Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

This week I went to Son #1's middle school for open house and hustled from class to class following his schedule and meeting his teachers. My the times they are a-changin'!

The teachers all wear mics around their necks and their voices are piped through speakers across the ceiling so that even when the teacher has his/her back to the classroom, for example while writing on the board, the sound is clearly audible. Nothing distracting.

And just when I thought the smart boards were cool, the kids now have handheld remotes by which they answer questions in class (like the audience voting in Who Wants to be a Millionaire) and the results can be displayed real-time via charts. Pop quizzes are automatically calculated and uploaded into the "infinite campus" where I can review my son's grades whenever I want: monthly, daily, minute-by-minute.

The teachers give out their cell phone numbers and students call or text them with questions. My teachers were never that accessible. And to the best of my knowledge, my teachers never had first names, did they? (Except the nuns: they never had last names.)

What else? The school is structured around a set of Core Values including kindness, respect, caring, integrity and justice. Not only are these values painted around the school, they're incorporated in the grading system. In gym, you don't have to be a super athlete to get an A. You have to try hard and behave in accordance with the value system. Pretty impressive.

Lastly, speaking of gym, it isn't just traditional sports like swimming, soccer and relay races. Last year, the kids staged a flash mob. What the ? We certainly never did that!

I have to say, I think Son #1 has found his element. The freedom to pursue what he wants and have fun. Pretty darned cool.

Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace I'm going through

Whole Lotta Love

Last night, as I was tucking Son #1 into bed, he said to me, "Every day during school, I dream about playing hooky. There's even a big, red sign over the door leading to the playground that says, 'exit' and I'm like 'come on!' -- it's actually encouraging me to want to run out the door. Why would they do that?"

I told him that he and I could play hooky together some day. He would, after all, need someone to write his excuse the next day. He countered by telling me that he was thinking of creating a cyborg that could mimic daddy's handwriting . . . just like Santa does.

"Dad's probably gonna come clean with us about the Santa thing in about 30 years when he feels it won't be so disappointing. I know he doesn't want to let us down yet."

It breaks my heart that the Santa days are coming to a close. (Not to mention that it ticks me off that the hubby gets all the credit for everything!)

As I kissed Son #1 goodnight, I said, "I love you from the depths of my soul and the bottom of my heart." He responded, "I love you from the top and bottom of my heart and the right and left sides. And the bottom right, top left, top right and bottom left. I love you from all the cardinal directions of my heart."

That's a lot of love.

Mini-weekend: Day 17

First day of summer break. Sunny, high of 86. And WRUR 88.5 just played a Chinchillas tune. Life is good.

Son #1 brought his third grade writing journal home. It's littered throughout with illustrations of Star Wars gun ships and Separatist battles but it's lacking last year's "I'm bored" that was written on page after page of his notebooks. Some of this year's entries are priceless to me.

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From a first day of school letter: "Dear Miss Kokinda, my letter might not be long enough because my brain doesn't think hard enough . . . "

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From a "brain vomit" exercise in September (complete with spelling errors):

Read this! I don't know what to write! I'm stuck, confused, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ?.,#': Whops! This 'tis wierd. Water! Fire! Ahhhh. This is funny, I'm laughing in my mind while writing. Ha ha ha ha hhheeee he ha this reminds me of a song by the Police called de dododo de da da da I'll write the chouras of it. Here it goes: de do do do de dad da da that's all I want to say to you. That's it! Hey! I thought of a chouras for a new song! I'll write it: he ho ho ho he ha ha ha that's the funnyest thing I'll say to you. O.K. I'm done. Now what! (draws some musical notes)

A distant shore can not be ignored
I have to go or else I'll bore

Something's not right; I'm in a ffight,
What's going on with this song, because I can hear a gong

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Lone entry:
I feel grateful for how good I am at drawing.

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My fears:
1. black bears
2. sharks

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Stick figure poem:



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And my favorite:

The Book of Random Nonsense

(A boy after my own heart.)

Language Arts

Son #1 wanted to play his Nintendo on the way to the pool today.

Me: You don't have time -- the pool is only two feet from our house.

