The blight of the early reader is the dearth of good engaging stories to read. As my son masters an ever-expanding vocabulary of words that he can read, he brings home stories to review these words. Working with a limited vocabulary as they do, the stories are usually pretty dull. And, in comparison to the chapter books that I read him, the stories are just painful.
But we perservere and at bedtime each evening J.T. reads a little from his practice stories before I read from our chapter book (right now, that's a book in the The Indian in the Cupboard series, a set of an amazing stories by Lynne Banks Reid). A few nights back, as J.T. read the story of Milt who is taking a trip with a bag packed full of milk and ham for his snack, J.T had some concerns. First off, he felt that the ham and milk would go bad in the absence of a cooler. I agreed but allowed that creative license must be given. But as Milt droned on and on about the trip he wants to take, J.T. grew exasperated. "I know he wants to take a trip," my boy announced, "BUT I JUST DON'T CARE."
And though it likely means I am a bad parent, I laughed out loud because I had been feeling exactly the same way.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Wings – Sunday Scribblings
When I was in the 7th grade, after school I rode the bus to my mother's school (she taught the 3rd grade) and I would do my homework while she finished up her day. By that time of day her students had left and she would often have a conversation with the other teachers in the school. As children often are, I was privy to these adult conversations and one of them stands out in my mind.
To a friend whose daughter was graduating high school and moving away to attend college, my mother said, "only the healthy birds leave the nest." At the time, I didn't quite understand what she meant. But years later, I teach high school and I now know exactly what she meant. This year I teach a class of 9th graders, a class of 11th graders, and two classes of 12th graders. My classroom is filled with birds who are in various stages of preparation to leave the nest. And I think often about the wings they will need to take flight.
The 9th graders still have a few years to go but in just one school year, I have watched some of them develop the beginnings of the independence and bravery that they will require. They aren't really thinking of leaving the nest, so most have little anxiety about their long-term future. They are fixated on the next few weeks and the prospect of summer vacation. Though it's closer than they think, taking flight seems well in the distance for this group.
The 11th graders have begun the process of looking for a college. They are actively thinking about their future and most are excited. Right now, it feels as if the world is their oyster and this future of independence and freedom is still far away. But in a few weeks, when the seniors finish school and the juniors assume the position of power in the senior lounge, they will realize that the final stages of their journey out of the nest has truly begun. And suddenly they will begin to contemplate what it will really mean to leave.
Right now, the 12th graders are excited. While a few are still weighing their college options, most have made a decision. There is a certain amount of senioritus at work amongst them. But others are more somber as they consider what the next few months will bring. My school is pre-K through the 12 grade and a number of the students have been here for all of their schooling. For them, contemplation of the future is tempered by the knowledge that they are about to leave a school that has been their second home for nearly all of their life.
We spend a lot of time preparing them to leave the nest. From the moment they walk in our door, whether at age 4 or at age 14, it's our goal to send them on. We know that we don't get to keep them. We know that we must prepare them to successfully leave the nest. And in many more ways than they probably know, we have helped them to grow the wings this will require. When graduation comes, and they walk across the stage, some tentative and some proud, but nearly all of them ready to go, I will watch them with tears in my eyes. I know every one of them, some of them very well. I know that many are ready to embrace the uncertainty of life out of the nest. I know that some will struggle. And I know how exciting and how stressful the next few years will be. But I see a glimmer of the adults they will become. I see that that they are one step closer to building a nest of their very own. Mostly I will know that we've done our job well.
And then I will come home to my own nest, and to my own 7 year old bird. I will try to imagine that one day he will want to leave our nest. I know that it's my job to see that this happens for him. But I will tell myself that there is still time, still years and years before I watch him take flight from our nest.
To a friend whose daughter was graduating high school and moving away to attend college, my mother said, "only the healthy birds leave the nest." At the time, I didn't quite understand what she meant. But years later, I teach high school and I now know exactly what she meant. This year I teach a class of 9th graders, a class of 11th graders, and two classes of 12th graders. My classroom is filled with birds who are in various stages of preparation to leave the nest. And I think often about the wings they will need to take flight.
