Tag: waldorf

First Week

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We’ve come to the end of Elihu’s first week in the Waldorf School of Saratoga. It has been wonderful. He is more joyful than I’ve ever known him to be – if we overlook the brief over-tired episodes that have come before a bedtime or two. It’ll take us another week or so to fully get into our new rhythm, but it’s already underway, and it’s not the terribly difficult transition we’d thought it might be.

After Elihu’s third day, to my surprise and delight, he came home singing “Simple Gifts” and speaking in French.  “I wonder if there really are outdoor markets with so many things for sale…” he mused aloud dreamily from the backseat after I’d picked him up from school. In his class they’d been learning about a French marketplace. I assured him that even in this modern time, there were still open-air markets all over the world, and yes of course, even in France. Places with tables full of fresh vegetables and bushels of brightly colored flowers. I recounted to him an early memory I had of the marche in Vevey, Switzerland that I’d gone to with my family as a child. I remember vividly the colors, the abundance. (I also remember my mother pointing out Charlie Chaplin to me and commanding me to remember that always. I did.) Elihu was happy to hear my story, and inspired that he might one day visit such a place. I told him I was pretty sure he would.

Since we no longer have the drudgery of homework (the routine assignments he received in his old school were little more than time-wasters in my opinion), we can instead spend our time creating impromptu flying machines of balsa wood and rubber bands. Elihu is a good thinker, a good designer, and I’m happy to see him tenaciously going after his goals. With a little help from mom and a couple pieces of duct tape he assembles some interesting contraptions. Our afternoons (he’s home nearly two hours before he would have been at his old school) and evenings have become an enjoyable time of stress-free winding down. Of chasing chickens and paper airplane-making. Most days I teach – but my students don’t come by for a good hour yet after he comes home, so we have a lovely window of free, unstructured time each day. The quality of our life here has noticeably improved in such a short time. Each day I feel renewed and grateful.

Today after school we’re going to make our pilgrimage to Schenectady for Elihu’s annual low-vision evaluation. We will meet with a most beautiful human being named Dr. Albert Morier, an exceedingly patient and understanding man. A man who respects Elihu’s need to know things exactly as they are; a man who does not in any way see Elihu’s reduced visual acuity as any sort of real handicap. I once wept when Dr. Morier created a lens for me that enabled me to see things as Elihu does. It was as if I were underwater; I could make out nothing that wasn’t within my arm’s reach. He comforted me in such an elegant and understated way, gently redirecting my perspective on things. He diffused the potentially heartbreaking moment ( I don’t ever want to create extra anxiety in my son and don’t like him to see me afraid or heartbroken for him), and never allowed Elihu for a moment to fear his mild disability. I almost feel like a visit to Dr. Morier is as much for my own emotional stability as it is for Elihu’s physical health.

After that, Elihu and I look forward to having a special dinner out. Here in this part of the country there seems to be a trend towards restaurants that combine many Asian cuisines; it may well be going on all over, but in my experience this is unusual and new. Not a bad idea though, for in one place Elihu can enjoy his beloved sushi and I can indulge in some Thai panang curry. After our fancy supper out, it’s off to a concert by the Adirondack Pipes and Drums in Glens Falls. I’m not sure how much energy we’ll have after our fine meal – it’s been quite a week and Elihu may not have it in him to go. But drums and bagpipes are up there with birds, airplanes and tubas – almost always worth the drive. It seems the chances are good we’ll make it. We’ll see.

Here are some pics of our post-Waldorf afternoon hours this past week…

Early Start

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Last night went smoothly. To bed, to sleep. Not much earlier than what was historically normal for us. I was a tad concerned our first early morning might be dicey. Today, Elihu’s first day of the Waldorf School, he rose at 5:30 on his own. He’d heard the creaking of the automatic rotating incubator in the living room and mistook it for the sound of me typing away at my laptop. I heard him call to me, and without checking the clock, summoned the mommy energy within to rise and go to his room. He was up. I mean up up. Not like half asleep, groggily calling out to me in the wake of some bad dream. Nope. He sat up in bed, eyes wide. “Oh” I said, “you’re up“. “Yes of course I’m up! I’ve been up since five! I heard you typing and thought I could finally talk to you.” I climbed into bed with him and explained what he’d heard and how when I’d first heard it again this year, while alone in the house, I’d been startled, even almost afraid. I caressed his head lazily and closed my eyes. “You know you don’t really have to be up for another forty-five minutes” I offered, hoping he might choose to doze. “Oh, but I want to be up. I want to have a whole hour with nothing to do but be with my chickens. I don’t ever want to feel rushed again in the morning.”

