Best & Worst Babysitter Award

So, I was supposed to go to Arizona for Christmas on Sunday evening, but my flight was canceled-- one of many victims of the blizzard this past weekend. I was not able to get another flight until Thursday, so I'm stuck in NYC for three days longer than expected. I managed to turn lemons into some awesome lemonade by booking some last minute babysitting so now every day, all day, until I leave, I'm chillin' with Emma. I'm savoring it because, once my new job starts, I'll no longer be babysitting her regularly.

So far we've been having a grand old time indulging in indoor, wintertime activities. Today, for example, we spent an unhealthy number of hours playing Super Mario Bros. on the Wii. I'm not really a video game person, but this is hands down the funnest game I've ever played. Every half hour or so I'd say, "maybe we should take a break," and then quickly follow with "after one more round." While this probably qualifies me as a candidate for worst babysitter ever, I think I managed to redeem myself with a kick-ass craft project: Emma's book report diorama.

Believe it or not, fourth graders get homework over the holiday break. Emma's was to complete the art component for a report on Morning Girl, a book about the Taino people that's part of her school's New York State history curriculum. Emma wanted to create a diorama that represented the themes of night and day in the book. Now flashback to when I was in fourth grade, also studying state history. A key part of California's curriculum was a unit on the Spanish missions, and each kid made a model of our chosen mission using cardboard, foam core, or rice krispie treats. And my (well-meaning) dad totally high-jacked my project. Even though I wanted to take the lead, I wasn't permitted to use the Exacto knife. I made some bells out of clay and painted a few shrubs, but my dad created blueprints, measured and assembled the entire structure. We even went to the model train store to buy miniature donkeys and monks.

I always found this memory comical, but today, I had to hold back from totally highjacking the diorama project. I came up with the dyptic design and cut paper medium, but I consciously limited myself to only making the skeleton structure and cutting paper to fit the various backdrops. I had Emma create all the artistic details, but when I complemented her design, she proclaimed, "I got all my design ideas from you!" Oops.

Exterior Night Scene (stars are made of tinfoil)

Interior morning scene.

I am exceedingly proud of our work. I hope we get an A.

Wrapping

I love picking out and wrapping Christmas presents. I credit my best friend Marina with teaching me that well-wrapped small treasures always make the best gifts. For example, Emma's treats this year: a deck of cards with 3D images of dogs, and secret message writing pens. Here they are, ready to go.

You Knew This Was Coming...

My thoughts on Spike Jonze's Where The Wild Things Are.

I've found that people are having really strong reactions to this film. Reviewers are claiming it's too scary for children. Others are saying it's not scary (or compelling) enough. And many are saying it's not for children in the first place, but for nostalgic 30-something hipsters who remember reading the book as children. Which then leads to the question of whether or not Jonze and screenwriter Dave Eggers did an appropriate job of adapting a ten-sentence book into a feature-length film. Personally, I was disappointed at one big change: in the film, Max runs away from home and finds himself in the land of the wild things, while in the book version, his own room transforms into a forest, and the wild rumpus all takes place within the safety of his home. Nevertheless, I liked the movie an awful lot and have been thinking about it-- and the many varied responses-- quite a bit since seeing it.

Let me first say, I'm happy that a children's movie is garnering so many passionate reactions. Unsurprisingly, that didn't happen with other box office toppers like G-Force or Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs. We should be thinking more about what kids are watching. It's clear to me that Jonze and Eggers really carefully and thoughtfully considered childhood in their work, and attempted to create a unique film that both represented and respected how kids think and feel. Of course, they are highly influenced by their own nostalgic 30-something hipster interpretations, and Max (extremely well-acted by Max Records) definitely reflects that.

My own (very unscientific) survey reveals that Jonze and Eggers succeeded in creating a character that's familiar and accessible to kids. To determine this, I consulted an expert who I'd not yet heard from in any of the various reviews, articles and blog entries: a kid. Emma, age 9, loved the movie. To summarize, she thought that the monsters "looked exactly right," it was "the scariest" when Carol chases Max, that K.W. was "the nicest" wild thing, and that overall the story was "really, really sad" but that Max "learned a lesson."

So while I'm pretty positive that yes, Where The Wild Things Are is a great children's movie, let's remember that kids are individuals. Some of them will love it, and some of them will hate it. If I had to get more specific, I might say it is geared more towards older kids, and while little ones might enjoy the book, the film version is a bit too slowed paced. But that's OK, the wee ones can look forward to looking back on an old favorite story. Probably there are some kids who will feel bored by the film's unconventional plot and pacing; if they're only watching the standard Hollywood fare, they likely haven't yet been exposed to anything quite like WTWTA. Which only means directors should be making more unusual, thoughtful and artistic films for young people-- kids will rise to the occasion.

