Summer break.
No school.
Baseball games 5 - 10 times a week, plus practices.
Morning rehearsals for musical.
Two one-week volleyball camps.
One one-week sewing camp.
Somewhere in between schlepping, cooking meals at odd times, laundry, grocery shopping, and my summer teaching schedule, I am supposed to be making art?
Right.
Showing posts with label Kid Lit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kid Lit. Show all posts
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Art Night
Let's ignore the fact that I am not comfortable teaching large groups of children. Let's pretend I didn't volunteer at a school to which my children do not and never did attend. And let's skip past the fact that I will be moving in less than two weeks and could have backed out of this gracefully. Last night I found myself at a local elementary school for their second annual Art Night. Lots of local artists and musicians of all kinds performing and creating ways for children to explore art and music. I was the felter.
Simple project:
Take two pieces of yarn, one of each color.
Make a twisty-twirly.
Roll it into a ball and tuck in the ends.
Put into a nylon stocking and dip in warm soapy water, squeezing and rolling and pressing until it starts to make a ball.
Remove from stocking and continue rolling.
Rinse.
String on a piece of yarn.
Voila: Felted earth necklace.
Seemed easy enough. Then I realized I was going to be doing this by myself? And keep all these children moving? And keep the dry table dry? And keep the needles out of little hands? At my daughter's Waldorf school, you can tell a child to make a twisty-twirly and they all know what that means. Many of them have felted. They all are comfortable with a needle if you thread it for them. This was a public school event where felting is probably still pretty foreign. Every step would need hands-on instruction.
And yet this blog is not about the challenge of the evening or even ultimately about felting. It is about my youngest, my Sophie girl. Both my children are artistic but it is Sophie who is passionate about it. She keeps journals of drawings. We have two boxes of her carefully wrapped sculptures ready for the move. And she loves felting. For the past few years, she has begged to help at art fairs with me. She loves to set up the displays. But the artist within her shares residency with the anxiety-ridden. At almost 10, Sophie is extremely uncomfortable in large groups, even if those groups are of people she knows. She has a terrible time speaking to grown ups. She can't leave my side to explore at a big event, not even to find the bathroom. Lest you think she is being manipulative, after these sorts of events she will often go home and throw up.
So when Sophie begged to be my helper last night, I was nervous, but she persisted. Figuring she could at least help children with the twisty-twirlys, I consented with great misgivings. Sophie and I unloaded my car of its bags of yarn, soap, pots, buckets and set up for the activity. She moved desks with me, laid out a large plastic tablecloth, and couldn't wait to take over the task of mixing slurry (a soap mixture) with warm water in containers. She separated all the yarn for stringing so they were easy to get. She suffered through a reception for the presenters (where she snarfed a brownie and an M&M cookie). And then she helped me teach our two high school student volunteers how to felt an earth ball. (The two unexpected helpers became essential to the evening and I was grateful to have them.)
And They're Off! Sometimes in twos and threes, sometimes alone, sometimes in large groups, children arrived. Sophie and I and Kelly and Julie twisted yarn, rolled up balls, demonstrated the wet process, threaded needles, salvaged earth "pacmen," tied necklaces. We worked non-stop for two hours. At one point nearly twenty children were working. No break for a drink or bathroom visit possible. I realized Sophie was wearing the nylons on her arms at all times so as to grab a ball of yarn, peel the nylon off her arm and hand the thing back to its owner to take to the wet table. She emptied containers of cool water and remixed the slurry. She twisted and twirled. She checked children's progress. All without saying much of anything. Several more talkative children tried to ask her questions, but she would quietly smile and continue to help them with seldom a word. I am sure she was a real puzzle to many, but she was efficient and pleasant and had a great time.
When it was all over, Sophie helped clean up and carry everything back out to the car. I was exhausted, somewhat stressed, and yet again realized I should not work with large groups of children. But Sophie was joyous and telling me stories of this child or that. So I asked her if she thought the children had a good time. She said, "Yeah. Why?" I realized that if my terribly anxious child could find a way to have fun in what was not her element (crowds of strangers) by focusing on what was her element (felting and teaching other children), then maybe I could let go of my stress about the evening and find enjoyment in being the mother of this surprisingly determined girl.