He was serious, for he jumped out of bed, ran to check the weather on my computer, then rushed back and got dressed in a flash. He came to me and picked up my arm, tugging at me to get up too. It was almost six. I noticed, to my own surprise, that I was not tired, not sleepy, that I didn’t really need nor want to lay in bed any longer. I too rose, and (as most mornings) still in my pajamas went out to open the coop. Elihu went to the cellar to tend to the chicks. Not used to having their coop door opened so early, the chickens were all still up high on the roosting bars. I’ve often thought that we’ve raised chickens on a rockstar schedule; they’re quite comfortable sleeping in, long after their neighbors have been up and set free for the day.

Our morning was unrushed and oh so pleasant on account of extra early rising. After a lovely breakfast (nothing new on the menu save an air of relaxation) and a shower for me we were ready to go. As we turned the car around to head for the road, we admired our flock, laughing at the show they put on for us. Austin, our guinea fowl, likes to hang out with Maximus the goose – although they constantly bicker they are always side by side (we jokingly call this an ‘alternative alternative’ lifestyle; same sex, different species), Bald Mountain, our alpha rooster, is always keeping second-in-command rooster Judson in check; Shirley Nelson our bearded Arauncana tries to stay out of the action, while Madeline is first in line to check it out. Thumbs Up (so named because of the silhouette of her comb) is precocious and smoochable. She’s the first to approach people, and often prefers our company to that of her flock. She watches the car carefully to see if we might open the doors and invite her in.

Finally, we’re off. I re-set the trip odometer and note the time. It takes us about fifteen minutes and 5.7 miles to reach the school. The third graders are all clumped together by the fence and they’re happy to see Elihu. Oh how happy I am to see this. Although Elihu has longed for this day, he is nontheless a bit hesitant. He hangs back to see where it is that he should go, what he should do with his backpack. He is greeted joyfully by name by the woman at the schoolyard gate, and she helps him get settled in. He even allows me a final quick kiss at my private beckoning for ‘un besito’. Then he is off. I try not to watch him too long. He is fine. He is finally where he should be. I check in briefly at the office, and there meet his teacher. I tell her that Elihu’s heart was so full of joy today. My heart is bursting too, but I don’t say this. Instead I make a little hop in place, and touch her arm. “I am so so happy we’re finally here’. I don’t want to be too over the top, but man do I mean it. I also don’t mean to act as if this heralds a conflict-free future for Elihu and me. I am aware their will be challenges in our future. There may be uncomfortable moments. I just think that we’ll be able to negotiate them so much better in this environment. At least that’s what I hope today.

As I drive home I cannot believe that my day is starting before Elihu would even have been on the bus in our old routine. I have so much to do, I don’t know where to start. I am mindful that I must pick Elihu up today, and that school lets out just past two. I still need to be economical with my time. What to do first? I am filled with joy and possibility. Plants begin to leaf out on the edge of the winding country road. Robins are everywhere. I laugh to myself. It feels so good to be up with the birds. Early bird gets the worm. Indeed.

Transition Time

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Elihu and I are tired. I slept all of maybe three hours total last night. He too had a strange night. Lying in bed, waiting for the gears in my brain to wind down, I suddenly heard the urgent thumping of feet on the floor in the hall. My son seldom wakes in the night (in fact he is such a deep sleeper it’s becoming a real challenge when it comes to some, shall I say, ‘personal’ issues that result in many extra loads of laundry) and so I instantly jumped up in high-alert mommy mode. I found him in the bathroom, throwing up. Oh no, I thought. He may only have two days left at Greenfield Elementary, I hope he doesn’t have to miss one of them. I pulled some toilet paper off the roll to wipe his mouth. “Don’t touch me” he said, taking the paper and cleaning his face. My feelings could have been hurt, but they weren’t. I know that when you’re sick sometimes you need to be left alone. We both stood there for a minute, waiting on another possible round. Nothing. A moment passed. “That was weird” he said. Then he turned and shuffled back to his bed and I swear he was literally asleep within seconds. I lay down next to him thinking he might open his eyes and say ‘stay’, like he does sometimes when he’s not feeling well, but he was gone, returned to deepest slumber. I hoped for the best and returned to my own sleepless bed.

