Story #1: A couple weeks ago, a student of mine came to school after a long weekend and had done NONE of her homework. I was more than a little irritated and wanted to know the reason why. She told me it was a "long story." I told her a still wanted to hear it. She told me it was a "really long story." I told her I was listening. And so she related how her family had confronted her mother about her excessive drinking the Friday night before, and my student found out that her mom was going to be charged with stealing narcotics from the nursing home she worked at and could possibly face jail time. I was absolutely floored, having known - and liked - this family for years. Since then, my student has related that she may be going to live with an aunt and uncle in another town until her mother can get herself straightened out, how her mother would drive her around town while under the influence, and how my student was sometimes put into the role of watchdog with her mother to keep unsavory friends from having contact. This student is only 12 years old.
Story #2: A ten-year-old student has had a horrible past two weeks. Although he's a bright kid, he's often off-task, disorganized, and even defiant in the classroom. The past two weeks have been particularly bad, culminating with an in-school suspension for doing some play "stabbing" with a pencil with another student. Turns out this student, who lives with his mom and her boyfriend, overheard his mom, who is in the National Guard, talking about how she might be deployed to Iraq. My student doesn't know who he will live with if this happens - his dad lives in Virginia. As he told his teacher, he just doesn't care about school anymore.
Life just should NOT be this hard for kids who haven't even reached their teenage years.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
My life as a single mom
So, Jeff went on a camping trip up North for a few days. No problem, huh? Maybe... or maybe not. Here's what my life has been like the last couple of nights:
Monday afternoon: Pick up Caleb at high school after cc practice, pick up Maren and Chase at Kid's Club and get home at 5:15. Hustle Chase into his soccer clothes and turn around and leave for soccer practice, which starts at 5:30. Get home from soccer practice at 6:40, start dinner and eat. Try to help Maren with her homework but she gets mad and I tell her she's going to bed. Put Maren and Chase to bed, hound Caleb to get to bed. No, he can't watch the rest of the Vikings-Saints game. Try to watch a taped show. Fall asleep immediately on the couch. Eventually wake up and stumble upstairs to bed.
Tuesday morning: Maren cries about a missing folder. Maren cries about the possiblity of her teacher yelling at her. Maren cries because she wants cold lunch and I "wasn't listening to her." Maren cries because I'm yelling at her. It's pouring rain out so I drive the kids to school. Maren and Chase barely get there before the bell rings. Drop off Caleb and drive to work in the pouring rain. Slog through my work day in the pouring rain. It doesn't stop, not once, all day.
Tuesday evening: Pick up the kids at their respective schools. Get home at 5:30. Send an email to the sub basketball coach that Caleb is not going to practice because he has too much homework. Check work email that I didn't get a chance to read during the day and respond. Check home email and find a message from Chase's teacher that he was being naughty during gym. Talk to Chase about his behavior. Cook dinner and eat. Tell Maren and Chase multiple times to stop wrestling. Tell Chase he's going to bed because he's not listening. Set Maren up on the computer practicing her spelling words. Try to give Caleb some help with homework before reading story to Chase. Put Chase in bed. Sit down briefly with Caleb. See Chase, who needs to poop again, come down to sit on the potty. Listen to Chase cry because it hurts when he poops (caveat here: he's actually been pretty good about pooping the last month or so, but the stomach flu last weekend threw off his whole digestive system). Sit with Chase in the bathroom and try to console him, then finally send him back to bed with minimal success in the bathroom. Read stories to Maren. Sit with Caleb for an hour plus helping him study for his algebra test.
It's now 11:00 p.m. Time for bed, so I can start all over in the morning.
Monday afternoon: Pick up Caleb at high school after cc practice, pick up Maren and Chase at Kid's Club and get home at 5:15. Hustle Chase into his soccer clothes and turn around and leave for soccer practice, which starts at 5:30. Get home from soccer practice at 6:40, start dinner and eat. Try to help Maren with her homework but she gets mad and I tell her she's going to bed. Put Maren and Chase to bed, hound Caleb to get to bed. No, he can't watch the rest of the Vikings-Saints game. Try to watch a taped show. Fall asleep immediately on the couch. Eventually wake up and stumble upstairs to bed.
Tuesday morning: Maren cries about a missing folder. Maren cries about the possiblity of her teacher yelling at her. Maren cries because she wants cold lunch and I "wasn't listening to her." Maren cries because I'm yelling at her. It's pouring rain out so I drive the kids to school. Maren and Chase barely get there before the bell rings. Drop off Caleb and drive to work in the pouring rain. Slog through my work day in the pouring rain. It doesn't stop, not once, all day.
Tuesday evening: Pick up the kids at their respective schools. Get home at 5:30. Send an email to the sub basketball coach that Caleb is not going to practice because he has too much homework. Check work email that I didn't get a chance to read during the day and respond. Check home email and find a message from Chase's teacher that he was being naughty during gym. Talk to Chase about his behavior. Cook dinner and eat. Tell Maren and Chase multiple times to stop wrestling. Tell Chase he's going to bed because he's not listening. Set Maren up on the computer practicing her spelling words. Try to give Caleb some help with homework before reading story to Chase. Put Chase in bed. Sit down briefly with Caleb. See Chase, who needs to poop again, come down to sit on the potty. Listen to Chase cry because it hurts when he poops (caveat here: he's actually been pretty good about pooping the last month or so, but the stomach flu last weekend threw off his whole digestive system). Sit with Chase in the bathroom and try to console him, then finally send him back to bed with minimal success in the bathroom. Read stories to Maren. Sit with Caleb for an hour plus helping him study for his algebra test.
It's now 11:00 p.m. Time for bed, so I can start all over in the morning.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
School supplies
This afternoon I decided I could no longer delay the inevitable and headed over to Target to purchase school supplies. I armed myself with the lists of "suggested" items our schools have so kindly published, and a pen for crossing out the items after I put them in the cart. Incidentally, I think "suggested" is a synonym for mandated.
Two hours and about $110 later, I headed home with 7 plastic bags full of glue bottles, glue sticks, folders, notebooks, pencils, pens, binders, rulers, pencil boxes, pencil bags, looseleaf paper, scissors, watercolors, washable markers, dry erase markers, colored pencils, crayons, pencil sharpeners, erasers, kleenex boxes, wipes (six canisters just for kindergarten!), and a non-perishable snack for 20 kids. And this is just the stuff from the lists. I still have to go to Office Max for the clear plastic protractor and the yellow three-ring binder, as color-coded notebooks, folders and binders are required at almost every grade level for the different subjects. At the checkout in Target I actually felt sorry for the cashier. The people standing behind me, an older couple, couldn't stop commenting on how many items I had. "How many children do you have?" "How many glue bottles could you possibly need?" (Answer: kindergarten requires four, plus two glue sticks, and second grade needs one bottle and two sticks).
NOW I expect I'll spend another two hours sorting through all the bags and figuring out who gets what, then labeling in permanent marker. Caleb will label his own supplies, and most of Chase's don't need to be labeled because the kindergarten classrooms operate under the communal property law. So that just leaves Maren's various paraphernalia needing a name afixed. Come meet the teacher night, we'll haul all the supplies to the respective classrooms (or, in Caleb's case, his locker). I guess this is all much more efficient for the teachers than in the olden days, when we just bought what we thought was needed and tucked it away in our school bags to bring on the first day of school. Kids nowadays have to hit the ground running... armed with all their "suggested"color-coded supplies.
Two hours and about $110 later, I headed home with 7 plastic bags full of glue bottles, glue sticks, folders, notebooks, pencils, pens, binders, rulers, pencil boxes, pencil bags, looseleaf paper, scissors, watercolors, washable markers, dry erase markers, colored pencils, crayons, pencil sharpeners, erasers, kleenex boxes, wipes (six canisters just for kindergarten!), and a non-perishable snack for 20 kids. And this is just the stuff from the lists. I still have to go to Office Max for the clear plastic protractor and the yellow three-ring binder, as color-coded notebooks, folders and binders are required at almost every grade level for the different subjects. At the checkout in Target I actually felt sorry for the cashier. The people standing behind me, an older couple, couldn't stop commenting on how many items I had. "How many children do you have?" "How many glue bottles could you possibly need?" (Answer: kindergarten requires four, plus two glue sticks, and second grade needs one bottle and two sticks).
NOW I expect I'll spend another two hours sorting through all the bags and figuring out who gets what, then labeling in permanent marker. Caleb will label his own supplies, and most of Chase's don't need to be labeled because the kindergarten classrooms operate under the communal property law. So that just leaves Maren's various paraphernalia needing a name afixed. Come meet the teacher night, we'll haul all the supplies to the respective classrooms (or, in Caleb's case, his locker). I guess this is all much more efficient for the teachers than in the olden days, when we just bought what we thought was needed and tucked it away in our school bags to bring on the first day of school. Kids nowadays have to hit the ground running... armed with all their "suggested"color-coded supplies.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Busy, busy, busy...
... playing Hot Dog Bush at www.addictinggames.com/hotdogbush.html Who has time to blog when there are so many hungry customers?
Friday, June 27, 2008
A much better movie...
Maren and Chase and I went to see "Wall-E" today - I think the first time I've ever seen a movie the day that it's opened. I'm not one to go to the movie theater in general (think "no captioning"), but the critics were raving about "Wall-E." And they are absolutely right. "Wall-E" is a FANTASTIC movie. Admittedly, its message was way over Chase's head, and Maren needed quite a bit of explanation to understand the story line, but... wow. Pixar really did itself proud.
The movie takes place in the future. Wall-E and his cockroach friend are the only inhabitants of a trash filled earth, where Wall-E patiently compacts the endless detritus and occasionally picks out an item to take home at the end of the day. When a droid is dropped off by a spaceship one day, he falls in love with her and offers her numerous items from his treasures. One of these treasures is a single, small plant he found, the only one apparently growing on the face of the earth. The droid immediately takes the plant back to the space station where humans are currently living, Wall-E tagging along. The rest of the story is about how Wall-E and his droid-friend bring about a revolution among the overwight, passive humans who can't function outside of their computerized, technology-filled environment.
Although "Wall-E" is essentially a love story, it's also much more than that. There are multiple themes: We are slowly destroying our planet by overloading it with waste. We are becoming fat, lazy beings who will eventually be unable to pull ourselves out of a reclining position due to our apathy and over-indulgence. We are becoming too dependent on technology to do our work for us. But the movie isn't preachy. It just tells a story and lets the audience draw its own conclusions.
When I leave a movie teary-eyed about a robot, well... maybe I'm sentimental. Or maybe it was just that a good of a movie.
The movie takes place in the future. Wall-E and his cockroach friend are the only inhabitants of a trash filled earth, where Wall-E patiently compacts the endless detritus and occasionally picks out an item to take home at the end of the day. When a droid is dropped off by a spaceship one day, he falls in love with her and offers her numerous items from his treasures. One of these treasures is a single, small plant he found, the only one apparently growing on the face of the earth. The droid immediately takes the plant back to the space station where humans are currently living, Wall-E tagging along. The rest of the story is about how Wall-E and his droid-friend bring about a revolution among the overwight, passive humans who can't function outside of their computerized, technology-filled environment.
Although "Wall-E" is essentially a love story, it's also much more than that. There are multiple themes: We are slowly destroying our planet by overloading it with waste. We are becoming fat, lazy beings who will eventually be unable to pull ourselves out of a reclining position due to our apathy and over-indulgence. We are becoming too dependent on technology to do our work for us. But the movie isn't preachy. It just tells a story and lets the audience draw its own conclusions.
When I leave a movie teary-eyed about a robot, well... maybe I'm sentimental. Or maybe it was just that a good of a movie.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Doug Grow called my house!
Yes, it's true. The esteemed columnist, most recently of the StarTribune, spontaneously called our house yesterday. Caleb took the call. Doug Grow wanted to talk to Jeff! As Jeff wasn't home at the time, Caleb took the name and number with no idea who he was talking to. A few minutes later, I happened to see the note. Doug Grow! Was this the newspaper columnist? What did he want to talk to Jeff about? Are we famous? How did he get our unlisted phone number? Is this another Doug Grow? A quick search of Dexonline showed that there is only one Doug Grow in Minneapolis, with the same number Caleb took down. It must be THE Doug Grow! Even though Doug Grow took the buyout at the Strib last year and no longer writes a column for the paper, he still has the name, prestige and voice that make him well-recognized in the Twin Cities. When Jeff finally came home, I insisted he call Doug Grow back right away, explaining that this was a famous person he was calling.
