1. Step directly from street shoes/socks into flip-flops.
2. Ohmygod please wear the flip-flops.
3. Remember? About the flip-flops? Okay.
4. Rinse off under the shower before you get into the pool. For this to be effective water droplets need to actually touch your body.
5. Rinse off again after you exit the pool. Wash your hair with shampoo if you don't want it to turn green.
6. Even if you want it to turn green, I don't. So shampoo.
7. Keep towel from dragging in the puddles on the floor.
8. Eew eew eew eew please keep the towel off the floor!
It's time for another session of swimming lessons! Yay.
Showing posts with label room for improvement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label room for improvement. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Blog Action Day: Poverty
I haven't been through my reader yet today (*twitch*) but I know from Twitter that many of my favorite bloggers are participating in Blog Action Day today. Magpie, PunditMom, and Ilina are making donations based on the number of comments they receive today, so go forth and comment, please! (If you're doing this too, let me know and I'll link you up.)
Last year I donated my BlogHer Ads earnings to Donors Choose. Any suggestions for a recipient for this year? I just read about Jewish World Watch's Solar Cooker Project in Darfur. A $30 donation provides a refugee family with solar cookers and training to use them. This helps curb deforestation and also saves women and girls from making dangerous trips to gather firewood (they risk getting raped every time they venture out). Thirty bucks!
I also want to help at home. My grocery store collects donations for our local food banks right at the checkout (the store prefills bags of supplies, I pay for it, then it goes straight the food bank). With food prices skyrocketing and everyone feeling squeezed, I remember how very lucky we are and I buy one of these bags each time I'm at the market.
The problems are so huge and diverse and intractable (how do we fix Darfur / Iraq / Afghanistan / Haiti? how do we fix health care? how do we fix crummy schools and evaporating jobs and foreclosed homes?). What I don't want to do is let this overwhelm me into inaction. One local project and one international one? That's doable. And every little bit helps.
What are you doing?
PS Don't forget FreeRice. I just donated 1000 grains and learned two new words ("vaticinate" means "prophesy" and "raddled" means "worn out").
Last year I donated my BlogHer Ads earnings to Donors Choose. Any suggestions for a recipient for this year? I just read about Jewish World Watch's Solar Cooker Project in Darfur. A $30 donation provides a refugee family with solar cookers and training to use them. This helps curb deforestation and also saves women and girls from making dangerous trips to gather firewood (they risk getting raped every time they venture out). Thirty bucks!
I also want to help at home. My grocery store collects donations for our local food banks right at the checkout (the store prefills bags of supplies, I pay for it, then it goes straight the food bank). With food prices skyrocketing and everyone feeling squeezed, I remember how very lucky we are and I buy one of these bags each time I'm at the market.
The problems are so huge and diverse and intractable (how do we fix Darfur / Iraq / Afghanistan / Haiti? how do we fix health care? how do we fix crummy schools and evaporating jobs and foreclosed homes?). What I don't want to do is let this overwhelm me into inaction. One local project and one international one? That's doable. And every little bit helps.
What are you doing?
PS Don't forget FreeRice. I just donated 1000 grains and learned two new words ("vaticinate" means "prophesy" and "raddled" means "worn out").
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Speaking of good deeds not going unpunished
"Speaking of" is Jo's new catchphrase. Typical usage: "Speaking of poop, I really have to go potty right now." Even then, I still find it funny.
Yesterday I took the bike and trailer to do the afternoon pick-up. It's one of the leading strategies in my struggle against carbon emissions, high gas prices, and my own muffin top. Win-win! So I have Jo in the trailer and am carefully walking the bike around the roundabout by her school. Somehow--I couldn't begin to reconstruct how this actually happened--I tore two huge gashes in the back of my right ankle with the gear of my bike. Recall that I wasn't even riding the bike at the time, but walking it. For safety's sake.
I'll spare you a photo but it looks like a panther took a swipe at my Achilles tendon. The best part was I then had no choice but to get on the bike, pedal it over a bridge and continue on to pick up Opie. From her vantage point in the trailer, Jo provided helpful commentary such as "Mommy, that is really gross" and "Now the blood is dripping into your shoe."
This afternoon, no bike. My excuse is that Opie desperately needs a haircut. He's starting to look like the world's shortest Beatle.
