Finding Friends

Ever since RR was little, we’ve had parents approach us with “oh {my child} talks so much about RR!” and we’re always a bit taken aback because RR doesn’t really talk about anyone else’s child. Until recently, we’ve accepted that other children are friends with our child even if the feeling is lukewarm on RR’s side. But then the playdates never came. Oh, we still get my child talks about your child but the follow-through isn’t there.

On the practical side, I suppose our best answer would be, “Great! let’s have [your child] over to play!” But we’re homebodies and that takes time and energy we often want to use on other things on the weekend. We’ll have to change our tune though because RR desperately wants to have or go to a sleepover and that’s definitely not happening without the playdate stage.

This weekend she was invited to an apple orchard and we had a different friend over the following day. It’s the most social interaction she’s had outside of school with her friends other than a birthday party here and there. We were exhausted by it but RR didn’t seem either tired OR energized so it’s hard to tell whether she was digging the social butterfly vibe or if she was merely tolerating it for our sakes. Questioning gets us nowhere with her so we’ll have to see what happens with the approach of this weekend. More playdate requests from her or fewer? I guess we’ll find out.

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Tales of a Fourth Grade…

You might have filled in the rest of that title but I can assure you that our fourth grader’s life is nothing like that of Peter’s in Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. For starters, we actually know what Peter’s life was like. With RR, it’s vast and unknowable. That’s right, it’s the return of the Iron Curtain.

Isn’t it cute how we mused over this phenomenon three years ago and yet here we are? The Curtain opens to reveal tidbits of information and then drops with a decided thud. For example, with one week of fourth grade down, we know that she has done Tables A, B, and C. Unfortunately, that is as opaque to us as the mating habits of swallowtails which, to be fair, RR probably knows all about and just hasn’t mentioned. We also had this conversation yesterday before the close of The Curtain:

RR: Don’t judge Britt, Mama
Me: Why would I judge your teacher?
RR: For language she told me to look up the word “dic”
Me: Why would I judge her for that?
RR: You know, mama.
Me: Because dick with a k means penis?
RR: I think it means saying something.

And that was it. The end of RR’s part of the conversation anyway. And by the way, I’m not sure why I would be the judgey one here. If anyone is going to use profanity in this household, it’s me. Anyway, what I learned from this conversation is that she obviously needs a spelling lesson.

Apparently when The Curtain opens there’s a backlog there. We learned that in third grade Ecology lessons the children sat under the trees and observed the plants in the breeze. Now though, they have to take notes instead and you can imagine how popular that is. I mean, I have to imagine it because that was the end of the conversation.

To use her words here, I’m not judging her. It’s an eternal exercise in patience for her mothers. And we could probably use it since it looks like it’s us and The Curtain, BFF4LYFE.

Literary Circles

You guys, I prefer to write in coffee shops or other public places where the bustle and noise help me zoom in and get less distracted that I would at my desk on a lunch break or in my house with dinner cooking. Coffee shop times have been few and far between this summer and I’m finding myself with lots to say but no reasonable place to get started.

We got the school supply list last week and along with the usual Montessori things (don’t forget your slippers and mug), we also have some fun and random things like, Three Colors of Acrylic Paint, Your Child’s Choice of Colors and Library Card. Which are great and lost. Also, asking my child to choose three colors will be a herculean effort as her mother and I try to corral her while she extols the virtues of Cadmium versus Pyrrole Orange.

Speaking of herculean efforts, we will also be trying to explain to RR the value of a Literary Circle and of books themselves as more than just vehicles for visual art. These small book discussion groups feature books that look good to me but are, at a glance, possibly torture. I imagine that, for RR, torture in the Montessori tradition involves book clubs. So, because she is no help at all in choosing her torture devices, I put them here in case one of you has read one and thinks a rising 4th graders with a large vocabulary but slow reading speed might find it at all interesting:

Brown Girl Dreaming
Hello, Universe
Inside Out and Back Again
Crown: An Ode to the Fresh Cut
Joesephine: The Dazzling Life of Josephine (also in Brazen!)
Babe Didrickson Zaharias: The Making of a Champion
Merci Suarez Changes Gears
Hurricane ForceL In the Path of America’s Deadliest Storms (this one is out)
Freedom Over Me: Eleven Slaves Their Lives and Dreams Brought to Life
The Five Ancestors: Snake
Savvy
The Night Diary
When You Reach Me
Turtle in Paradise
The Seven Tales of Trinket
The Heart of Everything That Is

Any recommendations welcome!

