The Woodshed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some words about the woodshed.  I did not know what would happen in the Daddy Life when my boy started Kindergarten. It was a strange mix emotion and euphoria. The result was this woodshed.

The Woodshed, (with a capital W) as it became known in my house, began to form in my mind several months ago. In the winter we had three trees down, and the WOOD from these trees was burning a hole into the farthest reaches of my masculine anxiety. All summer I shuffled these rounds about the property. I used them up on the deck for end tables. I dug out stairs and forts and paths. I even split some of them. But my STORY about the wood was that I would build a woodshed and STORE the wood for future fires. This was the manly thing to do. To build and split and stack. But all summer long this was just talk. It was a dream to offset all of the work I actually do every day - managing the children, cleaning the kitchen, planning the meals, etc.

And then September came and two things conspired to make my dream a reality. Suddenly I had one in school and this gave me a heretofore unseen quantity of TIME. Ada was around, but she is very helpful and often plays nicely on her own. So I had no excuses. The second occurrence was that it began to rain in September. It began to rain like only an Oregon winter can. This was the opposite of an Indian Summer. It began to rain in earnest and didn't stop for three weeks. And I panicked.

"THE WOOD IS ROTTING!" I thought to myself in all capitals. "I'VE GOT TO BUILD THIS WOODSHED!" And somewhere inside of me I feared that something else was rotting, too. The part of me that I put aside to change the diapers and rock the babies and make the bottles and soothe the wild beasts that are in my daily care. So I began the project to deal with my excess of firewood, but it began to symbolize my ability to deal with my own latent work. And that is when the mania gripped me.

It began simply enough, cutting down the old chain link fencing from the dog run. Then there were stakes hammered in the rain, and strings run, and measurements. There was a design that changed several times. Eventually I settled on something loosely built on the plans of a pole barn, with a level deck hung from the poles and a shed roof on top of that. But then I started making orders from the lumber yard, and the design kept growing to accommodate larger eves, a front pitch, and nice tongue and groove decking. The woodshed grew and grew, and as it went up I began to fall in love with it. I couldn't think about anything else. 

October was mercifully dry, and I continued the building with some help from friend Bjorn and father Danel. Eventually we got the metal roof onto it, then laid out the joists and decking, and finally some fencing on the ends to hold in my wood ricks. I spent all my time working on this thing. It was peaceful down there, in the back of the house. And the children knew where to find me. It was the loosest form of child-care imaginable. But it worked. I think we all needed a little break after our summer together. And then all of a sudden it was done. A big beautiful pole-barn of a woodshed with open air and large eves. I showed it off to my friends - and got many good ideas for its use. Yoga studio, brew-shed, covered ping pong pavilion were just a few. 

I still had a major problem on my hands. I had built a gigantic woodshed, but the loading of my wood was another matter. There were stacks of wood all over my back lot, and much of it was still in rounds. Somehow I knew that loading this thing would not be my biggest problem, and again the universe conspired with me to make it happen. A big thanks to Erik Larson, the Alaskan wood boss. He was in town and made some time to come and help me finish the job. 

And then, with all my wood split and laid up for winter, the mania subsided. I became my normal, amiable self again. The Daddy Life returned for the winter months. I was happy to be back, but one thing is different. Now we are going to have a lot more fires. 

Kindergarten

The summer passed. It was nothing like the trials of past years. My kids were Three and Five. We had adventures. We went to the pool. We flew to New York. We played in the sun.

September arrived, and with it came Kindergarten. Jude is enrolled in our neighborhood school. And Ada - she's a big girl now. Pre-school. Moving up in the world.

I am still the Dad. There is less to be in charge of now. I no longer need to own the schedule. It is already set for us. I make the lunches. I take the kids to school. I volunteer on my volunteer days. I meet the bus. I help with homework. I cook dinner. I put kids to bed.

There is more quiet. After school there is down time. In the mornings Ada is waking to a house with no brother. Now she can choose her own activities, her own level of stimulation. She is learning what to do with this freedom. But she misses him. Jude is tired after school. He loses his temper. Sometimes he cries about small things. We give him lots of space and love and chances.

This is really a post about Jude and Kindergarten.

The Cornett and Company moved to this neighborhood because we liked the school. It is a short drive over the hill to downtown, an easy commute out to Linden's work, and the neighborhood has a pleasant, suburban feel. There are fields. There are trees. And there is a nice public school in the middle. It's not flashy. There are no mansions around. It's just a good solid little school.

