digging around

Welcome to my never-anticipated blog.

Today was the first day of T’s new art class.  It clashed with Playschool, etc, so we were off to a very bad start.  My ambivalence about our “solution” to the TV question will no doubt provide on-going boring fodder for this forum.

Regardless, we got there, and after some initial reluctance, T was able to construct a clay rocket.  (The theme was animals, but luckily the facilitator was able to remain true to the spirit of artistic endeavour and be supportive of all ideas.)  This took 5 minutes of a 90 minute program, and then T joined J & I outside in the (lovely) grounds.   Ok, now I’m being tested.  We’ve just paid a decent amount of money for this program and plus I’m experiencing the “what will the other adult (in this case the facilitator) be thinking” phenomenon.  I try a variety of verbal suggestions in the hope that T will be inspired to return to the art room and participate in the program.  No dice.   Eventually I go inside and talk to the facilitator.  She is very relaxed.   I tell her that I am trying to practice detachment, and as soon as I do this, I am detached. 

T, J & I enjoy the gardens, wandering down the little paths.  We scoop about 10 of the tiniest tadpoles ever for our new frog pond back home.  Not too long after, the rest of the art class is outside too.  I don’t know if we have been a subverting influence or if they regularly do this.  T joins their group for a short while.  J is urgent to get to the playground he has spotted.  I call out to the facilitator to let her know that is where we are, and soon after T is there with us.   I ask if he wants to do painting – I think that is what the group is going to do - T informs me they’re planting beans (No evidence of this is ever spotted later) and he’s not interested.  

J loves to swing.  I love to push.  I don’t *always* love to push at the beginning, but I always love it by the end.  It’s like a gift – to keep on pushing until he has had enough.  A few weeks ago on RN they were talking about the song “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”.  Apparantly it is the most popular song in the world.  I always thought it was a spiritual song, but it is a slave song – apparantly a code for how you could escape over the Mississippi.  They played a variety of versions – including a reggae one from Eric Clapton I had never heard before.  I love it, and now I sing it as I push & J swings - not for long though – J is adamant: “Stop that!”  I can’t sing for quids!

We discover a church next door, reinvented as a plant/second hand shop.  It has a great permaculture garden around it and I’m really hoping it will be open if we get there earlier next time.  We mosey back to the art class, in time to chat with the facilitator about how T’s rocket will be fired in a kiln and help with the clean up.   “A little bit of art and a lot of park” I say to the facilitator, and T seems keen to come back next week.