This Story Has no Clever Name (by Benja Kennedy, age 15)

Benja is taking a creative writing class right now.  With all my recent reading of Harry Potter aloud, Benja has appointed me his official "reader".  Lotta and Zibbi liked his first story so much, they asked for another one, which I have included below for your reading pleasure.  Just to drop this story into our family's history, Benja started kindergarten around 2 weeks after Lotta was born, months before Ellie would pass.  Certainly a unique time, punctuated by great change.  

I did not like kindergarten. I despised it, in fact. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced in my life. 

Now the first day was alright, a bit fun, I might have admitted. Of course, I didn't know school was mandatory at this point. Every class or daycare Mother had ever tried enrolling me in resulted in me leaving either halfway through or completing one day and then never returning. I expected this to be the case with kindergarten, an event I had the option of attending. 

Oh, how I was wrong, so very, very wrong. I had assumed the first day was a trial, and if I didn't like it, I would have the option to never return and get on with my life. It was a simple system, you didn't need to be a genius to come up with it. So, when I returned home, mother and father both inquired about my day. 

I said I had enjoyed myself. Ya know, the standard response to get the parents off your back. But this was when I began to grow concerned. 

Now, ordinarily, my parents would not be too interested in my day's adventure, and I liked it that way.  My parents’ aura of interest really freaked me out. This was highly irregular behaviour. 

My suspicions deepened the following morning, when my father woke me from my slumber at an outrageous time. Yes, I liked to get up early, by that was when I could get up of my own accord, not when some fool shook me awake. I was forced to get up in the cold and quickly dress, hastily eat a dry breakfast and get into the car, with the strange man I called Dad. Mother insisted it was okay, but, come on woman, I only knew this guy for five years. And it is common knowledge to never go with a stranger to a second location. 

My concern grew ever deeper when we arrived at the school I attended the day prior. Um, this was extremely weird. In so few words, I basically told my father the following: "Yikes. Yeah, dad, this is a bit awkward, but I thought you knew this already, but, I only go to these things once. You, see I don't really 'go' places, I would much prefer to go home to the safety of Mother. I really hope you can get refunded for this. Who am I kidding? we don't need the money, we're rich. Let's just call this whole affair 'charity' and let's get on with life, huh? what d'ya say to that big guy?." 

Now I put that with much less tact and elegance, but the general sentiment is there. I was filled with great shock and anguish when my father flat out ignored my pleas to return home. 

In fact, he made me get on my backpack. "Father, Uhm, I thought we just talked about this, I am NOT going to that place. Why would I need this backpack of things if we're going in and out? We're here just to tell the staff I am not returning, right Father? right, Father? Father? Father what are you doing? No, Father, this isn't right, this isn't NATURAL! I DEMAND TO SPEAK WITH MY ATTORNEY GENERAL, FARTHER??? YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO CALL YOURSELF MY GUARDIAN AND YET YOU OUTRIGHT REFUSE TO 'GUARD' ME FROM UNPLEASANTNESS." Again, I didn't say that. I was five, but hyperbole is one of my favourite writing tools, so I shall use it as amply as I like. 

And who are you to say what writing tools I can and cannot use, huh? oh, I hear you complaining "oh, hyperbole detracts from the overall legitimacy of the story, blah blah blah,". NO, it DOESN'T, Barbra. 

Anyhow, I digress. I apologise for lashing out at you, reader. I suppose writing about this truly traumatic experience is causing some deeply animalistic animosity that festers deep inside to resurface. 

Yes, so father brought me to the classroom. This is where I truly broke down, bawling my little heart out for my disdain for school, complaining that I had a killer stomach ache. 

Father, bent down on one knee asked if I actually felt sick. Finally I thought to myself we’re getting somewhere. I nodded bleakly, stating I had never felt so much pain ever, I might even be allergic to something in this building, perhaps to school itself, as a concept. 

If I remember correctly, he eventually caved and begrudgingly took me home to a very concerned mother. Her one weakness was child sadness. 

I went over to coloring a picture at the dining room table until father had left and mother sat across from me. She then began asking questions about my upset, which I did not appreciate. Geez, woman, stop trying to make me feel bad, we’ve been through this before. No need to try to get me back into that building. 