The conversation was brief.
Doug Grow wanted to talk to the OTHER Jeff Blodgett, campaign manager to the late Paul Wellstone.
PS: This isn't the first time Jeff has been mistakenly identified as the OTHER Jeff Blodgett. A year or so ago we received a Christmas card from a DFL candidate thanking Jeff for his support, inviting him to lunch sometime, and providing him with a receipt for his $10,000 campaign contribution.
The conversation was brief.
Doug Grow wanted to talk to the OTHER Jeff Blodgett, campaign manager to the late Paul Wellstone.
PS: This isn't the first time Jeff has been mistakenly identified as the OTHER Jeff Blodgett. A year or so ago we received a Christmas card from a DFL candidate thanking Jeff for his support, inviting him to lunch sometime, and providing him with a receipt for his $10,000 campaign contribution.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The.. Worst... Movie... Ever
Or, at least the worst movie I've ever seen.
"Facing the Giants" bills itself as an "inspirational tale of courage on the gridiron and the power of God's word." Being that this is a movie with a Christian message, I almost hesitate to be critical. But at the risk of being labeled a anti-religion reprobate, I have to spread the word that FTG was just plain crap, for the following reasons:
1. The acting is atrociously bad. It is so bad, in fact, that I actually thought maybe there was some hidden meaning in the lack of expression that I wasn't quite understanding. But nope, no obscure subtexts. Just lack of talent.
2. The plot is predictable and unrealistic. The movie is about a football coach at a Christian high school who has had six losing seasons to date. Everything is going wrong in his life - his star player transfers to a different school, his house is falling apart, his car doesn't work, and he just found out he can't give his wife the children she wants because his little swimmers aren't up to the job. When he learns that some of the parents of his players want a new coach (and he's surprised after six losing seasons?) he's ready to give up. But a night of soul-searching, prayer, and reading the Bible gives him a new purpose, and from that point on, nothing can go wrong. His team, the Eagles, starts to win their games! He's mysteriously given a new truck! His wife gets pregnant! His players all find salvation in a spontaneous all-school revival on the football field! They win the championship against all odds!
3. The cliches and stereotypes are nauseating. Example #1: the father of the new kid is confined to a wheelchair, but inspires his confidence-lacking son to not only join the team, but to kick the impossible game-winning field goal in the championship game. Dad painfully pulls himself from his wheelchair to a standing position so his son can see him in the end zone. Of course, the confidence-lacking, smaller-than-average son who manages the impossible 51-yard field goal is named David. Example #2: the big, bad, undefeated Giants not only wear black uniforms, but have athletic black players who are ultimately defeated by the all-white Eagles.
4. The movie's message is that living a life that glorifies God has brought about all these good things. But what if the opposing teams also live lives that glorify God? How does God decide who wins? Is life a contest of faith, with the winners being the ones who demonstrate the most? If you're a "loser" in life (you can't get pregnant, you drive a crappy car that you can't afford to fix or replace, you lose your job, you don't win the championship game), does that mean your faith is lacking?
One will hardly be surprised to learn, as I did, that the movie was conceived, directed and produced by a couple of Southern Baptist pastors (0r, as I accidentally referred to them in a little slip of tongue during our dinnertime conversation, Southern Bastards). According to one of these pastors, "God is a better director than Steven Spielberg, a better producer than Jerry Bruckheimer, a better writer than George Lucas." Hmmm. Too bad they didn't let God take charge of this movie.
"Facing the Giants" bills itself as an "inspirational tale of courage on the gridiron and the power of God's word." Being that this is a movie with a Christian message, I almost hesitate to be critical. But at the risk of being labeled a anti-religion reprobate, I have to spread the word that FTG was just plain crap, for the following reasons:
1. The acting is atrociously bad. It is so bad, in fact, that I actually thought maybe there was some hidden meaning in the lack of expression that I wasn't quite understanding. But nope, no obscure subtexts. Just lack of talent.
2. The plot is predictable and unrealistic. The movie is about a football coach at a Christian high school who has had six losing seasons to date. Everything is going wrong in his life - his star player transfers to a different school, his house is falling apart, his car doesn't work, and he just found out he can't give his wife the children she wants because his little swimmers aren't up to the job. When he learns that some of the parents of his players want a new coach (and he's surprised after six losing seasons?) he's ready to give up. But a night of soul-searching, prayer, and reading the Bible gives him a new purpose, and from that point on, nothing can go wrong. His team, the Eagles, starts to win their games! He's mysteriously given a new truck! His wife gets pregnant! His players all find salvation in a spontaneous all-school revival on the football field! They win the championship against all odds!
3. The cliches and stereotypes are nauseating. Example #1: the father of the new kid is confined to a wheelchair, but inspires his confidence-lacking son to not only join the team, but to kick the impossible game-winning field goal in the championship game. Dad painfully pulls himself from his wheelchair to a standing position so his son can see him in the end zone. Of course, the confidence-lacking, smaller-than-average son who manages the impossible 51-yard field goal is named David. Example #2: the big, bad, undefeated Giants not only wear black uniforms, but have athletic black players who are ultimately defeated by the all-white Eagles.
4. The movie's message is that living a life that glorifies God has brought about all these good things. But what if the opposing teams also live lives that glorify God? How does God decide who wins? Is life a contest of faith, with the winners being the ones who demonstrate the most? If you're a "loser" in life (you can't get pregnant, you drive a crappy car that you can't afford to fix or replace, you lose your job, you don't win the championship game), does that mean your faith is lacking?
One will hardly be surprised to learn, as I did, that the movie was conceived, directed and produced by a couple of Southern Baptist pastors (0r, as I accidentally referred to them in a little slip of tongue during our dinnertime conversation, Southern Bastards). According to one of these pastors, "God is a better director than Steven Spielberg, a better producer than Jerry Bruckheimer, a better writer than George Lucas." Hmmm. Too bad they didn't let God take charge of this movie.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Ahhhh...
There's nothing like waking up at 5 a.m. in a mild panic that you forgot to set your alarm, and then you realize it's the first day of vacation and you don't need the alarm... for 12 more weeks.
Friday, June 6, 2008
A Tale of Two Mommies
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the age of good parenting, it was the age of... bad parenting. Consider the following true stories:
The good mommy's story: When her son fell off the couch, she took him to the doctor THE VERY NEXT DAY when he seemed to be favoring one arm. Fortunately, after a thorough examination, the doctor said her son was just fine.
The bad mommy's story: When my son fell off the neighbor's couch, he told me what happened and then said his arm hurt. "Oh, you're fine," I said. The next day he said his arm still hurt, so I wrapped it in an Ace bandage and said, "You'll be fine." TWO DAYS later when he said his arm STILL hurt, I reluctantly volunteered my husband to take my son to the doctor, where said son was diagnosed with a wrist fracture and told he needed a cast. Hopefully he'll be fine.
The good mommy's story: When her son fell off the couch, she took him to the doctor THE VERY NEXT DAY when he seemed to be favoring one arm. Fortunately, after a thorough examination, the doctor said her son was just fine.
The bad mommy's story: When my son fell off the neighbor's couch, he told me what happened and then said his arm hurt. "Oh, you're fine," I said. The next day he said his arm still hurt, so I wrapped it in an Ace bandage and said, "You'll be fine." TWO DAYS later when he said his arm STILL hurt, I reluctantly volunteered my husband to take my son to the doctor, where said son was diagnosed with a wrist fracture and told he needed a cast. Hopefully he'll be fine.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Happy 5th Birthday, Chase!
My baby is 5 years old today!
On his birthday wish list: crocs and a "magic wand," which is basically a balloon on a stick. The crocs have been a sticking point with me because we just got him a new pair of sandals for the summer, which he wore maybe three times and then refused to wear anymore. On the other hand, crocs cost about 8 bucks a pair at Target. If all it takes to make him happy on his birthday is cheap foam clogs and a $1.29 balloon on a stick, I'll count my blessings.
For his birthday celebration: we're going to Champps. Although we don't typically make a habit of going out to eat on the kids' birthday, we're so busy this week that we decided this would be easiest. Caleb has track practice tonight, the younger kids are supposed to have their last night of swimming lessons, I had a speaking engagement last night and plans for tomorrow night, Jeff is leaving for a camping trip up in Lake of the Woods tomorrow morning, and Maren has a special program at school tomorrow morning. Mom will be joining us today and staying through Friday morning to help out with the kids while Jeff is gone. I also had an early morning meeting scheduled for today, which I agreed to because when it was being set up I FORGOT it was Chase's birthday on the 28th. This is what happens with your last child. (I also missed the deadline to get him registered for all-day kindergarten, but the school found a spot for him when I mentioned I'd just enroll him in White Bear).
Regardless of all the busy-ness: Happy Birthday, Chase! My baby is growing up!
On his birthday wish list: crocs and a "magic wand," which is basically a balloon on a stick. The crocs have been a sticking point with me because we just got him a new pair of sandals for the summer, which he wore maybe three times and then refused to wear anymore. On the other hand, crocs cost about 8 bucks a pair at Target. If all it takes to make him happy on his birthday is cheap foam clogs and a $1.29 balloon on a stick, I'll count my blessings.
For his birthday celebration: we're going to Champps. Although we don't typically make a habit of going out to eat on the kids' birthday, we're so busy this week that we decided this would be easiest. Caleb has track practice tonight, the younger kids are supposed to have their last night of swimming lessons, I had a speaking engagement last night and plans for tomorrow night, Jeff is leaving for a camping trip up in Lake of the Woods tomorrow morning, and Maren has a special program at school tomorrow morning. Mom will be joining us today and staying through Friday morning to help out with the kids while Jeff is gone. I also had an early morning meeting scheduled for today, which I agreed to because when it was being set up I FORGOT it was Chase's birthday on the 28th. This is what happens with your last child. (I also missed the deadline to get him registered for all-day kindergarten, but the school found a spot for him when I mentioned I'd just enroll him in White Bear).
Regardless of all the busy-ness: Happy Birthday, Chase! My baby is growing up!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
On second thought, let us NOT eat cake
So I'm watching the movie "Hairspray" with the kids. Tracy Turnblad jiggles through the opening number, every rounded body part bouncing around.
"Oh, look!" I exclaim. "Her name is Tracy. Just like me!"
"And," says Maren earnestly, "she kind of looks like you."
"Oh, look!" I exclaim. "Her name is Tracy. Just like me!"
"And," says Maren earnestly, "she kind of looks like you."
Friday, May 23, 2008
Let us eat cake!
Why I love spring:
graduation = cake
retirement parties = cake
end-of-the-school-year parties = cake
Chase's birthday = cake
Pass the frosting! Tra-la! It's May!
graduation = cake
retirement parties = cake
end-of-the-school-year parties = cake
Chase's birthday = cake
Pass the frosting! Tra-la! It's May!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Happym Other's Day!
By Friday, Mother's Day was practically over in our house, thanks to the insistence of the two youngest family members who wanted to get right to the present opening. Chase gave me a hand-painted flower pot and a card that proclaimed, "Happym Other's Day!" That's exactly the kind of keepsake I like to squirrel away in the burgeoning baby boxes I store under my bed. In Chase's case, however, his baby box is less than burgeoning. Not only does Chase lack the enthusiasm for artsy craftsy projects that his two older siblings had at his age, but he insists on keeping everything he does make. And not only does he keep these projects, but he plays with them and transforms them until they fall apart and he throws them away. Any item I want to preserve I have to sneak away when he's put it aside temporarily. Unfortunately, in this particular instance, I wasn't sneaky enough. Before I could hide my Other's Day card, Chase decided he wanted to enhance his artwork. And while he was working, his meticulous older sister looking over his shoulder offered to correct his improperly spaced letters.
