Merci beaucoup, mes amis blogistes (totally made that last word up)
(Note: since I never posted photos from our summer holiday, I’ve been using the artsy sunset ones to illustrate orphan posts).
There was such a warm, heartfelt response to yesterday’s post about homework/studying/piano practice that I feel inspired to reply with a thank-you post. How I appreciated hearing your different perspectives: from someone who teaches to someone who remembers being the student who had to work extra hard to succeed.
What surprises me every time I sit down to write a new post is how my ideas change as I write them down. I can plan to write a post on, say, canning tomatoes, but the writing happens, and in following unexpected and twisting lines of thought, the post turns out to be about feminism. Or something. You know what I mean.
It’s the mystery of the process that makes me want to be a writer: because the writing itself is the key to discovery. You can’t plan it out in advance, not entirely. You have to see what develops between you and the word, the written word.
When I started this post, I planned to write more about Albus and how we are hoping to address his struggles, but the words came hard, and I sensed my growing discomfort. He’s ten. When I was ten, I sure wouldn’t have wanted my mom telling everyone about my struggles–or more precisely, about her interpretation of my struggles. So, while I’m glad that I choose to write yesterday’s post, I’m going to choose not to delve further into the subject today. What I want to say is thank you for your thoughtful responses. They give me hope, and ideas.
(One of which is to clean up this office/playroom space to make a proper study space for all the people in the house who need a quiet room in which to work. I include myself. Put it on the weekend-project list. Because, though the digging starts on Friday, that new porch/office is still a few months off.)
This is also a rather long-winded way of saying, I love hearing from the people who are reading my blog! I love when it feels like a conversation. I love the connections this blog continues to bring, some of them quite random, some to people I would never have gotten to know otherwise.
Ah, yes. One big sappy thank you note of a post. If I were writing this in pen, I’d be doodling all around the edges in vines and flowers and stick-ray suns. Maybe even hearts.
When you try, but you don’t succeed, what then?
This morning, after breakfast, Albus practiced piano. He always checks with me before getting a sticker, to make sure he’s earned it. Which is awfully sweet. He’s a good kid. Except this morning I really didn’t think he’d earned it. He kept rushing the half-note, always the same mistake in the same place. So I asked him to play the song again, with that in mind. I suggested playing the difficult spot several times over, with the correct notes and timing. But all he wanted was to hack his way through the song and be done with it, regardless of notes and timing.
Then we looked over his dictee results. In French, his teacher had written: “You need to study.” Things is, he’d studied. A fair bit. He’d sat down several evenings last week and worked on his homework, including studying for this dictee. He’d shown me his worksheet. I knew it was true. But the proof wasn’t there in the final test results.
As we were having this conversation, and I was offering more advice re efficient piano practice, Fooey happened by with a question. Albus was extremely rude to her. I reprimanded him. He pushed her. ie. things went from bad to worse, and quickly. I sent him upstairs on a time-out.
Why does he need to act like this? the thought half formed as I raced around the kitchen and cleared the breakfast dishes and wrote a cheque for AppleApple’s sub order and helped Fooey ready her bag for school and tried to remember all the details that needed to get done in the next eight minutes before everyone would leave and the house would go suddenly quiet, and I would eat breakfast and pour a cup of coffee and greet this computer.
Why is he so angry?
And I found myself looking at this morning from his perspective, not mine. From his perspective, he got up and got dressed and ate breakfast and then he practiced piano. And even though he practiced, it wasn’t good enough, and he couldn’t make it better, and he felt frustrated. And then his mother had to sign his dictee and he knew it wasn’t a great mark, and his teacher thought he hadn’t even studied. But he had studied. And he couldn’t make it better, and he felt frustrated.
I called him downstairs, and I said the above, an abbreviated version. He was quiet. Is that kind of how you feel? I asked, and he nodded.
I’m not sure how to make life better for him. Or easier. (Why do parents so often want to make life easier for their kids? But I do. Or not easier, exactly, just gentler.) What is the lesson, if hard work does not pay off in success? You know, it doesn’t always. Some people have to work much harder than others to achieve the very same level of success. I don’t want him to get frustrated, to give up, to not care.
I do want him to take responsibility for the choices he makes. I don’t particularly want to lower the bar.
But what if he’s trying, and it’s not working? Is the answer always: work harder? I’d feel frustrated, too.
The Week in Suppers: Reprised
Monday’s menu. Fresh tomato soup. Quesadillas. Green salad with maple dressing.
The rationale. Corn tortillas languishing in freezer. Tomatoes rotting on counter. Quesadillas = Latin American grilled cheese sandwiches, ergo good for dipping in tomato soup. Green salad last minute raw veg addition.
The reviews. Soup is bland (I blame you, Moosewood Cooks At Home). Fried quesadillas require last-minute labour and fill kitchen with smoke. Run out of corn tortillas; little kids prefer softer whole wheat version anyway. No dipping whatsoever. Quesadillas devoured. Sides of crema, yogurt, and asparagus salsa demanded. Green salad generally ignored.