Son #1: Mama, two feet is still the driveway. I prefer it when you speak more literally.

Later, we went to Target to buy army men and other things for his birthday party goody bags. As we left, it began to pour.

Son #1: Will you go get the car and bring it to me? I don't want my gifts to get soiled.

Twice today I thought: where does he get his command of the English language? People, much less kids, don't speak like this, do they? Third grade must really be paying off.

Mini-weekend: Day 12

Celebrated Son #1's ninth birthday yesterday which he entitled "BBE" for best birthday ever! Legos (exactly what he wanted), gift cards, cash, yellow balloons, a Dragon Fable Dragon Amulet and an EyeClops BioniCam make for a BBE, for sure.

I also went to Son #2's classroom where the kids sang songs and read stories to all of the moms for Mother's Day. I hung out with the only other two moms that I know from that class. One is a virologist and graduate school professor who had to reschedule her 2:00 p.m. class. The other is an OB/GYN who had to reschedule all of her patients that afternoon. It was so stinkin' cute that it's worth it. Some other mom blew into the classroom over 15 minutes late and timed perfectly to interrupt her son's story. Instead of quietly taking a seat, she stopped him midsentence and loudly proclaimed "Hi honey, I'm here" to which he quietly responded, "You're really late." She then began to laugh and tell him to carry on as if she had blessed him (and all of us) with her almighty presence. I can understand the tardiness; God only knows what happened. The shameless manner in which she descended upon us, however, was somewhat loathsome.

My favorite part was the faux People magazine cover where my picture was drawn, colored (yes, I have a large beak) and labeled as "Most Beautiful Mom of 2009" and Son #2's story inside talks about how I love to garden. Garden! If I didn't see the abysmal state of our "garden," I might think that the kids had another mom on the side. A more farm fresh version of myself. Maybe one who wears an apron and prepares organic meals. Now that would be beautiful!

In Search of the Pot of Gold

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I find it interesting that my kids cannot be taught religion in school yet they are encouraged to learn all about leprechauns.

I'm hoping they find one because we could use the money.

On this day in history, 1979 to be exact, my girlfriend Jan and I made green muffins in our home economics class. In a bizarre twist on this Irish holiday, we set out to make blueberry muffins but, unbeknown to us, you're not supposed to mix the berries in until the end because (chemist I'm not) the dough turns green. Blue berries + yellow dough = green fun.

I'm not sure if we baked any of our muffins. I do know that we took the dough, rolled it into fist-sized balls and threw them. All morning long. Jan threw the first green dough ball at the clock and it stuck there. We then proceeded to throw them at kids who would walk by in the hallway. The goo ball would whiz past, smack a locker and fuse there motionless. Kids would stop in their tracks, look at the thick, green glob that just missed them with a "what the . . . ?" expression and then look around to see where it came from.

It was hilarious. Best St. Patrick's Day ever.

I think I got my first (and only?) C in that class. But I still remember it vividly which is more than I can say for social studies that year.

Reading, Writing and Right Wing Rhetoric

Son #1 said to the hubby after school today, "I heard that if Obama wins the election, we'll have to go to school on snow days."

Yes and abortions will be mandatory.

Back to School 2008

One kid is beyond excited for school; the other is filled with the dread of sitting idle. One kid cannot wait to make new friends; the other couldn't care less. One kid is anxious to play kickball during recess; the other wishes that school could be taught through video games where the kids compete against each other virtually and win prizes.

After two years bearing his of extreme boredom, I think his idea actually has merit.

For Labor Day weekend, I decided to spend as much time as possible being a kid again. I woke up on Saturday morning and played almost two hours of Guitar Hero III with Son #2 -- and he let me play whatever songs I wanted (e.g., Sonic Youth, Beasties, Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols). He won every round.

All the kids in the neighborhood and I played in the dirt pit. I had mud all the way up my arms but I built a big volcano and then a tepee out of sticks. What talent!

Son #2 and I went for a bike ride and the following day we went go-carting and played miniature golf. On Monday we went swimming at my girlfriend Christine's house.