Yesterday I took the bike and trailer to do the afternoon pick-up. It's one of the leading strategies in my struggle against carbon emissions, high gas prices, and my own muffin top. Win-win! So I have Jo in the trailer and am carefully walking the bike around the roundabout by her school. Somehow--I couldn't begin to reconstruct how this actually happened--I tore two huge gashes in the back of my right ankle with the gear of my bike. Recall that I wasn't even riding the bike at the time, but walking it. For safety's sake.
I'll spare you a photo but it looks like a panther took a swipe at my Achilles tendon. The best part was I then had no choice but to get on the bike, pedal it over a bridge and continue on to pick up Opie. From her vantage point in the trailer, Jo provided helpful commentary such as "Mommy, that is really gross" and "Now the blood is dripping into your shoe."
This afternoon, no bike. My excuse is that Opie desperately needs a haircut. He's starting to look like the world's shortest Beatle.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Not without precedent
Rearing children: It's like living with tiny Supreme Court justices.
"But yesterday you said ... "
"But Daddy let me ... "
"But my sister/brother/cousin/friend got to ... "
"But another day we didn't have to ... "
My god. If it's not enough that you have to anticipate every possible consequence of every single action, you must also be aware that if you allow it once, you are doomed to have to agree to it over and over again for as long as you live.
Consistency: It's the hobgoblin of little minds. And parents.
*
This here is my 400th post, says Blogger. How on earth did that happen? Thanks for reading and commenting and just generally being fabulous in so many ways.
*
I didn't eat any bugs (on purpose, but thanks to all of you for the lovely images you suggested, Heather). I tried the dryer sheet thing. No effect whatsoever.
"But yesterday you said ... "
"But Daddy let me ... "
"But my sister/brother/cousin/friend got to ... "
"But another day we didn't have to ... "
My god. If it's not enough that you have to anticipate every possible consequence of every single action, you must also be aware that if you allow it once, you are doomed to have to agree to it over and over again for as long as you live.
Consistency: It's the hobgoblin of little minds. And parents.
*
This here is my 400th post, says Blogger. How on earth did that happen? Thanks for reading and commenting and just generally being fabulous in so many ways.
*
I didn't eat any bugs (on purpose, but thanks to all of you for the lovely images you suggested, Heather). I tried the dryer sheet thing. No effect whatsoever.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Lessons in laissez-faire
If you have been reading this blog for awhile you may have gathered that I am a pretty relaxed parent, or at least I try to be. I don't think there is any use getting worked up over whether kids can recite the alphabet at 18 months old or kick ass at soccer before kindergarten or start a successful dot-com while they're still in high school. Or, for that matter, whether anyone runs in the house or jumps on the furniture or eats crumbs off the floor or lets the dog lick their fingers. Yes, we have rules and we do enforce them but I try to maintain a "don't sweat the small stuff" attitude.
But. All of a sudden Opie is 3 and I feel like I'm being followed by some kind of huge, menacing, loudly ticking clock. He is neither potty-trained nor at all interested in giving up his pacifier. While he was 2 I just thought to myself "Well, he's only 2." Now that he's been 3 for all of 11 days I am totally doubting myself and my "he'll do it when he's ready" attitude.
He started in a new room at his child care center this week and between that and the birthday hangover, he has not taken a nap since a week ago Sunday. Reason to cut him some slack, or total rationalization?
The rule is that Nuks are for sleepy time only but he begs for it the minute we walk in the door in the afternoon. He'll even say "I just want it for one minute" or "I am going to take a little rest so I neeeeeeeed my Nuk." (Hah! There is no way I am falling for that, dude.) I am starting to think that a few days of cold-turkey misery might be better than spending hours every day trying to distract him via snacks, water, play time, walks, etc.
Similarly, the potty ... he kind of, sort of knows what to do and when to do it but not with any consistency at all, and he does not want to wear the cool Thomas the Tank Engine underwear his Grammy got him or even the Lightning McQueen Pull-Ups we stock by the dozens. He is not really motivated by rewards (like Jo is) so I am a little stumped. The last thing I want is a potty power struggle, but again ... am I being a gentle, attentive parent or a lazy loser?