After Tap Class

Emma: "I used to not be able to wait to be a grown-up, but now that I'm in the 4th grade, I think I'd like to stay young forever."
Me: "Really? What made you change your mind?"
Emma: "Oh, I guess it's like that old saying, 'youth is wasted on the young'"

Adventures in Tween-Sitting

Emma: "Did you hear the news about Lady Gaga?"
Me: "No, what happened?"
Emma: "When she was getting off a motorcycle, she wasn't wearing any underwear and..."
Me: "She accidentally flashed people?"
Emma: "No, her fans saw that, um, that she has both girl parts and boy parts."
Me: "Where are you getting your news from?"

AND

Emma: "I'm really nervous about 4th grade"

Who Can Tell Me What "Optical" Means?

A tween-age friend of mine has recently become quite email savvy, which means I'm treated to lots of e-chain letters from her. You know, the kind where you have to scroll through names and address of past recipients for several minutes until you finally see a picture of a kitty and dog wearing sunglasses, or something similar?

The latest of these was a series of optical illusions, and I have to admit, they're pretty fun. I seem to recall sending and receiving these exact same optical illusion emails back when I was in junior high and my friends and I had just gotten our first email accounts, with ridiculous names like: rockstargrrl123@juno.com or luv2lol84@aol.com. Perhaps these bizarre types of "forwards" are part of some developmental phase one goes through upon forming an online identity... but any way, on to the fun.

In case you can't read the text, it says: "focus on the dot in the centre (are these from England?) and move you [sic] head backwards and forwards. Weird hey...")

Are the purple lines bent or straight? (The world may never know...)

Do you see gray squares in between the black ones?

Stare at the image for 20 seconds or so, then stare at a blank wall. What do you see? Or should I say, who do you see?

A Smattering of Vacation Delights

School's out here in the city of dreams, which means that all three of my regular jobs weren't happening, and instead, I spent the week with Ms. Emma. We had a grand old time. Here are some of the things that happened:

We went to one of the Met's family programs, which turned out to be about Greco-Roman art. Coincidentally, we had spent the previous afternoon sketching gods and goddesses from her D'Aulaires book, so she was well prepared and eager to answer questions. When the educator mentioned the riddle of the Sphinx, Emma knew both the question (what walks on four feet in the morning, two feet in the afternoon, and three feet at night?) and the answer (a human).

We had planned to go to the Central Park Zoo in hopes of catching a sea lion feeding, but abandoned our plan while waiting for the bus because it was much too cold and windy. Instead, we headed for an old standby-- Museum of the Moving Image. I ran into lots of old pals, Emma and her brother made some awesome stop-motion animation, and we all watched Wallace & Gromit: The Wrong Trousers.

We played with Sprout. She and Emma got along famously. Emma pet her and brushed her and whispered, "Hello my name is Emma, I'm not sure what I smell like to you..." They ran with each other up and down the block, which had the benefit of tiring them both out. Sprout inspired Emma to start a dog spa, and she already came up with the first treatment, "Shih Tzu Shiatsu."

We had a playdate with a lovely child, who unfortunately came as a package deal with her insufferable mother. This lady shared with me her unsolicited thoughts on race ("If my child dated a black man, I wouldn't mind if he was like Obama"), pop culture ("Britney Spears is an example of what happens when you give white trash money"), Perego versus Maclaren strollers & iPhones versus Blackberrys (both an excuse to mention the dollar amounts she paid) and my personal favorite, foreign policy ("I know you're not supposed to support genocide, but I'm this close to saying-- just blow the Middle East up!" and "We can't negiotiate with terroists, because they want everyone to be like them... and I don't want to wear a burka"). Needless to say, it was difficult and upsetting to be around this pathetic lady, but I took a cue from Emma, who earlier that day had proclaimed, "patience is my best virtue."

Good Point

I spent the last two days babysitting for Emma. Despite the snow flurries on Friday, Emma, her 14 year old brother and I ventured crosstown to MoMA. The main purpose of our visit was to check out Pipilotti Rist's exhibit "Pour Your Body Out," which invites you to take off your shoes and lie down on a large doughnut-shaped couch while watching large projections on three walls. I think we all enjoyed it. While watching, Emma whispered, "what do you think we're supposed to be?" The work did make you feel like you were somehow a part of it, but I wasn't sure how.

Next we checked out "Here Is Every," an exhibition of four decades of contemporary art. It featured Felix Gonzalez-Torres' piece "Death By Gun," which is actually endless large paper posters depicting dozens of obituaries of victims of gun violence. Copies are left in the gallery and meant to be taken by visitors. Naturally Emma wanted one. After briefly explaining the meaning of the piece ("Um, it's pictures of people who have died...") I suggested she might just share one with her brother; one per household seemed plenty. "Well," Emma countered, "it's kind of fun to just get to take something from a museum." True.

