Disneyland! (Part 2)

We left our intrepid explorers in the late afternoon of their second day at the Disneyland park. Z and I were poolside, and Mom joined us for a while.

Next, we split up: Mom and Boompah went to dinner at a swanky hotel restaurant called the Napa Rose (more on that later), and Sweetie, Z and I headed back into the park for MORE FUN!! First, we went to Pirates of the Caribbean. I remembered it vaguely from childhood, but it still surprised me -- I had forgotten there is a rather rapid drop in pitch darkness. Also, I got a little disoriented. When we went in the building, it was almost dusk, and we were in there for a few minutes, but by the time we went by the restaurant inside the ride, it seemed pitch black. I asked Sweetie, "Is it that dark already?" He gave me the look and said, "It is when you're INSIDE." I knew WE had gone into a building, but I just sort of lost track of where the building began and ended, and the dining area really looked like a courtyard! (I'm not crazy: it looks like this.)

Anyway, I thought it was great fun, and Z seemed to as well. She was pretending she was a pirate, too!

Next was the Haunted Mansion, which I remembered only a tiny bit of, so it was like an all-new experience. I thought it was pretty cool -- from the little bucket chairs that you enter from a conveyor belt (which seems to heighten the sense of urgency), to the big elevator you descend in to even get there, to the projected faces on the statues... I thought it was cool how they mixed more high-tech effects with pretty low-tech stuff, and it really created a multi-textural sort of feel. And it wasn't too scary for Z. 

She had been asking for cotton candy, so Sweetie bought her some, and we sat together and ate it, and then went off for something more like a real dinner. In Adventureland was a place called Bengal Barbecue, and there we each got one skewer of something (veggies, beef, and chicken) and Sweetie and I shared a pretzel as well. I couldn't quite finish my veggies, but I got close. Then we decided to try for just ONE more ride. I had been using an app on my phone which lists wait times, and the wait time for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride was quite short, so we started heading that way. The crowds were MASSIVE, and on several pathways, Disney "cast members" were waving people in one direction to clear a way for the parade, I think. We made it, with some difficulty, all the way to Fantasyland where the ride is only to find that it was closed because of the fireworks show. At that point it was quite late (way past Z's bedtime, to the point that she was actually asking to go back to the hotel), so we started trudging back, but right as we got to the Disneyland Railroad (the last thing before the gates), the fireworks show started. And it was... really cool. Sweetie has NO interest in fireworks. If asked, he will generally complain about what a waste they are. But I love them! I have been known to climb up on a ladder in the street or on the roof of my house to get a better look at a fireworks display. Anyway, this one beats all of them, including the pretty amazing one I saw in Chicago at the Navy Pier. They had music going, and clips from the movies, and the dialogue was timed to the fireworks, so that when Gepetto wishes upon a star, a firework that looks like a shooting star flies across the sky! And when the fairies in Sleeping Beauty are arguing about whether to add a final touch of pink or blue, pink and blue bursts are going off in the sky! There was a long section from Mary Poppins, which Z is now interested in as well. She was like, "Tell me ALL about Mary Poppins," and I'm all, "Uh, she's a nanny, and she's... magic, and... she has a chimneysweep friend. Uh.... she sings a song about a spoonful of sugar..."

Wednesday was our last day. We had a character breakfast scheduled at 7:50, but we hauled ass to make it onto one more ride, taking advantage of our early admission. Sweetie and Z went for California Screamin', which was a good-looking coaster! I haven't focused on the fact that I am 8 months pregnant, and therefore incapable of going on several of the rides, but I will indulge myself for a moment: I absolutely love rides and roller coasters, and I would have gone on ANYTHING there. I'm never even nervous. I never get motion sickness. I used to beg my friends to come to the state fair with me just to ride the rides, and someone would volunteer, saying they too would ride anything without fear or sickness, and almost without fail, they'd puke at some point. Not me! Anyway, I was pretty jealous that they got to go on this one and I didn't. It did a loop-de-loop, and when it started it looked like they were shot out of a cannon! So fun! And you can tell the fun by the looks on their faces: 

(Okay, you can't tell from their faces, but look at the faces of the people behind them. 

Sheer joy, right?)

After this, we went back to the hotel for a breakfast in the Storyteller's Cafe. Boy, I'll tell you what -- they are NOT messing around with food at this joint. It was a buffet, but it was like the best buffet ever. I had eggs, hash browns, pastries, fruit, and French toast. There was a seeded wheat croissant that was wonderful -- I'd buy a dozen anytime. And throughout breakfast, we were visited by Chip (or Dale -- the difference between them became a source of confusion for me), two different bears, and a raccoon. (Secret confession time: my favorite childhood stuffed animal was a raccoon named Rocky, and I have a particular fondness for stuffed raccoons -- not real ones -- and so I was kind of really stoked to have my picture taken with him.) They even got up and played the hokey pokey. 