So help me, the other day I started to wonder whether I could tackle one or both of these issues (and/or Jo's thumbsucking) if I promised them a kitten. Somebody stop me!
But. All of a sudden Opie is 3 and I feel like I'm being followed by some kind of huge, menacing, loudly ticking clock. He is neither potty-trained nor at all interested in giving up his pacifier. While he was 2 I just thought to myself "Well, he's only 2." Now that he's been 3 for all of 11 days I am totally doubting myself and my "he'll do it when he's ready" attitude.
He started in a new room at his child care center this week and between that and the birthday hangover, he has not taken a nap since a week ago Sunday. Reason to cut him some slack, or total rationalization?
The rule is that Nuks are for sleepy time only but he begs for it the minute we walk in the door in the afternoon. He'll even say "I just want it for one minute" or "I am going to take a little rest so I neeeeeeeed my Nuk." (Hah! There is no way I am falling for that, dude.) I am starting to think that a few days of cold-turkey misery might be better than spending hours every day trying to distract him via snacks, water, play time, walks, etc.
Similarly, the potty ... he kind of, sort of knows what to do and when to do it but not with any consistency at all, and he does not want to wear the cool Thomas the Tank Engine underwear his Grammy got him or even the Lightning McQueen Pull-Ups we stock by the dozens. He is not really motivated by rewards (like Jo is) so I am a little stumped. The last thing I want is a potty power struggle, but again ... am I being a gentle, attentive parent or a lazy loser?
So help me, the other day I started to wonder whether I could tackle one or both of these issues (and/or Jo's thumbsucking) if I promised them a kitten. Somebody stop me!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Princess much?
Yesterday evening, Opie had a high fever and so was unusually content to lounge on the couch watching Noggin. (He's fine now.) Jo, disdaining the "baby shows," decamped to the backup TV in the basement. She proceeded to holler up the steps every few minutes with some desperate need or another. Finally, Jeff taught her how to use the intercom feature on the telephone so she could call him if she needed something.
Naturally, five minutes later she did. I heard his end (snicker) of the conversation: "You called me on the phone because you need me to wipe your butt?"
True story. And that is something nobody told us before we had kids.
Naturally, five minutes later she did. I heard his end (snicker) of the conversation: "You called me on the phone because you need me to wipe your butt?"
True story. And that is something nobody told us before we had kids.
Friday, January 11, 2008
My position may be softening ... slightly
I posted whinily about extracurricular activities a few months ago, but I confess that the last two days have me considering a change of heart.Yesterday, Opie started swimming. It's been months since I've enrolled him in a class because he was very iffy about participating before (unlike big sister, who's always been a happy little goldfish/kipper/shrimp). This time, he loved it. I felt a little weird with this nearly 3-year-old in a pool full of infants, but he had a blast. He sang, he blew bubbles, he kicked, he scooped his little hands, he counted "one ... two ... FREE!" and jumped in fearlessly. Sometimes he even counted "onetwofreefourfivesissebbenainineten" and then jumped. The first thing he said to his teacher this morning, just before regaling her with the Motorboat song, was "I went swimming!"
It's allllmost worth having to shower him in the squicky locker room afterward.
Then today, Jo had a 90-minute art class and I spent the whole time reading magazines and drinking tea (Opie was still at school). Tomorrow's her turn for swimming, and since I don't have to go in the pool with her, I'm counting on more tea and more magazines. Now that's what I had in mind when I shelled out for these activities.
Of course, after I got home today (with both kids in tow and hours of child-juggling and dinner-preparing ahead of me) I realized I had intended to devote the afternoon to some research for a freelance job. Oops. Monday it is, then.
(Mostly unrelated photo: from the Georgia Aquarium last spring.)
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Damn straight, Dorothy
I'm back from our Christmas odyssey and I have to say, it kind of sucked. Although I didn't face lost loved ones, illness, major family dysfunction, or insane travel snafus, the small annoyances piled up until I couldn't pick out which one was worst.
Was it the 15-hour outbound journey, including a six-and-a-half-hour layover in Detroit?
Or was it the snide comments about my children's hygiene/my parenting? (what? no daily baths? wearing pajamas MORE THAN ONCE?)
