this time I did not and all my pretty writing evaporated into internet land.
Lets start again...

I have compiled a list of children's books I love. I recently realized I am an aficionado of the library. I have cherished library's sense I was young and have developed a keen eye for finding good books. Sweetpea has started to help, she will pull out books I did not think would be good and have greatly surpassed my expectations. this list is not complete, it is a living document. I would love it if you would share some of your favorites in the comments below. I have put them in categories to make it easier to reference. I have put some reviews but did not have the patience to review them all so please check the book out even if it does not have a review. Enjoy and pass it on! Also an acquaintance back in Olympia made a blog specifically about radical books for kids please check that out as well. 
http://revolutionthroughchildhood.blogspot.com/

Children's Books I love:

Multicultural Perspective:
"Say Hello" By Rachel Isadora (The author works in collage and makes beautiful depictions of children living in NYC. The main character in this book is a girl learning how to say hello in the many languages spoken in her neighborhood. I recommend other books by this author as well)
"Storm Boy" and "Frog Girl" By Paul Owen Lewis (Wonderful tales about Northwest US tribes. I love the pictures in these books.
"The Legend of the Blue Bonnet" By Tomi Depola (This book is complex for younger kids but worth talking about. Depola adapted this Comanche story which has some issues, ie him being white and telling a native story, but I still think the message is important.)
"Wabi Sabi" By Mark Reibstein ( Beautiful collage work, a great intro to Haiku and Japanese culture)
"Mrs. Katz and Tush" and "Rechenka's Eggs By Patricia Polacco ( I love this author, her drawings and stories are always unique and insightful. these two stories are my favorites so far, the first one is about black and Jewish cultural similarities, when do you hear about this? Not enough, also a great story of kindness and becoming friends. The second is a great tale from Russia, I love the babushka in this book, she is written so perfectly.
"Bee Bim Bop" By Linda Sue Park ( A rhyming sing song book about making this popular Korean dish. Sweetpea loves the rhythm in the book and the little girl helping to cook.)
"Mama Do you Love Me? By Barbara M. Joosse
"Auntie Yang's Great Soy Bean Picnic" By, Ginnie Lo

Depression Era/ Historical:
"The Gardener" By Sarah Stewart A wonderful story that made me tear up about a young girl having to leave her family and work and how she keeps her bright spirit alive wherever she is, very Anne of Green Gables esque.
"Peppe the Lamplighter" By Elisa Bartone Though I do not love the story of this book I think they are a little to hard on the kid, The illustrations are amazing and worth gawking over.
"Mirette on The High Wire" By Emily Arnold McCully

Environmentalism:
"Wump World" By Bill Peet (A classic from my childhood about humans affect on the green planet and animals trying to survive in the midst of it. A tale about colonization as well.)
"The Earth Book" By Todd Parr ( Todd Parr has a simple, fun way of explaining things that kids will understand about conserving the earth's resources. He also writes great books about over coming adversity.)
"The Whales" By Cynthia Rylant 
"My Garden" By Kevin Henkes
"Mama is it Summer Yet" By Nikki McClure
"The Green Mother Goose" By Jan Peck & David Davis (Retold eco wise mother goose rhymes. I use this book in teaching my classes as well as singing it to Sweetpea. This is her only mother goose book so this is how she knows these classic rhymes. :)
"Mossy" By Jane Brett (I love the illustrations in Brett's books and particularly this one. the forest comes alive in her beautiful drawings.)

Living Off the Land:
"One Morning in Maine" By Robert McClosky (Another classic from my childhood, beautifully illustrated about a family living off the land on an island in Maine.)
"Ox Cart Man" By Donald Hall
"When I was young in The Mountains" By Cynthia Rylant 

"Fredrick" By Leo Lionni (This is an all time favorite about what artists bring to a survival culture.)