We had the neighbors over for Sangria on Saturday night, a fire pit on Sunday night and a neighborhood picnic, complete with the hubby's famous "green chicken" burritos, on Monday night.

No work. No work. No work.

I think I fully understand Son #1's position on school. "I'd rather just run around all day." Guess what? Me too.

Learning to Write a Second Grade "Personal Narrative"

The other night, son #1's homework involved writing the answers to the following three questions:

1. What problem or challenge have you faced in life?
2. How did you solve it?
   
3. What did you learn from it? Or what is the moral of the story?
   

He wrote about how he dislikes school and hates doing homework. His solution is to picture the future: he wants to go to Annapolis and become a Navy fighter pilot. (Hence, his addiction to Dogfights on the History channel. And, no, there are no age-related, TV viewing filters in our house with the exception of anything involving sex and nudity.) And his morale: You reap what you sow.

When he finished writing, I asked him if he had ever had any other problems in his life.

He responded by telling me, "Yes, but I don't want to talk about them."

When I prodded a little further, he told me that it was a secret. "Do you know what a secret means? It means that I am not going to tell it to you."

I gently told him that I respect keeping secrets and didn't want to pry but I did want him to know that he doesn't have to bottle things up. It's better to tell someone and get it off his chest.

He told me that he would just as soon forget about it which, as his mom, I'm having a hard time doing. "Was it that thing you wouldn't tell me that happened on the bus with Ethan?"

"No, it happened in the neighborhood and that's all I'm saying."

"Were any adults involved?"

"No, just kids," and he stood and began walking away. He then added, "I've actually had a lot of problems that I don't want to talk about."

I gave him a little hug, told him he can talk to me at any time, and let him leave. Inside, however, I'm still sad. What could have happened? Did he do something wrong or did someone wrong him? Is it a boy thing to not want to talk about it?

What it really amounts to is control: specifically, my lack thereof. I want to protect him from harm (especially while he's still so young) and help him make wise decisions. But he has his path in life and there's nothing I can do but be a good parent, a strong role model, and his biggest supporter in life.

And I need to learn how to give him space.

Late for Work

Yesterday, I came into work a half-hour late and said to my boss, “Sorry. I had to play an emergency game of Chutes and Ladders.” She responded sincerely, “Well, it’s good that you know your priorities.”

After working 12 hours the day before and barely seeing my kids before they went to bed, yes, a last minute detour to appease a pleading kid was fine by me. I didn’t even mind that, just when he or I was about to win, we kept sliding back. I did have fleeting thoughts of, “I’m never going to get to work at this rate” but I also knew that there was nowhere I would rather be at that moment than sitting on my child’s bedroom floor playing a game.

Today, late again. Not only does our little guy need daily hugs and consoling because school is too hard, his day is too long, and he misses daddy and monkey but I apparently need fashion advice.

In my black lace top: “Are you seeing any clients today?”

In my new white blouse: “Planning to take an art class in that 50’s smock Holly Go?”

Finally, in my thin, gray, pinstripe skirt: “She shoots; she scores.”

As much as it’s time consuming, I appreciate that I have a hubby who can deter me from looking like a total idiot as I walk out the door. Some guys barely look up; others think their wives look good in anything. While there are benefits to the latter mindset, I prefer the honesty.

I also appreciate that I have a husband who makes my kids laugh. A lot. If I were a stay-at-home mom, Son #2 would have to be dragged on that bus kicking and screaming because I was still comforting and cajoling him. Instead, his tears only last a few minutes and then he’s cracking up over something daddy is saying or doing in order to encourage him to lighten up and move on.

Back to School

Yesterday was the kids' first day of school. They were pretty darned excited as was the hubby: the first FULL day for both boys. And a house to himself.

My thoughts: OMG, my house is finally going to be clean! The brick patio will be completed! The window frames will be fixed! The bricks falling off the front porch will be repaired! The driveway will be sealed! The house will be painted! Wait, there's now time for a supplemental income so we're no longer in debt!

His thought: Three hours to relax until the Mets game . . .

I drove away as he stood in the doorway pretending to scratch his butt. I'm sure the beer truck waited around corner until the coast was clear!