Generally I get a bit sad at the over abundance of liability waivers we sign in this society. I don't think we should be as lax as life was in Antigua when we would take a field trip to the beach with busloads of non-swimmers and then provide minimal supervision and have no clue as to how many students we came with and how many are getting back on the bus. Although no one died on any trip to my knowledge... I would like for us to find some middle ground between these extremes. So generally I scoff at the waiver.
But the other day Jon and I got a tough assignment as volunteers at the annual Fall Fun Fest at Theo's school. They call it a 'fun raiser' but I am sure there would be both more fun and more funds raised if the school could agree with my proposal to have a wine bar upstairs for parents. The energy and sound levels at this thing drive me right into the nearest sensory deprivation chamber. If I could stay upstairs in a lowly lit room quietly conversing with parents and sipping wine I would gladly ply my children with more money to spend downstairs. But my vision is not shared by the district. So I hit my sensory limit early and then clear my kids out of there before any real dough can be spent.
Anyway- because I was not needed to pour wine upstairs, Jon and I got assigned to the sledge hammer bell ringer game. From hell. Not only do we willingly put a sledge hammer, a heavy sledge hammer, into the hands of anyone who will give us a ticket, but then we have to try to keep everyone away as the kids take several swings at the target. Which is very near their own feet. Toes have suffered greatly under our watch. But it's an absolute miracle that no child standing by, or running through, or across the room, has been brained by the sledge hammer. The gym is so crowded that anytime we were able to get the sledge hammer-er enough space to swing, others would glimpse this free space and use it as a route to wherever they needed to be. Kids were constantly jumping into the 'circle of death' as I shall call it. And those were the ones moving with a sense of direction. Add to that wondering toddlers and overwrought parents and the situation gets out of hand.
During our 1.5 hour shift I think Jon and I were able to keep the damage to a few bruised toes and probably some lost toenails in the near future. But this took both of us flailing around, shouting, having heart attacks. We passed our shift off on to one quiet woman how had no idea what she was in for. We tried to give some advice, but then we just walked away and didn't look back. I walked straight home and into our smallest closet, darkest closet, where it took me some time to restore some sense of equilibrium.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Sex education in Paul Revere's house
This summer we took a wonderful trip out east. Here's one of my highlights:
We were taking a self-guided tour of Paul Revere's house. It was small and cramped and dark as houses were back in the day. As I came into the upstairs bedroom of Mrs. and Mr. Revere there was a large group of 10-13 year old kids getting a guided tour. The tour guide was standing behind a rope by the canopied bed. Around her were sewing projects, half-made dolls, a slate and some chalk, but behind her was a large bed. As I tried to make my way through the children to the next room the guide said, "Now, back in the 1700's bedrooms were not used JUST for sleeping." Then she asked, she asked 10-13 year old boys, she asked them, "Can anyone name one other thing they might have done in this bedroom besides sleeping?"
Oh lordy. The looks on the faces of the boys. They were postively BURSTING with the desire to answer this woman with what they were thinking. SEX!!! Someone had asked them a question where a legitimate answer was sex. I mean the Reveres had something like 13 kids after all. They had just learned this. Eyeballs were strained to their very limit as the boys tried to judge their leaders' response if they were to actually answer the question posed. I had to cover my mouth and practically run from the room. It is interesting to note that several girls put their hands up immediatly and said things like, "sewing? playing games? reading?".
For the rest of the day I kept getting the giggles as I pictured those boys trying to contain thier laughter. I didn't do as well as they did. Finally I had to explain to my own 10 and 13 year old boys what had happened. I didn't know if they would get why the boys were so bound up with joy. But of course they did. As soon as I posed the tour guide's question my boys died. I did too. It was lovely.
We were taking a self-guided tour of Paul Revere's house. It was small and cramped and dark as houses were back in the day. As I came into the upstairs bedroom of Mrs. and Mr. Revere there was a large group of 10-13 year old kids getting a guided tour. The tour guide was standing behind a rope by the canopied bed. Around her were sewing projects, half-made dolls, a slate and some chalk, but behind her was a large bed. As I tried to make my way through the children to the next room the guide said, "Now, back in the 1700's bedrooms were not used JUST for sleeping." Then she asked, she asked 10-13 year old boys, she asked them, "Can anyone name one other thing they might have done in this bedroom besides sleeping?"
