Katrianna has been busy refining a self-watering seed contraption. Despite the fact that she actually enjoys hovering over her plants and watering them at the slightest indication that they might need it (or even without any indication whatsoever), she spends much of her time inventing and perfecting various irrigation systems which, theoretically, free her up to pursue other botanical designs.
Her "capillary action machine," as she calls it, has gone through several modifications and improvements, including the use and abandonment of juicy juice box straws, regular straws, popsicle sticks, glue, qtips, duct tape, toothpicks and about 35 dixie cups. But, it still takes more time to implement than the good old-fashioned watering can option.
Believing she actually did want to develop an easier method, Chris got caught up in the excitement and, like any true, empirically-motivated scientist, googled it. He then replicated a satisfactory (to him) solution - oh, did he ever miss the point!
But, now his "experiment" sits alongside hers and provides some good tension and suspense - less in terms of observing how the seeds progress, more in terms of observing how and when my daughter's patience with her overzealous assistant wears out.
When Barack texted me and let me know that Stevie Wonder is going to be honored today with the Library of Congress Gershwin Prize, I immediately knew what I had to do.
(Yes, you read that right - why do you think it was such a big deal for President Obama to keep his Blackberry?)
I wrote a 25 page dissertation, detailing each and every way Stevie has given meaning to my life. (And I to his.) In excruciating detail, I outlined just how much his music means to me, personally, decade by decade, from the moment of my birth. When Stevie accepts that honor this evening, it's just like I'm there, humbly receiving my own recognition for a lifetime of service as a wanna-Wonder-be.
Now I would post my reflections here, but then it occurred to me: do I really need to state the obvious?
Though I can guarantee the parallels between my life and Stevie's are staggering and would startle, amaze and fascinate you, I decided against it. After all, can I be liable for your being so engrossed that you refuse to get back to work and/or spend quality time with your kids? (Or, let's be realistic, you really just need to get back to Facebook.)
So, in the spirit of being succinct and pointed in focus (my overall, guiding principle in blogging), I'll now quickly get to it and tie this into globeschooling.
In 2008, we took our daughters to see Stevie live in concert in Auburn, WA. It was part of a tour for Wonder music fans, but also his effort to rally support for Obama's election with songs like Sign, Sealed, Delivered and Higher Ground (my daughters' favorite because they think it's hilariously funny when he requests that "sleepers stop sleeping").
Making it extra meaningful, his daughter Aisha was there on stage that night, and I sang along to my girls as Stevie serenaded his with Isn't She Lovely. I think the fact that we recorded this song onto our answering machine to announce the birth of each of our daughters makes it our song just as much as it is Aisha's, does it not?
Until they fell over exhausted, the girls danced beside me to all of the songs. I then went on to embarrass them and likely humiliate myself by employing every high stepping move I'd ever seen a band drum major do (quite impressive judging from the looks of those seated around us).
When most of the sets were over and I'd given up on hearing my very favorite, there it was. The old of the old school, I Wish followed by Sir Duke. Not a bit self-conscious about "looking back on when I was a little nappy headed boy" in public, I accompanied him, word-for-word, on those Songs In the Key of MY Life.
By night's end, I'd checked off another learning objective listed among my exhaustive curriculum goals: Define & apply the meaning of vocabulary in context. In this case, the specific word was appropriation, but this method can no doubt be applied in many areas.
After this entry, I'm going to hold off on any more R&B posts for a while. I've already established beyond a doubt how intellectual this preoccupation is, but it's throwing Google's search engine completely off. I'm fast becoming (after 2 blog posts) the guru of all that is Motown, when my focus should be homeschooling and travel.
Just a few dozen more traditionally, scholastically themed posts, however, and I promise to return to the subject of my serving as Stevie Wonder's muse. As bonus, I'll also divulge how George Clinton defers to me in all that is P-Funk. (Teaser: I was the brainchild behind the inception of Funkadelic... that I was 3 months old at the time is irrelevant.)
Perhaps I'm delusional, you wonder? Well, if you see Stevie, go ahead and ask him. He'll tell you all about it, I'm sure. Right after he Fed Exes me half of his award:
It's official: we've become a family of bean counters. No, it's not the recession, as bad as the economy is.
It's also not our vegan aspirations, as we inconsistently but sincerely fail to achieve them. (Besides, just to clarify, vegans eat way more than beans. . . Nuts, for instance. There are lots of nuts among vegans.)
It's really, truly, that these days we simply spend a great deal of our time counting beans. And seeds. And sprouts. And, hoping and dreaming and, if you will, plotting for the day of fruition, when we can actually count real, live plants instead.
What's pathetic, and shows homeschooling parents might just devote too much time to their kids, is that my husband and I find ourselves conferring late at night (when the kids have finally gone to sleep and we should be having those pressing adult conversations we put off all day). Why? Well, to struggle with the ethical dilemma of what to do when one of Katrianna's plants begins to wilt. Similar to the proverbial replacement of a dying goldfish before the kid realizes the dire conclusion of overfeeding it. . . At least, in our case, there is no toilet flushing involved and the evidence, all those little dirt particles, can literally be swept under the rug.
We only did that once. OK, maybe a few times.
But, sometimes tough love is necessary. Now our daughter is having to face the consequences of waterlogging her beloved apple seedling. It hasn't been easy. She'd started oh-so-optimistically with ten seeds harvested from a Red Delicious. Five germinated, which of course led to blueprints outlining elaborate configurations of the rows and rows of trees we'd find in her future orchard.
It was not to be. One was lost to fungus, one had instantaneous leaf shrivel, another had root rot, and one suffered inexplicably, despite hours spent poring over gardening advice books and Katrianna's multiple diagnoses and subsequent attempted "cures." The sole survivor didn't have a chance, as her older sister kept diligently reminding her to water it. Begging the question, again, just how conscientious is too conscientious?
So, we're trying to move on. After that heartbreak, what's next? Surely something foolproof. This called for a surefire, horticultural confidence builder.
Yep, that means lima beans. In ziplocks. With damp paper towels. Tinyutopian models of self-sufficient eco-systems. Absolutely no worries.
It's not overly obsessive if I find myself waking hourly to check on the little guys, is it? And, I only sing them three lullabies a night, no more. I think that's fine and they really like it. I can tell, because I only sing one lullaby for the "control group" and they're suffering. Really.
Give your children roots. . . (on a worksheet, preferably with a diagram, to be labeled and colored by the child)
For years, I've been telling the girls that it's educational. It's music appreciation. It's social and cultural awareness. It's physical education. It's spiritual and psychological therapy.
But, as of February 22, I will have proof and it actually justifies and broadens my cross-curricular efforts -- it's now even verifiably historical!
What in the world could apply to so many aspects of one's academic & intellectual pursuits? You mean there is one answer to fulfill so much learning? Is that possible?
Ahh, there are few moments when my teaching has been so affirmed and rewarded.
I think it more than legitimizes all of my upper body dancing to "September" while I'm driving & the girls are sinking as far down as their seat belts will allow. For obvious reasons (some might think safety, yet those of us with the gift of creative improvisation instead see pulsating red, yellow & green signals of disco), I save my best moves for the stop lights, aka beacons of boogie. Sometimes other drivers are even inspired to join in, although I feel that's really unnecessary as everyone knows EWF already has an ample horn section... .
The official term for this, by the way, is "car schooling." Second only to attending the Governor's dinner in person. First time I've ever envied Sarah Palin... .
Be sure to mark this day on your calendars: the day disco became a core subject. Groove on.
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