Another Highly Successful Bribe

George hit a major milestone today--he rode a bike (without assistance) for the first time. I've been waiting for this day for a long time! What led up to today's achievement was quite different from my own experience as a kid....

I first rode a bike when I was about 5, in the alley behind our house in California, aided by one of my older siblings--I think it was my brother Michael. It was a perfect place to learn to ride, because it was flat and there was hardly ever any traffic on it. I still remember the thrill of when Michael (or was it Drew? Not sure--I really only remember what was ahead of me!), who was running along beside me and holding me up, let go and I just kept going. I was on a green bike with a banana seat that I had been given for Christmas, that my dad had put together at his workbench in our garage.

Before Christmas I had actually walked in on my dad in the garage when he was working on it. He was so cool, though: when I asked what it was, he said, in highly conspiratorial tones, that it was Drew's Christmas present, and he swore me to secrecy. I remember sitting there with him for a long time as he worked on it, and I even still remember the thrill I felt at knowing something that my older brother didn't, something that was going to be a wonderful surprise for him. (I didn't know enough to be able to tell that it was a girl's bike!) It's actually one of the earliest sustained memories I have of my dad--along with some snippets of times at the dinner table and several happy memories of him on family camping trips.

On Christmas morning that year I remember being extra excited as I ran downstairs with my siblings--I wasn't even thinking about what I was going to get. I just couldn't *wait* to see Drew's reaction to the shiny green bike he was getting and that I had "helped" my dad with. But he instead was over oohing and ahhing over a different bike that was next to it, a bigger, red one. I said to him, Drew, come over here--this is your Christmas present! This is your bike! And my dad said to me, No, Honey; that's *your* bike! It's for you! Well, I was just blown away. It was completely magical. The fact that I had already seen it and had thought it was Drew's actually added to its value in my eyes. Being the youngest of 4 (by far--Drew was the closest to me and he was 7 years my senior), I pretty much idolized my siblings, and wanted to be just like them. I couldn't have been happier with that bike if Santa himself had handed it over to me personally.

I could not wait to learn how to ride it. I'm not sure how long after that it was that Michael and I took it out back to the alley where he taught me to ride it, but it can't have been long. The whole thing is one of my favorite childhood memories.

George, on the other hand, could not have been less interested in bicycles! Ok, not quite true--he loved riding on his little preschooler bike. But once I got him a scooter, the bike sat in the garage, along with the newer bike I bought him when he'd outgrown that one. Several times a year I'd ask him if he wanted to learn how to ride his bike, but he'd always answer that he just wasn't interested, that he was happy with his scooter. I'd tried talking his dad into taking him to a park and teaching him, but although his dad agreed in theory that it really ought to be done, I guess George's lack of enthusiasm for the whole thing was contagious to all of his parental units. I was feeling quite guilty about the whole thing, actually, like that somehow despite his resistance I really should have found a way to teach him. (How very many things there are to feel guilty about as a parent!!)

Anyway, fast forward to today. George and I were in Toys-R-Us compiling his Christmas list. In the back of the store is a big section with all the bicycles. George hopped on a little preschooler bike with training wheels and started riding it around. Suddenly something clicked in my head--these aisles were wide and pretty long, and there was no one at all around in this part of the store... what if I surprised him with the suggestion that he jump on one of the two-wheelers and give it a try, right here in the store? I thought the idea was zany enough that it might appeal to him. I also liked that it had the element of surprise, that he might just say yes without having any time to really think about it. As I predicted, he was definitely intrigued!

Before he could think much about it, I pulled a bike off the display that looked about the right size, had him get on it, and I started wheeling him around on it. I let go for a few seconds and I could see that he really did have his balance--all that scootering had surely helped prepare him for this. But I could see his enthusiasm level wasn't quite what it needed to be to see this task through to its conclusion, so I thought fast and then asked him what he would want from me as a prize if he really learned how to ride a bike today. He quickly replied, a video game. Done! I said. I told him we'd go to a park when we got home and if he really learned today we'd come right back and get him the video game of his choice. But we both kind of wanted him to try it one more time right there in the store, so I set him up again, gave him a good push, and let go. He rode all the way down that aisle! ...and then crashed, into a display of bicycle helmets! I laughed so hard I had to sit down. Before you conclude that I'm a wretched human being, let me add that he was laughing just as heartily. The irony of the display being helmets was not lost on him, as he sat/lay there amidst them all with the bike sort of on top of him. We laughed and laughed for quite some time before we could get it together to put everything back.

