My mom days are exhilarating, exhausting and infuriating. Sometimes, all in the space of 5 or 10 minutes! Today so far has been a good day. I took Noah to school for early morning swimming. Coach Hugo was as welcoming to me and Noah this week as he was to Len and Noah last week. It's good for Noah. He swam some laps, but then spent some time jumping off the side of the pool into the deep end. And I remember when, not so long ago, going underwater was not an option for Noah. Change can be such a beautiful thing...
And Ariel was off to school for a student government meeting. The 10,000th child to receive help from Gift of Life was coming to speak with the government reps. And to top it off, it's Halloween. So my proud, politically engaged daughter put on her Chelsea soccer jersey and went off to school. She was too late to impress Sam with her jersey, but it's sweet that she even wanted to.
And yesterday, when I went to the book fair to buy the book Ariel wanted but didn't have enough money for, I managed to chat with a bunch of folks, all of whom had upbeat things to say. How great for me to hear, and how much better for Ariel.
That reminds me that as I was leaving the middle school this morning, I caught up with Mrs. L, the special ed. teacher in science. She didn't know that we'll be moving Noah next week to a self-contained science class. "I'll miss him," she said. And if I didn't know better, I'd swear I saw tears in her eyes. What can be said about a child like Noah who can't really learn the material, no matter how much Mrs. L modifies it, has only been in her life for about six weeks, and yet has made such an impression?
As for Sam, he awoke from his intense, post-school nap yesterday to mumble at me, "I made All-County." "Good for you Sam," I said. And I think for the first time, he appreciates this kind of recognition, though it's not the first time he's received it.
Who knows what the weekend will bring, but it's a gift to have these good moments. I can't forget that this is the same week in which I told Ariel I wanted to kill her, and that other parents beat their children for less. I'm human. I lose it. She knows it. That's why she's the same child who can go off to school in the morning claiming to be an unhappy child with a terrible life, and sing herself to sleep at night. Yo-Yo indeed...
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
How Low Can We Go
Is there a bottom to Noah's lack of comprehension? I think there must be, but we always seem to find some lower point. I've sat with him the past two nights as he/we did his homework. One part has been English, specifically, answering questions related to the Winn-Dixie book. I've known this child all my life. I know how disabled he is. And yet something about his utter lack of understanding of anything I read to him shocked me. I don't know why. It shouldn't have, I suppose. But maybe we've gotten so many glowing reports about Noah and how much everyone who works with him loves him, and how well he's done adapting to this or that, that I've forgotten how little he can really do in some respects.
Do I care that Noah doesn't understand this story I've been reading to him? No, not really. But I do want him to understand more and more, to make his adapting to the world as he gets older more likely. And he has made enormous strides; they just tend to have nothing to do with the average academic day.
I get sad about Noah. I feel heartbroken at times. I worry about his future every moment of every day, or so it feels to me. I know the school stuff matters little to him, and that he has in common with his siblings. But I wonder what can replace Winn-Dixie, and make his student day job more productive, more engaging, more useful to and joyous for him.
Or maybe I just no longer want to feel bad about doing homework.
Do I care that Noah doesn't understand this story I've been reading to him? No, not really. But I do want him to understand more and more, to make his adapting to the world as he gets older more likely. And he has made enormous strides; they just tend to have nothing to do with the average academic day.
I get sad about Noah. I feel heartbroken at times. I worry about his future every moment of every day, or so it feels to me. I know the school stuff matters little to him, and that he has in common with his siblings. But I wonder what can replace Winn-Dixie, and make his student day job more productive, more engaging, more useful to and joyous for him.
Or maybe I just no longer want to feel bad about doing homework.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Of Math Homework and Madness
I'm really, truly, unabashedly starting to HATE modern parenting. I separate this quite emphatically from how I feel about my kids, whom I adore. What I despise are the incessant demands placed on parents by schools. Idiotic, pointless, test-prep homework. Endless flyers--among which, irony of ironies--are many promoting the virtues of going green. Requests for donations of money, school supplies, time. Reminders to collect for UNICEF during Halloween. Your child's in this special intervention program, sign here. Tell us what you think your autistic child should be when he grows up. Fill in this form. Will he go to college? How about a sheltered workshop? How should I know!??!?!!? He's twelve years old!!! Shouldn't you geniuses who claim to be responsible for educating him be helping us to figure that out. He wants to be a pilot. How about I put that on the form? Then you get him in to flight school.
