Yesterday I was all ooey-gooey lovey dovey doped up with hormones. Today those same hormones have turned the tables and have made me into the most insufferably miserable person possible.
Sunday October 30th, 2011, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.....
1. I hate that my humidifier ran out of water at 4 am, and my sinuses nearly immediately notified me that I needed to get up and refill it if I had any intention of not suffocating on my own snot.
2. I hate that I have 2 available body temperatures: volcano on the sun or igloo on Pluto. I cannot find a happy medium.
3. I hate that I actually BELIEVED the husband when he said that he'd clean up the kitchen last night, because I couldn't even SEE a countertop this morning in order to make my daughter breakfast.
4. I hate that MY day to sleep in is almost always ruined by the worrying of a 35lb corgi who insists that the only reason I'd still be in bed at 7am is because I died, and she wants to be first in line to eat my face.
5. I hate that I can only wear 3 pairs of pants right now because it means I have to wash them all the stupid time.
6. I hate having a child with a cold while I also have a sinus infection. Sick kid= no naps. Sick Mommy= wants to nap more than she wants Cocoa Pebbles, which is a lot.
7. I hate that I am such a crappy housekeeper. Perhaps the laundry situation wouldn't bother me so much if I actually had the wherwithal to complete a laundry cycle once in a while. I'm highly adept at filling and running the washing machine, and that's about it. I tend to let things mildew and require rewashing at least twice before they make it into the dryer.
8. I hate the third trimester of pregnancy because it robs me of my will to do anything I enjoy. I don't want to cook, I don't want to read, I would LOVE to sleep but can't. Come on January 26th.
9. I hate Sallie Mae. I trust that needs no explainer.
10. I hate that Words with Friends seems to have decided I'm some sort of master wordsmith who can play entire games getting only about 4 consonants total in an entire game. At last check, I had THREE games going where every tile in my panel was a vowel. One was particularly impressive: IIIIIUU. Yes, you can spell ANYTHING with those 7 letters!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Maybe it's just the hormones
Maybe I'm just a gigantic wad of hormones, but I am completely in love with my little girl here lately. Let me count the ways....
Now that she's a talker, the things that come out of her mouth could get her a gig at the Funnybone. In addition to being precocious, she's also got an absurd vocabulary for a 2 year old (genetics, probably). Listening to her make connections to things and talk about it just warms the cold cockles of my heart. For example, at the doctor's office, there's a picture of a bunch of fairy tale critters in one of the room, and listening to her name them "Issa DRAGON! Issa fairy!" is amazing. Where does a 2 year old learn to identify a dragon? And how freaking awesome is that? She also commands your attention before she tells you something, much like someone doing a communication exercise for some sort of cult. Before she tells anyone anything, she says their name, quite forcefully, and makes sure they're paying attention because what she's about to tell you is super important. For example:
"MAMA!"
"Yes baby?"
"Dada gotta pee butt?"
"No, I don't think Dada has a pee butt. Dada doesn't wear a diaper anymore."
"Mama gotta pee butt?"
"No, Mama goes pee pee in the potty. Do you want to pee pee in the potty?"
"Nonononononononono."
I take her to the sitter's house most mornings and it's our special time to talk about things. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sing, sometimes we both look morose because it's 7:30 and we've been awake too long with too many things to do already. But the singing is usually my favorite, except for when we have to do the Oratorio of Old McDonald, where I have to sing it as she names the animal noise she'd like included in this verse. "A cow?" "A horse?" "A giraffe?"
But my favorite is when she plays pretend. She has several little plush toys of characters from Sesame Street and Yo Gabba Gabba that she loves, and if you watch her carefully, she will make them pattycake or do the Itsy Bitsy Spider.....She'll have Elmo's hands in hers, making him do the motions while she sings:
Thaaaa ippy 'pider climbin' dere,
Down a rain an WASH it out!
Out a sun an dry a rain,
Anna ippy 'pider climb again!
Yeah, I may miss sleeping. I miss doing my laundry and letting the husband fend for himself. I miss having time to spoil my dogs. I miss not having to consider "toddler friendly" options for eating out and planning meals....I miss only having to clean up after my slob of a husband. But when I open a little girl's bedroom door in the morning and a tiny little thing in footed piggy jammies squeals and comes running to hug my legs and say "HI MAMA! I gotta BOOK!" then the rest of it kind of goes away.
Now that she's a talker, the things that come out of her mouth could get her a gig at the Funnybone. In addition to being precocious, she's also got an absurd vocabulary for a 2 year old (genetics, probably). Listening to her make connections to things and talk about it just warms the cold cockles of my heart. For example, at the doctor's office, there's a picture of a bunch of fairy tale critters in one of the room, and listening to her name them "Issa DRAGON! Issa fairy!" is amazing. Where does a 2 year old learn to identify a dragon? And how freaking awesome is that? She also commands your attention before she tells you something, much like someone doing a communication exercise for some sort of cult. Before she tells anyone anything, she says their name, quite forcefully, and makes sure they're paying attention because what she's about to tell you is super important. For example:
"MAMA!"
"Yes baby?"
"Dada gotta pee butt?"
"No, I don't think Dada has a pee butt. Dada doesn't wear a diaper anymore."
"Mama gotta pee butt?"
"No, Mama goes pee pee in the potty. Do you want to pee pee in the potty?"
"Nonononononononono."
I take her to the sitter's house most mornings and it's our special time to talk about things. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sing, sometimes we both look morose because it's 7:30 and we've been awake too long with too many things to do already. But the singing is usually my favorite, except for when we have to do the Oratorio of Old McDonald, where I have to sing it as she names the animal noise she'd like included in this verse. "A cow?" "A horse?" "A giraffe?"
But my favorite is when she plays pretend. She has several little plush toys of characters from Sesame Street and Yo Gabba Gabba that she loves, and if you watch her carefully, she will make them pattycake or do the Itsy Bitsy Spider.....She'll have Elmo's hands in hers, making him do the motions while she sings:
Thaaaa ippy 'pider climbin' dere,
Down a rain an WASH it out!
Out a sun an dry a rain,
Anna ippy 'pider climb again!