We hurried home, as we'd soon be running out of daylight (stupid autumn! anyway...) and looked for his helmet and a wrench to remove the training wheels from his "new" bike which he's had for years but has ridden probably three times. Then we wheeled the bike down the big hill to the parking lot in the park across from our house. The lot was basically empty, and there weren't too many people around--perfect. From there, it was really a snap. He was off and running from his first try, though learning how to start by himself took a little bit of effort. As I watched him ride around the parking lot, and then on one of the trails across the park, I think that the thrill and pride that I felt matched what I felt all those years ago on the other side of the country when I had my first successful solo ride.

So even though it took a bribe to get his enthusiasm up for this milestone (and honestly, I wish I'd thought about this approach two or even three years ago!), in the end he did take on the task with great gusto, and I know he was quite pleased with his success. He said that we shouldn't make a big deal out of it since he should have learned when he was 3, but I could tell he felt rather triumphant just the same.

Definitely an A+ for phys ed today!

Bon voyage to my big brother!

Today my oldest brother, Michael, is setting sail across the Atlantic Ocean in a 47-foot sailboat with a crew of 4, including himself, and his son. Wow. I'm excited and a bit scared for him, and also immensely proud of him. While I generally agree with the old adage that one should never say never, I'm fairly certain this is something I myself would never, ever undertake!

This is the last big ocean crossing on Michael's trip around the world onboard his yacht Traveler. He left home in Southern California in the summer of 2007. The trip was supposed to have taken 2 years, but for a variety of reasons they got off schedule at a few crucial points and then had to wait out hurricane seasons and such, and ended up a full year behind. His girlfriend Barbara, a very experienced sailor, was supposed to have been with him for the whole trip, but she was only able to get a 2-year leave from her teaching job, so she had to leave the boat and go back to California at the end of this past summer. (She'll be joining up with him whenever she can, during her breaks.)

I have met up with him twice on the trip: the first time was in Hawaii, back in July of '07. That was at the end of the first leg of his journey, from LA to Honolulu, which he sailed as part of the Transpacific Yacht Race. My then-boyfriend (now-husband) and George and I were supposed to have stayed on his boat with him while we were there, but ended up overlapping with him for only one night, because that crossing took a full week longer than expected! There was no wind--all of the boats were late. He actually won second place in his class, and it was a huge thrill to be able to meet him at the finish line. My other brother, Drew, and his family were also there, but their trip was shorter than ours and so they were (alas) long gone by the time Michael and crew arrived.

On our last morning there (and our only morning there with Michael), we went out in the boat off the shore of the stretch of beach where my grandparents spent the better part of about 20 of their golden years. My grandmother had died four and a half years before, and my grandfather had died several months before. We anchored the boat and held a really sweet memorial service for them. This probably isn't legal, but we then dropped their (tightly sealed) urns overboard--Michael had brought them with him from California--so that their ashes could be together, out from their favorite beach, forever... or until some scuba diver mistakes them for a lost treasure and takes them back to shore!

(Here is an article about the 2007 Transpac Race; the second half of it is all about Michael and gives an account of many of the troubles and mishaps he faced on the race. Also, if you look at the pictures to the right, he's the guy in the yellow hat who is kissing the ground.)

The next time I met up with Traveler was in January of '08, in Tahiti, this time with my sister, Melissa. What a blast that was! (And not just because I was so glad to get away from the upstate New York winter;-) However, it was on that trip that both Melissa and I realized that we would definitely not be accompanying Michael on any of his major crossings. Now, keep in mind that both Melissa and I do have some experience sailing, though it was admittedly (for the most part) many years ago. But we were both quite confident in our seaworthiness. In fact, we were kind of looking forward to the 14-hour, overnight crossing--from Moorea to Huahine--that Michael had planned for us. After all, the shorter 2- or 3-hour crossings up to that point had been a piece of cake.

Michael had a schedule set up for the night crossing whereby we would all help in overlapping shifts. Either he or Barbara would always be on deck, and for most of the time either Melissa or I would be there to help. He would take the first shift by himself, so the rest of us could get a few hours of sleep right off the bat. Sleep indeed! Ha. We ran into very rough seas soon after leaving port, and you really would have had to be in a coma to get any sleep.

