Parenting is its own reward

Julie Bogart of Bravewriter posted an excellent article this morning on "Parenting principles that foster happiness."  I've been thinking specifically on this idea for the past week and half or so, so the post was timely.  

Perhaps you too have noticed that sometimes we Christian parents ignore the question of happiness, just because we know that joy does not always equal happiness (which we equate with the easy way out) and because we know that God often sharpens us through suffering. That's true, of course.  But it's a pity when we ignore our need to enjoy our children, because when we do, we lose perspective, and if it goes on for long enough, we risk losing our children's hearts as well. 

Nothing that Julie is talking about in this article is anti-Christian, or "hedonistic," as she says. Nor is she saying to let the kids run the show altogether.  What this article is suggesting is similar to what Charlotte Mason suggested, that children are born persons.  Sure, it's harder sometimes dealing with children minute by minute than implementing a perfect system, but in the long run, creative and individual consideration is what makes kids thrive.

Here's a related quote that I've had in my files for years, and revisit from time to time.  

Are we doing what the Bible commands when we force our children to do something they hate when, with a little creativity, we could make it enjoyable to them?

It's from one of the first homeschooling sites I ever read, back when my teen was a toddler, called "Thoughts on Homeschooling" by Jim Muncy. The article, and Muncy's approach, are refreshingly low tech. We do well to revisit old homeschooling articles now and then, the ones that were written before homeschooling got as competitive and busy as any private school.  They are written by people who have now finished the homeschooling course, and so they help to bring perspective.  

I'm thinking about happiness in the home partly because with the end of this year we only have four more official years of homeschooling left.  And Julie's principles have always resonated in our home.  Here are a few ways we've followed them that I quickly jotted down:

Affirm you child's quirky voice: I kept a journal of things C.Z. said when she was little.  I'd do it still, but I think it would embarrass her! Now I just laugh at her jokes.  And I've looked for years for ways to bring out the creative writer that I know lurks inside.  These two things are both aspects of affirming your child for who she is.  

Pay attention to pain: I wish I could say that I was always attentive to C.Z.'s cries of academic pain, but I've always at least considered alternatives.  I guess this one is a balancing act of having them stick with something for long enough to see if they get over a hump, and finally acknowledging that something just isn't working.  

Discipline is not done to a person: We've always acknowledged the phrase "standing up on the inside" where it applies to discipline, and have tried to reach the heart, not merely modify the behavior.  

Eye contact and physical touch matter:  I'm delighted to still have an affectionate teen!  

Create opportunities for fun: When the going gets dull, we go outside, go to a museum, or cook something.  And we've never been sticklers about using anything for its intended purpose!

***

Today, happiness in our home consists of a big new box of sheet music.  We had a busy weekend, with two final concerts, some class parties, and a visit from Bob's mother.  It was a comfort to C.Z. and me, as we helped Grandmommy into a cab and turned back to an empty home, to be able to bring next year's music out for perusal. So for the next hour, C.Z. sight read Bruch, Kreisler, and Sarasate. 

Apparently five hours of playing on Saturday didn't flare up C.Z.'s shoulder, so it looks like we're going to get to go back to one-hour lessons for her make ups during June. I'm really looking forward to hearing more music, and spending less time in the physical therapist's office. A proper reward for a music well played is, of course, more and better music.  And it looks like C.Z. will be enjoying her reward.

A New York moment

My ten-year-old, beat up leather jacket is like a blankie.  But I stole that simile from my husband, who once lost his beloved pea coat for a week due to an office mix-up.

One day during my first year in the city, when I lived on the East Side, I wore one of my old boiled wool coats to the grocery store.  An old woman came up to me in the store, as old Upper East Side women will do, and mused, "I have a coat like that.  I forgot I had it, though, because my coats got so squished together, like they get, you know, so I lost it."

At the time I didn't really know yet.  Being from Georgia, I didn't even have a proper winter coat. But as of this morning, eleven years later, I know.  I suddenly realized that I've been procrastinating about putting our coats back in the closet.  Why?  Because the closet is a typical 2' x 2' prewar apartment closet, and our coats are typical New Yorkers' coats:  snow coats, dress coats, rain coats for dress and sport in winter and spring, running jackets, spring fleece, and an extra light layer for June mornings.  Not to mention scarves, hats, and three ventilator umbrellas (the only kind that can withstand a Nor'easter). I've realized that there's no longer room for them all, and they're getting squished together, like the old woman's. 

Why does a "simple" family have so many coats?  Because as New Yorkers, we're outside (after a fashion) in four seasons worth of weather, almost daily, so we actually wear them all.  As some wise person said, "There is no bad weather, only wrong clothing."  But still, we're only three people.  I think it's time to cull!

Photography at Cooley Studio

The co-op teens went to visit Cooley Studio yesterday.  (His website is an art exhibit in itself.) Ryann Cooley is the husband and father in one of our co-op families, a fellow Redeemerite, and an advertising photographer.  I would have loved to have seen his studio and talked to him, but alas, I had mom duties.  

