Tag: education

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Excessive Misery

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I don’t even want to get into the drama clouding the pastoral existence I’ve so desperately attempted to carve out for my family. Don’t ask and don’t tell, please. I’ll keep mine to myself. You keep yours to yourself and we will pretend everything is fine and dandy like a hard candy Christmas. Leave me alone, I’m doing fine, Just go away, I’ll be okay, Please don’t touch me… (an inside joke shared between my family and millions of SNL viewers).

In the midst of major dramas, there are minor dramas. Each fire is put out in its own turn. We plod determinedly ahead. Considering our real-life, unavoidable drama, I have no desire for avoidable, made-up crises – even if they make me giggle a little.

Now, forget everything I just said because I’m gonna share a wee bit o’ priceless, made-up drama. Due to planning shenanigans (avoidable drama), I unexpectedly attended a field trip with the 9-YO boy’s class today. His unhappiness about water molecules made me giggle a little. Dra-ma!


Clearly, as the photo evidences (noun verb, boo-yah!), I am nothing but a loving supportive mother. I’m hugging him; I have a clear look of concern on my face; he has a kissy mark on his face. Yet he sees me as a mustache-twirling evildoer on whom he wishes doom. Or perhaps he’s thinking, “Kill me now!” Whatever the case, I’ll be ready for your drama in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, don’t be surprised if I laugh at your lack of molecular diversity. ‘k?

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These are the days, my friends…

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I should start at the top of the morning. The 9-YO boy debuted his mad skillz as a photojournalist. He’s got reporting in his blood from Gramp-A-Long and a fair amount of language ability from both Gigi and Grammanina. Also, as he reported to KOLD, his mom is always at school and I guess his boredom with that or my insistence that he entertain himself inspired him. The story was written one morning after a Borton Community Garden meeting and during the time I take the girl’s class into the garden. Use the link since my scanned copy, well you can see the problem with it.


Then the Friday routine hit with the BELL coffee cart (donations welcome), frequent readers help (the 6-YO made a book mark and earned two books to reward her, er, frequent reading), work for pay, then help the newly single mechanic watch himself and his kid on television (Did you hear that girls? I have a single male friend who can fix stuff AND be daddy about school). Around lunch, I came home to find gently used shorts for the boy and these freshly picked goodies.


These oranges are HUGEMONGOUS! That’s one of the largest bowls we have and you can see the oranges dwarf it. I need a new descriptor for my friends because they are beyond “awesome” and “generous” to the degree of “intergalactic” and “magnanimous” or something like that. OH! I needn’t neglect reporting the glorious package from the artiste in Oklahoma with 50 YO heirloom 4 o’clock and lemon basil seeds, pet rocks, a pep talk, a totem for the chicks, and an indication that my pal also loves credit unions.


Oh, but that’s not the end of the day. The librarian sent to the planet to make my life wonderful set up a little RR viewing on the big screen. Robyn, point out to your mother that one of her hand sewn dresses made it onto national television. If you look carefully, I’m person in the crowd 1, person in the crowd 2, person in the crowd 3 ….


Hawt Mz was mas bella tan siempre (I’m trying to learn Spanish again), if a bit touchy at being the center of the universe for all of 3 minutes. HM, I know you love math, so how about this equation? 15-3= 12 more minutes of fame to account for. What’s next?

I hope it never ends.

Still Not Fine in Aught Nine

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Leggings McGillicuddy and her ununiformed daughter infringed upon my daughter’s cookie selling territory yesterday. I was close to making a stink just to be shitty, but restricted myself to flashing the stink eye. THIS is why I didn’t want to do Girl Scouts. THIS is why I didn’t want to do PTO*. It makes people like me small. Next thing you know, I’ll be scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head. Kill me now. Send me to hell so the hounds can pick apart my cold black heart.

To emphasize my capacity for smallness, consider my “teaching time” in the 8 YO boy’s class as we discussed social justice and taking action. I discriminated against half the class by denying them a gew gaw that I gave the other half of the class. “Is this fair?” I asked. “Yes, because maybe you didn’t have enough for all of us,” said one do-gooder smarty pants. “We can share,” offered another. “No, no, no, no, no! We we don’t share! There is no sharing!” You know what it was? The gew gaw was STUPID. I should have given half the kids a Wii and then asked if that was fair.

