Hello, there, and thanks for stopping by! I haven't written in awhile (again). I must get better. But, on to what's new...
My son successfully finished the school year and (I think, though I still don't have a report card) he passed 4th grade. What a year!
My daughter also did very well. She cried the entire night of the last day of school because her beloved teacher for 2nd grade, Ms. Richter, is leaving to move back to Iowa. She is a fantastic teacher and taught both of my kids. We will miss her dearly.
My husband has taken a week off and is hiking Pariah Canyon in Utah. He's probably actually sleeping as I type, but during the day he and two of his lifelong friends are hiking.
I got an A in Math 213, Math for Elementary Educators. I'm a happy camper. Now there's one week down, four to go in Math 214, Math for Elementary Educators and I'm done with math!! Woo-hoo!
I'm shamelessly stealing from Tori and making this day Time Travel Tuesday...Tori blogged about her first date with her husband; I'll post about my first actual date to "mix it up."
Let's travel back to October, 1982. I'm a sophomore in high school and only 15 instead of the 16 years old my dad would have preferred for my first car date...especially with an older guy. But, older guy's dad and my dad worked together, so he relented.
It was (I believe) a homecoming dance. My date's name was Jim. I was kind of freaked, yet excited, because here was a guy 2 years older than me asking me out (okay, I know...no big deal now, but in high school it is a big deal. At least in my world). I was on the phone with his sister Jackie, who was a good friend of mine, and he started teasing me through her, as big brothers are wont to do. He accused me of chasing David, a guy I'd hung around with a lot (though not dated...egad! My father would have a fit!!) in 8th grade. I said, through the ever patient and kind Jackie, that I had not chased David, rather David had chased me. Then Jim got on the phone, and said something about why didn't I chase him, and would I like to go to the homecoming dance with him.
I can't remember how I got permission to go, but I did. Then I got lectured non-stop from that day until the dance about proper date behavior. The guy must come to the door; I was not allowed to go out with some jerk who honked his horn in the driveway and expected me to show up. I must be home on time, and he should walk me to the door...etc, etc. Yes, dad. Geeeeeeeesh!
The day of the dance I was babysitting, and I remember being worried that the people I was working for wouldn't be home in time...but they were. I went home and got ready. I wore a
mid-calf length denim skirt and a long-sleeved baby blue cowl neck (the really droopy version of the turtleneck where only the neck part droops; there is still ample coverage because the shirt itself [not the neck] doesn't droop).
Our class had recently gotten the class rings we ordered, and I remember loving the fact that my ring (with a fake-esque sapphire stone) coordinated with my outfit. Jim came to pick me up and we were both nervous the whole ride to the school, which was 12 miles away. At least I was nervous. He said, "don't you hate first dates? It's so hard to know what to talk about." This, at least I hope, loosened me up a little bit. He may not have been nervous at all, come to think about it. He may have just wanted me to feel at ease.
I don't remember much about the dance except for the fact that he held my hand while we were taking breaks from dancing. His class ring (also with a fake-esque sapphire stone, by the way) started cutting into my finger, and I asked him if he'd move it to his other hand. He did. I guess we danced, but I don't remember much about it.
This I remember, because it was so goofy and funny. After the dance, he took me to the local pizza place (it was a small town and had only one pizza place). We laughed and talked and had a good time. Eventually there were only two pieces of pizza left, and he asked if I wanted another one. I said maybe a small one. He took one and left one for me. But the pizza was on one of those metal stands in the middle of the table, and I really couldn't see "my" slice very well. I picked it up, and it had to be at least 1/3 of the pizza! I was embarrassed for a second, but then he laughed at me and I started laughing. It was funny. I didn't finish it.
He drove me home, and I thanked him for the evening and reached for the door handle. He called my name, and when I turned to look at him, he kissed me. It was a soft, nice, but not too fast kiss. Then, he walked me to the door, and said he'd had a very good time. He gave me a peck-type kiss at the door. Then he went home.
We ended up "going together," if anyone reading this remembers that term. He wrote me sweet notes which I saved for years but have now lost, he bought me a beautiful opal ring that I still have, and bought me a beautiful heart-shaped box of candy for Valentines day with a nice card. I kept his notes in the candy box, and am really still a little bummed that I lost them. He eventually wanted me to sleep with him but I wouldn't, and near the end of the school year, which was his senior year, he broke up with me. The next morning at 6:30 I was outside feeding and watering the dogs (we were early risers, having to catch the bus to school by 7:15) when my mom said the phone was for me. He said he'd been an idiot, he loved me, and wanted to get back together. We did, but in time he still wanted to sleep with me and I still wouldn't, and the school year was almost over, so we broke up for good.
