Ruby Red…Sneakers?
My feet are *so* ready to return to Oz!
The rest of me is too, but for now, these spangly ruby red sneakers will just have to do their part in keeping my mood upbeat as my family and I endure this latest round of power packing, marathon driving, and bidding one state goodbye (er, “adios”) and another hello.
As for the sparkly shoes, head to Walmart~ they’re nine dollars!
Unfortunately, their heels don’t click…
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My truck is at a collision repair shop here in the Bordertown. They’ve *promised* it can be repaired, good as new, by next Thursday. I’m keeping my fingers crossed since we’re supposed to drive out two days later! Until then, I’m getting used to driving my husband’s truck (it’s the one I’ll be piloting back to Oz, pulling a small trailer) while he drives a rental car. May I just say THANK YOU GEICO? I think you’re pretty terrific, even though your spokesgecko reminds me of a SleeStak:
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~Back to kid-friendly snacking, The Pioneer Woman Cooks Marguerites (Ritz crackers, peanut butter and marshmallows!). I’m a kid, right?
~Strawberry Shortcake from Tracy Porter
~Andrea doesn’t know it but she crafted the perfect crown for ME…Fairy Tale Dress Up Day just won’t be the same this year!
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It’s time for me to start collecting all things Tasha Tudor~ she has always been my favorite featured artist in magazines such as Victoria, and one of my favorite childrens’ book authors/ illustrators. She died two days ago at the age of 92:
Sometimes There’s Just No Point in Dusting
…especially during the Bordertown’s extended “windy season:”
No, that’s not rain or a storm moving in. That’s a wall of dirt. It took one minute to take the following photos. Then I ran inside because enduring a heavy duty exfoliation was NOT on my to-do list.
Pretty Mountains, Darn Lightposts
Itch to Stitch
Last night, after Toddler was bathed, Sister finished homework, and while Husband continued to work through our taxes, I got the itch. The itch to stitch.
I don’t get that itch too often, amazingly enough, more frequently only recently. Don’t know why. I’ve always found fabric interesting, and have enjoyed seeing the groupings of fabric by color scheme, print theme, manufacturer, season, or remnant status whenever I’ve gone into craft or fabric stores. As a teacher, I can always convince myself to buy bundles of fat quarters, though I doubt I’ll ever move up to major-fabric-purchaser status like some of my friends (uh, Shannon!). Fabric is wonderful for pretend play in my classroom, decor, games, artwork, and I love quilts or quilted fabric home decor items when it comes to sprucing up my family’s personal spaces. The desire to purchase fabric in its own raw, unfinished-product form and then try to morph it into something pleasing is new for me.
The itch ended up inspiring me to dig up my felt remnants (felt storyboards and story retelling shapes are essentials for my kindergarten class) and cut out bunny, carrot, and butterfly shapes.
Did I actually do any stitching last night though? No, it was all snipping. And adding decorative brads. And pinning. Stitching will happen later today.
Because I’ve still got that urge to scratch.
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Tidbits:
*Goodbye Polaroid. I’m bummed. Some of my favorite high school photos were taken with a Polaroid camera, and I use my own on the first day of school each year, snapping a photo of each of my students with which to make “center” tags. The photos don’t have to be laminated, (I just add a hook-n-loop dot on the back so the photo can be moved from tag to tag) and last all year long. When my Super Stars are ready for summer vacation, the photos go home to parents as a keepsake reminder of their child’s first day of kindergarten. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that some other manufacturer picks up the stuff.
*The Wild World of…Macrame! The Thrift Shop Romantic had me rolling with this “crafting catastrophe of the 70’s!”
*While it’s not too chilly here in the Bordertown, it is very windy- VERY windy this month. The family is spending a lot of time indoors and has been enjoying some comfort food, much to our diet’s dismay! One more splurge, methinks, with help from Laura Rebecca’s Kitchen: Baked Spaghetti Romanoff
*As always, Doug is a good read, and I’m happy to recommend The Right Way to Teach to my younger colleagues who are struggling with the drill and kill mandates as they examine their daily school experiences which are shaping their own teaching philosophies.
*Oh, how I would love to go shopping in Martha’s Prop Room!
*Di at Designer’s Block UK discovered the cutest cupcakes- ones decorated with the tea set would be what I would order for my mother’s birthday, while the flip flops on grass would be perfect in any teachers’ lounge on the last workday of the year!