The 9th graders still have a few years to go but in just one school year, I have watched some of them develop the beginnings of the independence and bravery that they will require. They aren't really thinking of leaving the nest, so most have little anxiety about their long-term future. They are fixated on the next few weeks and the prospect of summer vacation. Though it's closer than they think, taking flight seems well in the distance for this group.
The 11th graders have begun the process of looking for a college. They are actively thinking about their future and most are excited. Right now, it feels as if the world is their oyster and this future of independence and freedom is still far away. But in a few weeks, when the seniors finish school and the juniors assume the position of power in the senior lounge, they will realize that the final stages of their journey out of the nest has truly begun. And suddenly they will begin to contemplate what it will really mean to leave.
Right now, the 12th graders are excited. While a few are still weighing their college options, most have made a decision. There is a certain amount of senioritus at work amongst them. But others are more somber as they consider what the next few months will bring. My school is pre-K through the 12 grade and a number of the students have been here for all of their schooling. For them, contemplation of the future is tempered by the knowledge that they are about to leave a school that has been their second home for nearly all of their life.
We spend a lot of time preparing them to leave the nest. From the moment they walk in our door, whether at age 4 or at age 14, it's our goal to send them on. We know that we don't get to keep them. We know that we must prepare them to successfully leave the nest. And in many more ways than they probably know, we have helped them to grow the wings this will require. When graduation comes, and they walk across the stage, some tentative and some proud, but nearly all of them ready to go, I will watch them with tears in my eyes. I know every one of them, some of them very well. I know that many are ready to embrace the uncertainty of life out of the nest. I know that some will struggle. And I know how exciting and how stressful the next few years will be. But I see a glimmer of the adults they will become. I see that that they are one step closer to building a nest of their very own. Mostly I will know that we've done our job well.
And then I will come home to my own nest, and to my own 7 year old bird. I will try to imagine that one day he will want to leave our nest. I know that it's my job to see that this happens for him. But I will tell myself that there is still time, still years and years before I watch him take flight from our nest.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Basement Bilge, round 2
We had some big rain last night. For more than a week now, my basement had been dry. Please note the use of the phrase "had been." When I heard the rain falling at 2 am, I checked things out. All was well. But by this morning, the tide had turned and I was awash in water. I came downstairs at 6:30 in the morning to discover that I would need to swap my linen skirt for shorts, a t-shirt and my water-tolerant flip flops (a festive green). It's not nearly as bad as last week, but honestly, I'm over it.
There was enough water to use my powerful 3600 gallon an hour pump for the first 30 minutes. I did that all by myself, as the labor crew was still tucked into his warm and soft bed. The pump needs to be immersed in two inches of water, so once I got the water below that level, I had to revert to the wet/dry vac. I had returned the 16.5 gallon vac to its rightful owner so that left me with my 2.5 gallon vac. As one might imagine, that is not a particularly efficient method.
Today's plan is to secure a larger wet/dry vac,for my long-term use because OBVIOUSLY this problem isn't going away soon. The rain is forecast to stop by 2 pm and the sun should be out this weekend. But, honestly, I need to be done with this particular brand of fun.
There was enough water to use my powerful 3600 gallon an hour pump for the first 30 minutes. I did that all by myself, as the labor crew was still tucked into his warm and soft bed. The pump needs to be immersed in two inches of water, so once I got the water below that level, I had to revert to the wet/dry vac. I had returned the 16.5 gallon vac to its rightful owner so that left me with my 2.5 gallon vac. As one might imagine, that is not a particularly efficient method.
Today's plan is to secure a larger wet/dry vac,for my long-term use because OBVIOUSLY this problem isn't going away soon. The rain is forecast to stop by 2 pm and the sun should be out this weekend. But, honestly, I need to be done with this particular brand of fun.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Monsoon
One of the things that I like the best about my school is the multicultural environment. It was the first thing I noticed when I interviewed at the school. My son takes for granted the fact that his classmates celebrate Passover, Christmas, Ramadan, Chinese New Year, and Diwali. The ease and beauty of this multiculturalism is sometimes lost on our students, who can't fathom that people would discriminate on the basis of race or religion.