There's just all this busy work. Forms, flyers, requests, demands. And what difference does it all make? Our education system is so flawed. Even here in the affluent environs of Long Island. Sure, there are kids who get awards, but so what in the end. Trophies and certificates are great at gathering dust, just like some of our dreams.
So what difference does all this make to my kids? They go to school. They do their worksheets. But what they really want is parents who love them, a chance to romp in the grass, commune with nature, listen to and play music, make art, design new worlds, reads some imagination-sparking books once in a while, and snuggle with mom before bed. If I stopped sending them to school tomorrow, would it make much of a difference to who they are as people, to how wise they become? I know the answer is "no." I know that because my father's formal education ended in the equivalent of middle school, with the outbreak of World War II. He didn't finish school, but he'll always be the wisest man I've ever known. He never took an ELA. He didn't take AP classes. He didn't take the SAT. He missed out on the chance to spend half of fifth grade prepping for a single social studies test. Poor Papa. He got his wisdom the old-fashioned way. He lived in the world and learned from it. He spoke five languages. My children speak one, as do I. Far as I can tell, the schools count beans and test scores well, but do they count what matters? Do they even know what that is?
I often think I'm not much of a parent. I chafe at the routine of it. I don't care about what the schools care about. I've never liked dotting i's and crossing t's. I care about excellence, but not about excellent forms. I care about high standards, but not about test scores. One of my children is bored but will get through fine. The other is disabled, and running interference for him seems to be my life's work. My youngest is a square peg, if ever there was one, trying to fit into a round hole. School will kill her, if it doesn't kill me first. She will butt heads with almost everything about it. She will despise the restrictions, the boredom, the tedium, and her teachers will return the favor about how they feel about her. She will ask "too many" questions. She won't accept or like the few answers she gets. Her grades will reflect that. But on the bright side, if the world implodes between now and then, none of that will matter. We will all be brought down by the hubris of some. We will revert to our savage state, killing each other for crumbs. Finally, something will trump the need to score a perfect 2400 on the SAT, at least here on the North Shore.
There's just all this busy work. Forms, flyers, requests, demands. And what difference does it all make? Our education system is so flawed. Even here in the affluent environs of Long Island. Sure, there are kids who get awards, but so what in the end. Trophies and certificates are great at gathering dust, just like some of our dreams.
So what difference does all this make to my kids? They go to school. They do their worksheets. But what they really want is parents who love them, a chance to romp in the grass, commune with nature, listen to and play music, make art, design new worlds, reads some imagination-sparking books once in a while, and snuggle with mom before bed. If I stopped sending them to school tomorrow, would it make much of a difference to who they are as people, to how wise they become? I know the answer is "no." I know that because my father's formal education ended in the equivalent of middle school, with the outbreak of World War II. He didn't finish school, but he'll always be the wisest man I've ever known. He never took an ELA. He didn't take AP classes. He didn't take the SAT. He missed out on the chance to spend half of fifth grade prepping for a single social studies test. Poor Papa. He got his wisdom the old-fashioned way. He lived in the world and learned from it. He spoke five languages. My children speak one, as do I. Far as I can tell, the schools count beans and test scores well, but do they count what matters? Do they even know what that is?
I often think I'm not much of a parent. I chafe at the routine of it. I don't care about what the schools care about. I've never liked dotting i's and crossing t's. I care about excellence, but not about excellent forms. I care about high standards, but not about test scores. One of my children is bored but will get through fine. The other is disabled, and running interference for him seems to be my life's work. My youngest is a square peg, if ever there was one, trying to fit into a round hole. School will kill her, if it doesn't kill me first. She will butt heads with almost everything about it. She will despise the restrictions, the boredom, the tedium, and her teachers will return the favor about how they feel about her. She will ask "too many" questions. She won't accept or like the few answers she gets. Her grades will reflect that. But on the bright side, if the world implodes between now and then, none of that will matter. We will all be brought down by the hubris of some. We will revert to our savage state, killing each other for crumbs. Finally, something will trump the need to score a perfect 2400 on the SAT, at least here on the North Shore.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Politics & Parenting
Perhaps I've got my priorities ass-backwards, but I spent a good part of this Sunday afternoon on the phone calling voters in Pa. To my near utter astonishment, I had a lengthy chat with a lovely woman who, admitting that on policy issues, she's 75% in Obama's corner, also admitted that in her gut, she essentially views him as a terrorist "sleeper cell." Holy shit! Amazing stuff. But I stayed calm (my brain had to have been spinning off my head, really, into outer space, but my voice didn't betray anything).
