I’m a big believer in paper valentines — the kind that show up in your real mailbox, not your e-mail one – but since I don’t have your street address, I’ll have to send yours here.

This is our family creation, circa 2011. Annabelle drew it, I stitched it, Sophie (and the Beatles) came up with the quote. (And the fantastic Heather Hales did the card design; I hear she’s for hire, check her out.)

Happy Valentine’s Day, dear friends!

xoxo

Amy

I got the best valentine from my mom: a photo album from her wedding.

I’ve seen all the pictures — memorized them — and the book is falling apart, but still, it’s an awesome gift. It was a copy someone made post-wedding for my dad’s parents with a few images, and when my mom presented it I realized that I don’t have anything like it. (And it I also realized that I’m not 100 percent sure where my own wedding album is. Whoops! I know it’s here somewhere.)

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a piece for my day job at Phoenix New Times about Tucson and I mentioned the fact that my parents met there:

I have a romanticized Tucson in the most literal sense. My parents met and fell in love at the University of Arizona in the early 1960s. I have this image of the two of them running in slow motion across the bright green lawn on campus in front of Old Main — she in a shift dress, her blond hair in a bubble ‘do; he in thick-framed black glasses and a crew cut — embracing as the theme to “Love Is a Many Splendored Thing” plays in the background, just like in the movie Grease.

Check out the image above (probably didn’t need the Hipstamatic treatment, it’s already a little yellow) and you’ll see what I mean.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom and Dad! You are the ultimate sweethearts in my book.

Mustaches are everywhere these days (the new owl!) so why not on Annabelle’s valentines? We had a lot of fun making these. Here are the directions.

It was a good day. Sophie wrote all of her valentines (Olivia the Pig, of course) in one sitting.without complaint. A small miracle. Now, to be honest, you couldn’t read any of them (particuarly her own name, which she wrote “in cursive,” which meant a quick scribble — which is fair, considering what my signature looks like) so I made tags with names and put her valentines and some candy in a bag then tied them up with the tags on the outside. That took a while.

But  it’s all done, leaving time tomorrow for the science fair projects. It’s become a friendly competition of sorts — Annabelle and Ray  vs. Sophie and me. Sophie and I are ahead of the game; our carousel is built, photos are developed, the backboard’s even underway. They only just purchased the materials to build a zoetrope this afternoon. But we’ve got some worthy opponents.

I’ll report back.

Over the years I’ve done my share of classroom crafts — with varying degrees of success but usually a large measure of failure. But today I left Sophie’s classroom with a full heart.

We made love shrines.

It was so easy. (And inspired by none other than the Crafty Chica!) I tracked down small tin boxes (just like Altoids boxes but plain), cut hot pink cardstock to fit in the deep part of the box, and raided the craft bins for collage materials and glitter glue. Caught up on my magazine reading and while I was at it, ripped out a bunch of (kid appropriate) words and pictures and printed a few more on the computer.

Then we just let the second graders create. I explained what a love shrine is, showed them one we made at home for Sophie’s teacher, and encouraged them to make one about themselves. A few did, including one who snatched up the words “lucky girl” — I loved that. Others honored mom or dad or a pet.

Sophie and her best friend Sarah made shrines for one another. Sarah’s shrine is above. Here’s Sophie’s, as well as a couple others.

Mine told me to make candy conversation hearts.

I can’t believe how well it went — I am typically the queen of culinary disasters. Here are my hearts, sans messages. The directions to make them (and lots more pictures) are here.

And if you are feeling crafty, might I recommend my favorite (thanks to my dear friend Kate!) web site for such things, The Long Thread, which has lots of fun suggestions for valentine things to make and buy.

We’ll be making love shrines in Sophie’s class on Wednesday. I’m psyched! And nervous. Anything involving 25 7 and 8 year olds is anxiety-inspiring, if you ask me.

This is for Trish, Jennifer, Kate, Cindy, Kristen, Corey, Janice — and all the rest of you. Let’s have a spontaneous Teacher Appreciation Day.