Tales:
"The Hare and The Tortoise" Retold By Helen Ward  (Ward has amazing scientific quality illustrations that she adds to this classic tale. She introduces the reader to a great story and uses tons of different animals, Sweet pea and I love to talk about all the different animals we see. There is a key in back as well. She also does a full book retelling Aseop's fables I want to check out.
"Why Mosquitos Buzz in People's Ears, A West African Tale" By Verena Aardema

 Classics:
"Miss Rumphius" By Barbara Cooney (Another childhood classic, a great story about adventure and a woman making her dent in the world by herself.)
Steven Kellog Books "The Mysterious Tad Pole," "Best Friends," The Pinkerton Series, Ralph's Secret Weapon"
"Madeline" & the whole series of her books By Ludwig Bemelmans
"Blueberries for Sal" and "Make Way For Ducklings" By Robert McClosky
"Herold and The Purple Crayon"
"One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish" By Dr. Seuss
"Eloise" By Kay Thompson
"The Church Cat" & the whole series of books By Graham Oakley (I grew up hearing my mom read these books, they are British and 70's and just as much fun for parents as kids. Also hard to find and out of print mostly.)
"Little Bear Books" By Else Holmelund Minarick
"Frog and Toad" Books By Arnold Lobel
"Corduroy" By Don Freeman
"The Snowy Day" By Ezra Jack Keats

Fun:
Toot and Puddle & Top of The World By Holly Hobbie
Fancy Nancy Bonjour Butterfly & The Aspiring Artist By Jane O'Connor (When Sweetpea picked this out I hesitated, all the glitter and girlyness made me cringe. As I read the book though I could see how fun this book could be. Nancy is bright and easy to love, a fresh perspective in this high femme book.  
Betsy B Little By Anne McEvoy (Another lovable pink, ballet book about a very tall giraffe that wants to dance and overcomes obstacles related to her size to do it. The whole book rhymes and Sweetpea has memorized it.)
"SkippyJon Jones" and the series of books By Judy Schachner (Still not sure about how I feel about these books, mostly not sure about the white author taking on Latin American culture in her tongue twister tales. Still, these books are fun, a roller coaster of words and adventures centered around a  Siamese cat with a big imagination. )
"In The Town All Year Round" By Rotraut Susanne Berner (We have looked at this book twice a week for over a year now. Sweetpea loves to find new stories in the detailed pictures. Similar to a "Where's Waldo" book and a choose your own adventure series for young readers, this book shows a European town through the seasons of the year.)
"Epossumondas" By Coleen Salley

 Strong Girl Theme:
"Sally Jean the Bicycle Queen" By Cari Best (Another Sweetpea find! this book is awesome. It is an inspiring story about a girl who grows up loving bicycles and has to use her own ingenuity to make a bike of her own. Feminism, bikes and recycling all in one book!)
"Not One Damsel In Distress" By Jane Yolen (A great collection of stories all about strong female leaders. Not all are appropriate for young children, I look forward to reading and discussing them with Sweetpea as she gets older.)
 

Exploring the MET (Metropolitan Museum of Art) with Sweetpea

I strolled my sleeping child through the rows of ancient Greek statues, awed by there presence. Daddy went off to see a world war II photography exhibit, disappearing under the white tent folds of the MET's newest installation. I preferred the ceramics of antiquity. As I turned a corner to the most ancient pottery of the Mediterranean I saw her, the big, billowy, thighs and chest of an ancient mother Goddess, propped up on two metal hooks, encased in glass under soft light. She was hard to spot amongst the vases and oil urns, but she stood out for me, glowing with an aura of majesty. As I stood transfixed, the halted movement awoke my dreaming child. Sweetpea woke up with a start as she always does, immediately alert and ready to tell me something. As if being pushed in a stroller over the cobblestone pathways along central park west was a part of our daily routine. Waking up surrounded by artwork in a large, loud, echoing room was just a part of the fun of having two adventuring parents.

"What’s that mama?" Her crackly just awoke voice said pointing at the little Goddess I had found for us.  “It’s our mother Goddess Sweetpea," "Mother Goddess" I hear repeated back to me, a slight pause, "why?" I go into an explanation of how this little Goddess represents the power of women as life givers and how ancient people's worshiped this power that all women have. I lift her up and we stare at the little figure, I smell her slightly sweaty hair, and marvel in the beauty of sharing this with my daughter.

I was only a little older then Sweetpea is now the first time I came to the MET. It was a daddy daughter date in the city. There is a picture of me flat up against Cleopatra's needle in a multi-colored, terry cloth dress and blues sneakers. I remember going there, I remember walking through the Egyptian temple, and admiring the old Roman statues. I have been back many times sense. As a teenager my unschooled friends and me would rain down on NYC and meet in front of the MET. We would hang out on the front steps leading up to it and check out the fashion history exhibit in the basement. My favorite place in the museum was in the Arab section, a tiny dome made of wood, carved in intricate patterns. This dome sits in a hallway in between rooms. It is quiet, like a tree house within the vast open spaces of history and art.  