Was it having to wrap all the Santa gifts at midnight on Christmas Eve because all the cousin's presents were wrapped, and would it make sense for hers to be wrapped and our kids' to be unwrapped? Of course not.
Was it our niece getting two of the items on Jo's wish list and Jo getting none (because they were too heavy to be shipped halfway across the country and then back, just so they could be under the right tree on the right day)?
Maybe it was the ridiculously archaic ideas about hospitality and etiquette that resulted in my being offered food every 10 minutes, like it or not; to the point where I maturely respond by refusing to accept anything, then sneak into the kitchen later to help my own damn self. And that also result in far more discomfort among the part of guests than if you would just stop TRYING SO HARD.
Or! Was it spending literally hours every night putting one or the other child to bed, a parenting chore I loathe anywhere, but especially away from home. Waiting for them to fall asleep is like watching paint dry. In a white room. With no windows.
Hmm ... Maybe the worst was counting the minutes until we could go home, only to be delayed a full 24 hours by a snowstorm. At that point I -- who rarely cries, unless watching a particularly sappy TV commercial -- shed several fat salty tears.
Actually, I know what was the worst. It was knowing how childish I was being. That while I was being facetious with my list of rules, deep down I still have a very hard time letting go of those childhood traditions and realizing that Christmas can go on without them. It might not be the same Christmas, but it can still be a good one. After all, I still got to share it with the ones who are at the very tip-top of my list.
Was it the 15-hour outbound journey, including a six-and-a-half-hour layover in Detroit?
Or was it the snide comments about my children's hygiene/my parenting? (what? no daily baths? wearing pajamas MORE THAN ONCE?)
Was it having to wrap all the Santa gifts at midnight on Christmas Eve because all the cousin's presents were wrapped, and would it make sense for hers to be wrapped and our kids' to be unwrapped? Of course not.
Was it our niece getting two of the items on Jo's wish list and Jo getting none (because they were too heavy to be shipped halfway across the country and then back, just so they could be under the right tree on the right day)?
Maybe it was the ridiculously archaic ideas about hospitality and etiquette that resulted in my being offered food every 10 minutes, like it or not; to the point where I maturely respond by refusing to accept anything, then sneak into the kitchen later to help my own damn self. And that also result in far more discomfort among the part of guests than if you would just stop TRYING SO HARD.
Or! Was it spending literally hours every night putting one or the other child to bed, a parenting chore I loathe anywhere, but especially away from home. Waiting for them to fall asleep is like watching paint dry. In a white room. With no windows.
Hmm ... Maybe the worst was counting the minutes until we could go home, only to be delayed a full 24 hours by a snowstorm. At that point I -- who rarely cries, unless watching a particularly sappy TV commercial -- shed several fat salty tears.
Actually, I know what was the worst. It was knowing how childish I was being. That while I was being facetious with my list of rules, deep down I still have a very hard time letting go of those childhood traditions and realizing that Christmas can go on without them. It might not be the same Christmas, but it can still be a good one. After all, I still got to share it with the ones who are at the very tip-top of my list.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Things for which I am not (in the slightest) ready
1. Hosting book club tonight.*
2. It goes without saying, but if I don't say it then this will just be a blank page: Christmas. My score is: Presents 4 (of, I don't know, 40?), Cards 0, Wrapping 0, Decorating 0, Cooking/Baking HA HA HA.
3. Winter. Who is hoarding all the girls' size 6 snowpants? I have dragged two kids to three stores already (that means past all the ridiculously huge displays of TOYS TOYS TOYS) trying to find some. Please God don't make me go to Wal-Hell. I might come out with something inflatable for my front lawn by mistake.
4. [screeek! Sharp turn toward the sentimental!] A 5-year-old girl who, during a stage production of High School Musical, alternately stood in front of her seat shaking her booty ... and cuddled up to me with her thumb in her mouth.
*Actually, scratch that. I have read the book, and I have four bottles of wine and a box of brownie mix. I'm good.
2. It goes without saying, but if I don't say it then this will just be a blank page: Christmas. My score is: Presents 4 (of, I don't know, 40?), Cards 0, Wrapping 0, Decorating 0, Cooking/Baking HA HA HA.
3. Winter. Who is hoarding all the girls' size 6 snowpants? I have dragged two kids to three stores already (that means past all the ridiculously huge displays of TOYS TOYS TOYS) trying to find some. Please God don't make me go to Wal-Hell. I might come out with something inflatable for my front lawn by mistake.
