Birth Day

Yesterday, I turned 31. Wow! My mum gave birth to me when she was 31. Actually, her birthday is on the 22nd, so she was only 31 for a few days before I arrived. I called her yesterday and she said, "Well Yolande, I guess we have come full-circle." No Mum, not quite yet, I hope. 

My birthday day was a bit of a cluster of misfortune, as I fell on the ice the day before quite badly, and then later that day (the 27th), I slashed two fingers on my hand with broken pottery (I was holding a bowl, Treva flailed, and somehow I got mangled). So I went to work on the day of, limping and with my paw in bandages, but I managed not to talk too much about how sorry I felt for myself, and I think being forced to walk up and down stairs and to bend up and down putting books away was actually a good thing, because my leg feels a bit better today. My hand, on the other hand, is bad, and I won't be able to play the piano properly for a little while (although I am quite adept at re-arranging fingering configurations on the fly--who needs those third and fourth fingers, anyway?).  I probably should have gotten stitches, but as you probably know, I'm not really into the whole hospital scene, and I'm sure it will all be fine.  Oh dear. I also didn't tell anyone at work that it was my birthday. I've only been at the library for a couple of weeks now, and I felt as though not sharing was the grown up thing to do. Now that I'm all grown up, of course. That, and birthdays always stress me out--it's not about getting old...so I don't really know what it is, but there you go.  I take full responsibility for whatever psychological issues caused me to fall and try to cut my own hand off...One of the essential life lessons I have learned in 31 years:  No, there are no accidents.  And Yes, it is my fault, and not yours, cruel world.  

When I got home from work, the kids were already asleep which made me sad, but I did receive a beautiful card from Horus, and Lee and the kids trekked around Fredericton and found a gorgeous piece of Turquoise from Arizona, a hunk of Lapis Lazuli, a lovely square crystal (chosen by Horus), and two rough rubies and emeralds. Jewels! Lee also bought me the latest Ceramics Monthly, a large rectangular canvas (I am working on a series of new oil paintings! yay!) and a six-pack of fake beer, which was kind of a joke. I did drink one--I kind of like it, which is hugely declasse and embarrasing, I know, and probably not something I should be sharing here...secrets and revelations, whoa. 

Today, Horus and Treva, and Curly and Snowy and Oscar (the cat) and I went on a fantastic nature walk in the glorious sun, and because we have a little bit of snow on the ground (finally!), Horus got to wear the snowshoes that my Dad sent for Xmas, and he trekked just like a pro, and I couldn't help but reminisce about living in Knowlesville and our nature walks there, and the way Horus would run as fast as his little legs could carry him over to T. and L.'s house to slip his feet into L. and M.'s snowshoes which were so big and awkward and non-functional for him then...and now he's a big boy, jogging surefootedly over the tundra (ok, not quite tundra). I am so proud of him. And I think I have neglected to mention here that he is reading now--as in really, fully, and completely, reading words. He's not speedy or totally adept yet, but he is able to sound words out phonetically, and when we are out and about in the world, he has been pointing out street signs and signage in general, with an almost-sense of surprise that he himself can decipher these hitherto mysterious symbols. While there are so many countless areas of parenting in which I feel delinquent and lesser-than, literacy is not one of them. I know many parents believe that delaying reading instruction is a good thing, but I am just so thrilled that Horus is learning to read in a way that feels, for him, like a natural extension of his knowledge and curiosity about the world. In fact, I truly believe that most kids could learn to read this way, and that all it really takes are parents who read to them constantly...and who forego the screen in favour of the book. 

But maybe this isn't all. Reading to one's kids is important, but I think also the way in which we read to our children makes a big difference. I have always had a cornucopia of books of various levels on hand--partly because Treva is interested too, and she needs some simpler material to break up the barrage of the more advanced stuff that Horus is into, but also because when we are looking at the simpler texts, I quietly and without fanfare encourage Horus to sound the words out, and we read together. We also parse everything we read, extensively--usually each page. Hm. How do you think this or that character felt about *that*? or Gee, I don't know if I would want this to happen to me! We discuss every motivation and each outcome, and I realize that this functions like an early form of narration, and is the foundation and pre-cursor to becoming a good writer, essayist, thinker. At this point, as Horus is on the cusp of running with all of this, I have been thinking about doing a couple of lessons a day from Siegfried Engelmann's fantastic book "Teach Your Child To Read in 100 Easy Lessons", which is, in my opinion, the urtext of reading instruction. Actually, my mum worked with in Vancouver in the 70s, whose ideas at that time around the ability of ANY child to learn to read given the right context, were considered quite radical. My mother worked with children with autism and down's syndrome and used Engelmann's program to great effect. 

Reading material is an interesting one. So many newer children's titles--especially the early readers--are based on content, themes, or philosophies which I'm really not terribly fond of. But as Horus gets older, I am able to be more flexible. He really loves the Geronimo Stilton series, which I don't adore as much, because behind the flashy colours and formatting, the storylines are rather thin and without a strong moral backbone. Horus also loves Tintin and Asterix, which are essentially, inappropriate, but which I allow nonetheless, because of course, I love them, and it could be worse. Also, I think most of my knowledge of world history was gleaned from Asterix. Hm. This is maybe not good. Anyway. We have found some treasures in the library early reading sections: readers published in the 50s and 60s which feature animal children and a strong parental figure who allows the children to explore and almost get into trouble...and then mother or father swoop in, calmly and lovingly saving the day, and reinforcing the importance of home, hearth and family. 

Well, anyway. The kids are asleep now, and I am sitting in front of the fire, and I'm 31, and I'm ok. I hope you're ok, too. yo