Missing: Big George

 Felix is on my lap. He is scowling. He is tired. He has cried a lot. He is angry at James and Owen. He misses his Big George.

Big George might be somewhere in our house. He might be somewhere at Uncle Oliver's house. No one can find him. Felix had him yesterday, but we couldn't find him last night at bedtime. Felix slept with Owen's George. Owen's George is not the right George.

Then Owen decided he needed his George back this morning. So Felix has been lying on the couch, mostly scowling. He danced with Owen for a bit, but then he remembered about Big George and was sad again.

"Dad, can I have your watch?" 

The answer is no, and this makes Felix inconsolably sad. But he doesn't have Big George to help him feel better.

"Why do you miss Big George, Felix?"

"Because I can't sleep."

"Where do you think he is?"

"At Uncle and Aunt Oliver's."

"Where is he in their house?"

"Somewhere."

"What will you do when you have him back?"

"Sleep." <giggles> "That is far."

Felix is happy again now because he has a sippy cup. It was taken away because he was taking the top off of it and making puddles on purpose. When it was taken away he needed Big George. But Big George wasn't around to help him feel better.

Felix didn't want to sit on the potty this morning without Big George either.

His oatmeal also didn't taste right.

Big George had a bath last week because he was caught outside in the rain. But even after a bath Big George pretty much smells the same now. He has a permanent odor.

Felix spilled some sippy cup on himself, and he is upset again. 

He doesn't want lunch. 

He doesn't want to go to church this evening. 

He says going to Nama and Papa's house would be okay.

But he mostly misses Big George.

Brothers in the Woods

 J took Felix with her to a coffee date, and I had James and Owen done with school a little early.

"Boys, what would you think about riding your bikes to the woods and then going for a run on the trails?"

They both seemed to like the idea. Once we were at the trailhead and I'd already pulled Owen back from bolting down into the woods immediately I gave them some reminders.

"Okay boys, I want to remind you of four things. The first thing is that there is poison ivy growing in these woods, so please stay only on the trail and don't go crashing off into the woods or grabbing at the plants growing on the side. No Owen, I said four things. Please wait to start. The second thing is that we are going to run for over a mile, so PACE yourselves. If you run as fast as you can right at the beginning you're going to be too tired to make it all the way back. The third thing is to remember to watch where you're stepping. There are a lot of tree roots and rocks in the path, and it will hurt if you catch your foot on and trip. The last thing is just to keep in mind that it's a warm, sunny day and that there might be snakes out. They can't hurt you, but I just want to remind you that you may see one so that it doesn't scare you. Okay, are we ready?"

Owen immediately took off running as fast as he could, and within two steps had tripped over a tree root and sprawled into the dirt with howling indignation. James pointed and laughed at him and said, "Well, there's strike one!"

"THAT'S NOT FUNNY, JAMES! HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF YOU TRIPPED AND ALMOST DIED?"

We dusted Owen off and confirmed that he would need a band-aid when he got back. (Not because he was bleeding, but because he just felt like he needed one.) We ran a little bit further and James tripped and fell. Owen pointed and laughed at him, and James answered back in a wounded voice that it wasn't funny and that it really hurt.

Owen talked the entire time that he ran. He talked about which trees we were running by, mostly mispronouncing the types of wood that are used for wandmaking in the Harry Potter books. (Is that a hoilly tree? I think that one is a leendeen!) He commented on a weird name Fang was for a boarhound, and are boarhounds scary? He wanted to know why Mom hadn't noticed that he wasn't scared of bees anymore, and he jumped a mile when he saw a bee. He and James kept their eyes open for snakes and repeatedly crashed off into the brush in search of one, but without luck. James fell again and Owen laughed at him. Owen fell again and James laughed at him.

Owen declared, "I live my life by one simple rule!"

I asked him what his one rule for living was.

"Never hit a bush with a hockey stick!"

Owen got tired out after less than five minutes of running at top speed and lagged for the rest of the (now) walk. He laughed at James when he fell again. He smugly walked past his older brother and declared, "How lucky I am to the be the smartest child!"

They picked up handfuls of dirt from the sandy areas of the path and threw them at each other. They both tattled on the other one for throwing sand when I told them not to.