My dear sweet hubster, who knows the darkness deep within my soul and is terrified by it, uhm, I mean who clearly loves me dearly, brought me the most perfect cup of coffee last night about 9 p.m. After a long, busy day, I had just returned home from my last Vestry meeting as a member of that body. I went out approving a deficit budget. What a spirit crusher that was! The deficit budget capped off a fine day of looming dark clouds between my ears.

Back to the coffee – I am currently involved in a project or two. One such effort is a series of on-line computer classes to help me with the Internets and Web site stuff to keep me employable. The hubster fed and put to bed the anklebiters and presented me a quiet environment in which to pursue my learning. The perfectly prepared and snuggly warm coffee by my side was intended to feul me through xHTML Because You are Old 101. Instead, I wasted that time doing, uh… social networking? E-mail? Stalking Whiskey. Whatever. But at 2 a.m., I decided to get some shut eye. At 3 a.m. the eyes still weren’t shut. Shortly thereafter the 6 YO girl crawled into bed with me. Shortly thereafter the alarm went off. I’m tired and hungry and small. So, I’m just saying, maybe, if you see me, you can find some charity for me that I’m quite sure I wouldn’t recriprocate.

* Just to clarify, I love the PTA and all their good work. I just can’t do the PTA.

The Club that Would Have Me

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Pssst. I joined the PTA this year after three years of bitter derision of said group and their conviction that a marque will solve the problems faced by the public schools. Actually I joined the PTO, which is code for “we don’t want to pay national dues.” My story is that I was at registration when I spilled coffee all over my t-shirt, which was my favorite summertime activity. I have at least four coffee splattered shirts. Make that three since I freezer paper stencil painted one for Mz. Molly, on whom I and and others have a girl crush. She is so way cute, but I think it’s her juiced up bike that makes me feel all tingly inside.

Back to PTO/registration day – I was a hot mess (not the Paris Hilton kind but the kind involving a splashy mess of hot liquid) when I noticed the t-shirt table staffed by the PTO president. She told me I could get a discount on school t-shirts if I joined the PTO, so, well, there you have it. Had I known Alex was planning on being the secretary, I would have joined just so I could make faces at her as she attempted all things secretarial. OH, but that’s the best part. The PTO prez said I would only be as involved as I wanted to be. Therefore, if I couldn’t attend the meetings, she wouldn’t make me! YAY! No commitment beyond the cash donation.

Membership has its privileges. For example, doing nothing and discounts on shirts. I also got into movie night for free. It was there that I went in cahoots with my favorite partner in crime, whose name I will not mention, but Anna knows who she is, to break into my son’s 3rd grade classroom to install screen maps of the US and the world. Anna is going to get me into serious trouble one day. She already got me into a clay building class when I didn’t take the prerequisite – a fact that didn’t pass unnoticed by a biddy or two.

Oh, but anyway. I just thought that I would say it loud and proud; I am Sarah Palin. Except that I don’t shoot wolves from helicopters and I don’t wear lipstick and I’m not all that fond of pitt bulls and it’s a well known fact I came in last place in the only beauty contest I ever entered. Come to think on it, except for my PTO membership, Tina Fey glasses, and vagina, I’m really not much like Palin at all. And that will make it very easy for me to join Wampus Against Sarah Palin. Sadly, WASP membership indicates obvious social climbing on my part.

One last note: Do not counterfeit this membership card for if you so choose to do so choose, then you will find yourself embroiled in major discussions about the relative benefits of nothing and every freaking thing and are also committing to spam out the ying yang.

School Houses Rock!

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Get past the Border Patrol Ad, okay?

This was my son’s teacher last year! This was her! Teachers are so way cool. Molly is so way cool. Molly can teach AND double dutch. And guess what, she’s going to have a community garden WITH CHICKENS at the school. I miss Molly.