The Artist at School

Back to school involves choosing a historical character to represent, doing some research, and getting ready to write a report to present to the lower grades. Since RR is wholly uninterested in the task, I suggested we look at Brazen: Rebel Ladies Who Rocked the World, a very excellent graphic novel, which joins the recent canon of Books About Women Who Changed Things. I love it for its inclusion of little known women and international figures. And of course, the story of Annette Kellerman, the first mermaid. So there I was, Brazen in hand, suggesting Nellie Bly (because she’s awesome) and I was informed with a substantial eye-roll that Georgia O’Keefe was not in that book.

Oh, I see. I was supposed to have read her mind and understood that she could not consider any other historical figure because Georgia. O’Keefe. Duh.

Is this what 12 will be like? Because I need my own eye-roll for that.

The Artist at Work

RR submitted a painting to competition last weekend and won. No burying the lede there! It was the local county fair so competition in the junior oils set wasn’t terribly steep but I’m pretty sure she’d have won regardless. She amazes me with her talent for oil painting.

She was a little nervous, I think, but certain she would win something. I’m not surprised. When she dropped it off, adults came from across the room to tell her they admired it. This is how RR’s life goes. If it’s not the paintings, it’s the freckles, if it’s not the freckles, it’s her manners, if it isn’t that, well, it’s always something.

I don’t remember getting a lot of compliments as a kid and so I let her eat them up. Is that a good thing? I don’t know. Of course, I question whether we’re doing it right but with this one, she’ll have other challenges (hi there, multiplication!), so let’s let her have this.

And it’s a good thing to have!

Hoo Boy

Want to be shocked that we’ve known each other so long? RR turned nine on Tuesday. NINE. I’m grappling with complicated feelings about it, more than any other birthday, because she’s right on the edge of Big Girl and is about to tumble headlong into Pre-Teen.

It doesn’t seem right, how can nine be almost pre-teen? How can my baby be almost a pre-teen? How can it be she wants both a phone and a doll? Both a floaty for the pool and a face mask with cucumbers for her eyes? She got all of those things (yes, I’m that mom who gave her nine-year-old a phone and I’m ruining it for all the other moms, I know, but at least it’s wifi only) but she hasn’t put the doll down for more than a minute and is ducking into her new play tent (also designed for the younger set, I think) every chance she gets.

My mom is in town for THREE weeks and I don’t think she realizes that she’s unlikely to see RR when they are at home alone together because the privacy that tent offers is way more enticing than a grandma. Today she came out of her room bearing the slinky we got and bounced it while checking her texts. I don’t know what to do with this person who is so much of the cusp of a new stage. I don’t know what to do with my own complicated emotions. I guess we’ll just keep on living here in this moment of transition and appreciate the in-betweenness of it all before it gets whisked away.

4th Grade

Believe me, I know. Fourth already? There’s nothing like the passing of another birthday for your child that makes you reckon with the passing of time. Her ninth birthday is looming and I can’t count the number of people who have said “I can’t believe it, nine already? She was just a baby!” Don’t I know it.

I have lots of things to say about fourth grade but this post is really about the passing of years and the ending of third, in particular. RR attends a Montessori school and the children are grouped into classrooms spanning three grades. She has progressed in the same classroom since she was 5, with the same teacher, and the same children. This year’s crop of first graders has been a particularly enjoyable experience for RR, who is young for her age and happily plays with and teaches the smaller set.

Her teacher has been a compassionate, attentive, kind, funny person who has taken RR’s same traits and helped them flourish. She’s one of the most calm and thoughtful people I’ve met and I know for certain that we can thank her for helping RR’s personal space bubble evolve, nurturing her drawing skills, ensuring she could read and write beautifully, and teaching her to channel her frustration at learning new facts into curiosity and enjoyment. You guys, Montessori has been the right choice for RR since the beginning. I’m sure you know how it feels to just know you’ve made some parenting decision solidly right.

But today it ends, friends. Today is the day she rises up to fourth grade. The last day of school. The last day in this classroom with this teacher. I’m not great with lasts as a general rule but I’m a wreck. Somehow this artificial moment makes me feel like my little girl is gone, replaced by the person who has been glimmering in the distance. I’m thrilled with that person’s confidence and maturity, I’m not so thrilled to be saying goodbye to my baby.

I know, I know. You’re right, of course. You always are. This IS artificial. She’s still the same person. It’s a ceremony is all, a last day, a bookmark. But I’m a cryer, happy or not, and I’m an emotional disaster. I need all your tips to keep from crying. Cause I have a day to get through and no real confidence I can get through it in one piece.