At first, I was ok. I came up on deck to take my shift with Michael. But I wasn't able to be as much help as I would have liked, given that I was hanging on for dear life. Michael actually strapped me in so I wouldn't fall overboard, and at a certain point he really wanted me to try steering. I wedged myself in as best I could, bracing myself with my feet, and tried to steady myself enough to hold the helm more or less in place. Not only did it not go very well, but I started to feel quite seasick. It was bad. I had to jettison my pride and ask Michael for a Dramamine! I knew this would make me very sleepy and would render me even more useless, but I was sure by then that I wasn't going to be any help at all anyway. I took the little pill, and went back down below deck, making my way (which took great determination) all the way to the front of the boat, into the v-berth, which was about the size of a queen-or a king-sized bed at the widest point. I wedged myself in so that I would be thrown around as little as possible and set about trying to will myself to sleep, which I knew wouldn't really work, but I had to try.

Throughout the night, as I desperately tried to keep control of my nausea and to keep from being slammed against the walls of the v-berth, I was vaguely aware that my sister had gone up on deck. I was almost too miserable to feel ashamed that she was up there helping while I was down below not contributing a damn thing.

I should add that every time the waves crashed against the boat--which was with unrelenting frequency--the sides of the boat would creak loudly, and I became convinced that the boat was going to split apart and we were all going to be swallowed up by the ocean. My main thought was actually for my mom--I felt so bad that she was going to lose 3 of her 4 children in one shot! But believe it or not I actually took a bit of comfort in finding some humor in the situation, thinking about my brother Drew (he always seemed to have suffered a bit from "middle-child syndrome" when we were younger)--at long last he would get to be Mom's undisputed favorite!

After many hours of this, which included a couple of very challenging trips to the head, I ventured back up on deck--I decided it was time to try again. As I staggered/climbed up, and poked my head out, the first person I saw was Melissa, who greeted me by pointing her finger at me in what seemed to me a rather accusatory way and saying "YOU!" I was starting to mutter something like, Yeah, I know, I really wimped out, I let you all down, I'm sorrrrry! But she cut me off and said "I can't BELIEVE you pulled that off, lasting all night without throwing up!" Turns out she had been up there all night not helping with the sailing, but--strapped in, of course--tossing her cookies over the side of the boat!!!

I was actually feeling a little better by this point, and also probably buoyed a bit by the pride in having at least fared better than my big sis. So when Michael insisted that I try taking the helm again, I was ready. I managed slightly better this time--though not because the sea was any calmer. At this point, Michael was dead tired, and Barbara, amazingly, wanted to go back down below deck to MAKE BREAKFAST. Seriously, I could not even stand in one place (let alone walk even a few steps) without engaging all 4 of my limbs. I couldn't imagine how she could possibly think about preparing food--or eating it, for that matter. But prepare she did. In fact, she made an omelet, and hash browns, and BACON, and COFFEE!! Which she and Michael ate and drank without spilling any of it. Wow. I'll never understand how they did it.

Soon thereafter we made it to Huahine, our destination, and once we were in the harbor it was calm enough for us all to catch up on sleep, and for Melissa and me to recover from our nausea... though I'm not sure that even now we're quite over the humiliation we both felt at having fallen apart the way we did! In any case, it was enough to cure us each of any daydreams (delusions) we might have had about joining him for the Atlantic crossing!

So now here he is, almost two years later, setting out on that crossing. If you're curious, you can read about his thoughts in the hours before his departure on his blog. He's leaving from the Canary Islands (where he actually stopped by the chapel where Christopher Columbus attended mass before setting out on the same crossing) and will be heading for Barbados. From there they'll head to St. Lucia and then island-hop around the Caribbean for awhile before taking the Panama Canal over to the other side of the continent, arriving back in Southern California sometime next summer.

Michael, you are crazy, and wonderful, and brave, and I love you. Safe travels, big bro.

Another great Friday

Too busy to blog much these days, but since I'm wide awake at 3am (after having fallen into a deep sleep starting at about 8!), I thought I'd take the opportunity to record George's very successful day today (well, yesterday now).

