4 zillion

Jujube

2011-01-20T18:21:00.000-08:00

I highly recommend buying strange produce that you've never seen before and can barely pronounce. I was in college before I'd ever tried a mango, a plantain, or even an avocado. Not that I buy any of these things regularly--though avocados are as common as apples in my region--but the joy of culinary exploration reminds me how large the world is and how little I know of it.

At our local farmer's market last week, I splurged on a four-dollar bag of wrinkled, dried dates. My kids are probably the only ones on the block who think jujubes are a fruit and only come in one color. I'm ok with that. They have plenty of time to venture out and taste the gummy candy jujubes later in life. Maybe in college.

blurry clarity

2010-04-22T18:38:00.000-07:00

It is always a pleasure to read the words of someone both wise and self-deprecating. It's even more enjoyable when he happens to be witty and liberal. But this post is not about you, my friend. Today, I want to write about how I see the world.

I conquered my fear of contact lenses. Ok, the actual act of conquering was not a victorious step forward but more like a stumble in pre-dawn darkness that resulted in a disturbing crunch of frame and lenses. Nonetheless, I have moved on.

After feigning good vision (and stifling the guilt of driving my three-year-old son illegally) through blurry morning traffic, I relented and took off during lunch to brave the freeways and--more terrifying--the optometrist.

Rest chin here, press forehead there, squint, blink, click, repeat, flinch at the puff of air, try not to go cross-eyed. 1 or 2? 3 or 4? 5 or 6? Which is blacker? Which is blurrier? Is that an O or a 0?

I don't know why optometrists make me nervous. Maybe it is because I spent so much time in dentist's offices as a child and never visited an eye doctor until my 20s. No one told me about eye dilations, and there is something quite wrong about leaving a medical office more impaired than when you first walk in.

But the doctor was nice, friendly, gentle, and efficient. I found her so likable and agreeable that when she asked about contact lenses, I think my exact response was "Sure." Thirty terrified years of refusing to touch my eyeball, countless nightmares of Clockwork Orange, and flinching and gagging through all fifteen agonizing minutes of my husband's LASIK surgery--all of that was tossed away a bit accidentally. It helped that I only need corrective vision for my right eye. Only one contact lens must be twice as easy, right?

I picked out a new frame for traditional glasses and dragged my feet about scheduling an initial appointment to be trained with contacts: "I'm awfully busy today and tomorrow. Perhaps next week? After 4 p.m.? Not on an even-numbered day?" Turns out they had an opening to train me right then and there. With my substitute teacher already lined up and paid for the afternoon, I thought I'd be stupid not to agree.

It is a good thing that eye doctors train you to put in and take out contact lenses before sending you home with a flimsy plastic circle and scant advice and admonitions to not jab it in too forcefully. My lesson in eye-poking stretched a bit longer than the average contact newbie. At one point, I put it in backwards (admit it, you've done it, too). At another, I pushed it too far to the outside edge and momentarily had trouble blinking it back to my retina. But soon I got it, and I was anxious to leave with the lens in place. From blurry to clarity; what could go wrong?

Having touched my eye at least seven times, I felt cautiously optimistic last night, preparing to remove it. No such luck. My husband offered to stand beside me and give encouragement, for which I'm grateful. The fourth time, I brushed the contact a bit too slowly and it folded over lazily in the edge of my eyelid. Out of reach. Hmm. I tried to find it, tried to pull it back, tried rolling my eyes around, blinking, winking, moaning, and bitching, to no avail.

Half an hour later, my eye was unpleasantly bloodshot and quite irritated. My better half kept me calm, relaxed, and distracted. My plan was to wait it out, think about something else, hope the contact would work its way back out or that my eye would stop hurting and the contact would magically appear on the edge of the sink. If not, I'd try again in half an hour. A bath, an episode of Scrubs, and two children's bedtime rituals later, I was still uncomfortable and unseeing. The Internet was not particularly helpful--is it ever? Do people really try to put in a second lens to better see the first one stuck in your eye? I surely hope not. So I kissed my husband good night, left him with our sleeping little ones and drove through the darkness of night, rain, and a traffic accident (not mine) to Urgent Care.

It's always a good sign when you are low on the triage list. The nurse stifled a laugh after noting my weight, blood pressure, pulse, height, and medical history when he heard my predicament. I was tempted to jab him in the eye. Thank God for Bobby Flay entertaining the anxious masses in waiting rooms across America as he cracks bad puns about sticky buns and pretends that food challenges can be smack-downs. [I will not be surprised the day I see a cage match stir-fry contest on the Food Network.]

Finally, the end was approaching. You must know that feeling if you've somehow read this far. :) The doctor on call looked, filled my eye with numb stuff, yellow stuff, and bright lights. Asked me to lie down, sit up, look everywhere in the room, and finally flipped my eyelid inside out and stretched up high to discover that indeed there was something stuck up there in the crease of my eyelid and eyeball, rolled into a thin plastic blue ball of translucence. He fished it out, wiped antibiotics inside my eye, and thanked me for the challenge. Then he tried to talk me into LASIK.

One step at a time.

news

2009-11-24T13:21:00.000-08:00

I'm going to miss browsing the news online if the rumors are true about Rupert Murdoch. That said, I have a friend who writes for AP, and he deserves to get paid fairly for his work. Hopefully the largest sources of news will still keep a few teaser stories or headlines up for the news voyeurs like me.

Be aggressive

2009-11-17T21:49:00.000-08:00

My daughter won--no, received--a completely undeserved trophy for her "participation" on a youth soccer league this year. I know I sound like a horrible mother for scare-quoting my own daughter, but you weren't there to strap the shinguards on a wailing kindergartner and to give 95 versions of the same speech: "We signed up, we have to go.... Do it for the team! ...You don't have to be perfect--just try your hardest... Your goal should be to try to kick the ball two times today.... If you stop screaming and kicking me, you'll get a juicebox at the end of the game." Her best was to sit on the sidelines and cheer on her friends. I signed up only because she begged me, and I would have been perfectly happy to have the only child who never kicked the ball on the team. (She did kick it once during the last game. It floored me.) The lack of aggression didn't bother me; it was her complete antipathy that was difficult. It got so bad that I just started calling her the "goalie" in a division that isn't supposed to have goalies. It was the only way I could justify her standing in one place the whole time.

Although soccer seems to be a rite of passage in our small SoCal town (even I played 4 years as a kid), I'm not saddened that she won't be joining a team next year. For someone who loves competition, I am appalled by the behavior of a few vocal parents, overzealous coaches yelling at children, and this YouTube video:

That said, I am wholeheartedly in favor of excessive aggression when it involves a quadriplegic. Not kidding. This is rugby in raw form.

On holiday

2009-11-11T11:21:00.000-08:00

L woke me up this morning to announce that banks are closed today. L is five. Somehow, this important fact is of pressing importance. She asked me if there were holidays when the dinosaurs roamed the earth. I explained that there were no holidays because dinosaurs didn't have days of the week or months. In fact, they didn't keep track of time. They were as unaffected by bank holidays as a five-year-old is today.

Why do we keep track of time? If I remember my Daniel Boorstin correctly, it's to guide our productivity and to give us all the illusion of accomplishment even when the task at hand is not quite finished. That certainly describes the way I'm spending my Veteran's Day: grading an infinite pile of notebook paper reminiscent of this Ig Nobel scientific experiment.

mastery

2009-10-06T21:33:00.000-07:00

It's nice to have a job in education that rewards employees based on their education. It would be even better if the masters teaching programs were more robust, relevant, and reflective. Currently, I think far too many educational graduate degree programs are exercises in disciplined budgeting and tedious prescriptive assignments that lack authenticity.

Maybe teachers of teachers are doomed to be so horrible because teachers themselves make ornery students.

Support

2009-10-03T13:32:00.000-07:00

It is heartening to know about the programs and resources here in California for college-bound students who come from difficult, often contentious backgrounds. Regardless what you think about undocumented students, or more frequently legal citizens who are minors with undocumented parents, I'm glad to know that there are laws to help students follow the path towards legalization and resident status as well as clear rules about what aid they are not eligible for (all state & federal).

But what really impressed me was the system in place for students from foster care. I took for granted the luxury of coming home during winter break in college, but these students are not always so lucky. Besides scholarships and grants to help with tuition and living expenses, guaranteed housing, and academic support, these campus clubs also provide a mentorship program and much-needed social activities. I am thinking of a few students in particular and all that I can do to change the statistics. 70% of kids in foster care report wanting to go to college, but they are graduating at a low rate of 20%.

The good news is that the achievement gap between ethnic and racial groups is decreasing. I know that I can have a very real impact on a handful of students. Taking just a little extra time to help someone in a "special population" is not only doable but the right thing to do.

conferences

2009-10-02T19:18:00.000-07:00

And now, we'd like to introduce the most important speaker of all: the outstanding teacher who does everything that you're supposed to be doing and more, who inspires not just his own students but anyone who comes within 50 feet of his charismatic vibe, and who has no social life or family left. Let's give him a round of applause.

controversy

2009-09-10T21:32:00.000-07:00

I had a guest speaker on Tuesday. He talked about personal responsibility, work ethic, goal-setting, and civic service. It caused quite a bit of controversy, I guess, but my students ate up every word Obama spoke. It was a small class of seniors who will be first-generation college students. The words about growing up in a single-parent family, not having enough money, and making the extra effort to wake up earlier, work harder, and dream that impossible dream hit home with this group.

Surprisingly, it hit home with me, too. This was not a dramatic speech. nor was it particularly original or shocking. What struck me most was the sincerity of these ideas and how deeply I believed them. It's not just an idle speech to wonder how American students will and have contributed to society at large. In fact, as Obama mentioned the students sitting "in your place" 20 years ago, I realized--yep, that was me. Our generation who takes credit for Google, Facebook, and Twitter. In fact my friend Paul from high school is a developer for one of the afore-mentioned companies, and I reconnected with him just recently using one of the afore-mentioned services. That's me.