Yeah, I may miss sleeping. I miss doing my laundry and letting the husband fend for himself. I miss having time to spoil my dogs. I miss not having to consider "toddler friendly" options for eating out and planning meals....I miss only having to clean up after my slob of a husband. But when I open a little girl's bedroom door in the morning and a tiny little thing in footed piggy jammies squeals and comes running to hug my legs and say "HI MAMA! I gotta BOOK!" then the rest of it kind of goes away.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Things I love
1. My baby girl and her silly daddy
2. My ridiculous dogs
3. Wine
4. strawberries
5. watermelon
6. fur lined slippers
7. hot baths, especially in a jetted tub which I do not own.
8. yoga pants and giant t-shirts
9. DVR
10. Iced Oatmeal Raisin Luna Bars
11. Potato chips with mustard on them
12. someone else emptying/filling the dishwasher
13. online shopping
14. pedicures
15. my homemade beef stroganoff
Just feeling thankful. What do you love?
2. My ridiculous dogs
3. Wine
4. strawberries
5. watermelon
6. fur lined slippers
7. hot baths, especially in a jetted tub which I do not own.
8. yoga pants and giant t-shirts
9. DVR
10. Iced Oatmeal Raisin Luna Bars
11. Potato chips with mustard on them
12. someone else emptying/filling the dishwasher
13. online shopping
14. pedicures
15. my homemade beef stroganoff
Just feeling thankful. What do you love?
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Do I appear to have an abundance of time?
This week has already been an experiment in survival and it's only Wednesday.
In addition to a very nice field trip which some aggravating parent decisions rendered stressful for me, my kid is sick. She never gets sick. In her nearly 2 years of life, she's had a round of antibiotics exactly once. Therefore it's hard to know what to do to make her feel better because we've had to do it so rarely.
And did I mention I'm 27 weeks pregnant? If you've never done that, it's not so fun. This is the point where things start getting uncomfortable. I can't move or bend like I would like to, I can't hold my kid in certain ways, I have ver little lap for her and Gus to share. And since it's the second go around things that weren't such a bother last time like round ligament pain and Braxton Hicks contractions really seriously hurt and suck schweddy monkey balls.
And the husband has the creeping crud and is even less helpful around tha house than usual which means that instead of contributing in very minor ways to cleaning up his own messes, he's leaving them and making them bigger than ever. Why does he need to keep 4 pairs of dirty socks on the couch? Why?
Then today my to-do list at work grew by leaps and bounds, mostly from being voluntold to do various things. When people schedule things for me to attend or incorporate into my own overfull schedule, I get cranky. I was stuck in a meeting having the same conversation about the same aspect of curriculum that I've now had at least 5 times. I'm not sure if TPTB think that the learning curve on this particular math program is that steep or if they are just trying to find some way to fill our time other than letting us use it to accomplish some of the million things they want us to do during the day without actually allocating the time that accomplishing them requires. Thanks for that.
The Squirt has poison ivy. I didn't even know what poison ivy looked like. I've never gotten it and am pretty sure I'm immune to it. I KNOW I've come into contact with it many times but never had a rash or anything. The Husband is the same way. So then last night we noticed a couple of little red bumps on The Squirt that we first dismissed as bug bites because she loves to play outside right now. Then tonight when she requested bathtime and got nekkid, we noticed that her 3 or 4 spots had turned into 10-12. So, knowing her Papa has some sort of rash situation going on that his regular doctor couldn't identify but was supposed to be seen by a dermatologist today, we called to find out what his diagnosis is, and bingo, poison ivy. So thank goodness for Uncle Mike in Georgia who is hyper allergic to it and was able to confirm for us that the poor kid is indeed itchy and miserable.... and despite not inheriting her Mommy and Daddy's resistance to poison ivy, she did inherit her daddy's odd reaction to benadryl, meaning the medicine that should make her comfortable, less itchy and sleepy renders her hyper as a loon.
Mommy needs a break, people. And a burrito. And probably some cookie dough ice cream.
In addition to a very nice field trip which some aggravating parent decisions rendered stressful for me, my kid is sick. She never gets sick. In her nearly 2 years of life, she's had a round of antibiotics exactly once. Therefore it's hard to know what to do to make her feel better because we've had to do it so rarely.
And did I mention I'm 27 weeks pregnant? If you've never done that, it's not so fun. This is the point where things start getting uncomfortable. I can't move or bend like I would like to, I can't hold my kid in certain ways, I have ver little lap for her and Gus to share. And since it's the second go around things that weren't such a bother last time like round ligament pain and Braxton Hicks contractions really seriously hurt and suck schweddy monkey balls.
And the husband has the creeping crud and is even less helpful around tha house than usual which means that instead of contributing in very minor ways to cleaning up his own messes, he's leaving them and making them bigger than ever. Why does he need to keep 4 pairs of dirty socks on the couch? Why?
Then today my to-do list at work grew by leaps and bounds, mostly from being voluntold to do various things. When people schedule things for me to attend or incorporate into my own overfull schedule, I get cranky. I was stuck in a meeting having the same conversation about the same aspect of curriculum that I've now had at least 5 times. I'm not sure if TPTB think that the learning curve on this particular math program is that steep or if they are just trying to find some way to fill our time other than letting us use it to accomplish some of the million things they want us to do during the day without actually allocating the time that accomplishing them requires. Thanks for that.
The Squirt has poison ivy. I didn't even know what poison ivy looked like. I've never gotten it and am pretty sure I'm immune to it. I KNOW I've come into contact with it many times but never had a rash or anything. The Husband is the same way. So then last night we noticed a couple of little red bumps on The Squirt that we first dismissed as bug bites because she loves to play outside right now. Then tonight when she requested bathtime and got nekkid, we noticed that her 3 or 4 spots had turned into 10-12. So, knowing her Papa has some sort of rash situation going on that his regular doctor couldn't identify but was supposed to be seen by a dermatologist today, we called to find out what his diagnosis is, and bingo, poison ivy. So thank goodness for Uncle Mike in Georgia who is hyper allergic to it and was able to confirm for us that the poor kid is indeed itchy and miserable.... and despite not inheriting her Mommy and Daddy's resistance to poison ivy, she did inherit her daddy's odd reaction to benadryl, meaning the medicine that should make her comfortable, less itchy and sleepy renders her hyper as a loon.
