Talking to Kids About Boston: What Kind of House Will You Build?

We had a blizzard last weekend, dropping almost two feet of snow in just one day. It’s everywhere, thick and sticky – a mess, yes, and too late in the season to actually be welcomed – but it’s great for building. Eva and I decided to explore the architecture of igloos this week for our science study. We spent three afternoons packing snow into a plastic container to make ice bricks, stacking, and packing loose material in between to serve as mortar.

I knew I had to tell her and Ian about Boston, just like I had to tell them about Sandy Hook Elementary earlier in the year. You can’t not tell kids things like that these days; even if you wanted to shield them, they live in the Age of Information. They will hear it from their friends, teachers, or social media. When events like Boston happen, it’s never a matter of if I’m going to talk to the kids about it, but when. I want to be the one who shares troubling information with my children first. I don’t want them to learn about it through rumor and conjecture.

Eva and I were in our snowpants, and she had cleared the floor of the igloo. I was making the snow bricks and handing them over to her. Stack, pack, smooth, pack pack pack. First row done, we moved to the second, spacing the bricks so they overlapped for strength. I bided my time. Pat, pat, pat. “I have something sad to tell you, Eva.” The brightness of the day – the sun, the clarity of the snow, the cold on my cheeks, the activity of the igloo – makes this feel safer. “Uh-oh,” she says. “A couple of bombs went off in Boston yesterday,” I tell her. “A lot of people were injured, and three were killed.”

She listened as I filled in the details for her – about the race, about the timing of the bomb, about the identity of the people who had died. We smoothed in the bricks as I talked, focusing our eyes on the snow and the walls of the progressing house. What kind of house will I help her build here? Once I gave her the basic gist, I told her all the amazing stories of heroism that day. How the runners had kept running to the hospital after they crossed the marathon finish line so they could donate their blood to help the victims of the blasts. How people ran towards the bombings to help instead of fleeing in fear and self-preservation. I told her about the 78-year old first-time marathoner who was knocked over by the shock waves of the bomb just a few feet from the finish line, and how he got back up and walked to its end, refusing to be defeated.

In fact, there were so many positive stories, most of our conversation turned around themes of courage and empathy, and though the event is tragic and frightening, it served as an example of the enormous amount of good in the world. We kept building, and talked about the power of human compassion.

The next day, Ian joined us, helping us make more bricks. The walls were coming along steadily now – we were about half-way up. I checked in with him about his knowledge of Boston. Too late – of course he had already heard about it. But interestingly, he was just as aware of the acts of bravery as I had been. He already knew about the blood donors, about how people ran towards the blast to help. The conversation – again – was more about the beauty in the wreckage than the wreckage itself.

What kind of world will we build together? This story should be told – has to be told. But it’s up to us to choose the perspective of how we will engage with it. Instead of feeling traumatized and hopeless, the kids and I all went away feeling saddened, yes, but also reassured by the immense courage of the people who put their concerns of personal safety aside so they could help folks who needed it. I want my kids to be empowered. I do not want to shelter them from the horrors of the world; instead I want them to know they have the strength to deal with what’s out there, and the ability to turn adversity into a thing of beauty.

Once Eva finished the last block of her igloo, I gave her some spray bottles filled with food coloring, and invited her to decorate her cozy new home. She painted spring flowers on the outside of her house, covered the floor with green “grass,” added a sun to the cone-shaped ceiling. Winter might be firmly in our midst, but spring will, in the end, win out.

Why Spooky is Good for Kids

Spooky books abound at the library!

As a part-time job, I work in the children’s department at the public library. I’ve been there for six years, and my main job is collection development (buying new stuff, tossing old stuff), and connecting kids to books by creating topical displays. My annual favorite displays are the ones I do in October. I look forward to it all year, and pull out a little bit for everyone: scary ghost stories, monster stories, and funny stories about how a kid accidentally turns into a zombie and now has to face middle school looking, well, like a zombie. I put out books about vampires and werewolves, books about the holiday itself, Halloween cookbooks and costuming books, picture books about witches and black cats, and plenty of picture books about being afraid, with tips for kids about how to deal with their fears.