Perhaps I should add that this very successful, productive day came at the end of a week that was not maximally productive for him. Monday my stepson was home from school and spent the day with us, plus it ended up being an intense workday for me, so George got very little work done indeed that day (though the boys had some great bonding time, which was nice). Tuesday also somehow slipped by without much getting done--it's my busiest work day, and it was busier than usual, which kept me almost entirely off his back! By the time Wednesday rolled around, I was already exhausted, but did manage to make sure he at least started to get on track with some work. Thursday was a more-or-less "normal" workday for him, but I was feeling sort of bad about not having made sure he worked at the beginning of the week. So by the time Friday arrived I was ready for him to be in high gear, and I guess he was, too!

In the morning he did his chores (brushed and flossed his teeth, cleaned the cat box, plus other minor stuff), watched the Colbert Report with me (current events, you know!), wrote a book review on his blog, practiced his recorder at length, and worked on a song he's composing (part of his assignment from his music teacher, who is wonderful and also really "gets" him) which included a quick break to learn about sixteenth notes and how to write them. He also read (as always) and played in his room a bit.

At noon we went to the Y for our Friday afternoon activity marathon, which starts with an hour of Spanish class. His Spanish teacher is also wonderful, by the way, and makes the class a lot of fun. Sometimes it seems like he's more into the fun and less into the Spanish, but today he asked a great question about a verb form that really showed that he was in fact paying very close attention. The language teacher in me was quite proud :-)

After that it was time for an hour of swimming class and then an hour of gym class, followed by an hour and a half with a sitter while I ran to campus for a lecture (during which, embarrassingly, I did not fare well in my struggle to stay awake!!), followed by Tae Kwon Do class, where I met up with him again, and where he finally earned his white belt.

I know--most places, you get your white belt and your uniform when you sign up, but Master Choi is hardcore. You have to go there for like a month or more and prove (mostly to yourself, I suppose) that you are serious about this before you get your white belt. Then you have to jump through some more hoops before you earn your uniform! To get your white belt you have to show that you can do 5 push-ups, 5 sit-ups, and 5 back-um... something-or-others. George did like 20 or 30 or 60 of each, and was quite proud as Master Choi heaped on the praise (sorry for the low-quality cell-phone-photos):

I missed the shot of when Master Choi was tying the belt on him, but you get the idea:

My own little Karate Kid:

So, all in all, it was a great day. He worked hard and accomplished a lot all day, in so many ways (composing and practicing music, reading, writing, studying Spanish, working so hard in Tae Kwon Do after already having done two hours of physical activity at the Y...). It was one of those days where I just *know* that homeschooling is the right thing for him. He's being challenged in ways that are highly varied and appropriate, and he is rising to the challenges with enthusiasm and energy. And despite the fact that he still needs some direction from me, I can see that he likes to push himself and feels really good about his accomplishments. He's growing and thriving--creatively, physically, intellectually. It's easy to doubt myself sometimes when we have a sub-par couple of days in a row. But days like this one give me the strength and enthusiasm and resolve to continue on this path, even if it means that I occasionally doze off at work. (But for that, I think I'll blame whoever scheduled that lecture for 3:00 on a Friday afternoon!!!)

Loving this unschooling thing... if that's what it is!

Honestly, even though I pretty much consider us to be unschoolers, I have to say I'm still not exactly sure what that means. When I've asked others who also consider themselves unschoolers about that, they've told me that there are pretty much as many definitions of unschooling as there are unschoolers.

In any case, I love what we're doing. I love that we're staying flexible, and going with what works. Today, for example, we had a plan. It was fairly ambitious and included the following:

*clean his room
*write a book review on his blog (he had started about three, and I wanted him to finish one of them)
*practice his recorder
*brush and floss his teeth (yes, I have to make this part of his schedule! It's nowhere near automatic)
*clean the cat box
*do a final olive oil treatment on his hair

All of that had to be done before noon, because from noon to 3:00 on Fridays he goes to the local YMCA for Spanish class, swimming, and gym class. From 3-4:30 we were going to run some errands, and then head to Tae Kwon Do class from 4:30-5:30.

He had accomplished most of what was on his list (which took a lot of effort on his part--his room was quite the disaster area, and he worked long and hard on his book review), and was sitting in the bath with the olive oil on his head. I told him it was time to comb it out--that we couldn't wait long because we'd be late for Spanish. He gently protested, "But I haven't had any time to play in the bath!" I thought about this, and about how rushed we'd be if we tried to make it to Spanish on time, and I realized that I actually would rather just let him play in the bath and take his time a bit--especially considering how hard he'd worked all morning, from the time he'd awakened. A little unstructured playtime is good for the soul, don'tcha think? So, I suggested that we skip Spanish. Which he followed up by suggesting that we skip the whole afternoon at the Y, and just go to Tae Kwon Do.