C.Z.'s best photos from yesterday were of the other kids, but since I don't even post photos of her on this site, it didn't seem right to post photos of other people's children.  So, I'm only putting up some C.Z. took of the studio itself, which was seemingly inspiration enough!

Perusing cookbooks

These about-to-be-roasted peppers eventually found their way into a panini (or would that be panino?).

Spring brings the promise of new foods at the farmer's market, and that means cooking, and perusing cookbooks.  I've bought several new ones recently, but once I start looking, I look at the old ones, too.  

Last week it was Hot Sour Salty Sweet by Alford and Duguid.  Among other things, I discovered an easy and inexpensive stir fry cabbage dish that adds a couple of slices of bacon, some peppers, and piece or two of ginger, and a dash of soy sauce.  That's basically the recipe right there.  But for many of the recipes, I kept running into yummy-sounding ingredients that I couldn't get in my own neighborhood, which has two Japanese groceries, but no Thai one.  So I've put Hot Sour on the back burner, so to speak, until I can squeeze in a trip to Chinatown.

Food prep for Stir-fried Cabbage with Chilies and Ginger, from Hot Sour Salty Sweet

This week I've been reading an old favorite, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, and a new/old favorite, Unplugged Kitchen by Viana La Place.  La Place has several new cookbooks available at Amazon and other outlets, and I'll probably get one of them eventually, but this out of print book is the first one of hers that I've owned.  I can't figure out for the life of me why this book would go out of print, unless it's because she suggests pitching your food processor and prepping most foods by hand or in a food mill.  I probably won't pitch mine, but I never used it that much anyway, and reading her commentary does make me want to go get a good mortar and pestle. (Presently I use the detached wooden handle of a knife sharpener, and a regular cereal bowl.)  

Someone reviewed Unplugged Kitchen by contrasting it with Martha Stewart. That's probably because La Place's recipes and text seem spare and laid back compared to the elaborate, all-out party food that everyone associates with Martha.  Would Martha ever have a cookbook entry like the following one from Unplugged Kitchen?

What we call "rustic food" these days doesn't adequately represent the elemental, earthy quality of real rustic cooking. For a dish to be truly cucina povera, literally "poor cooking," it must express both the struggle to survive and the triumph over that pain through a profound and direct sensory exprience of the most basic foods.

To savor this dish [dried fava beans with oregano] to its fullest, you must eat the fava beans one by one, squeezing out the soft cream inside into your mouth, then sucking the skins until they are completely empty.  The final picture is dark, chalk-brown fava skins emptied of flesh, lying in small heaps in bowls that have been wiped clean with honest bread.

Overblown?  I don't think so.  Don't you remember the way you felt about eating treats as a kid?  This book is all about a high "joy to food" ratio, to paraphrase Your Money or Your Life.  And that's a pretty healthy attitude towards food, if you ask me.  And she's got me making all kinds of panini, which is a real burst of inspiration, because it's getting too hot for soups and I don't much care for conventional deli sandwiches.

Besides which, I can't resist a book with a page heading that reads, "Poor little kiwi." I have a strong, strong inclination to pull for the under-fruit.  It's almost a Down Under fruit.

And then there's Deborah Madison.  During the past three years of CSA produce, I've pulled out Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone more than any other cookbook to find an introduction to some strange new vegetable that comes in my share.  So all the basic pages on vegetables in my copy are lovingly water-spotted as I learned what varieties of a vegetable were good for what and how to cook each root and leaf. I also frequent the pasta and soup sections.

But Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone is as dense (though not elaborate) a text as Unplugged Kitchen is spare.  I have a neighbor friend who concentrates more on the galette and gratin sections, and when I visit her kitchen, it seems almost like she owns a different cookbook than I do.  And C.Z. always reminds me that she turns to the back of a cookbook first, to discover what breads and desserts it includes. So every now and then I leaf through it and challenge myself to discover new sections.

Of course, all these books are Susan's favorites, too, but that almost goes without saying, since whenever I've visited her, I end up reading all of her books, those for cooking and those not. But whenever you get a cookbook home, it becomes something a little different in each kitchen.  So enjoy whatever cookbooks you happen to have on your shelves, and happy cooking!  What are your favorites?

Early bird walk

Blue-winged Warbler (image from Wikipedia Commons)

I spent two hours in Riverside Park this morning, looking for early warblers like Yellow-rumps.  At first I thought I was too early (in the season) but the Drip has been turned on, and as the sun hit the trees, I began to see things flitting.  So I stayed longer, and saw a Flicker up quite close, taking a bath and poking around under rocks for bugs, then several Ruby-crowned Kinglets, several Towhees, and finally what for all the world looked like a Blue-winged Warbler, its bright yellow body fading into distinctively blue wings with two white stripes each.  (The photo above doesn't show the gray-blue wings very well.)  It was hopping around in the low shrubs, which is what Blue-winged Warblers do.

I know how eager birders get in the spring to see something new, and I never got more than a brief glimpse of this bird, but I'm pretty sure what I saw really was a Blue-winged Warbler. I think it was actually helpful that I'm still rusty on my warblers and didn't have my Sibley Guide, because it made me look more closely at what I saw. It will be interesting to see if anyone else posts one to our local birding list. And that's probably more detail than anyone other than a birder would ever want!