I’m Wondering
… why husbands and children don’t close what they’ve opened. Closet doors, dresser drawers, kitchen cabinets…
… why as I get older, inconveniences come in threes: fungal nail infection, bronchitis, allergies… boom (gross), boom (cough/hack), boom (sneeze).
… which Master’s Degree Program I should look into once we are finally relocated. Curriculum and Instruction (will I get to implement something non-scripted?), School Administration (not only no but heck no), Early Childhood Education, Child Psychology, or Advanced Glitter-and-Glue Applications?
… if there’s anything better than a duckie blankie on a chilly morning during cartoon time? (Special thanks to Rissa!)
… which wreath to make next (Easter? Patriotic? Floral?)…
… how many parents of students in the Bordertown really read the school district’s “report card” info, considering it’s a document of 400+ pages. I certainly found Daughter’s school info, and knew enough to shudder at what it did and *did not* report. I haven’t heard any other parents asking things like “how, when the school’s scores have dropped two to twenty percent in writing, math and science from 2005-2006, does this school earn a rating of ‘academically acceptable’?”
…where all of these bunnies and eggs will go…
Personally, I Vote for HOPE
It’s February, but there is something I’m *not* loving at the moment… the all-encompassing FEAR that many/most (if not all) of us have felt for quite some time now. Fear of terrorists, fear of our children “being left behind,” fear of immigrants, fear of gender, fear of race… interesting how we’ve allowed ourselves to be steered in this direction.
Living in the Bordertown gives me visual reminders of fear everyday:
Now these homes aren’t in bad shape, nor are any of these located in what’s considered to be a “bad” neighborhood, but their prison “look” is representative of the rest of the community at large. In my opinion, it doesn’t matter if your gates and bars are painted a complementary color to your home, or if you add swirly curly-q’s to them, or try to make them architecturally interesting by making their line follow the architecture of scalloped walls: you’re still locked in behind those bars, and you’re trying to lock everyone else out. Sure, we outsiders see your fence of fear (oh I know, the manufacturers call it a “security fence”), but you know what? When you’re looking out of your window, so do you. Must be a great view.
Fear.
Somehow, we can deny entry into our country to any music star who might have a drug conviction, but we can’t keep terror cells outside of our own borders. And just when you try to return to Mom, baseball, and apple pie, someone somewhere decides that 9/11 footage should be shown AGAIN. How’s your adrenaline?
Blanket statements about immigration ignore those newbies to our country who came here the “right way,” legally obtaining citizenship. Instead, we’re fed information from a different slant. Many statements (usually racist) made about how all of “our” jobs are being lost, our school/health/welfare systems are overburdened by non-citizens, etc. Riled up yet? Oh wait, is that….adrenaline again?
As a teacher, I resent the fact that many people in this country have bought into fearing me, fearing that I might “leave your child behind.” In twelve years of teaching, somehow I’ve morphed from trusted guide and awesome kindergarten teacher to “She-Who-Must-be-Doubted-and-Feared.” No, my intense interest in finger paint, glue sticks, and songs by Raffi is actually not an indicator of substandard or inappropriate teaching practices. Really. Surprised?
I value my ability to put food on my childrens’ plates, clothes on their backs and someday, Uncle Sam willing, a long-term roof over their heads. I’ve spent a lot of time, a lot of money, and a lot of effort obtaining knowledge from a college I didn’t have to attend in order to learn how to teach well. I complement my educational expertise with ongoing training in child/parental psychology, health and nutrition guidance, nurse/EMT training, multi-cultural awareness, sociology and communications, technological advances, and a slew of other areas of specialty, again, so that I can do my job well. I utilize developmentally appropriate practices and I believe children are very different from adults (and should be allowed to be so).
In my classroom you’ll see children BEING CHILDREN, learning through experience and exploration, expressing themselves, sharing, laughing, singing, and yes full-day-kindergarten-advocates, taking naps. Sorry folks, but no matter what politicians or testing company CEO’s try to tell you, duct taping students’ fannies to their chairs multiple times per week to assess their knowledge gained actually results in kiddos spending less time participating in activities and experiences that enhance and facilitate their learning.
