the measure of its creation...

Or: Another One Bites the Dust

Sunday morning I went out for the paper and noticed the neighborhood fox sitting in the neighbor’s yard stalking a squirrel in the tree. By the time I gathered the children and grabbed the camera, the fox had moved to the street for a better view and better shot. We watched for a few minutes then went back to our preparations for church, that is, everyone but Isaac, who wanted to see the drama unfold. His patience paid off, as did the patience of the fox, for within fifteen minutes the squirrel (no doubt having lost his patience) made a run for it, becoming a nice breakfast for a fox family.

persona

Last week my job took me to a second-grade class where I had two charges, sweet little special ed children, a boy and a girl. After lunch I joined them and their class for art class, after which we lined up to wait for the teacher to come get us and walk us back upstairs to the classroom. We waited several minutes and when the children began to get restless, I went ahead and started them back to class, confident we would run into the teacher on the way, or at least find her in the classroom, having just lost track of time. When we arrived, there was a snack set out for each child and, with no teacher, I assumed authority and gave them permission to dig in (although some of the children were reluctant to eat on my permission alone…).

One of the girls, the biggest, and probably the oldest, volunteered to read a book to the class while they ate their snack; wonderful idea! I persuaded her to let me read until she finished eating her snack, which she wolfed down in one page, quite anxious to take over. She sat in the teacher’s reading chair and immediately assumed the teacher’s posture and demeanor, “I will begin reading as soon as I can see everyone is ready.” She peered over imaginary reading glasses, perched half-way down her nose, and glared at two chatty girls. They quieted. She began reading where I left off, pausing every few sentences to ask the class searching questions, sternly reminding those who shouted out, “I will call on those students who raise their hands.

As the students finished their snacks, I had them clean up their trash and gather on the carpet at her feet. Still no teacher. Gradually, as the “substitute” grew confident in her power to command and be obeyed, I noticed that she was reading less and commanding more. “You sit over there.” “Keep your hands to yourself.” “Sit up, please.” I frequently reminded her to get back to the story, but otherwise stood back, keeping track of my own two, leaving the rest of the class in her capable hands. I was very impressed, not only that she could keep such control of the other children, but that they let her!

A group of three ladies came to class looking for the teacher. All I could tell them was that she’d been missing since art class. They didn’t seem concerned that our class was in the hands of a second-grader, perhaps because I didn’t seem concerned, although I did worry that one of the children would catch on, “Hey, she’s not the teacher, she’s not even a grown-up; we don’t have to do what she says!” I could have a mutiny on my hands.

We’d been on our own 45 minutes when the teacher returned. She had scheduled her evaluation during art class and it had gone way long. She apologized profusely, puzzled that her pre-arranged substitute hadn’t come. She was impressed to find things so quiet and orderly and complimented me. “Oh, don’t thank me,” I said, smiling at the second-grader still sitting in her chair, “She’s a natural!”

sweet sixteen

Isaac turned sixteen this week. While he is very excited to be learning to drive, and thinking of dating prospects, he chose a Cookie Monster birthday cake. I guess something in all of us would like to be six again, if just for a day.

Make this cake yourself: Cookie Monster is two cupcakes, tops together, with a marshmallow head (a wooden skewer keeps it all from toppling over). Use the “grass” decorator tip and Cookie Crisp cereal to finish off the details.

Easter

One of our Easter traditions over the years is my getting up early in the morning to paint on our front picture window “HE IS RISEN”. I leave it there for one week and the kids always enjoy seeing those words shadowed on our living room walls every afternoon as the sun drops. This year, being lazy (or just missing my college daughter who had taken over the window painting the last few years), I decided to paint the message on a paper banner and tape the banner to the window. Of course it was early morning when the idea hit and my mind hadn’t had the time to go through my usual creative process for new ideas (such as thinking things through), so I ran into a few problems. I painted the sign on a roll of paper, not considering the size of the window, so the paper didn’t fit the window. I taped the banner to the bricks under the window, but tape doesn’t really stick to bricks. I was checking the banner every little while all morning to make sure it hadn’t fallen down. It lasted until noon when the wind blew it into a tangled mess that stuck to the bricks in one spot. I had Isaac bring it inside; lesson learned for next year (assuming I will remember). But grand-daughter Avey was over and was so thrilled when Isaac brought in that beautiful (pink and blue) flowing new dress for her. She wrapped herself up in it (tape sticks to little girls pretty well), and strutted around, peacock-style, for the longest time. Next year I’ll go back to painting the window (or at least measuring it before I paint the banner), not because it didn’t thrill me to watch her showing off the profound message of the season, but because next year she’ll probably think a paper dress is passé. It's been a Happy Easter.