My first response was "No way." It's not just that we've paid for these sessions, or even that I like the consistency of his being with the same group of kids every week for an entire afternoon. It's really more that I don't want him to blow stuff off just because he feels like it.

But then I thought about myself--after a long, exhausting week--having to sit for three hours on uncomfortable benches and chairs (it's not a drop-off program; you have to stay there with your kid), and about how I haven't been sleeping well and wasn't really feeling all that great, and also about the mountain of work I have to do over the weekend (grading, grading, more grading, and writing of letters of recommendation, and reading a bunch of applications for an awards committee I'm on, and prepping for my next class, in between all of which I have a big gig with the band Saturday night, *and* have to go Halloween costume shopping, and really should get out our Halloween decorations already!!!, and, well, you get the idea...). And I realized I really wanted to stay home, too. Besides, he'll still be going to Tae Kwon Do this afternoon, which is super rigorous and disciplined.

So, I caved, though I made it clear that this was a one-time deal; that normally we wouldn't blow this off. (Of course, normally on a Friday morning we won't have to be working in an olive oil treatment and a combing and a bath!) He was fine with that. We finished his treatment/bath (he's definitely still lice-free), and he completed the rest of the items on his agenda and is having some playtime before Tae Kwon Do.

In the end, it will have been a productive day--just not exactly in the way that we planned. This, I guess, is at least a small part of what unschooling means to me--though I know (from reading other blogs as well as talking to other homeschooling parents) that even those who do follow a curriculum with their kids will often deviate from the plan on any given day.

So, of course, it's more than that... Even though he doesn't like everything on his daily schedule, there's very little on there (apart from the chores and the tooth-brushing) that he didn't either come up with himself or embrace very enthusiastically when I proposed it to him. For example, I actually wanted him to do another CTY writing course, because he got a lot out of the two he did last year, but he wasn't up for it. He definitely wants to do more of them at some point--he just got burned out last year, and I decided not to push it at all. So instead of a class or some other sort of curriculum, we came up with the idea for him to blog. My suggestion was a book-review blog, which he's doing, but he's also doing two other blogs that he wanted to do (one with movie reviews and one with whatever he wants to write about).

In addition, I have several workbooks/activity books for him on math, geography, history, etc. Most days he has "workbook time", but I let him choose what he which ones he wants to work on and I don't make him do any pages or activities he's not interested in (unfortunately, the math ones I got are too easy for him, so he never picks those--I guess I'll have to have him help me pick out some math books that he'll find more challenging and interesting).

He also reads like crazy and often writes comic books, but he does those things almost effortlessly, and he doesn't need them to be on any kind of daily agenda. Still, I value them (especially the reading, but also the creative activity) as vital parts of his daily learning.

Where's the discipline in all this choice? Actually, I would say that he's more self-disciplined than he's ever been. Although he needs to be gently reminded, for example, to practice his recorder, I think there is plenty of discipline required to practice an instrument to the point where you can play it well. There's a lot of repetition and, when he's learning a new piece, a fair amount of frustration that he has to face and overcome. I love seeing the commitment and drive in him to succeed at that. And of course, Tae Kwon Do is about as disciplined as it gets--not just the moves themselves, but lots of lining up or sitting down in straight rows, and being quiet and paying attention even when it's not your turn, and all that--all those skills he *hated* trying to acquire way back in 1st grade at public school but really doesn't mind working on in this context (where all that lining up and sitting down feels like it's worth it because he's actually learning something!). He also shows discipline and stick-to-it-ive-ness in his writing, which is something that of course can be difficult and frustrating and tiring, and he works hard at it.

Overall, maybe he's not pushing himself as hard as he could be right now, but I think that's ok. He's definitely making really good progress, academically and personally, and he's happy. It's a great combination. Also, I do feel that when he's ready for more of a challenge he'll seek it out, or ask me to help him seek it out. In fact, he's already excited about the thought of taking at least one or two online courses staring in January. And of course, I'll keep encouraging him every so often to think about getting back to his EPGY math.

