Christmas morning arrived when Mackie tiptoed into the bedroom at 7:00 to inform us it was time to get up.  He and Aran had already sorted all the presents.  A flurry of opening followed.  I got a huge sushi knife and much-needed clothes and the entire family got the Simpsons version of the Scene It game.  Mwah ha ha!

I fed Aran's obsession with Monty Python by giving him a can of Spam, which he's never eaten before.  He had some with his breakfast pancakes.

Later in the afternoon we went over to my in-laws for food and more gifting.  Deliciousness all around!  Mackie got a pogo stick, something he'd been agitating for since last summer.  Aran got MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL on DVD.  He's watched it about fourteen times already.

The next day we drove up to my mother's for a celebration.  It was a crowded house, with aunts and uncles and cousins and siblings and nieces and nephews.  And food, food, food.

The gifting was fun.  I received Terry Pratchett's latest book, a whole mess of organic granola, and The Charity Donation.  Some of my family members, you see, decided to trade tailored charitable donations this year instead of buying gifts.  I drew my brother Paul.  Because Paul once packed a suitcase and started down the road to running away when he was six, I donated money in his name to Covenant House, a shelter for runaway youth.  In memory of my childhood on a farm, my sister-in-law Kristi made a donation for me to Heifer International, which gives farm animals for hungry people to raise.  Kala donated money to a pet shelter in the name of Kristi's recently-deceased dog, which made Kristi cry, so Kala won.

We also had a little celebration for Mackie and Caleb (my nephew), who have birthdays.  Mackie is now eight!

Everything ended with a snow-free drive home, so yay!

On Wednesday we drove up to Frankenmuth.

Frankenmuth is an idealized version of Germany.  It bears almost no resemblance to the reality.  It's actually a big shopping area with various unique attractions in it, especially at Christmas.  People come from all over the world to visit.  Since I grew up only a few miles away, I don't understand the impetus to travel from, say, Japan just to see Frankenmuth (as some people do), but hey--it's a big world.

Frankenmuth's most famous attraction is Bronner's, an enormous shopping complex devoted entirely to Christmas.  If it's related to Christmas, you can find it at Bronner's.  Stuff is arranged by category, so we have five acres of nativity sets, three acres of ornaments, twelve acres of stockings, and so on.  They also have on the premises a recreation of the little chapel where "Silent Night" was first written and performed.  It's kind of a fun place to visit.

We were meeting my dad up there for a Christmas visit.  We hooked up at the Silent Night Chapel and admired it.  They have the lyrics for the song posted on signs in a bazillion languages outside it, including American Sign Language, braille, Latvian, and Ukrainian.  Then it was a trip through Bronner's, though we didn't get to the entire store, not with a child under ten.

We had lunch at Zehnder's, famous for its chicken (which meant Aran ordered a hamburger).  The place was very crowded, but fortunately they opened up another dining room just as we arrived.  Once we'd ordered, Aran asked the server how many chefs they had working that day.  "Two," he said.  Mackie declared the chicken very good.  Sasha, oddly, ordered a bowl of soup and some french fries.  Usually he eats like a machine!

For Christmas I gave my dad two loaves of Latvian rye bread I'd made.  He liked them very much.  We also visited Zehnder's bakery for some more shopping.  Aran bought a donut the size of his head.  I saw some cookie cutters I liked very much (owl and wolf), but they were absolutely huge, too big to be practical, so I passed.

We drove around Frankenmuth after that, looking at the displays and talking and catching up.  A good visit.

I got home from work late today, and when I arrived, Maksim was squirming with agitation.  He had brought home a present for Kala and me and he was dying for us to open it. The wrapping paper he had decorated himself.  It says "To my parents. Love, Maksim." We unwrapped it and found this hand-made frame: How can anyone top this for Christmas?

Sasha has been reliving his Ukrainian childhood lately--by eating salted raw garlic.

We first encountered this treat in Ukraine when Irene, our housekeeper, made borscht. You peel a clove of garlic, dip it in coarse salt, and eat. Sasha has been doing this quite a lot lately, and Mackie has followed suit. It's been rather . . . unpleasant to stand close to him.

For Sunday we'd promised Maksim that we'd get the Yule tree, and so we did.

First we had to straighten up and arrange various bits of furniture and bring the boxes up from the basement. Then we went off to get a tree. This was lots easier with a van! We found The Perfect Tree at the farmer's market we usually go to and got it set up with minimal fuss. Decorating followed.