Later, with my husband and daughter in toe I walk them towards the Roman statue hall. We ended up in an atrium with a larger then life bronze statue of Perseus defiantly holding up the head of Medusa. I pointed at the statue and said "Sweetpea, look at this beautiful statue."  With a look of wonder and horror my child stares and begins a long strand of "why?" questioning. I realize after the fact what a strange statue this is to point out to her. In one room I am talking about ancient people's worshiping the great Mother, in the other room I am trying to explain Greek myth and the chopping off of a woman's head. My daughter is learning life is complex.

I have cornered myself into this conversation so I go back to the beginning, we first talk about stories, how they are different from real life. Then I talk about Medusa, what she did and why someone would want to chop off her head. It is a delicate explanation.  I am trying to explain things simply enough that she will not draw conclusions about good and bad, and will instead focus on truth and fiction. The rest of the day she reports to everyone we talk to about "Dusa, and how he chopped off her head." We still talk about it months later.

Our last stop is the Tiffany hall, we all stand awestruck in front of the huge Tiffany windows, lit from within, exuding an aura of holiness. We play make believe games with the bear statues in the hall and pretend to chop off each other’s heads. :)

There we were, only a 3rd of this grand museum explored and still content with all we got to see. We went just outside the gates to a NYC park complete with meandering benches and metal play structure letting the art of the day soak into our souls.

Sacred Intentions

I have had many exciting ideas in my life. I have gone down many twisty turning paths leading to inspiring adventures that have become intentional moves and flights of whimsy. Some things have always stayed the same and strong within me. My deep happiness when I am in connection with trees, the earth, the wild things that live around us city dwellers. My absolute love of being creative and artistic and my passion for deep committed relationships.  I have fared well in my life having a lot of these sorts of experiences. I have felt the vibrating emotion of love. I have been captivated by nature and entranced in art. 

 I am reading a book by Starhawk called "The Earth Path." In it she asks the reader to come up with a sacred intention, something you want to do and commit to doing that will care for the world at large. I have been mulling this over for sometime. In some ways I have always known my intention it is just the where and when of it I have not known.

I want to get to know a piece of land, I want to watch it grow and help shape it. I want to spend time knowing the things that already live there and work at the pace of a snail, tending and being fully aware of my foot print on that place. I want to understand what it really means to be sustainable and not see myself as different or better from any other living thing. As I build this kind of relationship with land I want to teach other people how to live this way. I want to teach the tools of sustainability. 

Where ever I live I want to be in conversation with the environmental devastation that is happening to that place, in the northwest the chopping down of our great forests, in CA the over development and wild fires that persist, In OK the drilling and fracking for oil, in TX the pipeline. The nuclear power plants all over the US. I want to understand what is happening in these environments and be able to speak articulately about what we can do to change them. Also I want to learn how to live with and through environmental devastation.

Art and close friendships weave into this intention beautifully. I cannot do this important work alone and I have to many people in my life that already carry a similar vision. Art is at the center of my passion, it is the tool I use to inspire myself and others, it is the way I set up the spaces to grow and create, it is the way I get to work and the thing I most look forward to.

At this point in time I see how I can ignore to some extent how badly we have treated our land, I think this is a privileged view that I will not feel the same in the near future.

This is my sacred intention, this is my land, for better or worse I live in the United States in the beating heart of the south and I will make a difference here.

The power of "Why?"

Through searching, magnetic eyes I can see the question being formed. Her lips become a perfect pucker ready for it to come forth, "Why Mama?" The first why is mostly easy, a simple description of my views on the subject at hand. The second why goes a little bit deeper, explaining with more depth how something works. By the third why I do not have an easy answer, I imagine this is where most parents feel the urge to give up, I definitely have thought like that. Weird, archaic phrases flash before my mind like "Cuz I said so." This especially happens if I am in the middle of doing something else that requires my attention, which is about 80% of the time when the series "Why?" questions come up.

