Operation IEP

This has been the roughest school year yet for Z. She has alienated some of the kids by being so... weird. She has problems with kids and instead of being able to let them go, she fixates on them, then acts on them at inappropriate times (prime example: she had a problem with a kid at recess, then 15 minutes later in class, walked across the room and grabbed the kid's arm). And she really likes her teacher and started out strong there, but now has sort of hijacked the classroom with her constant talking. (Her teacher put it very delicately: "She has so much great stuff to say that would be really wonderful to share with the class. But sometimes I am just pausing to see if everyone's caught up when she starts sharing again.") So if you add all that wonderful sharing to her social problems, (and to be fair, with several other difficult kids in an already-overstuffed classroom), you have a teacher who can't get any teaching done.

We addressed some of the issues already. In the morning, she goes to another teacher's room for a while to read and de-stress. It also keeps her away from her classmates in line at one point, which is a surefire trigger. In the afternoon, there's an aide that can give her some attention. She gets hungry at one point, so now there's a Costco-sized box of snack bars she can utilize when she gets hungry. Sometimes the teacher has another adult take her out to help make copies. The student teacher takes her out to run laps on the playground.

During the summer the special ed teacher and I started the process of an IEP, Individualized Education Program. It took well over the time it was supposed to to get the meeting, and they rescheduled it once (at the very last minute, after I'd already taken the day off work). But I didn't complain. They were doing a ton of evaluations and things on Azadeh.

One day at school, (during a meeting with the principal about a behavior incident) the special ed teacher (Mrs. M) told me she'd added that they should test Z's IQ, not because she thought it was relevant, just because she was curious. I laughed, and said that was fine.

Finally, last week, the day came. It was a long meeting -- two hours! In it was Ms. R, the district case manager, a speech therapist, Mrs. M, a school psychologist, the principal, Mrs. H, and the student teacher (Ms. S) who is training with Mrs. M (and who did a lot of the testing). Later, her teacher, Mrs. P, joined us.

So they went around the table and sort of read out all their reports first. Ms. R had the report that Ms. S had written and provided to her, but that was basically cribbed from my notes to her, so she was reading my words to me, basically. "Azadeh loves science, reading, pretending..." and I'm like, "Yes, I know this." What was funny about her part was that I wasn't entirely sure she had read it before. She kept stumbling a little when coming upon surprising information. "She's reading high... high? High school level texts." And at one point she was grinning stupidly (I'm not trying to be mean -- it was just kind of a dopey grin) and said, "I'm sorry I'm smiling -- it's just not that often that we get to read stuff like this!"

Then the speech therapist went. She had tested a few things: how she makes sounds, how she puts sentences together, and how she thinks social conversations should go. As for sounds, she said that Z had a little trouble with S, L and R, and mixing up F and TH. She also said, "I was kind of surprised -- you nailed it!" I told her I'd studied a little linguistics. As far as forming sentences, she had no trouble at all. The social speech was the funny part. First, she said that she mostly answered appropriately, but that there were some anomalies.  For example, what would she do with this group of kids, one of whom looked triumphant and another sad? She’s address the problem with “trickery!” She also mentioned that at one point,  Zadie was jumping around the room and saw what was on her clipboard — a rubric with scores ranging down from “strong.” So after that, Z would think hard about her answer (what she would say in a social situation), then ask if she’d scored a “strong.” (The report reads, "It should be noted that Azadeh was able to observe the assessor's scoring sheet... and quickly came to understand the scoring procedures. She then became interested in how she was scoring and seemed to tailor her answers in order to achieve the best score.") The speech therapist also said she asked Zadie how old she thought she was, and Z said “Well, you don’t have any signs of the twenties on you, so I’d say 40.” We all laughed, then vaguely wondered what the signs of the twenties were and how you could get them. Is there a special cream?

Then Ms. R asked the psych to go. But a few seconds in, she interrupted her to refer to another report. The psychologist, who had been really pleasant to me, responded surprisingly sharply: "You want me to go or her? I just started." So I was kind of wondering if there was some tension there. Anyway, she thought we should consider outside counseling (I am considering it, but I'm also considering whether there are enough hours in the day!), and she thought it was sweet that Z had drawn a picture for her. But then she shared the interesting news of Z's cognitive tests. It feels weird to even share this, honestly, but they were out of this world. They basically measured IQ in three different areas, short term memory, learning index, and fluid reasoning. The scores were 131, 144, and 121. The first two are considered to be in the 98th and 99.8th percentile of the population, labeled on the report "upper extreme." The third one looks practically ordinary in comparison -- 92nd percentile, above average. Mrs. N, the psychologist, also stressed several times (and wrote in her report) that because Z got up to play with xylophones, go to the bathroom, etc. as many as ten times during each portion of the test, that her scores "should be considered a minimum estimate." She would have scored higher, Mrs. N thought, if she could have just sat still!

The other part of her report was the bad bit -- attention problems, hyperactivity and so on. But I'll skip that, since it's not news to any of you.

Then we went to Ms. S, who had given a different kind of cognitive test. This one broke reading, writing and math skills into discrete categories and assigned them a "grade level equivalent." The scores ranged from a low of 1.6 (for math) to a high of >16.8. Although Ms. S had said these were grade equivalents, I thought I must be looking at the wrong column. I mean, what's grade 16.8, anyway? Oh, it's college. The end of the senior year of college. And an on-purpose "greater than" sign. For the record, that score was in "reading recall," and Ms. Santos said she had read Z a passage aloud, then asked her to repeat as much of it as she could remember. She repeated it verbatim. Ms. S said she even looked at her card to see if it was somehow in Z's line of vision. It wasn't.

All her other language scores ranged from a low of 5th grade to a high (other than that one crazy outlier) of 13th grade -- freshman year of college (in fact, of the 13 language scores, 7 of them fell in the college range, and two more in 12th grade). Math scores were lower -- a lot closer to average -- but Ms. S gave two explanations for that as well. First, she just hasn't been taught how to do some of the math yet, and second, she was distracted during that part of the test because she had a major potty accident.

The psychologist sort of summed it all up for us by saying that we see a kid like this "once in a blue moon."

So then we started talking about classroom issues and what to do and how to solve them. Mrs. R thought we should try "social missions," where someone gives her a mission, like "ask someone to play," then observes her doing that at recess, then debriefs with her later on how it went. She very brightly asked who would take that on. And you could just see everyone that worked with Z trying to take a step backwards yelling "NOT IT." It was a long conversation about whether it should be in the IEP at all, who might or might not have time to do it, why it was really no big deal and it wouldn't take that much time, etc. and finally why Mrs. R was "disappointed." It wasn't ugly, exactly, but I don't think it was very pretty, either. But I understand -- if someone asked me to spend extra time coming up with additional (however short) assignments for a kid and them observing them during passing period AND making it a data-collection issue for a goal in an official document? I'd balk, too. Recess time is bathroom break time, is put-the-math-away-and-get-the-art-project-out time, is breathe-for-a-second time. And trying to run outside and follow my champion sprinter to try to eavesdrop on her talking to a classmate? Seems like too much time, too much work, and too little consideration of the bathroom break issue. I wasn't upset about it, but Mrs. R was.

We're going to keep doing a lot of stuff we're already doing, which is only working so well. I mean, when she's out of the classroom, apparently that's working great. But we could probably find ways to keep her out of the classroom for all six hours, and that's not really the goal of school, is it?