Mommy needs a break, people. And a burrito. And probably some cookie dough ice cream.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Why I am a Mutant
When I was a little girl, my parents appeared to take their parenting responsibility seriously. I was fed three meals a day, usually containing some nutritional content. My clothes fit and were seasonally appropriate. I never got lice. They signed forms and returned them to school, attended meetings when required, came to concerts, and gave me the choice of buying or bringing my lunch each day, even giving the choice of PBJ, bologna and cheese or salami sandwiches. My brother and I were not allowed to watch horror movies, anything rated R or anything that involved sex. My mother still firmly believes that "fart" and "crap" are full on curse words, despite the fact that in the last year she's learned to drop the appropriate F bomb here and there.
Husband and I attempt to do the same sort of parenting for our daughter, and I'm sure that will continue when her sister is born. Something inside us just tells us that it's our job to provide food, shelter, clothing and guidance for our children. Among my circle of friends who also have kids, this seems to be the going trend of parenting: actual childcare. Are we mutants? It appears so.
Why do I think so? Well because in the last couple of weeks it has been made clear to me that I have been placing far too many expectations upon myself! I need to take it easy! How have I learned this lesson? Why, I've been taught by the parents of public school students!
I don't actually HAVE to feed my child 3 meals a day despite the fact that we can afford healthy, nutritious and often tasty fare. And if I'd rather not be responsible for that, the school system will just do it for me.
And returning permission slips? Unnecessary. That is, unless I decided at 8:45am the morning of a field trip that leaves at 9:30 that I'd rather not pack my child's lunch despite saying I would beforehand. If I just give her a few dollars to take with her, SURELY the teacher can stop and pick up something for my child to eat, right? If not, he can just eat her sandwich. She has a job after all and gets 3 months off every summer, I'm sure she can afford another one.
Maybe my daughter only speaks in monosyllabic whine and has a recurrent case of head lice? Well, if I was a good parent apparently I'd just wait until the school wanted to take care of the communication problem with some free therapy, and as for the lice, can't the nurse just pick it out for me?
And now that the weather's changing and it's in the mid 40's in the morning when my child heads off to school, I don't really need to worry about whether or not she has a jacket or coat. If she shows up in 48 degree weather in shorts and a t-shirt shivering, they'll just give her a new outfit at school.
And now that The Squirt is on the verge of turning 2, we have that whole potty training issue ahead of us. I THOUGHT that was going to be something we'd need to figure out and get cracking on, but as it turns out, she doesn't actually have to be potty trained to go to school. At least apparently not, as we have a half dozen students in Kindergarten and first grade who regularly urinate and/or defecate in their pants. And that's ok, because the school will just take care of it. They'll clean my child up (but they BETTER NOT SEE HER NAKED OR I WILL SUE!!!), give her new clean clothes, evaluate her to see if she needs medical attention or special education theraputic services and just take care of that little problem for me.
I dunno, mutant or not, I still feel somewhat compelled to, oh, I don't know, CARE FOR MY CHILD. And I am increasingly disturbed at the dwindling pool of parents who seem to believe that this is what they're supposed to do as well.
Husband and I attempt to do the same sort of parenting for our daughter, and I'm sure that will continue when her sister is born. Something inside us just tells us that it's our job to provide food, shelter, clothing and guidance for our children. Among my circle of friends who also have kids, this seems to be the going trend of parenting: actual childcare. Are we mutants? It appears so.
Why do I think so? Well because in the last couple of weeks it has been made clear to me that I have been placing far too many expectations upon myself! I need to take it easy! How have I learned this lesson? Why, I've been taught by the parents of public school students!
I don't actually HAVE to feed my child 3 meals a day despite the fact that we can afford healthy, nutritious and often tasty fare. And if I'd rather not be responsible for that, the school system will just do it for me.
And returning permission slips? Unnecessary. That is, unless I decided at 8:45am the morning of a field trip that leaves at 9:30 that I'd rather not pack my child's lunch despite saying I would beforehand. If I just give her a few dollars to take with her, SURELY the teacher can stop and pick up something for my child to eat, right? If not, he can just eat her sandwich. She has a job after all and gets 3 months off every summer, I'm sure she can afford another one.
Maybe my daughter only speaks in monosyllabic whine and has a recurrent case of head lice? Well, if I was a good parent apparently I'd just wait until the school wanted to take care of the communication problem with some free therapy, and as for the lice, can't the nurse just pick it out for me?
And now that the weather's changing and it's in the mid 40's in the morning when my child heads off to school, I don't really need to worry about whether or not she has a jacket or coat. If she shows up in 48 degree weather in shorts and a t-shirt shivering, they'll just give her a new outfit at school.
And now that The Squirt is on the verge of turning 2, we have that whole potty training issue ahead of us. I THOUGHT that was going to be something we'd need to figure out and get cracking on, but as it turns out, she doesn't actually have to be potty trained to go to school. At least apparently not, as we have a half dozen students in Kindergarten and first grade who regularly urinate and/or defecate in their pants. And that's ok, because the school will just take care of it. They'll clean my child up (but they BETTER NOT SEE HER NAKED OR I WILL SUE!!!), give her new clean clothes, evaluate her to see if she needs medical attention or special education theraputic services and just take care of that little problem for me.
I dunno, mutant or not, I still feel somewhat compelled to, oh, I don't know, CARE FOR MY CHILD. And I am increasingly disturbed at the dwindling pool of parents who seem to believe that this is what they're supposed to do as well.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Failure due to Red Tape
As a kindergarten teacher of many students who come to school with little to no preschool background, I am often the first person to identify what often becomes a special education need for a child in my class. Since I spend 6 hours a day with a child, I have a lot of insight into whether or not a child who came without any experience with the material in the curriculum (lettters and numbers) is progressing at a normal pace or not. However, today I encountered my third experience in just two years with a child that every teacher can see has an issue that needs specialized instruction and support but whom the formal diagnostic process fails miserably.