Owen fell again. "Strike seven!" yelled James, cheerfully.

Owen started to lag further and further behind. "Fine! Leave me here!" he shouted at us as we kept up a steady pace back towards the bikes.

Sometimes he doesn't know how appealing that sounds.

BONUS FELIX STORY:

J was baking something and banging on the side of a bowl with a wooden spoon. We heard it from out in the yard. Felix whipped around and asked, "Is dat a poodwecker?"

BONUS OWEN STORY:

For reasons known only to him, Owen has started barking whenever he is excited. (And he is a very excitable child.) I'm not even sure he can help it. He looks a little embarrassed when it happens, but it definitely does happen whenever he is joyous. "Bark, bark, bark!" he yells. Offer him ice cream the next time you see him, and you can see for yourself.

North And Hillard Exercises (Latin Prose Composition)

A poor soldier was one day leading a mule laden with gold which had been sent to Alexander the Great. The mule was so tired that it could no longer bear the burden, and the soldier was compelled to carry the gold himself. But by chance Alexander himself was following the man, and he admired his kindness so much that he said, "My friend, try to carry the gold home, for I give it all to you."

Miles pauper aliquando mulum oneratum auro quod missum erat ad Alexandrum Magnum ducebat. Mulus tam fessus erat ut non diutus onus ferre posset, et miles aurum ipse portare cogeretur. Sed accidit ut Alexander ipse illum sequebatur, et humanitatem tantum mirabatur ut diceret, "Amice mi,  domum aurum portare conare, nam omne tibi do."

A poor father was one day leading a child laden with poop which would not sit on the toilet. The child was so tired that it could no longer walk, and the father was compelled to carry the child himself. But by chance two other children were following the man, and they so admired his kindness that they said, "Father, we have broken one of your windows and stolen your phone."

Pater pauper aliquando puerulum oneratum stercore quid latrinae insidere nolebat. Puerulus tam fessus erat ut non diutus ambulare posset, et pater infantem ipse portare cogeretur. Sed accidit ut duo alii filii illum sequebantur, et humanitatem tantum mirabantur ut dicerent, "Pater noster, vitra fenestrarum tuarum perfregimus et telephonum gestabile tuum furavimus."

Felix and the Fox

 J was pulling out of the garage with the kids in the van. James suddenly gave a mighty yelp. There was a toy rattling around on the top of the van. (Sometimes it pays to have the sunroof.)

J got out and found, not just the one, but several toys on top of the van. 

Time for a chat.

James, who is honest beyond reproach, denies any involvement. Owen, who lies habitually, pointlessly, and recreationally, also denies it. Despite pushing from J. 

When asked, Felix's eyes get very big. He says, earnestly, "I sink a sox jumped up on the woof and put it there. A big surry sox."

J looks away. She looks back. Felix nods MOST seriously.

Felix, spelling out Apples to Apples words with Aunt Martha. 

"What's this letter?"

"That's a 'S!'"

"Good, and what's the next letter?"

"That's a 'M!'"

"Good, and the next one?"

"This one is a 'A!'"

"Right...and what is--"

"That's a 'eleven.'"

Felix, plunking down a stack of books between James, Owen, and me.

"Read these books to me!"

<Thinking better of his manners while he met with silence.>

"Read these books to me, please."

<Seizing an opportunity to be even more polite.>

"Read these books to me, please, gentlemen."

Owen's Day

 Last Saturday we masked up and took a long walk in Pittsford. The real reason for the trip was replace Owen's broken glasses. (Again. Thank goodness for the warranty on those frames.) We ended up taking a several miles long walk to a bakery since there was lovely weather, and Owen complained the whole time. He complained about rocks in his shoes, about a stuffy nose, about needing water, about James and Felix giving him mean looks, about James and Felix not looking at him, and about not being permitted to go in the bounce house. He basically complained about whatever happened to be in his head at the moment.

Once you understand that Owen loves the sound of his own voice, you have a little more patience for walking next to him for an hour. He just has to process the world out loud. I don't have as much patience for how he needs to process the world by touching it.

He touched old gum stuck on the asphalt. He touched a massive pile of horse poop along the side of the trail. He even stuck his head into a lidded garbage can because "It looked nice and shady."