Mrs. R mentioned skipping grades, but because of the social immaturity, we sort of all shook our heads "no" simultaneously. She seemed perplexed and said, "It's hard to know what to do when she's this gifted. You know, a high school student who needs an extra challenge, we just enroll them at City College, but you can't do that with a seven year old, can you?" We all shook our heads no again. She paused thoughtfully. "Sac State is right down the street?"

I suggested that maybe she get some time in the GATE lab with the teacher in there (who also happens to be Z's beloved pre-school teacher). They tried that on Friday and had good results right away. More outside-the-classroom time, but she really seemed to enjoy it, and of course didn't get into any trouble.

I also suggested a classroom aide. Mrs. R said upfront that it was really hard to get an aide, that they didn't do dedicated aides anymore (this is not true, but they are probably for different kinds of issues than my kid's), that we won't even get a meeting until March, and that there's a packet to fill out. I was like, "well, let's get the packet started, then." So that's something to get started on, but I am a little disappointed in how slow it all is! We couldn't start that until we had the IEP. We had to do all the testing before the IEP. I mean, I started this process in August, and it's almost the end of the first semester. And it'll be practically Spring Break before we get a meeting about an aide? I mean, in the long run, if we can get some positive changes made, it'll be good not just for this year but for many years to come. But this year it's taking a long time.

So some of our plan is "keep doing what we're doing." We will add 30 minutes of speech therapy once a week. She might get to be part of a "social group" of peers that also need some help learning how to interact appropriately. She'll still get those much-needed breaks in the day. And she'll have some time in the GATE lab -- on Friday she learned about the Capitol.

They're also going to call in the "behavior specialist" who can rearrange aides already on her campus if a kid no longer needs one, and then that aide can be assigned to Z's classroom (not to Z specifically, but having another adult in the room could really help Mrs. P out, probably).

You know, I really want her to have a normal childhood and a positive school experience. I opted not to send her to the GATE magnet school, because I didn't want that kind of pressure on her. And she's definitely not mature enough to skip a couple grades (much less to go to Sac State -- good god, I'm just imagining what a classroom with her in it would look like). And her intelligence does not really "balance out" or whatever her difficult behaviors. Several friends suggested schools for brainiacs, or schools with different structures (like Montessori), but I just don't know what to do. I don't want to pretzel everyone's schedules and commutes around in the distant and possibly unfounded hope that she'd do better if she was more challenged. She might, but her gifted-ness is far from her only difference from the norm. The idea of putting her into a Montessori school feels like dropping a death metal band into the local acoustic folk jam night. Probably not a good fit, is what I'm saying.

We had breakfast with a friend today, and Sweetie mentioned Z's diagnosis. He is a psychiatrist, and he was like "whoa whoa whoa! I would not start using the A-word!" And I know he means well (and likes Zadie), but he hasn't seen her at her most difficult. She can be a great kid, and I know it. But she can't choose to be a great kid all the time. She's autistic. She perseverates. She stims. She gets in people's space. She yells. She interrupts, she monologues, she says rude things, even to friends (even to people she loves, like her dad and me). She doesn't sustain eye contact. She fidgets. She has difficulty with transitions. She is germ-phobic and can't pick a bathroom stall, so she has potty accidents. She is a really smart, really hard kid, with some magical moments and some times I want to sell her to gypsies.

Sorry this is so long. Sometimes I just write this stuff so I can go back to it later. Thanks for reading if you stuck with me. There is no ending to be found here.

Today at school

There was a lockdown.

It was fine. There was a suspect being chased by police in the neighborhood -- on the street that runs adjacent to the school -- but nothing on campus.

But we didn't know that at first. The announcement came over the loudspeaker at the end of lunch, which meant that all our 1800 kids were out in the hallways. Many of them can't hear the announcements well, so we teachers (who were largely in classrooms) opened our doors to usher them in.

Not knowing what the situation was, we certainly had a sense of urgency. We raised our voices to them to hurry. I pre-locked my door so I could just slam it shut, but I stood there holding it, yelling to students to get into a room.

Because my room is in the back of the school, some students had to come a long way to get there, so they kept coming for several minutes. Some were running, and while most kept a steady pace, there was sometimes a burst of speed from the kids coming down the hall next to my room. Was someone chasing them? Was the threat behind them? How many kids could I get inside before it became important to close the door to keep someone out?

If I were to leave my door and look down the hallway, would it give me any insight? Would I be able to address those kids who were still not in a room? Would I be face to face with the threat, whatever it was?

As the kids thinned out, we got most of the ones I could see into classes, and I closed the door, but I stood in the window and as more kids came around the corner, I opened it again to let them in.

Soon there was an announcement that there was no imminent threat to campus. I then worried more about whether I had to pee, and how long it would be before I could go.

At the same time in San Bernadino there was another mass shooting. It was the 352nd one this year. Politicians are offering their thoughts and prayers. It's not working. Gun control might, but the NRA has financed everyone's campaign, so I guess money talks.

I wasn't really scared today. My pulse rose a little when the kids started running. But mass shootings are real, guns are everywhere, and nobody's doing a goddamn thing to stop it.

Well, except for Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America, which I joined today. Sometimes the craziness of this world just gets to me. Maybe I can do only a little, but I can do something.

Kids, Thanksgiving, in the news...

We were supposed to have Z's IEP meeting at school last week, but unfortunately the school psychologist had to cancel, so we rescheduled for December. The main reason I'm disappointed (besides the fact that I took a day off work for it) is that I'm very curious about some information that I think will get revealed.

At a meeting a few weeks ago, the Special Ed teacher mentioned that she had Z's IQ tested, because (I'm quoting), "you have to admit, we're all a little curious." Yeah, not an educational reason at all -- just wondering! She assured me quickly that I'd signed off on it (yes, I signed many, many papers). And while I might not have sought to have her IQ tested myself, now that it has been, I'm kind of curious. Especially since they let it slip that her scores were even higher than the first grade GATE tests had indicated. In fact, the school psych said they were "not used to working with students with scores like this."

Of course, we know she's bright, and a number isn't going to mean much in the long run unless she can also figure out how to eat with a fork and go to the bathroom before she leaks pee. But I am still pretty curious.

She's been pretty good lately. I mean, she has her moments of shouting, doing stuff long after we've politely asked her to stop (whistling, and thumping around in a cardboard box, just to speak of today). But we've been going outside a lot -- to the park, to the nature center -- and that seems to calm her.

The boy is just a love, as always. He gave me my first un-asked-for kiss a couple days ago. He's making lots of signs. Today he saw a kestrel and made the sign for bird. He also grunted and shouted at me to get the water bottle, and I said, "Lochlan, just ask me, please. Say, 'Water, please, Mama.'" He didn't look at me showing the water sign (he never took his eyes off the bottle), but he made the sign.

For some reason, although he can climb, walk while holding hands or strollers, and even run (while holding on to the couch), he just will not walk on his own. The doctor said to call if he wasn't walking by 15 months, which is now only two weeks away, but I'm not sure I will call. He obviously has the motion down and the strength -- he just needs the confidence to let go.

One thing that I hope I don't forget as he gets older is how he says "cat." He LOVES cats and gets excited when one of ours saunters by. He says cat in a high or low pitch, in a statement or question, as a yell or whisper, but most often just like "CAAAAAAAAAT!" Like a happy, high pitched sigh.