Last year I had a young man who was obviously suffering from some emotional developmental delays. He was just vacant most of the time, and compared to his peers he made little if any progress towards mastering any concepts in the kindergarten curriculum. He would sit on the carpet during story time and rock back and forth with a shoelace in his mouth. Honestly, he seemed drugged. After "showing my ass" so to speak in a meeting with the diagnostic team, they agreed to evaluate him for possible learning or emotional disabilites, but in the end despite the fact that this child was OBVIOUSLY in need of intervention in as many ways as possible, he was deemed "ineligible" because he hadn't been in school long enough for us to really KNOW that he wasn't learning. He has since been to about 4 other schools, had a full psychotic sort of break, kicking, biting, basically gone off the deep end.... and I KNEW he had an issue, but what I know didn't matter- all that mattered was that he hadn't had "adequate exposure" to curriculum.
Another guy who is a redshirted kindergartener was in a similar situation. His teacher last year, a 20 year veteran of kindergarten, could tell in SEPTEMBER that he would need to be retained because not only did he come with no prior knowledge or developed skills needed for kindergarten, he was unable to develop and retain the knowledge and skills that he was being taught at a rate that was acceptable to the rigors of the kindergarten curriculum. So, again, the diagnostic team failed this young man because despite the fact that he obviously needed specialized support and could have gotten it, they dismissed the veteran teacher's concerns with the "adequate exposure" clause all over again. So now his parents have demanded an evaluation, and frankly I won't be terribly surprised with a pronouncement of ineligible because instead of comparing him with a student his own AGE, they insist on comparing him with a grade level peer, or a first month kindergartener. So this child will likely not get served with intervention that I cannot do by myself for him until 3rd grade or later when the problems become so pronounced that he is several grade levels behind in reading and math.
And now I have another one. Every time I pick my class up from Art, Music, Library, Computers, or PE the teacher asks me what is wrong with her. She doesn't seem to understand anything about what she's supposed to do. She copies others, and when she can't do that she is completely lost and oblivious. After 5 weeks of DAILY one-on-one interventions she still doesn't recognize her own name, nor can she name any individual letter in her name. This despite the combination of the interventions she's already had PLUS the fact that the entire first hour of my school day revolves around letters and letter sounds. One member of the team observed her for about 10 minutes today and pronounced her "without concern." I wanted to scream! This child is in desperate need of more help than I can give her. I have 22 students in my class and she has already monopolized every resource I have available to help any child who struggles. Her attention issues are so profound that she cannot work in a group with other children receiving help because she distracts them so badly. She is usually unable to string more than 3 words together to form a sentence. Like a toddler, her first instinct is to hit or spit at others when she feels threatened (including phantom threats like someone is sitting where she wants to sit on the carpet).
This whole situation frustrates me to no end. It's as if because I got a degree in Education rather than Psychology, my own knowledge, observation and plain gut instinct are immaterial in these cases. You're telling me that 10 minutes of observation by someone with a psychology degree trumps 6 hours a day of agony in dealing with this child who I simply cannot help on my own. And so then I am stuck between a rock and a hard place: I am obligated to invest all the time and resources at my disposal to help her, but if I KNOW there is something wrong and that the time and energy expended will be wasted on her, then I'm denying another child who COULD made adequate progress with just a little intervention the chance to get that help. Why should one child be able to monopolize everything I have to give when I KNOW that there's something wrong that falls outside the realm of what I'm able to handle on my own?
It's a catch-22..... I'm supposed to be "highly qualified," highly educated, a professional educator, yet I'm not deemed qualified to identify when a child's needs are beyond my help. Wouldn't I know better than anyone what's beyond my help?
Last year I had a young man who was obviously suffering from some emotional developmental delays. He was just vacant most of the time, and compared to his peers he made little if any progress towards mastering any concepts in the kindergarten curriculum. He would sit on the carpet during story time and rock back and forth with a shoelace in his mouth. Honestly, he seemed drugged. After "showing my ass" so to speak in a meeting with the diagnostic team, they agreed to evaluate him for possible learning or emotional disabilites, but in the end despite the fact that this child was OBVIOUSLY in need of intervention in as many ways as possible, he was deemed "ineligible" because he hadn't been in school long enough for us to really KNOW that he wasn't learning. He has since been to about 4 other schools, had a full psychotic sort of break, kicking, biting, basically gone off the deep end.... and I KNEW he had an issue, but what I know didn't matter- all that mattered was that he hadn't had "adequate exposure" to curriculum.
Another guy who is a redshirted kindergartener was in a similar situation. His teacher last year, a 20 year veteran of kindergarten, could tell in SEPTEMBER that he would need to be retained because not only did he come with no prior knowledge or developed skills needed for kindergarten, he was unable to develop and retain the knowledge and skills that he was being taught at a rate that was acceptable to the rigors of the kindergarten curriculum. So, again, the diagnostic team failed this young man because despite the fact that he obviously needed specialized support and could have gotten it, they dismissed the veteran teacher's concerns with the "adequate exposure" clause all over again. So now his parents have demanded an evaluation, and frankly I won't be terribly surprised with a pronouncement of ineligible because instead of comparing him with a student his own AGE, they insist on comparing him with a grade level peer, or a first month kindergartener. So this child will likely not get served with intervention that I cannot do by myself for him until 3rd grade or later when the problems become so pronounced that he is several grade levels behind in reading and math.
And now I have another one. Every time I pick my class up from Art, Music, Library, Computers, or PE the teacher asks me what is wrong with her. She doesn't seem to understand anything about what she's supposed to do. She copies others, and when she can't do that she is completely lost and oblivious. After 5 weeks of DAILY one-on-one interventions she still doesn't recognize her own name, nor can she name any individual letter in her name. This despite the combination of the interventions she's already had PLUS the fact that the entire first hour of my school day revolves around letters and letter sounds. One member of the team observed her for about 10 minutes today and pronounced her "without concern." I wanted to scream! This child is in desperate need of more help than I can give her. I have 22 students in my class and she has already monopolized every resource I have available to help any child who struggles. Her attention issues are so profound that she cannot work in a group with other children receiving help because she distracts them so badly. She is usually unable to string more than 3 words together to form a sentence. Like a toddler, her first instinct is to hit or spit at others when she feels threatened (including phantom threats like someone is sitting where she wants to sit on the carpet).
