Best Card Trick Ever, or Algebra Without Tears

I am not, and have never been, pop culture's idea of the homeschool mom: sit the kids at the table to work through lessons, have them do chores to keep the house spotless, make three healthy meals a day to support mental and physical stamina. I mean, I try, but let's talk reality. And how far I have fallen. These days, I have farmed out both math and French lessons to the girls' favorite teacher. Want to guess who it is?

Hello, iPad. Please keep your charge until Kathy has finished that level of Duolingo.

Taryn has been learning algebra with an app called Dragon Box. Multiple friends had given it rave reviews, so despite its price -- $5.99 for an app, really? -- I installed it on all of our iPads. (Yes, each of us has one. Yes, that is excessive. My husband is an early adopter and technophile. We have held off on the 3D printer, at least.)

Screen capture from Dragon Box. The goal for this puzzle is to isolate the box on the left, using the cards available at the bottom of the screen. 

 When Taryn finished all the levels, even the bonus rounds, of the game, I thought it would be straightforward to jump from solving equations on the iPad to solving them with pencil and paper. 

Screen capture from a bonus level puzzle. Don't tell the kids, it's ALGEBRA.

She was up for it, but at the first attempt to solve an equation, the tears began to flow. Uh oh.

The rules of the game mirror the rules of algebra. The jump from the game's tactile and visual solution of a puzzle, to the process of solving for x on paper, was too big for Taryn.

Feeling angry about algebra. Let's take a break.

She needed a stepping stone to make the transition from iPad game to real math.

I puzzled over this for a while. Could I print out cards that look like the items in Dragon Box and play with those? Well, yes, I could, but I didn't really want to take the time to design, print, cut, and laminate a zillion cards. For some reason, it was playing out in my head as a Pinterest-worthy project.

Simplify, simplify. Could I skip the part where I design the cards on the computer? Maybe just draw some by hand? That's an option. What are the essentials? Cards that have pictures, and for each card its "opposite." The game calls the picture card opposites "night" cards. The numbers and symbols get the standard negative sign in front of them.

More musing. Earlier in the day, the girls and I had talked about the phrase "Being in the red." How in a ledger, you might see the negative numbers written in red. How you don't want your bank card balance [a topic for another post] to be red, but black.

Red, black. Cards. Pictures. Numbers. Wait, this sounds familiar. Oh!

A standard deck of cards becomes a tool to learn algebra

I pulled out a standard deck of cards, and sorted them by number. I gave Taryn these rules:

• Black number cards are have positive value: spades and clubs are numbers 1-10.
• Red number cards have negative value: hearts and diamonds are numbers -1 through -10.
• Ace and face cards are variables, with positive or negative value depending on suit: Ace of hearts represents -a, Jack of clubs represents j, and so on.

Music in the car

One last picture before we started home

Goodbyes are no fun. Jennie and I did our best to make this one tolerable. Instead of leaving directly from their house, we took the girls for a short hike on a "storybook trail" at a park nearby. As you can see from the girls' expressions, there was no overcoming the melancholy of this farewell.

The trail is lined with pages from a picture book about autumn.

After the walk, Kathy jumped into Jennie's car. I guess she hoped I would not notice her absence. That ruse didn't work. It did remind her that she had forgotten something at their house, a gift of the CD of music Jennie had been playing in the car as we drove around Nashville all week.

Quick thinking Jennie popped her copy out of the car and passed it along to us. As we drove away, their music comforted us. "Skip to number 5," Kathy demanded.

"You don't want to just wait for it? We have a long ride ahead of us. You'll hear it soon."

"No, I want to hear it now."

The fifth track is "Defying Gravity" from Wicked, performed by the cast of Glee, neither of which shows Kathy knows anything about. But it wasn't the origins of the music that mattered, just the feeling. Something about that song was what she needed for the beginning of the trip.

Sign we've returned home: waking up to a pile of cats

We've been home for a week now, and in that time we've been in the car a lot: to a field trip with our Girl Scout troop, to the skatepark five times (including Taryn's triumphant first drop into the concrete bowl, and Kathy's conquering of the fear of going down ramps), to an art class about Georgia O'Keefe, to see that silly Free Birds movie, to our history/science co-op, to a Girl Scout meeting ... and more. Our friends' music has been our soundtrack as we drive to all these places.

