At thirteen I started to ride the subway alone. Thirteen was when I put away my Matchbox cars and picked up Rolling Stone. It was after-school peanut butter cups and cream soda from the deli on Bond Street. At thirteen I got to try a little of dad's beer, and at thirteen I swore I'd never drink that godawful stuff. Thirteen was tremulous fear and quaking desire. Thirteen was when childhood faded into the mist, and the future beckoned slyly from the car.
I remember thirteen well, but now I see it for what it really is:
Thirteen is the time of angels.
Happy birthday, my mad, bad, sad, brilliant beautiful man.
We went to an open house at the Voyagers Homeschooling Co-op in Acton. One of the activities was an invention workshop, where they were building bridges out of spaghetti noodles.
Final tally for Morgan's bridge:
* 7.4 reams of paper
* 387 #2 pencils
* 36 colored pencils,
* 30 large Crayola markers
* 100 small Crayola markers
* five glue sticks
* and six quarts of milk.
Conversation with Quinn during down time at Arisia '11, taking a break from walking around the dealers' room with his brother:
Q: "What's this?" (holds up a Fox Trot panel featuring Jason's math homework)
Me: "It means 'the square root of 9.'"
Q: "What's that?"
Me: "It's the number that makes 9 if you multiply it by itself. So in this case it's three. See, three times three is nine."
Q: "Well, that doesn't sound so hard."
Me: "Maybe not in this case. But it can be tricky. Like, what's the square root of 81? See? There isn't a really easy way to figure that out except by trial and error."
Q: "Isn't that just 9?"
Me: "Quinn, how did you figure that out?"
Q (exasperated): "I don't know! I just thought of nine because nine times nine is 81!"
Me: "You just remembered that nine times nine is 81."
Next stop: the Steampunk World's Fair in May, I think.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.
Today I'm struck by the way my kids desire to be with me and do things with me.
This ain't small potatoes. Morgan, at 12, is right on the edge of figuring out what dorks his parents are, and once he does, I figure that's going to be game over until he's 35 or so.
It hasn't happened yet, and that's continually fascinating and rewarding for me. He calls to find out when I'll be home from work, and whether it's okay with me for him to watch Doctor Who without me. We play Dungeons and Dragons together every week with friends, and he's decided he wants to start a second campaign with me because he's not getting enough of it. I read to both of them at bedtime every night, and Morgan always wants me to start earlier and read more.
I have to remind myself that any day now, he's going to go all angsty and emo and will be hopelessly nonplussed by my complete uncoolness. For now, I'm just going to live in the moment. My kid still thinks I'm awesome. How great is that?