He's not a picky eater, but it surprises me how many things he will eat. Like, sometimes Sweetie will give him a Spanish olive. He grabs it quickly, pops it in his mouth, gives a little shudder of horror, then happily eats the next one. He was demanding to eat some spicy sriracha peas the other day, so finally I let him have one, thinking he'd spit it out and get over it. No, he wanted more and more, and got mad and cried when I put them away. The other night I made enchiladas with mole sauce, and while Z was throwing a hissy over how spicy they were, he was munching away.

Thanksgiving is in a few days. I'm thankful for the same things I always am -- family, home, health, my job -- but I am especially happy for two things. I'm happy that we got Z's autism diagnosis this year. I think that although it's slow going, it's really going to help us help her. And I'm thankful that Lochlan is such an easy, sweet little guy as he grows older and his personality starts to shine.


The news these days is bleak. Like... bleak as fuck. Donald Trump is running for president, and he keeps saying these insanely racist things, and after each one you think "Well, this is it! He's going to alienate people, drop in the polls, and quit the campaign, because people are basically good and sane." And then instead, people are like, "Yay, Trump! Right on! Brown people are terrible!" And you're like... really? Are people... NOT good and sane? Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I'm sick to death of this election season and we have a year left to go.

I couldn't help myself and I took the bait of someone posting an anti-Obama AND anti-refugee meme tonight, so they posted an anti-Obama thing on my timeline. And I should really just have a no-debating-politics with people who don't have enough brain cells to rub two together policy, but I posted a like "hey, here's why you're wrong, and here's the links to prove it." And got called a dumbass. By, literally, probably one of the dumbest people I know. So, like, just fuck it all, man! I AM a dumbass, for engaging with that bullshit! Learn to let it go, Mockula, because that guy can't find his ass with both hands, let alone make his way to the nearest polling place. It doesn't matter one whit whether I can change his mind, show him the error of his ways, or whatever. OMmmmm, mothafucka. Ommmmmmm.

Learning as we go.

Let's get right to the point: Z's behavior has dropped off precipitously in the last few weeks. We've gotten numerous "think sheets" from the school, and yesterday I got a call that she was in in-school suspension.

I drove over there thinking about what I could do to just ease the stress for myself. Take up alcoholism as a hobby? Marijuana? Smoking -- I don't even like cigarettes, but there was a long moment where having an excuse to leave the house for periodic ten-minute breaks sounded fairly appealing. I mean, I'd love to just go soak in a hot tub and get a massage or something, but that means leaving Sweetie alone with both kids, which is basically cruel and unusual punishment. If I so much as go to the grocery store without the girl, generally she freaks out, runs into the driveway, and then is threatened with losing everything she ever loved. So my punishment for leaving is having to deal with her when she can't have TV, her Kindle, etc.

ANYWAY... I went into this meeting, and mainly because I joke when I am upset, I said, "I just want to say to begin with, that I breastfed her. I followed the recommendations on screen time. I took prenatal vitamins."

And it was a joke, but also sort of not. I mean, Sweetie and I really have done everything we thought was right as parents after careful consideration and lots of reading. I sometimes feel like if there had been some switched-at-birth scenario, 9 out of 10 of the stranger babies we might have raised would now be pretty awesome contributing members of society.

Conversely, in the stranger family, Z would have about a 4 in 5 chance of having been forced to drink a bleach milkshake to exorcise her demons. (Well, more likely, of having the everloving shit beaten out of her on a regular basis.)

So we are in this sort of limbo state right now, where the behavioral therapy people haven't gotten us on their schedule yet, and the school is still evaluating her for her IEP, and we know what's wrong but not how to address it, and in the meantime she's been pinching and grabbing people in class.

I had an informal meeting with the principal and the special ed teacher (and I have more official one that will include the classroom teacher on Friday) and we all agreed on one thing: Zadie is an unusual case. She's stubborn. She's ambivalent about rewards and punishments. She's NOT high-functioning, but she's highly verbal and so smart that it's easy to forget that. As the special ed teacher said, we're used to kids like my cousin (who also attends her school). To look at or talk to them is to be reminded of their disability. But that's not so with Zadie, so we're all on a learning curve together. How do we help a kid who according to the teacher probably ought to be in 12th grade English (flattering, but not exactly true) but who can't choose which bathroom stall to use, panics, and pees herself?
How do you help a kid who can explain sound waves in understandable layman's terms, but can't tell by her classmates' expressions that they don't like it when she dances around them, swinging her backpack?

It's hard to reconcile the fact that she can narrate a story, play with her brother, draw a portrait, make bad puns, sing along with Queen, and also not be neurotypical.

I'm not some anti-Western medicine hippie, but it's rare that I take medicines myself. I've met my general practitioner about three times. Once as a follow up to my appendectomy and I think twice for hives. I never thought I'd have a kid that takes medicine twice a day to help her focus, medicine at night to help her sleep, medicine in the afternoon to help her poop... It just strikes me as strange sometimes how much help she needs just to function in ways that I never have to give a second thought to.

And yet, if you've met her, if you know her, you know she can be funny, sweet, charming, athletic, loving, and creative.

Today, she didn't pinch anybody. There was no think sheet. I didn't get a call from the principal. And so, you know, fuck it -- I went to Toys R Us and bought her a Shopkin (all the rage plastic shit from China). I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But she's asleep, and we snuggled, and it's quiet, and I haven't yet taken up smoking. It's good right now.

Some responses to responses to the desk-flipping cop in South Carolina.

If you haven't seen it, in SC this week, a 16 year old girl was playing with her phone in class. Teacher asked her to stop and she refused. An administrator came to try to get her to leave the room and she wouldn't. The police officer was called. Cell phone video shows him flipping her desk (with her in it) backwards, then picking her up and throwing her several feet across the room.

I'm no medical expert, but it certainly appeared that his actions could have resulted easily in an injury to her skull or cervical spine.

To me, it seemed clear-cut: a potentially paralyzing or life-threatening injury is not an appropriate response to a kid who won't put her phone away and leave the room. But not so to talk radio and internet commenters!

Instead of going rage-blind on the freeway again while listening to the radio, allow me to respond here to some of the things I heard.

She's a teenager, she's not a child. They're portraying it like she's a child. 

Because semantics are the game we should all be playing right now. Look, I've worked with thousands of sixteen-year-olds. They're children. They're big, puberty-ridden children, but emotionally they are not mature and their brains are not developed.

Well, if she would have just done what she was supposed to in the first place, this wouldn't have happened. 

Again, we don't need spine-injuring punishment for what is really a fairly minor infraction. It also wouldn't have happened if the teacher, administrator, and SRO had made some different decisions along the way.

Teenagers these days [insert bullshit flow]...

Ah yes, the "golden era" argument, where we look back and see the 50s (usually), when kids minded their manners, never talked back, and were angels who... wait, that was the fictional Lake Wobegon. If kids behaved better in school decades ago, it was not because they were respectful, but because A: they were scared shitless of getting smacked* or B: because they weren't there because they dropped out.

*which I am not in favor of.

Parents need to teach their kids how to be respectful. 

Yeah, sure. I'm in favor of that. But again, not for fear of their children being made quadriplegic.

Plus, like what's your empathy level? "Your beloved puppy got hit by a car? Should have taught him not to go in the street!"

It's not a race thing. I don't even think of people as black and white.  

Bully for you! But if you said that, there's like a 99% chance that you're white, and I'll tell you why: because people of color don't get the benefit of not thinking about race. From systemic oppression to microaggression, it's something that comes up in their lives a lot. Imagine what a douchecanoe you'd sound like if you parked in the handicapped spot, then when someone in a wheelchair called you on it, you were like, "I don't even SEE handicaps!" and walked away without moving your car.