We were both starving when we got home. It was late and she needed to get to bed, but all her excitement had to come out finally and she talked non-stop as she got ready for bed. I was proud of her for finding a way to be there and be true to herself, and I could tell she was proud as well. After a quick sandwich and drink, it was bedtime. At 11:30, the inevitable "I don't feel good," followed by vomiting in bed, with all extra sheets packed for the move, of course. Instead of telling her no more helping, it's too hard on her, we talked about making sure any food after a big potentially stressful event is food that is easy on the stomach. And she once again wished she didn't experience stress this way. But she also was still happy to have gone. And I was happy she could be with me in a new way. I love my girl, but that doesn't mean my extroverted self always meshes easily with my introverted daughter. Last night, we both found out we could work together as partners. And it was beautiful, throw-up and all. Peace on earth.
 |
| Simple, no? |
Take two pieces of yarn, one of each color.
Make a twisty-twirly.
Roll it into a ball and tuck in the ends.
Put into a nylon stocking and dip in warm soapy water, squeezing and rolling and pressing until it starts to make a ball.
Remove from stocking and continue rolling.
Rinse.
String on a piece of yarn.
Voila: Felted earth necklace.
Seemed easy enough. Then I realized I was going to be doing this by myself? And keep all these children moving? And keep the dry table dry? And keep the needles out of little hands? At my daughter's Waldorf school, you can tell a child to make a twisty-twirly and they all know what that means. Many of them have felted. They all are comfortable with a needle if you thread it for them. This was a public school event where felting is probably still pretty foreign. Every step would need hands-on instruction.
And yet this blog is not about the challenge of the evening or even ultimately about felting. It is about my youngest, my Sophie girl. Both my children are artistic but it is Sophie who is passionate about it. She keeps journals of drawings. We have two boxes of her carefully wrapped sculptures ready for the move. And she loves felting. For the past few years, she has begged to help at art fairs with me. She loves to set up the displays. But the artist within her shares residency with the anxiety-ridden. At almost 10, Sophie is extremely uncomfortable in large groups, even if those groups are of people she knows. She has a terrible time speaking to grown ups. She can't leave my side to explore at a big event, not even to find the bathroom. Lest you think she is being manipulative, after these sorts of events she will often go home and throw up.
So when Sophie begged to be my helper last night, I was nervous, but she persisted. Figuring she could at least help children with the twisty-twirlys, I consented with great misgivings. Sophie and I unloaded my car of its bags of yarn, soap, pots, buckets and set up for the activity. She moved desks with me, laid out a large plastic tablecloth, and couldn't wait to take over the task of mixing slurry (a soap mixture) with warm water in containers. She separated all the yarn for stringing so they were easy to get. She suffered through a reception for the presenters (where she snarfed a brownie and an M&M cookie). And then she helped me teach our two high school student volunteers how to felt an earth ball. (The two unexpected helpers became essential to the evening and I was grateful to have them.)
And They're Off! Sometimes in twos and threes, sometimes alone, sometimes in large groups, children arrived. Sophie and I and Kelly and Julie twisted yarn, rolled up balls, demonstrated the wet process, threaded needles, salvaged earth "pacmen," tied necklaces. We worked non-stop for two hours. At one point nearly twenty children were working. No break for a drink or bathroom visit possible. I realized Sophie was wearing the nylons on her arms at all times so as to grab a ball of yarn, peel the nylon off her arm and hand the thing back to its owner to take to the wet table. She emptied containers of cool water and remixed the slurry. She twisted and twirled. She checked children's progress. All without saying much of anything. Several more talkative children tried to ask her questions, but she would quietly smile and continue to help them with seldom a word. I am sure she was a real puzzle to many, but she was efficient and pleasant and had a great time.