Maren gave me her gift today, a handmade frame with a picture of her that her teacher took on the playground. Miss Matulka captured a much better smile on Maren than the school photographer did earlier in the year. Also courtesy of Miss Matulka, an additional Mother's Day present arrived via email letting us know that recent benchmarking showed Maren has improved more than two grade levels in reading in the past year. I guess I can stop feeling guilty, for now, that we've let the nightly reading practice slip more nights than not the last few weeks.
Although I didn't get what I wanted for Mother's Day - a clean house - I can't really complain. I suppose I'll get that in the future, when the kids finally move out, just like Mom is now getting the peace and quiet she longed for all those years. You're welcome, Mom! And if you need a reminder of how grateful you are, just come visit us for a few days and you'll remember why you're so happy to go back home. Happym Other's Day!
Maren gave me her gift today, a handmade frame with a picture of her that her teacher took on the playground. Miss Matulka captured a much better smile on Maren than the school photographer did earlier in the year. Also courtesy of Miss Matulka, an additional Mother's Day present arrived via email letting us know that recent benchmarking showed Maren has improved more than two grade levels in reading in the past year. I guess I can stop feeling guilty, for now, that we've let the nightly reading practice slip more nights than not the last few weeks.
Although I didn't get what I wanted for Mother's Day - a clean house - I can't really complain. I suppose I'll get that in the future, when the kids finally move out, just like Mom is now getting the peace and quiet she longed for all those years. You're welcome, Mom! And if you need a reminder of how grateful you are, just come visit us for a few days and you'll remember why you're so happy to go back home. Happym Other's Day!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Tra la! It's May!
Close your eyes. Envision the lovely Julie Andrews, and imagine her even-lovelier voice... taking you away from this wicked Minnesota weather and non-existent spring:
Tra la! It's May! The lusty month of May!
That lovely month when everyone goes blissfully astray.
Tra la! It's here! That shocking time of year
When tons of wicked little thoughts merrily appear!
It's May! It's May! That gorgeous holiday
When every maiden wishes her lad would be a cad.
It's mad! It's gay! A libelous display
Those dreary vows that everyone takes, everyone breaks,
Everyone makes divine mistakes, the lusty month of May!
Whence this fragrance wafting through the air?
What sweet feelings does its scent transmute?
Whence this perfume floating everywhere?
Don't you know it's that dear forbidden fruit?
Tra la la la la! That dear forbidden fruit!
Tra la! It's May! The lusty month of May!
That darling month when everyone throws self-control away
It's time to do a wretched thing or two
And try to make each precious day one you'll always rue!
It's May! It's May! The month of "yes you may,"
The time for every frivolous whim, proper or im-
It's wild! It's gay! A blot in every way
The birds and bees with all of their vast
Amorous past gaze at the human race aghast!
The lusty month of May!
Tra la! It's May! The lusty month of May!
That lovely month when everyone goes blissfully astray.
Tra la! It's here! That shocking time of year
When tons of wicked little thoughts merrily appear!
It's May! It's May! That gorgeous holiday
When every maiden wishes her lad would be a cad.
It's mad! It's gay! A libelous display
Those dreary vows that everyone takes, everyone breaks,
Everyone makes divine mistakes, the lusty month of May!
Whence this fragrance wafting through the air?
What sweet feelings does its scent transmute?
Whence this perfume floating everywhere?
Don't you know it's that dear forbidden fruit?
Tra la la la la! That dear forbidden fruit!
Tra la! It's May! The lusty month of May!
That darling month when everyone throws self-control away
It's time to do a wretched thing or two
And try to make each precious day one you'll always rue!
It's May! It's May! The month of "yes you may,"
The time for every frivolous whim, proper or im-
It's wild! It's gay! A blot in every way
The birds and bees with all of their vast
Amorous past gaze at the human race aghast!
The lusty month of May!
Monday, April 28, 2008
A warning to unrepentant sinners everywhere
God gave me a preview of hell tonight. This preview was entitled: Going to the Grocery Store on a Monday after Work with Two Whiny Children. If that image doesn't instill a sense of abject horror so great that you drop to your knees to beg penitently for forgiveness, you are beyond salvation.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Jennifer Jo is the big 4-0!
Happy birthday, Jen! And remember:
Women are most fascinating between the ages of 35 and 40 after they have won a few races and know how to pace themselves. Since few women ever pass 40, maximum fascination can continue indefinitely.
Forty isn't old, if you're a tree.
Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.
Women are most fascinating between the ages of 35 and 40 after they have won a few races and know how to pace themselves. Since few women ever pass 40, maximum fascination can continue indefinitely.
Forty isn't old, if you're a tree.
Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Uncomfortable
The TurboFlush broke last night. Caleb flushed the toilet and, for the first time ever, it overflowed. In Caleb's defense, it wasn't his fault. When Jeff took the lid off, he found that a part at the top of the tank was broken. This was my first glimpse of what the inside of our Old Faithful looks like, and it doesn't look like the inside of any toilet I've seen before. Rather than the tank being filled with water, there is another tank inside the outer one. This inner tank is oblong, black, and supposedly made of china. Really! On this black tank, something that looks like a gasket at the top of the tank has broken. Whether or not this will be an easy or inexpensive fix remains to be seen. Jeff plans to stop at Home Depot on the way home from the basketball tournament today to see if they have the necessary replacement parts and/or any advice for him.
In the meantime, life is... uncomfortable. Jeff announced last night that he would be driving over to the YMCA to take care of any "big jobs." (Who used that euphemism in our childhood? For some reason I'm thinking it was Marcia Carlson...) I've made a mental note to not plan any fiber-rich meals for the next few days. Old Faithful's being out of commission has really made me realize how much we've taken for granted with that toilet. It will flush ANYTHING. In fact, the website has a couple videos that demonstrate how these toilets will flush paper and even ANSI test balls. Although we haven't tried that, we know that it was able to handle 'Nika's underpants without even a complaining belch (ask The Old Man or The Other, Younger, Half about the circumstances regarding that incident). I've never tried flushing even paper towels, but it would probably take on the task effortlessly.
Personally, I think that until Old Faithful is repaired, I will make daily visits to Barnes and Noble. Nothing like a bookstore to get things moving in the right direction on your own schedule. The library would probably be sufficient, too.
In the meantime, life is... uncomfortable. Jeff announced last night that he would be driving over to the YMCA to take care of any "big jobs." (Who used that euphemism in our childhood? For some reason I'm thinking it was Marcia Carlson...) I've made a mental note to not plan any fiber-rich meals for the next few days. Old Faithful's being out of commission has really made me realize how much we've taken for granted with that toilet. It will flush ANYTHING. In fact, the website has a couple videos that demonstrate how these toilets will flush paper and even ANSI test balls. Although we haven't tried that, we know that it was able to handle 'Nika's underpants without even a complaining belch (ask The Old Man or The Other, Younger, Half about the circumstances regarding that incident). I've never tried flushing even paper towels, but it would probably take on the task effortlessly.
Personally, I think that until Old Faithful is repaired, I will make daily visits to Barnes and Noble. Nothing like a bookstore to get things moving in the right direction on your own schedule. The library would probably be sufficient, too.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
And it's only Tuesday
Monday morning: We have a blessedly normal start. I got out of the house with the kids at a reasonable time, dropped them off at their respective schools, and made it to work without incident. This week is the start of dreaded "testing season," with MCAs scheduled this week and next, followed by several weeks of MAP testing. If you want to know how much instructional time is lost in the schools due to the massive amounts of state and federal-mandated testing, here's your answer: too much. Add to that time the number of mandated fire drills, tornado drills, and lock-down drills that schools are required to schedule, and it's a wonder we ever get any teaching done.
Monday afternoon: I pick up Chase at preschool, get home and start dinner immediately. Jeff, Caleb and Maren are still at the vet with Hunter, who needed his annual checkup and vaccinations. I have a meeting at 6:30 at the junior high regarding the Humanities class Caleb is registered for next year. It is strongly encouraged that parents attend to learn about this course, which is basically a more challenging two-block class that combines language arts and history, rather than two separate classes for the same subjects. Hmmm. I don't really have the time to go- I'm already scheduled to be at St. Thomas for a speaking engagement on Wednesday night, then I'm going out of town Thursday through Saturday for the statewide conference for teachers of deaf and hard of hearing students. But, being a responsible parent, I'll make my appearance. As soon as the others are home we gobble down dinner and I head out the door while everyone else is starting dessert.
Monday evening: The meeting for the Humanities class should have been subtitled: "The 15% Club." When I arrive at the junior high media center, I identify myself and am handed a sheet of paper with Caleb's name on it. Also on this sheet are two sets of scores: Caleb's performance on four different types of assessments, and the scores that the meeting's presenter, the gifted and talented coordinator, says are the scores they feel are desirable for the students that belong in this class. Basically, they want students who are in the top 15% on standardized tests. Each of the scores Caleb has is just slightly below their standard and are thus highlighted in yellow to announce that he doesn't belong in the 15% Club... I mean, the Humanities course. I turn the sheet over, feeling slightly humiliated, and listen stonily as the GT coordinator and the counselor explain that students who score less than the desirable standard are not a good match for the class. After all, the counselor explains, junior high has so many new challenges for these kids. They have so many responsibilities, like learning their locker combinations ("It takes some kids three weeks!") and remembering to bring their gym clothes home at the end of the week to be washed. Can you spell C-O-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-D-I-N-G? For me, the only saving grace was that there were other parents who felt as I did, based on the comments they made during the meeting, and who were wondering if hard work and responsibility in our students count for anything.
Later Monday evening: I arrive home an hour later than I expected. Already fuming about the "not smart enough" message I was given at the junior high, I walk in the house to find my two younger children watching a Power Rangers movie instead of having their vocabulary enriched with a bedtime story. No wonder my children aren't in the 15% Club! Before I can say anything, Jeff says that "before he forgets," someone called and Maren is invited to someone's birthday party on Friday and they were going to pick her up and he would get her at the end of the party. And whose party is this, I inquire. Jeff doesn't know, as he couldn't quite hear the name. So, okay. Good luck with that, as I won't be here anyway.
Two minutes later: I call Jeff and Caleb into the kitchen so I can tell them what was discussed at the meeting. Because the district is required to open the Humanities course to ALL students, Caleb can remain in the class unless we elect to withdraw him. But before I can utter a word, Caleb exclaims, "Look at Hunter!" And so we all look at Hunter, who is prancing around with a ball in his mouth and with a muzzle swollen like an overripe watermelon. Our discussion is terminated before it starts as Jeff looks up the vet's number. At 8:45 at night, the only place open is the urgent care vet in Oakdale. Hunter is likely having an allergic reaction to his vaccine and needs to be examined. Jeff, Caleb and Hunter leave for the vet, and I'm left at to get the younger kids to bed. No Power Rangers on my watch, so we turn off the movie and I read a couple stories. If it wasn't for me, our kids would drop straight into the "Special" Club.
One hour later: Jeff and Caleb return home from the vet with Hunter. His emergency visit, which included a prednisone shot, coupled with his earlier checkup up (plus the necessary meds to keep him healthy), bring his grand total in expenses for the day to $500. Jeff declined a follow-up shot in the morning, electing instead to give him benadryl by mouth. He said the vet mentioned the medicine may make him (Hunter, not Jeff) need to pee more. Great.
Tuesday morning: We need to get out of the house early, as Caleb wants to get some hard candy to fuel him during his MCA math test. He also needs to be at school early, as the sixth graders are going to sing a version of the YMCA song to the kids coming into the school, except it will be, "It's fun to take the M-C-A tests!" Of course, this is the morning that Maren decides she HAS to wear her striped shirt and the ONLY thing that goes with her striped shirt is her jeans, and her jeans are in the dirty laundry. After much ado and a temporary "I'm not hungry" standoff at breakfast, she finally gets back on track and we make it out the door. Walgreens is out of nearly every hard candy known to mankind, so Caleb has to settle for a distant second choice. We barely make it to school before the first bell rings. As Maren gets out of the car, I tell her to ask around about who is having a birthday party.
Later Tuesday morning: All my students are busy testing, so I take some time at work to compose an email to Caleb's teacher about the Humanities class. Does she think his skills are up to snuff for it? He gets straight A's and doesn't have to work very hard for them, but the message at the meeting was that the standardized test scores are the end-all. Doesn't his effort and sense of responsiblity count for anything? What has she observed in school?
