Bits and pieces
Years and years and years ago, the system as a whole was going to be a teacher during the school year and a writer in the summer. Because we loved (and I mean loved) being a camp counsellor. We went so far as to be a paid educational assistant for two years and an afterschool teacher for a third, but that experience pretty much caused us to opt out of the B.Ed programme we got into. (That and a kind of stress meltdown.) Then I (I’m switching to I here, but using it loosely) took an adult education course. And taught writing to high school students in a Saturday enrichment programme. And then I got a job that was pretty close to writing and moved up into editing and dropped the whole educational thing completely.
This weekend I had a weird experience with that though. We ended up in Ottawa this weekend for a family funeral (not close family, but close family was bereft so we went for hugs and support). And since Carl and I are volunteer types we ended up in the kids’ room at the funeral home watching about 5-9 kids (depending on whose parents were in the viewing room at the time). It was kind of like rediscovering a lost muscle; how to get a small group of under-7s to watch me, how to organize games in a circle, etc.
I’m not about to rush out and Do That right now; I pretty much learned about myself that I’ve got a wee bit much of the radical unschooler in me and enforcing structure all day long makes me grumpy over the long term. But I had forgotten how much fun it is. As a mom at playgroups at Noah’s age I have fun, but it’s not at all like being the camp counsellor.
Of course then I got sick and missed work yesterday and am now up all panicked about work (but not addressing it ’til I get to the office). I am so neurotic about work right now. I think, if one were to get at the root of it, it’s because I like my job. And so of course it must be about to disappear. And the economy is like that too.
But even if it did, it would be okay in the end. I keep reminding myself. But inside, I’m still - neurotic!
Noah did great with the travel. He gets carsick, so we gave him Gravol so that kept him asleep half of the way each way, and then for the other half we did games and books on CD and he… played. Alone. In the backseat. This three year old thing is amazing. He also loved the hotel (bar fridge he could open! pool! mum and dad in the room with him all the time! cable tv, although he was quite distressed to learn you can not rewind/play again). But what he really, really loved were his cousins.
I have a schmaltzy little chicken soup for your gag reflex story about that. For years, right, Carl and I have been making this effort to bond with our niece and nephews. Not just because they are great kids and we love them but because their family’s gone through upheavals and happened to end up in our province and so despite the sore temptation to spend long weekends in bed, many times we have trekked up to see them. That’s fine, and we’ve gotten our love and joy out of it.
But what I didn’t realize is that it is returning one hundred-fold because these older cousins are treating my son with love and care. Watching my two nephews lead him around the Museum of Civilization, finding every cool thing they liked when they were younger to show off, and Noah starry-eyed in tow soaking everything in was… well it has to rank up there as one of life’s great joys. I’m sure I’ll babble on about this often, because it is amazing to see kids, well, love each other.
The funeral was hard though. It was kind of the first parent death of my generation; although we hope it’s the last for many years, it did bring home that we will be gathering like this again and again eventually.
No test results yet so I’ll be all over the dr’s office today. I saw one of those medical shows while we were having cable and it happened to be a woman who ended up with a MS diagnosis, and the symptoms were a little scarily like. But the MRI results will probably eliminate this fear. Also, I threw my back out and am thinking maybe all this is ‘just’ my back.
I know, I sound one million years old with all my ‘plaints.
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If it makes you a million, gawwwwd we’re fucked! So not really, it just makes you concerned about being there in full capacity for the kid and then everything else. MV