Running away

Last weekend I went camping with a friend, without my family. It was great. We were actually glamping, so somebody else cooked and cleaned (and we had access to indoor plumbing), which meant that I felt like a kid all weekend. I had no responsibilities at all - no housework, no work work, no emotional work (we were out of cell range, too!). All I did was whatever I wanted to do. What I wanted to do was walk in a river, lie in a hammock, and swim in a river. Which I did! I read an entire New Yorker in one sitting. It was splendid.

Ground Control

One of the things I've been enjoying about my involuntary unemployment is the opportunity to get to know Skipper a little better. Only a little, because she's still a mystery. While both my kids are a mystery to me, Skipper has always been a bit more opaque. I can't say I'm really getting a grip on who she is, but I'm getting something. Today I had the pleasure of seeing her face when she heard somebody on television say the word "gutsy" * - she totally cracked up. She thought that was the funniest word she had EVER heard. Gutsy! Hah!

We watched NASA TV on and off on Monday, monitoring Chris Hadfield's trip home from the International Space Station. NASA TV is fairly (no, extremely) boring, but Skipper hung in there for a surprisingly long time. It turns out that I shouldn't have been suprised - apparently she had thought that Chris Hadfield was making all those videos just for us, so of course she's invested in his adventures. I was slightly concerned that the Soyuz would crash and then she'd have to go to therapy for years, but everything turned out well. We even got to watch him get extracted from the capsule in a weird parody of birth, and be propped up, pale and wobbly-looking, in a camping chair. Welcome home, Chris! We'll be expecting your visit soon!

And this is a bonus photo of Duchess and O Blond reading a graphic novel on the porch. I think they're both wiping their noses with their hands, which makes it a rather less charming moment.

* Yeah, my four-year-old was watching "The Voice" with me. So? Shouldn't preschoolers get to hear the wisdom of Shakira?

Davy Baby Space Bear

Miscellany

Skipper is into space this week.* She has been asking lots of questions and poring over an old Click magazine issue about space. She dug up an astronaut bear stuffed animal given to her by a NASA fan a few years ago, renamed it "Davy Baby Space Bear," and given it Most Favored Animal status.** However, when Cook delivered a bedtime story (an installment in the six-year-long Pippa and the Penguin series), in which the child heroine and her avian companion were SEPARATED from the parents and accidentally caught a ride on a spaceship, Skipper freaked out and had to hide under her pillow until the family was reunited. Apparently, we will all have to come along when Skipper makes her first space mission.

Today we took the girls to an open house at a local dance/theater/music education nonprofit, where they were offering free half-hour classes. Skipper was excited in advance, but when we got there, she didn't want to participate. ("I don't like this class because you have to talk," she told me.) Duchess, however, got to participate in an improvisational theater class, which (of course) she adored. Cook and I watched the whole thing, and we were both really struck by how much any 8-year-old (or human being of any age) can benefit from some improv training. The primary rule, more or less, are that you say "yes" to any idea that is tossed your way, that you listen and respond and not "block" your teammates' ideas by changing the storyline too drastically or by refusing to go along with their ideas. Funny but irrelevant non sequiturs are discouraged. There are no mistakes. It's all about paying attention, being generous to yourself and your partners, enthusiastically diving into ideas but still keeping an eye on the big picture to make sure things aren't veering too far off course... doesn't this sound like a recipe for success in conversations, relationships, projects - just about everything? I've decided that every second-grader in Portland should have a weekly improv class.

While I'm fixing up public education, I've decided that math needs an overhaul, too. This week my curiosity overpowered my budgeting willpower, and I purchased a ridiculously expensive ($6!) math game app for my awesome tablet. Duchess has been playing it as much as she is allowed, and it appears to be more or less teaching her algebra.*** It's pretty cool, and I think the school district should have all the kids learn algebra by playing a video game for a few hours. I'll include that in my overhaul.

And, for your last item of miscellany, I took Skipper to the dentist last week, and she LET THEM DO AN X-RAY. She cried quite a bit throughout the whole experience, but the incentive of getting screen time ("Wonderpets" again) was enough to make her power through. She may be actually growing up. For a bonus, the staff lavishly praised her excellent oral hygiene, she got a sticker, and she has no cavities. Huzzah!


* Hey, NASA. I assume you're aware that Sunita Williams is a fabulous ambassador for the space program, but having her/allowing her to host a 25-minute video tour of the space station was a really great idea, particularly if you were wanting to add "astronaut" to the career wishlists of girls around the country.
** Eat your heart out, Punghy.
***Though it's not perfect, and occasionally the presence of a coach with some grasp of math is very helpful.

Things Skipper wants to know about outer space

Are there bad guys in outer space?
Can people pinch you in outer space?
Are there jails in outer space?
Is there not enough room for jails in outer space?
Do people get hurt in outer space?
Can you cuddle in outer space?

And she would, if she was awake, want you to be informed that ''Davy Space Bear used to have to tape a bag to his butt to poop in outer space, but now he can use a space toilet.''