But it isn't lost on me. And my fellow teacher, Mrs. D, who grew up in India and teaches Spanish, is a perfect example of our multicultural world. Mrs. D is my touchstone for all things Indian ----- from cuisine to cultural patterns and the pronunciation of words ----- and I love the sound of her lyrical voice. Like me, she is a relative newcomer to New Jersey. Like me, her family is far away. And like me, she has a son, R, a young man who is increasingly taller than his mother but still shares her infectious smile and whom I know to be the very center of her world. So for all of our differences, Mrs. D and I have much in common.
When it rained last week and we got two days off from school, Mrs. D and her son R got the day off as well. And that day I received an e-mail from her that made me smile. She wrote:
"....isn't it great to get a day off because of a rain storm? When I was young, in India, we used to get "Rainy Days" during the monsoon season. The Principal would declare a day off, we would all come home, and get out in the rain and get as wet as possible. Popular lore has it that if you get wet in the monsoon rain you never get any heat related illnesses that season. I never thought that R would get to experience that, but he just did. That's the first thing he said when he woke up today. "Mom, we finally got a Rainy Day!. "
I love the idea that here in the United States, Mrs. D's most American son could celebrate the same tradition that his mother enjoyed when she was a child in India. I picture the rain falling on his upturned face, the one with the same smile that was also present half a world away on the face of a little girl who stood in the rain not that long ago.
But it isn't lost on me. And my fellow teacher, Mrs. D, who grew up in India and teaches Spanish, is a perfect example of our multicultural world. Mrs. D is my touchstone for all things Indian ----- from cuisine to cultural patterns and the pronunciation of words ----- and I love the sound of her lyrical voice. Like me, she is a relative newcomer to New Jersey. Like me, her family is far away. And like me, she has a son, R, a young man who is increasingly taller than his mother but still shares her infectious smile and whom I know to be the very center of her world. So for all of our differences, Mrs. D and I have much in common.
When it rained last week and we got two days off from school, Mrs. D and her son R got the day off as well. And that day I received an e-mail from her that made me smile. She wrote:
"....isn't it great to get a day off because of a rain storm? When I was young, in India, we used to get "Rainy Days" during the monsoon season. The Principal would declare a day off, we would all come home, and get out in the rain and get as wet as possible. Popular lore has it that if you get wet in the monsoon rain you never get any heat related illnesses that season. I never thought that R would get to experience that, but he just did. That's the first thing he said when he woke up today. "Mom, we finally got a Rainy Day!. "
I love the idea that here in the United States, Mrs. D's most American son could celebrate the same tradition that his mother enjoyed when she was a child in India. I picture the rain falling on his upturned face, the one with the same smile that was also present half a world away on the face of a little girl who stood in the rain not that long ago.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Another Reason to Love My Job
So I am handing out a take-home quiz assignment today and I gently suggest that the class could have done better on the quiz had they consulted the book.......which is sort of the premise of a take home quiz. And the class looks at me and finally one student says, "we're sorry, well do better next time."
And they all nodded their heads solemnly.
I love these kids.
And they all nodded their heads solemnly.
I love these kids.
Monday, April 23, 2007
A-Ha
I recently finished reading Dave King's book The Ha-Ha. It's the story of a Vietnam veteran, Howie, who has a head injury such that he has lost the capacity to speak. Howie hasn't lost his intelligence and has found a way to communicate, though even he recognizes that it's substandard. He has a job and home, but his life is without color. He's living, but he isn't sure why. In the story, which Howie narrates, he suddenly has the opportunity to revise his life. Howie's new world is filled with the complexities of the deep human interaction that is required when he takes on the temporary care of a friend's 9 year old son, Ryan.