Just take a second and imagine a pretty blond white sixteen year old in this video. Same reaction?

We don't know what happened before the video started.

No, but we do know that she isn't armed, is a 16 year old girl, and is seated in a desk when the cop assaults her, throwing her backwards onto her head.

There's a third video that shows she tried to punch him!

There's a third video that shows her arms flailing wildly while, in a chokehold, she is thrown backwards. I don't know what you think the proper arm position is for that situation. Limp?

Actually, if you go frame by frame, you can see that she threw herself backwards!

Actually, I have those same desks in my classroom, and they have a wide base and a low center of gravity. I invite you to try flipping one over backwards. But I watched it frame by frame to make sure I was being fair. At the moment the desk legs go up, her own feet are off the floor. There's no way she had the leverage to flip herself over.  

The cop has a black girlfriend, so he can't be racist!
Why on earth not?

Lochlan loves love

When Sweetie and I got married, we had custom fortune cookies made. One of the "fortunes" read "We love love! Thank you for celebrating with us."

Well, lemme tell ya who else loves love... the boy child of our loins!

He is just the sweetest, cuddliest, lovingest, most affectionate child. I mean, Z wants to snuggle, but on her terms, and she can be prickly. He can barely communicate, and about a third of what he communicates is that he loves us (the rest is mostly about eating, trucks and cats).

My parents used to do this gesture to me, and I do it to my own kids -- I point to my eye, my heart, and them to mean "I love you." Zadie learned it and did it back to me when she was a little older than Lochlan, but he has already done it, pointing to his heart, then to me.

He also loves his stuffed Clifford dog. He pointed to his chest, then to Clifford. I said, "You love Clifford?" He said "yeah."

He also gives hugs, pats us on the arm when we're holding him, rests his head on our chests, smiles at us, and tonight, when I told him "I love you," he said something like "AAA-OUU!"

I'll take it.

We have a winner!

You may remember that two years ago, Z competed in a karate tournament. She completely froze up and didn't place, but I was very proud that she kept her composure until we were in the car. 

Last year, she signed up for the karate tournament her own dojo was putting on. I was sure she'd do well. She had practiced, had home court advantage... So I was sitting in the audience watching the Taiko drummers when I decided to go check on her. It happened that she was running towards me down the hallway, vomiting and crying. We had to go home, of course. 

This year she signed up for the tournament in two events, katas (a series of practiced movements) and sparring. I thought her kata was really good, and when I saw there were only seven participants, I really thought she might place. I stayed somewhat far away so I couldn't catch her eye and accidentally distract her. And I heard her begin her introductions... then freeze again. I couldn't tell whether she was prompted or remembered, but she did get started again, then did Tiger Roll Kata (which she did well), and sat down. Her scores were not high, but not awful either. She didn't place, but she did get through it all admirably. 

Then came sparring, which was on the other side of the auditorium from where I'd been watching. I moved so I could see better. There were only six kids, and I knew two of them well, and both of them regularly beat her in class. She had her first match, against one of the girls I didn't know. The girl was taller than Z, and they were well matched, but Zadie won 5-3.

A girl in her class then sparred and won her match, and then a boy in her class sparred and won his match. So far, her dojo was doing really well. 

Z then was paired up with the girl from her class. I thought, "Well, this was a nice run, and she should be proud of her performance today, but she's about to get her ass handed to her, so this is the end of the line." But then it wasn't. She got in several good kicks and a few good punches. The match was a nail-biter. When one of the judges thinks they see a point, they briefly stop the match and all three judges say whether they believe one of the contestants should be awarded a point. Well several times, either the judges didn't all see, or they disagreed, so it was kind of a long match. Z was behind for a while in the beginning, but when time was called, she was ahead, so she had won her second match, too!

Then the other girl had to fight again. It was her third match, and I'm not that great at figuring out how to tell who's in what place. She won her third match, and if you are good at this sort of thing, you have figured out by now that this means she's just won third place, and the two people vying for first will now spar. 

And they do. And it's my kid against the boy from her dojo. And he's really good. He wins most of his matches in the dojo. He's aggressive, and he puts other kids on the defense or on the run. He's also really focused. Z, on the other hand, tends to lose focus and end up on the run. But not this time. This match was a nail-biter, too. It was one point for him, one for her almost throughout. There were a ton of times when the judges didn't see or couldn't agree. And then he kicked her and she fell down on her tailbone. And one thing she is not, man, is resilient. I could see she was going to cry, and so I hiked the baby up onto my hip, leaned forward to wait for the judge's word that I could go get her, and ... kept waiting, because he talked her down. And in a minute or so, she was ready to go on. And she put her all into it, and she earned those last couple points, and there it was! She was the first place winner! Oh, you should have seen her face. She knew she shouldn't celebrate unduly so that she wouldn't make the other kid sad, but she couldn't help but grin. 

And I am glad, because sometimes things are so hard for her. Sometimes she gets yelled at by us. Sometimes the other kids at school don't get her. Sometimes her very patient, understanding teacher has to pull me aside to tell me what went wrong that day, and last week that was nearly every day. She just needed a win, I think. And she earned one.

A way in

Today we had a faculty meeting at work. It began abruptly with our principal talking frankly about race -- about the fact that it has always been true and it is true at our school and every other school with a population of students of color, that if you go to the in-school suspension room, it will be mostly students of color. More than that (at a school like ours, there are almost no white kids), of all those students, most will be black. He even had some numbers from recent days.

He went on to say that sometimes black kids express themselves differently than we might -- they may tend less to bottle up their feelings, and instead respond quickly and out loud. And then we send them to the principal's office.

He wanted a way to not excuse bad behavior, but maybe for us to make room for understanding and acceptance of different kinds of behavior than we might be used to. He asked some students in an after-school program to share their stories with us. He listened to them first to get an idea of how it would go.

And when he heard how teachers were indicted in their stories, he thought it was too harsh, that we would tune out, and he cancelled it, asking them to maybe re-work the stories in ways that were more accessible to us.

And so he listened again, and he still thought they were too harsh. But when he listened, so did several other adults -- all people of color. And they all disagreed. So he went home and checked his privilege and decided to go ahead with it. We heard their stories today.

And mostly what we heard were things that we know intellectually. We know about substance abuse and physical abuse and sexual abuse and incarceration and gangs and drug dealing and the foster care system and hunger. But we don't often have a 16 year old girl in front of us, her hands shaking and on the verge of tears, telling us that when she got in trouble for being distracted in class, it was because she was wondering why her mother hadn't told her she loved her for thirteen years. Being in foster care is one thing -- we talk to foster parents all the time -- but hearing about why a girl was taken from her mother was different, bleaker. One of the things that surprised me most was how alone these kids were. Several spoke about not knowing their fathers, their mothers dead or disappeared or legally separated from them, but they were also separated from siblings who had moved, been murdered, been taken by their other parent, or were otherwise unavailable. These weren't kids who had no father but still had a loving network. These were kids who were basically alone in the world.

And then they came to school and were asked if they were retarded, if they were illiterate. Told they might as well give up because they'd never make anything of themselves. Told the dream of being a doctor was too far out of reach. I was angry at the thought that some of my colleagues could have said these things.

In the back of my mind, I wondered whether I had said anything like that, or anything that even if meant well, could be interpreted that way. I have certainly pulled a kid aside and asked him to read to me because I wasn't sure he could. I think I did it lovingly and privately, but... how did he feel?