Of course, I ended up with the man of my dreams, to whom I've been married for 18 years. He's way cool. I'll tell you more about our first date another day, because I must, after all, get my beauty sleep!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Hysterical Fear-mongers
Good evening from the "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore" desk.
Have you ever encountered an idea that had been generally accepted by everyone, and you realized you'd gone along with others in being accepting of it, only to realize that it made no sense whatsoever? I have. It's the famed "zero-tolerance" policy that pops up now and again. It's WAY out of hand.
I suppose zero tolerance policies have their place in the world. I have zero tolerance for my kids running into the street, in front of an oncoming car. I don't, however, have a zero tolerance policy for my kids' running. They can run (safely) all they want. Running is not the problem. The street is not the problem. The car is not the problem. The problem is slightly more difficult than that to discern, but it can be done, with some thought...the fact that they don't see the oncoming car is the problem.
Schools (a staff member of which I may someday be) are famous for zero tolerance policies. There is zero tolerance for drugs on campus. It sounds good, right? Drugs at school can't be good...or can they? 18-year-old Anne is old enough to vote, can legally get married, can choose to enter the armed forces and fight and die for her country, yet she can't bring Tylenol onto her high school campus to relieve her headache. 12-year-old Ashley can walk her little brother home from the bus stop, enter the house with her own key, start dinner for the family, and help little bro with his homework, but she can't bring aspirin to school for her sore knee (she's on the track team). Zero tolerance, after all.
Are kids getting all hopped up on Tylenol and aspirin? Nope. They're getting hopped up on crack, meth, coke, and other illegal drugs. But administrators adamantly cite the zero tolerance policy. I guess it's too difficult for them to discern the difference between meth and Tylenol, so Susan and Ashley are in for it. And, by the way, the kids getting hopped up on meth are still getting hopped up. They just know how to get around the rules. Too bad for the kids who just need an aspirin. And when we ask why meth and crack and pot are still in use at school? Well, my goodness! The administration is overworked! (yeah...what with all the tylenol they have to confiscate...)
You know, when I was in high school, I borrowed aspirin from a friend. Our lockers were right outside the principal's office, but it wasn't a big deal, because back then, hysterical fear-mongers were NOT allowed to run the country. People could actually use their brains and think! Imagine that!
And yes...there's a reason for my rant and rave tonight. Two weeks ago, my husband called me at work and said our son was serving an in-school suspension for making a paper sword. Apparently the principal had tried to call my cell phone, but it was out of charge. Oddly, I've repeatedly asked them to call my work phone during the day because my cell phone is in my purse. I have a headset at work and hear every call come in. But, they "forgot."
I spoke with the principal, who said my son was waving the sword in a threatening manner (I know...paper shouldn't be threatening, but we're dealing with hysterical fear-mongers here). Now I've been called to school RE.PEAT.ED.LY. this year to pick up my son when he's committed infractions like not stopping his swing in mid-air to avoid a collision with a student who purposely walked in front of him to cause trouble (as described to me by the principal); for coloring on another boy's shirt (who was also coloring on my son's shirt), for taking the insoles out of his own shoes, and various other times. And I. Have. Had.It.
I said to the principal that I had been perfectly willing to come to school because I am a supportive parent. I want my child to behave. I want him to learn. I support the teachers. But frankly, I also have a job, one which I cannot quit in order to sit next to my son all day every day, to ensure he does what he is supposed to do. I just can't. At some point there has to be some classroom management. And I suggested that when he is sent to the office from now on, that the principal not reward him by playing chess with him. Hell, I'd go to the office at every opportunity too, if the principal played games with me!
I have since been calling the school every day to see how my son is doing. And about a week ago, I spoke with Ms. Clarkson* again. The principal wasn't available, and she wondered the reason for my call. I told her I had questions about the paper sword incident. Ms. Clarkson* told me she had been the one to take the sword away. Jackpot!! I asked her what my son had been saying as he waved the sword. She said he wasn't really waving it and wasn't saying anything. She went on to say that "we made the sword, and put a staple in the end to hold it together." She later "saw him walking down the hall with it, but didn't take it away." Then, she saw him in the classroom pointing it at someone, and THEN she decided it was inappropriate. After "we" had made it and let him walk around with it, suddenly, ZAP! Zero tolerance. Or maybe 0.25 tolerance. Or 0.95.