Just yesterday, Taryn and I shared a funny moment at a stop light. "I really like listening to this because it reminds me of my friends," she said.

"That's exactly what I was thinking just now!" I replied.

So many thanks to Jennie and her girls -- for everything. We had such a fabulous time while we were with them, and the music continues to give us that warm fuzzy feeling of being with our dear friends, even at home.

 

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Skateboarder mom

I've been spending a lot of time with Taryn at one skatepark or another. This is most definitely her thing: constant motion, a bit of a thrill, burn lots of energy. She's been trying for a couple of weeks to get up the courage to drop in, or skate down a concave ramp. At her regular skatepark, the smallest is about four feet down into a concrete bowl. It looks pretty scary to me, so I get her hesitation.

One of the guys at the skate park told her that hesitation is the enemy. "You gotta commit to it."

At home, she has not been able to commit to the drop. And she's been pretty hard on herself about it. I keep telling her that she will know when she is ready, and she'll rock it.

I don't want to write much more about her experiences, because that is her story. I won't be a tease, though. On this trip to Nashville, she tried out an indoor skatepark with her buddy. She mastered a wooden ramp with a two foot drop, and then went for the next size up. When she dropped in from that one for the first time, she pumped her fist -- I couldn't hear her, but I'm sure she said, "Yes!!!" -- and popped off her board. She jumped up and down with excitement like she was on a pogo stick.

Dropping in, like a boss.

While this is going on, I sit on the side lines, like a stage mother, or a soccer mom. I'm usually on my own, reading a book, catching up on emails, and (now) blogging.

Not much, just blogging. How are you?

On the sunny days, it's been great to sit outside and soak in the autumn sunlight. Sometimes it is cold enough for me to huddle in the car. Taryn is out there, in whatever the weather, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Here in Nashville, we've had beautiful weather, and she wanted to try an outdoor park. We tried the Two Rivers Skatepark, but she didn't want to stay.

Two Rivers Skatepark, great in theory

There was a lot of steep concrete. That and the cigarette smoking, sweat-stinking twenty-somethings made an unappealing situation. So we've returned to Sixth Avenue Skatepark.

The first thing she said when we walked in was, "It's great that there aren't any smokers around." It's funny how the skateboard culture is full of really nice guys, but there's a lot of smoking and cursing that goes with them. There's also the lack of girls. When we see one, we always take note. I love it when the occasional woman shows up and barrels around the concrete bowl. Without fail, she will acknowledge Taryn in some encouraging way.

A gradual realization has culminated in an obvious question: why don't I skateboard, too? There's only good reasons to start. Taryn would get to be the expert, which would be a nice change-up in our homeschooling relationship. I'd stay warm as a participant, instead of cold on the sidelines. I would be a skater, not just another girl watching from outside the fence. I'd be setting a good example for my daughters, too, that chronological age doesn't have to be a barrier to starting something new.

Circumstances confirmed that I need to get onto a skateboard. When we found out that the skate park rented helmets but no pads, I bought a set of protective gear for Taryn's friend to use, but for me to keep.

My elbow pads. I had a banana seat bike in these colors.

It looks vintage 80's, kind of like me. I'll pull a classic newbie move and borrow my boyfriend's board (except that because I'm a grownup, it's my husband's) to see if I want to invest in my own. I'm pretty sure I will.

 

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One day in Nashville

Our recommendations for a fun day in Nashville include, but are not limited to:

Wake up with your friends and start playing right away.

Count cars as a train goes by. Lose track.

Visit the old family home.

Notice and be happy that Grandmother's flowers are still blooming out front.

Take a coffee break at Crema, great coffee, good prices, nice people, fabulous view.

Ride the flight simulator at the Adventure Science Center.

Again.

Lift a car off the ground.

Simulate walking with the moon's reduced gravity.

See really interesting, if vaguely gross, things.

Wait for a table at the Loveless Cafe. Eat the best fried eggs ever, not to mention the pulled pork and those biscuits.

Go to bed excited about tomorrow's adventures.

