On the eve of Katie's birthday ...

Kathryn Sibley (named for my beloved grandmother), moments after birth, June 20, 2005

This photo makes me weepy every single time -- before cancer and especially after.

Baby Katie was a week early and weighed 8 pounds, 6 ounces. Her cheeks have always been irresistible.

After church today

Summer learning comes in many forms

From today's Briefing:

I realized last week that I have unwittingly been depriving my children of an all-American classic. I corrected the error as soon as possible, and I feel certain that long-term damage has been avoided.

My children are now bona fide fans of The Brady Bunch.

The sitcom was a summer staple for my sister and me. We were too young to discover it in prime time, so we watched multiple syndicated episodes daily.

With the power of the DVR, Cooper and Katie have already watched some essential episodes, including the three-part Grand Canyon story arc and the one in which Peter breaks Carol’s vase (perhaps best known for the oft-repeated line, “Don’t play ball in the house!”).

If I had a do-over on some of those summers of yesteryear, I might have spent a little less time draped across the sofa and a little more time doing something productive. I can rationalize now that children of the 1970s didn’t have as many resources at their fingertips.

Today’s kids have no such excuse. In addition to having access to hundreds of television channels, some of which actually offer valuable content, they can tap into incredible learning opportunities with help from technology.

Here are some of my family’s favorite resources — both online and offline.

BrainPOP (brainpop.com): One of our summer nighttime traditions is to read a chapter from a book together, followed by a quick BrainPOP video and quiz.

The animated videos are about three minutes each. They cover science, social studies, English, math, engineering and technology, health, and arts and music.

We don’t pay for the service (we use the free app on my iPad) so we’re limited to the free video of the day — often tied to a holiday, current event or historical anniversary — and a few in the archive.

Recent topics have included Anne Frank, nutrition, Sally Ride and tropical rain forests.

Online access to libraries: I’ve recently set up my iPad to download e-books, and now I’m wondering why I waited so long.

Our public library’s electronic collection is too small yet to completely replace trips to the actual building, but logging in from home is a nice supplement.

I can check out seven books at a time, each available for two weeks. I need that much time for novels, but Katie spins through some of her choices in less time than it would take to drive to the library and back.

We’ve also set up Cooper’s Nook tablet for borrowing books, including access to our school district’s library system.

Most library websites offer detailed tutorials on how to configure devices for borrowing.

Story Starters: Three summers ago I bought Story Starters for Cooper, an avid reader but reluctant writer. It’s a thick, richly illustrated book that he hasn’t yet exhausted.

Karen Andreola has written dozens of stories without endings. She purposefully leaves students in the middle of a conflict or predicament and then instructs them to complete the tale.

For example, in The Alligator, the narrator describes a harrowing scene in which his father is trapped by a South American alligator.

Then the reader is prompted to write how the father frees himself and is encouraged to use vivid verbs from a suggested list.

“Describe the alligator by showing with words what he looks, smells or sounds like. Describe the struggle that took place. Tell about the surroundings.”

Cooper still doesn’t love writing, but he prefers these stories to the simpler writing prompts found on standardized tests.

Elenco Snap Circuits: A small box of these circuitry construction sets can lead to hours of hands-on experimentation.

Katie has watched her big brother long enough that she can now piece together the plastic modules on her own. Projects increase in difficulty, from turning on a light bulb to activating a fan to creating electronic games.

We have the “extreme” kit, but the “junior” kit is significantly cheaper and will keep most kids busy all summer — when they’re not catching up on 40-year-old television shows.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Before church this morning

Pain of your child's accident is felt in your conscience

From today's Briefing:

In a split second, Damm family summer plans drastically changed course.

A few hours after the final school bell, we headed to a neighborhood block party. I decided to stop by another family’s house first to say hi.

Our friends were setting up a new Slip ’n Slide.

When you’re 10 or younger, the allure of the Slip ’nSlide is irresistible. Both Cooper and Katie asked to try it out.

My instinct was to say no. They were dressed in play clothes, not swimsuits. We had other plans.

But then I thought, “It’s the last day of school. Summer is just beginning. Who cares if they get wet? Try to be a fun mom!”

