In Part I, which probably just started out as a quick update on the girls' science fair projects, I ended up telling you about all the drama surrounding big projects from our point of view. Then I finally got around to what the girls were doing this year for their projects, but wound up just hinting. A real cliffhanger that blog entry was.

I'll have pictures up, I hope soon, of the girls' displays.  This year wasn't easy, but I would say it was successful--the girls learned not only about the topic they were exploring, but also about the scientific method and about organizing and executing tasks.

Annika's work was solid fifth grade performance, I would say. I helped her find some ideas by looking online. At first, she was going to build a catapult. I felt lukewarm about this. What is the point, my mind was thinking. You get a little kit, build the machine, and answer some questions about what conditions make objects fly furthest and so on. It's a little more original than a volcano, perhaps, but no appeal unless you could add context to it: a miniature walled city from the Middle Ages, maybe, where you could also have a battering ram and stage a tiny battle. Your little war machines could be to scale, and so could the force of the pebbles you hurled. You'd have done research on warfare of the time, and described actual sieges. I'd probably spend a couple of minutes at that display, were I to walk by it in the gym.

Or, in a more likely scenario, you and your dad could build a catapult out of rubber bands and wood, and see whether bigger or smaller pebbles went the farthest. That's it. End of story. I was glad to help Annika look for something else.

We found an idea for experimenting with how background music affects academic performance. So we adapted it. Annika played a couple different types of music--rock and classical--on two different days while a handful of her classmates worked on five problems of long division. On the third day, the kids worked a third set of problems in silence. Annika kept track on a chart showing the scores achieved by each student for each type of music, and had another chart showing the averages for each day.

Since classical music had the highest average, Annika decided that students performed best to classical music.  I looked at her charts and thought the evidence inconclusive. We had controlled for most of the variables by having the students work the problems all at the same time, at school. However, she conducted the experiment only once. I asked her how she knew that her four subjects weren't extra tired one day, or a little extra distracted for one reason or another, or one of them could have been upset, which might have resulted in a score that pulled a day's average down. (And what does an average tell you, anyway?)  For more helpful results, she probably should have done the experiment multiple times.  If proving hypotheses rested on one quick experiment, we could have new drugs on the market within a couple of weeks.

On her grading sheet, the teacher noted that Annika needed to have done some research. As I said, a solid fifth grade performance. She had an attractive board (spray-painted purple by her dad), and got a 94.

Danielle decided to test the effectiveness of childproof lids. She needed a crop of little kids to test out her four bottles labeled A, B, C, and D, and fortunately, there were three Kindergartens right in the building. The teachers seemed eager to cooperate, so Danielle was almost in business except for securing the permission of parents. Here is her letter:

Dear Kindergarten parents,

My name is Danielle ___, and I am doing a science fair project on childproof lids. I need your approval to time your children opening these lids. I will time them opening five lids, and then I will give them a dum dum sucker. Please write me a note if your child has had a lot of experience opening these lids (in which case they will still be included in testing, but not the data), or if they are allergic to dum-dum suckers. I will not use names while presenting, and the containers will be empty and clean.

From,

Danielle ____, 7^th grader, ____ School



Following that introduction, she had a worksheet of sorts for parents to fill in: 

I,  ___________  the parent of             
______________, give permission for he\she to be tested.

I, _________________the parent of   ________________ do not want he\ she to be tested.

_______________  Is allergic to dum dums.

________________ Has had a lot of experience with these lids.

The dum-dum suckers, which were to be such key players, ended up causing some consternation, because Danielle had forgotten all about them the weekend before she was to start testing. Fortunately, her teacher stepped in with some Lifesavers, and Danielle could get right to work.

The testing took her much longer than she thought it would. Weeks, in fact, of her lunch hour. She said the Kindergarten teachers didn't seem quite as enthusiastic to have the children called out as they had initially. Jeff and I tried to talk her into not feeling like she had to test every soul six and under at the school. "My goodness, Danielle, how many kids have you tested now? Almost two classes' worth?  And it's been such a long time. Surely you have enough information by now." But she wanted to do it right.