We saw ourselves in his words. And we saw him. Afterwards, a girl in my class said, I've never heard a president talk to me and talk like he understood me. It is a nice rhetorical move and a darn effective one to buy credibility with one's own personal story. Remind me again, why is this controversial?

Meanwhile, a respected colleague completely baffled me just a day later with her shocking story about how she glimpsed a license plate that read: NO GOD. Seriously? That's shocking? She doesn't know that there are atheists in the world? She's about as secular as you get in this tiny conservative town, but even she said she felt like she should be offended that the state of California allowed that plate. I couldn't even reply because I didn't have a clue where people were coming from. I've always grown up around atheists and have assumed that t-shirts reading "God is dead" are just as much part of life as, oh, the ichthus. My liberal-minded friends around the table made snide comments like, "That's awfully brazen to claim that there's no god at all" and "Maybe they'd have a better car than a Civic if they did believe in God." What? The narrator went on to explain how she wanted to take a picture on her cell phone but didn't want to crash, so instead she just called her husband with the news that she was tailgating someone about to be struck by lightning.

What amazes me is that both of these stories come as surprises to me. Yet again, I take for granted a set of shared values and expectations that others do not. It's a good eye-opener for me, though slightly disheartening. At the end of the day, as I lie down to sleep hopeful, but without a prayer, I think I'd rather live in a society engaging in healthy debate about banal topics than in one that accepts dogmatic statements without question.

The Terminator

2009-09-01T22:06:00.001-07:00

It's never a good sign when the governor makes a special trip to your neck of the woods to pat everyone on the back for fighting the good fight and to survey the mess of your community that has now been declared a state of emergency.

By the way, Twitter is the best local news source I've ever seen in my life. I have our regional paper to thank for recognizing the beauty of a dozen 2-line stories and a few tinyurls over producing a newspaper that I actually want to buy. I'd pay to get Twitter feeds if it meant knowing that the fire raging down the street was 40% contained instead of wading through the mess of LA-area "coverage."

The good news: no deaths to report in our area. Other damage is harder to assess right now. I could smell the smoke in my daughter's hair when I hugged her this afternoon.

31

2009-08-29T20:41:00.000-07:00

Here it comes. It didn't occur to me until last week that this year my age matches my birth date. I'm going to Baskin-Robbins to celebrate.

writing self-inventory

2009-08-16T18:15:00.001-07:00

I'm planning to ask these questions to my students, but first, I'm very curious to see how you guys reply. Any answer, even for a few questions, would be much appreciated.

1. How often do you write (defined in the broadest sense, not limited to blogging)?

2. What types of writing do you do?

3. Where, besides school or work, do you write?

4. What kind of writing do you do there?

5. Do you like to write?

6. Why or why not?

7. Of the things you have written, what do you like best?

8. Why do you like them best?

9. Is anything about writing difficult for you?

10. Why do you think it is dificult?

11. How important is learning to write well?

12. Why do you think this?

sigh

2009-06-24T19:13:00.000-07:00

Enough of the doldrums. It's summer and I'm determined to enjoy it. Or at least the three days out of seven that I'm not teaching summer school. :)

Good stuff going on:

Saw "Hangover" and laughed hysterically. I usually avoid physical and crass humor (probably the only person you know who can't stand "Something About Mary"), but I walked into this movie needing a ridiculous, stupid story.

My mom came to visit and took lots of adorable photos of the grandkids. I'm choosing one to pick out for my classroom as soon as I finish this post.

I started swimming again. The silence of the pool is beautiful.

Old men and seas

2009-06-11T15:27:00.000-07:00

In the last week of school, my students read this short novel. Why? they asked. Because it is good, I said. Because it is an easy read with a lot to think about. Because it offers perspective fitting for the end of the year.

As I read it with them, I came to my own epiphany. I am afraid that one day my tenacity will kill me. I am not very good at letting go. I don't want to end my life with nothing to show save the carcass of something great.

No Exit

2009-06-07T20:24:00.001-07:00

Hell is not other people, it is needing other people. Take the extreme case. I can't imagine the horror of being trapped in my own body without being able to control my own physical movements, make my own decisions, or communicate unaided. If it is true that our greatest strength can be our greatest weakness, that is certainly the truth with cooperation.

My husband has been playing the video game Spore. He pointed out that my 5-year-old logic of herbivores=good and carnivores=bad is flawed in more ways than one. Carnivores are apparently much more cooperative animals than herbivores. Huh. The cynic in me says that relying so much on others justifies the need to kill other sentient creatures now and then.

Bartleby

2009-05-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

My husband and I are a bit like Turkey and Nippers of the "Bartleby" story. When one is up, the other down. And yet the balance functions-to a degree.

cracking

2009-05-20T18:35:00.001-07:00

I hate not being in control of myself. I have a coworker, the first person I've ever met in my life to overtly despise me, who makes a big deal about how tough she is and how hard her life is. Remind me never to do that.

There are two hairline cracks in our kitchen tile. It's a new house, some shifting and expanding of the concrete is to be expected. I didn't worry. Last year, a contractor friend of ours was over and shook his head when he saw the cracks, saying, "That's really bad." He predicted that the crack would slowly spread across the floor, maybe over the course of a year or two. I'm happy to report that it is exactly the same size today. Now we're just waiting for the Big One that makes Sunday's mag 5 in LA look tiny.

naming

2009-05-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

To name is to know.

"We cut nature up, organize it into concepts, and ascribe significances as we do, largely because we are parties to an agreement to organize it in this way—an agreement that holds throughout our speech community and is codified in the patterns of our language." -Benjamin Lee Whorf

And, I would add, in names.

As a mediocre but persistent athlete, a student, a teacher, a colleague, and a mom, I know the power of using someone's name. People calling my name have made me run faster, try harder, and listen more carefully.

I'm lucky that so far remembering students' names hasn't been too difficult. When I proctored the standardized test for another teacher's students a month ago, I learned their names quickly even while they rarely spoke. Now they say hi to me between classes.

My pet peeve is a colleague calling me solely by my last name. As in, "How does it feel to lose, Phelps?" At first it didn't bother me when I taught in another district--just felt like I was on a sports team all the time. Then I realized that the reason people called each other by last names is because the turnover rate was so high that no one bothered to learn everyone's first names.

Names are intimate.

My relatives, particularly ones I see rarely, cycle through the family tree when they talk to me. I get called by the names of my mother, my grandmother, my cousins, you name it. (Excuse the pun.) I admit that I've done the same even in my own immediate family, usually when I'm reacting quickly out of annoyance.

Naming goes beyond simply showing someone that you remember. In fact, I eavesdropped with interest on the conversation of a consultant/teacher at a certain popular coffee shop. He complained that the class he taught met so rarely that it was always difficult to remember names. "I know who they are," he insisted. "I know about them, their personalities, their interests, their families, how they write ... but I forget their names." Despite reviewing the list quickly before each class, he confessed that there were plenty of awkward moments in which he couldn't use their names. "But they all remember my name," he ended a bit guiltily.

I know that guilt of getting it wrong. I remember how it felt as a top student in the class getting called by someone else's name and thinking that this teacher obviously thought I wasn't important enough to remember. Even when it was an obvious mistake, I distanced myself from that class for the rest of the year.

Last Thursday, with only a few weeks left in the school year, I distributed graduation stoles to a group of seniors being recognized in an academic ceremony. Each stole had the student's name embroidered on one side. It's amazing how important that personalization (worth a whopping $2) was to them. And yet, two names were misspelled. Today I returned those stoles to our vendor to get them fixed. After four years of high school and innumerable hoops to jump, the least we can do is get their names right.

learned a new word

2009-05-16T20:11:00.001-07:00

roue:

Etymology:
French, literally, broken on the wheel, from past participle of rouer to break on the wheel, from Medieval Latin rotare, from Latin, to rotate; from the feeling that such a person deserves this punishment
Date:
1800

: a man devoted to a life of sensual pleasure : rake
(From Merriam-Webster online)

...which led me to wonder about the etymology of "rake."

"debauchee," 1653, shortening of rakehell (1547), possibly an alteration (by association with rake (1) and Hell) of M.E. rakel (adj.) "hasty, rash, headstrong," probably from raken "to go, proceed," from O.E. racian, of unknown origin. Rakish first recorded 1706.

(From Online Etymology Dictionary)

But my favorite neologism was coined Friday by a student, unaware that such a word already exists in the Urban Dictionary:

euphobia

see no evil

2009-05-13T21:15:00.000-07:00

It's not often that I side with the Justice Department over the ACLU. Obama is reversing a pledge of transparency to release photos of U.S. troops abusing prisoners. I can't say I blame him. If the culprits are already tried and sentenced, and the release of such photos is likely to do more harm to an already tarnished image abroad, then perhaps it is a good security decision.

Maybe this issue simply comes down to trust. If the Bush administration had pulled a similar move, using similar arguments, I admit that I would have been skeptical. The executive office under people like Cheney and Libby kept a lot of secrets, and I would have been convinced that this was another example. If they aren't releasing the photos, what else might they be hiding?

On the other hand I trust Obama's administration, for better or worse. While civil rights advocates are incensed about broken promises and hypocrisy, I LIKE having a president who is intelligent enough to admit when he made a poor decision and is willing to have the courage to change his mind. It's amazing the logical tricks a mind will play to cover an emotional response.

Besides not being able to see these pictures, our family is enduring our tiny version of being visually restrained. I guess J was so inspired by the Dodgers game on Saturday that when I woke up Sunday morning at a leisurely 7 a.m., I discovered that he had pitched a metallic object into the LCD television. Needless to say, it no longer works. The shock of losing $1000 or more in a single blow is still sinking in. Honestly, I'm just grateful the tv didn't fall over, the house was not on fire, and I didn't spend the rest of mother's day in urgent care.