 

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Feels like home

Our dear friends moved from NoVa to Nashville, eleven driving hours away. There were tears the morning they took off in July, and great anticipation for the next time we would see them. November felt a long time away. There was great rejoicing when we got in a bonus visit! We spent a weekend with the oldest daughter in October, as her parents finished up some business in town.

The day for our visit there arrived, as did we, this afternoon. As soon as we walked in the house, it felt like home: the familiar artwork, the wall of bookshelves, the pantry full of Costco-sized staples, and, of course, the family.

After hugs and squeals, the girls settled in. They pulled out sparkly gel pens and paper. Later, the dolls joined them.

Nashville has always meant family to me. My grandparents lived here, and we made many a journey from the DC suburbs for visits. My parents would do the drive in one long day. We'd have dinner at a soda fountain, ordering dessert first and a burger after. Then I would fall asleep for the rest of the trip, awaking as the car turned into the driveway. My grandmother, Louise, would put me to bed in a big four-poster, and I'd open my eyes in a sun drenched room.

For breakfast, I'd have Grape Nuts with milk and sugar. More like sugar and milk: Louise was generous with the sugar cubes and would let me help myself. She made the best fried chicken, but my favorite was the cinnamon apples. On the road, I picked up a pound of red hot candies to bake my childhood favorite for our girls.

Core the apples, fill with cinnamon hearts, add a pat of butter. Bake at 350 until soft.

Dinner was a southern classic: Krystal burgers. All these years later, the restaurant's gimmick is the same, even though the menu has expanded. Everything is miniature. The burgers are 2"x2" square, served on a bun with minced onion, mustard, and sliced pickles. The chicken tenders are popcorn size, with an incredible ratio of crispy coating to actual meat. The corn dogs are adorable. Afterward, I built the requisite tower of Krystal burger boxes.

My record tower height was ten boxes tall.

Kathy has already planned future visits, and she says this is her "Nashville home." It is so nice to have family -- by blood or by choice -- in Nashville.

The grown ups toasted the occasion with strawberry margaritas.

Here's to great friends, and a full, if short, vacation.

 

 

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Better than a pumpkin pie

We have had the most spectacular autumn. Somehow, all the trees coordinated their peak color to happen in sync. There have been riots of red, outcrops of copper, and my favorite, yellow, glows in the sunlight. Taryn, Kathy, and I took a walk in the late afternoon to soak it all in.

The creek that runs behind the house empties out into a lake. We paused at the wooden footbridge to admire the view. A pair of mallards floated nearby. Kathy said she spotted "duck eggs." That would have been exciting! It turned out, they were just golf balls. 

We were chilly, even though we walked briskly, sometimes one running ahead, the better to call the others Slow Pokes. We walked backwards, forwards, sideways, up hills and down, but the late afternoon sun only dappled the path and couldn't warm us. We won't be going out again without layers.

Dinner was Dorie Greenspan's Pumpkin Stuffed with Everything Good. As she recommends, I riffed on the recipe. We like Italian sausage, provolone, and mozzarella. It makes a filling dinner, and we discussed if we should fit it onto our Thanksgiving table. I suggested the pumpkin instead of a turkey, but was voted down. Perhaps it will show up again in the days after the big meal. I'd better snag another pie pumpkin from the store before they disappear for the season! 

No eggplant love

Naked eggplant

Isn't an eggplant beautiful? I love that aubergine color -- and the word aubergine -- and the smooth skin. At my house, the diners would prefer to look at one rather than eat one. It is only acceptable in a dish that disguises the eggplant, like a good baba ghanoush. I should have predicted the reactions to tonight's dish, which was inspired by a homework assignment from the cooking science class that I've been taking.

It's pretty, isn't it? I had to make substitutions in the recipe, as I didn't have lemon thyme on hand. I do have plenty of za'atar, so this was a most fragrant eggplant when it came out of the oven.

It got prettier with the addition of garlicky buttermilk sauce and the appealing pop of color from the pomegranate seed garnish. A sprinkling of sumac completed the dish.

Dressed eggplant

The problem arose upon serving. The flesh was grayish green, no matter how I looked at it. My solution was to drown it in more sauce.