Let me insert here that we are public school people. We are both products of public school, and we carry the scars to prove it. The beauty of a public school is that it supports your community while teaching lessons about coping with an imperfect world. There were good years and bad years, good teachers and bad teachers. I am a public school teacher. So we did not balk at this next step. We rolled the dice, hoped for the best, and sent our boy off for some education.

After four years of preschool, this was a big change. We have very little contact with classroom or curriculum. Most of what we hear comes from Jude's mouth, and so far there is a lot to report. We are lucky that Jude has an excellent teacher. She is strict, but fair. She sets rules and boundaries (which Jude just loves) and she keeps him engaged with a fairly high expectation of academics. He's learning to read and write. They do math projects. He has a journal. There is science, culture, and academics worked into everything. And three recesses a day to burn off the jitters. This is not your parents' Kindergarten. It is quality instruction. And Judey likes it.

There were some problems, early on. Boys need to work out a pecking order, and this was definitely going on the first week. Somebody tried to kick somebody. Somebody else got kicked in the throat. Somebody had to go see the Principal. And then things seemed to get better.

Every morning Jude is excited to go to school. We wake up, pack lunches, get dressed, eat breakfast, and head out on the scooter for the downhill trip to school. I drop him off in the crowded cafeteria and he yells BYE DAD, I LOVE YOU and gives me a hug. I leave him there and walk home, uphill with the scooter. It makes for a lovely morning. At 2:30 in the afternoon, Jude gets off the bus a short walk up the hill. I am there every day to meet him. These are nice rituals.

Meet the new blog, same as the old blog

The Daddy Life has been quiet this summer. The entire world of the blog universe seems to be changing. And the Internet is changing along with it. Last July Google discontinued its popular Reader app, to the shaking and scratching of heads. Why remove a tool that is used to connect people to each other?  I chose not to move my information, and it was lost to the ether. I guess I was wondering, what will happen next?

It is clear to me this morning that the Internet companies of Yahoo, Google, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter are all vying for me to build a newer, sharier, flashier online community out of the ashes of the blogosphere. And now it couldn't be easier to LOG IN WITH YOUR FACEBOOK PASSWORD? on any number of sites. Not sure how I feel about any of this. But I woke up this morning feeling remiss in my duties as a daddy blogger. It is not for my friends, or far off family, or even my online "community" of peers. I have missed documenting the trials of the Daddy Life.

This place is essentially on online journal. I don't scrapbook, I don't really Facebook, and I don't make photo albums. It is here that I am recording the experience of parenting, for myself and for posterity. When I am an old man I will read these words. So I had better get writing again.

The Ever-Changing Daddy Life

The past year brought so many changes that it is hard to cast back and find the center.

I have been pretty quiet over here about the rigors of the stay-at-home daddy life. Having kids at 4 and 2 was not any less challenging, but it was more manageable. And more satisfying, I think.  

A year ago we moved into the Cornett Compound. The move nearly killed us, and we swore not to move again for 20 years. Make that 19 years, now. We were lucky to find and buy our dream house on a flat-ish lot in the West Hills. The move allowed us all to grow a little, into our new space.

I love it here. We are set back from the street with a long driveway, plenty of woods, tall trees, a small yard, and room to run. I have a big shop that is mostly filled with bikes and skis and lawn chairs. But my personal happiness was not the only reason for this big move. We needed the space and the privacy to deal with another problem that was rapidly taking over our lives.

My boy is a monkey

This is a post about Sensory Processing Disorder, or living with too much stimulation. It has been overdue for some time, but I will try to make some sense of the world we live in. Maybe it will help my three readers in the raising of their own maniacs someday.  I am talking about Jude, my sweet little baby boy who is now 4 and ½ but he looks like he’s 6 (as he’ll tell you). He is a mad web of complexities that gives me both pride and cause to cringe, every single day.

A Summary of Jude

Jude dressed for the Pool

We have always known that Jude was a little different from other kids, but had no frame of reference. He was our first child, so we loved him, and parented him, and fed him, and raised him like everyone does, as best you can. A couple of things stand out about Jude. 