Now, our house has been free of tv for a good three solid days. We've made puzzles, played in the backyard (even weeded), gone for a walk, read more, and built innumerable castles out of innumerable objects. I hate to admit it but I also pay more attention to them now that I know they are capable of disaster at any moment. Today, I was amused to catch L talking on an imaginary phone with someone and then claiming that she had to rush off and build a house. That led to much rushing around the living room making bizarre movements with her hands and legs as she assembled the imaginary building. It's nice to see my kids use their imagination, not to mention get a little exercise.

Think blue

2009-05-09T20:26:00.000-07:00

Today I learned that a shutout is not just a big win but a win that doesn't allow any scoring. It wasn't a no-hitter today, but the Dodgers game was definitely a shutout.

When I told my students last week about planning to see the game, they wisely suggested we avoid sitting next to drunk people. Then one offered to loan me his jersey. Dodgers fans are a special glimpse into LA culture, not necessarily the best glimpse. Nonetheless, the camaraderie of strangers wearing blue and singing "Take me out to the ball game" has its appeal.

Halfway through the fifth inning, my daughter suggested that we go do something fun. Guess she's not a baseball fan. I've never been a huge fan of the pacing in baseball, but this game moved along pretty quickly. Sweltering under the sun and leaning back into the bleachers, I realized that I shouldn't think about it as Sport, the way I actively participated in college sports. This was Recreation, like heading to the beach except with peanuts, dancing, and a big screen tv.

In the parking lot, we ran into a sophomore in one of my classes. I'm starting to feel like a Dodgers fan.

words, words, words

2009-05-07T05:44:00.000-07:00

At the end of yesterday's class, I had written these words on the board:

non|conformity
decipher
sifr --> zefiro --> 0
Yiddish
kvetch
chutspa
Orpheus
epiphany
epiphaneia (in Gr. letters)

tenure

2009-05-03T15:40:00.000-07:00

I can't resist commenting on today's LA Times article: "Firing tenured teachers can be a costly and tortuous task".

Perhaps it is in poor taste to publish such an article deeply critical of the traditional job security in K-12 education when over 27,000 California teachers were pink-slipped this year, to say nothing of the counselors, administrators, bus drivers, and office workers who also lost their jobs. Or, at a moment when so many good teachers are out of work, this might be exactly the time to reconsider the way such decisions are made. Why fire the second-year art teacher who implemented the school's first ceramics class and stays after school countless hours to help organize the junior class prom when there's an algebra I teacher who snaps at students with sarcastic humor, refuses to spend time out of class tutoring those who ask for help, and hasn't varied his lesson plans since 1989? This is hypothetical of course.

I read this article and winced. Multiple times. We do need a revision to the system of education but not one that comes from people seeking to destroy public education. We do need to rethink the process of arbitrating complaints and protecting a teacher's job security, but not when a student has to go weeks or even months without an appropriately-credentialed teacher in the classroom.

Tenure is a comfortable practice. It stems from good intentions of protecting academic freedom and rewarding those with valuable experience. It also needs to be changed.

To give an example, a nameless teacher called in sick to his/her job the second week of school. This practice continued until the district became involved, the union became involved, doctors notes were involved, parents were involved, and students waited not-so-patiently with their twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth substitute. Needless to say, school security and the assistant principal also became very involved in the classroom. The teacher never returned. A credentialed long-term sub was finally legally able to be hired over spring break. The teacher has not been fired, and it is unlikely that the district will press for termination due to the time, expense, and rigid criteria for firing teachers. No matter what the situation of the teacher, that is gross negligence. As angry as the students and the parents were, the person's colleagues were equally incensed. They were the ones dealing with the overflowing discipline problems, the wave of transferring students, and even creating the daily lesson plans, reading the homework, and submitting all the paperwork for students' grades.

I take pride in my profession, and I believe that a job that requires such skill, energy, ingenuity and experience can be measured in more than years.

Nudge

2009-05-02T21:30:00.000-07:00

I'm very much enjoying this book. In fact, I've probably spent as much time talking about it with other people as actually reading it. Now I need to figure out how to nudge my students to turn in their homework on time.

the kindness of sophomores

2009-04-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

I love my students and the odd group personalities that form among each different class.

May 3

2009-04-29T21:58:00.000-07:00

I was going to run a marathon. My sister-in-law and I both signed up months ago. She was planning to run in Cincinnatti, and I would have run in Newport Beach. Neither of us will run now. She has a severe hip injury that could take years to heal. I had my own drama last week, not to mention that running in the first trimester of pregnancy is likely to overheat the body and cause harm to the baby. I had heard that dropping out of a marathon plan was more common than completing the race. I was determined to be smart and patient with my training, not to back out for lack of desire, and to wake up as early as I needed to in order to get the long weekend runs in without dumping all the parenting responsibility on my husband. Yet, life intervened.

Half of me, the angry part, is tempted to run the damn thing anyway. I have a masochistic desire to put my body through as much hell as it has caused me. I still have an untouched bottle of Tylenol with codine that might have come in handy. Unfortunately, I'm not that angry and I do enjoy being able to walk.

At my husband's half-marathon 2 weeks after I stopped running, my hormones got the better of me and I cried with envy. I was so proud and inspired and disappointed that my own life had veered off in another direction. Now, I'm saddened for all the opposite reasons, wishing I still had that awkward bump and that reason to look ahead nine months. Even if I really wanted to run (if just around the block), the prospect of simply lacing up shoes now seems like an unbearable task.

So now I'm just left with the decision of whether or not to still pick up the souveneir t-shirt. What do you do when you want something so badly and then worry that you never deserved it in the first place? Not really talking about the shirt here, am I?

Ren fair

2009-04-27T20:29:00.000-07:00

On the spur of the moment, we drove out to the Renaissance Festival in Irwindale on Sunday. It was a much needed distraction. Surrounded by drunkards, pirates, and busty women thrusting their wares at you, escapism comes naturally.

A sweet little redheaded fairy accompanied by her father in full plate armor greeted visitors at the ticket booth. She came skipping over to our little boy and bent down in the muddy grass to hand him a blue glass bead: "Give this to the young lady who catches your eye and she will be yours forever. Girls like shiny things." My son had no clue what was going on, but he took care to put it in his pocket and say thank you.

Renaissance Festivals are an odd cross-section of historical anachronisms, people obsessed with very big swords, neopaganism, and knick-knacks. Did I mention the not-so-subtle overtones of drunkenness, violence, and sex? Can't miss that. And yet, it's a good place to take your children on the weekend.

L got her hair braided with bunches of flowers and multicolored ribbons; J bought a wooden sword to fight off the dragons. The music was excellent, the weather was mild, and the crowds were much too polite for LA. My favorite part was our crowd-control woman at the joust. When her neighbor took a break, she was left rushing back and forth between two sections: egging us on to boo for a knight while wildly gesturing for cheers and applause from the group a few seats over. No, wait, that was topped by someone hawking "the Coach bag of the Renaissance!" (wooden beer mugs).

J fell asleep in my arms and we went home sunburned and smiling.

Going back

2009-04-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

I'm scared to go back to work tomorrow. I bought two boxes of Kleenex, but I wish I had the equivalent of Kevlar emotional armor. I don't know what to tell my students. I don't know why this is such a taboo topic. When my grandmother had a heart attack, it was a no-brainer to share with my students. It's easier though when the outcome is good. I think I won't know what to say until the actual moment comes. "I don't want to talk about it" seems like a good back-up option.

It doesn't help that I'm also paranoid of catching the swine flu. Worse, that my kids will catch it. How can I suddenly be so terrified of the same world I lived in last Tuesday? Why do main characters die in all the novels I teach, like A Separate Peace, which I just started? This completely sucks.

morning

2009-04-26T07:42:00.000-07:00

I love mornings when the little ones find a way to play peacefully until the sun comes up. I love mornings when we get to lie in bed awake and talk about what we want to do today. I love mornings when it feels like the possibilities are endless. I love mornings when the biggest question is whether to make pancakes at home or to go out to breakfast.

catharsis

2009-04-25T18:49:00.000-07:00

Wikipedia: "a sudden emotional climax that evokes overwhelming feelings of great sorrow, pity, laughter or any other extreme change in emotion, resulting in restoration, renewal and revitalization"

Aristotle: "language embellished . . . through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation [catharsis] of these emotions."

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross: "When you learn your lessons, the pain goes away."

In tragedy, catharsis is a public event. Fifth-century Athenians gathered on the side of the acropolis at the theater of Dionysus to collectively watch the demise of dramatic heroes. When Jocasta took her life, it was not just her husband who mourned, but the whole audience. As the actor for Oedipus donned a mask with bloodied eyes, the spectators followed his every action, listened to his words, and empathized with his pain. Experiencing tragedy from behind the safe barrier of our suspended disbelief (and fiction at that) allows us to purge our own emotions and to walk away from the story afterward with a sense of relief, renewal, and redemption. Or so the theory goes.

Forgive me for making this story of my miscarriage so public. Selfishly, writing is cathartic. I also chose to share my joy, so I find myself now sharing the loss. I am amazed to discover how common this loss is and how many close friends have felt this pain too acutely. My dad pointed out that because we had told so many people about the pregnancy, we at least do not have to keep our grief a secret from those who might help us through it.

It reminds me a little of the liturgy in a Lutheran church service when the congregation as a whole recites a confession of sin. The words are rote, we speak en masse, and it even uses the pronoun "we." It is impersonal and highly personal, seeking renewal through grace.

That's as far as I'm going to get with religion on this topic. Literary criticism comes much more naturally to me. I've read too many books to not compare my life to literature, to not seek out the interesting characters, to not look for symbols and themes in the world around me, and to not hope for some elegant denouement of all my conflicts, even the tragic ones.

Like any educated ancient Greek sitting on the stone bleachers, I knew how this story was going to end. That small advantage of knowledge made all the difference. Even in the most painful parts, I could step back and consider it all part of a process, a scripted sequence of events that would lead to the end of this short chapter in my life.

So yesterday, lying down in a tiny 9x4 closet of the ER with an OB patient table and a very poorly placed door, I faced my own catharsis.

