A Captured Moon

Jonas loves to take the camera from my hands. Jonas sees. He was the first to see the moon as we drove home the other evening. And though I was permitted the first shot, he begged the camera (my I phone) from my hands and started handling it like a pro. He used the magnifying option (I didn't know there was a zoom on my I phone???) And later he showed me that he knew how to brighten and darken photos too. Where has he learned this? 

It doesn't matter much I suppose. I'm living one of those, "goodness, my child knows my tech equipment better than I" moments. No doubt to be followed by many more. (Leo's now a master of Skype, on computer and phone...)

But how wonderful to have a child with such an eye. T'is not the first time he has excitedly joined me on a photo expedition. He too was in awe of the mist floating upon the Rhone and the bridge just barely in view through the haze. 'A Foggy Morning on the Rhone'

A foggy morning in Avignon

As Leo worked on his book summary for school Jonas and I headed out for a bit of shopping. The boys are back with me after a week at their father's, and the cupboard, if not bare, is pretty empty. I can survive on whatever's here (rice, lentils, green tomatoes from the garden, some snippets of mâche from the garden, an apple or two gleaned from the neighbor's orchards...) but they need their milk, eggs, cereal, ham. The basics if you will. I can only serve them pasta and sauce so many days a week...

As we drove out the world was in a fog. Mist lay upon the Rhône, clothing all in gray, moist dropplets, darkening the trees. We just had to stop the car and get out to photograph this mysterious world. We shared the camera back and forth. I photographed the barge, barely visible through the trees.

Jonas photographed the seaweed moving languidly in the water, a few leaves swirling on the surface above.

We both photographed the Pont d'Avignon, with and without a foreground of fall leaves.

my shot with foreground.

Jonas quite impressed me. He was seeing, attentively, looking at this world with eyes of wonder alongside his mum. Be it himself, or the Waldorf school education, he is extremely sensitive to the physical world. He is also a gifted sculptor of clay and beeswax. Okay, I'm a proud mom, but I think also one that sees clearly.

I'll be printing out some enlargements for him to bring to school and hang in his room.
Jonas' photo of the bridge

Meantime, Leo did some beautiful writing back at the house. Somehow, somewhere, a floodgate has been opened. Is it the new teacher? A new confidence in himself? I adore that the teacher encourages poetry and somehow has communicated to him (I think it is he) a pleasure in playing with language. As Leo described an evil character in his book, he used a phrase unique to himself (I do believe) 'du miel empoisonné', poisoned honey. Fascinating... I don't know that he intellectually gets all that he has communicated, but the phrase was absolutely 'juste' for the character in question. An evil woman who hides behind a slippery, sweet-voiced exterior... hm.

T'was a fruitful and artistic morning.

A Walk in March

Sometimes it's rather nice having a little boy home sick. He can accompany you on walks that way.

Worrying about a child

Well, I did a Grandaddy Brady. And what does this mean you might ask? Let me explain. We've a thing in my family about worrying and testing for appendicitis. My mother's appendix exploded and she contracted peritonitis and was hospitalized for three weeks. Everafter my grandfather (a doctor himself) carried the torch of checking for sore stomachs, poking that right hand side below the belly button, and hurrying us to the hospital should the symptoms be indicative.

In fact I did have my appendix out when I was fourteen. I'm thus the only one of my siblings to have actually experienced the pains, the vomitting, the craziness and the urgency of it all.

And so, I must admit to being rather pre-disposed to consider this an option when my little one just doesn't seem to get better from his gastro, when he's just continuing to be wracked by dry heaves, deeply in pain, unable to fall back into a restorative sleep, crying out at the sharpness of the stabs in his abdomen. He wasn't even willing to get into a warm bath! (Unheard of in my family).

It was while I tried to take advantage of that bath (mustn't let hot water go to waste!) that it dawned on me that Jonas might be really sick. That I had no more than 5 minutes in the water before he called for me was also a sign. So I got moving.

At which point my support network totally failed me. I called seven different parents who drive -- if not the exact route I do -- extremely close to my house. And not a one answered his/her cell phone. I didn't want to leave my little boy alone in the house while I went to get the others. He just was so miserable, and I was really beginning to worry. But, pas de chance, off I had to go to get the others, leaving Jojo alone.