Our final stop was the design exhibition, "Rough Cut." It was full of cutting edge (get it?) design treasures: padlocks with smiley heart faces welded on them, faceless stuffed toys for developmentally disabled children, and a Stokke stroller. There was some sort of chair/cave creation made of soft purple fabric. Upon seeing it, Emma gasped, "Oh, I just want to sit in that so badly." Luckily she is well-versed in museum etiquette, and even with the confusion of contemporary art (take this art home! don't sit on this chair!), by now she's enough of a pro that I can let her wander a little bit knowing she won't make a grab for anything. In case she should forget the museum rules, there were plenty of these signs to remind us:

Presumably they were created to complement the "rough cut" theme of the exhibition (yes, that's blood spurting out of two chopped off fingers), and despite the incredibly poor quality of my phone's camera, they are worthy of documentation.

Seven Swans A-Swimmin'

Here's an image from the illustrated version of The Ugly Duckling I had growing up. I was delighted to find that Emma also enjoyed this story, and she (per usual) had an especially astute observation, "the baby swan is really not that ugly. What's the big deal?"

True Calling (?)

The imminent end of grad school means I've got thoughts of future plans swirling around my head. Now I'm not sure whether or not (or at least how much) I believe in signs and messages and The Alchemist and all that, but if I did, it's pretty clear I'm meant to forget any real career dreams and follow my true path... as a nanny. Here's what the universe has revealed to me lately:

1. In an effort to procrastinate writing my final papers, I was perusing the video offerings on various television networks' websites. When I found that ABC was now offering Supernanny, my heart was filled with joy.

2. While hanging out with Emma yesterday, we got to talking about what makes a good babysitter (she's not so crazy about her new one). She, insightful and hilarious as always, noted, "a good babysitter sits next to me while I do my homework and offers to help." Sound familiar?

3. A group of us went ice skating in Central Park to celebrate Kashmira's birthday today. Technically, they ice skated, and I guarded the bags and shoes while sipping hot chocolate. This was totally my own choice, as I detest ice skating, but do actually enjoy watching and waving to my friends as they zip by. Something about my behavior prompted a fancy Manhattan lady to approach me and inquire, "Excuse me, are you an au pair?"

Acrostic

Emma wrote this for me:

Jammin'
Oh man.
Radical
Dancer
Awesome
No death!

Halloween-Themed Post #3

Emma was feeling punny.

If You Ever Need the Inside of Your Ears Licked

The weekend of cinematic delights continued yesterday. I spent a rainy afternoon on the Upper West Side with Emma (now age 8 and blossoming into a tween) bouncing from tap dancing class to soup & salad lunch to shopping for Halloween costume inspiration to... Beverly Hills Chihuahua.

I knew from the moment I saw the preview I wanted to see this movie, if only for the evil/genius child-oriented marketing strategy employed in this trailer. The preview ran before Wall-E, and within seconds of it ending, you could hear little, brainwashed voices throughout the darkened theater excitedly blurt out "chihuahua!". While I could try and justify my interest in the movie as purely academic in nature (eg, a potential case study in media education), that wouldn't be the truth at all.

I'm not afraid to admit: I liked this movie, and I cried a little bit. The dogs are cute! They talk! They don't shake because they're scared, they shake because they're CHIHUAHUAS! Plus any story of noble dogs (Delgado's sniffer doesn't work ever since he and his human police partner were gravely injured in an attack) or scrappy stray dogs (they all found homes by the end, thank goodness) really tugs at my heartstrings. Sure, it's no Homeward Bound or The Plague Dogs, but since I can't help but think of the noble, scrappy strays I have known, I can't help but love Chloe, Papi, Delgado, and the rest of B.H.C. gang.

Of course I was especially happy to have had the chance (and excuse) to see it with Emma. As she aptly noted, "I think we both know we're not seeing it for the story. I just really love dogs". Indeed.

Free Woman

Emma always had a surprising amount of homework for a first grader. At least in my opinion. I’m not exactly sure why a first grader needs homework in the first place, but nevertheless, as babysitter, it was my responsibility to make sure Emma finished hers. Rule-abiding child that she is, she was on top of things 95% of the time, and finished her math worksheet and spelling sentences correctly and quickly. When she was done I’d grandly proclaim, “you’re a free woman!” and send her off to play vet or spa or store or whatever the day’s game was. Sometime in the middle of the school year, she began to really fight against doing her homework in (a six year old's version of) subtle yet effective ways; sharpening her pencil more frequently than necessary, sliding off her chair “accidentally,” and pretending to not know the answer. After I used every babysitter trick in the book, trying to make homework as fun as possible, I was finally straight with her and asked why exactly she insisted on stalling. She looked me directly and intensely in the eye and firmly told me, “because I’m a free woman”.

Overheard

Emma is one of my most favorite baby-sitting charges ever. I have many stories about how great she is and all the funny things she says, but this conversation that I once overheard between her and her best friend is perhaps my favorite...

Maya (age 6): It's a good thing we're friends, because we have a lot in common. We're both coo-coo sometimes, we both like to use our imaginations.
Emma (age 6): We both like to shake our booties, we both like to talk about poop and pee.

So true. That's exactly why I like my friends, too.