And then a student got up, telling a story in third person with a false name because he wasn't ready yet to reveal that it was his story. "Shawn," he said, "hadn't eaten since yesterday at lunchtime, so he was begging food off his friends and eating it in class. He got sent to the principal's office." I thought of the students I had chastened this week for eating in class. "Shawn went home that night and his dad came home drunk. His dad and mom argued until 2am, so Shawn couldn't sleep. The next day in class, Shawn fell asleep at his desk, so the teacher told him to stand up. He stood up for ten minutes, then asked to sit back down. He fell asleep again, so the teacher sent him to the principal's office." I thought of the kids I constantly wake up.

Don't worry, I don't intend to suddenly let every classroom-inappropriate behavior go, inventing excuses for them or assuming the worst. But I do think I'm going to take a second to think about whether it could be the case. I'm not a hardass anyway. Today a kid came in with a nectarine and said he was hungry, so could he finish it outside real quick? I said yes, of course.

And I'm not a send-kids-to-the-principal kind of teacher anyway. My classroom is mine, and I will deal with the issues that come up if I can. In the last two and a half years, I've probably sent two referrals.

But if I can contribute positively to the atmosphere of my school... If I can make it a safe place to be... If I can not just get them college- and career- ready, but also let them know that I care and believe in them... If I can not make the journey or even an hour worse... That's what I'm in education to do.

One of the first student speakers today said that teachers were often looking for a way out of the situation, but she wanted them to find a way in.  I can't save them all. I can't fix 15 years of prior trauma and neglect and lack of education. But if they're going to land in my class, they're going to find a soft place to land.

Lochie is 13 months and some change

Boy, you wouldn't believe this kid some days. He has the best appetite, and he'll eat nearly anything (he likes pickles and broccoli, for instance). He has really good fine motor skills. In fact, he even picked up a pencil and scribbled on a paper today. He is slooowwlly learning to walk -- a more generous person might give him credit for having done so, because he has taken a couple shuffling steps on a couple occasions.

He is still absolutely crazy for books. He could sit and be read to all day, I think. When you finish one of his favorite books, he'll hand it back to you to read again. He will even sit and turn the pages of a book himself for maybe five minutes. His big favorites right now are the Little Blue Truck books and I Love My Mommy Because (which I got for Z at the zoo gift shop years ago -- it has pictures of animals in it). He pays careful attention to that one, smiling slightly throughout, and then on the last page, which has a picture of a human mommy and a little boy, he grunts, throws himself forward at the book, and points at the picture. I'll say, "Is that like Mommy and Lochlan?" He smiles.

Like his sister, he's a huge climber. Mom took him to the park today and he was climbing all the things.

We were also discussing the ways he is unlike his sister. First of all, she never slept well. He's a great sleeper. He still often gets three naps in a day.

He will sit and focus on a single activity for a long time, whereas she never did. You had to run after her all the time. If you put him in the sandbox with a shovel, you can pretty much sit down and relax, because he's going to spend the next 20-30 minutes digging (and periodically putting disgusting things in his mouth).

We also never really noticed that Z doesn't nod for yes or shake her head for no until this year, when it was a question on the autism forms. I searched my memory and was like... I don't think she does! I called Mom, and Mom couldn't remember her doing it either. We never noticed because she could (and did) say yes or no so early and so clearly, so it never seemed like something was missing. But it's adorable to watch Lochlan nod his head in agreement. Today one of the cats took a (harmless) swipe at him, and I said "Mean cat!" He pouted his little lip out and nodded his head.

He is saying more words and making more signs. I think Grandma sees more of these than I do, but she said he can clearly say "truck" "duck" and "clock" and make the sign for airplane, as well as all done, milk, dog, and some others.

Plus, I really don't try to make my kids conform to gender roles, and I think Z is a pretty well balanced kid. I indulged the fairy and princess stuff when she wanted to and pushed the science and karate and just tried to let her be her. I was never like "you're such a girly-girl!" or anything. So forgive me if I say that Lochlan is a real guy's guy. He likes trucks, buses, airplanes, helicopters, and dogs. A lot. Fire trucks are his favorite, but even a pickup will do in a pinch. It cracks us up how excited he'll get over a truck. Zadie liked to watch the garbage trucks, too, but he's really enthusiastic about it.

And that's my boy at 13 months! He's peacefully asleep now after our bedtime dance of nursing, the I Love My Mommy book, a song ("This Land is Your Land" tonight) and a snuggle with PetePea.

Some days...

As you might imagine, simply having Z's diagnosis doesn't always make everything easier. I mean, it makes things a little easier to understand, but not, like... more fun.

Today was less fun.

I really want to be able to put the baby in a bike trailer and take a ride with Z by my side. That just seems like it would be so much fun. But we've been buying Z trikes and balance bikes and real bikes with training wheels and trail-a-bike rigs since forever, and she's just never showed much interest. Mind you, I could have provided more opportunities to practice instead of waiting for her to ask, but there it stands.

Today I asked if she'd want to try again. She did. We pumped up her tires, put on her helmet, and headed outside. I coached her ("Push hard down on the left pedal. No, don't pedal backwards.") verbally for several tries, then gave it a shot at holding onto the seat and pushing her. I did my best, but it's an awkward angle and she's 53 pounds, plus it's a big bike -- when it started to tip I just couldn't right her with my fingertips on the seat. She didn't get hurt or anything, but she blamed me for tipping her over. And then she didn't want to ride anymore. It's just frustrating to see her give up so easily, and worse, to get blamed for it (like, she was really mad at me).

Later I took her to Target and Cost Plus. There were only three things I needed at Target so I thought it could be a quick trip. But she had to stop on every aisle to ask for things. If I'd bought her everything she wanted, I'd have easily dropped $150. And then when I checked out, she wandered off to look at toy cars, not telling me where she was going. I found her and told her we were leaving, but she wouldn't come. I thought if I walked out the door (Okay, I'm going! Here I go right now!), she'd follow, but she didn't, so I had to go to the other set of doors to go back in (because the automatic doors don't let you go back in the exit) to retrieve her. And of course, it was all my fault again. In her version, I didn't tell her we were leaving, and she had told me she was going to look at cars.

We went to Cost Plus just for fun, to look at Halloween decorations. I told her before we went in that we were just window shopping. Inside, she again wanted one of everything (as always), but I felt a little bad for saying no so much. Plus, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia -- they had New York Seltzer, a soda I used to get and loved as a young teen. I told her I'd buy her one, so we selected the flavor that sounded best, bought it, and brought it home. I told her she should put it in the fridge and try it later when it was cold, but she insisted she was going to have a sip warm, then put it in the freezer for a short time. I took the lid off for her, she had her warm sip, then went to put it in the freezer. But she forgot to put the lid back on, and she couldn't find a flat surface to rest it on, so it fell and spilled all over the kitchen.

I felt bad for her, and I told her we'd get another one soon, but I also gave her some paper towels to clean up, and I got down on the floor to clean it up with her. In my opinion, that was reasonable, but she again thought it was all my fault, was furiously angry with me, stormed off to her room, yelled at me, and told me not to talk to her.

I understand that she's frustrated, too. She was unsuccessful at riding her bike. She wanted things and didn't get them. She spilled her treat. But you know, I was trying to be a good mom today. I wanted to have fun. I got her a treat. And all I got was yelled at and blamed.