I sounded curious, understanding, concerned. As with others I'd spoken to in Pa., I pulled out everthing. Yes, I could understand her fears; my sister-in-law survived both attacks on the World Trade Center. But Barack only lived in Indonesia as a child, a choice that was made by his mother, not by him. And Indonesia has historically (if not in the last few years), been one of the most moderate Muslim countries on earth. And would it be fair to accuse you of being a Mafia princess if you spent some of your youth in Italy? And you have children, don't you? Well, don't you want to vote for their future, rather than succumb to the fear-mongering that has dominated our politics these last eight years and led to all kinds of abuses in the name of fighting terrorism? If you agree with Obama on policy, can't you make that the reason for pulling the lever? Can you see that a weakened and fearful America has given victory to the terrorists without their having to attack us here again? Don't you want to feel hopeful? When you go into the voting booth, you will be pulling the lever for your children, who aren't yet able to do it for themselves. I hope you'll vote for their future, that you'll vote for hopefulness and for the chance for America to be a great country again. And please do talk to your husband again. Since he thinks that everything that could've been "outed" about Obama already has been, listen to him. He sounds like a wise and insightful man. It would be awfully hard to be a secret terrorist with so many people looking at your every move for months and months. And he's surrounded by hundreds of people advising and working with him. It seems so unlikely that all those smart, dedicated people could be fooled by him. And remember, he spent a few years in Indonesia, but his formative and adult years here. I want you to feel good about the vote you cast; if you're concerned about health care and the economy, think about those things and try to set aside the fearful side that you say isn't even based on any specific example or incident. Cast an affirmative vote. Cast a vote for your children, for their future.
Shoot me now. She was lovely, but geez, how do people believe this shit? And then contemplate voting on it. And she wasn't even the person I was trying to reach. She was that person's sister. So I don't even get credit for the f...ing call!!! But maybe I screwed her head back on right and got her to listen to her husband, and to cast a vote in November for Obama. I'll just have to hope, since I'l never know.
But then there was an even longer call with a lovely older woman (65), who admitted to being undecided, but also had clear disdain for Bush and company. Her hesitation seemed to have a lot to do with Obama's "making it all sound too easy." I started by drawing her out, and heard about how she and her husband are middle class, and that each has at times held more than one job. They helped a daughter through college. That daughter was in ROTC and served in Desert Storm, and then went on to earn a PhD. A son essentially put himself through college.
I'm too tired to go through much of our conversation. Suffice it to say that at the end, she said to me, "you can feel good about this call." "So can I count on your vote for Obama?" "Yes, you can." Mission accomplished.
I'm so glad I've done this calling, but none of it makes me feel better about Obama's prospects, because I see how hard it is to convince people, and how much time it takes. The older woman, Anita Z., even thanked me for answering her questions and giving her so much information, because up til now, she'd had no one to ask and no way to get her answers. There have to be so many other people who feel as she does. There just isn't time left to reach them with this kind of detail. I just have to hope that folks can cut through the nonsense. But having a perfectly rational sounding woman essentially tell me that she considers Obama a one-man terror network makes me realize what an uphill climb this is, in spite of all the rosy polls. Where the rubber hits the road, there are some crazy ass skid marks.