And one of these days, when I have some spare time (ha!), I'll read up on unschooling, though I guess it doesn't really matter what I call what we're doing; it just matters that it's working so well!

Where does a homeschooler get lice?!

You can guess from the title of this post why I've been too busy to write of late. Yes, my kid got lice. And I never did figure out from where--no one else in all the people we know came forward to say that they had had it as well. (Of course I'm very glad that everyone I know was spared!!)

This was our first experience with lice, so I'm sorry to say that it took me a long, long time to figure out what it was. Poor George had been scratching his head for quite some time (weeks, at least). I had even checked his scalp multiple times, but didn't know what I was looking for. He has sensitive skin, and his scalp often gets itchy when the weather gets colder, so I assumed it was that. However, after we'd been careful to use medicated shampoo for several weeks and his head was clearly itching even more than before, I finally took him to the doctor to see what it was. Honestly, it did not even occur to me that he had lice (since I had checked his head and hadn't seen anything that looked like lice to me).

His regular doctor was busy, but we were able to get in to see a new doctor. As she looked through his scalp, I came up next to her to see. Almost right away we saw a rather large louse scurrying across his scalp. Ewwwwwwwwww! The doctor and I both jumped back in some degree of startlement and/or horror. George himself remained perfectly calm. I was trying to remain calm for his sake but was completely freaked out, honestly!

The doctor sent us on our way with instructions to get the medicated shampoo from the drugstore and to cut his shaggy hair a bit to make treatment easier, and off we went. In the car, my little stoic broke down, as he realized that he wasn't going to be able to play with his friends for at least the next few days and that on top of that he was probably going to have to get a haircut.

What really got him, though, he said, was how the doctor had reacted to him when she saw the lice. I (quite guiltily) pointed out that I, too, had jumped sky high when I saw, but he (through his tears!) very sweetly exonerated me, telling me that I didn't have any professional training to deal with that kind of situation. He further clarified: "Doctors are supposed to be prepared for that sort of thing. I don't care what she saw on me; she never should have reacted like that! If she were examining me and happened to see an ALIEN crawling on me, she should have said [imagine him speaking in a totally calm voice] 'Oh, I see, you have an alien crawling on you. Let me make a note of that.'" Sweet boy! He was so right! And though he had me laughing, and had absolved me of all wrong-doing, I felt like the Worst Mother in the World for having jumped and shrieked in horror and having no doubt contributed to his feeling so wretched!!

We went straight to the CVS, where I proceeded to buy pretty much every lice treatment on the shelves. The shampoo (actually two different brands of it), the after-shampoo, a comb-through solution, a furniture/car upholstery spray... and then headed home to use it all. By the way, if this ever happens to us again (um, knock on wood that it won't!), I will skip all of these products and go right for the olive oil. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When we got home, I read more carefully the instructions on the shampoo and on the after-shampoo treatment. I was still in kind of a fog of horror about the whole thing, but managed to figure out that the shampoo was claiming only to kill live lice, while the other stuff was claiming to kill any live nits as well. In my panic I decided to use both, though I was slightly worried about the strength of the chemicals in them (there are warnings all over them) so I didn't leave the shampoo on for 10 minutes as directed--I just rinsed it right off and then proceeded to cut his hair myself. This took a long time (he has inherited my deceptively voluminous hair, and it had been getting quite long), and I hated doing it as much as he hated having it done. He cried some more and was feeling utterly humiliated (still reeling from the doctor's reaction and also the thought that he'd be isolated from his friends for awhile, but also devastated that he had to have his hair cut because he was trying to grow it out even longer).

Next I applied the other solution, I think it was the CVS version of Nix, which I did leave on for the full 10 minutes. It promised it would kill everything on his head. Then I dutifully used the lice comb that came with one of the kits, but honestly, I wasn't getting much out, which I thought was kind of weird, since I knew he'd had the lice for weeks.

Anyway, I stripped his bed and put on new sheets, feeling rather confident that the Nix solution had rid his sweet little head of the unwanted invaders, and then started the monumental task of laundering every sheet, pillowcase, item-of-clothing-that-may-have-been-worn-since-last-being-washed (including coats and hoodies), and towel in our house--with 5 people in the family and a hot tub and pool, plus lots of guests on a regular basis, I had towels pretty much all over the house and I had no idea which ones might be harboring a nit... (In my state of denial over the end of summer, I had not yet laundered and put away all of our summer pool towels, which we don't wash with every single use).