It’s been more than three weeks, and for most of us, life returned to “normal” long ago. Or never left it, frankly. The whole thing really shook a lot of us here in Arizona — particularly in my favorite Arizona city, Tucson. I was lucky enough to travel there a week and a half ago, and to get to write about it for Phoenix New Times in our current issue. (I was super-lucky to get to interview Elaine Lewinnek, whom I met right here on GIAPH, for the story!)

I caught up with some old friends that day, and met new folks, including Jackson Boelts, an art profressor at the University of Arizona who had been doing his own thinking about branding. He created our cover, and shared a series of his current work, which you can read about here.

We’ve been singing the body electric in our house a lot, these days.

They won’t let me embed the video here, but if you’ve never seen the movie Fame — or it’s been a while — and you need a pick me up, please take a minute and watch this.

See? Don’t you feel awesome?

I sing the body electric
I celebrate the me yet to come
I toast to my own reunion
When I become one with the sun

And I’ll look back on Venus
I’ll look back on Mars
And I’ll burn with the fire of ten million stars
And in time
And in time
We will all be stars

Really, isn’t that what life is all about? (And I’m not religious, by the way, though I suppose the song has religious overtones if that’s your thing.) Life is about being a star, however you translate it. That’s what we want for ourselves, it’s what we want for our kids, it’s the reverie of a kitchen dance party to some really good music.

So how do we get that feeling and keep it?

We’ve been singing the body electric in our house a lot — literally — because Annabelle’s dance teacher used the song in a routine at last week’s family open house. We stuck it on one of our mixed CDs and the girls and I like to belt it out in the car, it lasts just exactly from our doorstep to the parking lot at school. It’s a good morning anthem.

And it’s more than that. It’s an impossible song to sing, and Annabelle’s class is dance — not music — so it was hard to resist the urge to put hands over ears last week, as we watched her little class sing it at the top of a dozen sets of lungs while trying to remember a lot of moves. It was hard to hold Sophie back, too. She’s not in that class. She may never be ready for the pace of that one. That breaks my heart. But it’s not at the fore.

School is.

Last night I found the video for the Fame version of the song on You Tube and the three of us were watching it. “Hey, that’s the school that the school you might go to next year is based on,” I told Annabelle. She shook her head hard, admonished me not to talk about that school. I understand. She’s terrified at the prospect of leaving her comfort zone, her nest since kindergarten, the loving school that — if she’s lucky, and wins a lottery in March — will no longer be home next fall.

The new school is scary to her, and thrilling to me. I’ve told you about it before — it’s an arts charter, grades 5 through 12. If she gets in, we’ll automatically mitigate (though not eliminate) the social dangers of junior high, the low academic performance of other schools, the lack of a great arts education almost everywhere else.

This is the school for Annabelle, and even though it’s a scary proposition, it’s a proposition. A place to shine.

My fingers are crossed that she’ll get in. I’m crossing all fingers and toes and everything else I can of when it comes to Sophie. Her path is not as clear, and yesterday I realized that even under the best circumstances, it doesn’t involve much of a chance to shine.

Yesterday we had one of those big school conference room meetings where all the therapists, the principal, the teachers and even the psychologist gather to discuss Sophie’s Progress and Future. This day we had some extra guests, because as I’ve mentioned before, it was time to bring another advocate into the picture. A Lawyer. And so Sophie’s Lawyer was joined by The District’s Lawyer, and also the District’s Special Education Director and even The District’s Tape Recorder, which sat in the middle of the big table as a reminder that Things Are Getting Serious.

Yesterday’s meeting was just to discuss what kinds of testing should be done for Sophie — her three-year timer’s about to go off, indicating assessments are needed. Her lawyer helped figure out the best tests to figure out where she’s at. Everyone was very amenable. If eventually it’s decided that Sophie needs a little extra help in class, that tone may change. We’re a ways away from that. So far, so good. One step at a time and all that.