She didn't end up testing all three full classes, but worked with quite a few of the kids. She would time them initially, and if they hadn't opened the lid within a certain elapsed time, she would demonstrate opening it once and hand it back to the child for one more try. I think parents had a little more to worry about with this than dum-dums. Most kids worked happily with the lids, but occasionally, children would get frustrated, as one little boy did just as Danielle's favorite teacher was walking by. He couldn't wrestle the bottle open, so he put his head down on his arms and started crying. A Lifesaver was quickly offered, ending the session on a happy note after all.

Danielle's evidence was conclusive. The Kindergarteners were able consistently to get into one of the bottles in under ten seconds. Encouraged by her teacher, Danielle wrote a letter to the company describing the experiment and its outcome. There were pie charts to make it more persuasive. She has heard back from the company, but she thinks it's a form letter. I think they have some responsibility to look into this, even if they were alerted by a seventh grader.

The project included a research paper from which I learned a great deal. Once we get done with the science fair events, I might post more of the actual content. All the science fair entries for the county were ranked first, second, or third, and Danielle's got a second-place ribbon. She certainly worked hard for it, and fulfilled her few years of longing to get into the county science fair.

It took a school to get her through--teachers, parents, kids.  Her science teacher has certainly been cheerful and supportive throughout the process.  She probably doesn't get a lot of science participation at this level of intensity.  And I think Danielle owes those Kindergarten teachers a nice thank-you note, and maybe a little gift card, for being such troopers.  

These are doozies.

The stare. The stare is different from the gawk in that the object of the stare is me. It's a potent maneuver. My eyes will be focused on the front, concentrating and digesting, when I'm suddenly yanked away. One child, who had her head resting on my shoulder, has tilted up her chin and is lovingly studying my face.  I can't do it. I just can't listen while under intense, albeit affectionate, scrutiny.

 "Stop it," I whisper.   

"Stop what?"  says the girl, coming out of her reverie.

"Stop . . ." how do I explain? "Please just stop it." 

Then we're good for awhile.

The arm puff.  The arm puff is the ultimate of top kid distractions. It's the secret weapon of little girls, saved for hours of desperate need.

Actually, it's been a long time since either of the girls have used the arm puff, probably because I've used specific language to describe its effect on me. And they both laughed and haven't done it again in earnest.  

The arm puff, back in the day, went like this. I'm immersed--as far as that goes. Child is leaning against arm. That's fine. Child slowly turns her head so face is against arm. Okay. Child takes deep breath and leisurely releases hot, moist air against sleeve.  Mother gives child look. Child now is overwhelmed with desire that mom listen to sermon, take it to heart.  At least until the damp patch on her shoulder cools off.

I've been wanting to document our vacation days for family and friends who know us and might be interested, but haven't gotten to it yet. Now the time is blurring together in a pleasant blend of playground visits, restaurant meals, patio chats in comfortable chairs, crafts, writing time, books, and happy little girls. So I don't know how much I'm going to remember--maybe just highlights. Yesterday, I didn't even know what day it was, and had to ask. Now that's a vacation. I haven't done that in a long time.

For me, a particularly agreeable phase began a week before vacation, not long after the candle incident, when I put together a daily schedule for the girls and I. Normally the summer is ten weeks of struggle to get work done while trying to field interruptions from the kids, the morning checklist of chores not being addressed the way I think it should be, my own tendencies to be distracted, an erratic schedule, and a frustrating sense of disengagement from my work. A lot of time is taken up talking to a couple of little people about doing what they are supposed to be doing plus being conscientious about cleaning up after themselves. It's not their favorite way to spend the summer, either. It feels like I'm spinning in a hamster wheel, closed in by demands that I can never conquer. Meanwhile, the house drifts farther away from the clean and inviting shape I want it to be in. Cumulatively, it adds up to not getting to exercise the privilege and opportunity of some breathtaking months outdoors before inside weather overtakes us again.

Well, after the votives-burning-without-holders episode, I had the feeling that the old patterns were resuming themselves. I got up early on Monday, having gone to bed at a responsible hour determined not to give in to the summer bedtime slide. For me late bedtime is not a healthy, in-control way of life, and it's a rhythm that does not fit well with the early summer sunrise; you're bound to wake at five-thirty if you go to bed late. Yet for some reason, retiring for the evening is a hard thing for me to do. But you can't beat the productivity of a day that starts early.