With the boy in his life, Howie finds both the joy that has been missing but also the prospect of pain and hurt that is involved when you love someone. It's a great story, in part because Howie is so funny and so human. You ache for him to be able to communicate with the world in the way that he can communicate with you, the reader.
As the mother of a 7 year old, I found the 9 year old Ryan compelling. Unlike Howie, I didn't wonder at the joys and frustrations of living with a child. I know these things first hand. And when Ryan returned to his own home, I felt so sad for Howie, who is pained by the loss. I thought about how I would feel if my son no longer lived with me.
I realize that is one of the things that makes me so sad about my break-up with Lisa. As angry as I still am at the disintegration of our family, I loved her and much of my sadness is wrapped up in my knowledge of life with a child that she is now missing. I can't fathom what it must be like to love a child and not be able to see him every day. To grow more distant from him, from his likes and dislikes and from his experiences. I am so sad for her that she doesn't get to see and hear him every day. There are times when I wish with all of my heart that I could make it better or easier for her.
My a-ha moment came when I realized that Lisa quite willingly chose this for herself. When she walked out, she knew that she would never again pack J.T.'s lunchbox, hear him talk about his favorite part of the day, or tuck him into his bed, let alone see him on Christmas morning. Did she know it might hurt? Does she hurt? I now realize that she probably doesn't hurt because she is so distant and removed from her emotions. So although I know what she is missing and I know what my son is missing in her departure from his life, I see more clearly that she doesn't know what she has lost. And though I am sad for her, she probably isn't sad for herself. She never appreciated what she had when she had it and so she cannot know what she has lost.
But I know and I am so deeply sad for her.
With the boy in his life, Howie finds both the joy that has been missing but also the prospect of pain and hurt that is involved when you love someone. It's a great story, in part because Howie is so funny and so human. You ache for him to be able to communicate with the world in the way that he can communicate with you, the reader.
As the mother of a 7 year old, I found the 9 year old Ryan compelling. Unlike Howie, I didn't wonder at the joys and frustrations of living with a child. I know these things first hand. And when Ryan returned to his own home, I felt so sad for Howie, who is pained by the loss. I thought about how I would feel if my son no longer lived with me.
I realize that is one of the things that makes me so sad about my break-up with Lisa. As angry as I still am at the disintegration of our family, I loved her and much of my sadness is wrapped up in my knowledge of life with a child that she is now missing. I can't fathom what it must be like to love a child and not be able to see him every day. To grow more distant from him, from his likes and dislikes and from his experiences. I am so sad for her that she doesn't get to see and hear him every day. There are times when I wish with all of my heart that I could make it better or easier for her.
My a-ha moment came when I realized that Lisa quite willingly chose this for herself. When she walked out, she knew that she would never again pack J.T.'s lunchbox, hear him talk about his favorite part of the day, or tuck him into his bed, let alone see him on Christmas morning. Did she know it might hurt? Does she hurt? I now realize that she probably doesn't hurt because she is so distant and removed from her emotions. So although I know what she is missing and I know what my son is missing in her departure from his life, I see more clearly that she doesn't know what she has lost. And though I am sad for her, she probably isn't sad for herself. She never appreciated what she had when she had it and so she cannot know what she has lost.
But I know and I am so deeply sad for her.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Spring Cleaning
In stark contrast to the chilling and relentless rains of last weekend, Mother Nature declared spring on Friday afternoon. The weekend has been simply glorious, with weather warm enough for short sleeves and shorts. The kittens are delighted with the good fortune of windows opened all over the house. I realized again why I love my living room with all of its windows and sunlight.
In keeping with Mother Nature's theme, I commenced with the spring cleaning, both indoors and out. Bedding was changed and aired out, bathrooms were scrubbed, and windows were washed. In J.T.'s room, I sifted through his dresser and packed away the long-sleeved shirts and long pants which had grown too short in favor of short sleeves and shorts pants. Warm weather pajamas were located and the flannels were packed away. The down comforter has been bundled up for another year.