This whole situation frustrates me to no end. It's as if because I got a degree in Education rather than Psychology, my own knowledge, observation and plain gut instinct are immaterial in these cases. You're telling me that 10 minutes of observation by someone with a psychology degree trumps 6 hours a day of agony in dealing with this child who I simply cannot help on my own. And so then I am stuck between a rock and a hard place: I am obligated to invest all the time and resources at my disposal to help her, but if I KNOW there is something wrong and that the time and energy expended will be wasted on her, then I'm denying another child who COULD made adequate progress with just a little intervention the chance to get that help. Why should one child be able to monopolize everything I have to give when I KNOW that there's something wrong that falls outside the realm of what I'm able to handle on my own?
It's a catch-22..... I'm supposed to be "highly qualified," highly educated, a professional educator, yet I'm not deemed qualified to identify when a child's needs are beyond my help. Wouldn't I know better than anyone what's beyond my help?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Education! It's not just daycare anymore!
Yep, 2 in one day.... I'm all thinky-like.
Lest I be labeled as an ungrateful curmudgeon, I ought to share some things that make me come back to my classroom every day.....
Like one little chickie who showed up on Sept. 6 without knowing a single letter, a single color, how to spell or even recognize her name, or even how to hold scissors..... girlfriend actually WROTE a couple of words, kindergarten style, in her journal today. That tells me I've accomplished something.
One other little guy taking a second stab at kindergarten successfully made a pattern today with his beans. First time ever without one-on-one guidance through the process.
A group of happy little faces on my carpet who are excited about sharing what they wrote in their journals this morning about "What I like to Eat in the Fall," because they stretched out "corndog" and spelled it "kordok" or spelled "apple" as "abl" and they know I will be over the moon excited about that.
I show up for that stuff.
Lest I be labeled as an ungrateful curmudgeon, I ought to share some things that make me come back to my classroom every day.....
Like one little chickie who showed up on Sept. 6 without knowing a single letter, a single color, how to spell or even recognize her name, or even how to hold scissors..... girlfriend actually WROTE a couple of words, kindergarten style, in her journal today. That tells me I've accomplished something.
One other little guy taking a second stab at kindergarten successfully made a pattern today with his beans. First time ever without one-on-one guidance through the process.
A group of happy little faces on my carpet who are excited about sharing what they wrote in their journals this morning about "What I like to Eat in the Fall," because they stretched out "corndog" and spelled it "kordok" or spelled "apple" as "abl" and they know I will be over the moon excited about that.
I show up for that stuff.
When you Kick a Puppy
My enjoyable co-workers and I have been struggling for the last month to deal with no longer being in an abusive relationship. As I looked around a meeting this morning and listened to our new Fearless Leader say without directly saying that we didn't need to fear being treated and suspected of wrongdoing constantly as we had in previous regimes, it occured to me that the public school teacher is, on the whole, a kicked puppy.
You've seen them on the ASPCA ads. The big, sweet eyed puppy cowering in the corner, terrified of the kind hand of rescue being offered because some soulless monstrosity of a person had kicked him too many times and like anyone with motives as pure as a puppy's, he didn't understand why the person whose acceptance he craved was hurting him. Oh my, at 6 months pregnant, even visualizing that and typing it up made me tear up a bit.
Teachers are beat down. We are now universally held accountable not only for teaching reading, writing and 'rithmatic, but for raising American children, teaching their parents to parent, providing meals to those whose parents can't or won't do it, urging parents/doctors/diagnosticians to identify disabilities, teaching morality and ethics and thinking and in too many cases lately, toilet training to 5 and 6 year olds. And when our superhero powers fail us, the "system" cuts our pay, points fingers at us, kicks us and generally treats us with malice and suspicion that is unwarranted in most cases.
Of course there are bad eggs. There are bad eggs in any profession. But I'd wager that the vast, vast majority of teachers are not bad eggs. They're sincerely trying to do the best they can to educate little friends and teach them how to function in a safe and healthy environment. Without this sincere desire to touch the life of a child with something other than a fist or a kick, there'd be no reason for a teacher to take the abuse that's heaped on us daily when we could trot our merry rear ends to the private sector for better pay, better benefits and more respect.
I posted something on Facebook the other day about wishing I subscribed to a religion that had more work holidays, and a high school friend asked if having three months a year off wasn't enough.... I think this illustrates perfectly that most Americans hold us accountable for a job they don't understand and could never do themselves, but believe they know more about than we, the ones doing the job, do. I don't have three months off. Never have. Probably never will. I could do like others and go through accounting for all the time and energy I expend in my job that others don't have- even trivial things like not purchasing wine or liquor in a store where a child that knows me from school might see me. Think an engineer has to worry about whether or not his Friday night 6-pack purchase might offend a co-worker to the point that he's profiled and demonized on the evening news, written up for ethical issues and in fear of losing his job? Likely not. But teaching, like being a pastor, is a vocation. It's a life. It's all encompassing. I don't turn it off when 4:00 comes around and I head home.
Teachers are beaten up. But from what I see, we're not broken down. We're working our collective heinies off to try to compensate for an educational system that doesn't see children as unique, expressive and fallible humans but as machines and for whom The Almighty Dollar runs the show. But that doesn't make us stop tying shoes and wiping noses. We can't abandon the needs that we see. We show up every day hoping that there's news saying that the pendulum is swinging back into the realm of sane expectations, parent responsibility and reasonable accoutability standards from the insanity of No Child Left Behind and its ramifications. But even until it does, and hopefully it will, we still plan, prepare and teach.
It sure would be nice if more people like our new boss would make the choice to stop kicking us when we're down and instead choose to row the boat along with us as we continue gently down the stream, merrily waiting for when life will be a dream.