By now the boys are old pros at it. They set up the house decorations wile Kala and I did the lights, and then it was ornaments and other stuff. It all looks luvverly!

This morning, I made pancakes for breakfast. I made a triple batch of batter, intending to freeze the extras. They're perfect in the toaster during the week and make great quick breakfasts.

Aran wandered into the kitchen. "You're making pancakes?" he said. "I already ate pancakes. There were a couple in the freezer from last time, and I ate them while you were in the shower. But," he hastened to add, "I'm still hungry."

The final tally? Counting the pancakes Aran ate before breakfast, it was:

Maksim: 3
Aran: 8
Sasha: 9
Kala: 3
Me: 3

There were no extra pancakes for the freezer . . .

For supper today I made fish sticks, french fries, and fruit salad mixed with leftover Cool Whip.

"This meal wasn't so much cooked as assembled," I remarked at the table.

"I want more," Sasha said, reaching for the fruit.

"Sometimes it bothers me," I said, "that I don't know how to butcher a pig or a cow, though I could probably do a chicken if I had to."

"Sometimes it bothers me," Kala said, "that you think about things like that."

"In my country," Sasha put in, "we killed pigs every year. We stick something in their chest, into their heart. They squeal for a long time, and then they finally die. Then we burn the skin to . . . to . . . "

"To get the bristles off?" I supplied.

He nodded. "Yeah. That's it. You know what my favorite food from a pig is?"

"What?" I asked.

"I don't know the name," he answered. "But you take the tubes from inside the pig and fill them with blood and cook them and eat them."

"That's blood sausage," I said.

"Yep," Kala said.

"It's delicious," Sasha said.

"Where the heck would you get blood sausage around here?" I asked.

Kala shrugged. "No clue. Zingerman's?"

We have some of the weirdest conversations at our table. And now we have to track down a supplier for blood sausage.

We went to my brother's house for Thanksgiving this year. So much delicious food! The turkey and stuffing--yum! The sweet potatoes--tasty! The pie, both pumpkin and apple--wonderful! Great conversation, too. My cousin Mark, my sister-in-law Kristi, and I had a long, involved conversation about grammar and how it can be unexpectedly important in your life. There was also much Guitar Hero-age. Some of Kristi's relatives came by later, and we played Apples to Apples. I took several photos on my phone and emailed them to my sister, who couldn't be there. And then home.

I met with the school psychologist last Thursday at Sasha's high school.  He admitted that the school had messed up and unfortunately there was no way they could make the Monday deadline and he apologized several times.  I said the school was in violation of several state and federal laws, and if I reported them to the Intermediate School District, they'd be in for a nightmare of paperwork.  (This is putting it mildly.  There'd be a full-blown investigation, potentially into the entire special education department to see if there were any other violations.  It would be the equivalent of an IRS audit.  By a proctologist.  On steroids.)

"You do have the right," he said.  He really wanted to add, "But please don't," except that wouldn't have been proper.

"What are your plans?" I asked instead.

He went through them.  Another IQ test.  An achievement test.  Three more observations by two different psychologists.

I cruelly played alpha male.  I took up most of the space on the couch we were sitting on.  When I realized I had nothing to write with, I reached over and appropriated his legal pad and pen without asking.  When I needed to consult a calendar, I held out my hand for his Blackberry, and he handed it over without comment.   All this to let him know I wasn't happy and that nothing was forgiven.  As a psychologist, I'm sure he knew exactly what I was doing (though did he know I knew he knew . . . ?), and he dropped into the role of beta.  All without a word being spoken.

Who says men aren't subtle?

He filled out a formal IEP request form and added to it another form that said I was giving the district an extension.  Here, I held off with my pen hovering above the signature line.

"I don't like the idea of signing this," I said.  This wasn't posturing.  I was trying to figure out the best course of action.  I didn't know this guy very well, and had no way of knowing if signing it would let him slough off or if it would let him relax a bit so he could better act.  Conversely, how far should I push?  By refusing to sign, would I make him upset at me and negatively change the outcome?  Would bringing in the ISD speed things up or slow things down?  If he had to do a mountain of paperwork, that might slow services for Sasha, since the psychologist's workload would increase.  Or should I not sign but say I'd sign it retroactively later if I were happy with the outcome?

My only goal was help for Sasha.  I didn't care about an investigation or punishing the district except as a means for getting Sasha the help he needs.

All this caused me to hesitate, with my pen--his pen--hanging above the page for several moments. This was unintentionally torturing the psychologist, who was all but groveling now.