But outside saw the most changes, thanks to my friend tlc and her power tools (I now have great desire for a leaf blower). Sticks were gathered up and flower beds cleared out. The back deck was blown clean. Sticks were collected and brought to the curb (looks like we could have a bonfire). The garden was made ready for some spring planting. I'm now ready to plan for some summer flowers.
Both outside and in, my home looks ready to greet the new season.
Slumber Party
J.T.'s buddy D spent the night last night. I made peanut butter cookies as a treat and they gobbled them up while they were still warm from the oven. All evening long I could hear them laughing upstairs. There was plenty of partying...........not so much with the slumbering as they were up at 7 am playing games in the playroom and generally having a big time.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Rooted
I am not a New Jersey native. I am a transplant to the mid-Atlantic region, via Nebraska, Tennessee, and starting this journey in California. I've always been comfortable with this seemingly shiftless pattern of my life and I love the fact that I have lived in different places.
Perhaps because I've had to grow comfortable in a new place, I look at my surroundings with an eye toward seeing and appreciating the differences and then planting my roots. I admire that which seems foreign or exotic about a new place, even well after that place has become my own. As long as I live in New Jersey, things like the turnpike, jug handle turns, and traffic circles will amuse me. My Jersey friends order a pie when I order a pizza. Folks around here go food shopping when I go grocery shopping. I love those differences.
And after a while the things that I love about my new place to live become a part of me. When I eat Mexican food, I am reminded of what I love about California. Never has a springtime passed since I moved to Tennessee nearly 20 years ago that I don't admire the plush beauty of the vivid colors in April. From my years in the midwest, I have an appreciation of the quiet hush of a deep snow. In New Jersey I like the woods and the water and I love the way the state is made up of many small towns all linked together but with patterns and habits of their own. And who doesn't love the abundance of Dunkin' Donuts in this state?
My son was two when we moved to New Jersey and for all intents and purposes, he is a native of the Garden State. I like that his roots are here but that he will always have a toe in the worlds that once were mine. Is there anything finer than the sound of my Jersey boy saying y'all? I am raising him to appreciate this place where he is rooted. I want him to love the idiosyncrasies of this state we call home. And I also want him to know that he can pack up and transplant himself to a new place, where he will plant his new roots to spread deep and wide even as he cultivates the old ones.
Perhaps because I've had to grow comfortable in a new place, I look at my surroundings with an eye toward seeing and appreciating the differences and then planting my roots. I admire that which seems foreign or exotic about a new place, even well after that place has become my own. As long as I live in New Jersey, things like the turnpike, jug handle turns, and traffic circles will amuse me. My Jersey friends order a pie when I order a pizza. Folks around here go food shopping when I go grocery shopping. I love those differences.
And after a while the things that I love about my new place to live become a part of me. When I eat Mexican food, I am reminded of what I love about California. Never has a springtime passed since I moved to Tennessee nearly 20 years ago that I don't admire the plush beauty of the vivid colors in April. From my years in the midwest, I have an appreciation of the quiet hush of a deep snow. In New Jersey I like the woods and the water and I love the way the state is made up of many small towns all linked together but with patterns and habits of their own. And who doesn't love the abundance of Dunkin' Donuts in this state?
My son was two when we moved to New Jersey and for all intents and purposes, he is a native of the Garden State. I like that his roots are here but that he will always have a toe in the worlds that once were mine. Is there anything finer than the sound of my Jersey boy saying y'all? I am raising him to appreciate this place where he is rooted. I want him to love the idiosyncrasies of this state we call home. And I also want him to know that he can pack up and transplant himself to a new place, where he will plant his new roots to spread deep and wide even as he cultivates the old ones.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Back in Business
The sun is shining. My driveway is dry. I am once again a girl with a car. There was barely 10 gallons of water in the basement when I got home this afternoon. Friends came out of the woodwork to help me this week. So even though the funky smell in the basement remains there is some bright sunlight at the end of the tunnel.
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