That extra time decided it. As quickly as I was able to drop off the older boys, I grabbed Jojo, his slippers, coat and a blanket, and piled him into the car and off to the hospital.

As we waited and waited and waited (two hours in the waiting room can seem very long when you've a very sad child tensing, moaning, crying with you) I felt as helpless as a flea. You want to be taken seriously -- I don't think I over react when it comes to my kids, probably I under react, if anything. But you see the nurses sending in the girl with the sore shoulder before you. Of course, all babies get priority treatment, which is as it should be. But isn't a possible appendicitis important? Are they thinking this is just a simple gastro and thus are letting us wait it out. Perhaps they're waiting for Jojo to fall asleep and thus show that he isn't truly that sick. Or?

At long last we did get taken to the doctor, and Jonas finally felt better. I watched how she tested to see if he truly had an appendicitis or not. I absorbed the lesson, felt hugely relieved, but also weary from all the tension of the day. And then, losing my way once, then at last finding it, carried my little boy back out to the car and home to bed.

And now, to sleep. I don't know if I'm humbled, or just weary. I'm sad to carry this burden alone. I suppose I could wonder why today of all days was one where the universe decided I needed to carry it all alone. I felt so completely demoralized when I couldn't reach anyone to help me get the boys back from school. Total system breakdown. But then, I coped, as I had to, and the day is over, as I suppose it was meant to be.

And now yes, to sleep.

Carnival at the Waldorf School!

All the school's a play... or at least the entire school is in costume playing their respective roles. Jonas' class was inspired by their reading of the Fables of La Fontaine. Jonas, when nudged by one of his best friends, agreed to be the tortoise -- which somehow seems fitting for his personality. Throughout his class there were pairs of animals: a lion and a mouse, an ant and a cicada, a fox and a crow, a city rat and his cousin the country rat, a rooster, a cat and a...

A most active role the teacher took in becoming herself the rooster (quite a magnificent one she was!). With some candy to pay their way, they went out into the school yard, transformed into a country fair, complete with gypsies and their caravans (the older classes) an organic cotton candy (here known as barbe à papa) stand, palm readers, tests and games of all sorts, snacks and drinks (provided by we parents) and oodles more. It was a day of fun for everyone.
At first I was worried that Jonas would be a bit odd about his chosen costume. We'd put it together as a four man project: I bought the paints and found the cardboard. I drew the oval and gave suggestions for mixing paints, designing the shape. And then Mael helped Jonas with the back shell, and an hour later or so I saw Leo out there helping him paint the front shell. His little hat had been made by himself in class alongside his friends who in most cases had ears or a mane to attach to it.

According to his teacher, he removed his cumbersome and mobility-limiting costume but once or twice for certain games, and then donned it again. I shouldn't be so surprised, he does know the tale, and of course in the end, though the rabbit/hare be faster, he wins the race.

When I recounted this day's events to JP he commented on the very clear differences between my two boys. If Jonas is happy being the tortoise, Leo is most definitely more akin to the hare. And, at least Jonas is quite okay with that.

Birthdays for little boys

The last week of school before we left for the US, Jonas and a dear friend shared a birthday in our home. Treasure hunts for chocolate, cakes, legos, pizza, dashing about outdoors, kicking balls and constructing castles and more were the order of the day. A few spent the night, to be greeted by my pancakes the next day. As they swirled around us, my friend and I chatted and explored and discussed and contemplated. There was much for us to chew on.

Moments of Jonas

Jonas has been himself in many myriad ways these past few days. I feel blessed with Jonas moments. Moments of calm and cuddling, moments of questioning, moments of frustration and anger, moments of pride and achievement, and, to keep me on my toes, moments that surprise and delight.

Let's read Hop on Pop, he said Sunday night. There he was, the night before school, pulling out the book I'd told him he would be able to read by the end of the summer. And myself, I'd not worked with him this summer as I'd hope to. I spent so much of my time helping Leo read his required reading, encouraging and pushing him to write that I had no time to work with Jonas. I'd read with him, fun books that we enjoyed, lots of Magic Tree House and such, but we didn't take the time to pour over words and letters. And deep down in his being he'd remembered. He remembered that he was going to be able to read this book before school began. And, ... he did! It would be overkill to say to what degree I was proud of him. But I was, quietly, marvelously, richly proud of this discreet yet profound little boy.



