Calling all Super Readers

Henry's started watching a TV show called Super Why. It's a group of characters with special powers: Word Power, Spelling Power, Alphabet Power, Power to Read, and, the viewer with the Power to Help. They solve problems by consulting books, changing fairy tales into lessons. Throughout, they ask questions of the viewer. Henry loves it. He puts his hand in when they join in the beginning. He says his name when they ask: "Henry Oscar CaMannell!" He yells out letters when they ask, "What letter is this?" and he points out "Super letters" when they float onto the screen. He repeats lines and jumps up and down when they solve the problem.

In the mornings I watch him giddy to learn, spinning on his tippy-toes and clapping. "Hip hip horray," he squeals.

Over dinner, I listen to teachers talk about their classes. Some students are failing simply because they don't turn in any work, even when given time in class to complete assignments. Others have special accomodations made for them, to the point of getting to wear headphones in class because it calms them. An 80 (out of 100) is considered honors and teachers assigning 30pages of reading over a weekend are told to go easy on their students. My teacher co-workers, many in their first year of teaching, are giving lots of opportunitites to make up work or ask for help. They're going to their classrooms at 6am and not coming home until 9pm. They're meeting with parents who tell them not to teach about contraception and to make sure their child gets to leave class whenever she feels she needs to emotionally.

In the dorm, I'm an advisor to nine girls and we write quarterly reports to their parents, in lieu of long-distance parent-teacher conferences. I'm asked to include comments on their academic, social and extra-curricular activities. As a parent, I try to think of what I'd want to hear about my child. Anecdotes and little details that would tell me my daughter is being appreciated and cared for. There are girls I know better than others, girls whose reports are easy to write. Others I realize I need to spend more time with, ask questions about why they are missing assignments. How that presentation went in English. Whether or not they like the food in the cafeteria. What they like about their roommate.

Watching Henry, I'm wondering when the giddiness goes away. When do kids lose the hip hip horray? What's the teenage equivalent of super letters? How do teachers transform the Power of Indifference to turning in homework? Oh, maybe more importantly, how do I make sure the tippy-toe spinning never stops?

Wallypops

After two years and one week, Henry stopped breastfeeding. Well, he was stopped. My aforementioned skin-eating bacterial infection prompted some heavy drugs. Apparently prednisone is not so good for toddlers. The doctor said it was necessary for me, but I wondered how that would go over with Henry.

Turns out it was more me. He'd been nursing before his nap so I waited to take the pills until after, but he didn't end up asking to nurse. So, we stopped without fanfare. And when I'd put him sleeping in his bed and came back to the living room, my eyes filled. It felt like the end of an era. Henry asked a couple times for milk in the next couple of days, but when I told him it was all gone, there wasn't much fuss.

Now, we read before bed and rock in his chair. We bought a new Thomas the Train book and visited the library for more. Henry loves the library. I use it as a carrot. When he's lollygagging on other errands I say, "C'mon Henry, we have to get to the library." and he perks right up. They have an awesome kids area downstairs with a puppet theater, little colored chairs, tons of stuffed animals, a bucket chair with a screen he can trap himself in, and, of course, lots of books. Plus, there's usually other kids there and Henry loves watching them.

His next favorite place is the bank drive-through. I took him with Darby through there once and the teller gave us a dog treat and a lollipop (or, in Henry's words, wallypop). He's never forgotten. Yesterday I told him I had to go to the bank and he grabbed his shoes and said, "Wallypop!" even though it had been at least a week since we'd gone.

Henry's made quite a home for himself. He's learned names and when he says them unprompted the recipient melts. He knows how to get to the cafeteria. He likes to help with things. He'll take his clean clothes to his room, put his shoes on (with help), throw things in the trash, pick up his cars and take his dishes to the kitchen. He says, "I'm big, Mama." He speaks in sentences and puts thoughts together. He imitates both of us and apparently I say, "Sure, we can do that." a lot because that's his new favorite answer. He turned two and automatically started asking, "Why?"
"It's quiet time, Henry."
"Why?"
"Because girls are sleeping."
"Why?"
"Because they are tired."
"Why?"
"Because they are busy all day long and need rest."
"Why?"
"Because."

I think it's less about the act of breastfeeding and more about how big my baby is getting. He's a little man with preferences and personality and sayings of his own. He knows when he wants a snack and which books he wants to read and when he's all done with playing trucks. I need to step up my "Why?" answering.

Redrum and Dragon Cakes

It feels like it's been a long time since I wrote. I'd like to say it's because I was busy making Henry the most awesomest dragon cake ever and was busy celebrating his birthday and then breaking in his new trucks, cars and trains. Or because being on duty for 5 days and 4 nights in a row made me develop a slightly skin-eating bacterial infection that I thought was shingles and sent me to bed for 20hours one day and five the next and a trip to the ER. Or because my job has actually required me to go to meetings, schedule & coordinate several activities each week and be responsible for the welfare of 32 girls. All those things are true. But the real reason I haven't written is...

I was reading The Shining.

It's a thick book.

I'd never read Stephen King's fiction before. I've seen lots of the movies. Not cared for most of the horror ones. And, because of the cheeseball quality of most of his made-for-TV movies, subconsciously thought he was a bad writer. Even though his book on writing (cleverly titled On Writing) is my, by far, favorite book on writing (on writing, on writing, on writing - it seemed like I should say it just a few more times in the sentence). I now know this is not the case.

It is so the opposite of true that I stayed up several nights binge-reading because I couldn't stop in places that were so disturbing. Why I chose to read a book about a caretaker (den mother) of a crazy hotel (dorm) in a remote place (remote place) with his wife (husband) and their precocious five (two) year old where strange voices of ghosts (girls) swirl around them pushing them towards insanity, I'm not sure. Well, I sorta am. My coworker recommended it and I wasn't reading anything else. Plus, I'm in Stephen King country.

So, yes, I went a little nuts. Doing rounds at night, turning off the lights of the basement, I heard the sound of a thwumping roque mallet. With our room over the boiler room, I took the regular, creaky noises to mean the inevitable explosion was moments away. When Henry would repeat something I'd thought days ago, but forgot I said out loud, I asked if he had it and if Oscar appeared to him. And last night when I actually went to bed by 9, something I try to do every night and fail at, I stayed up until 11:45 finishing the damn thing just so I could sleep without picturing the dog-costume guy.

Don't get me wrong, it's a great book. Especially after I stopped picturing Shelley Duvall. Sooooo much better than the movie. It felt good to be lost in a book again. It's been a little while since I've carried a book with me on excursions with Henry in case there's a long line somewhere or a weird stop in traffic. It also feels good to be done with The Overlook.

My coworker is pushing The Green Mile next. If you don't hear from me, you'll know why.