I had been given three choices. The idea of any degree of choice in a matter like this is of little comfort. Option 1: Wait it out ("expectant management"). Option 2: Take medication to speed up the process. Option 3: D&C. Everyone I spoke to tossed off this acronym like it was common knowledge or taboo to actually explain it, but I admit that I kept associating a D&C with the Democratic National Convention. I'd much rather attend the DNC.

I just started reading this awesome little book Nudge about guiding choice architecture so that people have the freedom to make good decisions while being nudged a little in the direction that would have the greatest benefit to one's general health, wealth, and happiness. Thus it was hard not to analyze the way I had been presented these choices ("No one wants to go through a medical procedure if they can avoid it") and to wonder which would have the greatest benefit for us. Rightfully perhaps, my husband wanted no part in telling me what I should do, nor did my pregnant doctor friend nor my colleague who had endured a similar miscarriage herself. All three offered to help me learn more about each option, as they emphasized that this was a personal preference decision I needed to make for myself and my own body. My mom said I should get the surgery.

I decided first to wait, then 12 hours later to call my doctor and schedule a surgery for next week if the waiting wasn't working, and I was on the verge of asking for the medicine when I became impatient the next day. My OBGYN beat me to it and ordered me to take the prescribed medicine anyway. Yes, I chose all three. Apparently the authors of Nudge are right--humans suck at making important decisions when they lack experience, good information, and prompt feedback.

Within an hour, I was bleeding too much and too fast, so we drove to the ER instead of the pharmacy despite the doctor's initial advice. My husband cursed and drove 100 mph while I listened to elevator music on my cell phone and was finally told, "It's like a heavy period. You'll continue to bleed a lot." It's hard not to be skeptical when your body is gushing blood continuously for hours and very educated people had forewarned me that was bad. "So what is the warning sign that I might need help?" I asked. Honestly, was I supposed to measure it in liters? Wait until I passed out? "Let me ask the doctor. . . . Ok, maybe you should go to the ER now, but go ahead and pick up your medicine first."

We weren't thrilled at the idea of backtracking 15 miles to wait for a pharmacist to fill a prescription while I turned the drugstore into something resembling a crime scene. ERs have drugs, too, so that's where we went. At the hospital, they rushed me to the room mentioned above where I waited to be seen and tried not to pass out or to wonder where I stacked up in the triage order. Ironically, the first person I saw was a lab assistant who came to draw some blood.

I was scheduled for a D&C. They swaddled me in blankets and wheeled me down to the radiology department where I had seen my son's face for the first time. I cried, my husband waited nervously, and a nice lady named Ashley performed the worst part of her job as an ultrasound technician.

By the time the ultrasound was finished, I had been moved to a real bed and hooked up to an IV, my doctor had been contacted, and I had learned the names of all the nurses on call (5 hours since everything started), my body self-righted. Everything was purged. They canceled the D&C but gave me the medicine anyway as a precaution against infection and sent me home in time to pick up our kids for dinner. So much for choice, but I'm not complaining. I don't mind the illusion of choice if it gives way to the reality of ensuring my health and safety.

I ate the best-tasting steak of my life with the family I love dearly. Even though we all spent the dinner staring glassy-eyed at the tv, exhausted, saddened, weak, or too young to get it, I couldn't have wished for a better evening. We had apple pie for dessert and went to bed early. I looked forward to a new day, the beginning of an uncomplicated weekend, and a new opportunity to re-examine my hopes and dreams for the future.

I don't pretend that my grief is gone, but I believe that I am sliding my way down the plot diagram to a gentle resolution.

heartbeat

2009-04-23T22:49:00.001-07:00

Warning: A long post that I need to get off my chest

In the same week that I learned my 90-year-old grandmother survived a heart attack, I also learned that my baby never developed a heart. Fifty-some years ago, my grandmother also suffered a miscarriage, and we had a good cry together last night. Her words of comfort: "It's hard to get into this world, and it's hard to leave it."

Despite this truism, much has changed between her experience and mine. My great-aunt apparently suffered so badly from a miscarriage that it shook her body with fever and infection, nearly costing her own life. In my case, my nurse practitioner quietly noticed warning signs--a drop in my blood's hormone levels (I didn't know about) and no heartbeat at eight weeks (I did know about). She referred me for another ultrasound in 2-3 weeks.

I went in on Tuesday optimistic. It was week 11 and 1/2. I was practically out of the first trimester and my morning sickness had completely dissipated. To her credit, the woman behind the ultrasound machine kept a complete poker face and warned me that she could not tell me anything. I could not even see the screen, and she certainly didn't print me out a picture. I was told that I'd get a picture at the normal OB ultrasound appointment at 18 weeks. At one point she asked me to hold my breath. I assumed she was counting heartbeats, and took that as confirmation that everything was ok. My optimism got the better of me, and as my friends began to suspect something important was going on in my life, I gave out the news.

I got the call Wednesday during the last five minutes of class. Twenty-four hours before I ever saw a warning sign of miscarriage or experienced any pain, I knew that the baby had stopped growing. Weeks ago. It is agony to wait now for the physical loss, but I know that it is a luxury.

I am in grief, but I felt like I needed to keep busy and be distracted. So I went to school yesterday anyway. What good is crying at home? Better than crying at school apparently. I was fine for the first two periods. Mild cramps I can handle. I was prepared to leave at the hint of physical pain; I was holding it together well. Then at my prep period, the school announcements got to their inspirational message of the day. All I heard was "Think about where you were born. Were you born in a big city? Were you born ... ? Were you born ... ? Were you born ... ? It doesn't matter where you were born, what matters is your life ..." By the fifth reference to birth, I was turning off my computer and grabbing my keys.

At home, my husband joined me and we resumed the waiting, the grieving, and the relief of knowing what had happened and what would happen. I checked my school email. Bad idea: "Family Additions: New births!" Damn these fertile teachers. Many replies afterwards of congratulations, beautiful wishes that I had no desire to see. As a joke, another teacher replied (without a subject line) that she, too, had good news: she was NOT pregnant. That one hit me hard.

We went to pick up the kids just as the gray foggy marine layer was burning off in the mid-afternoon. At home, we cooked dinner together. I ate fish and drank coffee, but these were not things I had missed during the pregnancy. Though I was tempted to have a beer or two, my husband wisely advised that we save the beers to drink in a good mood, not to drown the pain. Instead we made an apple pie. There is something simple and delightful in the steady peeling of apple after apple, taking off the bruises and filling up a bowl past brimming with apple slices. J and L took turns patting down the dough and stealing a slice here and there. I don't even like apple pie, but this one tasted delicious.

This morning I woke up when L came into the room for a hug. As she squeezed my arms, I felt the contractions begin. Today, I hope it will be over.

April 20

2009-04-20T20:51:00.000-07:00

How does a teacher appropriately mark the tenth anniversary of Columbine? I chose to teach a completely normal day, to listen to my students a little more carefully, and to hug my own kids a little more tightly.

I teach on a relatively open campus, a very typical California school with many buildings and no real hallways to speak of. Still, I followed the lead of the teacher nearby and kept my outside door locked today. It only locks one-way (not a fire hazard) and students are used to opening the door for each other anyway.

There was an interesting piece on NPR today about the myths behind Columbine--all the stories and stereotypes that have perpetuated despite their falsehood. When asked how we cope with that senseless act of violence, the freelance journalist David Cullen who reported on Columbine suggests that the public and particularly young teenagers flirting with ideas of violence need to see the dead bodies of the shooters. Not the yearbook pictures of the shooters, not the grainy security footage of them wreaking havoc in the library, but the gruesome photographs of their dead bodies as proof of the consequences of such violence.

The mom in me argues shouldn't the parents of the killers have some right? After all, they were someone's son, someone's cousin, someone's neighbor. Or did those two boys give up all rights to privacy and decency when they brought guns and bombs to school? Maybe the author has a point. The way I remember Timothy McVeigh is in an orange jumpsuit, looking cool and distant, completely pathological as he was sentenced to death. He looked above it all. Is it wrong to need to see a dead body in order to weigh the magnitude of murder?

Millionaire: minus $19.95

2009-04-16T20:59:00.001-07:00

I kept the Blockbuster movie out too long, and now I'm the owner of Slumdog Millionaire. Not such a bad movie to own. Maybe now my husband will actually watch it one of these days. The idea of sitting through more domestic violence, child abuse, and torture scenes isn't particularly appealing, but at least it has a cheery ending. The beauty of the movie and the art of the story is captivating enough; I'm sure I'll be back for more.

On Easter and new life

2009-04-12T21:15:00.000-07:00

I'm expecting. Now at ten weeks, we are full of hope and happiness.

Ides of March

2009-02-09T20:17:00.000-08:00

I'm teaching Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, which is generally not the most accessible play for sophomores. Somehow, though, it seems oddly fitting for me. I welcomed the changing of the guard in contemporary politics, and it is too easy to make the comparison of charismatic leaders. Moreover, the ides of March does not bode well for me. With deep budget cuts, the district has warned us younger teachers to expect pink slips in the mail on the weekend of March 15.

Occam's razor

2008-11-16T07:55:00.000-08:00

Why is it that the simplest solution is sometimes the hardest decision to make?

Skew

2008-11-15T19:50:00.000-08:00

I retaught a little geometry last week and remembered my own amazement the first time I learned that two lines can exist as neither parallel nor intersecting. When was the last time I felt that epiphany of seeing the world differently? When was the last time I helped someone else discover that joy?

Intersecting: A young sophomore approached me on Thursday to tell me that it had been exactly one year since his mother died and thanks for all that I'd done for him last year. I nearly cried. After school I called his dad. The profound effect of a few words rippled through me all day.

Parallel: I'm reading "Things Fall Apart" and trying not to get too carried away with a literary analysis of my life. Some days seem so rife with irony or poetic justice that I wonder if God may really exist after all because the story is crafted so well.

Skew: My priorities have been out of whack, which led to a very unpleasant moment of serious self-doubt in the waiting room of a doctor's office.