Tuesday noon: I receive a very nice and reassuring email from Caleb's teacher, much sooner than I expected. She's disappointed at the message conveyed by the staff presenting at the junior high, and she reassured me that the class is a very good fit for Caleb. Her recommendation is to keep him in the class, as it is easier to stay in and drop out later than it is to drop out now and try to register later. Her confidence in him buoys me, especially because she used to be a teacher for the gifted and talented program.
Tuesday afternoon: After picking Chase up at preschool, we rush home so I can start dinner and get it in the oven to bake while I run over to Target to get a birthday present for the mystery birthday girl. Actually, it isn't a mystery any more, as Maren found out it is a girl in our neighborhood who is also in her class at school. And (thank you, God!) she likes Barbies, an item that has its own aisle at Target. No searching required. My philosophy about birthday presents is to pick something off the shelf and attach the gift receipt, as it will probably go straight to the return desk anyway. In a few more years I'll be able to bypass shopping step completely and just stick a gift card in an envelope. But for a 7th birthday... no gift cards yet.
Tuesday supper: I get home exactly 23 minutes before Jeff and Caleb are due to leave for basketball practice. Jeff mentions during dinner that Hunter peed a puddle the size of Lake Superior in his kennel during the day, thanks to the medicine he took for his allergic reaction. Jeff had started cleaning the mess up, but the mattress cover still needed to be washed. After Jeff and Caleb leave I make a half-hearted attempt to clean the house, knowing Mom will be here overnight Thursday to take care of the kids Friday morning while I'm gone - Jeff has to catch the bus at 6:00 a.m. The house is its usual pigsty. But... eh. Who cares. She's seen it worse.
Tuesday bedtime: Maren, Chase and I read two books from my Great Kids' Books No One Knows About: "Baby Brains, Superstar" by Simon James and "Bad Day at River Bend" by Chris Van Allsburg. If I had the energy and motivation, I would have also read "Tops and Bottoms" by Janet Stevens. But I was tired, so my children's vocabulary development and march toward the 15% Club will have to wait for another day.
Monday afternoon: I pick up Chase at preschool, get home and start dinner immediately. Jeff, Caleb and Maren are still at the vet with Hunter, who needed his annual checkup and vaccinations. I have a meeting at 6:30 at the junior high regarding the Humanities class Caleb is registered for next year. It is strongly encouraged that parents attend to learn about this course, which is basically a more challenging two-block class that combines language arts and history, rather than two separate classes for the same subjects. Hmmm. I don't really have the time to go- I'm already scheduled to be at St. Thomas for a speaking engagement on Wednesday night, then I'm going out of town Thursday through Saturday for the statewide conference for teachers of deaf and hard of hearing students. But, being a responsible parent, I'll make my appearance. As soon as the others are home we gobble down dinner and I head out the door while everyone else is starting dessert.
Monday evening: The meeting for the Humanities class should have been subtitled: "The 15% Club." When I arrive at the junior high media center, I identify myself and am handed a sheet of paper with Caleb's name on it. Also on this sheet are two sets of scores: Caleb's performance on four different types of assessments, and the scores that the meeting's presenter, the gifted and talented coordinator, says are the scores they feel are desirable for the students that belong in this class. Basically, they want students who are in the top 15% on standardized tests. Each of the scores Caleb has is just slightly below their standard and are thus highlighted in yellow to announce that he doesn't belong in the 15% Club... I mean, the Humanities course. I turn the sheet over, feeling slightly humiliated, and listen stonily as the GT coordinator and the counselor explain that students who score less than the desirable standard are not a good match for the class. After all, the counselor explains, junior high has so many new challenges for these kids. They have so many responsibilities, like learning their locker combinations ("It takes some kids three weeks!") and remembering to bring their gym clothes home at the end of the week to be washed. Can you spell C-O-N-D-E-S-C-E-N-D-I-N-G? For me, the only saving grace was that there were other parents who felt as I did, based on the comments they made during the meeting, and who were wondering if hard work and responsibility in our students count for anything.
Later Monday evening: I arrive home an hour later than I expected. Already fuming about the "not smart enough" message I was given at the junior high, I walk in the house to find my two younger children watching a Power Rangers movie instead of having their vocabulary enriched with a bedtime story. No wonder my children aren't in the 15% Club! Before I can say anything, Jeff says that "before he forgets," someone called and Maren is invited to someone's birthday party on Friday and they were going to pick her up and he would get her at the end of the party. And whose party is this, I inquire. Jeff doesn't know, as he couldn't quite hear the name. So, okay. Good luck with that, as I won't be here anyway.
Two minutes later: I call Jeff and Caleb into the kitchen so I can tell them what was discussed at the meeting. Because the district is required to open the Humanities course to ALL students, Caleb can remain in the class unless we elect to withdraw him. But before I can utter a word, Caleb exclaims, "Look at Hunter!" And so we all look at Hunter, who is prancing around with a ball in his mouth and with a muzzle swollen like an overripe watermelon. Our discussion is terminated before it starts as Jeff looks up the vet's number. At 8:45 at night, the only place open is the urgent care vet in Oakdale. Hunter is likely having an allergic reaction to his vaccine and needs to be examined. Jeff, Caleb and Hunter leave for the vet, and I'm left at to get the younger kids to bed. No Power Rangers on my watch, so we turn off the movie and I read a couple stories. If it wasn't for me, our kids would drop straight into the "Special" Club.
One hour later: Jeff and Caleb return home from the vet with Hunter. His emergency visit, which included a prednisone shot, coupled with his earlier checkup up (plus the necessary meds to keep him healthy), bring his grand total in expenses for the day to $500. Jeff declined a follow-up shot in the morning, electing instead to give him benadryl by mouth. He said the vet mentioned the medicine may make him (Hunter, not Jeff) need to pee more. Great.
Tuesday morning: We need to get out of the house early, as Caleb wants to get some hard candy to fuel him during his MCA math test. He also needs to be at school early, as the sixth graders are going to sing a version of the YMCA song to the kids coming into the school, except it will be, "It's fun to take the M-C-A tests!" Of course, this is the morning that Maren decides she HAS to wear her striped shirt and the ONLY thing that goes with her striped shirt is her jeans, and her jeans are in the dirty laundry. After much ado and a temporary "I'm not hungry" standoff at breakfast, she finally gets back on track and we make it out the door. Walgreens is out of nearly every hard candy known to mankind, so Caleb has to settle for a distant second choice. We barely make it to school before the first bell rings. As Maren gets out of the car, I tell her to ask around about who is having a birthday party.
Later Tuesday morning: All my students are busy testing, so I take some time at work to compose an email to Caleb's teacher about the Humanities class. Does she think his skills are up to snuff for it? He gets straight A's and doesn't have to work very hard for them, but the message at the meeting was that the standardized test scores are the end-all. Doesn't his effort and sense of responsiblity count for anything? What has she observed in school?
Tuesday noon: I receive a very nice and reassuring email from Caleb's teacher, much sooner than I expected. She's disappointed at the message conveyed by the staff presenting at the junior high, and she reassured me that the class is a very good fit for Caleb. Her recommendation is to keep him in the class, as it is easier to stay in and drop out later than it is to drop out now and try to register later. Her confidence in him buoys me, especially because she used to be a teacher for the gifted and talented program.
Tuesday afternoon: After picking Chase up at preschool, we rush home so I can start dinner and get it in the oven to bake while I run over to Target to get a birthday present for the mystery birthday girl. Actually, it isn't a mystery any more, as Maren found out it is a girl in our neighborhood who is also in her class at school. And (thank you, God!) she likes Barbies, an item that has its own aisle at Target. No searching required. My philosophy about birthday presents is to pick something off the shelf and attach the gift receipt, as it will probably go straight to the return desk anyway. In a few more years I'll be able to bypass shopping step completely and just stick a gift card in an envelope. But for a 7th birthday... no gift cards yet.
Tuesday supper: I get home exactly 23 minutes before Jeff and Caleb are due to leave for basketball practice. Jeff mentions during dinner that Hunter peed a puddle the size of Lake Superior in his kennel during the day, thanks to the medicine he took for his allergic reaction. Jeff had started cleaning the mess up, but the mattress cover still needed to be washed. After Jeff and Caleb leave I make a half-hearted attempt to clean the house, knowing Mom will be here overnight Thursday to take care of the kids Friday morning while I'm gone - Jeff has to catch the bus at 6:00 a.m. The house is its usual pigsty. But... eh. Who cares. She's seen it worse.
Tuesday bedtime: Maren, Chase and I read two books from my Great Kids' Books No One Knows About: "Baby Brains, Superstar" by Simon James and "Bad Day at River Bend" by Chris Van Allsburg. If I had the energy and motivation, I would have also read "Tops and Bottoms" by Janet Stevens. But I was tired, so my children's vocabulary development and march toward the 15% Club will have to wait for another day.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Pulp fiction, by guest writer Maren B.
My dad lives in the orgaon. I am in jall. I do not now why. Naw I rebembr. My mom forst me to go to jall becuose I was pestaring her. Hmm. I forgot why I was pastaring my mom. I'm 7 and I'm pregnet.
(Publisher's note: Closer scrutiny of author's TV viewing habits is currently in progress.)
(Publisher's note: Closer scrutiny of author's TV viewing habits is currently in progress.)
Friday, April 11, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Springtime is on my mind
Springtime is on my mind
Flowers blooming, all the time
Smell the roses
Smell the grass
Old Man Winter can kiss my ass.
("Springtime" by Spinal Tap)
I received the first glum report today around noon, from a staff member at one of my schools, that we're expecting more snow. Being busy, I didn't give it too much thought until I got home and sat down at the computer. Logging on to Weatherbug, I received a delightful surprise: the forecast for Thursday was a high of 74 and a low of 60. "Wow!" I thought. "They sure were wrong on that snow thing."
And then I saw: "Your local weather for Atlanta, GA."
ARGHHHHH.
According to Weatherbug, we'll be slogging through a few more inches of snow the next few days. I'm guessing that's not a kiss that Old Man Winter gave us in our ass.
Flowers blooming, all the time
Smell the roses
Smell the grass
Old Man Winter can kiss my ass.
("Springtime" by Spinal Tap)
I received the first glum report today around noon, from a staff member at one of my schools, that we're expecting more snow. Being busy, I didn't give it too much thought until I got home and sat down at the computer. Logging on to Weatherbug, I received a delightful surprise: the forecast for Thursday was a high of 74 and a low of 60. "Wow!" I thought. "They sure were wrong on that snow thing."
And then I saw: "Your local weather for Atlanta, GA."
ARGHHHHH.
According to Weatherbug, we'll be slogging through a few more inches of snow the next few days. I'm guessing that's not a kiss that Old Man Winter gave us in our ass.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sad but true
EVERY time our two older children have gone to visit at a friend's house, we inevitably hear the same comment upon homecoming:
"Their house is so CLEAN!"
"Their house is so CLEAN!"
Saturday, March 22, 2008
When life gives you lemons...
Or, here in Minnesota, when life gives you snow at Easter, make snowmen!
In the midst of housecleaning and food preparation for tomorrow's Easter celebration, Maren came and asked me if I'd go outside and make a snowman with her. I didn't really want to go out, I had a million things to do, and, as I explained to her, the snowman would just melt by tomorrow.
And Maren replied, "But it's fun."
And so she and I went outside and made a whole family of snowpeople, with appropriate holiday embellishments. Lacking a digital camera (yes, I know, we're still straddling the technology innovations that will eventually pull us into the 21st century) I asked Maren, our artist in residence, to document our afternoon in her own delightful style. I hoped to scan the picture into my blog, but... see comment above about straddling the technology innovations.
In the midst of housecleaning and food preparation for tomorrow's Easter celebration, Maren came and asked me if I'd go outside and make a snowman with her. I didn't really want to go out, I had a million things to do, and, as I explained to her, the snowman would just melt by tomorrow.
And Maren replied, "But it's fun."
And so she and I went outside and made a whole family of snowpeople, with appropriate holiday embellishments. Lacking a digital camera (yes, I know, we're still straddling the technology innovations that will eventually pull us into the 21st century) I asked Maren, our artist in residence, to document our afternoon in her own delightful style. I hoped to scan the picture into my blog, but... see comment above about straddling the technology innovations.