Much to my surprise,  the same thing happened the next day. I was woken up at an extremely odd hour, forced into day wear and then fed a quick breakfast. 

Oh dear, I can see where this is going. A real groundhog day situation (a really great cult classic, you should watch it sometime). 

From previous experience, I knew that the best way to ensure my safety at home, would be to feign illness. So I complained of another wicked stomach ache. 

That didn't work, and my father further coaxed me into the car. I doubled down, saying that the stomach ache was still REALLY bad. My father’s response was that I should go to the hospital. He was joking, but the hospital seemed preferable to school, at least at the hospital I knew people. My family was basically the MVPS of the hospital as we had basically given them half of what they knew about cancer. 

We went through the same process again, though this time I began to cry before we even got onto the school grounds, and father had to carry a wailing five year old into the classroom, and plop me into a chair. And then he left me. He left me! Oh my goodness that was rude of him. I really made a show for the class that day, hoo boy.

Despite not enjoying school for the first week or two, it eventually grew on me, and my early elementary school years are quite nostalgic.I mean, how else would I have gained the knowledge, skill and creativity that is required to write a piece as wonderful as this, if not for school? The moral of this story is to stay in school.

An encounter of the strange kind

I arrived at Trader Joe's and was immediately drawn to their lush plant display.  (My theory is that if a plant can survive grocery store level treatment, then it has a higher chance of survival in my home.  Realstically, I cannot, compete with green house level care.) As I browsed, someone from inside the store came scurrying out.  She looked vaguely familiar, which can be challenging right now with masks covering half the face.  She said to me, "Do I know you?  You look so familiar."  Which was surprising, since I was thinking the same thing.  She then said, "Look at YOU, you look SO cute."  To which I responded enthusiastically with a smile and a thank you.  She then repeated, more enthusiastically her opinion of my ensemble.  (It sort of had the feel of, "YOU look cute,""NO, you look cuter!""No, seriously YOU are the cutest!") Abruptly, she proclaimed, "I am going on break, but I will be back soon.  I will see you inside."  To which I thought, "Oh, wow, are we THERE in the relationship? Telling each other where we are going? When we will return?"  It was a strange, yet highly enjoyable encounter.  Seemed unusual and discordant all at the same time, very representative of this particular time.  Where something feels vaguely familiar, but completely,  awkwardly different.  

Oh what a big boy!

 

So we were playing a game of all day charades.  That's when you have charades cards on the dining room table and whenever someone passes by, they suddenly start acting out items on the card (with OUT announcing that is what you are doing).  Anyway, Benja grabbed a card, and started pantomiming pushing a grocery cart.  The problem was, his hands were super high, like he was a much shorter little guy than the almost 16-year-old teenager he actually is.  It feels like that was the last time he was in the stores, he was much shorter, so that's all he knows for charades.

One day, I was trying to convince Lotta to race upstairs, and I said, "I bet I can beat you upstairs."  Before anyone could move, Benja raced upstairs, yelling, "I WON!! I WON!!" when he reached the top.  While Lotta and I sat on the sofa transfixed by what had just occurred.   

Recently Benja says the word, "sigh" rather than actually sighing.  Boy oh boy is he ever keeping me entertained.  

Savoring Together

 

We finished the Harry Potter series earlier this week.  And reading it was an expected delight.  The girls would have exactly the reactions you would want at plot twists and discoveries along the way (gasps out loud, sitting bolt upright).  The amount of time it took to read each book grew steadily shorter, even as the books grew longer, as we became more and more engrossed in this alternate universe.   I began doing character voices (the best reviews were of the character Luna.)   Now we are taking a break from our afternoon group read.  And I feel the let down of the journey of truly savoring a good tale together, where the characters feel like they are friends we worried about when not reading them.  Sigh.  (At least, I guess, there is still television.)  I do take consolation in knowing that these stories will continue to travel within my girls, as they travel into the future.  I hope they take with them the intelligence and love of learning that Hermione taught.  I hope they take Ron's humor.  I hope they remember Harry's unwillingness to give up, and desire to make things better.  And Dumbledore's ability to recognize and admit his own weaknesses.  Most of all, I hope they take the lesson of always showing up for each other.     

