Graduation

So, I graduated from my MFA program Saturday night, and it was pretty incredible.

I remember at my first residency, watching the graduating students file into the auditorium in their black gowns. At that moment it hit me, "I'm getting a masters degree!" Because somehow, through the application process, the writing and reading in preparation for residency, the applying for financial aid, the packing and moving into a hotel for ten days, the sitting through nine-tenths of the presentations and workshops and readings, it hadn't quite sunk in that what I was doing was real. Serious. And then I knew, that would be me someday in the black gown.

Last week's residency was the best one yet (not counting Ireland, of course, which doesn't really compare). There were no workshops, there were no evaluation forms to worry about filling out, I got to spend a lot more time than usual with people in my class, getting to know and love them a lot better. I also stretched myself in new and surprising ways:

First, I gave a one-hour presentation on figurative language. While I've never felt called to teach, I found that I really enjoyed preparing for and giving the presentation and it seemed to go over well with my audience.

Next, I read one of my stories to a packed roomful of students. Although I have been practicing reading my own work in the public speaking club I attend, this reading, before actual writers, and following on the heels of two really incredible readings, had me nervous and shaking, but after it was over, I got lovely feedback from my friends and even a few students I didn't know.

Finally, I gave one of the student commencement speeches. It took me a long time to write the speech. Or, actually, it took me a long time to not write the speech before I finally sat down late Wednesday night (yes, three nights before graduation) and wrote up something I was happy with. It seemed to go over well, too. I was super nervous before going up on stage (I clapped extra-long for things preceding my speech in hopes of prolonging the time before I would speak), but once I was up there, looking out on the familiar faces of my fellow graduates, the faculty, and my family (all three boys slumped and curled in their seats like they'd been held in the auditorium for a month rather than twenty minutes), and especially after I made one certain faculty member laugh really hard at one of my jokes, all nervousness dissipated and I just had a good time giving it.

Now I'm feeling a bit nervous about what comes next: submitting my stories. Finding the inspiration and motivation to write new stories. Keeping the momentum going and creating a writing life. But stepping into that unknown space turns out to feel good, once the anxiety subsides. So here goes...

Double Jinx

M and his buddy C had another performance this past weekend. It was at a multi-band show that was, unfortunately, poorly attended, but included some pretty sweet sound equipment, lights, and even a fog machine that gave the place that seedy bar feel.

A couple of members of the band that came before them tag-teamed on playing drums for the boys, since they have yet to find a drummer for their band. They played some of their standards--"Smells Like Teen Spirit," "Black Blood" (a Double Jinx original), "Blitzkrieg Bop"--and added in a few that I hadn't heard them play all the way through yet (some that, perhaps, I'd never heard all the way through even on the radio, which didn't stop "Enter Sandman" from running through my mind when I lay wide-awake at four in the morning Sunday night...and no, I did not appreciate the irony).

Every time they play, I'm just astounded by their confidence, poise, and skill. The two of them get together almost every Saturday and learn and practice songs, some of which they have worked on with their teachers, some of which they figure out on their own, and some they write from scratch. It's the ultimate in self-directed learning. Since the beginning of the school year, I had been fretting that middle school wasn't really challenging M, but now I see that it's really a gift for him to have the time free of homework to focus on something he's really passionate about.

After Double Jinx finished their set, we stayed and watched the really loud band that came after (don't worry, he has earplugs on under that hat). Watching M onstage in his hunter orange cap reminded me of this:

He wore that fuzzy orange hat for three winters straight--indoors and out. Despite the hat, I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around those two boys being the same person. How did we get here from there? And will I be looking back at that boy on stage one day, wondering how he got to be the man he will become all too soon?

Back to School

The boys started back to school today.

I think we were all in deep denial about it until the moment the bus trundled up.

C and I were marveling about all the people who say "I can't wait until the kids are back in school."

School means a whole lot more work for us--racing around to get everyone ready and out the door in the morning, making lunches (please don't suggest I have the kids make their own lunches; everyone knows it's ten times more trouble to make a kids do something than just do it yourself), helping with/nagging about homework, parent-teacher conferences, soccer practices, PTA begging, etc., etc. You get the idea.

Plus, school means that summer is over, and fall and winter are inevitable, and I'm so not ready for that.

E and Z decided last week that they were going to homeschool themselves. What will you do for math? I asked. "Legos!" E said. "The mathematics of nature!" Z said. What will you do for science? "Legos!" "Nature!" What will you do for art? "Legos!" "Draw pictures!" What will you do for PE? "Run around outside!" What will you do for lunch? "PB&J!" "Hummus sandwiches!"

They had it all figured out. They almost had me convinced.

But in the end, they got on the bus. 

Reading

M was an early reader. Not to fail to give his preschool and kindergarten teachers credit, but he just seemed to take it up rather magically. In fact, he learned to write when he was four, before he could read, by sounding out words, and shouting to me from the deck where he sat drawing thousands of pictures while I sat inside nursing thousands of babies--okay, maybe it was just two babies, but they may as well have been thousands--"what does an 'h' look like? What makes a "fff" sound? And then one day he was reading. And then second grade came along, with the Reading Log, and suddenly he had to read every day, and that was pretty much the end of me reading to him, until I started to read the Little House books to E and Z and he would listen in (and then he really stuck around when C and I read them the Harry Potter books the first time around).

Ever since, I have thought of it as the Tyranny of the Reading Log, because it not only meant an end of the lovely time reading to my boy, but it was also the beginning of a four-year battle to get him to keep track of his reading. The whole thing always seemed completely stupid to me, because M has never needed external motivation to get him to read. Most of the time, we have to make him stop reading so that he'll sleep or do some other necessary activity. He's always, as a matter of course, read far more than necessary for the log, but he's never once been bothered to check the time before and after he starts reading and writing it down, so every Friday morning it was a struggle and tearful battle to get him to try to remember (or make up) what he read and for how long on which day. I cannot tell you how thrilled I was to learn that sixth grade meant no more Reading Log.

And then E and Z, who are now in second grade, brought home Reading Logs. Ahhhhhh!!!

But, here's the thing. They are not natural-born readers. They went into second grade reading at about the same level that M did going into kindergarten. I've been (mostly) totally fine with that, knowing all kids develop at different levels, and that I was a later reader which has in no way affected my life. But, when they started the reading log, they started to get excited about reading. They check the clock before and after they read. They write down their books and their minutes. They have been caught getting up very early in the morning to read more. It turns out that perhaps this kind of external motivation works for them (for now) and is helping them get over whatever reluctance they have shown toward reading in the past. I still wish the teachers could have shown a little more flexibility when putting this requirement before someone who clearly did not need such motivation (page numbers! if they had just let him record page numbers instead of minutes life would have been so much happier). For now I will drop my own bad attitude toward the Reading Log, but I won't let it stop me from reading to my kids this time around.