Friday, March 21, 2008
This and that and the other
This: today we welcomed spring Minnesota style, with four inches of new snow. The weather people are all but promising it will be melted by Sunday. I shoveled the driveway just in case they're wrong.
That: I'm sick. Jeff's sick. I have a cold. I thought Jeff did, too, but he told me he was dying. 'Course, I've heard that line before, the last time he had a cold. And he didn't die.
The Other: I went to my "six month" audiological eval on Thursday to check my progress with my cochlear implant. It's actually been more than six months since my implant was activated, but I cancelled a few appointments in the interim that got me off schedule. The news was all good, and I'm solidly above average in all the performance areas. Last time I was tested, I did some of my testing with my hearing aid on, and that seemed to boost my discrimination. This time Dianna, my audiologist, wanted to test me with only my processor on, because my scores were already good before with the boost from the hearing aid. We did four tests with just my cochlear implant:
Sentence test 1: the male voice uses speech that isn't too fast and prefaces each sentence with "ready." The sentences are different lengths: "Good morning." "She looked out the window and saw a dog running in the yard." I correctly repeated 95% of the words... an A+!
Sentence test 2: the male voice uses faster-paced speech, sentences that are all the same length, and doesn't signal me with "ready." I scored 84% on this test.
Single word discrimination: single-syllable words in isolation, which are harder without the context of a sentence. The last time I did this with only my processor, I had about about 45% right. This time I had 64% right.
Sentence test in noise: a male voicing sentences in the presence of background noise. This definitely is supposed to be harder than anything I've done so far. I correctly repeated 70% of the words, and my audiologist was duly impressed.
Afterwards we talked about my wanting to get a second implant, which I'd like to schedule for the spring of 2009. It may be a more lengthy process to get insurance approval for a second implant, so I'll want to start sooner rather than later if I want to schedule the surgery on my timetable. A second implant is supposed to be most advantageous for hearing in noise and also for localizing sounds. While I would appreciate those advantages, the real reason I want to get a second implant is because my hearing is so unbalanced. The difference between hearing with the implant and hearing with the hearing aid is incredible. I can only shake my head in wonder that I ever managed with only the hearing aids.
The real world impact of my improved hearing with the implant still continues to unfold. I don't think I've really taken advantage of what I can hear now, other than to surprise my kids when they think I'm not hearing what they say under their breath or when they argue out of my sightline. I think my lack of using my hearing is now partly a listening problem rather than a hearing problem - I'm just not used to paying attention to what is being said because I'm so used to not hearing without being able to see the speaker. On the way home from my audiology appointment, I turned on the radio and switched through the stations until I came to a talk show. I figured if I could hear such a great percentage of the sentences in the audiology booth, I should be able to hear something on the radio. And to my surprise, I did hear something. A woman was being interviewed and she was discussing her experiences, I believe as a political figure. She had traveled all over the world and met all kinds of famous people, and was talking about the war in Iraq and how the US could fix the mess it made there, and she also talked about growing up in Michigan. I didn't hear everything, but it was more than I'd ever heard on the radio that I could remember, and I was... amazed. It still takes a great deal of concentration for me to hear and understand something like that, but it's doable in a way that it was never doable before.
There are still barriers, of course. Besides background noise, which is ever-present in the real world, I still struggle with certain voices and speech patterns. The woman who was talking on the radio was very clear and easy to understand, but I couldn't understand anything said by the man who was interviewing her. It makes me think of a time I was sitting with one of my students at school and there was an announcement over the PA system. My student also has a cochlear implant, and asked me what was said in the announcment. I said, "You tell me! You've had your implant longer than I have." And he said, "But it sounds sloppy." And, for me, that describes the problem perfectly: too many people have sloppy speech. It's time for me to stop being defensive about not being able to hear. Instead, I'll go on the offensive, telling people that I'll understand them just fine if they just speak clearly!
That: I'm sick. Jeff's sick. I have a cold. I thought Jeff did, too, but he told me he was dying. 'Course, I've heard that line before, the last time he had a cold. And he didn't die.
The Other: I went to my "six month" audiological eval on Thursday to check my progress with my cochlear implant. It's actually been more than six months since my implant was activated, but I cancelled a few appointments in the interim that got me off schedule. The news was all good, and I'm solidly above average in all the performance areas. Last time I was tested, I did some of my testing with my hearing aid on, and that seemed to boost my discrimination. This time Dianna, my audiologist, wanted to test me with only my processor on, because my scores were already good before with the boost from the hearing aid. We did four tests with just my cochlear implant:
Sentence test 1: the male voice uses speech that isn't too fast and prefaces each sentence with "ready." The sentences are different lengths: "Good morning." "She looked out the window and saw a dog running in the yard." I correctly repeated 95% of the words... an A+!
Sentence test 2: the male voice uses faster-paced speech, sentences that are all the same length, and doesn't signal me with "ready." I scored 84% on this test.
Single word discrimination: single-syllable words in isolation, which are harder without the context of a sentence. The last time I did this with only my processor, I had about about 45% right. This time I had 64% right.
Sentence test in noise: a male voicing sentences in the presence of background noise. This definitely is supposed to be harder than anything I've done so far. I correctly repeated 70% of the words, and my audiologist was duly impressed.
Afterwards we talked about my wanting to get a second implant, which I'd like to schedule for the spring of 2009. It may be a more lengthy process to get insurance approval for a second implant, so I'll want to start sooner rather than later if I want to schedule the surgery on my timetable. A second implant is supposed to be most advantageous for hearing in noise and also for localizing sounds. While I would appreciate those advantages, the real reason I want to get a second implant is because my hearing is so unbalanced. The difference between hearing with the implant and hearing with the hearing aid is incredible. I can only shake my head in wonder that I ever managed with only the hearing aids.
The real world impact of my improved hearing with the implant still continues to unfold. I don't think I've really taken advantage of what I can hear now, other than to surprise my kids when they think I'm not hearing what they say under their breath or when they argue out of my sightline. I think my lack of using my hearing is now partly a listening problem rather than a hearing problem - I'm just not used to paying attention to what is being said because I'm so used to not hearing without being able to see the speaker. On the way home from my audiology appointment, I turned on the radio and switched through the stations until I came to a talk show. I figured if I could hear such a great percentage of the sentences in the audiology booth, I should be able to hear something on the radio. And to my surprise, I did hear something. A woman was being interviewed and she was discussing her experiences, I believe as a political figure. She had traveled all over the world and met all kinds of famous people, and was talking about the war in Iraq and how the US could fix the mess it made there, and she also talked about growing up in Michigan. I didn't hear everything, but it was more than I'd ever heard on the radio that I could remember, and I was... amazed. It still takes a great deal of concentration for me to hear and understand something like that, but it's doable in a way that it was never doable before.
There are still barriers, of course. Besides background noise, which is ever-present in the real world, I still struggle with certain voices and speech patterns. The woman who was talking on the radio was very clear and easy to understand, but I couldn't understand anything said by the man who was interviewing her. It makes me think of a time I was sitting with one of my students at school and there was an announcement over the PA system. My student also has a cochlear implant, and asked me what was said in the announcment. I said, "You tell me! You've had your implant longer than I have." And he said, "But it sounds sloppy." And, for me, that describes the problem perfectly: too many people have sloppy speech. It's time for me to stop being defensive about not being able to hear. Instead, I'll go on the offensive, telling people that I'll understand them just fine if they just speak clearly!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Why I Work
Two days into my child-free spring break, I've come to a profound realization about why I work outside the home:
To stay awake.
I've always wondered, with just a bit of scorn, what stay-at-home moms do all day when their kids are in school, and now I know. Although I had great plans to be very productive and finish a million projects around the house, the most I've accomplished is three long naps and a dent in the laundry pile. Oh, and I've also made progress in diminishing the dark circles that permanently adorn my eyes during the school year. So this is why Mom looked so much more youthful at my age than I do!
I simply cannot help myself. After dropping Chase off at preschool yesterday, I came home and drank a big cup of coffee, then promptly fell asleep on the recliner for a good hour or two. I woke up long enough to eat lunch, then sprawled on the couch for another snooze, and later found myself dozing at the computer but unwilling to relinquish my place to Caleb. Today, after refreshing myself with a morning nap, I managed to stay upright for the afternoon and get some laundry done, but that's about it. I've always recognized that I'm more organized and efficient with my time when I work, and I'm starting to come to terms with the idea that most of those projects I wanted to get done without distraction during my break will probably be relegated to some weekend in the future. Oh well. At least there will be plenty of weekends to get my work done: studies show that people who take naps live longer than people who don't.
And by the time I finally do die, my road to heck will be well-paved with all those good intentions.
To stay awake.
I've always wondered, with just a bit of scorn, what stay-at-home moms do all day when their kids are in school, and now I know. Although I had great plans to be very productive and finish a million projects around the house, the most I've accomplished is three long naps and a dent in the laundry pile. Oh, and I've also made progress in diminishing the dark circles that permanently adorn my eyes during the school year. So this is why Mom looked so much more youthful at my age than I do!
I simply cannot help myself. After dropping Chase off at preschool yesterday, I came home and drank a big cup of coffee, then promptly fell asleep on the recliner for a good hour or two. I woke up long enough to eat lunch, then sprawled on the couch for another snooze, and later found myself dozing at the computer but unwilling to relinquish my place to Caleb. Today, after refreshing myself with a morning nap, I managed to stay upright for the afternoon and get some laundry done, but that's about it. I've always recognized that I'm more organized and efficient with my time when I work, and I'm starting to come to terms with the idea that most of those projects I wanted to get done without distraction during my break will probably be relegated to some weekend in the future. Oh well. At least there will be plenty of weekends to get my work done: studies show that people who take naps live longer than people who don't.
And by the time I finally do die, my road to heck will be well-paved with all those good intentions.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Top Ten from the coach's wife
Yeah, yeah, I know all of you are sick of having us rub the whole basketball thing in your faces. But I just can't resist sharing a few factoids about this year's team.
10. Last year's B team was barely .500 in their win-loss record. This year's B team was .932 (41-3).
9. Only five players from last year's B team were on this year's B team.
8. Of the top 32 6th grade teams in last weekend's state tournament, only Woodbury and Champlin Park were represented by two teams. The Woodbury A team finished second in the top AAAAAA bracket, behind Champlin Park (with their 6'4" giant). Champlin Park's B team lost two of their three games in the AAAAA bracket and were finished after the first day of play.
7. Woodbury 6B beat the 4th and 16th seeds (Minneapolis South and Centennial) of the top bracket during regular season play, and lost to the 5th seed (Prior Lake) by a basket in the final seconds of another game. These little details goad Jeff into endless speculation on how his team would have performed in the top bracket.
6. You can play some of the players most of the time, but you can't play any of the players all of the time. The 6B team had probably the most equalized amount of playing time for all of its players throughout the season than any other team they played against. While many teams had a few players that were out on the court nearly the entire game, 6B usually played its entire bench, substituting freely and often. They had GREAT depth.
5. At the coaches' seeding meeting for the state tournament several weeks ago, Jeff didn't lobby to be seeded at any particular level. The Woodbury 6B was nominated into the second highest bracket by an Eden Prairie coach, whose team Woodbury beat twice in the regular season. He wanted Woodbury moved up out of their bracket where Woodbury was originally slotted to play. The move made the EP team the number one seed in their bracket.
4. The EP team noted in 5 (above) finished fourth in their bracket (insert smirk here).
3. Enroute to their first place finish, Woodbury beat #4 Eastview, #2 Wayzata, and #1 Eden Prairie (a different EP team than the one previously mentioned).
2. Exchange allegedly overheard between coaches from #1 EP and #2 Wayzata after the first day of play: "We'll see you in championship game." Maybe what they meant was, "We'll see you (lose to Woodbury) in the championship game."
