Wearing School Well

What seemed simple at first turned into an engineering problem. School projects always do. This time it was youngest daughter Bryce's 6th grade special social studies project that was all about ancient Egypt. She chose to create a cat sarcophagus with a cat mummy inside it and do research around cats in Egyptian culture. That was the engineering problem -- how to help her make something that resembled a wooden cat coffin without being carved out of real wood. 

The cat mummy was the easy part. We picked out an old smaller stuffed animal (it wasn't even a cat -- it was a tiny goat) and wrapped it in a dirty ACE bandage. That worked just fine.

The sarcophagus was a different story. We thought about using all balloons of different shapes and sizes and then covering them with paper mache, but then what about being able to cut it in half like so we could put the mummy inside?

We had some old packing styrofoam in the garage that were nearly two halves of a big block. Bryce and her mom Amy felt like we could make that work as the body. But paper mache can still be messy and take a lot more work, so we found plaster cloth rolls online that just needed to be cut into strips, dipped, applied, and smoothed.

It ended up being a combination of items we used: the styrofoam, the plaster cloth rolls, balloon-like packing bubbles to add leg muscle contours to the body, an actual balloon for the head, old playdough to help shape the facial features and cat ears, and brown spray paint.

We made sure that Bryce did as much of the project as possible. That included her own Egyptian costume that Amy helped her with, and that she wanted to be as authentic as possible, plus the cat coffin that I helped her with. As parents (and I'm especially guilty of this), we want it to be the best final project product for them as possible. The good news was that Bryce really wanted to make it her own, and that's exactly what she did. 

At one point when I was helping Bryce shape the playdough for the face, she told me it looked more like a rabbit than a cat. She wasn't wrong. We adjusted it as best we could, covered it in plaster cloth, and when it was all dry, painted it splotchy brown for an aged effect.

After all the creative prep and engineering work, the payoff was seeing Bryce in her Egyptian costume presenting what she learned about cats, coffins, and mummies. She did a fantastic job (as did most of her class on their own individual or team projects). Amy and I volunteered to review each student presentation and rate them on how well they presented their projects (not on the veracity of the information itself). 

I learned some things I did not know either. I vaguely remembered that cats were special to Egyptians, but didn't realize how revered they were. They were considered magical creatures, vessels for the gods themselves, capable of bringing good luck to the people who housed them. To honor their treasured pets, wealthy Egyptian families dressed them in jewels and fed them fancy treats. When their cats died, they were mummified. When a cat died, the owners would have to shave their eyebrows in mourning. And if you killed another cat, even accidentally, you were put to death. 

Yikes. Although we're cat people anymore, I have a new found respect for them and their ancient godlike Egyptian glory thanks to Bryce, her research, and wearing school well. 

This Bad History

At first, the time capsule seemed appealing to her. The idea of it, at least, of putting things from her life today in 2020 in a box that would remind her of this life today 20+ years from now.

Her third grade teacher assigned the time capsule project to her class, we discussed it, she was onboard, and then we identified a box for her to use. The first thing she wanted to put in the box was the picture of our family on the beach wearing our coronavirus face masks that her Auntie Jill made, my wife's sister.

"What else do you want to put in there, Bryce?" I said.

Bryce, our youngest daughter, thought for a moment, and then she said, "The President."

"Our current president?"

"Yes."

I paused, sorting words in my head to choose them carefully.

"Okay, that sounds great. So, a picture of him?"

"Yes. A picture."

"Okay, you can help me pick one out. Why a picture of him?"

I couldn't help but ask. Both our daughters know how we feel about the current administration and they are also more aware of current events themselves than ever.

"Because of history," Bryce said, as if I should've already known the answer.

"Great, so what else do you --"

"Bad history," she interrupted.

"Bad history?"

"Yes, bad history. The virus, the president, no more school..."

Her voice trailed off. I could tell she was becoming upset.

"Okay, bad history. I understand. Let's figure out what else you want in the box."

"I don't want to do this anymore right now," she said.

"Okay, Sweetie. I understand."

I was surprised because I thought she'd really want to do this project. However, each time we brought up working on the time capsule, her face contorted into deep, quivering sadness. Like me, her father, Bryce feels her emotions deeply, and once they become overbearing, she can't help but to break down and cry. And that's exactly what she did.

"So, Bryce, you don't want to do this project now?"

"No," she'd squeak out between tears.

"Dad, can't you see she doesn't want to do it," her older sister Beatrice said. Bea is definitely her sister's defender these days.

"Okay, okay."

Both her mom and I sympathized with her. When I came back from working out this weekend, I stopped and tore off a piece of yellow caution tape from a fenced off building that included the word CAUTION on it. I did this because I had a new idea myself: what if we put things in the time capsule box that she never wanted to see again? Like a negative time capsule to be buried cathartically and never be seen again. I thought that maybe she might like this idea.

But when I shared it with Bryce, she shook her head.

"No, I'd rather do it the easier way," she said. "The first way."

"Oh, okay, so you do want to finish the time capsule now?"

Again, her face contorted slightly. "No, no I don't want to do it at all."

"Okay, then we'll ask your teacher for another project for you."

"Okay," Bryce said.

And so we're not going to make her do the time capsule project. We'll work with her teacher to figure out another project for Bryce. The dramatic changes to our children's lives have been enough bad history to fill a lifetime in their minds anyway, so there's no point for Bryce saving them for another day to relive again and again. She may not be to articulate this now, but that's going to happen with these memories whether we put things in a box or not. Until this bad history is behind us all, we just want Bryce and Beatrice to grieve for what's been lost and unearth as much goodness as they can from life each and every day.