I also don't understand why all of his words disappeared as soon as he was at the optometrist's. (When asked questions by the doctor he barked like a dog.)

He was plenty talkative to the barista at the bakery. He told her "Excuse, my name is Owen. And this little kid over here is called Felix. Wait, there's more. I have more to tell you. This guy is named James. And those are called Roy and Julie. And do you know what? All of us have the same last name! It's SMITH! I'm going to have a Cookie Monster cupcake and Felix--he's the little guy--is going to have the Elmo cupcake. I don't know what James is going to have yet, but I'll tell you when he makes up his mind. Hey, don't go away, I have more to tell you!"

We were happy to get him home, although less than thrilled when he brought his new "pet centipede" inside. (And then got teary when we told him he couldn't have a pet snake either."

Bonus Owen Story:

Owen: "Daddy, from now on we're going to call Felix 'Eli Manning.' Okay?"

Me: "Okay?"

Owen: "Good."

Me: "Good."

Owen: "I have some news. Eli Manning pooped in his diaper."

Felix had to be brought down to lunch after sobbing inconsolably on his bed for 20 minutes because of a piggy bank fiasco. Our neighbor paid each of the boys $3 to pick up sticks from her yard, and J put Felix's money in a plastic container. Then (this is where she made her big mistake) she wrote his name on the side. 

"YOU SPELLED IT WRONG!!!!" 

He shrieked. He screamed. He sobbed. He made threats. He stormed upstairs.

It was spelled F-E-L-I-X. 

But, as we noticed after, the L and the I were slightly touching. 

Some kids can't stand to have any of their food touching on their plate. Apparently Felix can't stand to have the letters touching in his name. 

In a perfect encapsulation of how school has gone this semester, I had to call James back downstairs to have him correct some of the grammar copywork he'd done. 

Here was one of the sentences:

A sentence is a group of words that begins with a capital letter and ends with a punctuation mark.

James' version:

a sentence is a group of words that begins with a capital letter and ends with a punctuation mark

Clearing the List

 I have a list on my phone notes of potential blog topics. Today I empty that list. 

There are occasional short-term guests (something funny that the kids said or did) that will get written up right away, but today we are dealing will all of the multi-year tenants. These are ideas that I've thought "I should write about this" for years. But then I never do, because it would either involve a lot more research, or it's way too controversial, or I'm not sure what to think about it. 

I'm spring cleaning my phone (goodbye, duplicate pictures of old rehearsal schedules) and this is what's finally going to make it happen.

PRIMING

Priming is the psychological phenomenon (I think I first read about it in Kahneman's Thinking Fast and Slow) whereby one stimulus influences (usually unconsciously) the response to another stimulus. (A classic example is the greater support for propositions to support school funding increases when the polling station is physically located within a school.) Priming is exactly the sort of unconscious and semi-rational thought that steers us without our being aware of it. J and I had a conversation where we reverse engineered an entire morning's worth of conversation and action with the question "in what contexts was this thought/action primed?" And it turns out that everything is primed by something. The effect might be extraordinarily miniscule, but it's there. Then we did the same experiment with a typical worship service flow...

EVERYTHING IS THE FEAR OF DEATH

Drugs are a way of escaping your fear of death. Sex is the ultimate biological insurance against death. Feeling busy (and thereby important) is a compensation for your anxiety about death. The habitual avoidance of restful sleep is a fear of death. My struggle against meaninglessness is a fear of death. Just like everything can be partially explained by priming, so can nearly every human action (especially destructive and irrational ones) be explained by the fear of dying. I think that one of the healthiest things a person can do is to look himself/herself in the mirror and acknowledge, "I am going to die. I am mortal. I am aging, growing weaker, and the time in my hourglass is running out. I don't know what will happen when I die, and I will not know. I do not know when I will die, and I cannot control it." This is why the Ash Wednesday service is (in my opinion), one of the most beautiful moments of the Christian year. We grasp that nettle in hand and are told "From dust you came, and to dust you shall return." It's like taking a swim in cold water. It's horrible, but it reminds you what being alive for this moment really is.