"Blessing the Boats" by Lucille Clifton
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

sentiments

2008-10-08T18:55:00.000-07:00

The most sentimental object I own now belongs to a two-year-old who is fated to destroy it. When I was six, my mother took me to see Donald Crews read aloud this book, Freight Train. I don't remember much--just standing in the back of a large room listening to a man with a powerful voice cast a spell over us all. Then I remember a long staircase and a man who signed a book in my name. My mother told me, "This is special," and it was.

Two years ago, my dad packed up all the books we'd had as children and mailed them out to California. I sorted through them all, threw away the ones too mangled or ripped, and gave the rest to my kids. Among those, they have chosen their favorites, the ones they reach to night after night for a bedtime story. My son chose Freight Train.

After one particularly sentimental bedtime ritual, I decided to track down Mr. Donald Crews and tell him the story of how I received this book and now read it aloud to my son. To my amazement, the publisher really did forward it on to the author, and Mr. Crews wrote back.

Dear Jessica,

Thank for your nice note referencing a long ago
meeting. It's nice to know it had and continues
to have value for you and your son.

Send it to me and I'll sign or additionally
dedicate it for your son.

Best,

Donald Crews

I haven't taken him up on his offer, yet, but I am deeply touched.

Reflections: Look

2008-10-07T22:12:00.000-07:00

L wrote her first word today, all on her own. The word was "look." I am so inspired by this wonderful little girl.

She went back to the table and got to work writing all the names of her family and best friends. A few moments later, I saw that her letters were perfectly formed in mirror reflections of their actual shapes. Before freaking out that she was some kind of idiot-savant (ok, while freaking out but before saying anything), I googled it and found this is very common. Lefties go through this stage even more frequently. Good to know--nothing wrong with a little reflection.

Today I was asked to give a one minute speech about what I teach and why I teach. (I'm participating in a three-day training about how to improve school climate and reach our students better.) I thought about it a lot during the four minutes of break-time I had to prepare. By the time the dreaded one-minute window was up, and my ideas had petered out into the silent crowd, it occurred to me that I never mentioned "English." This is what I talked about instead:

I teach to learn. I chose a profession in which I, too, could learn a lot. I blame this on my fifth grade teacher who said that even though she's been teaching for decades, she always learns something new every day. We were all skeptical, but she persuaded us that she learns about her students, she learns about people, she learns about education, and she learns new perspectives even on the subjects she teaches. So I decided to go into education because I wanted a challenge and I wanted to learn every day. I also teach my students to learn. I believe fundamentally in every student's burning desire to know. They may not want to know how to write a research paper or how to make sense of the ending in Of Mice and Men, but they do want to know about something. Maybe it's about other cultures, other languages, other careers. They want to know how to read instruction manuals for computer applications and video game walkthroughs. I want to teach them the skills to find their own way. I want them to be able to use writing to pursue their own goals and dreams and careers, and to see reading as an opportunity to research their own interests with a discerning eye for what is credible and what is not. I want them to learn to ask good questions and to know where to look for information and how to synthesize the answers. That's why I teach and what I teach. To learn.

It feels good to know that I've answered those questions for myself, and moreover that I am satisfied with the answer. It feels good to be assured in the what and the why, so I can concentrate on all the dirty work in the how.

Tonight I skimmed through a few old posts about teaching. I have learned so much--including how much I really don't know. A colleague quips that teachers go through four stages in their development: conscious incompetence, unconscious incompetence, unconscious incompetence, and conscious competence.

Even more than my own growth, I am re-energized by the stories of former students, parents and colleagues. I look forward to the next ones, and I continue to look within for improvement. Look.

Flying Solo

2008-08-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

The other half is off to a conference. Naturally, disaster ensues.

J climbed into the bathtub wearing full clothes (and non-waterproof diaper) and yes, he turned on the water and began giving himself a bath.

L picked up a stray feather outside and wiped her hands all over her face. I'm not usually a germ-freak, but I really don't want to explain to any doctor or relative how my child caught the first case of avian flu in California.

After all the minor snafus were straightened out, the worst part is that it's so difficult to fall asleep in an empty bed.

my favorite blogger

2008-07-31T15:30:00.000-07:00

At first blush, I thought "All Trees--No Forest" sounded like a horribly cynical title. Does it represent someone who is slogged down in the day-to-day doldrums and there is no big picture?

On second glance, I hoped that maybe it was just a disclaimer. Like the friend who once made me a mixed-tape, maybe the title warns that this compilation is a haphazard collection of what sounds good, but there is no deeper meaning or hidden message to be gleaned from the work as a whole.

Turns out, I was wrong. It's a jab against nondiscretization in computer science. That was my next guess, I swear.

Whether you care about the beauty of discrete objects or not, check this out.

running

2008-07-29T07:48:00.000-07:00

Over the last few weeks, I've started running again. Not every day, and not very fast, but I'm doing it.

My minimum is 3 miles. Last Saturday I kissed my husband goodbye and said I'd try to be back by the time the current cartoon was over. I sorely underestimated. I have a bad habit of getting curious while I run: I wonder where this road goes? How long would it take me to detour around that lake? As I ran through yet another over-planned community (I live in one, too, so I accept some responsibility), I was feeling pretty good until it occurred to me that I had to consider the run back. At 43 minutes, I finally made the turn onto the road that I knew would bring me home. In my mind, west and southwest twisted together, and I believed that I was two-thirds of the way through a 5-6 mile loop. There I was, jogging on the side of a highway without shade, knees brushing against chaparral and duping myself into believing that I'd see the next familiar landmark "just around that bend." I figured it would take me about 20 minutes until I was back in my own neighborhood. 3.7 miles later, I spotted the familiar landmark for which I was searching.

It's not as though I'd never been here before. I've driven this way dozens of times--on my way to other towns. On the plus side, the adrenaline of feeling stranded and in slight danger numbed any pain I might have felt in my legs. My better half confessed later that he nearly packed the kids up in the car and started driving around, but of course I didn't tell him which way I was running. Smart. I had neither a housekey nor any form of ID. Maybe I should have used a Sharpie to write my address on my shoes in case I get hit by a car.

When it was all said and done, I ran 8.5 miles. Everyone was in the backyard playing soccer when I finally got home, panting and red-faced. The love of my life kindly offered to hose me down, which was actually pretty wonderful. I'm proud of myself for running so far, but next time I think I'll do it a little differently.

More babies

2008-05-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

Not mine, but I admit I'm thinking about it. I threw a shower for a coworker today--40 people, a full lunch, a cake made of cupcakes, and did I mention the pregnant mom is diabetic? Sheesh, no wonder people get paid to plan events.

Direct Instruction

2008-04-28T21:00:00.000-07:00

The latest educational fad seems to be a pendulum swing back to teacher-led direct instruction. I'd like to see it in practice, working, before I make any judgments. Regardless of its effectiveness, I like the fact that discussion of teaching methods has directed my attention back to the ageless question: How can I be a better teacher?

I watched a ridiculous number of Top Chef episodes last night. In one, the losing chef Manuel mentioned that he made certain choices because he wanted to learn from his partner. The critic pointedly scoffed, "Don't you believe it is a little too late to learn from someone else at this point in the competition?" He answered unequivocally, "Absolutely not." I can't cook, but I can appreciate the humility of someone who loves his craft.

Remember me?

2008-04-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

I'll try my hand at this again. We'll see if anything comes of it.

So what has happened in the past few months? Surprisingly little. We've been busy with work, J and L join forces to hide the markers from my sight and cause all kinds of chaos, the Democratic primary is teaching me a new level of patience, and a friend is getting married in the Philippines next year. Somehow, I think we're going to find a way to get there.

Best wishes to anyone out there.

ok

2007-11-01T19:34:00.000-07:00

No fire damage here. Sorry to worry any of you who happened to wonder.

We did have lots of smoke in the air and some nasty Santa Ana winds & sandstorms. Whole hillsides shifted a few hundred feet, some even onto our schools. An elementary school on the East end of town even had a herd of cattle wandering around the building because a sand dune covered the neighboring fence. According to my custodian, the dirt inside that building was 1 foot deep all the way through. The district shut down for a week, and I spent it doing as little as possible.

J got sick. I got sick again. Some day I'll get my immunity back, we'll be able to go outside without having asthma-like symptoms, and I might enjoy fall again.

first generation

2007-10-15T22:20:00.000-07:00

It's easy to let the cynic in me win, especially after hearing the fourth "poem" read aloud that begins with "Roses are red." I guess what's trite at 13 gets progressively worse with each decade.

And yet--amidst the sacchrine discussions about hope, things with feathers, and caged birds--it's new to the quiet kid with curly hair sitting in front of me. He wants to be the first person in his family to graduate high school. In four years, he will be in college. He will continue to work hard and some day get a job that will allow his parents to retire happy and proud. He will fulfill their dreams for a successful son and his own dreams to look beyond the limits of our small town.

At least, I sure hope so.

up & down

2007-09-30T18:37:00.000-07:00

J now says, "up" and "down." It's like he woke up from his nap and decided to start talking today. Besides "mama" and "dada," "uh oh" is the most popular phrase in our household.

L made herself a super-cool necklace from this kit. She also made one for me, her two friends, one of my friends, and her two teachers. Although she offered to make one for him too, L's dad politely declined.

I dug a few holes in our backyard this weekend. Two I filled with plants, one I filled back up with dirt when I realized I was digging in the wrong place.

One student invited me to watch him play piano at a gallery opening; another invited me to a pow wow. I had very good intentions of going to both, but we shattered a glass jar of jam across our kitchen floor, and the rest of the weekend progressed similarly. Maybe next time.

L is having far too much fun alone in the bathroom . . . better go check on her.

where did the time go?

2007-09-16T16:11:00.001-07:00

J stole my alarm clock.