I sounded curious, understanding, concerned. As with others I'd spoken to in Pa., I pulled out everthing. Yes, I could understand her fears; my sister-in-law survived both attacks on the World Trade Center. But Barack only lived in Indonesia as a child, a choice that was made by his mother, not by him. And Indonesia has historically (if not in the last few years), been one of the most moderate Muslim countries on earth. And would it be fair to accuse you of being a Mafia princess if you spent some of your youth in Italy? And you have children, don't you? Well, don't you want to vote for their future, rather than succumb to the fear-mongering that has dominated our politics these last eight years and led to all kinds of abuses in the name of fighting terrorism? If you agree with Obama on policy, can't you make that the reason for pulling the lever? Can you see that a weakened and fearful America has given victory to the terrorists without their having to attack us here again? Don't you want to feel hopeful? When you go into the voting booth, you will be pulling the lever for your children, who aren't yet able to do it for themselves. I hope you'll vote for their future, that you'll vote for hopefulness and for the chance for America to be a great country again. And please do talk to your husband again. Since he thinks that everything that could've been "outed" about Obama already has been, listen to him. He sounds like a wise and insightful man. It would be awfully hard to be a secret terrorist with so many people looking at your every move for months and months. And he's surrounded by hundreds of people advising and working with him. It seems so unlikely that all those smart, dedicated people could be fooled by him. And remember, he spent a few years in Indonesia, but his formative and adult years here. I want you to feel good about the vote you cast; if you're concerned about health care and the economy, think about those things and try to set aside the fearful side that you say isn't even based on any specific example or incident. Cast an affirmative vote. Cast a vote for your children, for their future.
Shoot me now. She was lovely, but geez, how do people believe this shit? And then contemplate voting on it. And she wasn't even the person I was trying to reach. She was that person's sister. So I don't even get credit for the f...ing call!!! But maybe I screwed her head back on right and got her to listen to her husband, and to cast a vote in November for Obama. I'll just have to hope, since I'l never know.
But then there was an even longer call with a lovely older woman (65), who admitted to being undecided, but also had clear disdain for Bush and company. Her hesitation seemed to have a lot to do with Obama's "making it all sound too easy." I started by drawing her out, and heard about how she and her husband are middle class, and that each has at times held more than one job. They helped a daughter through college. That daughter was in ROTC and served in Desert Storm, and then went on to earn a PhD. A son essentially put himself through college.
I'm too tired to go through much of our conversation. Suffice it to say that at the end, she said to me, "you can feel good about this call." "So can I count on your vote for Obama?" "Yes, you can." Mission accomplished.
I'm so glad I've done this calling, but none of it makes me feel better about Obama's prospects, because I see how hard it is to convince people, and how much time it takes. The older woman, Anita Z., even thanked me for answering her questions and giving her so much information, because up til now, she'd had no one to ask and no way to get her answers. There have to be so many other people who feel as she does. There just isn't time left to reach them with this kind of detail. I just have to hope that folks can cut through the nonsense. But having a perfectly rational sounding woman essentially tell me that she considers Obama a one-man terror network makes me realize what an uphill climb this is, in spite of all the rosy polls. Where the rubber hits the road, there are some crazy ass skid marks.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Micromanaging Me...
So I generally pride myself on taking a hands-off approach to my older son's education, only stepping in to have a conversation with school personnel to say "thank you," to ask a question about scheduling, e.g., for orchestra concerts, or if he really leaves me in the dark about something I need to know. Oh yes, there was that one teacher who made flippant remarks to the students about guns, and that led to a call to "headquarters," so to speak.
With my daughter, it's been a mixed bag of hands off, and now and again all hands on deck. We can track the intensity of our involvement to the intensity of her needs/acting out. With Noah, it's just always all hands on deck. Not in a bad way. Frankly, the micromanaging we've done with Noah is the good kind, if you can believe there is such a thing. Since second grade, it's been about working closely with a team of dedicated and caring professionals to help Noah succeed. They have been incredible to/with us, and I hope they've appreciated us as parents.
Middle school is new terrain for us, but in the less than two weeks that Noah's been there, I've had phone and/or email contact with: the principal, the assistant principal, his aide, the special ed. teacher in the science classroom, the guidance counselor, one of his two speech therapists, the school psychologist, and the head of special ed. And we have yet to have open school night!!
I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all, because I have yet to put faces to most of these folks. What's been lovely is that they've generally been the ones to contact us, and that's very encouraging. But it's not entirely clear to me how all the pieces fit together. Partly that's a result of the fragmented nature of middle school; partly it's a result of the fact that Noah's partially mainstreamed.
In spite of all the years of dealing with this, I'm still not used to it. And elementary school is downright quaint compared with middle school. It's smaller, for one thing, and there's only one academic teacher to keep track of. Things break wide open in middle school. And since my child can't really tell me anything about his school experiences, I'm truly dependent on the good will and information I get from a whole group of people I have yet to get to know. Some days, I just feel like I'm too old and tired to keep starting over, but I don't really have any other choice.