Stop. Think. Breathe. You can understand this one, really. If you have to take your kids to soccer, then to the store to get new pants, then over to the dentist’s for an appointment, then over to the bank to deposit a check, how are you putting your family’s photo album together at home? And when? If you keep taking kids away from their teacher, and keep making them spend extra time on math and reading in isolation in order to pass a single test, when are they going to learn how to play an instrument (which by the way, would offer yet another way for a child to have an “a-ha moment” in regard to both math and reading!), have time to explore literary genres, or learn a foreign language and exercise their bodies? After school? Uh, honey, check the newest after-school activity list: here in the Bordertown you won’t find band, babysitting, or computers. You’ll find TAKS TUTORING. When did you decide that it was okay to no longer value your child’s creativity? His or her inner song? Interests? Gifts? Mental, physical, and emotional health? Did you learn best by sitting in a chair, day in and out, in a room filled with silence, or are your most vivid memories of learning filled with sights, sounds, textures, smells, exertion, emotion, and interest?
Someone told us to be scared. And we bought it.
What other messages of fear have you been fed lately? Which ones have you gulped down, hook, line and sinker? And to whom has it been of benefit?
Questions to ponder… I know, they’ll tick some of you off:
What’s the big threat, really, of having a president whose anatomy includes breasts and a vagina? Same goes for a male president whose family tree doesn’t solely include ancestors who were Elmer’s Glue “white.” A president represents his or her entire nation, all colors, sexes, creeds, and beliefs. In order to do so, s/he must have a diverse background, advisers who are paradigm shifters, and the ability to understand that the most honest answers (and best solutions to problems) will come from going straight to each horse’s mouth. Please stop talking to CEO’s and other salespeople about how I should be doing my job. Talk to child advocates, other teachers, parents, and children. Fame does not equal credibility. Donald Trump and Bill Gates may be Googled more than I am, but that doesn’t mean they could do my job better than I do it. Their business models are MODELS FOR BUSINESS, not for teaching and guiding young children in ways that will enable them to lead enriched, expressive, generous and tolerant lives.
Presidents aren’t perfect, they’re human, and will make some mistakes. But isn’t it time to have hope again- hope that our president will stop serving a single agenda, and stop steering us with fear? We’re not just a nation at war. Americans are starving, we are homeless, we are displaced. We have no health care. Our environment is suffering, a lot of people are depressed. And we are allowing ourselves to be herded like sheep with scare tactics.
Eek! A woman! Eek! Someone with brown skin! Eek! Someone who isn’t a teacher has told us to be afraid of education! Eek! A Republican! Eek! A Democrat! Eek, someone whose marital decisions entitle little ol’ me to judge them! Eek, a veteran! Eek, a non-veteran! Eek, someone whose religious practices don’t match my own! Eek, a person who doesn’t photograph well! Eek, change!
Any idea why our nation’s enemies find us so deserving of their attention? Why we are viewed as predictable and easily-targeted drones? Oh, go ahead spin doctors… our nation is the strongest in the world, our American way of life is awe-inspiring, so other countries and cultures fear us and our strength and our divine right to demand compliance from them, er, our desire that they accept our generous gift of democracy, yadda yadda yadda…
Sweethearts, I’m an American woman with a multi-cultural background who teaches students in our public educational system. I’m a mother, and I’m the proud wife of a United States soldier. Members of my father’s family are considered “indigenous” people, meaning they were here on this continent, living on the land that is part of our present nation, long before my mother’s family arrived on the boat. I would be proud if my children chose to serve in the military, and I would proud if they chose to become doctors, mechanics, computer techs, non-fiction writers, woodworkers, or rocket scientists. I appreciate the fact that it is your tax dollars that move and house me and my family with each new military assignment my husband receives, but I also know that it’s my family’s tax dollars moving and supporting us too.
Hope isn’t frivolous. Hope isn’t a fad. And regardless of what you’ve been told, Hope isn’t going to bring our enemies “into our backyards.” We can be a nation of hope, and have a strong, capable, and appropriately equipped military to defend it. We can be a nation of hope, and provide our children with the best education possible (once we stop taking money away from our students to give it to corporations- yes, I said “students,”not “schools”). We can be a nation of hope and require that all immigrants join us legally. We can be a nation of hope and of health and provide for ourselves as much as our political-correctness inspires us to demonstrate care for others.
It’s time hope returned to our nation. I VOTE FOR HOPE.
Candidates, please deliver, regardless of your political party’s affiliation. All of America is your party.
Tuesday
Something’s coming over the mountains today:
I’m glad to have something idea-inspiring to read when the dust kicks up, wind starts howling, and tumbleweeds go whizzing past my windows:
Hearing so much about Somerset from the crafty bloggers I read each day made me take the fifteen-dollar-plunge at B&N this past weekend. Guess what? I’ll be subscribing.