Earlier that day it had been quite a different story. This little boy has adopted a most serious habit of cursing, and cursing and cursing -- in French granted, but when in France, the vulgarity isn't hidden by that lovely accent. Les gros mots spew in a torrent from his mouth, in his soft little boy voice, For someone who doesn't understand what he's saying, it almost sounds gentle and pleasant. Little do they realize! He's truly a little French boy who just happens to speak English. He's never spent time in an English-speaking school yard, thus -- for the moment --his English vocabulary has yet to be enriched in such a fashion.

Just the other day he said to me, Mommy, why do all these words exist if we shouldn't say them? Ah yes, why indeed?

So, finally, I decided to take an age-old threat and turn it into action. Yes, I would wash their mouths out with soap (for one, for all, right?). Thus, a drop of soap for he who curses (my own children, I wouldn't dare with one who wasn't mine, but I have stated to the others that cursing is simply not permitted in my house). And yes, we've had a few drops so far. Each time far worse, each time the anticipation, the disgust, the annoyance, the anger grows. Jonas declares himself helpless. He just can't stop. That's why, I respond, I've changed my tactics. With a little unpleasant reminder he will learn to stop, I assure him.

With Leo it's almost a game. He's not going to give in, even if he is well aware that he's at fault. So, I trick him, put a touch of soap on my mouth and wipe it on his lips. That does the trick. But with Jonas, it is far from a game. And, I'm not going to in any way physically force him. I do however, stand firm. He simply won't have lunch till he's taken his drop of soap. I don't get angry. I serve Leo and his friend. I clean up, having carefully put Jonas' lunch aside. Then I go upstairs to read a bit. Jonas clings sulkily to me. Rather than brooding in his room, he is in my space. He is on my bed, alongside me. But, he is in a foul humor. He's mad at me, at himself, at the situation in general. He kicks, taps, but doesn't say a word. I take the jolts in, and stay calm. I speak gently, ask him how else does he think we're going to rid him of this vulgar habit? If he has another suggestion, by all means share it. But in the meantime, kicking me isn't going to help anything. Yes, I know he's angry, but, such is life. Best to get the (minor) punishment over with and continue with our day.

It took easily a half hour of this, when suddenly Jonas called out to his brother to pardon him his insults. Leo accepted his apology with grace.

Looking at me, Jonas said he was getting awfully hungry. I said fine, let's go get this over with. Perhaps a drop of soap on a spoonful of honey?

Did he still have to have soap? He'd apologized....

Yes, I said, but it'll be over quick, and then you can have your home-fried potatoes, and there's ice cream for dessert. Alright. And together, quietly, and calmly, we descended the stairs.

I just needed patience. It's frustrating to know you've put yourself into a bind. Lashing out at the unfairness (or fairness) of it all is just normal. And then, with a bit of time, internal reasoning, hunger and knowing that I was just there work upon him. This is how he functions.



But, let's end on a high note. A little boy who's ever so proud of his advances in swimming. Come with me Mommy. I want you to come swim with me. Ok, I'll be right there as soon as the quiches are in the oven. And, ten minutes later I was there, watching, laughing, teaching, supporting, excited and delighted. One happy and very proud boy was showing off what he's now can do with relative ease. Never again will he fall into a pool and sink to the bottom! He can tread water, swim a ways, and he knows it. Fear will be banished, past experiences put in their place.

And as I lay beside him putting him to bed, tears came to my eyes. Corny maybe, but I rarely, rarely cry. But I love them so very much, and it just feels so right to be there to the utmost. Every nuance tugs at me. Little else in this life matters as much.

Chivalry in young boys -- there's hope for the future!

Chivalry is not dead, at least not in my boys. Leo graciously kept Dany, the 12 year old neighbor and friend, company in a prickly patch of berries when Jonas, Mandy (Dany's little sister) and I strayed further ahead. And later, when the girls wanted accompanying on their way home, Jonas--my little seven-year-old Jonas--rowed them all the way home! And it has only been in the past few days that he’s mastered rowing and kayaking. What a child! Swimming may be scary to him – he’s still not ducked his head under water—but boats, well, he’s a regular Wind in the Willows child, happily mucking and messing about in boats!

Not to be deterred, Leo faced the currants and canoed over to the girls' dock the next day to pick them up for a swimming/water moment at our beach.

Ah, it brings joy to a mother's heart (and Gramma is pretty darn proud too).