Jump jump jump

 

The most recent predictions are that our lives will return to a somewhat more normal state by January 2022.  The date keeps getting moved back, as new variants arrive, as vaccinations take longer than expected, as holidays increase our numbers, etc.  I cannot even think about the future.  It all feels so close, yet so far away.  Knowing that we are almost a year into safer at home, and almost a year away from a possible return to normal, I have realized that we need to make some changes.  Honestly, this entire year, I was operating from a, this is only a short, temporary, emergency situation.  So, if we need to do more screen time, fine.  If we drop off on physical activity fine.  THEN this big freeze, and I mean FREEZE by Wisconsin standards, high temperatures in the negative numbers, kept us home bound even more than usual.  On Friday, both Lotta

and Zibbi seemed to be suffering from some pretty severe "cabin fever"(symptoms:  listlessness, severe emotional outbursts without provocation, boredom).  When I tried to figure out the last time Zibbi actually stepped foot outside the building, I could not.  It made me realize we absolutely MUST make some new habits about getting outside, and physical activity.  As I changed the sheets today, I asked Zibbi if she wanted to play "bubble", a game we used to play every week.  It is where you put a fan (or use your arms) so that the bottom sheet blows into a bubble shape and then Lotta and/or Zibbi jumps on top of it, popping the bubble.  It didn't have that much appeal this morning, but when I did put the fitted sheet on, Zibbi started running around the bed and then dropping into a sprawl, which turned into me throwing a pillow at her, that if she were hit, she hit the deck, otherwise she kept running.  What I had forgotten about games like these is how much giggling and laughter happen when you are running around, so much more than when sitting watching yet another You Tube Video.  Hopefully, this increase in laughter will inspire me to keep pushing everyone to move move move (like an army sergeant).  

Raining Money

This weekend, Zibbi started making dollar bills, which led to the question of what IS the largest bill denomination currently in circulation? (Alexa says, "$100", there was a brief time when $500 and even $1,000 bills were made, but they were both discontinued in the 1960s).  After she'd made a stack, she asked how much it would cost to "buy a baby".  I suggested that buying babies, was actually illegal, and that we call it, "adopting".  A little more research uncovered that currently adoption costs between $40,000-50,000 (!?!?).  However, if you adopt a child out of foster care, then the state will cover most of the costs.  Which might mean an older child, rather than a newborn baby.  A few minutes later, Zibbi emerged from upstairs with the most toddler like doll that we have in a stroller.  Fastest adoption through the foster care system ever.

  

Stonewalling

I was practicing a workshop which included a section on conflict.  So, when our family dinner erupted into an excellent example of conflict, it seemed appropriate.  Lotta really felt like she NEEDED to show Agogo something on the internet, and she once again expressed her dissatisfaction with having the internet shut off at 6 pm as an unnecessary infringement on her personal freedom.  She left the dining room table, moving her food into the kitchen.  I suggested that we could go back to having a cut off time for the devices, which have become a free-for-all throughout the day.  (Before there was a 45 minute maximum on the tablet, because we actually had other things we did in our lives.)  Then, Lotta accompanied Thom to drive my mom home.  When Lotta returned, she ran in, gave me a long hug, and said in a small voice, "I am just unhappy."  And I said, "I know".  So challenging to figure out what to do with all the big feelings swirling around inside her--hormones of course, but also just disappointment, frustration, anger, loneliness at not seeing friends.  Not leaving the house for days or even weeks on end.  The general unending quality of this time.  It is a LOT for a 10-year-old to take.  I am glad she could tell me, I hope she can continue to tell me. 

Family Clean

 

Every weekend we have scheduled a family clean, where everyone has a job and we all do them at the same time.  Zibbi has found that she adores dusting, and the instant satisfaction of seeing the dresser cleaner.  (I have included a photo she took to document the arrangement that she created that I liked.) She also enjoys cleaning the toilet (only the upstairs, aqua toilet, however, never the harder to clean, lime stained downstairs one.  I can't say I blame her for her choice).  I think her enjoyment comes from a pretty sweet toilet wand.  Benja prefers vacuuming (he has the height for it, where the girls do not).  Lotta loves to have a meltdown every time before we begin, to illustrate her dissatisfaction with the whole system.  So we allot time for the weekly melt down before we begin.  The greatest gift from the whole thing is feeling as if we are working on something together, as a family.  And the feeling that I am sending them out into the world with some life skills.  Arguably, the most important of life skills, janitorial (maybe along with cooking skills).    