I finally put a date on and signed the release.  The psychologist tried not to sigh, though his posture was much looser as he left the room to make copies of everything.  I promised to send him some extra information about Sasha he'd requested, and I left.

Today, we talked on the phone again.  He'd given Sasha several tests and wanted to set up a post-evaluation meeting/IEP meeting.  This was heartening to me: it meant that he was going to list Sasha as qualified for special services.  At last!  I gave him a window of dates and times that worked best for me, and he said he'd coordinate with the teachers and let me know when it would be.

"I don't think all six teachers will be able to come," he added quickly.

"I didn't think so," I replied, remembering how difficult it is to get more than three to attend IEPs at my own school.

"But we do want his math and English teachers there, if at all possible," he finished.  "Aleksandr's here with me, and I wanted to tell you he's an extraordinary young man.  He knows he didn't do well in middle school, and he wants to do well here in high school.  He also wants his younger brothers to succeed, and he thinks it's important for them to see him do well, so he wants to work."

This, I think, for Sasha's benefit more than mine, but that's cool.

Today Kala gave Mackie's teacher a handful of popsicle sticks each labeled "20 minutes."  At the teacher's discretion, he can give Mackie a stick for good behavior, and Mackie can cash them in for 20 minutes of TV, Wii, or City of Heroes time.  This, of course, is the instant/random reinforcement modelshekkara mentioned.  The planner would also continue.

Today when I picked him up, Mackie excitedly held up a planner with three smiley faces in it and he gleefully reported that he'd earned four popsicle sticks.  Whoo!  We'll see if this model will keep working.  Much relief there.

After work, I drove over to Sasha's high school to see what I could learn about the special ed testing.  I went to the appropriate office and asked for the secretary I'd talked to before the school year and e-mailed later.  A woman I didn't recognize said, "Oh, she doesn't work here anymore."

"Ah!" I said. "That would explain why she hasn't returned my e-mails.  Are you her replacement?"

"Yes."

"I'm Steven Piziks.  My son is Aleksandr Piziks.  We put in a request for--"

"Oh!  I know who you are."  And then followed a sort-of explanation.  The head of the special education department had been out of the building for two days, her office was locked, and Sasha's file was in it.  But his case was an ongoing concern and they were dealing with it.  So sorry they hadn't contacted me.

"The deadline is Monday," I said.  "That's the thirtieth day."

And I left to get Mackie and Aran.

I arrived home to find Sasha with a phone message.  A psychologist had called and left a number.  Eh?  I called back.  It was the school psychologist for Willow Run High School.  What followed was pretty much an "Oh shit" conversation from his end.

You see, if they blow the deadline and I report them to the Intermediate School District, the ISD will write up Willow Run to the State of Michigan as being in violation of state and federal law.  This will trigger a nightmare labyrinth of paperwork and reparations that no Teacher Consultant wants to live through.  (I mentioned this situation to Nameless High School's Teacher Consultant, and his eyes went wide.  "I don't envy them," he said.  "Not a tiny bit.")

The psychologist apologized a couple-three times about not getting to Sasha sooner.  I remained mostly silent and let him talk, letting him know nothing was forgiven.  He said he had observed Sasha in two classes today--art and biology--and that Sasha seemed attentive and on-task.  He also said he looked at Sasha's grades on-line and saw that Sasha was passing all his classes, though he had a D- in algebra.  (Translation: "He has no problems requiring special needs intervention.")

"Did you notice that his history teacher hasn't recorded any assignments, but has just recorded a C- with no justification?" I said.  "Sasha tells me that he understands very little in history class.  I've tried several times to contact his history teacher, but the man never gets hold of me.  Did you talk to his math teacher?"

"No."

"Ms. C--- has expressed a lot of concern about Aleksandr's ability to get through algebra."  Here I also explained some of Sasha's difficulty with math.  "And the reason he's gotten good grades in biology so far is that Ms. M---- has returned most of his work to him and had him do it over again, either with her or with me.  His English grades are good because I tutor him.  Actually, I reteach him in just about every subject."

I also gave him the standard speech about Sasha's background, and we talked a little bit about the IQ test from the summer.  I also mentioned that the deadline is still MONDAY.  "We dropped the ball," he admitted, though he didn't give details.  He seemed a bit nervous, which I can understand.  If they blow the deadline, they're hosed.

He asked if there was a time this week that I could come in to sign some forms and get a little booklet on my rights as a parent "in case he's classified for special services," he said, and went on to explain the forms in some detail.

