Making Magic

I have watched kids of friends and relatives go through the Harry Potter phase and wondered if Finn would do the same.  I needn’t wonder anymore.

Finn has close friends who have seen the movies and had the books read to them, so he has embraced the Harry Potter world wholeheartedly in their play together and now on his own.

His Obi Wan Kinobi robe that he received as a gift last year has been re-purposed as Harry’s robe.

I suppose Harry and Obi Wan are not dissimilar archetypes.

So we went to the library and checked out the first book in the Harry Potter series.  And it has quickly become a bedtime staple.

“Expecto!” has become a prefix for almost anything he wants to manifest.

A small dowel he found in the tool shed has become his wand most of the time. Sometimes he uses a knitting needle. Sometimes a random stick.

We have decided to homeschool this year, which Finn is very excited about.  He says our school should be called “Homewarts” and I should be professor Dumbledaddoo.  I suppose then Erin would be Mommy McGonagall.

Homeschooling can be a little intimidating.

Random conversations with parents who have done it and some friends who were homeschooled have helped to put my mind at ease.  I’m not reinventing the wheel, and from what I’ve read so far, there are enormous resources available.

After we made the decision, it kind of felt like we were always heading in this direction.

It’s almost impossible not to do a certain amount of homeschooling.

I mean, there are a million questions a day no matter how you slice it.  You can either answer them intelligently, find the answers if you don’t have them, or just say, “I don’t know leave me alone.”

But if you choose the last option, the same questions circle back around endlessly.

Erin and I have chosen to answer as many questions as we can intelligently so I am imagining our Homeschool to be a more structured version of that with a little more leading and slight nudging, interspersed with comforting daily routines.

But what do I know?

Well, I do know Homeschool will begin September 1st , the same as Hogwarts.

There is a temptation to go all out and create our own little Hogwarts atmosphere but Finn is such a little actor he might get lost in the play acting.  But there could be ways to use his fascination in creative ways.

When I mentioned we might have to make a proper wand in our woodworking class, he lit up.

“Will it make real magic?” he asked.

“YOU make the magic”  I said.

“I do?” he said, not convinced.

Well maybe we will do it together.

Art Hike

It was the night before Erin was going to be teaching a number of voice lessons back to back at home and Finn and I needed to make ourselves scarce for most of the day.

“Where are you going tomorrow?” Erin asked, probably knowing I hadn’t thought of anything yet.

Finn looked at me.

“We are going…on a…hike. On an art hike,” I said trying to come up with something original for him.

“What’s an art hike?” Finn asked.

“We’re going to hike and paint.” I said.

“Where?” Finn asked.

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow” I said, having no idea.

I didn’t really think it would be an art hike. I really thought that we would hike somewhere and Finn would get distracted looking for rocks or collecting sticks and I would carry the art bags and maybe get half an hour of sketching in while we ate lunch.

The next morning we packed lunches and snacks into our already full bags along side what we had packed the night before: watercolor paints and plenty of paper.

We hiked a familiar trail. Eventually we came to a nice place to rest beside a stream.

“This is it!” Finn said.

“You want to paint here?” I asked

“Yep!” he said claiming the perfect little spot under a tree.

After sitting for a while just observing the brook and a tiny water-fall for several minutes, he spread out all his art materials and got to work painting right away.

I was a little in disbelief. I had come up with the idea as something to get us out of the house. I didn’t really expect it to hold his attention very long.

But he was ‘in-it-to-win-it’ as Erin and I like to say when he’s in the zone.

We were all alone. Then an hour or so later in an elderly couple wandered by and sat for a while chatting and dipping their feet in the stream.

I noticed them observing Finn as they chatted. The sound of the water masked their conversation.

After sometime they got up to leave and the woman said:

“My father was a painter and I have many fond memories of painting watercolors along side him. This is a joy to see. Thank you!”

I got a little lump in my throat at her reaction, fumbling with my words saying something like:

“Oh I’m so glad.”

Then I saw Finn gathering up his things. But he wasn’t done. He moved to another rock and started another series of paintings.

A little while later we had our lunch. He talked about his paintings and what a good idea this was, painting outside.

He ended up with nine little masterpieces. Some realist, some expressionistic, one rainbow and one map showing where we were in relation to Mommy. My favorite was a little sketch of me sitting under a tree sketching him.

“We should do this every week, right?” he said.

“Absolutely” I answered.

Carousel Ride

There was a noticeable silence in the backseat of the car while I was running a recent errand with Finn.

At a stop light I glanced in the rearview mirror to see if he was napping.