THE BOOK OF JOB

The Hebrew word that we usually translate "God/god" is actually plural...elohim. (Masculine plural hebrew words form the plural with an -im ending, feminine words with a -oth ending.) There are a few obvious sentences in the Psalms where you clearly have to translate the "elohim" as gods, because of the the syntax of the rest of the sentence. Most of the rest of the old testament uses a plural noun but a singular verb. 

There are 58 instances of the singular form of God/god, which is eloah. 42 of these are in the book of Job. 

Why? (Like most questions raised about the book of Job, lack even the beginning of a useful answer.)

ADULTHOOD

The biggest difference between adulthood and young adulthood is that nothing ever happens. Or, rather, almost everything (good or bad) happens in tiny/incremental ways. Sure, every once in awhile there is a 9/11 or a global pandemic. But most of the things that matter most to you are like how you gradually put on 10 lbs over the winter. (Or you work out every day for six months and gradually lose 10 lbs.) Or get slightly better at wrapping gifts. You don't learn six new sonatas every semester like you did when you were in college. You work on one sonata over two years, and you gradually can play it at level 88 instead of level 85. (Or you don't really practice much for two years and then you find out that you can no longer play the sonata at level 85.)

You make sourdough bread over and over again, and each loaf gets 1 percent better.

It's neither a good thing nor a bad thing that life is like this. But it is definitely what your life is now. It's mostly the same thing every day, and as you look back over the sweep of time you see the tiny changes, but you hardly ever notice it in the moment.

TE KALOU KAI KAKOU

Sometimes an idea is conspicuous by its absence. One idea that is conspicuously absent in scripture is the binary division of people/things/ideas into straightforward good and evil. This idea (which is central to the neoplatonism that so profoundly challenged and influenced the church of the 3rd/4th/5th centuries) still has powerful assumed resonances in many pockets of modern Christianity. But where in the Bible can you find any of the authors splitting people into "good people" and "bad people." Or good ideas and bad ideas? There's the parable of the sheep and the goats, but that becomes more complex with cultural and scriptural context. The closest thing you get in philosophical terms (thinking about the theory of forms and ontological goodness/badness) is a one-liner in Hebrews 5. 

GIVING YOUR CHILD A SWORD

I recently re-read the foundational text for our classical education efforts. For one thing, I'd read a strong critique of liberal arts education in general and was working through my own response to that book. For another, we needed some updated recommendations for curricula, since the edition of the book (Well-Trained Mind) that we own is almost thirty years old now.

Here's what I think about teaching a child Latin. It's like training them how to use a sword. Yes, it's a dead language. No, you would never use a sword in actual combat anymore. It's a ceremonial tool, one that's meant to evoke the past and does so with a certain panache. 

But there's more to learning swordsmanship than mere utility. A soldier who has been trained with a sword and is then handed a modern weapon is a more complete soldier than a solider who is handed a modern weapon straight off. Because the use of the sword requires greater sacrifice and discipline. Ultimately the sword is only as useful as the skill of the one who wields it. It is an extension of the soldier's own strength, grace, and courage, not a substitute for them.

A classical education (and learning Latin) is like training a soldier with the sword. The point isn't to train them to speak Latin. The point is to train them learn how to do any task (whether it's engineering, playing the piano, teaching science, or driving a cab) with the diligence, precision, and humility of a classical scholar.

They are learning swordsmanship.

Quotes from the Boys

 Owen, upon being read a story by a babysitter: "Tell you what...why don't you stop reading it, and let me read it. Because I will read it with better expression." 

(The babysitter later confirmed that Owen was correct.)

Felix, upon being told that it was time to leave Nama and Papa's house. "I don't want to go! I will not be a nice guy! I will make bad choices! I will poop in my pants MANY TIMES!"

Owen, coming downstairs well past his bedtime: "Is one of you named Roy Smith? I think you should know that a certain Felix Smith is out of his bed and playing in the sink."

James, upon being told that we were going to swap out his Wheelock for an easier Latin curriculum: "Oh."

When asked if he was sad about this decision: "No."

More to come soon...by the miracles of digital recording I was able to play in Easter morning services at 5 different churches yesterday. That was great, but we are all recovering today...