I let him babble.  I didn't tell him that I already know special ed forms inside and out because I already have a special needs kid in school.

He's under a tight time constraint.  Sasha will need an extensive written evaluation, more observation (now that I've said he needs help with math), forms from his current teachers, and other stuff.  And they only have TWO SCHOOL DAYS LEFT.  Everything has to be completed and filed by Monday afternoon, so they can't be still working on it by then.

Kala said she'd be willing to let them have a one-day extension before filing a violation with the ISD.  I said I'm not.  I've already spent hours and hours dealing with this issue, making trips to the school, calling, e-mailing, letting them know what's going on, and gotten nothing in response.  The only way I'll be willing to give them extra time is if they give me IN WRITING on Monday what extra special they'll give Sasha beyond what he'd normally get.  He should have had help weeks ago, and he's paying for their mistakes.

I suspect that all this was trigged when I CC'ed the principal on that last e-mail to the special ed secretary.  In the e-mail I mentioned the Monday deadline and made it clear that I was a parent who knew The Rules.  I think the principal yanked someone into her office and did some serious shouting.  Hence all the speed.

Watch this space . . .

Got home and nailed down the final proofing edits of ROCKET BOY AND THE GEEK GIRLS.  Then Kala got home with Aran and Mackie.

Mackie has been acting out very badly at school lately.  Extremely disruptive, won't follow directions, hides in the bathroom.  He's not starting fights, at least.  We put him back on the behavior planner we used when he was in kindergarten and told him that if he earns enough good behavior stickers, he'll earn his own City of Heroes account, something he's been agitating for quite a lot lately.  Unfortunately, his behavior hasn't changed one bit.  I recommended to his teacher that he use the "1, 2, 3" method we use at home with him, and the teacher said he'd try it, but today Mackie got his worst report ever.  So now we're going to try arranging for the social worker to observe him for signs of ADHD and/or other problems we haven't thought of, and to see if his teacher can give him incremental rewards on the spot for good behavior, giving him immediate feedback.  (I don't know how feasible this is, though.)

And meanwhile Kala and I had an appointment with Sasha's therapist to discuss various issues.

And then we got home and I spent considerable time e-mailing Sasha's history teacher, the principal, and the special education secretary.  Sasha's history teacher has posted a C- for his grade so far, but hasn't listed a single actual assignment.  Sasha says he doesn't understand all that much in history class, either.  I've e-mailed the man twice, and he hasn't responded, and he's always gone for the day by the time I can get down to the school building.  I sent him a rather stronger e-mail asking for a more detailed progress report.

Next up was the special ed person.  Three days before school started, we filed a request with the school that Sasha be evaluated for special services.  According to federal law, the school has 30 school days to evaluate him.  That deadline expires on Monday, October 19.  I e-mailed the secretary in charge of this last week to ask when Sasha would be tested and got no response.  I e-mailed her again to remind her of the impending deadline and said I'd have to notify the Intermediate School District if the high school missed the deadline.  Then I looked up the principal's e-mail so I could send her a copy of the missive as well.

Sasha, meanwhile, has an English quiz coming up, so I helped him study for that.  I wasn't familiar with the story in question and had to read it quickly so I could quiz him over it.

Mackie, meanwhile, was having an emotional meltdown.  He's lost more and more privileges around the house because of his poor behavior--they'll be restored the day he comes home with a good report--but he's convinced himself that he'll never be able to behave in school.  A chunk of his behavior comes from the fact that he misses his teacher from last year and wants to be back in her classroom.  I spent nearly an hour playing child therapist, trying to ferret out more information and trying to build him up to the idea that he can behave in class, that he does have the power to control himself, that he can get through this, all without caving in on the demands he was making (to get his privileges back early, to get City of Heroes faster, to have his old teacher back).

I was supposed to spend most of the evening writing a new, potentially way cool, project with a fast deadline, but I got almost nothing done.

At least Aran's IEP yesterday went extremely well.  For the first time ever, I didn't come out of it feeling like I'd been crushed under a cement block.  Aran's doing very well with his schoolwork lately.  He doesn't need speech therapy anymore, and his primary IEP goals focus on social interaction.  His teachers all like him quite a lot, and they reported that this year, the students often focus on helping Aran with his work and with interacting.  They suspect a chunk of it comes from the camping trip late last year, when they saw him outside the school setting and cheered him on when he was on the climbing wall and on the zip line.  They saw how much their support helped him and how great that made them feel.