Instead he was staring out the window lost in thought.

After another long period of silence he sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m a kid,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I just can’t believe I’m alive!” he said.

“Well, where were you before?” I asked.

“Deeeeep in space” he said.

“Really?” I replied “Where in space?”

“Uhh…Bortron 7, I think,” he said, breaking out of his spell.

(Bortron 7 is a planet on the PBS kids show, Ready Jet Go)

For a moment it seemed I caught a glimpse of that special connection children have with the other side. That connection that becomes difficult to tap into as we age.

It is a miracle we’re alive. A thought worth contemplating on a regular, if not daily basis.

But especially so after a lamentably unrelenting winter.

Last weekend we popped into New York City to visit with a long time friend of Erin’s. She has two girls, one who is Finn’s age and another a little younger.

Fun activities within close walking distance of their hotel were in order.

The New York Public Library was close by, where the kids spent a little time reading and the rest of the time pretending to scan books with a computer mouse.

But a great surprise was the original Winnie the Pooh, which is on display there. I’ve always wanted to see it.

The kids, though just having met for the first time, played and laughed together mirroring the familiarity of Erin and Lisa, their Mom.

On the way to the library we passed Bryant Park, which was in the process of dismantling their winter ice rink. Thankfully, the Carrousel was running!

The kids all wanted to go on it. Finn had never been on one. (I know. Delinquent parents!)

Which horse will he choose? I thought to myself. Black, white or tan?

Running or standing?

None of the above, it turns out. He chose the rabbit, which I didn’t notice till he mentioned it.

He eagerly handed off his ticket and climbed in all by himself.

The air was cold enough to warrant our winter coats. It was St. Patrick’s day, and despite a crowded sidewalk and the occasional wafting beer breath of tottering tourists, there was magic in the moment.

There was a childhood first taking place after all.

And as the music started up and he rode out of sight then back again I couldn’t help but see the symbolism of the seasons turning.

In a few days the equinox would be here.

Though we may not see real change for a couple of more weeks, Spring will get here.

Coming ‘round the bend like a happy kid riding a March hare.

We made it.

“I just can’t believe I’m alive!”

Crag Day

"Happy Crag Day!" Finn said, descending from the bedroom upon awakening.

The day before, he’d expressed wanting to hike to the rock formation in a nearby preserve.

The forecast had promised perfect weather.

There were doubts about making it all the way to the top. It was a long hike for Finn and he likes to take his time.

So when he began to document the wildlife on a piece of construction paper he had folded several times to create a section for each entry, I was pretty certain we might be turning back before reaching the peak.

“When you see or hear something, you have to write it down,” he instructed each of us, like a mini forest ranger.

“Oh, look at the bird’s nest,” Erin said, noticing an unusually large one.

“Yep! Have to write it down!” he said bossily.

He eagerly dug for the pencil and paper in his pocket.

He stood there appearing to scribble for several long moments then said, “How do you spell bird’s nest?”

“Yep, it’s gonna be a long hike,” I thought to myself.

But very soon after that there was surge of energy and we were covering more ground than usual. It was a little slushy from melted snow but it didn’t really slow us down.

There were actual stretches of silence. Nothing but nature.

At his age, moments of silence are few and far between. From sun-up to sun-down there is a seemingly endless narration accompanying his play sessions.

But there we were tromping our way through some tricky passages with very little commentary.

One motivating factor may have been the lunch Erin packed.

“I can’t wait to get to the top” Finn said breaking the silence at one point.

“To see the view?” I said.

“No. To eat!” he said.

But pretty soon it didn’t really seem to matter if we made it to the top.

There was more wildlife to document, unusual trees to climb and a little trouble choosing the perfect hiking stick.

The day seemed complete just by us being there. Maybe it was because it was the first warm break in a brutal winter. Or we might have been feeling the wake of the recent events in Parkland, Florida. Maybe it was all of the above.

Whatever it was, it was the right combination of sunshine, togetherness and semi silence.

We navigated our way up out of the forest and onto the rocky top and there was a sense of satisfaction but not so much of surprise. It was kind of like: “Of course we made it to the top. It’s that kind of day.”

We didn’t need to reach the peak. So somehow it seemed easier to get there.

Our way back down was easy and uneventful. More nature documentation. Eagles. Or were they Vultures? There was an especially crooked tree.

But nothing stood out as the highlight. The highlight was the day itself.

Because…well…it was Crag Day.

The Future is Now

Sometimes I feel as though Finn may be a little psychic. 

Just as I’m beginning to think about the New Year, he is suddenly talking about building a time machine.