4. [screeek! Sharp turn toward the sentimental!] A 5-year-old girl who, during a stage production of High School Musical, alternately stood in front of her seat shaking her booty ... and cuddled up to me with her thumb in her mouth.
*Actually, scratch that. I have read the book, and I have four bottles of wine and a box of brownie mix. I'm good.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Merry Christmas! Have a rock and some sticks!
I confess to being overly laidback about the toy recalls up to this point. So far, the only recalled products we have are several of the Thomas trains and accessories. We opted not to return them, But this week's news that the CPSC only has one person testing toys (link via WhyMommy), and that a hugely popular toy may be laced with a date-rape drug? OK, that got my attention. So I'm participating in today's blog blast on toy safety, a joint effort of the Parent Bloggers Network and the Consumers Union.
As it is, I am constantly looking for ways to discourage relatives from giving my kids so much stuff (I know, cry me a river). I rarely buy my children anything (for special occasions or just because) because their grandparents and other family members are so generous. I mean, one sent a big box full of stuff for Halloween! Wasn't the door-to-door begging enough?
I hope I can use this toy disaster as a way to encourage the family to buy fewer, but more meaningful (and, hello, safer) gifts for us all. We already have far, far more than we need. At the same time, I know that giving is just as much about the giver as the receiver. I don't want to deny the grandmas the great pleasure they get from shopping for the kids.
Do you face this issue? What do you do about it?
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Declutter debrief
Several weeks ago I promised to spend my free Friday afternoons tackling the clutter that's threatening to overtake my house.
I got off to a great start:
I got off to a great start:
Then weeks went by where I wasted my so-called "free" afternoons working. But I did manage to do a 10-minute project this past Friday -- culling coats for a coat drive. I pulled out 8 or 9 of my coats and my kids' and dropped them off that very afternoon. Very freeing!
Here, by the way, is what I found in the pockets of all those coats:
- 4 heart-shaped rubber bracelets
- 1 ghost pencil topper
- 1 pacifier
- 1 daycare tracking sheet (infant room)
- 3 rubber bands, and
- a great deal of (clean) Kleenex
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
A milestone I would have preferred to put off for awhile
10/23/07: First Call from the Principal (Regarding a Disciplinary Issue).
So apparently Jo decided to let her fists do the talking during a.m. recess today. And then she and her sparring partner kept up their beef once they returned to the classroom. Pretty soon they both earned themselves a trip to the principal's office. I don't know about the other kid (the principal intimated that there was more than enough blame to be shared by the two of them), but Jo's punishment was to miss the next recess and to sit by herself at the "behavior table" during lunch.
The thought of her small little self eating her lunch all alone makes me want to cry.
Setting that aside, I am wondering what the etiquette of all this is. Obviously I will reinforce the "use your words" lesson at home, but do I also have her write a note of apology? To the other kid, the teacher, the principal, all of the above? When I see the teacher after school, do I say something (keep in mind she'll be in the doorway of the school with tons of other kids and parents swarming around)?
And what did the other kid say that made Jo want to punch him in the stomach?
Update, 10/24: I've now talked to Jo, the teacher, and another mother who happened to witness the big fight. Apparently the other child was all up in Jo's face calling her "stupid." She told him several times to stop and he wouldn't, so she slugged him. The two adults corroborated Jo's contention that she was provoked by this child, so I am going to let it go. No apology for him! And since I spoke to the teacher (she called me yesterday afternoon, which I appreciated; I had quickly caught her eye at pick-up time and said "I'm sorry, I'll talk to her"), I don't think we need to get into an apology note for her either.
I do feel bad that this dispute interrupted class time, but then again, kindergarten is about learning social skills and how to interact in a group. I reminded Jo this morning to steer clear of the name-caller, and to ask for help from an adult if she needed it. I think she'll be fine, and honestly? I'd rather have an assertive girl than a pushover.
So apparently Jo decided to let her fists do the talking during a.m. recess today. And then she and her sparring partner kept up their beef once they returned to the classroom. Pretty soon they both earned themselves a trip to the principal's office. I don't know about the other kid (the principal intimated that there was more than enough blame to be shared by the two of them), but Jo's punishment was to miss the next recess and to sit by herself at the "behavior table" during lunch.