Weapons in school...bad, right? But, wait! What kind? What context? Wait...do we have to...oh my gosh...THINK? In a school? Use our brains?? Say it isn't so! Oh, the humanity!
Real weapons (actual guns, swords, knives, numchuks, daggers, cannons, catapults, AK-47s)...BAD. A table knife left in a pocket from a Boy Scout campout? Not great, but no reason to clear the campus. Jack knives? Probably not great either, but again, this is NOT a crisis. Take it away, move on with your day, and TEACH THE KIDS. A paper weapon (even a paper howitzer)? Ummm...let's see...we let them use scissors, right? And pencils? Pencils are hard. You could hurt someone with a pencil. Oh, crap!! Maybe we should ban them??
No. Paper is not threatening (okay, unless it's a court summons or something). There should be no zero tolerance measures taken against paper.
Hysterical fear-mongers: try crocheting. It's relaxing.
*=names changed to protect the author from lawsuits by hysterical fear-mongers.
Have you ever encountered an idea that had been generally accepted by everyone, and you realized you'd gone along with others in being accepting of it, only to realize that it made no sense whatsoever? I have. It's the famed "zero-tolerance" policy that pops up now and again. It's WAY out of hand.
I suppose zero tolerance policies have their place in the world. I have zero tolerance for my kids running into the street, in front of an oncoming car. I don't, however, have a zero tolerance policy for my kids' running. They can run (safely) all they want. Running is not the problem. The street is not the problem. The car is not the problem. The problem is slightly more difficult than that to discern, but it can be done, with some thought...the fact that they don't see the oncoming car is the problem.
Schools (a staff member of which I may someday be) are famous for zero tolerance policies. There is zero tolerance for drugs on campus. It sounds good, right? Drugs at school can't be good...or can they? 18-year-old Anne is old enough to vote, can legally get married, can choose to enter the armed forces and fight and die for her country, yet she can't bring Tylenol onto her high school campus to relieve her headache. 12-year-old Ashley can walk her little brother home from the bus stop, enter the house with her own key, start dinner for the family, and help little bro with his homework, but she can't bring aspirin to school for her sore knee (she's on the track team). Zero tolerance, after all.
Are kids getting all hopped up on Tylenol and aspirin? Nope. They're getting hopped up on crack, meth, coke, and other illegal drugs. But administrators adamantly cite the zero tolerance policy. I guess it's too difficult for them to discern the difference between meth and Tylenol, so Susan and Ashley are in for it. And, by the way, the kids getting hopped up on meth are still getting hopped up. They just know how to get around the rules. Too bad for the kids who just need an aspirin. And when we ask why meth and crack and pot are still in use at school? Well, my goodness! The administration is overworked! (yeah...what with all the tylenol they have to confiscate...)
You know, when I was in high school, I borrowed aspirin from a friend. Our lockers were right outside the principal's office, but it wasn't a big deal, because back then, hysterical fear-mongers were NOT allowed to run the country. People could actually use their brains and think! Imagine that!
And yes...there's a reason for my rant and rave tonight. Two weeks ago, my husband called me at work and said our son was serving an in-school suspension for making a paper sword. Apparently the principal had tried to call my cell phone, but it was out of charge. Oddly, I've repeatedly asked them to call my work phone during the day because my cell phone is in my purse. I have a headset at work and hear every call come in. But, they "forgot."
I spoke with the principal, who said my son was waving the sword in a threatening manner (I know...paper shouldn't be threatening, but we're dealing with hysterical fear-mongers here). Now I've been called to school RE.PEAT.ED.LY. this year to pick up my son when he's committed infractions like not stopping his swing in mid-air to avoid a collision with a student who purposely walked in front of him to cause trouble (as described to me by the principal); for coloring on another boy's shirt (who was also coloring on my son's shirt), for taking the insoles out of his own shoes, and various other times. And I. Have. Had.It.
I said to the principal that I had been perfectly willing to come to school because I am a supportive parent. I want my child to behave. I want him to learn. I support the teachers. But frankly, I also have a job, one which I cannot quit in order to sit next to my son all day every day, to ensure he does what he is supposed to do. I just can't. At some point there has to be some classroom management. And I suggested that when he is sent to the office from now on, that the principal not reward him by playing chess with him. Hell, I'd go to the office at every opportunity too, if the principal played games with me!
