My favorite part about the Internet is getting to know regular people. Regular people don’t get media training. We don’t know that we don’t have to repeat ourselves. We don’t speak from talking points to make soundbites. If we get something wrong, it’s accidental and not a manipulation ploy. Knowing that still, somehow, those are the most cringe parts of listening to myself on The Chopping Block at VisceralChange.org.
Dad has pretty much always questioned authority, thumbed his nose at convention, and rebelled against whatever he felt like. He keeps his mind open for continuing revelations even when those are that the status quo ain’t all that bad. For example, after much study he concluded that Elvis is probably dead and aliens are probably not a direct threat, but he’s had enough of the hospital so, smell ya later.
Dad, this movie is for you.
Since we don’t have a television at the moment (CURSES!), I’ve been watching a lot of digital video discs. I stumbled across Young@Heart: You’re Never too Old to Rock at the Pima County Library. This movie is my new best friend and proves that punk was around long before Punk. You don’t have to have pink hair, though blue works nicely. I LOLed at this movie, but I was also deeply touched. Do yourself a favor, if you aren’t going to rent the movie, at least Google their performances of Forever Young and Fix You, though they are more powerful in context.
I had dinner at “the club” with the Bendicksons the other night and we discussed the lineup for the 2010 Tucson International Children’s Film Festival. In the past they have shown movies like Howl’s Moving Castle, Egon and Donci, Azur and Asmar: The Princes’ Quest, Shaolin Soccer, Ponyo, My Neighbor Totoro, The Red Balloon, White Mane, Strings, Please Vote for Me, Microcosmos and even US films like The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T and Creature From the Black Lagoon in 3D. This year there are only two films that interest me. Perhaps the line-up is a little too Western? I’ve seen all the movies.
The solution? Saturday night Movie Time at the Bendicksons. Last week, it was on a Friday because the Bendicksons are all punk like that. They don’t need no stinkin’ badges. This week, they are going tropical with George of the Jungle followed by Tarzan. The plan is to wax nostalgic all DeAnza (RIP) like with their late night double feature picture show.
Perhaps they might consider City of Bees: A Children’s Guide to Bees out of Denmark for a future screening ala Microcosmos. I always love to see insects buzzing about and kiddos running in fields in their underwear, but the narrator uses his preschool voice and that is a huge turn-off. The information is appropriate for an older kid and there is some sick propolis action. Also, there is a seven page guidebook that is a little worksheet-y and perhaps a twee young for my kids, but since the 8-YO Girl did a project on bees for Hawt Mz, she is on it like honey on a comb. And just for that local touch, the guidebook has a link to a University of Arizona URL that provides lesson plans for kids K-12.
For family night, Handsome Hubster rented Airplane! That part compelling him to push the envelope is still in tact. Somewhere, I lost my obvious punk edge (never could afford the accouterments anyway) and became a little mommy-two-shoes as evidenced by my watching City of Bees with the 8-YO followed by subsequent Internet searches for further study, but deep down I have the heart of a RebL as placed by my daddy-o, who never wanted me to call him “Shirley” either. Turns out Dad’s cancer is Stage 4 and he’ll decide soon if he wants to ward it off with chemo or garlic or both or neither. I’m grateful for my dad and the community who have come out in such numbers they sometimes must wait their turn. You can follow him and whatever he chooses to tell you here. As for me, I’m off to the Bendicksons.
I’ve discovered that, for work, Twitter is a billion times better for getting my info/gossip fix than anything else and that I act like a total techie jerk when my boss sends me a message like, “This is something so and so should know about ASAP.” Meanwhile I’m thinking, “Yesterday’s news.”
And so if you’ve been following my personal Twitter feed you know that lately I’m all about my great parenting and how God commands my kids to acknowledge my great parenting. This swim suit spied at My Parents Were Awesome would enhance my great parenting, don’t you think? You can tell it’s the perfect swimwear for moms by how it accentuates the firmly-held hand of a young ‘un being dragged to the water. Seriously, I hope someone on Project Runway makes this suit this season. It’s freaking awesome! This is where you say, “Your obsessions are yesterday’s news.” Fortunately, I obsess a lot.