I don't act on my urge to shut off her questioning. I take a deep breath and consider the third why. This usually means explaining a subtle, adult, societal norm that she does not understand yet. Breaking it down to a level she can understand without putting a lot of judgment or feelings on it. Its hard to explain this stuff, without to much detail, just enough to guide her understanding and make associations without leading her into my opinion on it. Sweetpea gets a lot of my opinion on stuff just by listening to me talk to daddy, out friends and the people around us. When the "Why?" questioning comes up I try to answer it directly not just through my personal lens.

This evening the why took the form of why do people have belly buttons? My first answer was that we all used to get food in our bodies through our tummies when we were inside our mama’s bellies. I pause there and see if that satisfies the curiosity. With an inquiring glint in her eye she continues, "Why we need to get food from our belly button in our mamas tummy?" "Well, I continue, we have a tube in the womb that makes the food good for tiny babies to eat. When the baby comes out it does not need the tube anymore." "Because the baby gets nana's! (Our word for breast feeding)" she chimes in. "Yes, so the doctor or midwife cuts off the tube and what we have left is a belly button."

To further explain my point I take out her baby book and show her a picture of her taking her first bath. She has a piece of plastic holding her cut tube/belly button in place. She is fascinated by the picture and wants to know every detail of why the baby has to wear ankle bracelets and why her belly button has a bracelet too? I explain that when you are at the hospital you have to wear a bracelet that says your name so they know where you belong. My mind is ticking away as I explain this I am asking myself why the hospital needs this info at all times? why are we so misplaceable in a hospital? I want to do more research on when the bracelet thing got started. I think of all this but do not say much of anything else.  The why's have stopped for now, we have moved on to a game involving a bunny rabbit swimming around in my tummy and entering through my belly button.

I love my kids "whys?" They get me to think and really evaluate why I do things, it reminds me to not take knowledge for granted. I get to watch her brain work and look at things afresh. I also hate my kids "whys", they throw injustice in my face and cause me to examine things I sometimes would like not too. Sometimes I desire to just have an experience and not have to explain all of what’s going on. Ultimately I am getting better at answering her questions. Daddy and I like to listen to each other explain things and pick up cues from each other on what angle to approach the next, "Why?"

The Cherished Root

In my mothers garden grows a weed. The weed is some sort of wild carrot with a tap root the size of a root vegetable and pure white. My mother has never identified this weed but considers it the bane of her gardening experience. She has reaped the soil of our front yard home for 31 years and counting. At one point it was a lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. Parts of the lawn were flower beds. Later in my childhood there was a vegetable patch and stalky, spiny tomato plants ripe for the picking. For the last 10 years or so it has become an art installation, a cacophony of flowers, pottery, old chairs and plant dreams. Elves for sure live in this place as well as stalks of peppermint, black eyed Susan's and  the largest, brightest bulb flowering I have ever seen in a tiny square patch. The garden is full of love and eccentricities, like my mother. It is an effort of community that keeps her out there making a patch of beauty on our pretty New England street. It is messy and youthful, full of bright color and mystery.



For the past two years I have had the privilege of clearing her flag stone path through the middle of it. There is nothing like getting down in the dirt with long, slimy, worms and the fragrance of peppermint filling my nose as I work. Sweetpea joins me, picking the petals off the black eyes Susan's, studying the worms I dig up and helping bag all the grasses I pull up. She gets the sensual experience of weeding a path, she can probably see the fairy lands created under the ark of Iris stalks. My wish for our family is to have a similarly crazy, well attended garden. A small farm with plants that grow along side us. I want to find my unidentified wild carrot root, the one, like an old familiar friend that keeps coming back to remind me of this place. The place that I can call mine, the place that is home.

We are on this journey, finding a bit of land to tend for awhile. The tides of change are upon us once again and the red, shaken, earth of Oklahoma is calling. My dream is to plant fruit trees and tend them to maturity, to create an eco system that supports the little wild things of a city neighborhood. To be able to teach, learn and grow with Gaia. Every place I have lived in my young adult life has had a garden of some type. I want to see soil go past its two year mark in maturing and come to its own. I want to see the land bust out magnificent food for us to live on.

I will find my cherished root, I just have to keep believing in it.