And now, the most amazing factoid:
1. Jeff was not the designated head coach of the team.
Yep, it's true. Despite plannning and executing all the practices, strategizing all the plays for the games, and basically devoting himself to developing each of these players to be the best they could be, Jeff was not officially recognized by the Woodbury Athletic Association as the head coach of the team. When he interviewed for the job, Jeff had two years of coaching experience to offer, in addition to his years of playing high school and college basketball. Plus, he has a job that gets him home every night and every weekend, making him available for every practice and every game. But for reasons unknown, WAA instead offered the position to another parent who had no coaching experience and had only played high school basketball. This parent acknowledged that his job took him out of town frequently and he would need a co-coach. Jeff became the de facto coach, but was not the one designated by WAA.
Maybe next year they'll get a clue.
10. Last year's B team was barely .500 in their win-loss record. This year's B team was .932 (41-3).
9. Only five players from last year's B team were on this year's B team.
8. Of the top 32 6th grade teams in last weekend's state tournament, only Woodbury and Champlin Park were represented by two teams. The Woodbury A team finished second in the top AAAAAA bracket, behind Champlin Park (with their 6'4" giant). Champlin Park's B team lost two of their three games in the AAAAA bracket and were finished after the first day of play.
7. Woodbury 6B beat the 4th and 16th seeds (Minneapolis South and Centennial) of the top bracket during regular season play, and lost to the 5th seed (Prior Lake) by a basket in the final seconds of another game. These little details goad Jeff into endless speculation on how his team would have performed in the top bracket.
6. You can play some of the players most of the time, but you can't play any of the players all of the time. The 6B team had probably the most equalized amount of playing time for all of its players throughout the season than any other team they played against. While many teams had a few players that were out on the court nearly the entire game, 6B usually played its entire bench, substituting freely and often. They had GREAT depth.
5. At the coaches' seeding meeting for the state tournament several weeks ago, Jeff didn't lobby to be seeded at any particular level. The Woodbury 6B was nominated into the second highest bracket by an Eden Prairie coach, whose team Woodbury beat twice in the regular season. He wanted Woodbury moved up out of their bracket where Woodbury was originally slotted to play. The move made the EP team the number one seed in their bracket.
4. The EP team noted in 5 (above) finished fourth in their bracket (insert smirk here).
3. Enroute to their first place finish, Woodbury beat #4 Eastview, #2 Wayzata, and #1 Eden Prairie (a different EP team than the one previously mentioned).
2. Exchange allegedly overheard between coaches from #1 EP and #2 Wayzata after the first day of play: "We'll see you in championship game." Maybe what they meant was, "We'll see you (lose to Woodbury) in the championship game."
And now, the most amazing factoid:
1. Jeff was not the designated head coach of the team.
Yep, it's true. Despite plannning and executing all the practices, strategizing all the plays for the games, and basically devoting himself to developing each of these players to be the best they could be, Jeff was not officially recognized by the Woodbury Athletic Association as the head coach of the team. When he interviewed for the job, Jeff had two years of coaching experience to offer, in addition to his years of playing high school and college basketball. Plus, he has a job that gets him home every night and every weekend, making him available for every practice and every game. But for reasons unknown, WAA instead offered the position to another parent who had no coaching experience and had only played high school basketball. This parent acknowledged that his job took him out of town frequently and he would need a co-coach. Jeff became the de facto coach, but was not the one designated by WAA.
Maybe next year they'll get a clue.
Friday, March 14, 2008
And now, a word from our future president
Below is a pronouncement from future president Maren Blodgett, in all its invented-spelling glory:
If I Were President
If I was president I would make sher nowan would start a arme and evrey oen would wrok to gethr. If somebody stol something thay would have to go to jall for about thre yera's then thay would lren a lesn.
If I Were President
If I was president I would make sher nowan would start a arme and evrey oen would wrok to gethr. If somebody stol something thay would have to go to jall for about thre yera's then thay would lren a lesn.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Uh, thanks, sweetie... I think.
Maren and I were snuggling on the couch in front of the TV (okay, ALL our couches are in front of a TV in our house) when a commercial for "The Biggest Loser" came on. My dear daughter turned to me and said brightly, "You should volunteer for that show, Mom! You could probably win!"
Sunday, March 9, 2008
2008 MSF 6th Grade Division A Boys Basketball State Champion
That is what WE did this weekend, in a total of five playoff games:
Game 1: Woodbury 43, Shakopee 41
Game 2: Woodbury 55, Blaine 46
Game 3: Woodbury 43, Delano 18
Game 4: Woodbury 54, Lakeville South 43
Game 5: Woodbury 44, Moundsview 33 State Tournament Final
All in all, it was a very good weekend.
Up next: MYAS State Tournament in Fridley, March 15-16
Oh, and a little plus for Coach Jeff: personal congratulations and a handshake from Randy Shaver, the KARE 11 sports god and coach of the 6th grade Division AA powerhouse Benilde. Shaver's team was in the final that took place after ours - no doubt they won. The players at that level are truly elite for their age.
Game 1: Woodbury 43, Shakopee 41
Game 2: Woodbury 55, Blaine 46
Game 3: Woodbury 43, Delano 18
Game 4: Woodbury 54, Lakeville South 43
Game 5: Woodbury 44, Moundsview 33 State Tournament Final
All in all, it was a very good weekend.
Up next: MYAS State Tournament in Fridley, March 15-16
Oh, and a little plus for Coach Jeff: personal congratulations and a handshake from Randy Shaver, the KARE 11 sports god and coach of the 6th grade Division AA powerhouse Benilde. Shaver's team was in the final that took place after ours - no doubt they won. The players at that level are truly elite for their age.
Monday, March 3, 2008
What you don't want to hear when you drop your child off at preschool
Mondays and show and tell are just not a good mix for our family. Last week, Chase was in tears on the way to school because he couldn't find the toy he wanted to bring. So last night and this morning, I reminded him that he needed to have his show and tell item in his backpack and ready to go. While I was brushing his teeth this morning, Chase assured me he was all set. Good, good, we have to go, get in the car, I have a meeting, etc. etc. I'm stressed because I have a conference early in the morning. I drop the two older kids off at school, drive to St. Andrews, and get Chase down to his classroom. As I'm herding him to the room where the kids play until school starts, Chase makes his announcement:
"I brought a gun for show and tell!"
"I brought a gun for show and tell!"
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Superfit
So I was at the Y last night, doing my usual 30 minute workout on the elliptical machine. I'm pumping away at that thing, moving twice as fast as anyone around me. Sweat is saturating my hairline, beading my forehead, dripping down my back. I'm averaging a pace of about 9.5 miles per hour. The calorie counter shows I'm well over 300 calories for the workout so far. And the sensors on the machine that monitor my heart rate tell me that I'm registering a rate of... 82.
What can I say?
What can I say?
Monday, February 25, 2008
Not the Best Mom
It pains me to share this, but it has been revealed to me, by my youngest child, that I am not the best mom. This revelation was made in the car on the way home today, during a conversation about show-and-tell. Chase missed his show-and-tell opportunity this morning when he attempted to find his prized wind-up frog at the last minute and had to be hustled out the door, sans frog. There were many tears on his part, and admonishments on my part that if he would put his toys away where they belonged, he'd be able to find them more easily.
So, on the way home today, I asked him if many kids brought something for show-and-tell. Maren almost never brought anything when she was in preschool, but to hear Chase talk about it, nearly every child assigned to Monday as a show-and-tell day had something to share today. After listening to him list all the kids' names, I helpfully pointed out that he didn't necessarily have to bring something to show for show-and-tell. He could just TELL the class something. Like, he could tell everyone what a great mom he had! That he had the BEST mom! That his mom takes such good care of him, and cooks him good food, and makes cookies, and etc. etc. etc. And Chase looked at me in the rear view mirror and said, "You're not the best mom." I was undaunted... so far... so I challenged him: "If I'm not the best mom, who is?"
And Chase said, "Tacy."
No reason why. She just is.
Fine, then.
PS: Tacy, if you're reading this... I don't think you can be my friend anymore.
So, on the way home today, I asked him if many kids brought something for show-and-tell. Maren almost never brought anything when she was in preschool, but to hear Chase talk about it, nearly every child assigned to Monday as a show-and-tell day had something to share today. After listening to him list all the kids' names, I helpfully pointed out that he didn't necessarily have to bring something to show for show-and-tell. He could just TELL the class something. Like, he could tell everyone what a great mom he had! That he had the BEST mom! That his mom takes such good care of him, and cooks him good food, and makes cookies, and etc. etc. etc. And Chase looked at me in the rear view mirror and said, "You're not the best mom." I was undaunted... so far... so I challenged him: "If I'm not the best mom, who is?"
And Chase said, "Tacy."
No reason why. She just is.
Fine, then.
PS: Tacy, if you're reading this... I don't think you can be my friend anymore.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
A Perfect Weekend
Life doesn't get much better than this on a mid-winter weekend in Minnesota. Saturday morning, after enjoying a satisfying family breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon (a nod to CTP), I settled in to read the newspaper while savoring a couple cups of coffee. Around 10:30, I put on my 19-year-old pair of Sorrels, a couple of sweaters and a pair of gloves, and head out for a nice long walk with the doggie. We tramped along some of the trails and across some of the lakes under a Yukon-blue sky, the temperature hovering in a comfortable 30 degree range. On the lakes, I was able to let Hunter off the leash and watch him savor his freedom by bounding across the snow-packed ice, then back to me at full force, and off again as soon as he circled me. The wind had blown the snow into hard, low ridges spaced erratically along the lake, and I was amused to notice that our footprints virtually disappeared when we traversed those ridges, only to reappear a few feet later. It was as if we had been plucked right off the earth and set down somewhere else to resume our walk. In all, we walked a good five miles, and by the time we returned home we were a little weary but relaxed and happy. Ahhh.
While we were walking, there were minimal distractions from my own thoughts. I've found that one advantage of deefness is that I'm not tempted to plug myself into a radio or iPod to be entertained or diverted in any way. During my downtime, whether it's on a long walk or during the numerous car trips I make for work, I like to scrape off a little brain lint to examine and ponder. Brain lint is the stuff you pull up from the far reaches of your mind, where you store nearly-forgotten memories. The brain lint I scrape up usually is colored by a specific theme. On this particular walk, my brain lint came from long winter walks I've taken on lakes. Given that we lived by lakes only the first 7 years of my life, there was limited content to ponder. I remember thinking as a kid how big Paul's Lake was (HA!) and recalled the time Susie Christensen and I walked all the way across the lake, rang the doorbell at some stranger's house, and asked for a drink of water. (I'm surprised we didn't ask for lemon drops, as was our custom at the Erickson's at the end of the road). That trek across the lake, and eventually back again, seemed soooooooo long, and I didn't think we'd make it home, and instead would perish on the ice somewhere between the island and the shore. I don't remember being so tired when we walked across another lake, the one by Hernberger's, to go sledding on the big hill on the far side. Maybe that's because Hernberger's lake was smaller and we didn't have to go straight across, but kind of diagonally. I know some of the bigger kids were with us, although who "us" even is, I don't know. The cold, the snow, the size of the hill, and the expanse of the lake are the details I've retained.
A walk that produces some warm, fuzzy brain lint is enough to make any weekend a good one, but this weekend had even more delights. Caleb's basketball team played in a tournament in Wayzata, and we drove out there three straight evenings. Wayzata was the only team to beat Woodbury in B level competition this year. In the second tournament of the season, Woodbury played against them in the championship game, and was leading most of the game. At the very end, however, Wayzata caught up, and squeaked past Woodbury with a basket that won the game by one point. What a heartbreaker. As you can imagine, Woodbury had revenge on their minds, and what better place to get that revenge than at Wayzata's own tournament? The two teams were placed in opposite brackets so they could meet in the championship game, and that's exactly what happened. Jeff, in particular, was obsessed with avenging the earlier loss, and our 6th graders didn't disappoint us. Within the first few minutes they shot ahead to a 12-0 lead and never looked back, winning the championship 45-25. Caleb scored 7 points, so his haircut must still be doing it's job. It was particularly gratifying to win when we saw a few of the Wayzata players taking out their frustration by shoving their elbows into our players or hitting them on the back when the refs weren't looking. Most of the players were good sports, though, and it was an exciting, well-played game. And boy, revenge is sweet. THAT was the icing on the cake of my perfect weekend.