Afterward, in the parking lot, the lawyer and I were chatting and she happened to mention that her own son (who is typical) attends the arts charter school — our local Fame — and loves it. I told her Annabelle wants to go there, she nodded vigorously.

Turning back to Sophie, the lawyer mused that she should do well at her current school, which goes through fifth grade. Then, we both agreed, she’s pretty much screwed. Junior high will be even harder on Sophie than a typical kid, the lawyer warned. I nodded.

We both shrugged, promised to stay in touch if either hears anything about this upcoming testing, and to see each other again in 60 days, at the school’s next meeting. Like I said, one step at a time.

But of course my thoughts drifted to junior high. Driving home from an impromptu dinner out last night, the girls asked for “Body Electric”. I obliged, turned it way up, and got lost in thought. I had an epiphany (dangerous, I know).

What if someone started an arts charter school for Sophie? Not just for Sophie, not just for kids with Down syndrome, but one that did include kids with special needs. (I’m not sure if it can be said officially or not, but the arts charter school in question is not likely the place for Sophie, and I’ll leave it at that.) But what if there was a place for her?

We know that kids with Down syndrome — and other special needs, too — thrive on the arts. Love to perform, get great benefit from music and other forms. The truth is that Sophie won’t really need to learn calculus or chemistry or a lot of the hard stuff they teach them as they get older. She needs to be with kids who are typical and otherwise, she needs to learn about the world in a happy, creative setting that celebrates difference. That celebrates her. She needs to shine.

By the time we pulled into the driveway I had a whole plan worked out to start my own arts charter school that includes special needs kids, including a list of potential teachers, advisors and kids who would attend. By morning I’d tamped that down a bit — but not entirely. A few years ago, one of my best friends and all-time favorite people in the world started a charter school in her neighborhood in Los Angeles. She did it without quitting her full time job as a lawyer, she did it for all the right reasons — and today that school and her kids are thriving.

It’s possible. And if nothing else, it gives me a little hope. Let me know if you’re interested, okay? Or if you know of a model that already exists.

Here’s Sophie’s audition tape. She made it herself when I wasn’t looking.

I love Facebook. I know people love to hate it — and I have my share of that, for sure – but I particularly loved it last night, when I posed the following:

Sophie insists she wants to do her science fair project about carousels. Any suggestions? I’m not sure I’m up to building one.

The suggestions poured in. I still have no idea how Sophie and I are going to pull this one off (while Ray and Annabelle attempt to build a zoetrope — also not an easy task!) but we’ve got a headstart. Here are a few of the responses, along with a description of the person who offered the particular idea. I’ll let you know how it turns out. I know for sure that this will involve a lot of carousel-riding research!

Jeff (lawyer/artist): A plastic lazy Susan and plastic toy horses. Spin it, the horses fly off, you’ve just demonstrated centrifugal force.

Kate (museum public relations): You might find a motor to make it go around, and take the carousel from a pop up version from a card or book.

Karie (teacher): http://classroomteacher.com/carousel/

Kim (actor/director/writer): maybe observe a carousel at arizona Mills and do a graph to show which animal is selected and at what frequency. she can do a hypothesis about which animal she predicts will be ridden the most frequently and then she can count and see if she was right.

Ty (restaurant public relations): I suggest a beer first, then tackle the carousel.

Helen (owns a funky art space downtown): enchanted island carousel eyes closed write about the feeling

Kristen (teacher/my college roommate): Can you tie it into how many simple machines are used to create motion? Buy a carousel and identify them. Wheel and axle, pulley, screw. ?…

Kim (lawyer/cookbook author): Once (many years ago) I made a record player out of a rotisserie attachment for a barbeque grill. That same concept would apply here=get a small motor and connect it by a big rubber band to a small cake plate on a spool with toys glued to the top of it. In other words, think small.

Sue (artist): How the merry go round animals go up and down.

Karen (editor of a parenting magazine): If you DO end up making one, one of those cheap plastic lazy Susans you can put in kitchen cabinets to hold spices would make a great base!