When it was all over, Sophie helped clean up and carry everything back out to the car. I was exhausted, somewhat stressed, and yet again realized I should not work with large groups of children. But Sophie was joyous and telling me stories of this child or that. So I asked her if she thought the children had a good time. She said, "Yeah. Why?" I realized that if my terribly anxious child could find a way to have fun in what was not her element (crowds of strangers) by focusing on what was her element (felting and teaching other children), then maybe I could let go of my stress about the evening and find enjoyment in being the mother of this surprisingly determined girl.
We were both starving when we got home. It was late and she needed to get to bed, but all her excitement had to come out finally and she talked non-stop as she got ready for bed. I was proud of her for finding a way to be there and be true to herself, and I could tell she was proud as well. After a quick sandwich and drink, it was bedtime. At 11:30, the inevitable "I don't feel good," followed by vomiting in bed, with all extra sheets packed for the move, of course. Instead of telling her no more helping, it's too hard on her, we talked about making sure any food after a big potentially stressful event is food that is easy on the stomach. And she once again wished she didn't experience stress this way. But she also was still happy to have gone. And I was happy she could be with me in a new way. I love my girl, but that doesn't mean my extroverted self always meshes easily with my introverted daughter. Last night, we both found out we could work together as partners. And it was beautiful, throw-up and all. Peace on earth.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
A coming of age ... of sorts
The heathen Jew was raised by Jewish parents who sort of observed.
She went to services on some holidays. Celebrated at home.
The smells of roasted chicken, matzoh ball soup, latkes, sponge cake, shmaltz are her Jewish identity.
Grown up, barely, she purchases a menorah and lights the candles when she remembers.
On tour with Jesus Christ Superstar, she holds a makeshift seder in her hotel room for fellow cast members. She finally gets to do Fiddler, and is the only Jewish person in the cast. (Similar experience with Yiddle with a Fiddle.)
She marries a lapsed Catholic; they have two children.
Knowing that the children will learn all about Christianity just by growing up in this country, she begins celebrating at least some of the Jewish holidays in her home. Seders, latke dinners, the occasional baking of challah with very young hands helping.
The children are not confused as the heathen Jew feared. They know that they get Chanukah gifts from one set of grandparents, and Christmas gifts from another. Santa comes, too. They know about Jesus and atheism because various aunts and uncles have differing beliefs. The heathen Jew teaches them that no one knows anything for sure, so any of it is just that: a belief. The children have their own relationship with religion and spirituality. It includes God.
As the oldest child grows, he takes on his Jewish identity more strongly. He asks to go to Hebrew school. The heathen Jew is carried along. The family joins a synagogue. The lapsed Catholic father attends as much as the heathen Jew. The children begin religious education. It is a welcoming congregation, and one in which the heathen Jew and the lapsed Catholic feel comfortable together. Holiday services become regular events. They even go to Shabbat services on occasion. The music is glorious. The heathen Jew had not realized how many prayers and melodies were still with her from her childhood. The lapsed Catholic starts humming along. The heathen Jew starts taking off work on the High Holidays.
A "wedding" occurs. A Torah is commissioned and a celebration more moving than words can describe weds this Torah to this Synagogue. Each family member has written a letter in this Torah. A cantor from Berlin accepts the very old one being replaced. She speaks with such passion for learning and gratitude for her Judaism. The cantor returns several months later and leads a service. Her interpretation of the text moves the heathen Jew unlike any sermon she's ever heard. The heathen Jew has found her teacher.
The rabbi discovers the heathen Jew's past singing career and asks her to join him leading a music service. The heathen Jew agrees and takes home a CD and a prayer book to memorize the less familiar melodies and words.
High Holidays, present tense. Five weeks from her son's bar mitzvah, the heathen Jew is at the synagogue celebrating the new year. The cantor from Berlin is singing. The rabbi is singing. Their voices mix as though they have always sung together. In the rabbi's sermon, a quote that hits home: "I would rather choose to believe in God and be wrong, than not believe in God and be right." Two days later, the bar mitzvah of a converted adult. One who chooses to not only be Jewish, but to add study of Torah to his life. A conversation after with the cantor, who is still visiting. A statement from the rabbi that my work with wool and silk would make beautiful prayer shawls.
It may be time to drop the word heathen.
She went to services on some holidays. Celebrated at home.