I hope the behavioral therapy can address that. It kind of sucks.

Dumb as a post!

When someone who understands my sense of humor (or, maybe, puts up with it) asks how the baby is, I like to say something to the effect of "He's dumb as a post, but just the sweetest thing!"

My mom, who is the nicest person on earth, and who loves her grandbabies, objects to this. "He's not dumb!"

Okay, okay, he's not dumb. First of all, he has figured out several words and signs. He can do the signs for milk, nurse, bird, dog, eat, fan, and a few others. He has also said a number of words including mama, dada, Azadeh and Zadie, hi, bye, yeah, all done, and damn good attempts at cat, bird, book, Boompah, grandma, and some others. There are some things he says that you know what he means even though he doesn't articulate it well. For example, book is still "BOO." But he's like, gesturing at or grabbing for a book, so the meaning is clear.

Speaking of which, he loves books. He is legitimately gleeful when you grab a book to read. His favorite is The Little Blue Truck, but there's no book he doesn't like. The only one he has mixed feelings about is Little Shark, which has a shark finger puppet in the middle (poking through all the pages), and he can't figure out how it moves, so it kind of freaks him out. He'll try to flip it over to the back super fast, and I'll pull my finger out. Then he'll turn it back to the front and I'll wiggle it again, and we can do this game for a LONG time. He'll stare at the finger hole, stick his own finger in it, turn the pages... It's like he knows something is up, but he can't quite figure it out. One time he reached out to pet the shark and I pretended it was going to bite him and he drew his arm back in revulsion. I love that book.

He can't walk yet, but he has tremendous fine motor skills. He has a board with pegs in it that you can hammer in, and instead he likes to pull the pegs out, then carefully place them back into the hole. I handed him a bowl and spoon one day, thinking he'd bang on it, but instead he turned the bowl over and put the spoon in and took it out over and over again. He has a toy screwdriver and screws and he loves to try to put the screwdriver into the slot. And god forbid you try to feed him something with a spoon and you want to hold that spoon. He wants the spoon. And he wants to eat with it. He'll try over and over to dip his spoon into the food, but he has a hard time getting the bowl part facing up. Still, his persistence is amazing. Tonight he actually did get some risotto to his mouth on the spoon. He also loves to brush my hair. One day recently he did it for about ten minutes.

Pretty much anything that qualifies as a problem to solve, he wants to solve it. He wants to try to put the lid back on the snack packet. He wants to put the lid on the frozen yogurt. He wants to push the buttons on the computer and flip the light switches. He wants to enter the password on my phone.

He's also an unparalleled escape artist. There is no high chair (save our own at home) that can hold him. We've gone to restaurants with about three different kinds of high chairs, but he can slip right out of the belt and stand up. He was in the cart at Target the other day and the belt was actually really snug, but he wriggled out, stood up, turned around, and balanced his hands on the back of the seat back like he was the captain of his ship, ruler of all he surveyed. (Mom says he came by this honestly, and that I was an escape artist, too.)

So is he talking a lot? No. Some of those words he's said it's almost like he said it just to prove he could, and then he quit saying them. But he's certainly not dumb. He's my little motor-skilled, book-lovin', problem-solvin', tool-usin' Houdini, and I'm crazy about him.

Rebuttal: Let’s Talk About the Racial Disparity in Abortions

I read this today. I was sort of shocked at how intellectually dishonest it is. So, Jason Riley, okay! Let's talk.

       Why isn’t it more a matter of concern to the left that so many black        

        babies aren’t brought into the world?

To begin with, pretty much no liberal is going to be on board with increasing population growth. Overpopulation is an enormous burden on resources, and it is terrible for the earth. To be clear on the race thing, though, we don't want extra white babies either. No extra babies, please and thank you. If the abortion rate were to go down (and that would be great), we would want it to be because there were fewer unintended pregnancies in the first place.

Also, statistics are... statistics. It may be true that the black abortion rate is higher, but the black birth rate is higher, too. It's not like abortion is leading to declining numbers of black people.

After videos surfaced that show Planned Parenthood officials discussing the sale of parts from aborted babies...

Back up, holmes. That needs to say "doctored videos," and "donation of tissues" instead of "sale of parts" if you want any degree of accuracy. Planned Parenthood didn't do anything wrong, and it is certainly not selling baby body parts for profit. And I know you get to define your terms -- you wrote the article -- but technically it isn't a baby until it's delivered at or near full-term.

Most Republicans, however, realize that a government shutdown over abortion would be no more successful than the one in October 2013 over the Affordable Care Act. The GOP majority in the Senate today is too narrow to overcome an inevitable veto from President Obama, and a sympathetic Washington press corps will be eager to ensure that the left’s shutdown narrative prevails.

This is one of my favorite bits of the article. It basically says "Republicans shouldn't shut down the government because then the liberal media will tell everyone that we shut down the government." Like, really? Can you hear yourself?

In all likelihood, it will take a Republican in the White House to reverse ObamaCare and a pro-life president to end taxpayer-funded abortions. 

Ugh, "taxpayer-funded abortions." This is one of those things that conservatives just keep saying until someone believes them.

Shutting down the government when Republicans control the House and the Senate would only allow Democrats to argue more credibly that the opposition cannot be counted on to reduce legislative gridlock and govern responsibly.

So increasing gridlock and failing to govern responsibly might allow people to argue credibly that you contribute to gridlock and... I give up.

The political left obsesses over racial disparities in bank loans or college admissions or police shootings, but “largely missing from the debate,” wrote Zoe Dutton in the Atlantic magazine last year, “is discussion of abortion’s racial disparity.”

Perhaps to Riley's surprise, I agree that this disparity is a problem. Abortions are often expensive, difficult to obtain, and come for some women with a difficult emotional component (though almost all women express later that they do not regret their decision). I would support working to reduce abortions by increasing the availability of birth control, making sure women have proper access to health care, making sure students have appropriate and accurate sex ed... As a pro-choice person, I would like to see abortions be rare. I think they're not the best method of birth control. I'd like to reduce unintended pregnancies. A pro-choice motto I am really on board with is "Every child a wanted child."

 A popular explanation for the racial divide is that abortion rates are a function of poverty. Low-income women are more likely to terminate a pregnancy, and black women are more likely to be low-income. 

Yes, can we work on fixing that? You've probably heard that the wage gap between women and men is that women make 78 cents for every dollar a man makes. You may not have heard that black women make only 64 cents on the dollar! I think Riley and I have different priorities, but I would definitely prioritize fixing that disparity.

Yet there are limits to this argument. Hispanic households are comparable to black ones in finances, sexual activity and use of birth control. Yet Hispanic women choose to abort at a rate much closer to that of white women than black women.

Hmm... I wonder if there is anything about Hispanic women that might explain that?  Just thinking out loud...

The sad truth is that many black women are not acting irrationally when they decide to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. They are playing the odds. Out-of-wedlock Hispanic birthrates are above average, but Hispanic marriage rates are comparable to those of whites, which is not the case among blacks. Most Hispanic children are raised by two parents, while most black children are not. Many black women may be choosing to abort because they don’t believe the father will stick around to help raise the child. 

Oh! Oh shit! Do you realize how hella racist this sounds? It's also completely mythical.  Can I get a Jeopardy-buzzer-sound up in here?

But if liberal activists and their media allies are going to lecture America about the value of black lives, the staggering disparity in abortion rates ought to be part of the discussion.