UPDATE

This morning I talked to the teacher consultant in my building.  The teacher consultant is the person in charge of special education testing.  He was thoroughly surprised that school hasn't moved on the testing and said he can't think how they'll manage to test and evaluate Sasha within the deadline.  I asked him what happens when we report this to the ISD.  "They get written up to the state," he said.  "And then they have to make corrections.  It's a nightmare of paperwork. I don't envy them."

Kala took Sasha shopping for an outfit for the homecoming dance.  They discovered that one of the clothing stores at the mall was going out of business (!) and they were able to get him a jacket for $30 and slacks for $5. (!!)  A different store turned up a stylish new shirt and some shoes, and he was all set.

"I like shopping for clothes," he commented to Kala.

"You should," she said. "You have good taste in clothes."

"Only girls are supposed to like shopping."

"Lots of guys like it," she told him.

"That's true, I guess.  One guy at school told me he likes shopping for clothes, too."

At the appointed time, he got ready.  Here he is!

`

Sasha became heavily involved in homecoming activities.  On Thursday he went to the house of his math teacher (who is the freshman advisor) to work on the freshman float for the parade and donated a Superman cape from an old Halloween costume for someone to wear.  On Friday he went to the homecoming football game.  He left a little early because, he said, he wanted to avoid any fights that might break out. Tonight is the homecoming dance.  Sasha is going stag--he's planning to just go and hang out with friends. 

"I'm not dancing!" he maintained stoutly.  "I don't know how to dance."

"Neither does anyone else," I told him.

"Don't care. I'm not dancing, and I'm not asking a girl to dance."

At the moment, he's out with Kala shopping for something to wear, since his dressier clothes are either too small or too worn.  He says he wants black pants and a purple shirt.

When I was in high school, I didn't care about this kind of stuff.  I never went to any games or dances.  I didn't miss it, either. Sasha's getting heavily involved in everything, though, and I'm glad. He's been rather isolated in the last couple years, and his friends have all been much younger than he is, and they often lived far away. He needs to be with students and friends his own age, but he steadfastly refused to make friends with any teenagers in the neighborhood.  I think he's been a little afraid to.

Now he's been thrown into a school system and forced to interact with older teenagers, and he's finding he likes it.

On Wednesday I went down to Willow Run High School to get a login ID for the school's on-line grade program. I also did a quick round of his teachers to see if any were around and managed to talk to his biology teacher. Sasha had turned in all of his work, but his teacher had asked that he re-do a fair amount of it, which he hadn't mentioned to me.

I also found out that some kids still remembered Sasha from the single year he spent at WR Middle School four years ago, and one of the little shits started right in calling Sasha the same name he'd been bullied with back then. Sasha exploded, but the teacher caught it and wrote up the offending kid instead of Sasha.  The office saw from the kid's file that he'd done this before--and, I assume, saw that we had raised a stink and eventually pulled Sasha out of school because of the bullying--and told the kid, "Apologize to Aleksandr or you get in-school suspension."

The kid chose in-school suspension. I was glad to hear that the school was quick to act.

Later that evening, we went over Sasha's English work. Two grammar worksheets and a bunch of stuff for "The Most Dangerous Game." Here we're lucky--I teach that story, along with almost everything on his reading list, so when the worksheet asks things like, "What is the theme of the story?" I don't have to dig up the answer.

The trouble is that I refuse to give Sasha the answers.  I take him through finding the answers himself, which means I'm often re-teaching.  This takes up enormous amounts of time, and I end up telling Sasha he needs to take more notes and PAY MORE ATTENTION in class if he wants to avoid two hours of homework.

"But I don't understand in class," he says.

"Then you need to say so," I tell him.  "Ask the teacher for help. That's her job."

"She won't help me."

"Have you tried it?"

"No."

It's an endless cycle and will be a long year...

Sasha also started school this week--high school.  It was nervous around here for everyone concerned.

Tuesday was a half day, and Wednesday after I got out of school myself, I dashed down to Willow Run High School to see if I could catch any of his teachers after the first full day so we could talk.

I found his math teacher in her room, very upset.  Her sixth hour class was, apparently, a group of monsters.  Guess when Sasha has her?  A couple other teachers were talking to her as well, and we gave her advice on handling the situation.  I also gave her Sasha's background and told her that his math skills aren't really up for algebra, but we're hoping to get him special education help soon.  She was supportive and willing to work with him.