Oh lordy. The looks on the faces of the boys. They were postively BURSTING with the desire to answer this woman with what they were thinking. SEX!!! Someone had asked them a question where a legitimate answer was sex. I mean the Reveres had something like 13 kids after all. They had just learned this. Eyeballs were strained to their very limit as the boys tried to judge their leaders' response if they were to actually answer the question posed. I had to cover my mouth and practically run from the room. It is interesting to note that several girls put their hands up immediatly and said things like, "sewing? playing games? reading?".
For the rest of the day I kept getting the giggles as I pictured those boys trying to contain thier laughter. I didn't do as well as they did. Finally I had to explain to my own 10 and 13 year old boys what had happened. I didn't know if they would get why the boys were so bound up with joy. But of course they did. As soon as I posed the tour guide's question my boys died. I did too. It was lovely.
Keeping me in line
Eli has a friend who has real clear boundaries when it comes to 'cheating'. We will call him Bill. I found this out when I was in charge of several boys for an afternoon and decided to take them to the local community pool.
Now, when we signed up for a family pass, the pool worker said that our family of four was not maxing out the benefits of the pass, and was their anyone else we wanted to add for the summer? We were not prepared for this question and the line was long behind us. It was hot. We wanted to swim. We couldn't come up with a single name. So we ended up with four passes. This background is important. I don't want you to consider me totally amoral.
Because when I had five boys, and two of them did not have passes. I gladly used Theo's (who was not with us) for one boy, and asked Bill's mom if she could send both of her sons' passes so I could get the last boy in for free. She readily agreed. Gave the passes to Bill with her blessing. But then she wasn't there when the passes had to be presented. I asked Bill to give them all to me and I would usher everyone through. He did, but looked a little pale. At this point I had no idea he was in a moral dilema of epic proportions. Just thought he was a little carsick. Turns out he was wondering how 10 year old african american T'dabi was going to get in on his little white 8 year old brother's pass. Here's the thing- the pool workers didn't care! They had already asked us, practically begged us, to list an extra on our family pass. We failed. I interpreted this as an open invitation to use our passes for anyone we brought with us, as long as we had enough passes for the size of our group. Bill disagreed. Loudly. At the front of the line. Right as I was about to hand the passes to the attendant Bill grabbed them from my hand and said, "I can't do this!" Then he looked at the attendant and said, "T'dabi is NOT my brother. But my brother is not here. Can I use his pass for T'Dabi?" I groaned. Couldn't he see this was putting the attendant in an awkward position? I had been willing to be the morally culpable person. But here we were. The attendant smiled awkwardly, hemmed, hawed, then passed us through. Bill beamed. He could now enjoy the pool without a guilty conscience.
We had a lovely time.
Then we got in the car to come home. I turned on the radio. To the Current, a Minnesota Public Radio station that happened to be in the middle of a pledge drive. Bill immediately asked, "Gretchen. Are you MPR members?" Yes Bill, we are. "Well, are you sustaining members?" Yes. "Good." And he sat back with a smile and began humming along. I am sure if I had answered differently he would have reached up and clicked it off. If I didn't snap his fingers in half beforehand. There's only so much moral judging I can take from 11 year olds.
Now, when we signed up for a family pass, the pool worker said that our family of four was not maxing out the benefits of the pass, and was their anyone else we wanted to add for the summer? We were not prepared for this question and the line was long behind us. It was hot. We wanted to swim. We couldn't come up with a single name. So we ended up with four passes. This background is important. I don't want you to consider me totally amoral.
Because when I had five boys, and two of them did not have passes. I gladly used Theo's (who was not with us) for one boy, and asked Bill's mom if she could send both of her sons' passes so I could get the last boy in for free. She readily agreed. Gave the passes to Bill with her blessing. But then she wasn't there when the passes had to be presented. I asked Bill to give them all to me and I would usher everyone through. He did, but looked a little pale. At this point I had no idea he was in a moral dilema of epic proportions. Just thought he was a little carsick. Turns out he was wondering how 10 year old african american T'dabi was going to get in on his little white 8 year old brother's pass. Here's the thing- the pool workers didn't care! They had already asked us, practically begged us, to list an extra on our family pass. We failed. I interpreted this as an open invitation to use our passes for anyone we brought with us, as long as we had enough passes for the size of our group. Bill disagreed. Loudly. At the front of the line. Right as I was about to hand the passes to the attendant Bill grabbed them from my hand and said, "I can't do this!" Then he looked at the attendant and said, "T'dabi is NOT my brother. But my brother is not here. Can I use his pass for T'Dabi?" I groaned. Couldn't he see this was putting the attendant in an awkward position? I had been willing to be the morally culpable person. But here we were. The attendant smiled awkwardly, hemmed, hawed, then passed us through. Bill beamed. He could now enjoy the pool without a guilty conscience.
