Casting Call

Four weeks ago today our hero broke his leg. So it was therefore time to remove the cast and do an x-ray or two to see how things were progressing. Among other things, that was good news because the old cast wasn't smelling so fresh. Removal was a ticklish process but JT was generally amused. So far, so good.


But after the cast came off, his leg hurt. As in, made my boy cry hurt. Probably that was the result of things suddenly feeling very different and the stretching of muscles that had been held in a rigid position for a while. A few x-rays were snapped and then the word came down: things are coming along nicely. Time for a walking cast.


The new cast is to be a little heavier and sturdier than the last. As Dr. T pointed out, "you'll be kind of rough on my cast if the last one is any indication." And the new cast could have a color. JT enjoyed a lollipop and reviewed his options.


He went with a subtle red. Now, in addition to the fact that you can hear him coming from a mile away, you can see him coming as well.

Real Life Conversations at School

The backstory: I teach at an independent school and there is a dress code. No blue jeans, no sweatpants, no t-shirts with slogans, no baseball caps, and that sort of thing. As befits a school working hard to maintain a strong community, the faculty also adhere to the dress code. Because the result fills my classroom with nicely clad teenagers, I am a big fan of the dress code.

Naturally, the dress code occasionally generates complaints and among the most frequent is the girls' lament that they cannot wear flip flops to school. Invariably, as spring approaches and the temperature climbs above 50 degrees, you'll see a bunch of girls with cold, blue toes wearing a pair of banned flip flops......a very cold way to celebrate the coming of spring and challenge authority. Demerits are passed around and the Assistant Principal issues a stern warning that flip flops aren't allowed. Life quickly returns to normal.

And every once in a while, usually as a fundraiser for a good cause, we get a dress down day. We have one today; the first of the school year. There are usually some guidelines for dressing down and in my homeroom yesterday we were discussing those instructions when the following conversation ensued:

Me: Can we wear flip flops?

Student L: No. But we can wear sweatpants.

Student K: If we can't wear flip flops, what will we wear with our sweatpants?

Me (bursting into laughter): Doesn't the wearing of sweatpants mean that it's cool outside, thus no need for flip flops?

Apparently not, suggesting that I am hopelessly out-of-touch with the fashion world that is teenaged America. But I wasn't afraid to defy the flip flop ban.

We've Got Mail

The silver lining to the cloud that is a broken leg has been mail. When you are 7 years old, getting something in the mail is a very big deal. JT's gotten a number of get well cards in the mailbox at home (and he reads them carefully all by himself before he shares them with me). His Aunty KO and cousins sent a card, scary pirate stickers, and gift cards for ice cream and toys (that there is a kid double play). And today, my college roommate M and her children (M and M) sent a package with books. Packages are the ultimate mail.......and to receive one is a major jackpot. He's pictured here with his new Magic Treehouse books, most delighted to learn that people far away in California are worried about him and his leg.

Clearly, the bum leg isn't holding him back.

So thanks to all of you who have kindly thought of my boy and sent him mail. Your good cheer has made several of our days brighter.

Indian Summer

We are having a patch of glorious weather ----- warm sunny days in the 70s (and sometimes a little warmer) and nights in the 50s. I've taken a walk on campus nearly every day in the past week, to feel the sun warm my head and to see the trees and appreciate the end of summer and the coming of fall. At night, I open my bedroom window and tuck under my soft quilt, enjoying just a touch of the coming chill. I cut the grass today and realized that the end of the mowing season is soon to be upon me. I've spent some time thinking about the bulbs that I will plant in a few weeks and I've fallen asleep these cool evenings with visions of iris, daffodils, tulips, and lilies in my imagination.

But the biggest sign that a change is coming has come from my garden, where the last of the summer tomatoes have been picked. I've cut the final blooms of my striped zinnias. The pumpkin vine has yielded the first of the miniature pumpkins that JT and I planted last spring. I find something to love about every season, but I especially enjoy the all-too-brief period just before the seasonal change is fully upon us.

Real Life Conversations with JT

The backstory: this is a conversation the boy and I had on Back to School Night.

Mama: How do you like my shoes?

JT: They are black.

Mama: Yes. And they tell the parents of my students, "Don't mess with Ms. Sassafras."

JT: No. They tell the parents that you won't be able to run very fast.

Apparently SOMEONE doubts the practicality of my black clogs.

At least Tiger is impressed.

Hi, My Name is.......

When I first meet someone, I want to know that they have a good and kind heart. Lots of other things matter, of course, but for me that is at the center of it all. So when I am meeting someone for the first time, the fact that I am a caring person is the first thing I seek to establish. It's like I'm saying, "Hi, my name is Stacy, and I am a nice person." Last week was Back to School night at my school. In seven minutes for each classroom period, I have the opportunity to introduce myself to the parents of my students, to explain the courses I am teaching, and basically to begin to make a connection. I find it extremely nerve-wracking.

This is my 14th year as a teacher, and my 6th year at this school, so it's not as if I lack experience at this task. And both the parents and I want to make a good impression, so I probably shouldn't worry as much as I do. In meeting the parents, I follow the same basic principle that I apply in my classroom. The first thing I want to establish with my students is the fact that I care about them. I want them to know how much they matter to me. To help them know how much I care, I introduce myself each year by disclosing personal information. I tell them different things each year. This year, I told them about my son, the fact that I have lived in 4 states, and I told them about the things that I like to do with my free time (reading, gardening, cooking). I believe that students will take greater risks for a teacher whom they trust and for a teacher whom they believe cares about them. So I work very hard to foster that relationship early on, so that they will work hard for me all year long.