First, he is BIG. He really is solid, and really does look like he’s six. This is a source of pride at first, and then a problem in the real world. Other parents treat him like he should know better. And sometimes he should.  Second, he is independent (and willful). I love this about him, and as a parent I have consciously fostered it (within reason). You want to do the dishes? Great. You want to put on your own clothes? No problem. You want to climb on the mossy shake roof? Sorry, Judey.  Which brings me to a third standout:  he has great balance. The kid seems absolutely fearless, but then I’ve noticed that it is because he is also very careful. He almost never falls. He climbs, swings, dances over playgrounds, cars, ropes, or whatever. It’s enviable, even in a four year old. I would also say that Jude is very smart. He is good with words and numbers, and very interested in the world. He can be socially very engaging, but also demonstrates very antisocial behaviors by crashing around his body into other kids. This all makes for a pretty good puzzle, and I will add one more piece. Jude experiences extreme highs and lows in life. At moments he is nothing but pure joy, and at the other end he is crying and screaming and ANGRY. All of this will someday translate into personality and character. For now, we just call it CHALLENGING. 

Are you feeling frustrated?

Last year Jude was three, and it was in the context of our co-op preschool that it became evident there might be a problem. We had a few plane flights that were terrible. One day Jude tried to run through airport security (thank God he was unarmed). Getting in and out of the car was a daily challenge. I have carried him, screaming, out of too many perfectly nice parties.  Jude would get worked up, and start spinning out of control. Crying, lashing out, yelling, running away, falling on the floor. A real Jude tantrum is a thing to behold, and not fun at all. The best way I can describe it would be the word SAVAGE. On more than one occasion, old ladies on the street have been convinced that Jude’s rage was a desperate attempt to escape from his abusive father. They were very well intentioned, I am sure. These were red flags.

Sensory Processing Disorder

The very experienced teachers at Jude’s school kindly helped us to see that our reality was not what MOST parents know about. They directed us to hear a speaker about Sensory Processing Disorder, and encouraged us to try making Jude an appointment with an Occupational Therapist. As we studied SPD, it became clear that this might be a key to unlocking some of our problems.

What is this Sensory Processing thing? I can best describe it as a window to look at sensory experience. As we learn more about brain function, it has become clear that some children need certain inputs to help them grow up in a healthy way. As adults, we all find ways to modulate the stimulation in our lives. Some children need our help to do this. The experts talk about something called the “Sensory Diet.” It is not so much about food, but about regulating the stimulating experiences to a manageable level. Maybe this is the latest fad in pediatric psychology, but all I can say is that IT WORKS.

The biggest convincing factor came when I realized that I was already managing our lives around Jude’s sensory experience. Were we going to a party that evening? Better get to the pool in the afternoon. Did Jude spend the day at co-op preschool? Let him cool down for a few hours before another activity. Should I run some quick errands with three stops out of the car? Not on your life.

Last fall we began Occupational Therapy at a local clinic where they specialize in managing Sensory Processing Disorders, or SPD. It helped us to know that a number of other children in our pre-school community have also pursued this kind of treatment.   The very calm and knowledgeable Teacher Kristin met with Jude once a week for the past 6 months. She began with a short evaluation, and then moved to a combination of focused tasks and structured physical activities. Jude loves going there. He gets one-on-one time with an attentive adult, and she provides him with challenges that he can complete. 

The OT has also passed to us a number of strategies that have made a tremendous difference in our home life.  Let me give some examples.

The Crazy Chart

Schedules. We noticed that Kristin relied heavily on the use of quick-sketched, pictorial schedules to alert Jude to transitions. We adopted these at home to great effect. I’m a little embarrassed that I never tried the schedules on my own – I am a special ed teacher for gawds sakes. But sometimes it takes a look in from the outside to make things clear.

Stimulation. Kristin and Jude developed a number system and scale for describing his level of frustration. Jude once referred to it as his Crazy Chart. Now when he’s getting frustrated, we ask him, “Jude, what number are you?” It works as a self-awareness tool. Of course he has made up many more numbers to describe varying states of being.

Modulation. This is really about modulating stimulation or energy levels. When Jude is heightened, he needs activity, or challenges, or any of several other calming activities. Jumping, wheelbarrows, climbing on the car, spinning and swinging; these all work to serve this goal of giving Jude a better internal locus of control. Blowing through a straw. Sucking on a lollipop. The list goes on and on.  

Daily Brushing

Schedules

Intervention. We experimented with a couple of different home program tools. One was something called brushing that is basically used to “wake up” Jude’s body and alert him to stimulation. Another tool is something called Therapeutic Listening, which works to build connections in the brain through specialized music. I was skeptical of these things, but they seemed to help!