The reason these displays are my favorite is because I can’t keep them full. The books fly off the shelves practically as fast as I put them up there. The kids’ and adults’ enthusiasm for the dark and creepy fascinates me, and I work hard all month digging deeper and deeper into our collection to find relevant gems for them. It’s really exciting for me as a librarian. But why? Why is Halloween the most popular event of the year for my readers? Even my own kids who, with such active imaginations, have been haunted by nightmares and the fear of unseen creepies since they were less than two, love this month.

It all comes down to power. When you’re a kid and you’re laying in bed at night, mind wandering to all the possible bad things that may happen to you (what’s in the closet? what’s under the bed? what if someone broke in the house and got to me before my parents could help?), you’re a victim. Kids feel small and vulnerable in situations like that, and totally unable to protect themselves. How many of you adult readers had bedtime rituals as children to keep you safe from the boogie man? I never EVER let my hands or feet extend past the edge of the mattress, and husband-Jamie always tucked his sheet totally under all sides of him to keep the creepies away. Sheets and mattresses make a poor defense against the undead, but as kids that’s all we have.

Ahhh. But that’s where the power of the spooky story comes in. When kids choose to engage in the creepy, they take control. They are safely exploring the terrifying “what ifs” they so dread at night, and better yet, they are experiencing these stories through characters who are in the end triumphant. Usually. But even in short urban legend formats where there is no hero, the child still has control. She’s choosing the adventure, and can leave at any time.

As part of her biology study, Eva built a 4-foot cardboard model of a human skeleton.

There are other ways of engaging with the spooky than reading books, of course. Halloween crafting and cooking, decorating, dressing up, acting the part of the monster (giving the scares instead of receiving them)…. After finishing our study of the cell in biology, Eva chose to look at the skeletal system, and then the brain – all in honor of the season. All of these activities hand the power of the frightening to the kids who participate. Ian balked at my post title, saying he hates the spooky. But then he had to admit that the thing he was looking forward to most at Halloween is jumping out at teens and adults as they chaperone their kids in trick-or-treating. Taking the power of the scare.

Now of course there is a balance to be struck between the safely scary and the traumatically terrifying. I wouldn’t plop my kid down in front of a Nightmare on Elm Street movie. And sometimes kids will be exposed to things they’re not yet ready for. It would be awesome if we had 100% control of this and could dole out life experiences only as our children were mature enough for them. But we all know life doesn’t work that way. Our just-beyond-ready experience this month was an open mic scary story event at a local artist co-op. Jamie was the featured reader, and we knew that his story was fine. But a couple of high school kids shared their own tales, and weren’t so cognizant of the younger kids in the audience. After a couple of co-sleeping nights to ease lingering fears, we’re back to normal.

Eva’s going as Buffy the Vampire Slayer this Halloween. She admires Buffy for her strength and general bad-assedness.

The world can be a scary place. There are real-life boogie men, natural disasters, climate change, economic crises, wars, disease, over-population, domestic abuse…. We can’t shield our kids from these things forever, and unfortunately it’s sometimes difficult to add enough sugar to make our real-world creepies palatable. But if we can equip our kids with examples of heroes and heroines overcoming frightening adversity, they’ll have a fighting chance. From Harry Potter to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the world of story is there, waiting to show kids how to kick some serious butt, even when they’re flawed and struggling themselves. You can be scared but brave, damaged but unyielding, small but powerful. That’s why spooky is good for kids. Happy Halloween, ya’ll.

PS: If you want some good scary story book recommendations, let me know and I’ll put some together for you!

Confidence Building 101

A lot of people think that because Eva can get up in front of a classroom and speak to kids about her books, she must be a very confident individual. Sometimes this is true. But sometimes, she is playing a part – an actor on a stage – and her on-stage persona can be quite different from how she feels day-to-day.