The smells of roasted chicken, matzoh ball soup, latkes, sponge cake, shmaltz are her Jewish identity.
Grown up, barely, she purchases a menorah and lights the candles when she remembers.
On tour with Jesus Christ Superstar, she holds a makeshift seder in her hotel room for fellow cast members. She finally gets to do Fiddler, and is the only Jewish person in the cast. (Similar experience with Yiddle with a Fiddle.)
She marries a lapsed Catholic; they have two children.
Knowing that the children will learn all about Christianity just by growing up in this country, she begins celebrating at least some of the Jewish holidays in her home. Seders, latke dinners, the occasional baking of challah with very young hands helping.
The children are not confused as the heathen Jew feared. They know that they get Chanukah gifts from one set of grandparents, and Christmas gifts from another. Santa comes, too. They know about Jesus and atheism because various aunts and uncles have differing beliefs. The heathen Jew teaches them that no one knows anything for sure, so any of it is just that: a belief. The children have their own relationship with religion and spirituality. It includes God.
As the oldest child grows, he takes on his Jewish identity more strongly. He asks to go to Hebrew school. The heathen Jew is carried along. The family joins a synagogue. The lapsed Catholic father attends as much as the heathen Jew. The children begin religious education. It is a welcoming congregation, and one in which the heathen Jew and the lapsed Catholic feel comfortable together. Holiday services become regular events. They even go to Shabbat services on occasion. The music is glorious. The heathen Jew had not realized how many prayers and melodies were still with her from her childhood. The lapsed Catholic starts humming along. The heathen Jew starts taking off work on the High Holidays.
A "wedding" occurs. A Torah is commissioned and a celebration more moving than words can describe weds this Torah to this Synagogue. Each family member has written a letter in this Torah. A cantor from Berlin accepts the very old one being replaced. She speaks with such passion for learning and gratitude for her Judaism. The cantor returns several months later and leads a service. Her interpretation of the text moves the heathen Jew unlike any sermon she's ever heard. The heathen Jew has found her teacher.
The rabbi discovers the heathen Jew's past singing career and asks her to join him leading a music service. The heathen Jew agrees and takes home a CD and a prayer book to memorize the less familiar melodies and words.
High Holidays, present tense. Five weeks from her son's bar mitzvah, the heathen Jew is at the synagogue celebrating the new year. The cantor from Berlin is singing. The rabbi is singing. Their voices mix as though they have always sung together. In the rabbi's sermon, a quote that hits home: "I would rather choose to believe in God and be wrong, than not believe in God and be right." Two days later, the bar mitzvah of a converted adult. One who chooses to not only be Jewish, but to add study of Torah to his life. A conversation after with the cantor, who is still visiting. A statement from the rabbi that my work with wool and silk would make beautiful prayer shawls.
It may be time to drop the word heathen.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Michigan Fiber Festival, my almost-teenager, and me
It was hard to decide not to return to Allegan next year. I so enjoy the people and I get to do a little shopping for interesting supplies as well. But the distance requires lodging, meals and time away from my yoga teaching schedule that all eats into my profits. I decided to focus on more local art fair-type events, especially after the sixth or seventh person said I needed to do juried shows. Saying goodbye to my vendor neighbors was surprisingly moving. They have been welcoming and helpful and kind for two years now. All of them understood my decision and agreed with my plans, even as they remarked how nice it had been to share space and company. They also couldn't stop praising my son. I wish I could take credit for Eli, but he has been conscientious and helpful since he was a very little person. I loved hearing his praises sung all weekend. I had good sales, good help, and good company. What else could I ask for?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
child's play
Right now, I'm working large; too large to create another little bag. But when this big piece is done, I can't wait to see what other advantage I can pull from having children. Or is it that I'm still just a child myself?
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
New stuff
I am in serious production mode, creating inventory for two shows that are going to run on back-to-back weekends this August. It is a hot humid day and I really need to get some of this photographed so my son obliged and sweated in the sun while I put silk and wool around my shoulders again and again. These are just a sample of the results.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Felting with attitude
Who knew there were upsides to a daughter who can wring more vowels out of an "I'm not" than Eliza Doolittle managed at the beginning of Pygmalion?
