I have not mentioned it, mostly because I really didn't know what to say, but our beloved Julie was hospitalised eight days ago for what was apparently another stroke. This is a terrible set-back. Some of you might remember that she had a stroke in the spring of 2001 and it was a very serious bleed that did a lot of damage. It has been a long struggle for her to regain as much mobility as she had, even with a fall a couple years ago that broke her hip. But, she was able to write and draw and work had just begun at the house to have an elevator installed to take her back to her upstairs studio space. And then, a stroke. It has affected the other side of her brain compromising her stronger side, particularly in her leg, and has utterly sapped her strength.

When I speak to her on the phone, which I've done twice, I hear the frustration, exhaustion, and disappointment in her voice. I feel so helpless. The first time she had a stroke, everyone could take shifts in the hospital with her, but five years later, her husband is older, more fragile. Her children both have small children of their own. My mother is not as well as she was and cannot visit as often as she would like. And I no longer live anywhere near Toronto. It hurts my heart that she is in the place she is and I can do nothing but think of her and call her. I feel my isolation here and can only imagine the isolation she surely feels relegated to an hospital bed. I hope she is able to move to a rehabilitation facility soon.

In other news, today was a Toronto kind of day in Whitehorse. No, we didn't suddenly have an immigration spike, nor a drive-by shooting. Instead, it is slightly above zero degrees and wet snow has been lightly falling for the last ten hours or so. It's wet and mucky out. Warm, but mucky, snow sticking to everything and soaking through the ankles of my jeans. Is it strange that it made me feel homesick? I suppose not. But it made me think of the times I ate fresh wet snow off of tree branches, went sledding behind my school, and a myriad other strange nostalgic memories. Maybe it was that I was watching the kids playing in the park and doing the things kids do. My lunches, filled with the Art Camp kids, are a lot of fun. Today, getting over a migraine, though, I took it easy and mostly just observed them, rather than actively playing with them.

The dynamics of children are complicated. There is a constant testing of boundries, shifting of roles, and pushes for supremacy. In this group, when left to its own dynamics, there are a pair of children who lean toward the bully side of things, and a third who can be careless with the feelings of her friends, but ultimately, they're all a good group of kids. I know the art teacher has had real problems managing them, but I haven't. This doesn't suprise me; I lay down the rules and talk to kids at their level without resorting to concepts of interaction that simply do not apply to children. Kids respond to respect and contact, but they also take advantage of those they deem weak.

On Monday, they all wanted to test me. How much could they get away with. I had to figure out what was my limit and let everything under it roll off of me like water from a duck's back. When the limit was reached, swift warnings were given. When it was passed, I cut them off and shut them down. I cannot really explain how I do it, but it almost always works. Sometimes I must sound harsh, but bullying and disobeying is not something I'm willing to tollerate - and I have a high tollerance for kids 'being kids'. Yesterday, the testing was less. They had all figured out that I am lenient and fun, and by not pushing my buttons (hah, I sound like my mother), the fun was continual. The fun stops when the behaviour changes. Ultimately, fun is better than not-fun. Heh. Imagine that. Kids aren't stupid by any stretch.

Today, when I went in and asked them to keep their voices down and not to man-handle me because I had a very bad headache, every single one of them respected that. Even I was surprised. Before we could leave for the park, one of the six year olds, a girl who can be very bossy, told me that one of the group was hiding. It was the six year old boy in the group and he was hiding behind the upright piano. I crouched right down in front of him and asked him what was the matter.

Boy: Please, just leave me alone.
Me: I can't just leave you alone, we have to go as a group. What's the matter?
Boy: I don't wanna say. Just leave me alone.
Me: You aren't gonna tell me?
Boy: (shakes his head)
Me: (pushing back his hood and brushing the hair out of his face) Hey sweety, did someone say something to you? Was someone mean to you?
Boy: (nods his head)
Me: Ohhh nooo. Who was mean to you?
Boy: My friend.

I knew who he meant - it was the little girl who told me he was hiding. I went and collected her from the group and brought her behind the piano. The other kids totally knew I was "dealing" with someone and fell silent. Behind the piano was out of their eyes, though, and semi-private. I stood her in front of the boy and crouched down again, this time facing her.

Me: ***** tells me you were being mean and bossing him around. It is not nice to boss people around, hon, and it has to stop, do you understand?
Girl: (miniscule head nod but with a defensive glare)
Me: You have to appologise.
Girl: (stoic silence)
Me: Do you like it when people boss you around, tell you what to do? Do you like it when people are mean to you and hurt your feelings?
Girl: (shakes head and whispers, defiant look replaced with big, round, glistening eyes) No...
Me: I don't like it when people are mean to me, either. By doing it to *****, you hurt his feelings and to make it better, you have to appologise.
Girl: (turns to the boy) I'm sorry.
Me: (nodding to her, I turn to the boy again) Do you accept her appology for hurting your feelings?
Boy: (looks at the girl, then nods) Yes. It's okay.

I turned, then, and hugged the little girl, thanking her for understanding. Then to the boy, I asked if he was ready to go to the park and he said yes. I took his hands and helped him up and hugged him, too. The two kids looked at each other and gave little smiles that communicated more than their words ever could and then she hugged me and he grinned and joined the group. The rest of the kids knew that something 'serious' had just happened and very thoughtfully did not ask what.

The next incident didn't happen until we were at the park, when one of the bullies got a taste of her own medicine and cried foul to me. My response was simple. "I don't care who did what to whom, do you understand? I care that it does not happen again, do I make myself clear? When you're with me, you treat each other respectfully and fairly and you do not tease or bully anyone else. You treat each other the way you want other people to treat you. Do I make myself clear?" I think there must have been an implied threat in my tone because they cut it out and went back to playing really well together, laughter filling the park again. When we got back to the studio, I stuck around, despite my head, for another hour and a half, to help with the sculpey projects they were starting. Everyone was helpful and co-operative, to the point where their instructor, who gets totally frazzled by them, actually started to relax and have some fun, herself.

When I left, they all told me to feel better and waved.