I’ve been concerned about my son’s teacher this year. She’s more traditional and worksheet oriented. As it turns out, she is also empathetic and her students like her. She also lets us parents come in and knock around whenever we want. She’s letting me teach the students about current events. This week the 3rd graders READ THE CONSTITUTION as it pertains to the presidency. Can you imagine? All that language? But they did it and they know what qualifies a candidate for the presidency and what the duties are. Of course they were mostly interested in the part about forgiving their buddies and throwing parties for foreign dignitaries. Toward the end of the lesson, we touched on the electoral collage (S + R = E, did you know that? The presidency is not just a history/civics thang, it’s also math/geography). Next week are going to go into campaigns and eventually we will look at the current candidates. I’ll keep you posted, because I’m sure you are on the edge of your seats to know what the kids are saying.

On Friday, another parent is coming in with her bassoon to help the kids with their sound studies. Yet another parent has made tons of homemade playdough to help the students better conceptualize city, state, country, etc. And yet another parent is bringing in tons of related texts and may start an art project. So, it’s still cool this year, though it’s hard to top Molly. I wish every child could experience a classroom where the teacher and a large number of parents frequently indulge in active learning and engaging children.

One thing I should learn is how to post a video that doesn’t immediately start playing every time the website opens. Sorry about that. I hope next time you visit, you won’t mind hitting the pause button.

Child Assessment

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I was looking for a particular photo of my van since today gave me a reason to purge a brain blog on that subject. I couldn’t find it. Ah, well. That blog will have to stick in my brain for a while longer. Instead, I found this old journal entry marked “draft”. I think I’ll post it as is (minus the rant on DIBELS). But first, here is a recent photo of my mustard-only sandwich-eating son with a certificate for reading from the librarian at his school.

“Parrish does not eat paint.” The horror! All the other kids in the class eat paint, except for my son. Maybe I could put it on the dinner menu one night to prepare him for his next paint eating assessment.

Parrish’s teacher told me that he was her “shining star” and insisted that he had the intelligence to be an engineer. She described for me how he studied each toy in the classroom before he would play with it. He inspected for usefulness, function, and purpose the classroom toys. All the other kids slung the toys around without a care as to whether it was being used properly. Another blow. Why doesn’t my son eat paint? Why doesn’t my son play grab-and-go with the toys? What’s wrong with him?

At that conference, regardless of what the teacher actually said, I heard that my son isn’t creative and carefree. I heard that my son is too linear, methodical, and analytic. That night I asked him why he didn’t eat paint like the other kids. He slowly fixed his big blue eyes, rimmed with long brown lashes my way and blinked. What did I expect? He was only 18 months old.

Why is it that I considered the two days a week my son spent at daycare “school”? Why is it that as a parent I neglected to honor my son’s strengths and focused instead on imaginary areas for improvement? Since birth I did that with both my kids. Due dates, milestones, and so forth were met with my smug pleasure at being ahead of the curve. I’d like to say that I didn’t care what other kids were doing, but I’d be lying. I want my children to be normal. Well, slightly better than normal.

Here is my son then. Clearly, you can force your kid to wear funny glasses and he will still be serious if he’s a serious kid. The glasses and guitar lessons and routine screenings of The Muppet Show will round him out either by pumping up his cool factor or providing a depth of issues.

Smörgåsbord

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Smörgåsbord my style isn’t exactly Swedish or buffetish, but I like the word anyway. Those Sweds just use cool words. I’m attempting a more enriching daily kitchen experience through the preparation of one inspired foodstuff creation each day. Sadly, today’s effort fizzled with an applebutter sandwich. I should have recognized my own culinary incompetence, but I have had some successes.

George and I made the muffin recipe again only we used organic blueberries and lemon juice instead of chocolate chips and vanilla. Next time, I would set my blueberries in sugar like my great aunt. In fact, I really need to get that recipe. The muffins were drier than I would have liked. Also, I tried to save them for a potluck lunch, but in just two short days a swamper/plastic bag combo set them to mold. Not exactly inspired, but attempted.

Starting 15 or so years ago, it became impossible for me to think of summer without thinking of tabbouleh (tabouli?). The tomatoes and cucumbers are just too good to be true in the summer and the two in any combo makes my stomach go mad with anticipation. I tried a new recipe and it worked. Only I didn’t stick to the recipe. This is something like a cup of bulgar, a cup and a half of boiling water, some olive oil, and some lemon juice sitting for an hour. I added salt at this point. Also, I used table salt instead of kosher salt. It was too salty. Once the bulgar soaked up all the juicy goodness, I added tomatoes, flat leaf parsley, spring onions (or whatever you call them), cucumbers, and dry mint. I didn’t like the tabouli at this point, so I put in lots more lemon juice and more onion. It worked and was eagerly received at a potluck lunch. Is potluck the new fondue?