So instead of “No,” I said something like, “You’re not really dressed for it. We’re going to the party after this. But I’m not going to say no.”

Those are words I will regret for weeks to come.

Katie kicked off her shoes and tucked her tunic into her bike shorts (creating a sort of 1950s swimsuit look). Then she disappeared from sight.

The next thing I know, she’s sliding down the Slip ’n Slide on her feet. In no time, those feet slipped out from under her body, and she slammed to the ground, flat on her back, neck and head.

She popped up and burst into tears. They were genuine tears of pain, not just dramatic tears of fear.

We coaxed her to sit down so that my friend Jenny and I could examine her. She continued to cry and insisted that her neck was broken.

I’m no doctor, but I could tell her neck was intact. But something was definitely wrong, confirmed by Jenny’s “something is wrong but I don’t want to frighten anyone” mom stare.

We administered Tylenol and an ice pack and headed to the nearest emergency room. An X-ray revealed the source of her excruciating pain: a broken clavicle.

Ever since, I’ve been feeling pretty awful. If we’d gone straight to the block party, we would have avoided the Slip ’n Slide altogether.

Or, if I had followed my instinct and refused access, we would have avoided the accident.

Or, after relenting, I could have walked with Katie to the Slip ’n Slide. I would have seen her designs to surf down the thin sheet of plastic on her feet, and I could have intervened, hollering, “Always on your belly!” And she would have slid without breaking her collarbone.

Instead, she’s enduring awful pain (“like a bowling ball filled with TNT inside my shoulder”), she’s missed her traditional first-week-of- summer tennis camp, and she’s sidelined from swimming until she has use of her left arm.

My pain is emotional. I feel guilty for not preventing the accident, and I’m arguing with myself about the merits of free-range parenting vs. helicopter parenting.

In general, moms and dads around me are too cautious and overprotective. I recognize that I’m often in that category, too — hovering more than necessary, supplying constant supervision and entertainment.

I’ve been deliberate the past couple of years about letting go when appropriate. I’ve been trying to trust more often that my children will apply our family’s values and rules to circumstances beyond my control.

That means they have more freedoms in the neighborhood (until a rule is broken; then the reins are tightened). That means that sometimes instead of declaring yes or no, I present facts and let them make decisions.

That means I sometimes fight my instincts, and the results aren’t ideal.

On the way home from the emergency room, Katie expressed tearful regrets about her one trip down the Slip ’n Slide.

“The good news,” she said as she caught her breath, “is that I didn’t break my whole arm. And I’ll never go down that thing on my feet again.”

No doubt there are more accidents to come. More mistakes to make. But the pain of this accident won’t be soon forgotten. At least not this summer.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Before Sunday school this morning

First and last: 2011-2012

Six years of memories make goodbye easier

From today's Briefing:

Our elementary school celebrates student and staff birthdays during Friday assembly.

When it’s the week of your big day, you get called to the stage. On your walk up you receive a pencil. Then you stand with all the other celebrants, and the entire school sings and dances to a cheerful birthday tune.

My kids are summer babies, so they celebrate in May, when the cafeteria stage is packed with all the other summer babies.

Kindergarteners are in front, either dancing with wild abandon or standing frozen with stage fright.

In the very back are teachers and fifth-graders, placed there because they’re so tall — convenient, too, for tweens who have grown too cool for birthday songs.

I can close my eyes and see Cooper on the front row. His big smile framed by chubby cheeks with pudgy hands waving in the air and floppy hair that moves as he dances.

Six birthday dances later, my Cooper is on the back row with a bemused smile and no trace of baby fat. His spindly arms casually move to the music and his cropped hair wouldn’t move even if he did dance with a 5-year-old’s enthusiasm.

That final birthday song is but one reminder that today, after the fastest six years in the history of humankind, my son is graduating elementary school.

The milestones have been building all year: Fifth-grade sleep-away camp, band tryouts, bridging from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts, puberty video and fifth-grade track meet.

It all culminates at 2:40 this afternoon, when Cooper and more than a hundred other fifth-graders will snake through the halls, giving farewell high-fives to all the younger kids before they shimmy out the front door and spill onto the front lawn.