You've seen them on the ASPCA ads. The big, sweet eyed puppy cowering in the corner, terrified of the kind hand of rescue being offered because some soulless monstrosity of a person had kicked him too many times and like anyone with motives as pure as a puppy's, he didn't understand why the person whose acceptance he craved was hurting him. Oh my, at 6 months pregnant, even visualizing that and typing it up made me tear up a bit.
Teachers are beat down. We are now universally held accountable not only for teaching reading, writing and 'rithmatic, but for raising American children, teaching their parents to parent, providing meals to those whose parents can't or won't do it, urging parents/doctors/diagnosticians to identify disabilities, teaching morality and ethics and thinking and in too many cases lately, toilet training to 5 and 6 year olds. And when our superhero powers fail us, the "system" cuts our pay, points fingers at us, kicks us and generally treats us with malice and suspicion that is unwarranted in most cases.
Of course there are bad eggs. There are bad eggs in any profession. But I'd wager that the vast, vast majority of teachers are not bad eggs. They're sincerely trying to do the best they can to educate little friends and teach them how to function in a safe and healthy environment. Without this sincere desire to touch the life of a child with something other than a fist or a kick, there'd be no reason for a teacher to take the abuse that's heaped on us daily when we could trot our merry rear ends to the private sector for better pay, better benefits and more respect.
I posted something on Facebook the other day about wishing I subscribed to a religion that had more work holidays, and a high school friend asked if having three months a year off wasn't enough.... I think this illustrates perfectly that most Americans hold us accountable for a job they don't understand and could never do themselves, but believe they know more about than we, the ones doing the job, do. I don't have three months off. Never have. Probably never will. I could do like others and go through accounting for all the time and energy I expend in my job that others don't have- even trivial things like not purchasing wine or liquor in a store where a child that knows me from school might see me. Think an engineer has to worry about whether or not his Friday night 6-pack purchase might offend a co-worker to the point that he's profiled and demonized on the evening news, written up for ethical issues and in fear of losing his job? Likely not. But teaching, like being a pastor, is a vocation. It's a life. It's all encompassing. I don't turn it off when 4:00 comes around and I head home.
Teachers are beaten up. But from what I see, we're not broken down. We're working our collective heinies off to try to compensate for an educational system that doesn't see children as unique, expressive and fallible humans but as machines and for whom The Almighty Dollar runs the show. But that doesn't make us stop tying shoes and wiping noses. We can't abandon the needs that we see. We show up every day hoping that there's news saying that the pendulum is swinging back into the realm of sane expectations, parent responsibility and reasonable accoutability standards from the insanity of No Child Left Behind and its ramifications. But even until it does, and hopefully it will, we still plan, prepare and teach.
It sure would be nice if more people like our new boss would make the choice to stop kicking us when we're down and instead choose to row the boat along with us as we continue gently down the stream, merrily waiting for when life will be a dream.
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Ways that I Ruin My Mother's Life
I am a terrible, horrible, inconsiderate and rude person. Did you know that? Well, if you're not sure, all you have to do is ask my mother! Of all the people on Earth who hold a low or negative opinion of me, my mother takes the cake. Surprising? Let me ennumerate the ways in which I ruin my mother's life...
1. I do not care if I have a rug in my laundry room and have no intention of running out to purchase one.
2. I was not personally offended by the khaki colored paint job on the walls of our living room and hall.
3. I do not have a piece of furniture designated for the top of the staircase.
4. I am unable to provide her in April with firm dates for when I will visit Georgia in July. This includes being unable to tell her which standby flight I will arrive on. Nor am I able to provide a firm date for when I will acquire a shed.
5. I am unable to stop teaching/sleeping/living on a moment's notice to look up something online for her.
6. I do not believe that listening to her say "HELLO LITTLE GIRL" in a monster voice for 30-45 minutes on speakerphone daily does me or my daughter any good.
7. Despite my husband's intense dislike and objection to ceiling fans running in the bedroom at night, I still choose to sleep in the same bed as he does rather than in the guest room.
8. I am unable to quit my job to be a stay at home mother.
9. I don't actually CARE if my husband and I leave our dirty laundry in a pile on the floor of the bathroom. It's all in one place when I want to wash it.
10. I neglected to plant the preferred selection of bulbs and petunias in my yard this fall and spring.
11. I dare to disagree with her stance that Harry Potter is teaching witchcraft to children.
12. I don't believe I have any obligation to LIKE people in my family just because they're related to me.
13. The presence of my dog's crate that he loves is more important to me than maintaining a "continuity of wood tone" in my bedroom.
14. I am not offended by unpainted wood. I accept stain and varnish as viable finish options.
15. I do not believe that the color of blue I chose to paint my kitchen is "HORRIBLE."
16. I do not iron my toddler's clothes.
17. I will run the dishwasher when it isn't filled to overflowing, but I will not run the washing machine for 1 or 2 dishtowels.
18. I believe one can make purchases from stores other than Tuesday Morning and TJ Maxx.
19. I find it unnecessary to scream and clutch the door handle in the car upon making a left hand turn.
20. I choose to put my child to bed right after her bath rather than letting her play in the evening in her pajamas.
You see what a hideous, horrible daughter I am? I know, I'm a total disaster. And based on the text messages I get with appalling regularity ennumerating my unholy sins, I'm pretty much going straight to hell after this week's episode of Project Runway.
1. I do not care if I have a rug in my laundry room and have no intention of running out to purchase one.
2. I was not personally offended by the khaki colored paint job on the walls of our living room and hall.
3. I do not have a piece of furniture designated for the top of the staircase.
4. I am unable to provide her in April with firm dates for when I will visit Georgia in July. This includes being unable to tell her which standby flight I will arrive on. Nor am I able to provide a firm date for when I will acquire a shed.
5. I am unable to stop teaching/sleeping/living on a moment's notice to look up something online for her.
6. I do not believe that listening to her say "HELLO LITTLE GIRL" in a monster voice for 30-45 minutes on speakerphone daily does me or my daughter any good.
7. Despite my husband's intense dislike and objection to ceiling fans running in the bedroom at night, I still choose to sleep in the same bed as he does rather than in the guest room.
8. I am unable to quit my job to be a stay at home mother.
9. I don't actually CARE if my husband and I leave our dirty laundry in a pile on the floor of the bathroom. It's all in one place when I want to wash it.