Color-Coded Transitions. This one was invented by our boy, and we adopted it for use with any time-sensitive transition. Some parents can just say, “Elroy, two minutes!” and then Elroy runs dutifully to the car. That was not remotely working for us. The system described below is just quirky enough and just repetitive enough to satisfy Dad, kids, and everyone else.

It all began with Code Green. 5 minutes to go. This was a good baseline.

But then eventually Code Green was not enough time, so we invented Code Pink. 7 minutes.

Don’t forget about Code White. More than 7 minutes, up to infinity minutes.

Where were we? Oh, yeah. Code Yellow actually means Time to Go, but I give it at 2 minutes.

One minute? Code Orange.

And finally, CODE RED - Red means Run. Technically it means one minute, but actually it was so named because it was at this point that Dad was seeing red, and definitely Out of Patience. We try very hard not to get to Code Red.

I know this all seems so silly, but if I want a smooth transition, then giving appropriate codes at White, Pink, Green, Yellow, and Orange works every time.

Days in the Life

Our life is much improved over the experience we were having just one year back.  MAYBE, that is just maturity and time, MAYBE we are all just getting more comfortable in our family life.  It is certainly true that Jude’s behavior got much better last summer when we started swimming every day. For a long time, we had been held hostage over Jude’s whims and needs. That is no longer the case. I have barely mentioned Ada in this post. She is coming into her own as a happy, healthy, almost-three-year old. It is a pleasure to see.

I am sure it helps for us all to have more room to do our work and build our skills.  If somebody needs to be angry and run away for a few minutes, it is entirely okay to go down to the creek and break sticks.  Dad goes to the backyard and splits wood. Ada climbs the tree. Linden goes for a walk. And Jude is still learning the things he needs to learn about self-control, caring for others, and building self-esteem. But we’re getting there. Ever onward.

Ada doing an Ada Dance

Safety goggles are all the rage at our house.

Our general take on SPD is that Occupational Therapy can’t hurt us reach our goal – for Jude to engage with the world in a healthy and meaningful way. It is a few short months until the end of co-op. Then comes summer time, followed by the beginning of Kindergarten.

The Daddy Life began as an experiment to see if I could handle being a stay-at-home parent. To see if my restlessness and my identity could weather the storms of raising two babies into kids. Something changed in the last year that helped me answer that question. I love what I’m doing. This is my life. Someone asked me recently if this situation was temporary. I thought back on the nearly 5 years I have been home from work and answered without thinking twice. “It is temporary. And it’s going to be temporary for about 5 more years.”

You could almost call it fleeting. Managing my family is the best job I’ve ever had. I haven’t been writing much because I’ve been WORKING. But the reflection is good for me. Thanks for reading!

Peace and Love from the Daddy Life! 

Summer Adventures

Back from vacation, our summer adventures continue. This is where the Daddy Life earns his chops - a summer of long days and nothing on the schedule. File these ones under: things I should never forget.

Making pancakes on Mom's first day back at work.




Exploring our new love for tying knots.

Helping Dad with the splitting and stacking. 

Two big kids crammed into the bike trailer. 

July in New York

We just completed a three week vacation across the country to visit the grandparents in New York. The flights were hard. I get little or no exercise. The children are sometimes intractable. But my takeaway this morning, after 6 hours sleep? I love this trip. And the kids love it too. What a great way to build our family memories and future adventures!

We split our time between Long Island, Baekeland Camp in the Adirondacks, and this year we added New Jersey to see Auntie Margaret and her new husband. We also slipped out to the Hamptons for a beautiful weekend with some of Linden's robust cousins. 

I rigged a sailboat one day and actually got up the nerve to sail! But generally, vacation does not afford the Daddy such luxuries. The kids take attention, and work, supervision, energy, etc. It's pretty similar to my job at home, except that Linden was around 24/7. And Ama is a huge help. We mostly just increased our family time together. 

The kids played together, of course. But they also found time away from each other, building relationships with family members and pursuing their own interests. Jude made a great friendship with his cousin Lukas while the two of them went off on a summer camp adventure. And Ada had a weekend alone with the grandparents!