I also caught his English teacher briefly--she was on her way out.  She hadn't taught English 9 for a few  years, and couldn't remember off the top of her head what they'd be reading that year beyond ROMEO AND JULIET and "The Most Dangerous Game."  I'll probably have to read most of Sasha's assignments aloud to him.

I missed his other teachers and tried again on other days, but still missed.  I'll probably have to make appointments.

He hasn't had any homework yet.  (I've already given out several assignments to my own students.)  He hasn't even gotten any books!  Sasha says this history class only has a classroom set of books because so many students haven't returned (and paid for) their books that the district doesn't have enough anymore.  I wonder if that's the case with all his classes.  It says quite a lot about the people who live in this district, unfortunately.

Perversely, I'm glad that things are working this way.  If Sasha were a regular kid, I'd ben looking to get him into a different school, but in this case, Willow Run will be a place where he can handle the curriculum.

It's weird, but I feel more in control now that Sasha's in high school.  When he was at middle school, I never entirely felt like I knew what was going on or how things really worked.  Here, I know the structure, I know the lingo, and I know the instructional methods.  I know what to expect.

Sasha seems to be handling things well so far, at any rate, though there hasn't been any major work yet.

Got up this morning and . . .

1. Got everyone breakfast.

2.  Supervised the boys for the daily household work.

3.  Went to the grocery store.

4.  Went to the credit union.

5.  Went to the pharmacy.

6.  Came home to unload everything and put supper into the Crock Pot.

7.  Ran down to Sasha's new school to arrange a meeting with the principal.

8.  Got home and made a couple of new calls about the possibility of Aran attending a new school this fall as well.

9.  Discovered Maksim and a neighborhood kid had been throwing dirt clods at the front door.  Rounded up both of them, yelled at them, and made them clean up.

10.  Started a batch of Karma Cookies for the family picnic at my mother's tomorrow, put the dough in the freezer to set.

11. Made lunch for everyone.

12.  Started a batch of bread in the bread maker.

13.  Ate my own lunch.

14.  Checked dough on the Karma Cookies, deemed it ready, and finished baking them.

This is why I haven't written today.

Last night Mackie wanted to do something with me, and I suggested we play cards.  He liked that idea.  First I taught him how to play Speed, but that was too difficult for him, so I switched to Go Fish.  He liked that quite a lot, and won the game.  Very cute.  This morning he wanted to play again, and he won again.

Aran, meanwhile, has been agitating to play Dungeons and Dragons.  I don't own D&D books anymore, haven't for several years, but I do own other pencil-and-paper fantasy games, and it's the concept more than the mechanics, so I sat him down and walked him through creating a character.  (I found a free computer program to help--ah, how times have changed.)  He wanted to make a knight who had Excalibur, but I told him that no one can just have Excalibur; he would have to go on a quest to find the sword and prove himself worthy.

I threw together a really fast introductory adventure, and we were off.  ("You're sitting in a tavern . . . ")   Aran thought it was the coolest thing ever, and I even arranged for him to fight a dragon, though it had to be a small one or he would have had his head bitten off.  Along the way, he encountered a group of assassins bent on killing him, a giant, a hidden pit, and a girl sorceress with a Dark Secret.  (The advantage of having your father as the Game Master is that he knows what you're likely to enjoy.)

The adventure ended, and Aran had a clue to the location of Excalibur.  Not two hours later, he was begging to play again.

I've created a monster.

Actually, what I need to do is find a group of kids who play D&D and find a way to shoehorn Aran into their group.

Saturday Aran and I went to the Saline Celtic Festival.  Aran absolutely loved it.



First, he bought a chocolate ice cream cone with his own money.  Then it was off to examine various living displays.  With me in tow, he took a good, long look at the blacksmith, a sword guy, a falconer (with real falcons), and, best of all, an armourer:



"This stuff is heavy!" he said.

Throughout this, he kept asking when the jousting would begin.  Finally, it was time for it, and he all but bolted down to the jousting field.  We got seats in the bleachers, and Aran noticed one of the knights was all in black, so must be the Black Knight.  The jousting match began, and Aran decided it was the greatest thing ever.  He wanted to try it, and I explained that he unfortunately couldn't.  The Black Knight won the tourmament, and the tournament master announced that the kids could come down and take a piece of shattered lance as a souvenir, which only continued the cool factor.

We got some lunch, and then I was an awful father because I made Aran listen to some actual Celtic music (which is the main focus of the festival).  I liked the bands quite a lot.  Then it was off to look at a few more things.  The day was getting hotter and muggier, though, and Aran announced he was ready to go home, so we did.