10. I neglected to plant the preferred selection of bulbs and petunias in my yard this fall and spring.
11. I dare to disagree with her stance that Harry Potter is teaching witchcraft to children.
12. I don't believe I have any obligation to LIKE people in my family just because they're related to me.
13. The presence of my dog's crate that he loves is more important to me than maintaining a "continuity of wood tone" in my bedroom.
14. I am not offended by unpainted wood. I accept stain and varnish as viable finish options.
15. I do not believe that the color of blue I chose to paint my kitchen is "HORRIBLE."
16. I do not iron my toddler's clothes.
17. I will run the dishwasher when it isn't filled to overflowing, but I will not run the washing machine for 1 or 2 dishtowels.
18. I believe one can make purchases from stores other than Tuesday Morning and TJ Maxx.
19. I find it unnecessary to scream and clutch the door handle in the car upon making a left hand turn.
20. I choose to put my child to bed right after her bath rather than letting her play in the evening in her pajamas.
You see what a hideous, horrible daughter I am? I know, I'm a total disaster. And based on the text messages I get with appalling regularity ennumerating my unholy sins, I'm pretty much going straight to hell after this week's episode of Project Runway.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Reasons Dr. House is TOTALLY Right
I am a little bit in love with Dr. House. If you don't watch House, MD, you may not know about the scruffy curmudgeonly genius who, despite serious anti-social tendencies, has a wit and brilliance unsurpassed on television. The only character on TV I appreciate more is Walter Bishop on Fringe.
House always refers to pregnancy as a parasitic infection. And the reasons for that, while seemingly shocking for shock value, are disturbingly correct....
A parasite, by definition, is an organism that has a symbiotic relationship with a host that it benefits from at the cost of the host.
HOW, I ask you, then, is a baby NOT a parasite?
For example, I do not throw up. I will lie immobile in my bed, moving only to chew a tums or sip a gingerale to avoid throwing up. I'd rather die. Yet the moment the sperm hits the egg, the parasitic infection that results sends my head into the toilet daily, hourly, sometimes even several times in an hour for months on end. Some "experts" will claim that after the hcg hormone peaks around week 14 that the symptoms of morning sickness should dissipate.... they are big fat lying liars who lie. I tell you this with the confidence of someone who in her last pregnancy even continued throwing up AFTER childbirth.
Second example: heartburn. Now, one might assume that since I am so distressingly fat according to the medical community that food and I would be best friends. Plus, if you read my lasy blog entry, then you'd know I like to cook. However, during pregnancy food and I are arch enemies. I can get heartburn without even eating food. I'm at the point now where I can actually GET heartburn from antacids. Again, I have nobody to blame but the uterine parasite.
Third example: The parasite MOVES with a will of its own. She's big enough now that all the somersaults and judo moves she occupies herself with are able to even be felt by the outside world, should I like you enough to allow you to touch my belly. How is this at my expense? Well, for one thing, it's distracting. And then when you consider that it's an ENTIRE LIVING BEING currently being housed WITHIN MY BODY, the fact that you can feel it move is entirely freaky while being admittedly cool.
Fourth, the removal of the parasite is the only known cure for two medical conditions: pregnancy and pre-exlampsia. Until the parasite is removed, you're pregnant and you can't unpregnant without disconnecting the parasite from the host. And on the unfortunate chance that you piss it off enough for it to to raise your blood pressure and cause irreversible circulatory system damage, the only cure for the condition is getting the parasite removed.
Fifth, the cellular replication of the parasite directly leads to uncomfortable changes in the body of the host organism. As someone who generally sleeps like the dead, the arrival of a big belly that I can't sleep on, joints that hurt all the time and a small creature resident too close to my bladder to allow it any peace at all means that I am basically a slightly functional zombie. Slightly. I keep leaving my cellphone in the pantry and putting the same load of laundry to wash over and over because the parasite has robbed me of my ability to sleep like a corpse on ambien.
The one thing the parasite has going for it is that it's pretty stinkin' cute upon removal. And as it grows up, it does learn to sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider with a lisp.
House always refers to pregnancy as a parasitic infection. And the reasons for that, while seemingly shocking for shock value, are disturbingly correct....
A parasite, by definition, is an organism that has a symbiotic relationship with a host that it benefits from at the cost of the host.
HOW, I ask you, then, is a baby NOT a parasite?
For example, I do not throw up. I will lie immobile in my bed, moving only to chew a tums or sip a gingerale to avoid throwing up. I'd rather die. Yet the moment the sperm hits the egg, the parasitic infection that results sends my head into the toilet daily, hourly, sometimes even several times in an hour for months on end. Some "experts" will claim that after the hcg hormone peaks around week 14 that the symptoms of morning sickness should dissipate.... they are big fat lying liars who lie. I tell you this with the confidence of someone who in her last pregnancy even continued throwing up AFTER childbirth.
Second example: heartburn. Now, one might assume that since I am so distressingly fat according to the medical community that food and I would be best friends. Plus, if you read my lasy blog entry, then you'd know I like to cook. However, during pregnancy food and I are arch enemies. I can get heartburn without even eating food. I'm at the point now where I can actually GET heartburn from antacids. Again, I have nobody to blame but the uterine parasite.
Third example: The parasite MOVES with a will of its own. She's big enough now that all the somersaults and judo moves she occupies herself with are able to even be felt by the outside world, should I like you enough to allow you to touch my belly. How is this at my expense? Well, for one thing, it's distracting. And then when you consider that it's an ENTIRE LIVING BEING currently being housed WITHIN MY BODY, the fact that you can feel it move is entirely freaky while being admittedly cool.
Fourth, the removal of the parasite is the only known cure for two medical conditions: pregnancy and pre-exlampsia. Until the parasite is removed, you're pregnant and you can't unpregnant without disconnecting the parasite from the host. And on the unfortunate chance that you piss it off enough for it to to raise your blood pressure and cause irreversible circulatory system damage, the only cure for the condition is getting the parasite removed.