With the parents, it's a little more complicated. I want them to know that I care about their children. And I want them to understand that I will spend the year pushing their child to be a confident, independent learner. This year, I'm teaching seniors, juniors, and frosh students and so I remind the parents that in one, two, or four years, their child will be sitting in a college classroom. The folks and pushy Ms. Sassafras will not be there, and so the students must be able to get the job done on their own. I remind them that the measure of our success is not the receipt of a high school diploma, but, rather, a successful college experience.

This week, I'll be on the other side of the desk, as I attend Back to School night for the lower school and hear from my child's teacher. And as a parent, I want to know that she cares about my child. I've already met her and she's terrific. With good humor and kindness, she has helped JT to navigate the second grade with a broken leg. But most importantly, he thinks that she hung the moon. So she's met the test I apply to my relationship with my students: I believe that she cares about my son.

Real Life Conversations with JT

Since there is no longer anyone else in the house who loves me and therefore must put up with my crap, JT occasionally finds himself involved in conversations with the needy side of his mama. The bonus here is that he is absolutely honest (i.e. don't ask him if your bootie looks too big in that skirt; he's liable to say yes) so if he says you look good, you probably do. Of course, you're still dealing with a 7 year old and so "good" is relative here. A few days ago we had a conversation about my hair, which I felt was in need of a haircut.

Mama: What do you think? Should I cut my hair?

JT: Well you have more hair than me.

Mama: I know. How does it look? Should I cut it?

JT (sighing): Mama? I'll never understand girls.

Mama: Well, son, we have that in common.

Shut Up and Eat Your Pop Tart

A few years ago, while my sister's eldest child C sat eating waffles in the family kitchen, he began to ask his mom pressing questions about where babies come from. KO handled the awkward moment and then relayed the story to me by saying that what she really wanted to tell C was "shut up and eat your waffles." Since then, "shut up and eat your waffles" has been our family code for those awkward parenting discussions about where babies come from, how bodies work, and all the rest of that nonsense.

At 7:05 am Wednesday morning I had my own "shut up and eat your waffles" moment. As JT idly ate his pop tart, I flew through the house collecting our lunchboxes and backpacks. As I walked through the living room, my son said, "I have a question. How do you get a baby to grow inside you? Do you just tell God that you want one?"

I skidded to a stop, poured myself an extra cup of coffee, and answered the question. The backstory is essential here: JT is the product of a two-mom family and thus was conceived using donor sperm. Quite obviously, this makes explanations of where babies come from just a little more complicated.

So I explained about the sperm and the egg making a baby. I told him who brings what to the party ("mamas have eggs and dads have sperm," I said) and then I explained that a doctor gave me the sperm for my egg. The boy is smart and the obvious question hung in the air just a moment before he expressed it: "where did the doctor get the sperm?"

I took a gulp of coffee and then said that a nice man gave the doctor some sperm to help someone make a baby to love. JT nodded: this made sense to him. "Did you know the helper guy?" he asked.

"No," I said, "but I know some things about him: he was tall and liked to go camping and study science."

We talked about another little boy he knows who has two moms like JT. And I was out of the danger zone. Or so I thought until JT asked, "Hey! Does this mean that I have a dad?"

"No," I said. "A dad is someone you know; who lives with you and helps to take care of you."

"Okay," he said.

And then he went back to eating his pop tart. I'm off the hook. For now.

Programming Note

On Saturday afternoon, JT returned from a visit with Lisa. As soon as she was out the door, he announced to me that her cable television options are not nearly as good as the ones at our house.

"She only has two good channels. Our house is much better, Mama," he told me.

God I love that boy.

PS: This is my 501st posting. Not sure what that means, but it seems worth noting.

Collections

I collect antique dishes. Dish collecting is an interest I got from my mother; the antique part is just my twist on that tradition. When there is a special occasion at my house I get out my Jewel Tea dishes. The first pieces in my collection (a large bowl, a baking dish and a salad bowl) were well-worn and came from my grandmother. I love them because of that connection. They remind me of being at her home, drinking Coke out of fancy glasses, staying up late, playing endless games of cards, and feeling very grown-up. Over the years I've acquired additional pieces as gifts. Others I've purchased at auctions and antique stores. They aren't fancy dishes, and maybe they are a little homely. But I love them.

The story behind Jewel Tea is one of the reasons I love them so much. Starting in the early 20th century, the Jewel Tea company employed door-to-door salesmen all over the nation and they sold dry goods (and tea). Customers earned premium stamps for their purchase and with those stamps could get bonuses, including these dishes made by Hall Superior dish company. Over the years, Hall Superior made more and more special pieces for Jewel Tea and thus a collector's paradise was born. There are innumerable dishes in the collection ---- custard cups, sauce bowls, plates of all sizes. You name it and Hall made it.

My grandmother remembered that her mother bought things from the Jewel Tea salesman in the 1930s because he had a lot of children and she worried they didn't have enough to eat. There's always plenty to eat at my house, of course. But I never forget that act of kindness by a woman a few generations away from me, yet still present at my supper table whenever I set out my Jewel Tea dishes.