Fortunately (um, for me, if not for her!) it was the day that my house cleaner comes, so she vacuumed thoroughly all the furniture in the house and helped me bag up in plastic all of his stuffed animals. I then pretty much quarantined him to his room, but with the welcome news that I would buy him some new books *and* he could play on the computer all he wanted, even on non-educational sites. I figured if he went to school he'd be kept home for a few days, so it seemed fair to excuse him from all schoolwork while he was being treated.

While I assumed the Nix had done what it had promised and killed everything on his head, and that the dead lice had probably all washed down the drain, I could see that I hadn't removed all the nits, the little white egg shells that are stuck to the hair shaft. (They look like tiny flakes of dandruff, but they are really stuck to the hair and won't easily move or dislodge when you try to make them with your finger.) If there were any live lice inside of these eggs they were supposedly also killed by the Nix, but I didn't like the idea of dead lice egg shells still stuck to my kid's head. The comb wasn't getting them, though. After phone calls to several friends (including my sister) who had experience with these things, and a conversation with one of the nurses at the doctors' office, and a fair amount of obsessive web searching, I headed back to the CVS to get a metal lice comb (instead of the plastic ones that all come with the shampoo and other stuff).

When I got back I completely saturated his scalp with olive oil, and then wrapped his head as best I could with saran wrap, and then made him stay like that for about a couple of hours. Poor thing! He hated it. He said it was really itchy, and the oil kept dripping down his neck. He at one point had the bright idea to make a sort of scarf for himself out of toilet paper, which worked pretty well.

After more than two hours, I set about combing through his hair with the metal comb. I didn't expect that anything but the tiny white egg shells would be coming out, since I was sure that the super-toxic chemicals I had subjected my kid to had done their job. NOPE! I got all kinds of things out with that combing! Nits, tiny-baby lice (which are light brown, like the full grown ones), and full size lice, both dead and ALIVE. YUCK! You bet I was horrified, but you can also bet that I didn't show it one bit this time! I spent about an hour combing through every centimeter of his hair, over and over, until I wasn't getting anything else out.

For the next week or so, I continued washing his sheets and blankets and pillowcases (and towels and clothes) every day, and I continued the olive oil treatments every other day, though on these follow-up treatments I left it on for only a half-hour and usually skipped the saran wrap. After less than a week I was no longer getting anything live out of his hair, but of course wasn't happy until I wasn't getting anything at all out of there, which was the case the last couple of times I did it. I will still probably do it one more time, just in case, even though it's been over two weeks since we started treatment--'cause I'm kind of obsessive that way!

Amazingly, no one else in our household got it, even though we actually often share towels (especially pool towels) and even brushes sometimes! It's truly amazing that I didn't get it, since I often lie down next to him for a bedtime chat or story at night.

So, that's my lice story. More than a week of endless laundry, vacuuming, olive oil, saran wrap, ineffective chemicals, tears.... And may you never have occasion for it to be of any use to you!

Listening to my kid

George and I are not in agreement regarding how long his break from math should last. But I think I'm going to follow his lead on this one. After all, he's technically at the beginning of 4th grade, and he just finished 4th-grade math, so it's not like he's falling behind.

It's just that once he's done with 5th-grade math, there are all sorts of cool courses he'll be eligible to take with CTY (namely, a middle school science series, and a cryptography course that he's quite interested in), and I'm eager for him to be able to start with those. (I think that we'll probably alternate online science and math courses once he gets to that point.) Plus, the achiever in me wants to see him accomplish more, more, more! But I'm really trying to resist that impulse, because it's not even about him.

The only real consideration here is that I don't want him to lose what he's learned. But I can address that by making sure that he does some math worksheets or workbooks, and that we keep playing his math card games, on a regular (if not daily) basis.

I don't think I would have had the guts to do this last year, to let him make the call on how long his math postponement would be. But I know he'll want to get back to it. He's very excited about the cryptography course, and he's also eager to get a math computer game offered by CTY (Descartes' Cove) that is for kids who have completed 5th-grade math. Plus, last year when I denied him a break when he had asked for it, math became intensely unpleasant for him, something he dreaded on a daily basis. When I relented and let him take a 3-week break, he did return to it with renewed enthusiasm. So I am fairly confident that when he feels ready he'll come back to it.