I’m a little hesitant to reveal the measures I took last night in order to sleep – none of which worked – as it may seem rather extreme. But in spite of my radical self-medication I didn’t lose track of the clock til well past five. I took 8 over the counter sleeping pills, 12 mg of melatonin plus some valerian root for good measure. I tried concentrating on my breathing, visualizing peaceful waves, clearing my mind of all thoughts, and when that didn’t work I tried imagining my garden, home and coop as I’d hoped it might look one day – nothing did the trick. I tried vacating the swirling to-do lists from my mind by writing them down. I did everything I knew how to do. I recall my mother once saying – and perhaps she was in turn quoting another woman, I’m not sure –  that she thought all the women of the world who were wide awake between 2 and 5 am could solve the world’s problems if they could just get on one big conference call. She was referring to the dreaded ‘change’ that, from what I heard her and the other older women in my life talking about, would rob me of sleep for months at a time, ultimately never allowing me to fully return to a proper sleep routine. Is this what’s going on? Since I had my Mirena put in this past fall I’ve hardly had a period. I don’t exactly know where my body is on the timeline with respect to menopause. Could be that. Could also just be the usual suspects; a zero balance on my food stamp account, unpaid debts, household repairs I can’t afford and so on.

Even after my long night, I still did my motherly best at seven thirty this morning and pulled my groggy body to Elihu’s room to wake him. He was so deeply asleep that shaking him didn’t even register in the flicker of an eyelid. Nothing. Was he sick or just sleepy? No fever. No other signs. Probably just pooped, like me. I crawled into bed next to him, telling myself we’d be a half hour late for school just this once. Then I fell asleep. An hour passed like a second, and now Elihu was waking me. “What time is it?” he asked, mild panic in his voice. I told him not to worry.  Although we were still just a few hours away from learning whether or not the faculty at the Waldorf School of Saratoga would formally agree to accept him as a student, we were pretty sure they would. That meant that he had only two days left of school here in Greenfield; so getting there on time seemed a bit less urgent.

I took a leap of faith and began to wrap things up with his school after I dropped him off. Paid the cafeteria gals what I owed, then told them the news. They like Elihu, and he likes them. In his four years at the school he has praised the kitchen ladies many times, admiring them for their hard work and good cooking. (Perhaps his genuine appreciation might be due in part to his up close and personal witness to one single mother’s efforts to create good food for her son and all that it entails…?) He was particularly impressed by a visit to the cafeteria’s own herb garden that he once made with his first grade class (and to this day often confesses to me that he sneaks little samples from it at recess). The gals there told me they’d miss him; he was truly a good boy they said. Polite, quiet and kind. And appreciative. Don’t think too many lunch ladies know what it is to have the heartfelt respect and gratitude of an eight year old boy.

Onto the school nurse. While her over-zealous care has driven me and many other Greenfield moms a little crazy (insisting on pulling kids out of school and sending them to the doctor when a tick is found in their hair after recess) I do have her to thank for including us on the list of needy households, and doing so in such a way as to preserve our dignity and privacy. I can remember one Christmas, sitting in a kid’s sized chair in her office, crying, sobbing really, filling my kleenex as she and the school’s counselor stood by, listening, witnessing, just being there. It was she who’d asked me what we really needed – and it was she who saw to it that we received a set of queen sized sheets, so that I might have a second pair for Elihu’s bed. It was she who made sure we got a box of food delivered to us before school let out, so that we’d have food at home over the holiday break. She may have been a little too uptight in some ways, but I will always be grateful for her help in those first, difficult years here. She prints out a copy of Elihu’s immunization record, slips it into an envelope, and, since she’s not the hugging type, I thank her and say goodbye.