That morning, after I made the daily schedule and revised the small everyday chores for the girls, I mapped out some more serious kid jobs, instead of relying on a checklist whose unpredictability made it more unpleasant, I think. The weekday job list had been simmering in my mind for a few weeks, and it flowed.  The girls' strengths and weaknesses steered me. For example, Danielle likes to work alone, she actually enjoys morning projects, and she likes cleaning the bathrooms. Lately, she's gravitated to emptying the dishwasher, too. Plus she's decided that she will not "stand idle while adults are working." So it was easy to assign big bathroom clean once a week and touch-up on Friday. She gets dishwasher-emptying duty as the need arises. She makes a salad and does other small tasks to help me when I'm especially busy. And her job is to make a simple lunch before I come down as scheduled at noon. She sorts laundry on Wednesday morning as well, giving me tremendous momentum on that task. I avoid pushing her during her tired and unsocial zones--that would be evenings. By then, she's already done a good day's work.

The structuring of the day through the schedule helped her to adjust to the potentially empty stretches of summer much better. The kids knew exactly when I would emerge from the office and what time they could expect lunch and conversation, the walk to the mailbox. That first Monday was stellar, with little to no interruptions or messes, work and clean-up done as a team.  In between, Danielle practiced her flute, told herself stories, and read books. Annika read, painted, drew, and played dolls. They could also write e-mails to grandparents and do typing practice or math games online. It was a beautiful, harmonious day.

On the schedule, I changed some of the wording I had been using to reflect the language of teamwork. I want the kids to think of themselves as working with me, us working together to accomplish the care of our home. They can't play thoughtlessly in a vacuum. There is no such thing. I suppose the options that exist are that they impede progress, accomodate my needs--by playing outside with sticks and rocks, for example--or work with me. And the time has come for them to work with me. So I changed the word "chores" to "contribution": as in "Danielle's contribution," "Annika's contribution."

Leaving Annika to work alone as Danielle likes to do is just asking for daily frustration. So I decided to place her more serious jobs at the intervals when I am downstairs. Then I don't have to leave her with lots of work and get up often to inspect her progress. Ugh. Annika is like me; she works better with someone alongside her. Also, she does okay in the early evening. So she helps me with what is for me an enormous daily project: dinner and clean-up. And wow, what a tremendous difference it makes to have extra hands cutting up vegetables, filling up the sink with hot, soapy water, preparing the table, clearing dishes afterward, and whatever else I need. It makes no difference that the extra hands are small; they are capable. I teach her small things as we go, like where the dishes in the drainer belong and why we shouldn't put away dishes that are still wet, but wipe them instead. Also, she pitches in with the actual meal in progress.  In the evenings, we do laundry together, which for some reason has been a big challenge to keep up with lately.

The culmination of the good week was Thursday, the day before we left for Denver. I had so much to do to prepare, including at least an hour of work that I wanted to accomplish. The normal pattern is for me to start with high hopes and then end the day getting so much less done than I meant to, leaving the next day with so many loose ends. Much of the day would be spent trying to keep the girls moving. Like Atlas Sisyphus and his rock. This was different. I wanted the house clean for our house-sitter, and it happened. It helped that I was thinking clearly enough the night before to make several lists. It helped even more that the girls followed through on those lists with little direction from me. Danielle cleaned the bathrooms. Annika cleaned the loft--more or less. Then they both packed their suitcases, all by themselves, with Annika carting her little bag down to the mudroom with a doll riding in the front pocket. All this with me being more pulled in to final work tasks than I thought. Then we fixed a dinner that I had started preparing the day before and cleaned up. I got to my serious vacuuming. I ended up waking up super early the day we were to leave and ended up leaving a clean, neat house behind.

What a feeling. But I couldn't have done it without the girls doing their parts, filling in the cracks by doing basic things so I could get to others. I felt truly free when we drove off, really uplifted and ready to enjoy the blessing of some time away. Clean toilets do more to buoy my spirits than would a trip to the spa or some botox for that crease between my eyes.  And for a fraction of the cost.