Buona Pasqua! Easter in Italia part 2

There we were, in front of my favorite church in Italy. The Duomo of Siena. We had just finished a traditional slow foods Tuscan style meal at a jam packed restaurant, elbow to elbow at a long table with every kind of family bumping into us. A true Italian delight to be able to smell and stare at all the food you did not order as well as enjoy the succulence of your own meal. The main thing I remember was a fava bean soup that had bread in it as well as some delicious cured meat. 

Are tummies full on delicious food we strolled in the rain to the Duomo, up steep medieval curves of the old walled in city of Siena. We knew it would not be open this late at night but we just wanted to catch a glimpse of the striped church we had loved 11 years ago.

As we stood in the majesty of its courtyard looking up at the facade in the inky, blackness of night I felt tingles down my spine. I love cathedrals. I always have. I love that humans came up with the idea to build giant, gawdy spiritual elevating buildings on honor of deity. I love that they are buildings designed to make you feel awe struck, small in a huge universe and connected to something greater then yourself. I love that I can stare and stare and stare and still not see all the art and detail crafted into a building that took 500 years to construct. That this building started in the mind of one person, the spark of an idea. That the folks that came up with the original plans hardly ever saw the project to completion. I want to think big like that about my projects. That projects don't have to be done quickly that I might not even be able to see them till the end and expect that they will be completed by the next generation. I think cathedral makers our lovers of life, big dreamers and have faith and trust that they could leave a mark on the world, help shape a culture with their work. That is the kind of artist I aspire to be.

There we were, standing under an umbrella in the halo of light of a near by street lamp, Honeybee reading aloud to me from our guide book about the construction of this ancient Catholic temple. That's when we we started to see people walking up the stairs and pacing in front of the closed doors. Honeybee dismissed them as silly tourists who did not know the church would be closed at night. I thought there might be something more to it. I had us move closer, the people were speaking Italian, these were not tourists, these were Sienese families. Then the miraculous happened. The church doors opened up. We reluctantly and giddily followed inside with the other folks, uncertain we were supposed to go in. No one stopped us. I tried to walk as if I belonged there, poorly holding in my excitement of getting a chance to go into our Duomo. As we walked down the side hall trying to remain inconspicuous I realized this was midnight mass! This was the Saturday before Easter Sunday and we were some of the first attendees of the late service they would hold that night. I had not done midnight mass sense I lived in Seattle. A friend was going through a Catholic phase and I had attened this service one Easter at a small, modern church near our house. I had not thought about going to anything like this sense.

What luck! Here we were in one of the most outrageous and beautiful buildings in the world on a holy night where we practically had the place to ourselves. Most of the building was not even lit up, it was like being in a museum after hours, I was taken back to one of my favorite childhood books "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler." We explored quietly, admiring the giant Easter Lily display on the alter, the Duccio fresco's in back of the high alter. Even the creepy busts lining the inside of the Duomo ceiling, the faces of all the popes in Italy staring back at us.

Services started at 11pm, we were given candles and a thick order of service filled with the stories of Christ's resurrection in Latin. We sat in a pew ready for the priest to begin. After the choir sang their first hymn, everyone got up and started walking to the back of the cathedral. At the front of the procession was the priest and alter boys holding one large candle. Not only did they walk all the way to the back of the cathedral they stepped outside and this band of faithful Catholics surrounded the priest in the sprinkly, spring darkness of Saturday night. I turned my head and the whole cathedral was dark again, all the lights were turned off. The Catholic chanting began, call and response in Italian. Honebee and I hummed along. The priest held the large candle in the middle of the circle, he took long golden pokers and stuck them into the top, bottom and sides of the candle, each time he placed a poker we would chant something, honoring that moment. He lit the candle and passed the light to each follower holding our candles in a personal, sacred quiet.

The priest and alter boys parted the crowd like the red sea and started the procession back into the church. As we turned to follow in the party stopped. A chant filled our throats that rose to soprano heights then the lights came on filling the tiny space our bodies inhabited in the glory of this Duomo. We walked along filling each crevice of the church with light bringing Christ back from the dead. We re awakened the space, fresh with raindrops in our hair and song in our hearts.

We sat through some of the very long and droning service, but eventually had to go back to our room in the town, to sleep and let the beauty and magic of the night soak in.

On our walk back home we passed other smaller churches lit up with the welcoming news of Christ's rebirth. The glowing halo of a Madonna welcomed us home.