Dinner Stories

 

We have been having many family dinners filled with stories as of late (my favorite!).  One that came up recently was when Zibbi was in kindergarten, she came home one day, crestfallen.  She had had to go to the bathroom.  Her teacher was in the bathroom while Zibbi was in the actual stall.  So, being in love with her teacher (she was everything you'd want in a kindergarten teacher) she began to chat her teacher up.  Instead of chatting, her teacher very sternly told Zibbi that she should focus and NOT talk.  Zibbi tries very hard at school to follow all the rules, so she just could not believe she'd made such a grievous error in judgement.  Zibbi was so uncomfortable about the whole thing, she couldn't really talk about it for very long.  (At the end of the year, her teacher told me she had been labeled "excess" staff by the school district and asked to step down.  We were all heartbroken, as she was a tremendous teacher, kind, patient, loving.) 

Then Lotta shared a time at Lapham (the 4K-2nd Grade elementary school my children attend).  She said one day after recess there was a pile up outside the door back inside.  She had begun to cry because she was in the middle of the pile.  My brain immediately began to create a story about how perhaps the children had been distracted by something on the playground, and so were not facing forward.  Perhaps one child had tripped over another child, and the whole sequence was repeated.  Lotta had assured me that in fact, this is NOT what happened.  I guess that one, will remain a mystery.  

Random Wednesday Ponderings

I know I have mentioned Agent Longfork before, the longest fork in my drawer, often used for activities such as turning sausages.  He has become such an integral part of any cooking mission, that if I cannot find him, I proclaim him "MIA".  (Again, the whole Tom Hanks befriending a volleyball makes SO much sense right now.)

My dad had to install a chair lift for my step mom this year, who has been struggling with mobility from both hip and back issues.  One Phone Father Friday, my dad was telling me how he cannot resist using the stair lift when he comes home from the grocery store with groceries, or when he has laundry to carry to the laundry room.  He told me that he has limited himself to using the stair lift each day to 3 times a day.  It just entertains me to imagine him slowly slowly slowly climbing the stairs with a bag or laundry on his lap.  AND also that 3 was his limit.  Thanks dad, for sharing the story and keeping me entertained! (Now everyone around here thinks a chair lift is an EXCELLENT idea, although Thom suspects that no one would have the patience to wait for the ride to be over.) 

Finally, the 3 flat next door has been sold to a new owner (just to circle back and TRY to tie these ponderings together, the building next door was where my dad and stepmom first thought of the chair lift idea, as our neighbor who had lived on the first floor for decades had a debilitating condition that made a chair lift necessary.)  Now, when the new management company comes to shovel the snow, they simply pull a van up beside the driveway (never IN the drive), jump out and quickly shovel as little of the sidewalk as they can.  Mostly, just around the driveway and the stairs.  For so many days, I kept pondering, why are they stopping in the middle of the sidewalk?  Wouldn't that feel extremely unsatisfying to NOT finish the job you started?  Then I witnessed the whole heist-like scene of stopping the van, basically in the middle of the street, jumping out quickly, shoveling, jumping back in and going on their way and it all made sense.  Although, I still have some questions about the procedure, it is satisfying to have SOME answers.  

The Late Great Dumbledore

As I may or may not have mentioned, every day we have Harry Potter reading time.  Zibbi and I are extremely into this time, while Lotta wonders if it would be possible to take a day off once in awhile (?!?)  When I first started my readings, Lotta was aghast at the volume with which my voice would rise during intense scenes.  Now she doesn't even notice.  Really this is my time to test out my acting chops.  At the end of book 6, Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time, Harry's headmaster, father-figure/mentor is killed.  The problem was, I knew we were approaching the scene, and I began crying, so much so that I could not continue to read, BEFORE he died, as he kept slipping down the wall, because he could no longer support himself.  I had to take a LOT of deep breaths to continue.  Then he DID die, and I cried even more.  It was a SCENE unto itself.  That's what great literature does, it allows you to get out all those feelings that can't stay bottled up inside. The girls were dumbfounded by my emotions, but also vaguely understanding, it was Dumbledore after all.  I guess what I really taught them was how to get a good cry in while reading.