Talking with my husband last night, I introduced the idea that once our new duty station comes through and we have floorplans for our future housing, I’d like to figure out a way to have my own craft/sewing workstation, perhaps sharing a study with him. Ideally, I’d love to have my own space, free of children, toys, seasonal clothes in storage tubs, and frankly, my husband’s stuff. Hunting gear, guns, military awards, and Harley logos are not what get my creative juices flowing…his support of testing gravity by letting all magazines, papers, catalogs, receipts, brochures, business cards, etc. live on the floor of his study is also a major obstacle to overcome before we could seriously share a space. I think I’m talking myself out of it here!
How do we share space in the rest of the house? I’m the boss, that’s how. You see, my husband’s job requires that we move regularly. MORE than regularly in fact. We’ve moved four times in the past five years, with another move coming up this summer. The kids and I don’t get a say in where we move to, what jobs or friends we have to leave behind, nor how long we’ll stay or how quickly we’ll have to leave again. So the public parts of the house are decorated the way I want them to be with my husband and kids having their own spaces reflecting their personalities and tastes. Yes, I make sure my husband has his man-cave, and the garage is always his. But because we have no say in the move-us-cross-country-or-even-OUT-of-country decisions, I lay down the law when it comes to home decor, storage, and household chores. We may not get to choose where we’re going to have to live, but I *will* have my family living in a clean, comfortable, soothing, and inviting home, dadgummit!
Once I get an idea of what kind of housing we’ll be in, I need to figure out a way to effectively create my own space, keep other family members (and the required military/social visitors) from encroaching upon it, and scheduling time for myself to spend in it, seeing creative ideas come to fruition. Until then, I’ll continue to explore, collect ideas and a few bits and bobs and inevitably, see what happens after this Bordertown’s windy season.
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Here are some blogs I’ve recently been enjoying:
Sally Jean: I love her charms- so sweet!
Cari Kraft’s What Should We Make Today: Creative banners appeal to the teacher AND mom in me…
And if you need a good laugh or a “saucy” story, get your fix over at Bloggedy-Blog-Blog.
Don’t forget our soldiers this Valentine’s Day (or ever!)- An Army Wife’s Life has posted links and ideas about cards and care packages for soldiers and veterans. Even if you miss Valentine’s Day, remember it’s never “too late” to show our soldiers how much you care- even plain ol’ Tuesday is a holiday when an unexpected care package with goodies and treats or a “thinking about you” card or letter is received.
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Please vote. Before you do, please think. Think about something deeper and more relevant than gender or race. Thanks.
Daughter Says to Call This Post “Hi Grammy!”
So, HI GRAMMY!
We went to campus to set up Daughter’s science fair board last night:
We enjoyed seeing the other entries too (”What’s Aliva in Your Saliva?” was a title that caught our eye, but we didn’t want to freak the entrant out by photographing it…)
And today we’ll return to the Home of the Miners so Daughter’s entry can be judged. Toddler and I plan to roam around parts of campus if we can (parents aren’t allowed in the gym during judging, toddlers are even less welcome, understandably!) and hopefully the sun will cooperate with us for photos.
If you want a terrific college hoops story/movie to watch (you can’t ALL be having Superbowl parties this weekend!), try Glory Road.
Have You Ever Lost a Day?
Feel free to check yesterday’s blog for proof that *I* certainly have! Yes, yes, I appreciate your kindness- refraining from chucking a stuffed animal at me while yelling “Helloooo, McFly!” Sigh. It was a wonderful Monday, not Tuesday in fact. My brain did a time warp. The fact that I’d had a good day must have subconsciously registered to me that it couldn’t have been Monday, because who has a good day on the first day of the week? Perhaps I just didn’t have enough coffee.
Today is Tuesday. And I know why I’m “off” this morning. The toddler was up at 12:45 a.m. He was up at 2:15 a.m. Round three was at 3:05 a.m. Fittingly, round four was at 4:00 a.m. Daughter decided to sleep in because she *knew* Mom would come and wake her up. Didn’t happen. Daughter woke ME up at 7:25 a.m. with “Mom! I missed the bus!” Who was asleep? Daddy and toddler. Thank goodness the coffee pot didn’t die during the night. Cup of coffee number one was chugged on the way to school. It wasn’t enough however to numb the effects of hearing the school’s daily announcements over the intercom.
