Otterlauf

This morning I had to hustle Ella out the door as early as 7:00 AM: her class was leaving at 7:30 to catch a train to Winterthur for a World Wildlife Federation walkathon, raising funds to reintroduce otters to Switzerland.  Since the first day of school, her class has been doing a long science unit on der Fischotter, and this walk was the culmination of the unit.

Since she's learned all about otters, so have I. The otter, once prevalent in Switzerland, has been extinct in this nation since 1984, for many reasons: PCBs in the water cause infertility; building up riverbanks destroyed its habitat; fishermen, who saw the otters as competition, hunted them mercilessly. And then there was the one that really confused and fascinated Ella's: "Mom, did you know that Catholics like to eat otters because they decided otters count as fish?"

The class apparently spent a long time watching a very sad documentary about a little otter baby: his father had been killed (graphically) by hunters, and his mother was struck down in traffic, and the video continued with the baby's struggle for survival.

Ella's naked heartstrings were pulled taut, and she took her charge to bring the otter back to Switzerland very seriously.

I think because Joey's been doing so much chatting with his dollies lately, last night Ella asked me to "speak her turtles" with her at bedtime.  And then she confided in her turtles, telling them that she was really nervous about walking far enough, because she wanted to do a really good job of saving those poor helpless baby otters who were depending on her.

So, at 7:00, after I closed the door after her, I watched her through the window, pulling her hood over her head and squaring her shoulders resolutely.  I'd told her to please try to have fun during the walk, to walk with her friends and enjoy the pretty day. Truthfully, I have a vested interest in Ella taking it easy: I'd pledged 5 francs per kilometer for her walk, and I was nervous about how much her zeal would drain my wallet. I groaned internally when Ella shook her head: "I'll walk with them some, but I'm afraid they won't go fast enough.  I'll definitely run most of it."

Ella came home at 1:45, utterly exhausted.  Her level of fatigue made a lot more sense when I opened her lunch bag and saw every crumb of the healthy food I'd packed for her, still sealed in tupperware. "Well, it's just that they had this mountain of granola bars for the walkers.  I started by eating a granola bar after each lap, to give me enough energy for the next one, but then I started getting too full.  I think I might have eaten only seven granola bars. Maybe seven plus two."

I grilled her about the afternoon, but she was too tired to elaborate.  She told me that she rode on the train with nochElla and Barbara (nochElla's mom). Her words: "On the way there I had a pleasant chat with Ella's mother, but we weren't allowed to make any unnecessary noise."

There were schools from all over our corner of Switzerland at the track, but the were the only representatives from their school. Ella's teacher led the class in yoga stretches, which impressed Ella to no end: "She's like a professional athlete!" (She might be: Ella's teacher has hypnotically huge muscles.) And Ella did take my advice and walk with nochElla some, but every once in a while got impatient and took off in a jog. She has no idea how far she went, but thinks she ran something like 19 laps, but she didn't know how far the track was, either. And that was all she could say about that, because she seriously felt like she was going to die...so could she watch a movie?

An early movie night actually seemed like a good idea, because Alex was all out of sorts when he came home from school, and I was tired of pulling the boys apart.  Finally, at bedtime, I figured out what was eating Alex.

This morning, since Ella had left so early, I decided to walk Alex to school on my way to the grocery store.  When we arrived at school, I noticed his German tutor, Frau Jenny, in the window, and went in to say hello.

She invited me to sit in on the little tutoring session they were having, and Alex was absolutely thrilled at the prospect.  "This could make up for the time when all the other parents were in my class and you didn't know you were supposed to go!"  So he excitedly carried two chairs into the corner of the room, and, as the class started, he kept peeking over his shoulder to give me excited little smiles.

Joey excited, too, to be invited into Alex's class, and he got right down to business with the rest of the big kids. He pulled his little chair up to the conference room table, and sat there, importantly, with the four Kindergartners who were getting tutored.  I was surprised to see so many other kids learning alongside Alex. None of the others speak English, but it's nice to know that he has some companionship in his lessons.

The kids started out by singing a good-morning song, one that Alex has tried to teach me several times.  Each kid was supposed to hold hands with another during the song, and Joey held his hands out, expectantly, to Alex, who of course humored his little brother, as he almost always does.

After song, Frau Jenny started the lesson of the day: they're working on clothing, which I should have guessed, based on a report Alex gave me last Friday: "Momma, I had the funniest conversation at school today! I said said 'Was ist das?' and my friend said 'Unterhose!' and I said 'WAAAAS?' and then we both laughed SO MUCH!" In case you hadn't guessed, "Unterhose" means "underpants." I don't know why I focused teaching Alex colors or directions or classroom words. There's a particular set of vocabulary that is much more interesting to the 5-year-old boy.

Anyway, Frau Jenny went around the table, asking each child what he was wearing, and, when it was his turn, Alex told her "Ich habe ein T-Shirt." And, when she held up articles of clothing, he raised his hand to give the vocabulary word. And when she held up a pair of underpants, he really raised his hand: "Unterhose!!"

Meanwhile, Joey had risen from his seat and was stealthily inching over towards me.  When he made it to my side, he started pulling urgently on my shirt, and then whispered into my ear, "Mom, I want to go outside." I wasn't aware that he was able to speak in any voice even approaching a whisper.  But I wanted to watch Alex, so I didn't reward his efforts, and instead tried to hush him.  So he tried again, whispering, "Mom, I want to go. Outside." After being hushed twice more, Joey gave up, and said in his firmest, loudest voice, "Mom. I. Want. To. Go. Outside."

My time had run out, and so we went outside, saying goodbye to Alex, apologizing to Frau Jenny.  I'm not sure what Joey was in such a hurry for: we were only going to the grocery store.

But as sad as I was to go, Alex was even sadder, and it seemed that some resentment towards Joey had been festering all day.  Finally, as I was tucking him in and asking him why he seemed so angry, it all spilled out in a flood of tears. He really just wanted me to be in school with him, so much, and Joey had ruined the whole thing.

I know that there are classrooms in Switzerland where parents are welcome in the room. One of my friends even told me how, in her son's class, the kids spend a week or so, early in the year, walking around the neighborhood, visiting each kid's house as a class, checking out each other's bedrooms and toys.  As insane as it sounds to have your house invaded by twenty four- and five-year-olds, it also sounds like fun. I guess I really miss being a part of Alex's school life, but Frau Jenny's is the first invitation I've had to go to Alex's classroom. I promised Alex I'd go back soon...yes, Alex, without Joey.