my waldorf guilt

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pokemon revisited

November 25, 2008 in creativity, learning, my waldorf guilt | 4 comments

When Henry was six or seven (could it really have been nearly ten years ago?) he was obsessed with Pokemon. Obsessed. He studied the cards constantly, memorized them and then followed me around, asking questions like, “Did you know that Metapod has more hit points than Bulbasaur?” or “Did you know that Tentacruel’s ability is liquid ooze?” (These days when Henry complains about Theo nattering on, telling his imaginary stories, I remind him of his Pokemon days. I don’t think he quite believes that he actually talked like that.)

Of course, as a homeschooling mama I am nothing if not resourceful, so I capitalized on Henry’s obsession. I wrote down his Pokemon stories, helped him make Pokemon books, invented Pokemon word problems with him. By the time Henry finally moved on from that obsession to baseball cards over a year later, I was so tired of Pikachu and all his friends that I was happy to dismiss them from my brain forever.

So imagine my horror at our last homeschooling park day, when I saw Theo sitting with another seven-year-old and his collection of Pokemon cards, studying them for over an hour. Heaven help me, I thought, here we go again…

I was sure Theo would want to rush home and dig out his brother’s thick-as-the-Oxford-English-Dictionary binder of Pokemon cards. But no. Mr. T is not his brother. He doesn’t have a fascination with statistics, nor a mindset that borders on obsessive. He doesn’t even like to follow game rules. What intrigued him wasn’t the Pokemon game itself but the idea of a multitude of imaginary characters. Characters that can evolve into other characters. When I mentioned that Henry once made up his own Pokemon-style characters and cards, which he called Zamblasto cards, Mr. T’s eyes lit up like they’d been sparked by Pikachu’s thunderbolt tail.

He quickly spread himself and his supplies across the kitchen table and began drawing his own characters and their evolutions.

mr t's own private pokemon

He made up abilities for them, and asked me to write them down. Check them out.

check out those abilities

I especially like Surprising Scare in Dark Cave and Crack Open Balls of Power. Sort of like manga meets haiku.

One of my favorite parts of watching Theo draw is witnessing how it’s a process of animating his own imagination. Bringing it to life. He narrates the characters’ words as he draws, then has them interact, with lots of action and sound effects. Sometimes the scene gets so exciting that his very pencil comes to life, and starts zooming through the air, with plenty of “pshoo, pshoo” mouth noises.

even his pencil is a character

Which all brings me back to the idea that sometimes my kids’ most banal interests can spark their best creativity. Which reminds me not to cave so quickly to my Waldorf guilt, and dismiss Bulbasaur, Mario and Luigi and all their compatriots. If that’s what fascinates my kids, so be it. Rather than pretending those characters don’t exist, I can realize their power in my kids’ minds–and I can put my arm around them and try to introduce them to my kids’ creative brains.

Even if it means I’m going to be regaled with hours and hours of stories about characters with abilities like Cannon Do-Dow, Honk-n-Zap and Haunted House Evil Liquid.

kicking my waldorf guilt in the butt

November 2, 2008 in books, creativity, makin' stuff, my waldorf guilt | 4 comments

I bought this book to allay my Waldorf guilt.

I wanted to be sure I was doing crafty, Waldorf-y activities with my little guy before he gets too big. (And if you read my last post, you know how sentimental I am about that.) 

See all those little tabs sticking out of the book? Those are my Best Intentions, displayed in purple Post-It.

There are so many lovely ideas in this book. (And also on SouleMama, Amanda’s blog, which is not news to anyone who follows crafty, mama-written blogs.) One of my favorites was the idea of embroidering your child’s art. I was enchanted with the idea of capturing some of Mr. T’s hand-drawn characters in embroidery.

But. My craft quota is down, so down these days. I used to sew Halloween costumes on occasion, and curtains, and even a quilt or two. But as the kids have gotten older, life has gotten busier. I do a fair amount of knitting because it’s portable and something one can do in five minutes here, five minutes there. But sewing? Embroidery? My needles are dusty.

But I was determined to get to this embroidery project, before I had a kid who was too old to want his art embroidered. (I didn’t want it to be like the Magic Cabin doll I always meant to sew for Lily. I guess there are always grandchildren…)

But guess what? I did it! In time for Mr. T’s birthday even!

Those two creatures are Scritch and Scratch, two children-turned-wolves who popped out of Theo’s imagination and have been starring in his dictated stories for months now. They were simple creatures to embroider, made up as they are of mostly straight lines.

It was easy, really: I traced Theo’s drawing on tracing paper with an iron-on pencil. I transferred the image to a piece of linen and embroidered it. I reinforced the patch with Therm O Web HeatnBond (but not the portion that would get stitched to the shirt; apparently stitching through this product isn’t recommended.) I ironed the patch to the shirt, and then stitched it on with my sewing machine, using a satin stitch. (Which is nothing more than a very narrow zigzag.)