The verdict. Will not be repeating anytime soon.
Tuesday’s menu. Red beans and baked white rice. Curried cauliflower. Roasted eggplant and patty-pan squash.
The rationale. Original menu was quiche; not in mood to make quiche crusts. Brain searches for easy substitute. Need protein, ergo beans. Beans need rice. Cauliflower’s been on the menu for days, only to be dispatched with at last minute. Eggplant and patty-pans looking wilty. Planned to throw into curry, no room in pan, ergo tossed under broiler instead.
The reviews. Beans good, rice good. Some eggplant burns while I blog about menu; the irony.
The verdict. Anytime. This meal, give or take the veggie sides, is a forever keeper.
Wednesday’s menu. Pasta with fresh-made pesto. Quinoa salad with spelt and leftover beans.
The rationale. Bought basil for this purpose. Time to prep meal between nursery school and piano lessons. Meal needs to be served quickly upon arriving home from piano.
The reviews. “M.P.”: Albus on the quinoa salad. Note: M.P. in Albus-speak stands for “more please.”
The verdict. Both items are keepers. Pesto made with sunflower seeds = leftovers suitable for school lunches.
Thursday’s menu. Fish* baked in a teriyaki/ginger marinade. Roasted potatoes. Sesame stir-fried spinach, zucchini, and eggplant.
The rationale. Fish is quick. Daughter needs to eat supper in a hurry before early soccer practice.
The reviews. Conversation between daughter and mother: “What’s for supper?” “Fish, potatoes, and spinach.” “But I only like one of those things.”
The verdict. Daughter eats potatoes and leftover quinoa salad, makes early soccer practice. I bat 3-6 on the fish, 0-4 on the children-eating-spinach, but I pitch a perfect potato game.
Friday’s menu. Crockpot chili with stewing beef. Baguette. Cheese buns.
The rationale. Crazy rushed schedule, ergo crockpot of leftover beans and tomato soup, plus seared beef** and fried onions and chili powder = supper. Pick-up from Bailey’s adds extras.
The reviews. “Is this ketchup soup?”: CJ. “Is there meat in this soup?”: CJ. “Are there tomatoes in this soup?”: CJ. “I don’t like this soup.”: CJ. “It tastes rotten.”: CJ.
The verdict. Everyone else has second helpings. Easy, fast, tasty with crema and crushed tortilla chips. Hey, it’s Friday.
*no, fish is not vegetarian; we are experimenting with keeping it on our menu
**no, beef is really really really not vegetarian; I am using up the last of the meat currently in our freezer: down to two packages of hamburger
Questions I ask myself after spending another beautiful day in the kitchen
I’ve spent the day in the kitchen. I can’t decide if this is a fine and lovely thing, for which I am appreciative, or if it’s a bit of a waste, and I should have been outside in the sunshine, or off to church this morning, or participating in one of the many community events going on today …
Instead, I woke up, started the laundry, hung a load from last night on the line outside, and turned on the radio, which is my constant companion on kitchen days. Then I began. I started by mixing and kneading a batch of bread and setting it to rise on the counter. I chopped and stewed plums and pears, which had been going to mush on the counter. In another pot, I sauteed onions, garlic, and herbs, and on a baking sheet arranged whole, cored tomatoes. I fired up the BBQ to about 375, and roasted the tomatoes with the sauteed veggies for several hours. I heated milk and washed jars and made yogurt. I mixed up cookie dough and baked the worst cookies ever. (And I followed the recipe. I have no explanation, except that maybe the kitchen is politely telling me to scram).
And I hung a second load of laundry on the line.
Could that be all? I started before 9am, and it is now nearly 4pm. For my efforts, I have arrayed before me: 2 jars of plum-pearsauce; 4 loaves of bread; several litres of roasted tomato sauce; 6 jars of yogurt; and a batch of barely edible cookies. The week ahead, and its necessary meals, remains unplanned. I am, therefore, going to throw on my running gear and go for a looooooooong run in today’s remaining sunshine. Fooey and Kevin are in charge of supper: pita pizzas on the BBQ using that roasted tomato sauce (I scraped the roasted ingredients into a pot and macerated them using a hand blender).
:::
As the school year begins again, my mind returns to the necessity of producing weekday suppers, frequently to be eaten at a ridiculously early hour, or immediately upon arriving home, due to after-school and evening activities. And so this blog will also return to a reprised version of The Week in Suppers. First edition coming tomorrow. Look for (mostly) vegetarian meal ideas, as our family attempts to go vegetarian for a month. Stay tuned.
One small thing
So, I’m out for a run, doing my best to keep my pace up a long steep climb, when a car slows beside me. An elderly man rolls down his window, leans across the front seat and with great enthusiasm calls out: “Congratulations!”
That’s never happened before.