Friday, November 9, 2012
Don't worry Mom, I learned my lesson
This is what my son said to me when I asked him what happened to his eye.
The Widji Way
This past summer was the first summer my older guy met the age requirements to head off to Camp Widjiwagan. He's been watching a family friend go for years. Add to that stories from Wally, Amy, and myself of our adventures from summers long ago, and the kid was curious. But he was also skinny as a rail, uninterested in having anything wet in contact with his body ever, and pale. I admit I wandered if we were sending him too early. He had definitely been on and enjoyed short canoe trips down the Namakagon over the years. And canoe trip earlier the summer with Camp St. Croix was a success despite awe-inspiring heat, bugs, and storms. But that was only 3 days down a river. Widji's shortest trip is 7 days out in the BWCA. With a wet-boot policy firmly enforced.
But he showed interest so we signed him up. And sent him. I spent the week mostly calm, really mostly worried that a bad experience this early would taint it and he'd not want to return. He had tried to carry a canoe before, but really, he weighed less than their lightest canoes! And he had nothing on the traditional Woody that was sent with each group. Ok, I was also a little worried about the temperatures- his earlier St. Croix trip had been scorching, while BWCA forecasts had temperatures dipping into the 20s (in August!).
At the end of his session, we were invited up for a banquet. The invite included careful instructions about where and when parents were welcome, and where we were not. We got to hug him before dinner, and he gave us a quick thumb's up and a lovely smile before heading off to eat with his cabin group. After dinner this group showed the parents their cabin, their route on the big bwca maps, and, most importantly, their woody canoe. They spilled out tales of adventure, hijinks, and a sprinkling of woe as we ambled around camp together. At the banquet, parents sat at the back as each group got up to share a few words about their trip. Every single kid found something great to say- about what they did, what they learned, how they grew. It produced tears in this mom. After the banquet they were gone, off to the final sauna and then to bed.
Our 5 hour ride home was not consumed by screen time, but rather Eli regailed us with tales of his trip. Stories that ranged from wicked headwinds to farting jokes to camp cooking. He talked of how he hated wearing the wet boots all day, but the joy he felt every evening in stripping them off after one last swim and putting on dry, warm socks. And best of all, he asked us to sign him up again next summer.
I'm really surprised at how much my guy could grow in the space of 10 days. He came back from this Widji adventure standing taller, more confident, and yet, still as dang lovable as ever. I'm a believer.
But he showed interest so we signed him up. And sent him. I spent the week mostly calm, really mostly worried that a bad experience this early would taint it and he'd not want to return. He had tried to carry a canoe before, but really, he weighed less than their lightest canoes! And he had nothing on the traditional Woody that was sent with each group. Ok, I was also a little worried about the temperatures- his earlier St. Croix trip had been scorching, while BWCA forecasts had temperatures dipping into the 20s (in August!).
Our 5 hour ride home was not consumed by screen time, but rather Eli regailed us with tales of his trip. Stories that ranged from wicked headwinds to farting jokes to camp cooking. He talked of how he hated wearing the wet boots all day, but the joy he felt every evening in stripping them off after one last swim and putting on dry, warm socks. And best of all, he asked us to sign him up again next summer.
I'm really surprised at how much my guy could grow in the space of 10 days. He came back from this Widji adventure standing taller, more confident, and yet, still as dang lovable as ever. I'm a believer.
If you give a kid a pickaxe...
Actually, the tool in question was apparently a cousin of the pickaxe with some more romantic name, but I can't remember what it was. Anyway, a few weekends back we pointed our car north on a Thursday evening in order to head up to Camp DuNord and partake in a work weekend. Work weekends are our latest greatest discovery. You get lodging for free, and pay a nominal fee to be fed all of your meals. In exchange, you spend a day or two roaming the north woods. Of course, in theory, we were working, but you couldn't convince Theo of that. He was having the time of his life.
What kid would not love the chance to roam the woods with implements of destruction (or, in more steady hands, forest management tools)?
Our work weekend started out by waking up in a camper cabin at Bear Head State Park outside of Ely, MN. The temp outside was 20 degrees- stunning for our early October bones. The kids (we were with the adventure-prone Neskemoens) quickly found that the water had frozen at the base of the water pump. They spent quite a bit of time slipping around on this precious square foot of ice. Then we took a lovely hike under a brilliant blue sky. By mid-morning we headed toward Ely, where we found about 3 inches of snow on the ground. Even I got terribly excited while waiting outside a coffee shop to pelt Amy and Jeff when they emerged with their morning drinks. As we drove the last half hour to DuNord, the northwoods were heart-stoppingly beautiful. The blue sky and evergreens familiar from our summer trips were coupled with golden tamaracks and a blanket of fresh snow.
When we arrived at DuNord the boys disappeared. The lure of camp plus snow drew them out of our sphere of influence immediately. That left the adults time to take a quick cabin tour, as everything was unoccupied. Well, almost everything. Sorry nappers in Thor's! It was interesting for us, cabin-tent dwellers, to see how the other half of dunordians lived. Defnitely appealing.
Friday afternoon we were outfitted with nippers and saws and told to beat back the woods from the main path down to the cabin tents. An aged dog joined us and kept the boys occupied when their nipping muscles started aching. It was lovely to work up a sweat under the bright sun as the snow melted all around us.
But Saturday was really the highlight. After a delicious breakfast we were sent off into the woods. This time with nippers, saws, AND pickaxes. My crew consisted of all the younger boys (5 of them!) and we had a lovely time nipping away branches and tackling the challenge of removing downed trees from the path. About halfway through our shift Theo found himself in possesion of the pickaxe-type thing. He was free to wander off the path, find old downed logs, and just wail away at them. With no purpose but to tire his muscles and bring a smile to his face. The logs didn't need pickaxing, but the boy needed to pickaxe, so the log was happy to oblige. While we were wandering the woods, Eli was given the chance to drive the 6 wheeler down a crazy rollercoaster of a path and help unload gravel on to a low spot. He thrived as well. I think we had more fun with our work than we would have had if we were just told to use the day as we pleased. The sense of purpose, plus the opportunity to challenge ourselves and our muscles was a winning combination.
The day of outside heavy work was followed by a warm dinner, a night of 'Contra Dancing' and then a 250 degree sauna and a plunge into the near-freezing lake (I mean, it had freshly melted snow in it!). We slept hard that night. We will return! But I'm not sure I'm going to get Theo a pickaxe for Christmas, as he requested on the ride home. Our little city lot just does not offer the same pickaxing opportunities as up north.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Waivers needed!
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)