The girls couldn't stomach it. "I like the pomegranates," Taryn said, generously. Kathy glared at her plate. I know exactly what she's going to look like as a teenager -- she is an eight year old goth, with black lipstick and a great scowl. The only thing throwing off the picture is her missing top tooth. Zed pronounced the eggplant slimy, then made samosas from Trader Joes so the girls would actually eat something.

Braised in Salsa

At least one food critic thinks that "put an egg on it" is a food trend that is so last year. I will be stuck in the food trend past, then, as I continue to slide a fried egg on top of just about any dish. My favorite is a fried egg on a slice of pizza.

Braised egg image from Eating Well

I also see that I've been using the wrong term for my new favorite egg-prep method. This recipe from Eating Well describes my "poached in salsa" as braised eggs. In any case, this makes the best egg ever.

Back to food trends, is molecular gastronomy over too? I don't get out for fine dining experiences that often, but I'd like to try something like these olives. In fact, I purchased the sodium alginate and calcium lactate gluconate so I can experiment at home.

Make that we can experiment at home. My chemist/cook, Taryn, is helping me out with the online class I am taking from edX. It is called Science & Cooking: From Haute Cuisine to Soft Matter Science. The course is full of math, physics, chemistry, and food. I signed up for it on a whim, but the material has captured me: I want to do my homework!

One of the first assignments was to calibrate my oven, which I now know runs about 35 degrees hot on convection. I always had to set the temperature lower when using the oven's fan. I didn't know by how much, and I burned a lot of cookies. The candy that resulted from doing the calibration test was yummy, too. (See it in the image below? The caramelized splat.)

Sugar melted at "330" degrees F in my oven. The melting point of sugar is 366 degrees F.

Up next, a recipe for eggplant, examining the recipe for Nestle's Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookies, and (this makes me happy) "perfect eggs."

I Promise You Won't Suffer

I Promise Not To Suffer: A Fool for Love Hikes the Pacific Crest Trail by Gail D. Storey
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

You know this book has to include some suffering, despite its title. A memoir of hiking the PCT would not be complete without some major hurting.

The trail starts in California at the Mexican border, and ends 2,663 miles later at Washington's Canadian border. That number speaks for itself: my feet are sore just thinking about hiking that far. Add in walking through desert, climbing alpine heights, crossing ice fields, and fording raging streams. And bears!

The PCT hiker's interior journey can be just as full of pain as her physical experience. That's why I keep reading memoirs of the trail. This author had a lot going on in her head before she started the trip, and her time on the PCT brought many anxieties to the surface.

On this list is her dying mother, who had promised to be alive when the author finished the trail. Another is her husband, whose dream inspired the couple to sell their house and live on the PCT for six months.

One question I have when I start one of these memoirs is, "Will the author finish the trip?" I won't answer that question here, for fear of spoiling it. I will say, that in the end, the journey's weight is in the author's interior transformation. It's a good addition to the list of Pacific Crest Trail memoirs.

View all my reviews

Other memoirs of the Pacific Crest Trail include:

• The Cactus Eaters: How I Lost My Mind -- and Almost Found Myself -- on the Pacific Crest Trail, by Dan White (which I read and enjoyed)
• Wild, by Cheryl Strayed (here's a link to her interview on NPR)
• The Trail Life: How I Loved it, Hated it, and Learned from it, by Julie Urbanski
• Skywalker: Highs and Lows on the Pacific Crest Trail, by Bill Walker

Those last three are on my to-read list. Have you read any of these? Or better, hiked a part of the trail? Been a thru hiker on the AT, or attempted any journey like these? I'd love to hear about your experiences, first-hand or otherwise.

Rain, Mud, and Sugar Cookies

Five muddy miles, done!

It's been raining here for five days straight. A tropical storm and a nor'easter met in the skies above us and decided to settle down together. Waves of rain slosh down, dreary skies become the norm, and the kids don't want to leave the house.

The girls say they don't want to go outside and stomp in puddles because they don't have rain boots. When did they start to care about keeping their feet dry? These girls used to stomp in puddles all over town, in the least appropriate footwear.