While we were walking, there were minimal distractions from my own thoughts. I've found that one advantage of deefness is that I'm not tempted to plug myself into a radio or iPod to be entertained or diverted in any way. During my downtime, whether it's on a long walk or during the numerous car trips I make for work, I like to scrape off a little brain lint to examine and ponder. Brain lint is the stuff you pull up from the far reaches of your mind, where you store nearly-forgotten memories. The brain lint I scrape up usually is colored by a specific theme. On this particular walk, my brain lint came from long winter walks I've taken on lakes. Given that we lived by lakes only the first 7 years of my life, there was limited content to ponder. I remember thinking as a kid how big Paul's Lake was (HA!) and recalled the time Susie Christensen and I walked all the way across the lake, rang the doorbell at some stranger's house, and asked for a drink of water. (I'm surprised we didn't ask for lemon drops, as was our custom at the Erickson's at the end of the road). That trek across the lake, and eventually back again, seemed soooooooo long, and I didn't think we'd make it home, and instead would perish on the ice somewhere between the island and the shore. I don't remember being so tired when we walked across another lake, the one by Hernberger's, to go sledding on the big hill on the far side. Maybe that's because Hernberger's lake was smaller and we didn't have to go straight across, but kind of diagonally. I know some of the bigger kids were with us, although who "us" even is, I don't know. The cold, the snow, the size of the hill, and the expanse of the lake are the details I've retained.
A walk that produces some warm, fuzzy brain lint is enough to make any weekend a good one, but this weekend had even more delights. Caleb's basketball team played in a tournament in Wayzata, and we drove out there three straight evenings. Wayzata was the only team to beat Woodbury in B level competition this year. In the second tournament of the season, Woodbury played against them in the championship game, and was leading most of the game. At the very end, however, Wayzata caught up, and squeaked past Woodbury with a basket that won the game by one point. What a heartbreaker. As you can imagine, Woodbury had revenge on their minds, and what better place to get that revenge than at Wayzata's own tournament? The two teams were placed in opposite brackets so they could meet in the championship game, and that's exactly what happened. Jeff, in particular, was obsessed with avenging the earlier loss, and our 6th graders didn't disappoint us. Within the first few minutes they shot ahead to a 12-0 lead and never looked back, winning the championship 45-25. Caleb scored 7 points, so his haircut must still be doing it's job. It was particularly gratifying to win when we saw a few of the Wayzata players taking out their frustration by shoving their elbows into our players or hitting them on the back when the refs weren't looking. Most of the players were good sports, though, and it was an exciting, well-played game. And boy, revenge is sweet. THAT was the icing on the cake of my perfect weekend.
Gene Pool Guessing Game
At left is a photo taken by Maren's first grade teacher of Maren and some of her classmates on Valentine's Day. Note Maren's considerable height compared to her peers. Is this the product of her mother's genes or her father's? Maren's long, lean build would indicate she takes after her 6'4" dad, but don't discount the dominance of the Stocking genes. I towered above the kids in my class for years due to some weird accelerated growth pattern, then watched everyone else pass me up after 5th grade.
So, play "Who Has the Dominant Genes?" Make your wagers... and wait another ten years to find out the winner.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Family tidbits
A sample of the enlightening conversation I have driving home from work:
Chase: Mom, why don't you put fruit snacks in my lunch anymore?
Me: Because you told me you were sick of them.
Chase: No, I didn't.
Me: Yes, you did.
Chase: No, I didn't. I said I was tired of them. I didn't say I was sick of them.
Me: Being sick of something is the same as being tired of something.
Chase; No, it isn't.
Me: Yes, it is.
Chase: No, it isn't.
Me: So, what does it mean when you're sick of something?
Chase: When you're sick of something you don't want it anymore.
Me (anticipating victory in this crucial argument with my 4-year-old): And what does it mean to be tired of something?
Chase: Being tired of something means you don't want it... for awhile!
An example of my family's appreciation for my efforts to cook dinner every night:
Maren: Can I see what we're having for dinner?
(I lift the lid of the crockpot to show her).
Maren (politely): I'm sure it can still taste good even if it doesn't smell good.
Chase: Mom, why don't you put fruit snacks in my lunch anymore?
Me: Because you told me you were sick of them.
Chase: No, I didn't.
Me: Yes, you did.
Chase: No, I didn't. I said I was tired of them. I didn't say I was sick of them.
Me: Being sick of something is the same as being tired of something.
Chase; No, it isn't.
Me: Yes, it is.
Chase: No, it isn't.
Me: So, what does it mean when you're sick of something?
Chase: When you're sick of something you don't want it anymore.
Me (anticipating victory in this crucial argument with my 4-year-old): And what does it mean to be tired of something?
Chase: Being tired of something means you don't want it... for awhile!
An example of my family's appreciation for my efforts to cook dinner every night:
Maren: Can I see what we're having for dinner?
(I lift the lid of the crockpot to show her).
Maren (politely): I'm sure it can still taste good even if it doesn't smell good.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Compassionate Update
It was with great relief today that I returned Compassionate the Pig to preschool. He can go torture another family for a week now.
Not that I was very tortured. Chase's initial excitement about having CTP at our house lasted less than 24 hours. We brought CTP home on a Monday, and by Tuesday night he was lying, sad and discarded, in the front entryway. I *compassionately* moved him to a chair in the living room to keep the dog from sampling him, and he was ultimately shoved aside and came to rest wedged between the chair and one of the end tables. He pretty much stayed there until we retrieved him to go back to school.
We hadn't written anything in CTP's journal since the first night he came home, so I sat in the preschool parking lot before picking up Chase, scribbling a bunch of journal entries about CTP's wonderful adventures at our house. I hope they don't ask Chase about these tomorrow at preschool, because he has no idea what I wrote. Maybe I can prep him on the way to school tomorrow.
Having CTP at our house has reminded me how undigitalized our family is compared to the large majority of the American population. We have no working digital camera in our house, and no cell phones at all, much less a picture-taking cell phone. In a half-hearted attempt to get some kind of visual record of CTP's visit (and to keep up with all the Joneses at preschool who taped multiple pictures of their little darlings into the journal), I gave Maren a disposable camera on Monday to take some pictures of CTP doing "stuff" around the house. I don't know all the pictures Maren and Chase took, but at least one of them has CTP posed like a ninja. It was a wasted effort, though, because I was too lazy to get the film over to Target to be developed before it was time to bring CTP back. There are still a few pictures left on the camera, and then if we want to retrieve any of them, we'll have to get all those CTP pictures developed as well. Guess I'll just chalk this one up to the price of... what? Laziness? Backwardness? Being stuck in the 20th century?
Not that I was very tortured. Chase's initial excitement about having CTP at our house lasted less than 24 hours. We brought CTP home on a Monday, and by Tuesday night he was lying, sad and discarded, in the front entryway. I *compassionately* moved him to a chair in the living room to keep the dog from sampling him, and he was ultimately shoved aside and came to rest wedged between the chair and one of the end tables. He pretty much stayed there until we retrieved him to go back to school.
We hadn't written anything in CTP's journal since the first night he came home, so I sat in the preschool parking lot before picking up Chase, scribbling a bunch of journal entries about CTP's wonderful adventures at our house. I hope they don't ask Chase about these tomorrow at preschool, because he has no idea what I wrote. Maybe I can prep him on the way to school tomorrow.
Having CTP at our house has reminded me how undigitalized our family is compared to the large majority of the American population. We have no working digital camera in our house, and no cell phones at all, much less a picture-taking cell phone. In a half-hearted attempt to get some kind of visual record of CTP's visit (and to keep up with all the Joneses at preschool who taped multiple pictures of their little darlings into the journal), I gave Maren a disposable camera on Monday to take some pictures of CTP doing "stuff" around the house. I don't know all the pictures Maren and Chase took, but at least one of them has CTP posed like a ninja. It was a wasted effort, though, because I was too lazy to get the film over to Target to be developed before it was time to bring CTP back. There are still a few pictures left on the camera, and then if we want to retrieve any of them, we'll have to get all those CTP pictures developed as well. Guess I'll just chalk this one up to the price of... what? Laziness? Backwardness? Being stuck in the 20th century?
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Samson Antitheses
Story 1: Once upon a time there was a 12 year old boy who liked to play basketball. However, lately he had been in a shooting slump, making only one or two baskets each game. One day his mother noticed that his hair was not only getting long, but rather lank. "When was the last time you washed your hair?" she asked. When the boy told her, "Three days ago," and she thought of all the sweaty practices and hat hair that had happened in that time, she said, "Ew, gross." So the mother got out her clippers and cut off all but half an inch of the boy's hair. That very same day, the boy played in three basketball games against (supposedly) more skilled teams. In the first game, the boy made 3 three-pointers, and the team won 52-39. In the next game, the boy scored 8 points, and the team won 45-21. In the third game, the boy scored another 8 points and the team won 45-18. And in the last game the next day, the boy scored 7 points, and the team won the championship 41-26. As was the custom of certain family members of her generation, the mother took all the credit for the victories. And everyone rejoiced.
Story 2: Once upon a time there was a kind, humble woman who did not cut her hair for 30 years. In that time, she raised a family and did many good deeds, and they all prospered. Then one day the woman decided she was sick and tired of long hair and wanted to get it cut. Members of her family expressed fear and trepidition that cutting her hair would bring great suffering...to them. Not being one to make a hasty decision, the woman thought about the haircut for 10 more years. Finally, she became fed up and ordered that her hair be cut. And it was good. The world did not end, and the woman has not run off to Las Vegas to be a showgirl... yet.
Story 2: Once upon a time there was a kind, humble woman who did not cut her hair for 30 years. In that time, she raised a family and did many good deeds, and they all prospered. Then one day the woman decided she was sick and tired of long hair and wanted to get it cut. Members of her family expressed fear and trepidition that cutting her hair would bring great suffering...to them. Not being one to make a hasty decision, the woman thought about the haircut for 10 more years. Finally, she became fed up and ordered that her hair be cut. And it was good. The world did not end, and the woman has not run off to Las Vegas to be a showgirl... yet.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Bye-bye, Pooh!
Tonight I literally stripped one of the last vestiges of my children's babyhood out of our lives. Or, technically, off the wall: we're finally getting rid of the Winnie the Pooh wallpaper border that we put up over 12 years ago in anticipation of bringing home baby numero uno. Maren has been pestering us for awhile to get to this chore - she claims she's too embarrassed to have any friends come up to her room with that nursery relic on her wall. I would have thought I'd be sad getting rid of Pooh, but I'm not. I'm definitely ready to say good-bye to all things baby and am looking forward to having ALL school-age children. When Chase starts kindergarten next year, not only will we be able to stop investing one of my monthly paychecks in childcare, but I'll also get something even more valuable: time. No more dropping off and picking up at daycare or preschool day after day after day. For the first time since I had children, I will be able to drive straight to work and straight home every day. And if I happen to be sick one day, I won't have to drive my kids ANYWHERE before I can wallow in my misery at home. I'll just wave them out the door to the bus while standing in my pajamas and holding a nice hot cup of coffee. Just the thought of this buoyed me through the wall-stripping process.
Not that I really needed to be buoyed. There is something innately satisfying about pulling long strips of wallpaper off. It reminds me of when I was growing up and would get one of my annual sunburns and Terri would offer to peel my back. Yeah, ew, gross, but pulling off anything in one long, continuous strip until it finally breaks off is...rewarding, even when it's dead skin you're pulling. In fact, my dead skin and I can probably take credit for sparking Terri's interest in pursuing a wound-care career. You're welcome.
Not that I really needed to be buoyed. There is something innately satisfying about pulling long strips of wallpaper off. It reminds me of when I was growing up and would get one of my annual sunburns and Terri would offer to peel my back. Yeah, ew, gross, but pulling off anything in one long, continuous strip until it finally breaks off is...rewarding, even when it's dead skin you're pulling. In fact, my dead skin and I can probably take credit for sparking Terri's interest in pursuing a wound-care career. You're welcome.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valen"times"
Valentine's Day, circa 1975: students decorate shoe boxes with foil, hearts, lace, doilies and whatnot, cut a slit in the top, and bring them to school to collect valentines from classmates. The class has a party, with homemade cupcakes and cookies brought in by the room mothers, and the students open the valentines. If you're very lucky, the students might get a few treats in their valentine boxes, but mostly, they just get cards... that they actually read.