We were making breakfast. It had been declared ‘pancake day.’ (He requests them most days even though we only make them one day a week.) Then out of nowhere he began talking about his plans for building a time machine.

“Where would you want to go?” I asked. “Back to the time when you were a baby?”

“No,” he said.  “Back to the Ice Age!”

“Then you would be going alone,” I said.  “Winters are cold enough for me right now.”

Is there anyone who doesn’t find the idea of time travel fascinating? I end up watching even bad movies that revolve around it. 

New Year’s Eve is a time when we all step briefly into our own little time machines. Looking back, reliving moments of the last year or attempting to peek into the future.

Setting our intentions.

Hoping they will stick this time.

Maybe pondering the things that we should leave behind.

There’s always a slight desire to go back and change something if not a number of things over the last year.

What will we do differently this year?  What will we change?

Finn’s desire for time travel obviously springs from curiosity.

I think most of us would want to go back to change something, to make it better, like the movie Back to the Future.

There’s a little Marty McFly in all of us.

All the recent talk of secret government agencies and videos of UFOs in the news makes one think that perhaps time travel is not so farfetched.

Who are they? Are they from the future? Returning at a crucial moment in our history to prevent us from making a devastating choice?

I would say they’re about a year late.

If there are aliens among us, what are they here to do? What would they change?  Are they observing us and trying to decide how to be a part of all this? Are they contemplating getting involved in the world and the implications of that? Maybe they just don’t know what to do next.

It might be easier to just stay on the sidelines and observe, to hover around in their comfortable little space ships. That way they wouldn’t risk failure. Or they could just go back to where they came from.

Maybe they’re stuck, trying to figure out what to do with their lives.

Hmmm. Maybe they would fit right in.

“I know where I would go right now,” Finn said as he was stirring the batter.

“Where?” I asked

“Right here, twenty minutes from now,”  He said,  “when the pancakes are done.”

Making Christmas

During dinner, following an unusually long moment of silence, Finn sighed heavily and, as if suddenly having a huge realization, said:

“Daddoo, I REALLY need to get a new sewing kit. With LOTS of cloth and needles and everything.”

“Really, why is that?”  I asked.

“Because I want to be an elf. And I don’t have a costume. And to make a costume, I’m REALLY going to need a lot of stuff,” he said.

“You mean a Christmas elf?” I inquired.

“Yeah,” he said shortly as if, “What else?”

Over the last several weeks Finn’s questions about Santa Claus and everything relating to Christmas have increased in number and complexity. He has only visited Santa once, when he was two, but he still talks about it.

“So that Santa, the one that I sat on his lap, that was the real Santa right?” he asked one day randomly when we were all in the car.

“What do you think?” we responded.

“I think he was,” he continued, “But if HE was the real Santa who are all the other Santas?”

“Good question,” Erin said.

We gave him the usual spiel about them all being Santa’s helpers.

“Why do they want to be Santa’s helpers?” he asked. “And why does he need SO many helpers? Isn’t he like magic and can do anything? And how can he go all around the world in one night?!”

He had posed the ‘around-the-world-in-one-night’ question a week or so earlier after having a conversation with friends. Someone (it was never clear who) had “looked it up on the internet” and said it was “impossible.”

Before the age of too much information, it seemed much easier to maintain the mythology of Santa Clause. There was some sharing of opinions among friends but very few of us kids dared to say that anything related to Santa was “impossible”.

Santa was real for me until I was eight. My Mom had a stock line about Santa when we posed questions that demonstrated a waning belief in his existence.

“When you stop believing in him, he stops coming to visit,” she said.

None of us wanted that. Though it actually turned out not to be true, it did keep the mysticism alive for a while longer.

Even in our teens and early twenties, at Christmas time, my siblings and I could often be heard shouting in earshot of our Mom, “I believe Santa! I believe!”.

“Yeah, I know you do!” she’d reply with a chuckle.

Back at the dinner table, my conversation with Finn continued…

“By the way, Daddoo, are Christmas elves real?” he said, searching my eyes intensely.

“What do you think?” I said.

“Ummm” (there was a pause) “Could be!” he said. “And anyway, even if they’re not real, I can still PRETEND to be one.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“So I still need the stuff to make the costume,” he said.

“I understand,” I said, “We’ll get to work on that.”

Christmas magic is alive and well in Ulster County.

Dance Party

 If there is one characteristic that stands out in Finn’s behavior lately, it’s that he wants to get his groove on.

 Fall appears to have ushered in a time to dance.

And of course, that means we have to follow suit. (Who can refuse a five-year-old saying, “Come on let’s dance!”) 