I have since been calling the school every day to see how my son is doing. And about a week ago, I spoke with Ms. Clarkson* again. The principal wasn't available, and she wondered the reason for my call. I told her I had questions about the paper sword incident. Ms. Clarkson* told me she had been the one to take the sword away. Jackpot!! I asked her what my son had been saying as he waved the sword. She said he wasn't really waving it and wasn't saying anything. She went on to say that "we made the sword, and put a staple in the end to hold it together." She later "saw him walking down the hall with it, but didn't take it away." Then, she saw him in the classroom pointing it at someone, and THEN she decided it was inappropriate. After "we" had made it and let him walk around with it, suddenly, ZAP! Zero tolerance. Or maybe 0.25 tolerance. Or 0.95.
Weapons in school...bad, right? But, wait! What kind? What context? Wait...do we have to...oh my gosh...THINK? In a school? Use our brains?? Say it isn't so! Oh, the humanity!
Real weapons (actual guns, swords, knives, numchuks, daggers, cannons, catapults, AK-47s)...BAD. A table knife left in a pocket from a Boy Scout campout? Not great, but no reason to clear the campus. Jack knives? Probably not great either, but again, this is NOT a crisis. Take it away, move on with your day, and TEACH THE KIDS. A paper weapon (even a paper howitzer)? Ummm...let's see...we let them use scissors, right? And pencils? Pencils are hard. You could hurt someone with a pencil. Oh, crap!! Maybe we should ban them??
No. Paper is not threatening (okay, unless it's a court summons or something). There should be no zero tolerance measures taken against paper.
Hysterical fear-mongers: try crocheting. It's relaxing.
*=names changed to protect the author from lawsuits by hysterical fear-mongers.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Math
I had class tonight. I take one class that lasts five weeks, and then start another class. This one is Math for Elementary Educators. I know I've discussed before my comfort level with and skills in math. It's not my favorite subject.
But as I'm going through this class, things seem different about math. I try to figure out much more than I would have dared before taking algebra. I trust myself a little more, and don't whine as much.
The teacher seems to be confused a lot of the time. He doesn't seem to (though he might) know what a lot of the answers are. And in seeing this every week, I've come to the realization that being "good" at math doesn't mean that one knows the answers to all the questions. It means that a person is willing to look for the answers.
All my life, until recently, I assumed I wasn't good at math. And I can do a lot of it, surprisingly. And I hear people all around me every day say that they aren't good at math. What they mean is (and what I meant was) that the answers don't just come naturally to them, and they do to some people. But really, that has no bearing on whether or not a person is good at math. Just being interested enough and committed enough to try and solve the problem makes one good at math.
But as I'm going through this class, things seem different about math. I try to figure out much more than I would have dared before taking algebra. I trust myself a little more, and don't whine as much.
The teacher seems to be confused a lot of the time. He doesn't seem to (though he might) know what a lot of the answers are. And in seeing this every week, I've come to the realization that being "good" at math doesn't mean that one knows the answers to all the questions. It means that a person is willing to look for the answers.
All my life, until recently, I assumed I wasn't good at math. And I can do a lot of it, surprisingly. And I hear people all around me every day say that they aren't good at math. What they mean is (and what I meant was) that the answers don't just come naturally to them, and they do to some people. But really, that has no bearing on whether or not a person is good at math. Just being interested enough and committed enough to try and solve the problem makes one good at math.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Who's a Baaaaaaaad Blogger?
Me. Well, at least, I'm not terribly consistent. Sorry for the lack of posts.
I've been thinking (uh-oh!!!) and it seems to me that I'm not being myself when I post. I'm kind of trying to present a "good" image, and folks, I'm not always good. But when I don't share that, and just try and show the shiny, happy moments of my life, well, then, blogging starts to turn into something like a chore. Which it isn't...or shouldn't be. So I may post something you don't like. Or that shocks you. I want this to be therapeutic, fun, creative. Not stifling. So. Now you know.
I spent the weekend with my friend, who had a baby 8 weeks ago and who had thyroid cancer. They removed the thyroid, the cancer's gone, but so is her energy. In addition to the 8 week old baby, she has a two year old son, and, though her hubby is trying, he's getting worn out, too. So I went to play Mary Poppins.