Then it’s to the attendance lady. Man, she’s a tough cookie. Everyone knows it. An attractive middle aged woman whose husband owns the local auto repair shop, she’s no-nonsense and to the point. No mercy for the “but we’re just one second late” lamentation. Yup, she’s the right woman for the job. We’ve chatted many times, and in the wake of more tardies and unexcused absences than she approves of, we’ve nonetheless struck a friendly relationship. She gives me the proper form to fill out, and of course, in her presence I miss a couple of items, so she has to complete it for me. Sheesh. But then, as if a quick karmic free pass for me, she discovers an error of her own, and I joke to her that I feel better now. She smiles to me and shakes her head, glasses in hand, “Elihu’s an icon!” she says. “It won’t be the same here without him.” I tell her I do agree, because it’s true. Everyone knows Elihu. The kid with the huge, dark glasses. The one who sits alone in the cafeteria because he needs some peace. The one who doesn’t hear the bell because he’s got his nose in a book, the one who comes trudging down the hall long after everyone else has gone on ahead. The kid who draws all those birds. That’s my boy. Yup, he will be missed. I assure her we’re gonna miss everyone here too. Cuz we will.

But it’s not quite over. I still have to run the talent show, and there’s a long road ahead of me. Lots to learn, lots to get done. I’m feeling a little conflicted as I root around in the Home School Association’s mail bin in the main office, looking for the talent show entries. I’m running the talent show, but I won’t have a kid in the school. Is that even legal? I wasn’t sure we’d even get this far in the Waldorf process way back when I volunteered. I know it’s all fine. The timing is just a bit off. Ever since I’d joined this world nearly four years ago, I’d always looked with wonder at the mystery of the ‘involved’ parent. Might I be qualified to join that club myself? I wasn’t so sure, but I wanted to try. Years ago, as a means of purging the emotional residue of my many years of athletic ineptitude, I’d joined a co-ed softball team in Chicago. I wasn’t any good at first, and I wasn’t great at the end of my tenure, but somewhere in the middle I actually got better, and I got the hang of it. And it no longer seemed like something ‘other’ people did. This is the spirit in which I volunteered to run the talent show. I wanted to learn how those parents did it. I wanted to get it. So here I was, about to become an official school mom. Just in time to see my kid leave the place. Oh well. Better late than never, I guess.

Shortly after I got home, the phone rang. It was the admissions director from Waldorf. In her rich, alto voice she told me – in beautiful, almost archaic-sounding language – that it gave her “great pleasure” to report that Elihu had been accepted into the school by the faculty today. Even though we knew it was nearly a done deal, it hadn’t truly been until now. I nearly cried. I thanked her, I thanked her, I thanked her. I could never have believed that such news could feel so good, so victorious, so hopeful, so uplifting. My son was going to a place where he would be understood. Where they would get him. Finally, my dear, different child would feel at home. Finally.

Waldorf and Wrenches

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Today was simply magical. Elihu and I have received some news that has transformed our lives. It’s something I’ve been meaning to write about for months now. It’s been a concern of ours for several years, yet as with so many other aspects of life, even something so important eventually becomes just another item on the list and it passes easily without being mentioned. This subject? School.

While Elihu does indeed enjoy school for the most part and does well academically, it’s never been a terribly easy place for him to exist. It’s a tricky environment for an achromat for whom florescent lights are fatiguing and color coding means nothing. Kinda tricky for a nature boy who can’t even pretend to share an interest with his classmates in video games and pop culture. Public school, even a ‘blue ribbon award winning’ school as Greenfield Elementary is, is just plain kinda tricky for my son. Never been a natural fit. And so, since the beginning of first grade, I’ve had my eye on the local Waldorf School as an option. As it takes a lot of money to attend – as in my entire annual household income – I’d essentially put it out of my mind. Besides, the Waldorf moms seemed to me like ‘greener-than-thou’ types in their moisture-wicking, high-end yoga wear and fair trade alpaca ski hats who could actually afford the luxury of eating all organic food. Not my peers. Just a greener version of the new-moneyed residents of my rural hamlet. It had already taken me several years to feel remotely comfortable with that lot; I didn’t have the oomph to learn a new parent scene. So there it lay. But each year, I’d sense the stress that lay just beneath the surface of a happy school experience. Call it a mother’s intuition; I’ve just always known that something was amiss. I’d watch my son’s school bus disappear around the corner and say a quiet prayer of thanks to all those who’d watch over him through the day, adding my hopes that today he’d finally feel he belonged there.