I spent Saturday practicing bad sleep hygiene (a term I just learned from GC). Running on three hours of sleep, the hard work of watching cartoons finally got to me. I penned everyone up in my bedroom, closed the closet door, checked that the TV cord was out of reach and all outlets plugged, then crashed. I woke up again to hear L say, "Brother, be careful" and to see J standing in the middle drawer of our dresser. No, it wasn't on the floor. I've never jumped out of bed faster.

Once the kids were relatively safe again, I discovered the missing clock. I looked through every drawer, under the bed, even in the closet (which had remained closed). It wasn't in the bathtub, in the now-empty Kleenex box, or under the covers. I even gave John my watch to see what he would do with it: put in the empty Kleenex box, as I suspected. With as many visual cues

He'd been trapped inside the room, so I know it had to be around somewhere. It certainly wasn't stuffed up his shirt, and I could guess that it would be somewhere below waist-height. My suspect wasn't talking.

We found it in the trash can, underneath three pairs of clean socks.

Post Script: eat your heart out

2007-09-14T20:13:00.001-07:00

Our student died early Monday morning. The XC coach called the team in to cancel their meet on Tuesday. After much consideration, they decided the senior who had passed away would have wanted them to keep running. So run they did. It was a hard race. My students came to school the next morning tired and yet still jittery. Boys took 2nd.

Thursday was the next meet, a local one. Our high school took home every single trophy. The girl in the back row of my fourth period took home a 2nd place medal. The one in front hit her personal record.

In a very long week, it was a good day.

keep moving

2007-09-10T20:29:00.000-07:00

We lost a student over the weekend. He had just finished a cross-country meet. He and his friends were heading across town to meet some more teammates afterwards when he was hit by a car.

I have one freshman girl on the team, and she'd just written an essay on running. Her words hit me a little harder today. She wrote, "To know how to keep moving forward is a skill."

When it rains, it hails.

2007-09-02T06:51:00.000-07:00

A desert thunderstorm caught me Friday afternoon on my birthday. Instead of getting the clue from the sudden high winds and cloudy sky, I opted to wait 10 minutes to finish up some grading. Big mistake. The rain out here is chilly, but when the weather is so hot, it's a comfort even when it stings. By the time I had reached the car with my garbage bag full of student papers, my umbrella was bent backwards and in half, I was soaked completely through and laughing as much as I was shivering.

Mr. 4 had given blood that afternoon. He's a universal donor, so he gets the "blood bank booty call" as he puts it. They told him Thursday, "We're using your blood currently to keep someone alive, and we need more of it. What time can you come in tomorrow?" How do you say no to that?

I met him for coffee afterwards, and we got home to find our energy had gone out. I went to pick up the kids and got stuck in highway traffic. 2 miles away from the last exit, L says she has to go potty "really bad." I relented and taught her to squat in the bushes.

The lights came back on just as I got home. L sang to me. Some friends came over. We ate cheesecake and went to bed happy.

An unexpectedly good day.

zoo pics

2007-08-20T21:20:00.000-07:00

I love San Diego. Pictures from our trip to the zoo:

L pretending to be shy.

Hand prints.

Blurry but cute.

L and the gorilla.

Checking her out.

The family

L goes exploring.

Hippo kisses.

On the hippo. The woman in back is my good friend who invited us to the zoo with her free passes.

J shows off his new talent of taking a few steps.

J practicing his other talent: falling.

Naptime.

Me & my baby

On the skyfari.

Wishing it wouldn't end.

math

2007-08-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

Hooray! I passed a test this summer and am now "highly qualified" to teach high school math. This pretty much guarantees me a job in education for as long as I want it, wherever I go.

Little Colds

2007-08-16T19:40:00.001-07:00

I cleaned out the medicine cabinet today because children under the age of 6 shouldn't be taking ANY kind of cold medicine, not even the pediatric cold medicines that were supposed to be safe for toddlers (see paragraph 8 of this article buried in the NY Times). I truly hate recalls--glad they recall dangerous things, but I wish they would be safe in the first place.

picking up speed

2007-08-15T20:32:00.000-07:00

T -7 days and counting. As I type, one of the astronauts orbiting the Earth right now is a graduate from my high school. I hope they land safely.

Day 2 of New Teacher Workshops has concluded with a lovely bus tour of the district. Actually, it was a good idea and gave me a chance to see my town from a different perspective. Tomorrow I will learn about "Highly Effective Questioning." For some reason, I'm looking forward to it.

Monday was thus my last day of freedom. It truly was free since we dropped off L and J at daycare. I spoiled myself mercilessly: went swimming, got a haircut, spent $100 on books (all eligible for reimbursement because I won a grant last year to buy a classroom library), grabbed a coffee with my husband, and even caught a matinée movie by myself. It was awesome. I chose to see the Bourne Ultimatum because I heard it was a good movie, rightly so. All action, enough plot to stand on (though not much more), and a main character who is very easy on the eyes. What is there not to like?

calm before the storm

2007-08-12T22:05:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of the year. J and L head off to daycare while I get in full back-to-school gear with 8-hr meetings. I'm betting we'll have a few breaks here and there.

screensaver

2007-08-10T15:26:00.000-07:00

Am I the only one who thinks it's creepy to have a screensaver of missing children? Maybe seeing kids' faces on the back of a milk carton while you're eating breakfast isn't exactly pleasant, either. The intentions are good, but I still think this whole idea is a little twisted.

Could you survive ... ?

2007-08-07T10:20:00.000-07:00

These are excerpts from a workshop inspired by Ruby Payne's "Framework for Understanding Poverty." Feel free to critique/add your own.

Check each item that you know how to do.

Could you survive in poverty?

___ I know which sections of town have the best garage sales.

___ I know how to get someone out of jail.

___ I know how to keep my clothes from being stolen at the laundry mat.

___ I know how to live without a checking account or credit card.

___ I know how to apply for and use WIC or food stamps.

Could you survive in the middle class?

___ I know how to get my children into piano lessons or soccer teams.

___ I know how to order at a nice restaurant.

___ I understand the difference between capital and interest on my home loan.

___ I know how to get a library card.

___ I know how to negotiate when buying a used car.

Could you survive in wealth?

___ I can read a menu in French, English, and another language.

___ I know who my preferred financial advisor, legal service, designer, domestic-employment service, and hairdresser are.

___ I am on the board of at least two charities.

___ I know the hidden rules of the private Gentleman's Clubs.

___ I know which services I prefer at a day spa.

L

2007-08-04T15:42:00.000-07:00

2 weeks left to soak up the summer

35W

2007-08-02T06:38:00.000-07:00

Photo by Jerry Holt of Star Tribune: Melissa Hughes clutches a child near the scene of the I-35@ bridge collapse; Melissa was driving the red car in the background.

I couldn't sleep last night. The majority of the friends and family I could reach are ok. I'm hoping beyond hope that the death toll will stay low, the injured will heal, and that the missing will be found.

Hearing this story of the bridge collapse in Minneapolis is devastating. The U of M rowing club docked just under the 10th Ave bridge a few hundred yards away on the East Bank. How many times have I jogged on the River Road on that West Bank, up to Hennepin? Not to mention that I used to live here.

flying solo

2007-07-26T19:53:00.000-07:00

Less than three days ago I was complaining about how hard it is to take two kids to the grocery store. L either wants to squeeze in the crawlspace under the cart, ram it into the nearest shelf, or climb inside and build yogurt towers. J just cries and finds new ways to twist around in the seat while getting his foot stuck in the leg holes and grabbing my hair every time I lean too close.

Naturally, I'm now considering flying cross-country just the three of us. I haven't quite figured out who gets to walk, who gets to be carried, if a stroller will be involved, or if I can just special order one of those zippy little golf carts to transport us around. The good news is that I found an airline that has a direct flight. Despite the predictable tantrums and Cheerios spills, I figure that I can put up with 3 hours and 4 minutes of just about anything. The question is, can the people sitting next to us (and in front of us, behind us, and all the way down the aisle from us)?

evidence

2007-07-22T21:45:00.001-07:00

#1

2007-07-20T15:04:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday.

Joy Ride

2007-07-11T16:12:00.000-07:00

John isn't walking yet without support, but that doesn't seem to slow him down.

stairs

2007-07-10T07:17:00.001-07:00

The stairs were my favorite place to read, too.

Home Depot

2007-06-27T17:07:00.000-07:00

Is technology effective?

2007-06-25T15:55:00.000-07:00

Through a series of unfortunate events, I stumbled across this good question:

Do educational technologies work?

There's a lot of pressure in education to make teaching flashy. Animate every bullet point on your PowerPoint, create a web page that is aesthetically pleasing, and give students every opportunity to tickle the plastic ivories of a computer keyboard and watch pretty things float across the screen.

But are we using technology in a way that it really helps students to learn better? Are they solving problems? thinking critically? grasping a complex idea? and applying their knowledge to new situations?

There's a guy who did a lot of research many, many years ago about the progressive levels of learning from rote knowledge to critical evaluation--Harold Bloom. Maybe you've heard of him? Anyway, it's easy to get stuck at the bottom.

Nice

2007-06-24T21:49:00.001-07:00

Went to the beach today. L played with the frisbee and J tasted sand for the first time.

Hollywood Dental

2007-06-21T19:52:00.000-07:00

You know that place in every Midwest mall called L.A. Nails? The one with the gargantuan plastic hand in the window displaying garish designs with palm trees? I think I just visited the dentistry industry's equivalent.

The floors and counter surfaces were ultra-polished granite. Each chair was sectioned off by glamorous looking dental workstations with their own stainless steel sink. In place of soap dispensers, there's a mouthwash dispenser. Instead of staring at a framed picture of mass-produced art, I stared at a vase stuffed with fake pink flowers and a tiny TV screen hooked up to a DVD player and speakers the size of its screen.

Keep in mind that the office is located in an aging, dumpy office complex in desperate need of renovation. Picture kick marks on all the kick boards, worn frayed carpet, and the vague impression of asbestos in all the walls (though I'd like to think that's not the case in a medical office complex).