With my daughter, it's been a mixed bag of hands off, and now and again all hands on deck. We can track the intensity of our involvement to the intensity of her needs/acting out. With Noah, it's just always all hands on deck. Not in a bad way. Frankly, the micromanaging we've done with Noah is the good kind, if you can believe there is such a thing. Since second grade, it's been about working closely with a team of dedicated and caring professionals to help Noah succeed. They have been incredible to/with us, and I hope they've appreciated us as parents.
Middle school is new terrain for us, but in the less than two weeks that Noah's been there, I've had phone and/or email contact with: the principal, the assistant principal, his aide, the special ed. teacher in the science classroom, the guidance counselor, one of his two speech therapists, the school psychologist, and the head of special ed. And we have yet to have open school night!!
I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all, because I have yet to put faces to most of these folks. What's been lovely is that they've generally been the ones to contact us, and that's very encouraging. But it's not entirely clear to me how all the pieces fit together. Partly that's a result of the fragmented nature of middle school; partly it's a result of the fact that Noah's partially mainstreamed.
In spite of all the years of dealing with this, I'm still not used to it. And elementary school is downright quaint compared with middle school. It's smaller, for one thing, and there's only one academic teacher to keep track of. Things break wide open in middle school. And since my child can't really tell me anything about his school experiences, I'm truly dependent on the good will and information I get from a whole group of people I have yet to get to know. Some days, I just feel like I'm too old and tired to keep starting over, but I don't really have any other choice.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Tears and Fears
Funny how I wrote this lengthy blog entry only yesterday about Noah's summer, about all the new things he did, and all the triumphs he had. Last night, my sweet, lost little 12 year old boy cried in his bed as I snuggled with him. "What's wrong, Noah?" I asked. "I don't want to go to school." "But why?" His reply, "It's scared." "Noah, is school scary? Why?" And after some effort to draw him out, Noah said, "it's loud." "Noah, why don't you want to go to school? Because?" "It's loud and scary," he finally told me. This through his sniffles and tears, and while hugging his Lambchop puppet.
Do we kid ourselves when he goes to school without fuss, and doesn't seem to raise one while there? Is he working overtime to hold it together for us, and then just can't anymore? I cannot tell you the heartbreak of hearing this child of mine cry. He just seems so lost sometimes, working so hard to fit into our world, and then cracking a bit under all that pressure.
I wish he could tell us more. I wish he didn't seem so vulnerable. I wish I could go with him to school, smoothing over any rough spots, and making all better, like moms are supposed to do. And it's not that caring, effort-filled people aren't looking out for Noah during the day; they're just not mom.
All part of the journey, I suppose, but that doesn't take anything away from the pain and heartache of seeing Noah struggle, of wiping away his tears, of knowing how hard he works and how tired he gets. I cannot make Noah's fears disappear, any more than I can make my own vanish. Perhaps the best I can do is help wipe away the tears and let him know that mommy loves him.
Do we kid ourselves when he goes to school without fuss, and doesn't seem to raise one while there? Is he working overtime to hold it together for us, and then just can't anymore? I cannot tell you the heartbreak of hearing this child of mine cry. He just seems so lost sometimes, working so hard to fit into our world, and then cracking a bit under all that pressure.
I wish he could tell us more. I wish he didn't seem so vulnerable. I wish I could go with him to school, smoothing over any rough spots, and making all better, like moms are supposed to do. And it's not that caring, effort-filled people aren't looking out for Noah during the day; they're just not mom.
All part of the journey, I suppose, but that doesn't take anything away from the pain and heartache of seeing Noah struggle, of wiping away his tears, of knowing how hard he works and how tired he gets. I cannot make Noah's fears disappear, any more than I can make my own vanish. Perhaps the best I can do is help wipe away the tears and let him know that mommy loves him.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Last Gasp of Summer
Well, summer's not officially over, but once school starts, for all practical purposes, it seems to be. Noah's in middle school now, which I'll get to in a bit, but I can't bear to lose the strands of summer just yet, so let me recap.
Noah split his summer, with mornings in classes at one of our middle schools, and afternoons in the recreation program at one of our high schools. I wasn't sure how Noah would handle three hours of morning classes, but he came through just fine. He took cooking, sculpture and computer art, and I was thrilled when I got notes telling me how much he enjoyed making certain foods, and how many of them he tasted--including chocolate cream pie! The computer teacher seemed so taken with Noah that she made a copy of one of his artworks (a drawing of a computer, actually) to put in her office at school during the year, to cheer her up when she's having a tough day. Those stories mean the world to me. It's Noah spreading his magic yet again.