This afternoon we learned that Waldorf will have him if he chooses. I’m over the moon today! There is no waiting list, the teacher herself is thumbs up, the admissions director is on board! Yay! There’s room at the inn! Some people wait years for a space in a Waldorf School. Few people actually even have a Waldorf School in their area. We do! And Elihu is welcome there! I don’t know how we’ll pay for it yet – I just plain don’t. But it will happen. I know this. I do. The school can offer some tuition assistance, but we’ll have to do our part too. Sadly, I don’t hope for any help at all from Elihu’s paternal grandparents; they’ve essentially disowned us. And my folks aren’t really able either. Nor am I. But still, In fact, if we were to find the money right now, he could start tomorrow. So now the hunt for tuition begins. Elihu and I have had the conversation about sponsors many times before (each time after a tearful, post-school episode in which he begs me to get him into Waldorf) and so today I’ve penned a few letters which I’m going to send out to a short list of candidates. I’ll make a plea or two on Facebook, and indeed, hope readers will consider this too a call for help. If anyone would like to help us reach our current goal of twenty-seven hundred dollars for this second semester, oh how grateful we’d be. There it is. Elihu is at the doorstep of a whole new life. He and I are thrilled. Absolutely thrilled. I will sleep with a new peace tonight.

There was also another addition to the day’s unexpected magic… As I pulled into the inner portion of our long driveway today, I saw several large boxes leaning against the old, broken gate. Maximus, our goose, has lately taken to pursuing our visitors rather aggressively, and while he hasn’t actually attacked anyone (violently, that is) he has become something of a deterrent to folks getting out of their cars. Such was the case with the UPS guy, apparently, for the gate is a good hundred yards from the house. My son and piano student got out and picked up the boxes to walk them in on foot. I drove behind, in absolute amazement. Huh? Seriously, what could these packages be? Who on earth were they from?

Guess what the boxes contained? Tools! Really – I mean whole sets of tools. Screwdriver bits, drill bits, ratchet wrenches, socket wrenches, adjustable wrenches, friggin pipe wrenches – screwdrivers, pliers, allen wrenches – both standard and metric yet! An insanely complete set of tools – many of which I honestly cannot see a future use for – but many of which I can. I had only just this past weekend given Elihu his first proper lesson in drilling. I’d brought some scrap in from the garage and assembled screws, drill bits and such on the kitchen floor for him to begin experimenting. The dollar store screwdriver bits were chewed up and didn’t grab too well for drilling, making the lesson a bit less inspiring. (After a time it didn’t really matter; he bored of the exercise and ended up fashioning a rotor blade of cardstock and turning the drill into a propeller. Ultimately, he is ever about things that fly.) It was the most astonishing thing. My student thought it was funny – and told me I had to mention on my blog how I’d said “OMFG” over and over again… (I’d hoped the “F” would cloak my explative. Yeah, right.) At last, I can fix that blasted kitchen chair that takes a crazy, six-sided allen wrench which is actually included in the set! I know, a hexagon wrench isn’t that exotic, but it’s evaded me for the two decades I’ve had these ratty, loose chairs. So there! Tomorrow you shall all be tightened!

I so enjoyed that suspended state of not knowing who sent it, of believing some supernatural character like Santa Claus to be responsible, so I put off looking for the packaging slip for a good while. But we eventually found it, and I did learn the kind sender. I hope that he is smiling as he reads this. I hope it makes him happy to know that this day his gift created a moment of pure delight and surprise for three people in a tiny country house far from the road. These tools will be a useful part of our homestead for many, many years. Thank you. Really. Thanks, you sweetie, you.

And with that, I am off to sleep happily.