I will be there, too, no doubt a big ol’ mess of tears mixed with laughter. I’m awful at goodbyes, and this is a pretty big goodbye.

Cooper has spent more than half his life as a student at the school down the street.

He was a student there when his dad was diagnosed with cancer. I worried about just about everything in those days, but I didn’t worry about Cooper during the hours he was at school. He had 40 surrogate moms — teachers and staff members who watched out for him and lavished him with hugs if needed.

He was a student there when Steve died. My primary goal for Cooper that year was emotional stability. Academics were secondary. His teacher somehow balanced both, and he finished third grade emotionally secure — and on the honor roll.

Cooper was a student there when he was diagnosed with dyslexia — and we finally realized why, despite his love of reading, he struggled tremendously with spelling and writing. He still struggles, but with less intensity, thanks to an intervention program, a top-notch dyslexia specialist and his own fierce determination.

When Cooper walks out those doors this afternoon, he’s leaving behind Valentine’s parties and Mother’s Day teas. He’s leaving birthday songs in the cafeteria and birthday doughnuts in the classroom.

More significant, though, is what he’s leaving with: six years of quality education, sweet memories and special friendships.

He’s leaving the cozy school down the street with significant life lessons. In Cooper’s words: Keep your hands to yourself. When life gets hard, fight back. Trust your friends. Make goals and work toward them. And always believe in yourself.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Before church this morning

Don't forget to plan ahead, but allow some flexibility

From today's Briefing:

Tuesday afternoon, I drove Katie and a friend home from school.

“We planned our play date over the past two recesses so we wouldn’t waste time deciding what to do today,” Katie informed me from the back seat.

“Yeah, 30 minutes plus 30 minutes is an hour,” her friend added. “We spent an hour planning.”

I totally get it. Time is precious; you want to make the most of it. I believe that if you’re going to spend time and money to go somewhere, you should have an idea of what you’re going to do when you get there.

That’s why I spend hours before a vacation researching maps, public transportation, hotels, restaurants, museums, festivals, neighborhoods, shopping and more.

I plan so much, in fact, that my plan sometimes backfires and a vacation feels like I’ve already been there. (There’s a delicate line between not enough and too much planning. It’s a problem I’ve been working on for years.)

I also believe in planning meals for the week and shopping all at once — even if the plan includes simple dinners. I don’t want to waste time making multiple grocery trips every week.

And I believe in planning summer weeks. In the past, this has been a luxury, but this year, it’s a necessity as I can’t drag two children into my new office every weekday through August.

That means employing a spreadsheet and calendar to chart which summer classes are offered, and then registering for courses as soon as possible. Competition for some spots is fierce.

Our school district hosts a weeklong middle-school science and technology program each summer. Parents were warned that last year the class sold out online in less than an hour.

My graduating fifth-grader plans to be a scientist or engineer and was passionate about taking the class.
The morning of registration, I hovered at the computer, as if waiting for Madonna concert tickets to be released. As soon as the course was listed as “open,” I clicked and got Cooper in.

I was lucky. The class sold out in 90 seconds. Even moms and dads with the best-laid plans were disappointed that morning.

Katie and her friend were passionate about their playdate plans, which included playing home (not house) with their dolls, a fancy dinner party on the front porch for their dolls (requiring a change from school clothes into dresses) and school with their dolls.

Katie also wanted ice cream. But a trip to an ice cream shop would rob them of important doll-playing time, and our freezer was bare.

I proposed a compromise: When the ice cream truck drives by, I suggested, you can take a break from playing and we’ll buy treats.

The girls agreed, mostly because Katie knew it was a safe bet that the ice cream man would drive by. His music taunts neighborhood children every afternoon between 4 and 4:30.

So they played home and dinner party, always listening for the ice cream truck.

The truck never came. Their expected afternoon snack was in jeopardy.

“We can get out for ice cream,” I suggested, “but you’ll miss the last of your playing time.”

Without hesitation they voted for ice cream, shelving plans to play school.

“Ice cream is worth it,” Katie’s friend said.

I totally get it. The best plans allow flexibility for unexpected detours.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.