For entertainment, Taryn has been baking treats. She googled a recipe, and, on her first try, made the best brownies ever to come out of our oven. Next up were "green velvet" cake pops. I took a turn with "apple pie" muffins, which were meant for breakfast but didn't last that long. Today, she and a friend made sugar cookies with orange icing and black sprinkles.

I think I haven't been setting a good example. I didn't run outside in Thursday evening's deluge, choosing the treadmill, a DVRed episode of Top Chef, and dry feet instead. In fact, our only outside time has been the dash from house to car, to library/dentist/friend's house, back to car, back to house.

If a race hadn't been on my calendar, I wouldn't have gone out into the weather this morning, either. I would have missed out. In the woods, I felt like a kid again. I got my feet soaking wet, I was covered in mud, and I loved it. Seriously, [I am addressing you, Taryn and Kathy] you don't need rain boots if you want to get wet.

At home, I hosed down before leaving for the dry sauna at the gym. The cold had a good grip on my toes and fingers, and was hard to shake off, even in 175 degrees. I baked myself in that cedar paneled room and thought about what made this morning's race so fun. Being on home turf was easier than driving an hour to the starting line. The camaraderie on the trail was great, with two friends in the race with me, and another volunteering at an aid station along the way.

But the secret ingredient? The special sauce was the experience of sloppy mud, the shining rocks, the flowing creek, the sound of wind in wet leaves. All thanks to the rain.

On the next rainy day, Taryn and Kathy, let's go on a walk with the intention of getting wet. I will make you hot chocolate when we get home, and you won't miss having rain boots.

The Not-So-Interestings

The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

The fact that this book is due at the library is my excuse (not that I need one) for giving up on this book. The characters so far are successful/not successful, smug/jealous, oblivious/way too introspective for their own good.

If someone gives me encouragement to keep going, I'll try reading it again. Anyone? Anyone?

View all my reviews

Cats happen

Reader beware: For animal lovers only. The following post contains sappy memories and mild anthropomorphism.

I adopted my cat, Peanut, when I was in grad school. My then soon-to-be-ex boyfriend sputtered, "Why did you do that without asking me if I like cats?" I learned something valuable with that conversation, that any partner of mine would have to take a package deal: me and my cat.

After we got married, Zed (who doesn't love animals but tolerates them) and I rescued a cat whose sister was adopted without her. Miss Parker and Peanut became friends in their own cat way. When our first baby arrived, Miss Parker became a nanny cat, and protected Taryn from Peanut, who kept trying to head-butt our infant.

Miss Parker taking her turn watching infant Taryn.

Taryn pulled herself up and surprised Peanut.

Years later, after the deaths of these much loved feline family members, I promised myself that I was done with pets. It is too heartbreaking to say goodbye to these little souls. Miss Parker had feline leukemia and died too soon. Peanut stayed with us for a good, long time, but her kidneys eventually failed, and all four of us were devastated after her death.

No more cats. 

That arrangement lasted for four months, until a cat arrived in our lives: we agreed to foster a stray who had wandered through my friend's neighborhood for a while. Fostering turned into forever after Taryn and Kathy fell in love with Eli. I loved him, too, but I let the girls mount a campaign to talk their daddy into keeping the cat. It's harder for him to say no to them than to me!

One cat was enough.

Then our dear friends announced they were moving out of state and needed some help. Could we watch their cat for a couple of weeks until their house was sold? It was fun to have a second kitty in the house. Eli followed Ginger around, trying to get her to pay attention to him. When she drank from the bath faucet, he sat on the side of the tub and watched. When she left the room, he left too. When the canned food was good enough for her, it was suddenly good enough for previously picky Eli. Ginger charmed the humans, as well. She rearranged the girls' stuffed toys, leaving them in a pile on the landing. She howled in the night, perhaps a love song to the toys she had herded. Our friends moved away* and took Ginger with them.

We missed that second cat.

Our solution was to adopt two kittens. The older one was the last of his litter to be adopted -- saving the best for last -- and the younger one was that rare cat singleton. Tank and Rascal became brothers in their foster home, and wanted to stay together. They fit right in with Eli, who, at seven years old, is experiencing a second kittenhood. He rumbles with his new brothers, chasing them up the stairs and being chased back down. He grooms them and cuddles with them. He wrestles with them and is generally gentle.