The general theme is superficially beautiful. Perfect for a dentist, no? This is how I always pictured California. For all I know it doubles as a breast implant clinic on the weekends. I was far more comfortable in the Arden Hills, MN office where they spent all their money on a computerized filing system instead of granite floors. Actually the dentist himself was friendly enough, though he had the softest handshake in the world. It was probably calculated; you don't really want a dentist who starts hurting you before he even begins poking around your mouth.

For the rest of the morning I was trapped watching Beethoven's 5th. Twice. All in all very unpleasant, especially since I'll be returning to have another cavity filled.

A meme is a cure for "nuthin' to say"

2007-06-19T14:08:00.000-07:00

The Rules:

should be broken.

The Eight Facts:

1. I have a knack for killing plants. After surviving all year in my windowless classroom, an idiot-proof Rhododendron died in my hot, stuffy car on the way home. I kept it in my kitchen, hoping that it would revive. Unfortunately, the leaves turned black and fell off. Better luck next year.

2. I read a lot of very little and a little of a lot. This morning, I breezed through the headlines of the LA Times, but only read 3 articles start to finish. Magazines, websites, blogs, even that incessant ticker on the bottom of CNN--I flit through it all without reading the vast majority. But every now and then, I'll comb through a book so thoroughly that I know the city it was published in.

3. It's 95 degrees outside right now. I have a sunburn across my neck, arms, and a small, embarrassing space across the small of my back where my shirt rode up as I worked on the weed garden yesterday. Very flattering.

4. My son is a biter.

5. 300 people are stuck today between Gaza and Israel, trying to get to the West Bank. Remind me never again to complain of cabin fever.

6. I'm trying to relearn Spanish. Or rather, to learn it for real, this time. I took one of my former students to Starbucks for the first time in her life in return for some stories about her sister and her upcoming trip to Mexico. Am I making a little progress? Creo que si.

7. My grandmother has an empty spool of thread nailed to her front screendoor so that I could open it as a child. She called my last weekend to tell me that she was repainting the door and replacing the screen, but she kept the spool on it. You never know when a little child might need to open the door and not be able to reach the doorknob.

8. I'm making the ridiculous decision to take my kids with me to a 3-day conference this week. I'll get up very early in the morning, drive to their standard daycare then drive back for the conference in the opposite direction of my house. It's insane, but I'm still looking forward to a mini-mini-vacation in a hotel with the kids. Here's hoping they don't cry too much and we all get a little sleep.

The victims:

I don't believe in tagging. I don't believe I know 8 bloggers to tag (who would still speak to me) even if I did believe in it.

L is a lefty

2007-06-10T19:44:00.001-07:00

L revealed her leftist leanings promptly before breaking her wrist. While tracing out our numbers today, she undeniably prefers and has better dexterity with her left hand. The left-handed grandma is very proud.

Then L decided to run into a wall. It happened out of nowhere; I like to think she was trying to stop herself but slipped. She was crying loudly enough that we knew something was wrong even after several minutes of ice. At extended care, she made me very proud by taking the x-ray all by herself without complaint. The PAs oohed at the tiny little ulna and radius, but there it was--an undeniable "buckle" break on the top of her left wrist.

Now she has a very small cast and a sling. She's especially frustrated by trying to draw the number 4.

best idea all year

2007-06-08T21:35:00.000-07:00

I'm a big fan of pre-reading, so this all happened before we read a line of Homer. Apparently, people in the counseling office are still talking about it.

1. Begin at class. Students are locked out of the room. They pick up a handout and write the word “odyssey” (little o) at the top. At each location, we “circle up” and tell a story. At the end of each location, they write the destination and what it symbolizes (see list below).

2. Head to the fence around the basketball courts to simulate the gates of Troy. Recall how Odysseus helped the Greeks win the war. Set out back towards the classroom.

3. Blown away by a squall. Go to the theater. Inside the dark “cave,” tell the story of the Cyclops around a flashlight. Point out that Polyphemus was Poseidon’s son. Set out back towards the classroom.

4. See angry Poseidon in the distance (security guard); take a detour around the F building.

5. Walk through F building into staff lounge, where cookies are placed out with the sign “Cattle of the Sun God: Please do not eat.” Watch the students give in to temptation; then explain Helios’ punishment to those who ate his cattle.

6. Set out back towards the classroom. Unfortunately, the doors are “locked,” so we walked to the other entrance, past D-2. Students can take a shortcut through the land of the Laestrygonians. I ask for brave, strong volunteers who want to go first. They have to knock loudly on the door before going in. After a few start to walk through, D-2 students jump out and barrage us with paper boulders. The class retreats back outside. I explain that the Laestrygonians are mean, boulder-throwing cannibals, so we probably shouldn’t go that way after all.

7. Head to the top of the stairs to the parking lot. Tell the story of Circe who turned the crew into animals. Also mention the man Elpenor who fell down off the roof and died (gesture down the hill). Eventually Odysseus is able to escape, but Circe tells him he must first descend into the Underworld to bury Elpenor’s body and seek the advice from a prophet.

8. Descend into the underworld by walking down the stairs to the parking lot. At the bottom, tell how Odysseus makes a sacrifice to the shades who drink the blood and tell their stories. Mention Achilles, Odysseus’ mom, and Teiresias. Since it is always easier to go into the land of the dead than to escape, we take the long way back up (the ramp).

9. At the top of the ramp, circle around the far side of the D building. Before students pass between the D & E buildings, tell the story of Scylla and Charybdis. The D building will eat 6 students at once, but if you walk too close to the technology department, it will suck you in and you can never escape. Students must walk in a single-file line to get past these two monsters.

10. Just when they are almost home to Ithaca, one of the crew releases the bag of winds that was given to them from the god Aeolus, so they have to travel to the front office.

11. In the front office, Kelly generously acted as my Calypso. She chatted with the students for a bit, and they were told how Odysseus really enjoyed hanging out in the office but he also felt a bit trapped. Hermes (someone in the attendance office) calls and tells Calypso (Kelly) that the class should be sent back.

12. Calypso has built a nice raft, but unfortunately Odysseus gets shipwrecked one more time and is swept away by the current towards the library. At the library, tell the story of Nausicaa and how Odysseus pretended to be a stranger and started crying at the banquet when he heard the bard singing of the Trojan War. Inside the library, students must find the story of Odysseus (show they know how to checkout an English 9 book from the front desk).

13. Finally we return home to Ithaca, but the door is locked. The last obstacle Odysseus must overcome is to face the suitors. Explain how he disguised himself with the help of his son and his shepherd Eumaeus.

14. Let students return to the classroom and fill out survey questions at the bottom. Discuss favorite stops, see how much they remember. Mention what was left out—how could the sirens have been depicted? What about the Cicones? Finally, differentiate between the proper noun “Odyssey” and the general term “odyssey” to mean any journey filled with adventure and obstacles, even metaphorical.

Basketball courts Trojan War
Benches Lotus-Eaters
Theater Cave of Cyclops
Staff lounge Cattle of the Sun God
D2 Laestrygonians
stairs to parking lot Circe
Bottom of stairs the Underworld
Scylla and Charbydis between the D & E buildings
Front office Calypso
Library Nausicaa
D-1 Ithaca

closure

2007-06-08T21:28:00.000-07:00

My students took an anonymous survey to help me become a better teacher. My mom once told me the best comment she got on a class evaluation was on her perfume. Most of mine were actually fairly positive (I trashed the inappropriate ones, so that helped to skew my average). What was most disheartening was their poor writing skills even as my students were saying such kind things. I guess they have plenty to learn next year.

homecoming

2007-06-05T16:12:00.001-07:00

I've been reading about the great wanderer Odysseus. Just as he finds his way to the shores of Ithaca, my own husband returns from his journey. Luckily he got away from Scylla and Charybdis, but he did lose his sunglasses on the plane. Five days, 20 years, eh--still tough. Welcome home, my love.

popped a leak

2007-06-03T15:59:00.000-07:00

I think one of our sprinkler lines is broken. Just after we finished planting everything on top of it.... I'm dreading the process of fixing it.

good news

2007-06-02T06:43:00.000-07:00

--or as good as we can expect. My father-in-law is doing well. He's still in quite a bit of pain, but it looks like they will not need to perform surgery. They put some dye in his system so they could trace the blood flow, and it appears that the hemorrhage was not arterial. This means he'll be moved out of ICU this afternoon and might even return home on Monday.

Unfortunately, he's not out of the clear yet. There is still a 20% chance that he'll have further complications. Not good odds. He will return to the hospital for a follow-up in two weeks to monitor his progress.

emergency flight

2007-05-31T21:16:00.000-07:00

My other half caught an emergency flight to Atlanta this afternoon. I got one of those phone calls that begins, "Call me immediately. X is in the hospital..." The kind I dread. I spent fourth period talking to the United Airlines rep on the phone while my students asked me to sign all kinds of passes I never read. I had no idea there are such things as emergency ticket rates.

His step-father, the man he grew up with, had a cerebral hemorrhage this morning. Last I heard they were waiting for the neurosurgeon. A surgery may be necessary in the morning.

The only thing I know about cerebral hemorrhages is that they sometimes cause strokes and are related to aneurysms. An aneurysm killed a girl named Vanessa on my soccer team when I was in 5th grade. She had a headache, took a nap, and then we were all singing "Amazing Grace" in a strange, beautiful, white church.

I'm scared, worried, and selfishly lonely.

in memoriam

2007-05-31T20:20:00.000-07:00

Tears of the widower, when he sees
A late-lost form that sleep reveals,
And moves his doubtful arms, and feels
Her place is empty, fall like these;

Which weep a loss for ever new,
A void where heart on heart reposed;
And, where warm hands have prest and closed,
Silence, till I be silent too.

Which weeps the comrade of my choice,
An awful thought, a life removed,
The human-hearted man I loved,
A Spirit, not a breathing voice.