I was all set to suspend work on a new scarf and take my youngest shoe shopping. (Her feet do not stop growing just because it's summer.) She still had a dishwasher to empty and was looking in the top rack for something when I heard a creak and looked up. There she was, leaning over the top rack and putting a little too much weight on it. I simply asked her to not lean on it. (My temper is not exactly even, but this time I really did request it nicely.) "I'm not!" This had many more syllables than two somehow. We give no warnings for consequences due to snotty responses anymore. Shoe shopping postponed for bad behavior. And I get to work more on my felting.
I was all set to suspend work on a new scarf and take my youngest shoe shopping. (Her feet do not stop growing just because it's summer.) She still had a dishwasher to empty and was looking in the top rack for something when I heard a creak and looked up. There she was, leaning over the top rack and putting a little too much weight on it. I simply asked her to not lean on it. (My temper is not exactly even, but this time I really did request it nicely.) "I'm not!" This had many more syllables than two somehow. We give no warnings for consequences due to snotty responses anymore. Shoe shopping postponed for bad behavior. And I get to work more on my felting.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Summer Musing
I went rooting around on YouTube today. Looking for nuno felting tips on bigger projects, like seamless coats and dresses. Found some surprisingly bad stuff. Not the end-product, but the actual videos. I'd love to make my own how-to video, but now there are so many... I feel like I did in musical theatre; like I missed my era. I had a better teacher and am a better teacher than these women (and it is all women) I've seen so far. I also haven't found anything yet that isn't a scarf. I'm pretty sure I know how to make those.
I haven't settled into the summer routine yet. Not sure when I'm working and when I'm mom. If it's a beach day, when do we go? Before I do some felting or after? I'd forgotten how much time goes into calling friends' parents to coordinate playdates. Time away from getting anything else done. The schlepping is down a bit this year, due to Spring baseball instead of Summer baseball. But that also means the boredom level will rise for the baseball player soon. I'm all for boredom actually, but when he sits reading for 8 hours a day, he cannot get to sleep at night. I am so wishing we had a pool. Swimming wears them out but good. I have to factor in beach time VERY soon. Are there beaches where you don't get sand in your suit?
I did manage to lay out a scarf and get over an hour's worth of rolling done on it. And I managed to try out some new recipes for dinner. I used my new Woolynns debit card for the first time today. And I discovered that my children will barter butternut squash for sweet potatoes (the latter being the tuber of choice). I'll take it.
I haven't settled into the summer routine yet. Not sure when I'm working and when I'm mom. If it's a beach day, when do we go? Before I do some felting or after? I'd forgotten how much time goes into calling friends' parents to coordinate playdates. Time away from getting anything else done. The schlepping is down a bit this year, due to Spring baseball instead of Summer baseball. But that also means the boredom level will rise for the baseball player soon. I'm all for boredom actually, but when he sits reading for 8 hours a day, he cannot get to sleep at night. I am so wishing we had a pool. Swimming wears them out but good. I have to factor in beach time VERY soon. Are there beaches where you don't get sand in your suit?
I did manage to lay out a scarf and get over an hour's worth of rolling done on it. And I managed to try out some new recipes for dinner. I used my new Woolynns debit card for the first time today. And I discovered that my children will barter butternut squash for sweet potatoes (the latter being the tuber of choice). I'll take it.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Really?
So it looks like I've succumbed. Me. Blogging. I don't know why the world needs this blog yet. I do know I've been told to do this more times than I can count. I'm waiting to figure out what I have to say to the world, which is odd since I rarely am without words.
I spend much of my time teaching: teaching my daughter how to use a sewing machine, teaching my son how to handle the latest crisis, teaching pregnant women about their bodies, teaching new moms how to find faith in themselves as moms, teaching 8th graders about acting, teaching someone with injury how to find relief. Lots of words.
I prefer when I get to learn. Today, I am learning how to shift into summer schedules as one child finished school and the other will be done in two days. I'd rather learn how to make something new out of silk and wool. I guess that learning will come tomorrow.
After I learn how to make fish stock.
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