their tattoos

Calliope- riptorricane in a goth typeface with the Hokusai wave on her right upper quad.  By the way, she made up that word at the beach this weekend.

Clara- brighter than the sun in a Rusted Root-esque delicate typeface down her left calf

Benicio-LIGHTNING RACER in a loopy, romantic cursive and a Harry Potter owl for a sleeve on his lower arm

Manny-repool, repood, repoos in all lower-case in an arm band on his bicep

Lab Summer

Have you ever had the chance to work with someone, or be part of something that you had once only imagined or discussed in a sociology class, or wrote about theoretically on a college essay?  Something that brings together art and poverty and children in a rich and meaningful process.  Something that fills their day with substance while granting them a way to find their particular voice.  And on top of this, have it be your very own kids that are the ones benefitting, the ones being listened to, the ones being asked their point of view.

For us, Spells Writing Lab has been this.

Last week, was Wild West Week and the boys were part of making a silent western film "The Legendary Bandits."  It involved the Parent Trap trick where the four bandits fought against four sheriffs that looked oddly similar.  Also, my favorite, the slow motion hero walk. Benicio was the betrayer who shot a sheriff.  I love that they worked with 2 other kids, 3 counselors, and made something greater than the sum of the parts.

This week is Travel Guide Week and they are traveling to Philly tourist-spots and reviewing them.  Like critical travel-writers, they are discussing subway station smells, rating the Independence Hall tour,  comparing milkshakes, and grading the difficulty of the mini-golf at Franklin Park.

Also, there are no grades.  Nobody asking why Manny's in fourth at age 11.  And nobody assigning letter grades for their effort.  The director said to me today, "The group-energy flagged by 3 but it picked up again when the brainstorm board was filling up."  I love hearing about the group, the team.  And I think that's how they see themselves.

When I was writing personal mission statements for college, I could not have imagined something this creative, set up where it is in North Philly, doing what it does, serving whom it serves.  Micah 6:8 all the way.  So brave.

My List of What's Hard to Say

by Calliope

-Edamame
-my friend from ballet, Hilal
-La Fille Mal Gardee

Also, she has a new chant:
I'm not very interested in *Who Muttatuckee, Who Muttatuckee.

*who muttatuckee refers to, in her words, smoking and sassiness as in "Mom, I just saw a girl on a poster showing off doing muttatuckee!"

Things That Moved Me Today

-the mosaic-tiled park across from the Spells Writing Lab
-kids in it learning self defense
-watching Benicio's fleet-feet while he played a hot-potato game
-the two angels that God sent us to help me while getting lost all around N. Philly
-remembering it's my Grandfather's death anniversary and how he loved the Hymn of St. Francis, thinking of him sing that key change, "Oh Master, grant that I may never seek. . .
-friends' news of pregnancy that strikes me today as something utterly brilliant that God designed

To Manny on his Eleventh.

The mix I made you had the 8 songs you asked for.  Besides the songs themselves, what I want to remember is how you made that list back in May.  This was more important than the guest list or any other thing for that matter.  Your short term memory gaps gave you a doozy of a time in math.  But it's also what makes you incredibly forgiving.  Forgiving of the girls crankiness, your brother's ribbing, and my impatience.  It's funny right-- those things that trip us up and frustrate us can be come little doors to great things, maybe the best things.  

Like tap.  I love being in tap class with you.  I am sweating and trying to remember if a shuffle has 2 beats or 3.  You are Gene Kelly in the mirror, making music with your buffalo and your flap-ball-change.  When the teacher asks me to remember 3 moves, I am praying I remember and trying not to slip.  When the teacher asks you to remember 6 moves, you perform all of them in an 18 move-succession loop!  You are fleet and effortless.  I will treasure these rare hours with you in the classroom.

You spent 8 hours of your birthday in the pool.  Egg drops, belly flops, splash ball battles.  Your four grandparents orbited you.  Sitting by the pool watching your breath-holding and handstands.  Sitting under the tree watching you relay. Mema making and serving food.  Pepop playing with Millie.  Big Dad and Nanay interviewing Nazeer.  It has taken me this long to figure out for your birthday--- tiny guest list, big simple fun.  

It has taken me this long too, to realize that the way I want to spend your birthday is with you.  Not just around you, doing stuff.  I really like playing with you in the pool, eating with you in the shade.  Hearing you remember a line from a Prelutsky poem or make a mash-up of two songs-- these observations are how you connect points in the world.  How you are part of it.  What  a rare and precious being you are!  Thank you for not being an odd sum of my parts and Dad's parts-- you are so much more than this.  You are not just the product of this birth method or parenting philosophy.  You are a set-apart vessel in your own right.  You have your own story that God is working on with you.  I am so excited for you.  I can see His work in you-- with your speediness to forgive, the ways you serve your siblings, the ways you are humble to our teaching, and the openness you have in your worship.  

I know I can really crowd and constrict you but know that it's in love that I do it.  I am trying to remember that God has you so i don't have to squeeze so much.  

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

-- lyric from George Matheson 1882

I hope you can relax and rest your soul in God, Manny. You are very much held in love.

Back to Languid Normal

These hot days have felt like we're moving in slow motion.  We have tried to create a normalcy to our days, a rhythm--restful but not boring.  Neighborhood soccer camp in the morning.  Chores after lunch.  A movie in the afternoon.  Make dinner.

We spent two hours at the museum making crafts yesterday.  It was tomb-quiet.  This uber-patient museum intern helped us make pom poms in all sizes, doll pillows, yarn flowers and we sat in the cool for what seemed like all day.

The four kids spend so much face time with one another.  There has been a new intensity to their bickering.  For the boys, an enhanced rowdiness, more potent shoves.  For the girls, grudges held long and cooly.  I have been reading about the Prodigal Son with them.  How there are two sons who have gone astray in the story.  One had to repent of his immorality.  The other, of his morality.  One of running away.  The other, of his turning away.  The focus should really be on the Father, with open arms, anticipation, his insistence on relationship with his sons, his acceptance.  Trying to walk in that openness, keeping the emphasis on their relationships with each other, not on being right all the time.  It's tricky.