The thought of her small little self eating her lunch all alone makes me want to cry.
Setting that aside, I am wondering what the etiquette of all this is. Obviously I will reinforce the "use your words" lesson at home, but do I also have her write a note of apology? To the other kid, the teacher, the principal, all of the above? When I see the teacher after school, do I say something (keep in mind she'll be in the doorway of the school with tons of other kids and parents swarming around)?
And what did the other kid say that made Jo want to punch him in the stomach?
Update, 10/24: I've now talked to Jo, the teacher, and another mother who happened to witness the big fight. Apparently the other child was all up in Jo's face calling her "stupid." She told him several times to stop and he wouldn't, so she slugged him. The two adults corroborated Jo's contention that she was provoked by this child, so I am going to let it go. No apology for him! And since I spoke to the teacher (she called me yesterday afternoon, which I appreciated; I had quickly caught her eye at pick-up time and said "I'm sorry, I'll talk to her"), I don't think we need to get into an apology note for her either.
I do feel bad that this dispute interrupted class time, but then again, kindergarten is about learning social skills and how to interact in a group. I reminded Jo this morning to steer clear of the name-caller, and to ask for help from an adult if she needed it. I think she'll be fine, and honestly? I'd rather have an assertive girl than a pushover.
Friday, October 05, 2007
About 978.58 miles, give or take
That's exactly how far I'd go for my kids. It's how far I went when we moved from New York City to Mayberry.
OK, so that's not really what the Parent Bloggers Network meant with today's Blog Blast question, but watch while I string this together.
We moved because we wanted more space, safety, and time (which we'd get by eliminating commuting from our daily routine). And we wanted good schools, without having to pay exorbitant tuition or be a part of the loony urban private school admissions scene.
I believe in public school. Every child has a right to a free, high-quality education, one that will prepare him to be a successful, productive adult. And everyone in a community--young or old, parent or not--has a responsibility to make sure that education is available.
But was I willing to stand on principle and send my kid to a school where only two-thirds of her class could be considered "proficient" in language arts? Where 80% of her classmates would qualify for free or reduced lunch? Where the paint was probably chock full of lead, and the textbooks out of date? Where she'd be Left Behind before she even finished kindergarten?
I wasn't. It was enough for me to juggle a job (with commute), a child, a husband, and an apartment, without trying to add "singlehandedly reform crappy public school" to my list.
My ethics, in this case, took a back seat to my child's immediate needs--and I still feel bad about it. Because this is how we got into this mess. The smart, savvy parents walk: to the suburbs, to the private schools, even to their own home-school classrooms. The just-trying-to-keep-their-heads-above-water parents stay. They don't have the time (courage, wherewithal, awareness, language skills, etc.) to agitate for change. Things get worse and the cycle continues.
Since moving back to the crummy school district is not an option for us, and neither is coming up with a magic answer to this country's public school crisis, I'll have to start smaller. If I win the prize on this blog blast, I'll take my winnings and donate them to a public school teacher through Donors Choose. If Random.org doesn't smile on me this time, I'll take all my BlogHer Ads earnings from now through the end of the school year and donate them instead.
I'll tell my kids how lucky they are to live in a place where school is free, fun, and actually educational. I'll tell them that not every child is so blessed. And I'll tell them that they just might be the ones who could make it right.
OK, so that's not really what the Parent Bloggers Network meant with today's Blog Blast question, but watch while I string this together.
We moved because we wanted more space, safety, and time (which we'd get by eliminating commuting from our daily routine). And we wanted good schools, without having to pay exorbitant tuition or be a part of the loony urban private school admissions scene.
I believe in public school. Every child has a right to a free, high-quality education, one that will prepare him to be a successful, productive adult. And everyone in a community--young or old, parent or not--has a responsibility to make sure that education is available.
But was I willing to stand on principle and send my kid to a school where only two-thirds of her class could be considered "proficient" in language arts? Where 80% of her classmates would qualify for free or reduced lunch? Where the paint was probably chock full of lead, and the textbooks out of date? Where she'd be Left Behind before she even finished kindergarten?