(Update:  A local birder later told me that my warbler I.D. was correct.)

The park was also full of a flowering yellow ground cover, and tulips and daffodils.  Morning sun turned the barely budding trees a bright yellow-green. The birding sanctuary smelled of rotting tree stumps, which are one of my favorite smells.  Everyone in the neighborhood seemed to agree that it was a good morning to be out, because by the time I left, there hardly seemed to be a square foot of empty space left, what with dog-walkers, joggers, kids on scooters, and hundreds of volunteers raking leaves on the park lawns.  (One of the advantages of homeschooling is that I got to pull weeds in the park yesterday with a few other moms, and talk about photography class, instead of volunteering with hundreds.)  I'm not so fond of crowds as I am of solitude, but clearly I am part of the crowd, too!

***

Oh, and I had another one of those New York moments yesterday. On the sidewalk near my building where the supers put old items to be picked up, there was a 1950s-style golden pole with three attached aerodynamic lamps. Eyeing it as he rummaged around was a man who was homeless, mentally-ill, or both.  He was yelling something as I approached, which turned out to be an improv of one of those TV liquidation commercials of the sort that have bright flashing graphics and extra-loud volume:  "Lamps, tables...etc., etc.! Everything must go! Yes, everything must go!" Seems everybody just feels a little more exuberant this time of year.

The Upper West Side, this morning

As I was finishing up my somewhat nostalgic post on West Point (see below), Bob sent me an e-mail which included this snippet from his commute:

"I'm on the subway and a man sneezes.  A woman sitting a few feet away says, 'Cover your mouth when you sneeze.'  He said, 'I tried,' She yelled, 'Don't just try, DO IT!! Nobody wants to breathe your germs!'

Don't you just love New York?'"

I liked the contrast between the two posts.  And yes, my husband was being sarcastic.  But I really do think he loves New York.

Below are some photos from C.Z.'s photo assignment for this week, which was street photography.

This guy was doing a dance.  

We liked this guy's hat (above), but wouldn't you know it, we got on the elevator on the way home from our walk, and our neighbor showed us a photo on his iPhone of a guy walking across Broadway wearing a cat on his head!  Well, I guess this was our first day out, and we'll graduate to cat-wearing types eventually.

Still no cat...

West Point, 40 years later

Today, the NY Times ran an article about my old hometown in Georgia.  It's about a new Kia plant and the hope it brings to the town. I'd heard about the Kia plant from my aunt a couple of years ago, but I did a double take at the photo of the mayor in the middle of the street. Could that man in the obviously colorized photo be little Drew with the shiny blondish hair from my younger sister's class?  He had to be, with that name. As you can tell from the caption, names and families are important in West Point.  I moved away when I was ten, but many years later when I was visiting, I walked into a store and someone I never met called me by my mother's maiden name.  These days I would find it touching, but it was unnerving when I was eighteen!  

You can tell that the NY Times is being slightly ironic about the article. They think they've captured a slice of middle America. Perhaps they have. 

The Valley (as we called West Point and the towns across the river in Alabama) was a happy place to be a child. I ran around the neighborhood with my older cousin and her friends. I'm sure somebody knew where we were, but I could even ride my bike along dirt roads by myself.  I remember going to Darden Brothers shoe store (once on the left side of the street in the article photo, but now long gone) twice each year. I got saddle oxfords and a pair of black patent Mary Janes every Labor Day, and blue canvas Keds and a pair of white patent Mary Janes every Easter. I wore gloves to church, and my grandmother sewed me monogrammed and appliqued dresses (when we didn't buy them in nearby Columbus or LaGrange). I loved my moms' parents, who stayed with us while my mother taught school, and I enjoyed sitting on the porch with my dads' parents up the road. There were less-than-perfect things about the town and that life that I would discover later, but I didn't know much about them then.  

Would I go move back if I had the chance?  I don't know.  It doesn't seem possible. I'm not at all sure the town as I knew it exists anymore. Even my 82-year-old aunt has moved away. But evidently it's still home some people I knew then, like Drew Ferguson.  And I love the addition of kimchee to the local menu!

West Point is a town that has long depended on large employers. Originally it was a railroad town. When I was growing up, most everyone worked for West Point Pepperell, a towel manufacturer.  The mill took up block after block along the Chattahoochie river. I think West Point Pepperell eventually turned into West Point Stevens, but it's long gone from the town now. The last time I went visited, two years ago, the main street looked like a ghost town. The people who now want to work for the Kia plant are mostly descendants of the farmers who moved there during my grandparents' time to work for West Point Pepperell. Some of the next generation went on to college, while others were content to work for the mill.  From the looks of the place recently, it seemed that those who were loyal to the mill got left behind.  I know there must be many such similar towns.

My great-grandparents' house near West Point

It's strange to see a place I used to look up to, quite literally, from the point of view of my new hometown's paper, and after such a long time. It's sort of like going back to the house where we once lived and noticing that the hallways aren't nearly so long as I remembered them.  But still, it's home.