It’s hard not to. Moms get the blame for everything and when they aren’t the target for blame, then they are self-questioning or loathing. Choices, so many choices, with their pros and cons leave us looking over the fence where indeed the grass is greener (bending light, yo). Should I continue to pursue systems think, inquiry-based, performing/visual arts focused education for my kid in a happily diverse school? Or am I, like Hitler’s mother, creating spoiled darlings by encouraging their artistic ambitions though they have no talent? (Yeah, she totally got the blame for that! Fortunately, my spoiled darlings do have talent.) Screw it. If I’m going to mess up my ankle biting rug rats no matter what, then I’m going to have fun and I’m going to do it in that swimsuit.
When I posted the 9 YO boy’s Tucson Winter, I went on a search of Just Another Banana’s bog because I remember she ran to the bird sanctuary one snowy day to snap some photos. I couldn’t find her snowy cacti pictures, so I went to the school’s Web site to see if they had possibly loaded some. Instead I took a trip down memory lane.
That place is special and is where community for me first burst into full bloom. One person has an idea, another does research, yet another gathers the supplies, and before you know it, you’re placing the tiles for a human sundial.
I love that hat.
You can see how the project proceeded here. Follow the links for the human sundial. Maybe check out the plan identifier links too. You’ll see photos of Fungal Heart’s eldest.
We can all consider this my Thanksgiving post as it’s way full of the gratitudinal mush one wold expect this time of year.
A guest post from Bob, on-call photographer & wheelbarrow operator.
(Jacques, I shoveled sh*t today. What did you do?)
I channeled Miss Emily Litela today as a parent chaperone on a field trip to the subversive produce mecca of the 17th Street Market, though I didn’t realize it at the time. For those of you not fortunate enough to be reared by parents who worked late into the night, thus allowing you unfettered access to comedians like the brilliant Gilda Radner, take a gander:
Oh, Big Brother and I spent hours dotting and crossing on Mom’s chalkboard! Perhaps this goes some distance explaining why I’m such a teacher groupie, or why I adore the cardigan, or why I can’t pee in the ocean. I think this skit was probably the inspiration behind my brother and I silently, or loudly, saying, “Vacuum!” to one another, though we did occasionally say, “Olive juice,” as well. There was no sport in letting our parents presume we liked each other. Our alliance was forged in secret. Such subversiveness allowed us far more nefarious activity than we otherwise would have enjoyed. When Big Brother is watching over you, you get to hang out at Expresso Royale. Oh, yes. And it went without saying there was nary a snitch about our willfully impious cherry vanilla Italian sodas or peppermint tea brewed in a French press. OUI!
That must have been when all went wrong. Espresso Royale, secret codes, and Miss Emily Litella. “Vacuum? I just did it yesterday. F*** you? Oh. That’s different! Nevermind.” But today was about olive juice with the kid I can actually claim to love in public without Olympic eye gymnastics. Hawt Mz invited us to name our favorite part of the market. Just because I played rugby doesn’t make me a fish fan, but I gotta say the fish monger was my favorite. Brett must have known because he took a picture. And looky who’s there with me!
Yes! I looked deep into the eyes of Emily Litella and hadn’t a clue as she and I mirrored each other’s every move and gesture and indoctrinating comment to future voters of America. At the same time, I think I’m an adequate foil to Hawt Mz, who made fun of me for taking my group to the frozen food isle to admire the ice cream and define decadent for first and second grade students. That’s right! They can’t hear POTUS tell them to stay in school, but it’s totally cool for Emily Litella to define decadent. And that my friends, is nefarious.
Today was the first day of school for Arizona Wildcats, and in a sense, for my son too. Today, a week into school, the 9-YO was assigned a teacher, Mr. Dub*. I’m not complaining (anymore) because 1) he had the most amazing, stupendous, wonderful substitute teacher and 2) his new teacher is gonna be good. One of the things Mr. Dub told us was that he didn’t believe in punishing kids who complete their work early by giving them busy work, but would rather give them tools to help them think more deeply about the subject. Also, he talked about presenting materials in multiple ways rather than in repetitive ways, to catch students how they learn whether it’s visually, orally/audibly, or tactilely (really, people should not let me make up words).
Previously linked to a video at notonthetest.com.