Valentine's Day, circa 2008: students decorate a valentine holder at school to collect the candy, pencils, tattoos, small toys, and, oh yes, the cards that are passed out. Handing out only a valentine with no extra loot attached is considered passe. No one is allowed to eat homemade goodies made by the parents, for fear that a revengeful mother has hidden razors or arsenic in the treats, or at the very least has brought underbaked cookies teeming with rapidly-multiplying bacteria. So the students munch on the candy they received, while watching "Charlie Brown's Valentine" or some other valentine-related film. Does anyone read the cards anymore?
Sigh. I'm feeling a little nostalgic.
Valentine's Day, circa 2008: students decorate a valentine holder at school to collect the candy, pencils, tattoos, small toys, and, oh yes, the cards that are passed out. Handing out only a valentine with no extra loot attached is considered passe. No one is allowed to eat homemade goodies made by the parents, for fear that a revengeful mother has hidden razors or arsenic in the treats, or at the very least has brought underbaked cookies teeming with rapidly-multiplying bacteria. So the students munch on the candy they received, while watching "Charlie Brown's Valentine" or some other valentine-related film. Does anyone read the cards anymore?
Sigh. I'm feeling a little nostalgic.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
21st
Jeff went to a seeding meeting for all the 6th grade basketball coaches around the state (but mostly from around the metro area) to rank the teams for the upcoming state tournament. After being probably 125 out of about 150 teams last year, we were happy to see our team has moved up to being ranked 21st this year. That's 21st out of ALL the 6th grade teams, A and B and C, that participate in the state tournament. The Woodbury A team was one of the top five teams and were placed in the bracket with the top 16 teams. The Woodbury B team is in the second 16-team bracket.
Needless to say, we're feeling more positve about our team's prospects in the state tourney compared to last year, when:
1. We were cut from the first state tournament after we lost our third game in the final 45 seconds. We were AHEAD by 5 points with 45 seconds left in the game... and lost. Ouch.
2. We placed dead last in the second state tournament. (In case you're wondering, the two state tourneys are run by two different basketball organizations). Here's the kicker with these tournaments: if you win a couple games and then lose, you're out of the tournament. But if you lose your first game and keep on losing, you play MORE games than if you'd won the first few games. It seems like a cruel and unusual punishment, especially when you're driving to the far opposite end of the seven-county metro area to compete in the loser's (excuse me, "friendship") bracket for a second day.
Incidentally, the second state tournament last year was when Jeff had his vertigo attack (or "vertical" as he's prone to calling it, although there's nothing vertical in his posture when this happens). We had to leave the team to play - and lose - their second game in Delano while I drove Jeff to the emergency room in nearby Buffalo for the IV medications he needed. Wheeling him into the emergency room, holding a bag of vomit, seemed like an appropriate finale for that weekend.
Needless to say, we're feeling more positve about our team's prospects in the state tourney compared to last year, when:
1. We were cut from the first state tournament after we lost our third game in the final 45 seconds. We were AHEAD by 5 points with 45 seconds left in the game... and lost. Ouch.
2. We placed dead last in the second state tournament. (In case you're wondering, the two state tourneys are run by two different basketball organizations). Here's the kicker with these tournaments: if you win a couple games and then lose, you're out of the tournament. But if you lose your first game and keep on losing, you play MORE games than if you'd won the first few games. It seems like a cruel and unusual punishment, especially when you're driving to the far opposite end of the seven-county metro area to compete in the loser's (excuse me, "friendship") bracket for a second day.
Incidentally, the second state tournament last year was when Jeff had his vertigo attack (or "vertical" as he's prone to calling it, although there's nothing vertical in his posture when this happens). We had to leave the team to play - and lose - their second game in Delano while I drove Jeff to the emergency room in nearby Buffalo for the IV medications he needed. Wheeling him into the emergency room, holding a bag of vomit, seemed like an appropriate finale for that weekend.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Lutheran Preschool + "The Lion King" =
Chase, in the car on the way to preschool this morning, after an evening of watching "The Lion King": "Mom, you know, God is watching over you." Pause. "And so are the great kings of the past."
Monday, February 11, 2008
A Blog, 10,000 Steps and Compassionate the Pig
The subtitle of this post is "Chains."
First, there's this blog. Here I am, chained to the computer, after obsessing throughout the day about what I'm going to possibly write. Let's hope it gets easier. My husband warned me, though. His words: "Don't start a blog, because then you'll have to write in it." He knows me.
Then, there's the 10,000 Steps program. For the uninitiated, this is a program for which you can sign up through your insurance company, committing to a certain level of exercise. I signed up last year, found out I wasn't as committed as I thought I was, dropped out and routed all the friendly email reminders about recording my steps straight to my junk mail box. But this year the minimal financial incentive ($65? or something like that) appealed to my "something for (almost) nothing" greed, and I signed up again. So now I'm not only chained to the computer, but I'm also chained to the pedometer, and the two aren't exactly compatible. To make matters worse, in a moment of weakness I thought I may as well join the 10,000 Steps competition at work. For this, we team up with other staff to compete for the most steps each week until spring break. Add yet another chain: the expectations of staff member I barely even know, but can hardly disappoint by being apathetically lazy.
Finally, to ratchet up the stress levels, we are now chained to Compassionate the Pig at our house this week. (BTW, ratchet isn't really a verb, but it should be). Compassionate the Pig was waiting in Chase's cubby at preschool when I went to pick up my youngest child today. The killjoy in me inwardly groaned when I first saw the dingy stuffed pig and then listened to Chase exclaim excitedly, "Mom! Mom! Look! Look! We get to bring Compassionate the Pig home!" Waiting with CTP was a journal in which we record all the lovely adventures we will enjoy together. The journal is already filled with photos and accounts of how CTP has joined Chase's preschool classmates at dance classes, played on the Wii, watched them get their nails done, and even hosted a sleepover with all the girls from a dance class. Unfortunately, in comparision, CTP will lead a very boring life at our house. No Wii! No dance classes! No sleepovers or playdates! No karate or football or soccer! No appointments to get one's nails done! He will just play, and maybe watch Caleb play a basketball game or two this weekend. And why is this stressful? Because I look at that %^$*^&%* journal and can't help feeling I must be depriving my children in some way by coming home most nights and not going ANYWHERE or planning ANYTHING. We just relax, eat dinner together, play, and go to bed (except for me - I have to post my blog). How boring.
And no, I don't know where the name "Compassionate the Pig" came from. But I can tell you that Maren brought home Lovely the Alligator, or something like that. I've treid to repress the memory.
First, there's this blog. Here I am, chained to the computer, after obsessing throughout the day about what I'm going to possibly write. Let's hope it gets easier. My husband warned me, though. His words: "Don't start a blog, because then you'll have to write in it." He knows me.
Then, there's the 10,000 Steps program. For the uninitiated, this is a program for which you can sign up through your insurance company, committing to a certain level of exercise. I signed up last year, found out I wasn't as committed as I thought I was, dropped out and routed all the friendly email reminders about recording my steps straight to my junk mail box. But this year the minimal financial incentive ($65? or something like that) appealed to my "something for (almost) nothing" greed, and I signed up again. So now I'm not only chained to the computer, but I'm also chained to the pedometer, and the two aren't exactly compatible. To make matters worse, in a moment of weakness I thought I may as well join the 10,000 Steps competition at work. For this, we team up with other staff to compete for the most steps each week until spring break. Add yet another chain: the expectations of staff member I barely even know, but can hardly disappoint by being apathetically lazy.
Finally, to ratchet up the stress levels, we are now chained to Compassionate the Pig at our house this week. (BTW, ratchet isn't really a verb, but it should be). Compassionate the Pig was waiting in Chase's cubby at preschool when I went to pick up my youngest child today. The killjoy in me inwardly groaned when I first saw the dingy stuffed pig and then listened to Chase exclaim excitedly, "Mom! Mom! Look! Look! We get to bring Compassionate the Pig home!" Waiting with CTP was a journal in which we record all the lovely adventures we will enjoy together. The journal is already filled with photos and accounts of how CTP has joined Chase's preschool classmates at dance classes, played on the Wii, watched them get their nails done, and even hosted a sleepover with all the girls from a dance class. Unfortunately, in comparision, CTP will lead a very boring life at our house. No Wii! No dance classes! No sleepovers or playdates! No karate or football or soccer! No appointments to get one's nails done! He will just play, and maybe watch Caleb play a basketball game or two this weekend. And why is this stressful? Because I look at that %^$*^&%* journal and can't help feeling I must be depriving my children in some way by coming home most nights and not going ANYWHERE or planning ANYTHING. We just relax, eat dinner together, play, and go to bed (except for me - I have to post my blog). How boring.
And no, I don't know where the name "Compassionate the Pig" came from. But I can tell you that Maren brought home Lovely the Alligator, or something like that. I've treid to repress the memory.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Valentines
It was a good weekend to hunker down, what with the windchill dropping into the double digits below zero. Weather like this makes one supremely grateful for having a roof over (and four solid walls around) one's head. We spent Saturday completing valentine-related activities: baking and decorating valentine cookies and getting valentine cards ready for the upcoming class parties.
As a sixth grader, Caleb doesn't do the whole valentine exchange thing, but Maren and Chase both brought home lists of all their classmates' names. We had already bought the necessary cards. Chase asked for Transformers cards, which have incomprehensible messages like "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Valentine." Never mind that Chase doesn't have a Transformer, has never watched a movie or TV show about Transformers, and barely even knows what the dang things do. They're cool! On the other hand, Maren settled on Snoopy valentines after I firmly said, "NO!" to Bratz. She didn't seem all that disappointed in my refusal - maybe because her exposure (at least at home) to Bratz is as limited as Chase's is to Transformers. Please don't ask me why Transformers are okay and Bratz aren't. I'm still trying to figure out my reasoning on that.
Maren handily finished addressing and signing her Valentines in a few minutes, but Chase labored over his for quite awhile. I told Chase I would address his cards for him. When you're 4 years old, writing your name 24 times in a small space seems enough punishment without copying 24 names you've never written before. Plus, Chase hasn't quite mastered the concept of writing left to right, top to bottom. If he started to run out of space when writing his name, he'd put the next few letters on top of the first two, and finish with the last one in a pyramid-style signature. One can only imagine how his classmates' names would be deciphered when written in that form.
Incidentally, none of Maren's classmates had to be identified with a last initial - no names are repeated in the entire class list, which is kind of unusual. In contrast, Chase's class had two Olivias and two Ethans... and one Abbysinia. Not sure which is better (or worse) - to have a name that is so common that your last initial is needed to identify you, or to have a name that is so different that most people have never heard it, or know how to spell it.
As a sixth grader, Caleb doesn't do the whole valentine exchange thing, but Maren and Chase both brought home lists of all their classmates' names. We had already bought the necessary cards. Chase asked for Transformers cards, which have incomprehensible messages like "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Valentine." Never mind that Chase doesn't have a Transformer, has never watched a movie or TV show about Transformers, and barely even knows what the dang things do. They're cool! On the other hand, Maren settled on Snoopy valentines after I firmly said, "NO!" to Bratz. She didn't seem all that disappointed in my refusal - maybe because her exposure (at least at home) to Bratz is as limited as Chase's is to Transformers. Please don't ask me why Transformers are okay and Bratz aren't. I'm still trying to figure out my reasoning on that.
Maren handily finished addressing and signing her Valentines in a few minutes, but Chase labored over his for quite awhile. I told Chase I would address his cards for him. When you're 4 years old, writing your name 24 times in a small space seems enough punishment without copying 24 names you've never written before. Plus, Chase hasn't quite mastered the concept of writing left to right, top to bottom. If he started to run out of space when writing his name, he'd put the next few letters on top of the first two, and finish with the last one in a pyramid-style signature. One can only imagine how his classmates' names would be deciphered when written in that form.
Incidentally, none of Maren's classmates had to be identified with a last initial - no names are repeated in the entire class list, which is kind of unusual. In contrast, Chase's class had two Olivias and two Ethans... and one Abbysinia. Not sure which is better (or worse) - to have a name that is so common that your last initial is needed to identify you, or to have a name that is so different that most people have never heard it, or know how to spell it.
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