I have a some final thoughts that prompted me to post. Before our trip, I could not predict how this vacation would play out. The kids have been scattered, dissatisfied, and a little difficult. I think I was surprised by their resiliency and bravery in the face of new challenges. Jude learned to dive from a diving board, paddle a canoe, make friends, conquer fears, and ride on a tube behind a boat. Ada learned to eat clams ("too tasty!"), swim on her own, ride in a boat, sleep in a hotel room, and make loon calls. 

We had fantastic weather, good fortune, and great food. I am happy to be home. But this year I did not allow my own restlessness get in the way of a good vacation. 

An Open Letter to the Cooperative Preschool, or How I Killed the Chick

Greetings, all. The following is a long winded explanation of my recent failure with the preschool chick. 

I’ve spent the better part of four years now juggling the happiness of my small children. There are so many little joys along the way; those moments that light a child’s face and also light a fire in your own heart. These pieces of magic, this fire, these sparkling eyes; even these are not enough to keep a person happy and settled. There is a delicate balance of self, a personal division between the child and caregiver. It is a juggling act I have not mastered, only watched in amazement.

For this reason, my hat is off to the preschool moms that I watch every day, balancing the emotional lives of their children with rigors of everyday life. I think most of them even take showers before coming in. I have made this comment many times – I find working with other parents in our co-op setting very humbling, because they seem to remain such effective and focused people.  

I never consider what our life might be like without the Co-op Preschool. Not that I take it for granted, but it was a gut decision. The boy was six months old, and I thought to myself, “Maybe we should find someplace for him to GO and DO and BE around other kids?” I had tried the Parks and Rec, the Library groups, the Stay-at-home-Dad meetups, but I felt that my child needed something with more genuine interaction. And so, one February we went to the Co-op open house. Jude was six months old, and started when he turned one. I always say that we found Co-op, but the Co-op really found us.

But back to the reality at hand. We have had a lot of change in the Cornett household this year. We moved houses, the children are growing and changing, and our parenting is changing too. I’ve got to keep ahead of these guys. Last week at the Library a woman observed my children for awhile and then remarked to me in a stern voice, “Your children are really very smart. You’re going to need to challenge them.” It was a warning, not a compliment.

This is something else to love about our co-op preschool community. No one would ever say this to me. There is no measurement, or ridiculous pressure about kindergarten preparation. It is also true that no one would point out when one of my children is at one end of the bell curve for his tantrums, his rough play, or his reluctance to wash his hands. As one parent said to me, “It’s just not very Co-op.” I think it is in this setting that I have finally understood the word community. It means accepting everyone at exactly where they’re at. It’s like understanding that the world is a varied and diverse place.

My children do have a unique set of needs for their development. Linden and I study, and consider, and try new things to build confidence and growth for our little ones. Last winter we ran across an idea in a Positive Parenting book about building “an increased sense of significance.” I can’t tell you what changes this phrase has brought about. It turns out that much of Jude’s misbehavior can be circumvented by giving him opportunities to DO and BE things by himself. Put on his own clothes. Make his own breakfast. Plant his own seeds. And then the next and logical step is that he is interested in doing things for OTHERS. The kid is honestly very helpful. He sets the table, carries the laundry, chops the carrots. He is increasingly assisting in the care of his sister. When Ada’s two-year-old stubbornness begins to arise, I can always count on Jude to explain to her why she has to wear a jacket today.  

We don’t have any pets in our house, but this spring has begun the year of the chicken. Grandma has a nice place in Vancouver, Washington, and she has been considering chickens for some time now. Several forces have been converging to make this happen. And then the preschool got their eggs in the incubator. Marcia said they needed a home, and I thought they might be added to the yet-to-be-started  Grandma flock. Only three chicks hatched. We offered to take them.

Last month I began building a coop in Grandma’s backyard. I did some research, cleared some space, bought some materials, and got after it. I’m really not much of a carpenter, but I do like a good project. Construction gives me a sense of accomplishment, and so I began to build a first-rate chicken house. Grandma got her own small flock of 8 chicks, which were far too stinky to be kept in the living room so they were soon relegated to the garage with some lamps on them. Jude was in charge of counting them, several times a day. With Grandma’s eight and Co-op’s three, the total would be ELEVEN. “Dad, what’s eight plus three?” ELEVEN.  