I was going for the look of those Boden applique Tee’s that Theo loves–but which I only buy on sale, since they’re so expensive. But this one was much more of a bargain: it didn’t cost much more than the $7.50 baseball Tee from Old Navy, plus a few evenings of secret embroidery in the rocking chair.

And this one means so much more–it’s Theo’s art brought to life, and Mama’s guilt brought to rest. For now, at least.  And yes, when he looked in the gift bag on his birthday and saw his wolves, I got one big smile.

Take that, Waldorf guilt!

all my waldorf guilt, part 2

July 28, 2008 in my waldorf guilt | No comments

One of Theo’s many wii thoughts for today:

“I’m making up my own wii game. It’s a maze game, and it’s in first-person. Wait. Is first-person when you see with the character’s eyes?”

Not bad for a six-year-old. But that’s my boy. Managing to temper the wii talk with a little literary point-of-view so his mama doesn’t feel so guilty. Next time he makes up a game for the wii, maybe I’ll ask him to consider third-person omniscient.

all my waldorf guilt

July 24, 2008 in my waldorf guilt | No comments

I post this photo of our sunflower-house-in-progress* to mollify My Waldorf Guilt.

Long ago–so long ago–when Henry was a bald baby with a big head, I read about Waldorf. There were so many things I loved about Waldorf education–the focus on play, and handiwork, and the ebb and flow of the seasons. The way it values the imagination. As a former public school teacher, I had questions too–methods of learning for older kids seemed somewhat unprogressive; technology seemed to have no place in the curriculum.

As I made our home a learning place when the kids were young, I included lots of Waldorf-ish things–wooden toys, instruments, garden tools, book with fairies and princes, and copious, copious craft supplies. But somehow other things managed to sneak in through the backdoor, things like computers and (shudder) gaming systems. 

And that’s when this little creature I call My Waldorf Guilt began to sit on my shoulder and taunt me, to whisper how much I have failed.

Lots of items call forth My Waldorf Guilt. The storytelling book in the hallway that I was sure would transform me into a great storyteller—though I have yet to tell my kids a single story. The wooden kitchen that gathers dust in Theo’s room, the one that once found its way into so many of Henry and Lily’s games, but sits waiting for me to “play restaurant” with my boy. The space on the counter that would be such a lovely place to display seasonal treasures—but instead has become a repository for laptops and iPods and all their requisite cords.

The computers have been an issue since Henry was three and my parents bought him a Richard Scarry computer game. Henry would gladly have spent hours maneuvering Huckle around Busytown if I would have let him. But I didn’t let him. I went on to spend years monitoring his computer use—trying to limit the time spent in passive entertainment, to give free reign when the computer was used as a tool. My Waldorf Guilt nagged at me when he played too much Age of Empires; I told it to shut up when Henry used the computer to write stories, to record music, to make movies.

Almost all Henry’s creativity is connected to the computer these days. He’s taught himself to podcast, to record soundtracks for his films, to use professional film editing software. I’m glad I listened when he argued for more computer time; sometimes kids know what they need.

But I’m sure kids don’t need gaming systems. I’ve stayed stubborn on that one for years. But this past spring the kids wore me down after they played on a Wii at a neighbor’s house. They needed one. They would pay for it themselves, they insisted. They would be moving when they played, instead of sitting at a computer! It would be a fun thing for the family to do together! Something Henry could do with his brother, ten years younger! And knowing their mother, they promised to monitor their time.

I caved. And My Waldorf Guilt screamed in my ear.

I’m not so concerned about the Wii for my sixteen and twelve-year-old. But having my six-year-old grow up with a gaming system puts My Waldorf Guilt on overdrive.

Still, I want to listen to my kids. If they’re willing to work with me and all my limits, I need to work with them.

And the Wii hasn’t been so bad. After an initial week or so of gorging on gaming, their play has been reasonable. But the one thing that still gets My Waldorf Guilt hollering is that the stories Theo tells are now filled with characters named Mario and Luigi.

Sigh.

I argue back at My Waldorf Guilt, taking on the role that Henry’s always taken with me: Theo’s characters may be named Mario and Luigi, but the stories are all Theo’s. Pure, unrestrained, stream-of-conciousness imagination. And quite honestly, the stories themselves would no different, even if the characters had Waldorf-y names, like Little Pip Acorn or King Beetle-Tamer.

Oh, My Waldorf Guilt. Surely the saga will continue.

 

* The sunflower house is “built” by planting sunflower seeds in a rectangle–don’t forget to leave a door! At the same time, sow morning glory seeds around the sunflower perimeter. As the plants grow, thin the sunflowers to about 2 feet apart. The sunflowers will grow up; the morning glories will wrap around them. When the sunflowers are near maturity and the vines are reaching their heads, wind twine back and forth, from one sunflower head to another, spider web-style, and form a roof. The morning glories should crawl across the twine, forming a glorious roof of green and morning-glory-violet. I’ll post photos if ours works. Here’s where we learned how to do it.