We had a lovely time.
Then we got in the car to come home. I turned on the radio. To the Current, a Minnesota Public Radio station that happened to be in the middle of a pledge drive. Bill immediately asked, "Gretchen. Are you MPR members?" Yes Bill, we are. "Well, are you sustaining members?" Yes. "Good." And he sat back with a smile and began humming along. I am sure if I had answered differently he would have reached up and clicked it off. If I didn't snap his fingers in half beforehand. There's only so much moral judging I can take from 11 year olds.
Fall Pleasures
I find that there is nothing better to do with a beautiful fall day than to spend it running through a prairie trying to kill or not be killed. For the second year in a row I've taken my boys out to Camp St. Croix for a wonderful game of Predator/Prey. This year there were over 200 people who paid $5 to be assigned to an animal group and then try to survive the afternoon. The game is a bit complicated but takes minimum set up beyond rule sharing. All you need are some woods and hopefully a lovely prairie that is turning golden and red in the autumn sun.
This year the crew I arrived with ranged in age from 7 to 45. We became gnus. We didn't know much about gnus- only that we were on the bottom of the food chain for the day. There was no one for us to prey upon, but plenty of groups who wanted to prey on us. After the game was explained top predator groups were given bandanas to where as headbands, and middle level predators tied bandanas around their arms. This helped us identify who to avoid when we were let loose in the prairie. And then we were let loose in the prairie. Part of our job as gnus was to find one tablet marked food, one shelter, and one water. They were hidden on camp's property. But the bigger, the harder part of our afternoon would be to stick together and to stay alive. We always had to be within 15 feet of each other, meaning we only moved as fast as our slowest member. And anytime predators spotted us, a whistle was blown and we had to run for our lives for 20 seconds. Then another whistle would blow, the predators would 'carry off' their spoils (our friends!) and we would regroup and count our losses. We started with about 15 and to survive as a group needed to end the afternoon with our tablets found and at least 6 gnus still alive.
Even before that first whistle blew the adrenalin was flowing through our whole group. It is stunning how an afternoon changes once you know you are being hunted. We stayed low, kept in the shadows, and tried to slow the beating of our crazy hearts. When that first whistle blew, it wasn't only the youngest members of our group who found tears leaping to their eyes as we tore through the prairie, hoping to outrun the predators for 20 seconds. It was intense. Hearts leapt out of chests, cries were uttered, and we paid no mind to brambles and thorns tearing our skin as we ran for our lives. For over two hours we snuck around, hunting for food, water, and shelter while trying to avoid ambushes. Our numbers dwindled, but with 20 minutes to go before the final bell was to ring we had found everything we needed. We then hustled to the deepest prairie grasses and settled in for a heart-wringing wait. We heard the tigers amble by, within feet of our hiding place. Our eyes were our only way to communicate and they were shouting PANIC! but we kept it calm and made it to the bell. As we were walking back to the debrief I mentioned how intense it had been to be hunted. One of my fellow 8 year old gnus admonished me, saying, "But Gretchen- you only had to do this for 2 hours. Imagine rabbits who live like this 24/7, 365 days a year!" Frankly, I couldn't. I'd be spent by the end of day one for sure. We also ran into one of our gnus who had become part of the lion pack. She was amazed at how different it felt to strut around as a lion after spending time as a lowly gnu.
The whole afternoon was an intense learning experience. Not only was the setting visually stunning, but to be put in the shoes of an animal of prey was an eye-popping adventure. We will sign up again next year!
Friday, October 26, 2012
One person's trash, another person's....trash
Since joining the Camp DuNord board I have been sucked into volunteering at the annual huge garage sale that raises money to send families to DuNord and kids to Widji. Totally believe in the mission of this event- just can't believe the size of it, and the work, and the items some people donate. Definitely some great finds out there in the Merchandise Mart at the State Fair grounds. But you have to dig through a lot of pretty scrubby goods to find them.
