for that we came

Mike has been participating in a faculty study group on poetry these past weeks, and I often hear him repeating a line in the next room, or bouncing down the stairs on feet that fly in iambic pentameter, providing emphasis to a verse that he is quietly reciting to himself. But when it comes to this Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, long a favorite, he tends to belt it out, complete with poetry slam stylings.

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;

As tumbled over rim in roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's

Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:

Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;

Selves -- goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,

Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

I say more: the just man justices;

Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces;

Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is -- 

Christ -- for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men's faces.

On Saturday afternoon we brought the kids to Swarthmore. Its not a big reunion year for either of us, but it is for the institution (a sesquecentennial! how often does one get to use that word?), which attracted two of our most dear far-flung friends, which in turn attracted us. 

The campus is unbelievably beautiful. There were trees that had magically sprung up since our last visit, lush ferns and hostas spilling over in their shade as if they had been there forever. There were new clumps of native plants swaying in the June breeze along Magill, and gardens that seemed to be extensions of the grand trees of the Crum Woods, only but slightly more formal and forthright in their sense of invitation. I know there is a lot of money and planning behind these wooded areas, but on an emotional level the spaces felt inevitable in their particularity, abundance, and beauty. The trees selved. Like kingfishers catching fire, so was the movement of their limbs, the greenness of the canopy they formed. 

On Sunday we stayed at Mike's parents' house in nearby Wilmington and that afternoon, went for a long walk through a neighborhood that was formed as an artists' colony long ago. It was full of unusual gardens, old trees, and brilliantly bumper-stickered cars. There was sculptures tucked into thickets of ferns, walls painted bright colors, and houses that had clearly been built on and creatively added to more than once. Each space was deeply personal, yet connected to neighbors and community spaces so gracefully. How was it that I'd never walked those quiet streets before?

I felt like myself with those friends, in those spaces. It was a reminder of the importance of beauty - something that can get neglected in the hubbub of everyday life. Kids need to get fed, transported, bathed, clothed - who has time for beauty in this constant whirl?  But this weekend I experienced people, places, nature, and art that were stunning in their strangeness, their expression of something perfectly personal and full of grace. 

A split level in one of Annapolis's sprawling neighborhoods cannot exude the same sort of beauty and weight that I responded to so deeply over the weekend, but that's okay. It can have it's own. It seems to me a question of discerning what kind of self wants to be selved, and nurturing that process along - not only for the garden, the interior spaces, the trees in the backyard, but for each other, for our children. What they do is them; for that they came!

It's loose, I know - a hazy sense that the creative and nurturing work of growing a family and a home is simply allowing things and people to continue becoming what they are (the result of which is unavoidably beautiful) (and the enemy of which is doing what one does). But it inspired me in a broad range of activities today: picking arugula and radish flowers for the table, procuring unexpected paint samples for Beatrice's room, and thinking more about protecting the children's time so that they can do things like build fairy houses by a brook (which is exactly what they did on Sunday, with rare peacefulness and cooperation).   

marbles

Hello! Hello, hello. Remember me? I used to have two little kids, and I would occasionally write here about parenting quandaries having to do with things like school, discipline, food, community, friends, and naps. Then you all would comment and inquire, and conversations sometimes unfolded, and I loved the clarity, support, and solidarity that emerged. 

Remember that?

Now I have one baby, two medium-sized kids, and one part-time job, and somehow the time to reflect and bring my questions and insights, triumphs and disappointments to you proves elusive. It's not just about a busier life though; something about having school-aged children changes things. Their voices become ever more distinct and independent; the family conversation includes them in a new way. It's no longer me and two little irrational creatures figuring out what to do all day; it's me and four other people with countless needs and expectations, navigating a busy kitchen where we reconverge most days around 4 pm.  

But! Perhaps in anticipation of Summer, tonight I harken back to the days of yore and bring you a simple story about the latest development in our historically patchy and inconsistent efforts to get our kids to behave. Nicely. I present to you - the Marble Jar.

One day a couple of months ago I was meeting with my social work supervisor, completely distracted by how mean Frances had been to her brother that morning and how clueless I felt about how to help her behave with kindness. So I asked for her help. She works with a lot of kids and families and suggested something so concrete and so simple that we never would have thought of it in a million years.

Gabriel doesn't actually need much help on the kindness front, but I didn't want to single out Frances, and he does need to do a better job of putting his things away, so they both got a jar. Every morning I put five marbles in each jar. Five marbles just for waking up in the morning and being their own excellent selves.

Marbles are removed or added depending on behavior throughout the day. If Gabriel remembers to put his shoes away, or cooperates cheerfully when I ask him to clean up or set the table, he gets a marble. If Frances volunteers to help one of her siblings with something or is spontaneously supportive or kind, she gets a marble. 

There is a line duct-taped one-third of the way up the jar, and then two-thirds of the way up. These lines represent smallish rewards, and then once the jar is entirely filled there will be some kind of amazing and awesome and as-yet undefined experience in store, not to mention (I hope) a sense of accomplishment. 

Gabriel filled his jar to the one-third line first. He debated requesting a family bike ride. He considered a special night-time swim. Then he settled on the very best possible reward: an epic battle. Every knight and dragon and horse in the house vs. our family (minus Beatrice, who just wouldn't get it - so we battled during her naptime). 

Gabriel wanted Mama and Papa to help him set up every stray plastic knight, forming them into one ragtag (yet formidable) army, arrayed across the playroom floor. Standards were flying, dragons were spitting fire, and a dopey wooden king sat on the battlements and watched it all. 

Then, once it was perfect, Gabriel explained we would be using crossbows and catapults to knock every warrior to bits. Not a single knight would remain standing! Frances, who was unwilling to involve herself directly, agreed to play the musical accompaniment on her recorder while we shot and threw things at the army, eventually heaving plastic toys across the room, sending the bigger figures flying. Shock and awe, people.

In the middle of it all Gabriel looked up at me and said, Mama, I've been thinking about this battle since I was three years old. And now we're finally doing it. Let's do this every Sunday afternoon!

It was the perfect reward for him, our dear boy who wants nothing more than time with his family.

Does the marble jar system work? I'm not sure. I do think Frances has been more mindful about how mean her words can be, and she has definitely been more cooperative and willing to help out around the house. It's striking how meaningful a physical representation of positive reinforcement can be - these days, the clink of a marble dropping into a jar is a powerful sound.

Indulge me, friends, for old time's sake: now you. How is everyone behaving in your house? Has a sticker chart/marble jar/gold star system ever actually worked for anyone? And does anyone have the discipline and commitment to have actually stuck with one of these behavior modification techniques?