This isn’t so unusual. We all know (or are) the quiet kid in the class – the one who tends to wait for someone to reach out to him or her. Who is a “good” student, because they don’t want to rock the boat or draw attention to themselves. For all of Eva’s past public speaking, she’s not a fan of being the center of attention, and though like all people she desires meaningful friendships, it takes a lot out of her to approach a kid and start a conversation.

This lack of confidence has been building on itself ever since our relocation last summer. We bought a cute little house with an unfinished attic that will be renovated into an art studio for me and Eva. But contractors are backed up, and we’ve had to wait our turn. As a result, most of Eva’s art supplies have been boxed up in the garage since last spring. This has weighed heavily on her, as creating art is her safe space – if she’s without direction in her day, she always migrates to her art area and makes something. After several months of not being able to do this, she is finding herself adrift and unsure.

Not to worry, because construction begins in about a month, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel. But in the meantime, I decided to address her confidence issues head-on. I created a class in her homeschool day that I called “Confidence Building.” We began by watching a fabulous TED talk (included at the end of this post) about bio-feedback. The talk is amazing, and you should definitely take the time to watch it, but one of the things that stood out for us the most in it was the study they did with two different groups of people. They took a saliva sample from each group before and after the test to monitor two hormones: one that tends to give a person confidence and one that takes away a person’s ability to cope calmly with stress. Group A was told to take “power poses;” in these poses the participants took up increased space in various ways: standing tall, arms back or stretched out, legs spread out, etc. Group B was told to do the opposite: these participants were told to hunch down, cross their arms and/or legs, droop the head – in short take the pose one takes when they’re feeling small and unsure.

The participants held these poses for only 2 minutes. And the results were astonishing. The power posers had an increase in the confidence-boosting hormone and a decrease in their stress hormone. The small-space posers had a decrease in their confidence-boosting hormone and an increase in their stress hormone. After only two minutes!

Eva POWER POSING!

Eva and I began our work by discussing the implications of the talk. We then began a daily exercise in which we do power poses. We stand on couches (a normal no-no), and stretch our bodies wide and talk as loudly as we can. We raise our eyebrows and widen our eyes. We yell at the top of our voices that we are confident and strong, that we have wonderful imaginations, that we are EPIC. Holy cow, folks – this is powerful stuff. It’s like a shot of caffeine and adrenaline mixed together. The difference I’ve seen in Eva just after one week of this exercise is dramatic. And heck, I’ll admit it: the difference in my own attitude has also been dramatic. I feel better.

I am working on other parts of our confidence training in addition to this exercise. Some of it is personal imagery: I ask Eva what kind of person she wants to be – not just what she does, but how she feels and interacts day-to-day. The more she imagines this strong part of herself, the more she’s able to grasp it. We’ve talked about our diet, and are trying to move away from all the starches and carbs and more towards fruits and veggies and nuts. We’ve talked about the importance of exercise, and have begun taking long brisk walks through town. And we’ve analyzed traits she admires of her favorite fictional characters (especially Harry Potter characters). Luna Lovegood is her favorite, primarily because she’s so unique and doesn’t really care what people think of her. I’m also trying to give her books with kick-butt female characters in them.

This Thursday and Friday Eva will once again be in front of the public. She’ll have a booth at the North Dakota Educators Conference in Fargo, ND, promoting her books, writing videos, and classroom presentations. She plans to power pose in the bathroom before the event begins.

 

Some days you just have to catch the mouse.

I got this image from the web. But it looks very much like our resident mice.

Well, Halloween has come and gone, but we at Casa Ridenhour are not done with facing fears. Today, it was all about me.

We live in the country a bit, and every year at this time the field mice get cold out there in the North Dakota elements, and they decide to relocate into our warm, comfy house. It is an annual dance, and each team wins individual turns in the ongoing game. Over the years, we’ve developed quite the arsenal of traps; our preference is the black trap that catches the little boogers and keeps them alive; we then drive about a mile away before we release them. Peanut butter is the best bait. They’ve won several battles too of course, chewing up expensive wiring in our cars (it’s going back in the shop tomorrow), leaving mouse dropping on the silverware, and freaking me out from time to time as they run across the floor.