You're not hearing us. Black lives matter. Black women's lives matter. Their ability to choose the size of their families, to decide when to carry a child, those matter. That's why we fight for safe, legal abortion.

I agree that the racial disparity is a problem, but not for the same reason this writer seems to. He seems to be framing it as "look at all the babies that aren't being brought into the world" and I'm seeing it as "here is a health issue that disproportionately affects black women." I have the same concerns about tobacco use among African-Americans (it's much higher than average, by the way), and I think it should be addressed.

But Riley's article is full of inaccuracies, half-truths, myths and outright lies.

Harbin

Yesterday a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she'd had to be evacuated from Harbin Hot Springs because of one of California's summer fires. A big one.
Later, at dinner, Zadie asked if we could go to Harbin next weekend. Sure, I said... assuming the fire's out by then.
This morning the news was clear: Harbin was gone.

So even though you probably don't know the place, I'm going to stretch out and remember and grieve a little.

I first went to Harbin with an old friend when I was about 19 -- twenty years ago. The first thing I remember is that it took forever to get there! The road wound around back and forth up a mountain above Calistoga for nearly an hour, and Calistoga wasn't a short trip. Every time we'd round a new curve, I'd think it must be near, but no, just more dappled sunlight.

I was skeptical at first. I mean, I'm a bit of a hippie, but soaking in a hot springs in the woods with a bunch of naked people? And for goodness' sake, it was run by something called the Heart Consciousness Church. I wasn't at all sure I'd like it. But then... then you get there and the place smells like bay and lavender, and the gate is shaped like a dragon, and if you wake up in the morning by the rushing stream, there's likely to be a deer looking at you, and frankly, a hot springs is a lot like a very relaxing bath. I was won over. I soon went back without my old friend, and I went back many times alone.

Once I went during a busy summer event. The pools were crowded and boisterous. I felt a little crabby. A skinny little gay guy suggested we take off and get lattes in the cafe instead of hanging around the pools. While we were there, we cooked up a plan to pick the mulberries that grew over the big swimming pool, and we took them and made pancakes near where he was staying in the Meadow.

Another time, I went upstairs to Fern Kitchen above the pools to make tea before bed. One guy got out a guitar, and then another grabbed a small drum, and then they handed out shakers and improvised instruments, and we all made music in the kitchen until someone came up from the pools to ask us to hush (fair enough; the pools are a quiet area).

Little spontaneous treats like that happened a lot. I remember once sitting on the deck when someone said he was going to lead a tour of the gardens in ten minutes. Harbin had a large food garden, from which it stocked the little grocery store, and he showed us all around it, letting us have little samples of things, including fennel seeds, which I'd never tasted before.

On several occasions I went to the movie theater, a room with long steps and pillows, but no chairs. We would sprawl around and watch something like Gods and Monsters, sharing popcorn someone had made in the kitchen just before the movie started.

I went to the Thursday night dances many times, too, dancing, as they say, like no one was watching.

I also soaked a lot. I love the hot pool and the silent meditation pool. I have never liked to have my fingers wrinkly, though, so I used to hold my fingertips above the water. Several times, people asked what I was doing, whether it was some meditation or sun salutation or something. Nope. But I never minded chatting with people who'd come ask.

I went with Monkeygirl several times, too. Once we went in about March, and it was really cold. We were camping, and at about four in the morning, after putting all our clothes and hats on, tossing and turning, I turned to her and we both sang, "I got my head shaved..." It was the first line of a popular song that was apparently running through both our heads. We realized we weren't going to sleep in that cold, so we walked the mile-ish walk back to the pools to sit in the warm water until dawn.

She and I used to love to eat there. I remember once we made ourselves about two heads of broccoli with garlic and butter. Other times we'd pack fruit, carrots, tomatoes, hummus and bread and laze around on the decks snacking in the sunshine.

After my divorce, I went there a lot, trying to figure out who I was when it was just me -- no one to talk to, no one to camp with. I wrote a lot of poetry, some of it godawful.

I went in all seasons. I love summer, so sunning on the deck and then splashing in the pool was probably my favorite. I got a hell of a sunburn there once. But I liked it when it was raining, too. The pools weren't so crowded, and my body was still warm even as the rain hit my face and hair.  Once I remember just having had enough of the rain, so I spent the afternoon in the library, reading and dozing on the couch.

After I met Sweetie, I was up there once during the summer. I had gone to the changing room to brush my teeth and went outside afterwards and sat for a while on the edge of a planter. I saw a shooting star. I used to always wish on stars, but somehow I had a feeling that I didn't need to anymore. I knew that Sweetie and I had a future together made of reality instead of romanticism, and I just enjoyed getting to see the star without attaching any meaning to it other than that. I had what I'd wished for.

There was lots to Harbin besides the pools -- lovely decks on which to sun, a poolside cafe that served the most amazing sandwiches (fig and triple-cream brie with honey -- oh), a labyrinth to walk, old Victorian buildings covered with heirloom roses (Cecile Bruners -- they smell amazing), a restaurant, and many trails around the mountain. I had heard early on that there was a "tea house," but on several walks I never could find it. Once I went so far I found the Harbin auto shop!

I took Zadie several times. Kids are only allowed in the swimming pool and the heart-shaped warm pool. She loved it there from the beginning and often asked to return. She liked to walk the labyrinth, or up the short trail to the waterfall and the statue of Quan Yin. Once I told her about the teahouse, she was determined that we go. We went on one meandering walk and didn't find it, but ended up on the other side of the pool area we'd left from. She insisted we try again. This time we asked for directions, and we finally found it -- a low building on the edge of the ridge overlooking the valley. We lay inside for a long time, and she wanted to write in the journal there, and then we hiked back down. We went maybe twice more, sometimes running into other groups of people who were pretty charmed by her.  She was calmer there than she was most anywhere else.

The last time we went I was pregnant with Lochlan. It felt good to be warm and weightless.  I felt beautiful. We played in the heart pool all day. I was sure the next time I came back, I'd have two children with me.

So the place is burned down. It was more than some buildings, of course: the people all got out safely, and that's important. I hope the deer and some of the other animals got away, but I'm sure there were casualties. And they will rebuild, I'm sure of it. But in the meantime the bay trees are gone, the meadow is gone, the garden, the kitchen, the theater, the decks, Quan Yin, the wind chimes, the tea house, the overhead lattice and the grapes that grew on it, the bridge, the cafe, the roses... all of it is gone. And I'm going to miss it a lot.

Lochlan at one.

We had Lochie's party today. I made a beach ball cake and cupcakes, and we had several beach balls around the yard. Many people came, and Lochlan got lots of nice presents. Among the notable ones were a hat from Grandpa John (he and Lochie play with Grandpa's hats a lot),  two xylophones from Granny (yes, two), a Darth Vader sweatshirt from Maral and Ryan, and a plush doll from Z* (I mean, I paid for it, but she picked it out) that he really loves. Then right around 2:30 (afternoon nursies time) he cried and could only be comforted... you guessed it. So I nursed him, and pretty much everyone stood up and was like "Nice seeing you! Happy birthday, gotta go!" And the place cleared out.

Sweetie and I were talking the other day, and we said well, Lochlan doesn't talk much, he can't walk, he doesn't sign, he can't clap... but MAN, is he happy! He has the most infectious smile and laugh, and everyone around him basically can't help feeling happy when he's happy, which is most of the time. And if you were looking for good qualities to have, I can hardly think of a better one than that.

With Zadie's gift, after I said "Hold it up to show Grandma!"