It certainly pulls you out of the doldrums.

What started it? Lady Gaga came up on shuffle on Erin’s phone one day. Finn wanted to see what she looked like and Erin showed him the Super Bowl halftime show. And the dance craze began.

There are other artists he routinely likes dancing to. Most notably Ray Charles and Mumford & Sons.

I dance on occasion to get my energy going. But it really does more than that.

It summons joy and authenticity. I love watching older people dance at weddings. Their moves are so uniquely expressive. I remember watching the chaperones at school dances when they would venture out onto the floor. You’d catch a glimpse of their teenage selves.

Finn’s moves are so uniquely him. Primal and playful. Lots of pointing, moving backwards in circles and tumbling on the floor (on purpose) all with a look on his face of absolute confidence.

Dancing is not only good cardio but has been proven to improve mental health and focus.

It’s no wonder some motivational speakers begin their seminars by asking everyone to dance.

Ellen DeGeneres has figured out it starts things on the right foot.

I was surprised to read recently that a study at The Albert Einstein College of Medicine found that dancing spontaneously on a regular basis could decrease dementia by 76 percent.

So why don’t we do it more? Maybe it kind of feels like wasting time. It feels silly as an older adult. Maybe it’s a little embarrassing?

Maybe we’ve been laughed at by someone at some point while dancing. I’ve experienced it. It’s kind of inevitable. You’re revealing a vulnerable part of yourself. Movements unique to you. It’s bound to crack someone up, especially if you’re awakening your teenage self.

So it takes a little courage to dance. That’s a good thing, to dance in the face of whatever real or imagined judgement may exist. To own your authenticity.

And perhaps the best thing is that it’s almost impossible to think about anything else while you’re dancing.

It plants you firmly in the now. Dance is like a meditation. Once you get over that initial shyness it immediately connects you to your heart and spirit. And to those dancing around you.

Erin and I are working on a song (Our Children) right now for a concert. It’s from the Broadway musical Ragtime. There is a line, “How they dance. Unembarrassed and alone. Hearing music of their own. Our Children.”

When we’re dancing as a family it’s kind of the ultimate connection.

We’re dancing, watching Finn dance, but he is totally focused. He’s creating each move. Occasionally making himself laugh. We’re there.

But he’s dancing like nobody’s watching.

Detours

It was a family outing that was not going well.

Everyone was grumgry, the term we use for deteriorating emotional states in absence of sustenance.

We had packed a picnic but 30 minutes into our journey we noticed the gas light was blinking. We probably would not make it unless we back-tracked to a gas station.

Erin hates back-tracking for any reason. I personally don’t mind it. I once back-tracked three hundred miles to retrieve my wallet, which I had left at a service station. I was traveling across the desert in the southwest at the time and I got to experience the same spectacular sunset two nights in a row. But I was also traveling alone.

Now I was in a car with two other loved ones. And grumgry was transmuting to hangry.

I had just completed the U-turn and Finn was beginning to whine about our extended trip.

A large Heron flew above the road just ahead of us.

“Oh look! See the Heron?!” I said, hoping to end the complaining with some nature fascination.

“Where?” he said, “I can’t see it!”

The angle was such that he couldn’t see it from the back seat of the car.

“Right there!” I pointed, desperately wanting him to see it but trying to keep my eyes on the road.

“I don’t see it!” he said.

Suddenly the Heron veered out of sight.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, “It just flew behind the trees.”

“Naaaooooo!” he sobbed. “Now I’ll never see the Heron! Ahhhh!”

I was kind of kicking myself because I had made a similar mistake with a hummingbird sighting a few weeks before. But it’s kind of a reflex.

He eventually calmed down, we got gas, had our picnic, went on a short hike but were still not in the best of moods. Maybe ice-cream would cheer us up.

We went to a place that shall remain nameless and the servings were so small I actually thought mine was a tasting. After that I was the grumpy one. Nothing kills the spirit more than being underserved with ice-cream.

We needed to end the day on a high note.

Not wanting to head home just yet, we were driving around sort of aimlessly and soon realized we weren’t far from the Saugerties Lighthouse. We decided on one last hike.

As we were winding through the trails and boardwalks, I looked across the shallow marsh and in the distance saw a lone slim silhouette standing in the water. It was a white Heron.

This time I was little more cautious.

“Finn, do you see anything interesting out there?” I said.

It was a little far off but he saw it almost immediately. Thank goodness. Though I was ready to say something like, “Aren’t those amazing lily pads?”