This year part of my volunteer stint included dispersing loads of dropped off goods into the appropriate sections of the sale. I had grocery carts labeled Women's clothes, Shoes, Kitchen, Home Decor, ect. People would drive up, unload their goods into a shopping cart and I would then divide them up into the proper categories. Mostly this was easy, but at some point I came across a cart of donations that included several puzzlers. I made some executive decisions, putting the small, odd sized wooden dowels in with 'hardware' and occasionally throwing items that looked too worn for resale.
Then I came to an old, slim box with graphics that looked like they were from the 60's. From the pictures it sure looked like what we had here was....an enema bag. I opened the box, and sure enough, there was the piping and the 'valve', everything pictured on the box, except the bag.
Who finds a used enema kit, an incomplete used enema kit, in the back of a closet and thinks, "I know, I'll bring this to the Y garage sale!" I sorted that one right into the dumpster out back. I realize I might have cheated the Y out of at least 33 cents in profits there, and for that, I apologize.
This year part of my volunteer stint included dispersing loads of dropped off goods into the appropriate sections of the sale. I had grocery carts labeled Women's clothes, Shoes, Kitchen, Home Decor, ect. People would drive up, unload their goods into a shopping cart and I would then divide them up into the proper categories. Mostly this was easy, but at some point I came across a cart of donations that included several puzzlers. I made some executive decisions, putting the small, odd sized wooden dowels in with 'hardware' and occasionally throwing items that looked too worn for resale.
Then I came to an old, slim box with graphics that looked like they were from the 60's. From the pictures it sure looked like what we had here was....an enema bag. I opened the box, and sure enough, there was the piping and the 'valve', everything pictured on the box, except the bag.
Who finds a used enema kit, an incomplete used enema kit, in the back of a closet and thinks, "I know, I'll bring this to the Y garage sale!" I sorted that one right into the dumpster out back. I realize I might have cheated the Y out of at least 33 cents in profits there, and for that, I apologize.
Summer laughs
Toward the end of summer the boys and I were hanging out in the evening when Theo got suddenly desirous of a swim. The Highland pool was within days of closing for the season, and within less than an hour of closing for the evening, but we decided to hightail it down there for one last swim anyway. When we arrived at the pool storm clouds were gathering to the west and it was nearly deserted. But the boys quickly dropped their towels, shoes, and in Eli's case, glasses, and hurried off toward the slide. Before they got there they were stopped by a young male guard. He asked them some question and I saw them nod yes and then change directions. They walked hesitantly toward a different guard tower and then detoured over toward me.
Eli sidled up to me and said, "Mom, that guard told us to go tell some other guard that she looked like a buffoon, but I don't have my glasses on and I can't tell who we were supposed to find." Theo, for his part, was keeping a distance from this business, despite his 20/20 vision. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Just then the original guard came up and pointed the boys towards a tower by the main pool. The boys marched over and I watched a quick exchange. The accosted guard was laughing heartily as my boys darted away.
While the boys were happily sloshing down the slide, I was approached by a lovely young woman life guard who was still chuckling. She was just a peach- adorable and sun tanned and giggling. About 5 years older than Eli. She asked if the boy in the orange swim trunks was mine. Indeed. She said that after Eli told her that another guard had said to tell her she looked like a buffoon she had countered with, "Oh, but you don't think that I look like a buffoon, do you?" To which my suave son replied, "I have NO idea, I don't have my glasses on." And then waddled away in his particularly awkward wet swimsuit walk. Smooth Eli, smooth!
Eli sidled up to me and said, "Mom, that guard told us to go tell some other guard that she looked like a buffoon, but I don't have my glasses on and I can't tell who we were supposed to find." Theo, for his part, was keeping a distance from this business, despite his 20/20 vision. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Just then the original guard came up and pointed the boys towards a tower by the main pool. The boys marched over and I watched a quick exchange. The accosted guard was laughing heartily as my boys darted away.
While the boys were happily sloshing down the slide, I was approached by a lovely young woman life guard who was still chuckling. She was just a peach- adorable and sun tanned and giggling. About 5 years older than Eli. She asked if the boy in the orange swim trunks was mine. Indeed. She said that after Eli told her that another guard had said to tell her she looked like a buffoon she had countered with, "Oh, but you don't think that I look like a buffoon, do you?" To which my suave son replied, "I have NO idea, I don't have my glasses on." And then waddled away in his particularly awkward wet swimsuit walk. Smooth Eli, smooth!
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