*A little story about the doll from Z: When I was in Chicago while pregnant with Z, I saw the sweetest doll, a little peapod baby in a green pod jacket. I don't know why I didn't buy it for myself, as I just fell in love with it. Plus, we had been calling the baby Peapod! Anyway, not too long later, I had my baby shower, and my cousin gave me that very doll. It was called SweetPea, and Zadie loves it still. Well, a few weeks ago we were in East Sac Hardware (a wonderful store that also carries a variety of non-hardware items) and we saw SweetPea's near-twin, a little green blanket with a peapod-baby head and satiny trim. Zadie really wanted to give it to him, knowing how much she loved her SweetPea. Today, she decided that at least until Lochlan could name it himself, we should call his toy PetePea. I think that's fantastic. Above is a not-very-good picture of Lochlan with PetePea.

Lochlan and Daddy while he enjoys a cupcake.

Just minutes before his 2:30pm Declaration of Done. (In his Grandpa hat.)

The beach ball cake with some accessories.

At dinner last night. 

Lochlan is one!

I'm sorry -- I cannot get the order right on these. (Shaking my fist at Blogger.) The first one is today, second is October, and third is September 4, 2014.

October

November

December

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

Also August.. the professional "1 year" shoot

End of summer

Well, I've reached that familiar stage of summer where I wish we'd gone camping more, I wish we'd gone to the pool more, and I'm remembering that we never did go to Raging Waters or the fun pool complex in Elk Grove. Regrets... I've had a few.

Ah well. I always feel that way, and then I get back to work and remember that there are weekends! And there will be Apple Hill and Halloween and park playgrounds when it's NOT blazing hot, and we'll all be fine and have lots of good times.

I hated a book and it was all my fault

I recently read Dorothy Sayers' Gaudy Night, and it was just an awful, teeth-pulling experience, and yet it was probably more about me than about the book. Here's how it felt for me to read the book.

The dean laughed. "Well, we have all been on our toes after last spring's events, of course."
Miss Lydgate flinched. "Surely we don't want to bring up all that again?"
Harriet looked from one to the other, "You're not saying...?"
The bursar interrupted. "Never! Only that if it were to have happened that way, it would surely be a black mark on the school."
Miss Hillyard disagreed; "Only some would take it in that fashion, I'm sure."
The warden bristled. "Miss Hillyard, I'm sure you wouldn't want to offend our guest?" 
Miss de Vine argued that all that was in the past, but Harriet wasn't so sure. 

Now here's my problem as a reader. First, although it seems like there may be seven people in the room, the dean, Miss Lydgate, Harriet, the bursar, Miss Hillyard, the warden, and Miss de Vine, in fact the proper names and the titles are used interchangeably, so that although there are about thirty characters to keep track of, you also have to remember which one is "the fellow" and which is "the scout" and I'm not good at that sort of thing. I needed a chart. 
Furthermore, whatever "last spring's events" and "all that" are were COMPLETELY unclear to me. I had no idea what they were discussing most of the time because they were being so goddamn coy about everything.

She walked along the High Street where she had agreed to meet Peter. Good looking, rich, well-mannered, smart, and loyal Peter. He had asked her to marry him every six months for the last five years, but she obviously couldn't agree to it. There he was, waiting for her at the tea shop. He was prompt, she'd give him that. They strolled to the gardens.
"What a lovely morning, my dear Harriet. Or as the old poet said, 'Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.'"
She chuckled, and finished for him, "sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua."

"Ah, Peter retorted, but 'Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.'"

Harriet blushed, and they turned away from the river. But the thought nagged at her. Why had he, after all, used the present plu-perfect form? What the devil could he mean by it? 

So first of all, it's not at all obvious why she can't marry the guy. In fact, she seems downright hostile to this perfectly pleasant dude. Apparently, the answer is to be found in some previous book, but I'm sure as hell not going to read a bunch of other books to find out. I am too lazy. 

Second, perhaps in 1935 most halfway decently educated people had a passing knowledge of Latin, but that is no longer true. And there was a LOT of Latin in the book. In fact, a pivotal final scene made no damn sense until I Googled it. 

Peter and his nephew, Saint-George, ambled across the courtyard to her. "Well met, my lady," said the lad. "Say, why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side!" He amiably nudged her elbow.

Well! If she was going to be treated that way, and publicly, she'd have something to say about it. She penned a strongly-worded letter of rebuke to the boy, and a brief note of apology to Peter. Peter's apology note for the poor behavior of his nephew arrived in the post that afternoon, and he must have sent a strong message to the boy himself, as Saint-George's profuse apology came by courier after the dinner hour. 

Seriously, this is why I can't read Jane Austen, Henry James, etc. Someone is always getting wildly offended at someone's act or remark and, because I have so little understanding of the social mores of the day, I have NO IDEA why.  I remember in one of the books I read for college, a girl was being courted by a guy, they went to a dance (with permission), they danced, and the next day the family was ready to leave the country and burn the house down in embarrassment over the damage done to her reputation. I had to ask the professor what the hell happened. (If you're wondering, too, the chaperone had to take home a sick kid, so she was unchaperoned, even though she didn't know it.) Anyway, I know that's the way it was back then, but it's insanely stupid, and I can't get past my modern sensibility to pretend otherwise. I'm making up the sections above, obviously, but there was seriously a scene where the kid told a joke and a flurry of apology letters and rebukes were sent around over how badly Harriet had been treated. I still have no idea what happened that was so offensive.

Anyway, I hated the book, not because it was a bad book, but because I can't keep track of so many characters (and their various titles), because I don't know Latin, and because I have very little understanding of (or patience for) the stuffy politesse of the time period.

Lochlan and Clifford

Thus far, Lochlan hasn't really gone crazy for a toy when we've been in a store. Well, up until last weekend. We had waved stuffed animals at him on any number of occasions, and he was happy (he's always happy), but had no strong reaction. But last weekend was different.

We went to Beers Books, a used and new bookstore, as we often do. I wandered with him over to the kids area, where, for decoration, they have several stuffed animals high on top of the bookshelves. "BUH!" Lochlan practically shouted. Now, Lochlan calls nearly everything some version of "buh," but that sounded like his buh-that-means-dog. I followed his gaze. He seemed to be looking at a large, red stuffed animal of Clifford the dog. "BUH! BUH!" He reached his arms out towards it and bounced up and down. "BUH!" He was definitely looking at Clifford. That gave me an idea.

I turned around to leave the section, and he turned, his eyes never leaving Clifford. He seemed distressed as we walked away, and he continued to hold his arms out toward it. "BUH!"

I asked at the front counter the author's name for the Clifford books. The young lady looked it up for me, and we went back. "BUH!" In a few minutes' searching (the alphabetization is somewhat suspect), I found the original Clifford the Big Red Dog book. I bought it for him.

Now here's the funny thing. He loves books. He looks around the page at the pictures, crawls to me if I lay down with one of his books, and seems generally interested in other books. But the Clifford book -- he grins, he laughs, he pats the pages, and he interacts. Oh yeah -- if I ask him on the page where Clifford is "hiding" if he can find Clifford, he either looks right at the spot or touches it with his finger. He is legitimately thrilled about this Clifford book.

Anyway, in a year, maybe he'll be over Clifford. Maybe by the time he's ten, he'll ask what he liked when he was a baby, and I won't remember. But I'm putting it down here so there's a record. At 11 months old, the first book he really loves is Clifford the Big Red Dog.