I thought this would be one of the things that gave Jude and Ada a sense of importance. The chicks were coming HOME with us. We were going to bring them to Grandma’s house and watch them grow and feel that connection to our co-op community, the backyard chicken coop and the eggs on the table. My kids were excited. But then Riley’s family is moving to a house with an actual chicken coop, not one that I am building on Fridays. [ I worried about this, but only in the sense that my children would be disappointed. I should have been worried about the weak ones here. I should have been worried about the chicks.]  At any rate, I came up with a compromise; we would take ONE chick up to Grandma’s house. Riley could take the remaining TWO chicks home to his own house. Jude had only one requirement. He wanted THE ONE WITH THE SHARPEST CLAWS. Eight plus one is NINE.

Last Thursday was the Day of the Chick. It was also the day I came down with a raging 24-hour stomach flu that kept me up all night and calling for shift coverage in the morning. I dragged myself and the kids to school for Bike Day, and then crawled back home to sleep off the morning. I made sure to wake up in time to do a few small tasks of CHICK PREPARATION before returning to school for the kids. I found a box. I filled the bottom with newspaper and yard debris dirt. Then I went to the garage and pulled down my shop lights with aluminum reflectors. I fitted them with 100 watt bulbs to keep our little chick friend nice and warm. And then I went off to school. I might have had a mild fever. Chicken fever.

I felt a pang of guilt on the day that we removed this little chick from her sisters. I couldn’t get a hold of her, and one of the shift Dads had to do it for me. She CHEEPED loudly and nestled in to the little box for warmth. We got a little cup of chick food and put it in the box. She tried to flap up and out, but we covered her with Jude’s warm coat and loaded her into the car. Jude wanted to play on the grass, but I warned him that we had a RESPONSIBILITY to get the chick home, set up in the house where she would be WARM. He agreed, and we raced home, making chick sounds in the car, all four of us, and giggling.

Home to our new house, we found a spot for little chick in the living room. Let me say here that the plan was to keep our little chick for ONE NIGHT, and then deliver the chick to Grandma’s house first thing on Friday. Jude and Ada helped me prepare the spot. We found an extension cord and plugged in our lights, but the chick kept CHEEPING and JUMPING so we covered the box with various materials to keep her from running around the living room. I was concerned that she would be too cold, without the body heat from her chicken sisters. Eventually, we settled on covering the box, and lights, with a blanket. This was not my finest hour. Jude sat down in front of a show, and I packed Ada off to her room for a nap. I returned fifteen minutes later to check on the chick. There was no more CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP coming from the box.   

It was this moment that I realized something about parenting. It is not for cowards. When you start bringing home baby chicks, it means we’ve moved up from the minor leagues and into the big game. We’re talking about life and death now, with winners and losers, joys of victory and real tragedy. We’re talking about dreams lost and rebuilt, the buoyancy of life, and the thrill of the game. This is suddenly a very different level of play.

Jude was in the room, and wanted to see, so we both examined what remained of the chick. She was dead, and there was nothing to do but give her a short funeral in the backyard. Jude came out for this warily, but I dug the hole and we said nice things about her and how sorry that it didn’t work out and next time we’ll be more careful with little animals. We also made sure to point out that it was an accident, and all Dad’s fault, and that it was okay to be sad, and that we’d have to tell Grandma that we weren’t bringing her a chick after all. Eight plus zero equals eight. “Now can I go back to watching Wild Kratts, Dad?”

There is no question that I am having a hard time with this. There was something about the sudden and surprising death of this little creature that brings to mind the fragile and innocent lives of my own children. Every day I am charged with the health, hygiene, activity, and upbringing of the Jude Chicken and the Ada Chicken. Some days I feel woefully unprepared for this task.

It is with my deepest regrets that I report this story to you, my co-op community and friends. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic, or self-centered, or just silly. I know that you all respect and support me, and will probably not call me “Chicken-Killer”, at least to my face. The accidental death of one of the pre-school chicks [THE ONE WITH THE SHARPEST CLAWS] does not reflect on my parenting, or my commitment to our children, or our community. Writing this letter to all of you has given me some chance to deal with my own chicken guilt. Needless to say, I am very, very sorry about what happened. Please accept this ridiculously long letter as my sincere apology.

Let me just conclude with this. To those of you families with outgoing pre-schoolers – it has been an absolute pleasure to be parents with you in our cooperative setting. To our teachers, thank you thank you thank you for inspiring my children to learn new things about the world and themselves. And to the rest of you, it looks like you’re stuck with me for the next few years of cooperative parenting, child rearing, and animal husbandry. 

- Daddy Ben