As a mother who tried unsuccessfully to limit wasteful (in all senses of the words) tests (mostly as mandated by NCLB) administered to my innocent children and only quit under threat of meanness (so much for parent rights), I love Mr. Dub’s theory of helping children approach their learning (he is in great company among educators, most of whom would rather not be scripted or teach to the test). Sure, some things have to be rote, but not everything. For example, Stupendous Sub taught math using block printing of Islamic tiles. Oh, she is sooo smooches and cream.
Whatever. I just want to show a photo** of the 9-YO explaining to his art teacher from last year why he wrote “Schookson” (Pima) or “Cuk Ṣon” (Tohono O’Odham) or “Chuk-son” (unsure) or “Schuk-shon” (Pima) in the sky. Using water color and collage techniques she showed him (over the objections of some hum-hum), 9-YO won a Postal History Foundation art contest in both his age group and over all age groups. (Nine-YO’s friend and his little brother came in 4th and 3rd place!)
And also this photo** of the 7-YO with her first teachers, her family, in Sabino Canyon.
Uh, the family is off camera. The critter isn’t actually part of the family and 7-YO’s not going to start a family any time soon so no kissing toads, or frogs. Not yet.
And that’s how you teach a kid (as if I had a clue).
* Names have been changed because I’m fun like that.
** My photos were prettier before Ultimate made me freak out about size. I may have to ignore him. Happy Birthday, Ultimate!
Todd-o and I separated the wheat from the chaff last night. Before you go casting me as a crunchy, wheat-berry hippie, also know that I just polished off a package of Zingers with Suzy Q’s set aside for tomorrow. Diabetes update to follow.
Threshing wheat works nicely, whether by hand or machine. Threshing schools is not such a lovely task. (Winnowing sounds more poetic and does involve a gentle breeze, but it’s not expedient for this transition.) Guess what about charter schools in Arizona! Yeah, that’s what. Needs threshing. Unfortunately, where politicians talk about “government schools” one would expect to see various programs like open enrollment, magnet schools*, and vouchers pop up. In effect, these options overwhelm parents leaving us second-guessing every decision we make with regard to our children’s education. At the same time, these programs suck resources from neighborhood schools and skim the perceived cream. Icky chaff!
How do we find top-notch students to segregate away to bastions of learning? We could always test them, but when the best indicator of test performance is zip code (Google “Volvo effect”), then why bother with the tests at all? Just check out the vehicles in the pick-up lane. Put those kids with their parents’ money in one preci$ely located school easily identified by realtors and watch them soar. Of course those left in the time/talent/treasure void may not perform as well as a group and therefore we should punish those kids by closing down their schools and refusing to educate the former enrollees unless their parents manage to secure digs where property taxes are higher, swing their own college education, and give up on any service sector/civil servant jobs in favor of something tastefully white collar. Of course, a few children will slip past our ivy gated communities and we will laud them as an example of why the rest are truly undeserving.
* I’m not a hypocrite as my kids are special. They attend magnet schools where everything is perfect in accordance with the needs of my gifted and talented (and gorgeous) children. Magnet status, btw, didn’t prevent 1/3 of the faculty getting RIF’d and the total absence of a librarian at the 9-YO’s school. On the other hand, they have a part time attendance clerk because someone should watch after Adequate Yearly Progress.
The poll closes in five days and it appears as though my multitude of five imaginary readers (thanks Dad, Volpone, Shylock, Rover, and Mrs. Pinchwife) want to know where I refuse to live. Then again, yesterday I received six of the cutest photographic gifties, so perhaps the pulse of the people will change.
In the meantime, a certain 7-YO is getting a jump start on the summer promises she made to her teacher. Of course I’ve obscured their identities so no one will ever know of whom they read. I’m certainly not implying it’s these jokers. Clearly these two straight laces couldn’t be carried away to story worlds.
Dear Tree Teacher, I finished reading Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Basil, by Wiley Miller and I thought it was a touching story because there was a friendship between a boy and a girl. One day at school, there were a few girls going to the playground and a boy asked if he could play with them. They said “No, you are a boy.” I wish more people were like the characters in The Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Basil. I also liked the part in the book where it said what makes music magic. I do think music brings joy. Love, the 7-YO girl
Tomorrow is Borton’s annual Earth Day Celebration. My shtick is ground hole identification.
Who lives down there?
Not these guys…
Nor these…
Bunnies like to visit day and night.
Check out these jokers!
The real occupants will be revealed tomorrow at the most spectacular Earth Day around thanks to a stop-action camera on loan.