In the afternoon, Noah swam, did gymnastics now and again, participated in arts and crafts and computers, and generally seemed to do well. But it's when he transitioned to our town's outdoor camp program that he really impressed us. Noah went sailing!! Noah played tennis!! Noah continued to jump off the diving board at the town pool. One of the counselors at this camp commented on the changes in Noah compared with last year. Any parent of an autistic child will tell you that hearing about (positive) progress, especially when the comments are unsolicited, is more than music to our ears. It's what we live for.
We followed camp with a family trip. Noah loves the Berkshires, and off we went for four days. He loves to go walking on the rocks in the brook near the house we stay at. This year, for the first time, we let Noah and Ariel go down by themselves. We could hear them from the porch and see them, up to a point, but they were on their own. It's wonderful to give them that kind of freedom just to be kids.
We even pushed the envelope a bit, taking the kids to an outdoor reading of Shakespearean monologues by a group of teens at Shakespeare & Co. in Lenox. Noah sat fairly well for most of the time, but since it was in a tent, coming and going a bit wasn't an issue. And you could have knocked me over with a feather when Noah last 4.5 hours!! at MassMOCA, where he participated in an art-making scavenger hunt for half the time. And he and Ariel loved a Jenny Holzer installation in a giant, dark, hangar-like space which had words projected on the walls and gigantic beanbags on the floor. Len's always apprehensive when we try things like this, but my feeling is that we've got nothing to lose. Either they'll work well, or they won't.
Niagra Falls and Toronto were fine too. The highlight there for me was watching Ariel take Noah under her wing in swimming, trying to teach him stroking and kicking. Not sure how successful she was with that, but he was a willing student. Best part of all was watching them hold hands and jump into the hotel pool together. Sheer joy!
Noah split his summer, with mornings in classes at one of our middle schools, and afternoons in the recreation program at one of our high schools. I wasn't sure how Noah would handle three hours of morning classes, but he came through just fine. He took cooking, sculpture and computer art, and I was thrilled when I got notes telling me how much he enjoyed making certain foods, and how many of them he tasted--including chocolate cream pie! The computer teacher seemed so taken with Noah that she made a copy of one of his artworks (a drawing of a computer, actually) to put in her office at school during the year, to cheer her up when she's having a tough day. Those stories mean the world to me. It's Noah spreading his magic yet again.
In the afternoon, Noah swam, did gymnastics now and again, participated in arts and crafts and computers, and generally seemed to do well. But it's when he transitioned to our town's outdoor camp program that he really impressed us. Noah went sailing!! Noah played tennis!! Noah continued to jump off the diving board at the town pool. One of the counselors at this camp commented on the changes in Noah compared with last year. Any parent of an autistic child will tell you that hearing about (positive) progress, especially when the comments are unsolicited, is more than music to our ears. It's what we live for.
We followed camp with a family trip. Noah loves the Berkshires, and off we went for four days. He loves to go walking on the rocks in the brook near the house we stay at. This year, for the first time, we let Noah and Ariel go down by themselves. We could hear them from the porch and see them, up to a point, but they were on their own. It's wonderful to give them that kind of freedom just to be kids.
We even pushed the envelope a bit, taking the kids to an outdoor reading of Shakespearean monologues by a group of teens at Shakespeare & Co. in Lenox. Noah sat fairly well for most of the time, but since it was in a tent, coming and going a bit wasn't an issue. And you could have knocked me over with a feather when Noah last 4.5 hours!! at MassMOCA, where he participated in an art-making scavenger hunt for half the time. And he and Ariel loved a Jenny Holzer installation in a giant, dark, hangar-like space which had words projected on the walls and gigantic beanbags on the floor. Len's always apprehensive when we try things like this, but my feeling is that we've got nothing to lose. Either they'll work well, or they won't.
Niagra Falls and Toronto were fine too. The highlight there for me was watching Ariel take Noah under her wing in swimming, trying to teach him stroking and kicking. Not sure how successful she was with that, but he was a willing student. Best part of all was watching them hold hands and jump into the hotel pool together. Sheer joy!
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