Tank, Rascal, and Eli love their wet food.

Three cats watch the falling leaves together.

So now we have three cats. 

Our spending at PetSmart has, predictably enough, increased. The vet bill is only slightly horrifying. The girls are thrilled. Zed reminds me that it is my turn to clean the four litter boxes. 

I woke up last night with three cats keeping me warm. I'm pretty sure they just wanted to wake me up to feed them, but I am choosing to believe they were purring their love for me.

*********************************

*We miss our friends, too! But that would be a separate post.

Camping trip traditions

Our local homeschool group has been around for long enough now that we have well established traditions. In September, we enjoy a "Not Back to School" picnic for families. We party at the opposite end of the year with a combination field day and picnic. In between, we have Park Days every Friday for kids. (An unofficial, alternate name for these gatherings is Homeschooling Parent Support Group.) In warm enough weather, we meet at a playground. In cooler months, we get creative and go bowling, visit a bounce house, attend nature classes, and go on field trips.

One last tradition is our October camping trip. It started in 2008, when six of our group's families spent a weekend at Cunningham Falls State Park. 

These girls don't remember a time they didn't go camping together.

My younger daughter had just turned 3, and she doesn't remember a thing about that camp out. I do: the first night was rainy, we slept in hats, and little Kathy and I snuggled in my sleeping bag. (I've also got some great pictures to jog my memory.)

An outcrop of rocks in the middle of our group's sites became a playground. The kids clambered up and around them all weekend. It was only when I reserved those same campsites the next year I learned that they feature "a severe drop off of the back of the camping pad" and are "not suitable for children." This perceived liability had become our group's favorite spot!

Kids still play on the rocks in 2013

On Sunday we returned from our sixth camping trip to the same park, the same sites. The group has grown: this year we had twelve families (with fifteen girls, five boys, and two dogs).

This isn't even the entire group of campers

We tried something new this year, and reserved one site where we could gather as a community. That was a successful experiment! During the day, the kids played on the camping pad, and at night, the grownups brought their chairs to enjoy a big fire.

Community campsite at night

The weather cooperated by not raining on us -- a tradition that has held since our second year, and one that I cannot claim any responsibility for. We went on a group hike, ate countless s'mores, played flashlight tag, burned hot dogs, and enjoyed being unplugged for the weekend. I talked two of my friends into going on a sunrise trail run to the falls and back. 

Spectacular colors

New for me this camping season is my Dutch oven. I'm totally in love with it for camp cooking. Instead of burning our hobo packets in the coals of a fire (or worse, undercooking them), we arranged them in the pot and let the radiant heat of charcoal briquettes do the work. I have used it to bake mac'n'3 cheese, "dump cake," biscuits and bacon, and banana boats, successful every time.

Dutch oven plus campfire

I also invested in a happy, apple green percolator. I loved drinking hot coffee in the great outdoors while watching my girls and their friends running around before the sun appeared over the mountain.

My breakfast starts with coffee

We have a lot of camping equipment, and I'm pretty sure there isn't room for much more gear, even though we probably need a second tent. This is true car camping! I'm not sure how getting ready for two nights in the woods takes up this much space. At least we did not forget our sleeping bags this year.

Everything and the camp kitchen sink

What a great time! I love how the kids create play in nature. I love the fresh air. I love the relaxed time with my husband. I love how the leaves fall in a gentle breeze. I love spending time with my friends. I can't wait for next year's adventure!

*******************

Recipe for Mac'n'3 Cheese, transcribed from a GS leader training packet:

Old Fashioned Macaroni and Cheese

(One pot OR Dutch or Box oven)

1 12-15 oz. box pasta

1 stick of butter

8 oz sour cream

2 cups small curd cottage cheese

Onion powder

Salt and pepper

12 oz sharp cheddar cheese

Cook pasta. Melt butter into pasta. Mix with other ingredients and place in greased pan.

Cook over low heat until cheese has melted and mixture is thick and creamy; stirring frequently

OR

 Cook in a 350 degree oven for 30 minutes or until cheese is melted and bubbly.