Fifth, the cellular replication of the parasite directly leads to uncomfortable changes in the body of the host organism. As someone who generally sleeps like the dead, the arrival of a big belly that I can't sleep on, joints that hurt all the time and a small creature resident too close to my bladder to allow it any peace at all means that I am basically a slightly functional zombie. Slightly. I keep leaving my cellphone in the pantry and putting the same load of laundry to wash over and over because the parasite has robbed me of my ability to sleep like a corpse on ambien.
The one thing the parasite has going for it is that it's pretty stinkin' cute upon removal. And as it grows up, it does learn to sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider with a lisp.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
I love Cooking Shows
I do not craft. I don't have a glue gun, decorative paper, string, yarn, knitting needles, scrapbooking crap, etc..... As a matter of fact, simply facing the act of having to sew a button back onto an article of clothing is daunting. It makes my hands sweat, so when I inevitably prick my finger with the needle, it is literally rubbing salt into a wound. But I firmly believe everyone needs a hobby of some sort and since bank robbery is illegal and being intensely sarcastic really only benefits ME and nobody else, I cook.
Around the time that the Husband and I moved to VA, I really started to get into cooking. I liked the feeling of conquering something that the average cook or even the slightly better than average cooks in my family found daunting. Things like pastry, Julia Child's Boef Bourganion, things involving mascarpone cheese and wine.
Then when I was pregnant with Lily, I developed a mild fixation with The Food Network. Particularly Giada de Laurentiis' shows and The Barefoot Contessa. However, I have come to the conclusion that I have surpassed them as a television chef, and in light of the fact that I will probably not get a reality show where I get to just make pithy comments about things, perhaps my road to fame lies in a television kitchen.
How have I surpassed them? Well, let's see.... I embrace forms of lettuce other than arugula. I believe you can flavor foods with things other than lemon zest, lemon juice and/or garlic.
And from what I can tell, many television cooks have decided that Lemon, Garlic and Arugula are some sort of Holy Trifecta of Cooking. Personally, my Holy Trifecta would probably be more like WINE, WINE and WINE. And that right there makes me win.
Around the time that the Husband and I moved to VA, I really started to get into cooking. I liked the feeling of conquering something that the average cook or even the slightly better than average cooks in my family found daunting. Things like pastry, Julia Child's Boef Bourganion, things involving mascarpone cheese and wine.
Then when I was pregnant with Lily, I developed a mild fixation with The Food Network. Particularly Giada de Laurentiis' shows and The Barefoot Contessa. However, I have come to the conclusion that I have surpassed them as a television chef, and in light of the fact that I will probably not get a reality show where I get to just make pithy comments about things, perhaps my road to fame lies in a television kitchen.
How have I surpassed them? Well, let's see.... I embrace forms of lettuce other than arugula. I believe you can flavor foods with things other than lemon zest, lemon juice and/or garlic.
And from what I can tell, many television cooks have decided that Lemon, Garlic and Arugula are some sort of Holy Trifecta of Cooking. Personally, my Holy Trifecta would probably be more like WINE, WINE and WINE. And that right there makes me win.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Accessories vs Me
Those of you who know me in real life may or may not have noticed that I am not the snazziest dresser. I've blogged about maternity clothes and being generally the size of a smaller Canadian Province in the ass area but even in my non-knocked up state, I don't exactly push the envelope of fashion. In the last couple of years having been inspired by a very stylish and adorable co-worker with whom I share a classroom I've attempted to up the ante a bit and have added some more respectable boots and other accessories to my normal wardrobe of black, grey or khaki pants and solid color v-neck shirts and sweaters or camisole/cardigan combinations. I'd like to be someone who wears the right jewelry and shoes with everything like my roommate at school or our impossibly perfect guidance counselor, but frankly I'd rather wear ugly shoes and have no blisters... and the only jewelry I haven't lost in a spectacularly short period of time is my wedding set.
But then there are what I call "statement necklaces."
Recently I was lunching with a couple of friends and we got onto the topic of a former co-worker who used to be a serious statement necklace enthusiast. Now, I'm as pro-necklace as the next girl although I don't wear them often myself, but there are times when the statement necklace seems to be to be a bit of a fashion disaster.
For example, if you are built like say, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum with no discernible neck, highlighting this genetic misfortune with a necklace that appears to be made of elephant kidney stones might not be the best choice for you. Weeble Wobbles wobble but they don't fall down, true, but neither should they adorn their neck-less selves with all the acrylic and stone finery that Talbots and Coldwater Creek have to offer. If the statement your necklace is making is "I'm going to eat your face," then perhaps you ought to rethink the statement?
So I implore you- consider your neck before attempting the Statement Necklace. If you don't HAVE a neck, investigate other jewelry options. I may not be the proper judge of what is or isn't cutting edge, but I promise that the discomfort you're causing me by forcing me to decide whether the hairy beads on the necklace that appears to be strangling you through the folds of your chunky turtleneck sweater are organically derived or artistically created isn't worth the $50 you spend on some plastic beads.
Accessories can be dangerous. Practice safe adornment.
But then there are what I call "statement necklaces."
Recently I was lunching with a couple of friends and we got onto the topic of a former co-worker who used to be a serious statement necklace enthusiast. Now, I'm as pro-necklace as the next girl although I don't wear them often myself, but there are times when the statement necklace seems to be to be a bit of a fashion disaster.
For example, if you are built like say, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum with no discernible neck, highlighting this genetic misfortune with a necklace that appears to be made of elephant kidney stones might not be the best choice for you. Weeble Wobbles wobble but they don't fall down, true, but neither should they adorn their neck-less selves with all the acrylic and stone finery that Talbots and Coldwater Creek have to offer. If the statement your necklace is making is "I'm going to eat your face," then perhaps you ought to rethink the statement?
So I implore you- consider your neck before attempting the Statement Necklace. If you don't HAVE a neck, investigate other jewelry options. I may not be the proper judge of what is or isn't cutting edge, but I promise that the discomfort you're causing me by forcing me to decide whether the hairy beads on the necklace that appears to be strangling you through the folds of your chunky turtleneck sweater are organically derived or artistically created isn't worth the $50 you spend on some plastic beads.
Accessories can be dangerous. Practice safe adornment.
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