I wasn't. It was enough for me to juggle a job (with commute), a child, a husband, and an apartment, without trying to add "singlehandedly reform crappy public school" to my list.
My ethics, in this case, took a back seat to my child's immediate needs--and I still feel bad about it. Because this is how we got into this mess. The smart, savvy parents walk: to the suburbs, to the private schools, even to their own home-school classrooms. The just-trying-to-keep-their-heads-above-water parents stay. They don't have the time (courage, wherewithal, awareness, language skills, etc.) to agitate for change. Things get worse and the cycle continues.
Since moving back to the crummy school district is not an option for us, and neither is coming up with a magic answer to this country's public school crisis, I'll have to start smaller. If I win the prize on this blog blast, I'll take my winnings and donate them to a public school teacher through Donors Choose. If Random.org doesn't smile on me this time, I'll take all my BlogHer Ads earnings from now through the end of the school year and donate them instead.
I'll tell my kids how lucky they are to live in a place where school is free, fun, and actually educational. I'll tell them that not every child is so blessed. And I'll tell them that they just might be the ones who could make it right.
Friday, September 14, 2007
to-do-haiku
Three free hours today
To-do list goes on for miles
Maybe I’ll just blog
It's Haiku Friday again!
Now that school has started, my schedule has changed and I am giving myself Friday afternoons off from both work and kid care. That means they are on for freelance jobs, household stuff, and maybe once in a while even something fun. My plan for the next several weeks is to slowly, surely purge this house of about a metric ton of accumulated crap. I will pick one closet/storage area/black hole per Friday and devote an hour to clearing it out. Realizing I still had a 15-year-old dress in my closet was definitely a kick in the ass, as was the change in weather that arrived this week. This happens every time the seasons change: I feel like I have no idea how to dress. I need to reset my brain from "capris" to "jeans" and back again, to find the long-sleeved shirts that have been buried under the short-sleeved ones for four months. But since very few of my clothes would really pass the Clinton/Stacy/Tim Gunn test, I feel the need to start fresh.
Wish me luck -- and I am counting on you to hold me accountable to my goal. Stay tuned for photographic evidence!
To-do list goes on for miles
Maybe I’ll just blog
It's Haiku Friday again!
Now that school has started, my schedule has changed and I am giving myself Friday afternoons off from both work and kid care. That means they are on for freelance jobs, household stuff, and maybe once in a while even something fun. My plan for the next several weeks is to slowly, surely purge this house of about a metric ton of accumulated crap. I will pick one closet/storage area/black hole per Friday and devote an hour to clearing it out. Realizing I still had a 15-year-old dress in my closet was definitely a kick in the ass, as was the change in weather that arrived this week. This happens every time the seasons change: I feel like I have no idea how to dress. I need to reset my brain from "capris" to "jeans" and back again, to find the long-sleeved shirts that have been buried under the short-sleeved ones for four months. But since very few of my clothes would really pass the Clinton/Stacy/Tim Gunn test, I feel the need to start fresh.
Wish me luck -- and I am counting on you to hold me accountable to my goal. Stay tuned for photographic evidence!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Top secrets of a patient mother
Other moms have occasionally told me that they admire my patience with my children. And it's true that I am pretty good (pretty good, not saintly good) at keeping my cool even when the offspring get ornery. I work hard at reminding myself that they are very small and they really want positive attention. I pick my battles. I distract, I redirect, I vow that we'll all get more sleep.
And I send them to child care 32 hours a week. That's secret #1.
Secret #2, and it's s a dirty one: I vent any and all frustration onto my husband. Speaking of redirection... he gets it all. Kids being bratty? Instead of lashing out at them, I give it to him for not being around, or for saying the wrong thing when he is here. Someone drops/spills/hits something? I can find a way that it's his fault.
I know it's not fair, I know it's not right, and I know I keep doing it anyway.
And I send them to child care 32 hours a week. That's secret #1.
Secret #2, and it's s a dirty one: I vent any and all frustration onto my husband. Speaking of redirection... he gets it all. Kids being bratty? Instead of lashing out at them, I give it to him for not being around, or for saying the wrong thing when he is here. Someone drops/spills/hits something? I can find a way that it's his fault.
I know it's not fair, I know it's not right, and I know I keep doing it anyway.
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