Come Time, and teach me, many years,
I do not suffer in a dream;
For now so strange do these things seem,
Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;

My fancies time to rise on wing,
And glance about the approaching sails,
As tho’ they brought but merchants’ bales,
And not the burthen that they bring.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

allusions

2007-05-30T21:24:00.000-07:00

As I teach Greek Mythology Light, I learn that everything my students know about mythology comes from:

The Simpsons

Brad Pitt

Hercules cartoons

Saw (or was it Saw II?)

Dungeons & Dragons

X-Men

God of War

Though I'd never heard of it before, I picked up God of War over Memorial Day weekend and spent the better part of Saturday trying to kill a hydra. The game is gratuitously violent, unsuitable for kids under 17, and terribly fun.

For that matter, so is Homer. I tried to explain to my students why it's still worth reading when you already know the story. The best I could do was to liken his language to the special effects in a movie. It's not enough to know that the car explodes; you want to see the gritty details of the fire and watch the shards of glass flying through the air. After all, there's a poetry in it. In the fifth reading of the story of the Cyclops, I still caught a new detail: When Polyphemus passes out drunk, he drools little bits of men that he has just eaten.

comes with the territory

2007-05-13T05:29:00.000-07:00

It's not even 5:30 yet, and I've already stepped on a Lego.

privacy

2007-05-06T19:58:00.000-07:00

I'll use the first person plural to protect the guilty parties involved.

Saturday we broke the downstairs bathroom door--punched a neat little hole halfway through. Instead of leaving it there in the interim of its replacement, we decided it would be fun to punch a bigger hole all the way through it. Now it's in our garage, a sorry excuse for door-heaven. We measured for the new door. We rented a truck from Home Depot and purchased a new slab door to replace it. Now we discover that the measurements were a bit off-- 3 inches too wide. Door-heaven just got a little smaller.

exhausted

2007-04-28T20:00:00.000-07:00

We spent today outside, even brought a playpen out for J, who enjoyed standing up and peering over the edge at us. L crawled in with him when I turned my back. After many hours of back-breaking manual labor, the drainage in our backyard is complete. Or so we hope. We won't truly know until the next big rain. To top it off, our new redbud is faring well. Summer, here we come.

Getting Technical

2007-04-25T20:17:00.000-07:00

Tasteless pun, please excuse me.

I've delayed posting on Virginia Tech because I was hoping to gain some insight with time, hoping to come to peace with it after a few days have sunk in. Still waiting.

In the meantime, here are two newsworthy pieces on the incident: the retrospective advice of Brooks Brown, a Columbine survivor (who happened to have lost 4 friends that day, 2 of whom were the shooters) and Stephen King's take on psych evaluations based on student-submitted fiction.

School violence always makes you look twice at yourself, your own students, the quiet kid who leans against the back of the building and always pretends to not hear when I say hello, the essay sitting next to my computer with the violent ending about the boy who comes home to find his entire family murdered and decides to take vengeance.

Pray for the dead. Pray for the living. Both Jeffery Hodges and Daniel Hoffman-Gill shed some light on the topic of prayer.

I've never been afraid as a teacher. I'm naive enough to continue to believe it will never happen to me, to my students. Even after it did. What terrifies me most is that I don't think I have it in me to stop it from happening, the way a gym teacher at Rocori High School (Minnesota) confronted a student shooter by standing in front of him and saying, "No." Mark Johnson prevented who knows how many other deaths. And yet, a year later Minnesota saw its second school shooting at Red Lake.

I want to believe in all my students. I want to be the nurturing English teacher who coaxes each person to share his or her story in the sappiest Hollywood way that has been replayed far too many times. (Poor gym teachers, they never get the credit.) So what do you write at the end of the paper, where the font switches to 16 point bold and says "For anyone who has been reading this tragedy, you know it is not the end. What will Jason Black do next? TO BE CONTINUED."

I wrote "I hope he comes back as a hero. 20/20" Then I photocopied it and walked to the office.

333

2007-04-21T19:20:00.000-07:00

words down. Or so. Now to add 300 more and delete 133. Piece of cake.

Except I just a got a phone call; maybe there will be room for 900 words rather than 500, or perhaps two small pieces. Good news and more work, either way.

freelance

2007-04-14T22:06:00.000-07:00

Someone is paying me to write 500 words. Now if only it weren't so difficult to choose which words to use.... I haven't written anything polished in a while, much less anything publishable. Writing for a specific purpose (and for money) should be a nice change.

smile

2007-04-11T20:15:00.000-07:00

The birthday of a friend inspired me to make a donation here.

Happy Easter

2007-04-07T22:52:00.000-07:00

This is why I love my husband.

home

2007-04-04T09:12:00.000-07:00

I woke up to news that Iran was releasing the 15 Brits. An oddly staged photo of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad meeting with the sailors and Marines is on the CBS site. No doubt they are greatful to be going home. I admit that I was less than optimistic.

Today is a Wednesday, and yet I'm home still in PJs and visiting such enlightening websites as Visuwords and World Sunlight Map. (Both thanks to StumbleUpon.)

L is sick, and at the age where she is beginning to articulate her pain. "I don't like it," she says. Despite the fact that she is now as tall as my waist, she is still so little. If she gets better this weekend, maybe we'll head to Disneyland. (Just what a recovering toddler needs, I know, but I'll do most anything to see that kid smiling and happy again.)

my sun and stars

2007-03-25T20:16:00.000-07:00

I'm reading a silly book where a character calls her husband "my sun-and-stars." Kind of cute. This little one just cut his first tooth (bottom left) yesterday.

refrigeration blues

2007-03-24T15:34:00.000-07:00

I hope the clanking downstairs by the stranger in my house means that we'll be able to store more than just crackers and apple sauce in our house again soon. Today is day 8 without a functioning refrigerator. When I last checked, it was 78 degrees inside. On top of that, our mail delivery person broke the key in the lock of our communal mailbox, which explains the lack of mail over the past two weeks. Wasn't it nice that they posted a notice on the 6th day, letting me know that the bills I've mailed are all now overdue with little hope of reaching their destination in time? While stopping at the post office to pick up my mail, what do I find buried at the bottom with a postmark of March 7? An offer to extend our refrigerator's warranty for another year.

mother-in-law stereotypes

2007-03-21T20:04:00.000-07:00

You think mothers-in-law-from-hell stereotypes must be mostly exaggeration, and then you hear a story about some poor woman whose mother-in-law is visiting for six months. Months. 6.

On top of that, she's enforcing her strict religiosity on the family so that one member of the household (who shall remain nameless) couldn't even go out to lunch today because of fasting. Fasting for what? you may ask. "I have no idea; my mother-in-law says we're supposed to fast today," is the reply. It would be comical if it weren't so horrible.

giraffe

2007-03-19T21:42:00.000-07:00

Photo Sharing - Upload Video - Video Sharing - Share Photos

Notice how he does his best crawling when no one is watching.

L

2007-03-19T21:29:00.001-07:00

Photo Sharing - Upload Video - Video Sharing - Share Photos

homecoming

2007-03-19T20:51:00.000-07:00

A little boy from Guatemala will be going home in the next two weeks to two very lovely people who can't wait to be his parents.

In other news, our refrigerator quit working. It is now hotter inside it than the outside temperature in most of the U.S. right now. The evil people at an unnamed department store who sold it to us stood us up for the repair appointment. To quote Mojo Jojo, "Curses!"

Last but not least, I'm called to jury duty on Monday.

pink slips

2007-03-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

The tree in our front yard is abloom with pink flowers.

Rumor has it that a handful of teachers in our district were let go. I am not among them. It's a wonderful feeling to be in a stable job. Even better that it's a job I like.

The mountains were unbelievable today. They must have worked their magic on the students, too. We've been studying folktales the past week, and I ended the week on a happy note with "The 3 Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig" by Eugene Trivizas. It's not often you get to talk about pneumatic drills and blowing things up in English class. Such a good story.

time for a beer

2007-03-15T22:39:00.000-07:00

I'm so glad my husband doesn't work this late every night. He just called to tell me to go to bed. Work is winding down and he's heading out for a beer with coworkers. It's well deserved. Nonetheless, I'm lonely. J is beginning to wimper in his sleep.

sleep

2007-03-08T23:26:00.000-08:00

I should be sleeping. Dreaming about kayaking.

A teacher I met tonight drives to school with a boat strapped on top of his little car. He leaves just after the last school bus and spends the next two hours weaving between mountains and water. That's the way to do it, I think.

Napolean Dynamite is alive and well

2007-03-06T17:02:00.000-08:00

at my high school.

Picture, if you will:

It's "rally" day; 1200 sweaty teenagers packed into a gym.

A slightly-pudgy kid with a dorky haircut, dressed all in black, with suspiciously-looking ballet-style black shoes walks out onto the stage floor. He's holding two sticks attached with a wire, on which he juggles a giant yoyo.

A giant yoyo.

There was silence in the gym. That kind of awestruck silence you hear in your dreams when you've shown up to work and forgot to put on pants first. Even the collective thrumming of four hundred not-so-surreptitiously worn iPods stops.

Then the hip hop kicks in, and the kid starts dancing. Couple steps here, point a toe there; it wasn't really dancing by any stretch of the imagination. So then he tosses it into the air -- does a friggin' somersault -- and catches it. Wild applause.

This continues with great success for four minutes. Afterwards, I asked my students what they got out of it, and they all talked about "that kid with a yoyo" with a kind of respect few people at the age of 15 ever give.

Oh yeah, in case you're wondering the rally was not a talent show, nor a pre-election show-down. It was a multicultural rally to culminate Black History Month celebrating the achievements of 8 phenomenal African-American athletes and also to show off their own talents. The guiding theme was a bit weak (somehow they also fit hula-dancers into a description of Karim Abdul-Jabar), but who really listens to a high school rally anyway?

p.s. Not that it matters, but the juggler was white.

ode to oral vaccines

2007-03-01T18:27:00.000-08:00

I was pleasantly surprised
to be leaving
the doctor's office only fifteen minutes
after I arrived--
the baby still
happy.