Which brings me to today. Let me set the scene: I am upstairs working with Ian on a math portion of the SAT practice test. Eva is downstairs working happily on her Lego robotics kit. We had already emptied one trap that morning at the end of the road, so mice are on our minds. But as the mice are nocturnal, it’s not usually an issue we worry about during the school day.

This day is not a normal school day, however. And Eva’s voice cuts through my math elucidation: “THERE’S A MOUSE! THERE’S A MOUSE! COME HERE!” Not really what I want to hear. I think they’re adorable, really, it’s just that I don’t like them in my home. They’re too fast, and I know in my heart that one of them one day is going to run up my pant leg before I can do anything about it, just like in the movies. This certainty gives me the tendency to scream just a little when mice make their way into my life. The kids think my behavior is hilarious and annoying in turns.

Anyway, Ian and I sprint downstairs, just in time to see a little gray back end scoot under the computer desk. What the heck am I going to do now? I can’t just leave it there, because he’s clearly not going to stay there all day. I run for two of our live traps and set them up on either side of the computer desk, knowing full well that there is no way that plan is going to work. And of course it doesn’t. After a minute or two, the mouse zips neatly around a trap and jumps into the patio door track. Then it sits back on his little haunches, picks up some invisible piece of food, and starts eating. We’re all yelling and jumping up and down and stuff, and he’s just eating, twitching his cute little whiskers as he nibbles.

He’s so calm that we all get very close to watch him. We can’t catch him – he’s safely down in the door track – but he’s right there, just eating away, and occasionally looking up at us with his big dark eyes. I should clarify that I am perched up on three stacked stools. But I am still very close. It is a sweet moment, and I admit once again that they really are adorable, and there is nothing to be afraid of.

Of course it is not to last. Eventually, he finishes his snack, and humans or no, decides it is time to mosey. And when I say mosey, I mean he leaps out of the track with amazing power and sprints between us and across the room with blinding speed. The yelling and jumping recommence. By this time I have retrieved a large glass mixing bowl. I run (at a safe distance) behind the mouse, hollering at it for some reason. I have no idea what I am saying. It dashes behind the sewing machine and nestles into some scrap fabric. I make my 11 year old son flush it out (I get the Mom of the Year Award, I know). The mouse zooms out again, and as I am ridiculously far from it, I again dash along behind.

And then I do it. I pounce. I become an actual mouser. I think that everything actually slows down (again, like the movies), and I fly through the air in a glorious arch. My hair is certainly flowing. And then I come down, bowl in hands, and catch it. I don’t even hurt it! The little guy is about an inch from the heater room door, where it would have found safety. But I did it! I acted! And now I have a mouse under a glass bowl. Great.

The kids and I are giggling so hard by now, we’re in tears. I fish around and find a piece of flat plastic that I slide under the bowl. But I don’t trust the bowl and plastic to remain as one while we drive it to Mouse Drop-Off Point. I need Tupperware. The only thing I can find big enough to accommodate our trap is a tub 3 feet long, 2 feet deep, and 2 feet wide. It’s huge. But it works. I place the trap gingerly inside (Mousie is upset now, leaping up and bumping his little head against his ceiling), and then I carry the ginormous contraption to the car.

And then I think (and this is where you will laugh at me), “but there is a snowstorm predicted for this weekend, and what is this poor little mouse going to do for food, since it’s larder is obviously in my home?” So I do what any sane person would do and grab a jar of birdseed. We all 4 take off for the end of the road. We carefully pile the birdseed next to Mouse Drop-Off Point, and then open up the plastic box. He is still fine. Ian takes the bowl (I suddenly find something I have to take care of in the car – remember, this is the point where the mouse will run up my pant leg if I’m not careful), and Eva tips Mousie out of the box. He burrows down in the grass. I get back out of the car now that the coast is clear, and make a trail of birdseed from the pile to the hidden mouse. I’m that sweet.

And that was school today. It took about an hour. We called it Biology.