But what about kids in school who have to do math every day, whether they like it or not?! Shouldn't I make him do stuff he doesn't want to do? Isn't that part of life? Isn't that a skill he'll need in order to succeed "out in the world"?

Actually, he does plenty of things every day that he doesn't want to do. He has daily chores, and some of them--such as cleaning the cat box--are no doubt even more unpleasant than some of the awful things he'd have to be doing in school (LOL). Then there are matters such as complying with my sometimes quite stringent limits on tv and video games, having to brush his teeth and hair every day (neither of which he likes at all!), having to go to bed earlier than his younger step-sister (she sleeps in; he doesn't), having to negotiate with his step-siblings about all sorts of things, etc. etc. So, honestly, rather than make him continue with his math right now when he's feeling burned out, I think it's a better use of our time and energy to insist that he stick with his chores (and that he continue to do academic work in other areas, of course). As long as he is making adequate progress in academics overall, which he surely is, to me the rest is not so important.

Besides, the math that he's doing is much more intense than the math he'd be doing at school, so I do think it's fair to let him recover from that intensity before he delves into it again. In fact, the tutor that CTY assigned to us said that lots of kids find that they need a substantial break in between the classes, to do other more "fun" things with math. So I'm following my new, experience-based instincts, and letting it go. It will be interesting to see how this experiment turns out!

Fall, Schmall... Or, my own little bitty pity party

I hate fall. There, I said it.

I live in a place where autumn is greeted with general enthusiasm and even excitement. Spectacular fall colors blanket gently rolling hills in almost every direction. But where everyone else sees beauty, all I see are signs of impending doom and gloom--namely, of the five or six unrelenting months of winter that are about to descend upon us with a choke hold. Months and months of bitter cold and a sun that, when you can manage to see it, looks like it needs life-support.

I just can't seem to get down with the whole seasons thing, despite the fact that I've lived here for 15 years now. The California girl in me not only wants it to be summer year-round, but truly thinks that it ought to be.

My pool is still open (though I did finally cave in and turn off the heat after that last pool party last Thursday--was it really just last Thursday?), and my bathing suit still hangs from a hook in my bathroom, along with my pool towel. Somehow I can't help but feel, each year, that if I don't put my bathing suit away and don't close the pool, autumn simply *can't* come.

It never works, of course, and I inevitably end up with a very cold pool full of dead leaves that are really a pain to deal with. But it doesn't stop me from trying, year after year.

Don't get me wrong--I do try to make myself like fall. I try to muster up some enthusiasm; I really do. I try to talk myself into getting excited about pumpkins and Halloween costumes, and hay rides, and turkey, and holiday parties.... But would I put those things off forever if I could still be enjoying the warm sunshine, and tennis, and swimming, and backyard BBQs? You bet I would. Besides, I can't help thinking about how throughout the fall, all over Hawaii, for example, people are enjoying Halloween and Thanksgiving and holiday parties just fine, and in between it all they head to the beach for the afternoon.

I'm sitting here shivering in my drafty old house, hoping for a heat wave, but knowing that not long from now a day like today--or an evening like tonight (42 degrees)--will feel positively balmy.

So, go back to California, you say? Here's the thing--I can't really do that, for a variety of very good reasons (among them three children who need to stay near their other parents!), and even if I could, I'm not sure I'd want to. I actually love it here. I have an amazing community of friends, and I've really built a life for myself that I love. Not to mention the fact that the cost of living is such that I can live it up here in a way that I'd have to be a multi-millionaire to do in CA. It's a wonderful place to be raising a family. Apart from the wretched cold and serious lack of sunshine for about half the year, life is generally pretty easy here. Traffic is practically non-existent ("stuck in traffic" means it may take you five extra minutes to get across town), nowhere is too crowded, crime is low, people are down-to-earth and friendly in a nice, low-key kind of way. Despite the fact that it's a small city, there is plenty of culture. Ok, not New-York-City kind of culture, but enough culture to keep me satisfied most of the time.

So, I guess I'll go crank up the heat a bit, perhaps make myself a cup of hot tea, and remember to keep counting my many blessings. But don't blame me if my mind keeps drifting to how, at least in an alternate universe, I could be counting them just as well on a beach in Hawaii....