I haven't woken up with a fussy, hungry baby for almost 8 years, so I thought I'd be out of practice. I was sleeping on an air mattress on the floor, and the baby (Elizabeth) was in her playpen right above my head. She went to sleep at 8:00, and we went about 9:30. I kept waking up, about every hour, to make sure she was still breathing. She didn't wake up until 3:00! Seven hours was pretty impressive, I thought! I did wake up when she did, and we went to the kitchen to make her bottle. She watched, so patiently, as I added water (I'd put the formula in the night before) and shook it up. Then she quietly ate, and was in a very good mood. About 4 a.m. she went back to sleep, and then her brother heard us and started crying. I went to his room, and he said, "poop! poop!" So I picked him up and changed his diaper. There was no poop. He just wanted the attention. But he got a fresh diaper and some snuggles, and then he said, "Bed! Bed!" and I heartily agreed! I put him in and he went right back to sleep.
I guess I haven't forgotten how to take care of an infant, even though my youngest is 8! I came home very tired, but happy for the experience.
Did I mention we finally got a new bed?? It. Is. FABULOUS!!!! I'm sleeping so much better, and I hurt so much less in the morning. It's really stunning how much of a difference a good nights' sleep makes!
Actually, I'm a little drowsy now...I think I'll head to bed. G'night, and thanks for reading!
I've been thinking (uh-oh!!!) and it seems to me that I'm not being myself when I post. I'm kind of trying to present a "good" image, and folks, I'm not always good. But when I don't share that, and just try and show the shiny, happy moments of my life, well, then, blogging starts to turn into something like a chore. Which it isn't...or shouldn't be. So I may post something you don't like. Or that shocks you. I want this to be therapeutic, fun, creative. Not stifling. So. Now you know.
I spent the weekend with my friend, who had a baby 8 weeks ago and who had thyroid cancer. They removed the thyroid, the cancer's gone, but so is her energy. In addition to the 8 week old baby, she has a two year old son, and, though her hubby is trying, he's getting worn out, too. So I went to play Mary Poppins.
I haven't woken up with a fussy, hungry baby for almost 8 years, so I thought I'd be out of practice. I was sleeping on an air mattress on the floor, and the baby (Elizabeth) was in her playpen right above my head. She went to sleep at 8:00, and we went about 9:30. I kept waking up, about every hour, to make sure she was still breathing. She didn't wake up until 3:00! Seven hours was pretty impressive, I thought! I did wake up when she did, and we went to the kitchen to make her bottle. She watched, so patiently, as I added water (I'd put the formula in the night before) and shook it up. Then she quietly ate, and was in a very good mood. About 4 a.m. she went back to sleep, and then her brother heard us and started crying. I went to his room, and he said, "poop! poop!" So I picked him up and changed his diaper. There was no poop. He just wanted the attention. But he got a fresh diaper and some snuggles, and then he said, "Bed! Bed!" and I heartily agreed! I put him in and he went right back to sleep.
I guess I haven't forgotten how to take care of an infant, even though my youngest is 8! I came home very tired, but happy for the experience.
Did I mention we finally got a new bed?? It. Is. FABULOUS!!!! I'm sleeping so much better, and I hurt so much less in the morning. It's really stunning how much of a difference a good nights' sleep makes!
Actually, I'm a little drowsy now...I think I'll head to bed. G'night, and thanks for reading!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Well, it's been an eventful week here at WWJ central. No sooner did we get the leak in our wall fixed and have the adjuster out, than our air conditioner quit. Completely. Ka-put. Done. Dead. Doornail.
$8,000 later, the contractors are here putting the finishing touches on our shiny new air conditioner. I didn't really have $8,000.00. Not. Even. Close. So, while I'm grateful that our credit cleared and we can finance this new mess, I'm a little bummed by now.
I hate to be a whiner, but for today, I give up. I need a good cry and some ice cream, preferably Blue Bell (I know Tori will appreciate that). Probably Blue Bell Chocolate, but their homemade Vanilla is really, REALLY good, too. Especially with Magic Shell on top. And maraschino cherry juice. LOTS of maraschino cherry juice.
Hoping for a better tomorrow, I remain,
Your Friend,
Pitiful
$8,000 later, the contractors are here putting the finishing touches on our shiny new air conditioner. I didn't really have $8,000.00. Not. Even. Close. So, while I'm grateful that our credit cleared and we can finance this new mess, I'm a little bummed by now.
I hate to be a whiner, but for today, I give up. I need a good cry and some ice cream, preferably Blue Bell (I know Tori will appreciate that). Probably Blue Bell Chocolate, but their homemade Vanilla is really, REALLY good, too. Especially with Magic Shell on top. And maraschino cherry juice. LOTS of maraschino cherry juice.
Hoping for a better tomorrow, I remain,
Your Friend,
Pitiful
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