Our day trip had been a jumble of detours and false starts until that last piece fell into place. Suddenly a puzzling excursion had been reworked into a graceful mosaic.

Off Duty

The other day I was trying to get Finn’s attention.  He was sitting in a chair staring off into space. I can’t remember why it was important for me to interrupt him but nevertheless I did.

“Finn,” I said for the third or fourth time.

“I’m off duty,” he replied.

“Really?” I said. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I’m just not doing anything,” he said matter-of-factly.

I kind of wondered what being “on duty” meant for him but I didn’t inquire further.

I’m sure he was repeating what one of us might have said when we were in the middle of something and attempted to “pass the baton” so to speak.  

“Talk to Mommy. I’m off duty.”

Would I say that?

Regardless, I don’t think it’s really possible to be off duty as a parent once you become one. You never stop thinking about your child for more than a moment or two.

Even on date nights we inevitably spend half the time talking about Finn.

Summer is the season for taking time off. The rising temps and heavy humid air naturally slows you down. So it’s no wonder we want to get away for awhile.

There is an art to vacationing and it often takes as much effort as not. The expense, the supplies, the planning, the packing, unpacking, packing again. How much time one actually spends relaxing depends on so many things.

I’ve personally become more fond of spontaneous days off and evenings in the backyard when Finn and his friends are playing independently. Or little family day trips.

Recently, I’ve read about the significance of children having time off from scheduled events in the summer. The importance for them to experience boredom, so they can learn, with proper guidance, how to deal with it.

Who knew that lying in the grass staring at the clouds is actually valuable and important? Well, we all probably knew it intuitively. But for some reason, having a study to confirm it offers some sense of satisfaction.

I’ve never had a problem with being bored. If there is one thing I know how to do, it’s to contemplate. Creativity springs from contemplation. Taking the first step in a project beyond contemplation usually presents more challenges for me.

An even bigger challenge is turning off the creative brain. Giving it a rest. Not thinking about what “the next thing” should be. That, for me is the hardest part of vacationing. Putting everything on hold.

That’s where Finn is a huge help. He’s so in the moment that when we’re watching him, it’s almost impossible not to be present as well. It’s something I had noticed well before Finn came along. Children have the innate ability to be here now.

Of course there are other ways to quiet the mind. Crashing waves. A walk in the woods.

But there’s nothing that quiets the mind as well as observing a little one who’s “off duty”.

Building

On a recent afternoon I was raking, removing the winter quilt of leaves from the flower beds.

A few yards away Finn was busy with a project of his own. He was piling sticks and bricks on the patio where I had just cleaned.

I feel as though his response to any space being clean these days is: “Oh good, now I have more room to create.”

He and his friends have been building little forts lately from a supply of bricks beside the garden shed, leftover from some past construction project.

By the time I had finished my raking, Finn had constructed a couple of walls with bricks and incorporated some lawn chairs for end caps.

I resisted the inclination to stop him. When he chooses an activity within close proximity so I can watch him and be productive myself, it’s worth a little clean up later.

The bricks have become kind of outdoor legos for the boys. A few days ago they built “A bakery”. They made countless trips across the lawn, each carrying one or two bricks. It was a full day project. They all slept well that night.

With his walls complete, Finn carefully placed sticks across the top and eventually covered them with leaves.

I reminded him it was going to rain later.

“Well it’s a good thing I put a roof on it!” He said

Later, after we had gone inside, it began pouring rain.

He wanted to go out and check on his work. I told him to put on his rain coat.

“I don’t have to! I can just get in my shelter!” He said, as if he was having a eureka moment. “Then I can enjoy being outside in the rain!”

I let him go outside. His disappointment was immediate.

“Awww Daddoo! The rain is coming through the top!”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Not enough leaves! I have to put more leaves on,” he said.

I can remember building forts as a kid. You stack some things together and your imagination fills in the rest.

A few times, my brothers and I made forts under kudzu. Kudzu is a vine in the south that covers entire trees and sometimes whole forests.

From outside it looked like the perfect shelter. On a hot summer day it was cool underneath.

But it was always a surprise to us after a rain to find our fort and whatever we’d managed to drag in there, sopping wet.

Finn piled more leaves on his shelter. More rain came and this time with wind. The roof fell in.

The next morning as I watched him survey the damage, I could almost see the wheels turning in his little head. He talked aloud trying to figure out what to do next.

I heard him mutter something about stacking large stones on top. Dismiss that plan. Then his interest was pulled elsewhere.

More striking to me was watching him build and discover. Experience disappointment. Learn from his mistakes.

And when it didn’t turn out the way he expected. He moved on.