Imagine the dullest voice you’ve ever heard. Now imagine it droning on and on with a series of public-service-type announcements at 7:45 a.m., first class period of the day, at a junior high school. The counselor’s statement ended with “Students, if you are being abused or neglected, know that there are people here at school who can help you. You can make an appointment with the school counselor to get help. Remember, you can have a good day, or not, the decision is yours.” Followed by the principal with several announcements he thought sounded humorous (they weren’t), concluding with “Teachers, please take this time to do a school uniform check in your classrooms. Make sure all students are wearing the school uniform appropriately. Check that undershirts are the required white color.” Yadda yadda yadda yadda (in drone-tone). Ten minutes of mind-numbing “essentials” that frankly, made me wish I had some Kahlua in my coffee mug. Okay, a lot of Kahlua.
Who was walking in to the building as the morning announcements were wrapping up? Substitute teachers. Not kidding. Other tardy students walked by the office without signing in, and without stopping when teachers addressed them about their hoods, or shirttails hanging out. Wow, that dress code enforcement is really consistent, I tell you. Did I mention that in this very bi-lingual city, district, neighborhood, that the announcements were only made in English?
What worries me? In my mind, the dress code announcement/request by the principal (along with three other “reminders”) could have easily been made via school email, at the last staff meeting, or in a morning bulletin (and so logically was only done over the loudspeakers as some sort of reminder/enforcement addressing students). Yes, the teacher in me wondered how much time was lost sitting through the babble. I also wondered how difficult it would be to get the kids on track and transitioned for classwork after getting their minds on (or off) track regarding their undershirts and possible personal states of abuse or neglect. I mostly wondered why any staff would choose to start each and every day in such a way. It was prison, not school. And the district wonders why students are disinterested, resentful, sneaky walking zombies.
When I was asked why my daughter was late, I replied that we had accidentally overslept (no, it’s not a regular occurrence, in fact it threw me that it happened in the first place) to which the secretary replied rather abruptly, “well, it’ll be an unexcused absence.” The coffee kicked in. I replied with “that’s fine, she is here, after all, and obviously instruction hasn’t yet begun.” Smile smile smile. It is apparently too much to ask that other adults with whom one interacts be polite. Positive. Happy even. While filling out the admit slip for my daughter, the secretary was asked by another staff member the location of a volunteer. The secretary replied “I told you, she’s not coming in today until tomorrow.”
Huh? Coffee. Need….more…..coffee.
I’m no Pollyanna, really. I’m sarcastic, and can be downright rude. But I know what kind of workplace I want to be a part of. I know what kind of feeling I want my children and students to have about school and their environment. I believe in the self-fulfilling prophecy. I believe in the Golden Rule. I believe we reap what we sow. And yes, I believe in standards, and trying to measure up to them. I behave accordingly, and do my best as a parent and a teacher privately and publicly, never perfect, but well-intentioned. My intentions are formed by experience, wants, likes, dislikes…information. Data. The general process tends to work for most people.
Perhaps not in the Bordertown. Instead of seeing this year as one full of “lost days,” my family and I will do our best to put a positive spin on things (we’ve learned how “not” to be, after all), and will look forward to our next military move with anticipation.
Thank you for letting me vent! I’m off to get my 100th Blog Post Giveaway photographed so I can pretend this is Wednesday and get it posted (check my last post for the link) for you to see- after the eye-strain I’ve put you through, you certainly deserve a treat!
Separation of Confusion and Bewilderment
This was in my daughter’s backpack, discovered as she cleaned it out in preparation for her return to school this morning:
When I asked where the sheet had come from, she replied that multiple copies of it had been passed out during lunch at school before winter break. When I asked who had passed them out, she said “adults” at school. I then asked her if they were adults she recognized from school (teachers, custodians, administrators, volunteers, etc) or strangers visiting. She told me that they were adults she saw regularly, and thought they were teachers though none she has for any subjects this year.
I’m a bit confused, only because our own family life is very categorized. “School things” happen at school, “church things” happen at church. My daughter attends public school, and does NOT belong to any religious youth groups that happen to meet on campus after school hours. I haven’t found religious practice required in any of the curriculum requirements and standards for her grade either. And what is with the “I am also going to pray for this myself: yes, no?” Guilt much?
Explanations? Ideas?
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