Olive oil has been central to my attempts in the kitchen. My girlfriend Anna brought some to me from her husband’s folks in California. I used it to make my favorite garlicky mustard vinaigrette. I stole this recipe from my friends the Cojeens. If you are ever in Oklahoma and in need of archaeology, guitars, or salad dressing, they are your peeps. I don’t know that it would be appropriate for me to publish their recipe, but to give you an idea of why I like it so much, this small half jar took eight cloves of garlic. Luckily, we had just been to a garlic and onion festival at Agua Linda Farm.

I put up some blackeye peas in the freezer some time back. I needed to cook them up. Nothing fancy here. Peas, water, bacon grease (I didn’t want to wait for hamhock to thaw), and after 45 minutes, salt. Now we are full circle because this food reminds me of my mother and her family. It goes super yummy with my great aunt’s tomatoes and cornbread.

After all this eating, I need to jump on a stationary bike at the kids’ school to exercise and generate electricity.

Parrish’s former teacher got a sentence write-up in today’s paper:

● $994.74 to help second-graders at Borton Primary Magnet School see energy being produced by pedaling a stationary bicycle linked to a generator.

Read the full article here.

WOW Review Premiere


Worlds of Words proudly announces the premiere issue of WOW Review: Reading Across Cultures. WOW Review is an electronic journal of critical reviews on children’s and adolescent literature that highlight intercultural understanding and global perspectives. The review journal is one of two online publications offered by WOW and made available to you without subscription, membership, or fee requirements.

(Disclosure – I work for Worlds of Words and believe in their mission. On the other hand, the organization and/or its partners may not share my views as expressed here.)

Who Lives Down There?

For Earth Day I taught 300 Borton children and adults how to determine “what lives down there?” Here I am.

My daughter is the noticeably bored kid in blue. The first language of the kid staring at the ground up front is Kurdish. I’m hoping they don’t represent how miserable everyone else was at the only station in full sun.

For three years, I’ve been visiting the bird sanctuary at my children’s school and staring at a variety of ground holes. The first year, I walked around a couple of times watching Anna and betts struggle with irrigation while noticing the subterranean homes of the desert critters. Jesse was in Iraq and so my attention was divided. Mostly I remember the striped shirt I wore on both visits. The second year was focused on pulling buffel grass and looking at ground holes. I don’t remember what I wore. This third year we’ve worked on getting children and families into the bird sanctuary. Since I’d spent three years thinking of Wonderland down those rabbit holes, I was elected to run a station on ground hole identification. I wore a striped skirt.

Here’s your minilesson:
1) Where is the hole located? Is it elevated or level with the ground? Is it out in the open or under a bush or between rocks?
2) How big is the hole? Is it small for insects or ants? Is it medium sized for a rodent of some sort? Is it large enough to accommodate a coyote? Measure the height/width of the entrance for more precise identification. In general you’ll look for holes smaller than 3 inches, between 3 and 8 inches, and greater than 8 inches in diameter.
3) What shape is the hole? Circular holes typically belong to rodents. You’re likely to find lizards in semicircular holes. Ovular holes will house tortoises, for example.

You can take note of other details too like if it has a silky barrier to it (you can expect a spider in that hole) or whether the homeowner is tidy or messy. Sometimes another animal will move into an abandoned hole. I showed the kids all kinds of photos of animals with their holes, including burrowing owls and kangaroo rats.

At this point, I asked the kids to look around the sanctuary to see if they can guess “who lives down there?” If they wrote down the answers to the three questions I gave them and send a letter to me using the school’s post office, I would help them identify ground holes in their yards or nearby parks. The kids were pretty cool, but the adults giggled when I invited everyone to tell me about their holes. I have received no letters thus far.

Check out more pix of our awesome Earth Day. Sadly, the composting station didn’t get photographed. The kids really got into worm poop.