Back to the park! From our hotel, California Adventure was slightly easier to access, so we went there first and wound our way through the Hollywood area and Buena Vista Street. I hadn't seen any of that yet, and it's really lovely. It kind of reminded me of Palm Springs in that it looks all retro Spanish-style, but is completely fake. We saw that the line for "Soarin' Over California" wasn't that long, and some friends of Mom's had said to make sure to see that, so we did. You go through an airplane hangar, then you get in these big comfy seats, belt yourself in, and it lifts you up to watch a movie -- probably helicopter footage -- where you appear to be flying over parts of California. It's almost like a promotional tourism office film, in that it highlights our best features, but it's a pretty competent illusion, too! As soon as you pick up speed (or the movie does), they blow air at you. Then there are dips and bumps and you tilt as the camera does. Pretty cool! And it showed the ocean, Yosemite, San Francisco, Napa, the mountains, people on the American river, LA, and ended with you up close and personal with the fireworks show at Disneyland. (Hey Dad -- at one point we "flew" right over the deck of a big aircraft carrier, so we made sure to tell Z that you had worked on that kind of boat.)

Z wanted to go on Pirates again and to take Mom and Boompah, so the four of us went while Sweetie rode Indiana Jones again. Then she snookered me into going into Tarzan's Treehouse with her. Next, we went back to Fantasyland for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride (quite clever and fun, I thought), and then Sweetie and Boompah wanted to ride the Matterhorn Bobsleds. Z didn't want to, so she and Mom and I sat out and had some cold drinks. It took them quite a while, and we had made plans to meet an old high school friend of mine for lunch on Main Street. It was early, only 11:15, and neither Mom nor I could even think about eating again, so we just had iced tea and visited. 

We all met up again by about 1, but Boompah wanted to see the old Disneyland Hotel, so the remaining four of us decided to go on the Disneyland railroad. I kind of pushed for it, because I often like the experience of seeing something from up high or outside. I love taking the Monorail at the fair, because it helps you orient yourself, I think. This railroad wasn't great for that -- there were long stretches where you couldn't see much because you were in a tunnel -- but it was still fun. They even made the tunnels interesting, with random Grand Canyon exhibits or animatronic dinosaurs. And it was a nice ride. 

Mom went to the hotel while our little nuclear group went back to California Adventure. First, we got a cold slushy drink. I went and used our photo voucher to buy that awesome picture above. Then we got a couple things in that had short lines: the Golden Zephyr and the Silly Symphony Swings. We also saw some performances -- a Phineas and Ferb rock and roll party, and the green army men. We had agreed to meet Mom around 3:30 so she could take Z to see the Aladdin musical, but as 3:30 approached, Sweetie and Z wanted to try to ride the water ride once more. We got Fastpasses, but they were for 5:10 to 6:10, which meant that they started while the musical was going and ended after our dinner reservation time. So we stood and got splashed by the boats for a few minutes, then went back. 

We gave Mom the Fastpasses, not knowing whether they'd use them or if Boompah would go with Z, and then we said goodbye. Mom had made reservations for dinner at the Napa Rose for us as our 9th wedding anniversary gift (it's in a couple weeks), and was also taking Z as part of the package. So we relaxed a bit, then went to Downtown Disney to shop. I had hoped to get a souvenir for Z, maybe something unique for myself (I collect Alice in Wonderland stuff), and perhaps something for the baby, too. But honestly, once we got into the big Disney store, it was sort of overwhelming! It went on for ages, and there was no way to just go find your one character you liked -- you had to look at all the pins or all the keychains/shirts/mugs/ornaments/dolls/iPhone cases... you get the picture. There was just so much stuff I kind of panicked and walked out. When I found Sweetie, he looked a little shell-shocked, too. We ended up not getting anything. 

Our dinner was at an impeccably lovely place. It did remind me of Napa, and it continued the  theme of the Arts and Crafts style from the hotel. Our service was fantastic, too. There weren't that many vegetarian entrees, but when I made an inquiry that included "I'm a vegetarian," the waitress like, opened up a new portal of awesomeness, showing me all the things that could be made vegetarian and telling me about several options that weren't on the menu. I really try not to be special-needs about my diet and I generally just order off the menu, but she practically broke into song ("I can show you the world!"), so I decided to have this beautiful pizza with grapes, cambozola, and caramelized onions. It normally has proscuitto, but they left it off for me. It was delicious. It was also listed as a starter, so I wasn't sure it would be enough and I ordered a side of veggies. Sweetie had lamb, and we shared an appetizer of asparagus with "carrot silk" and carrot chips. It was all delicious, and unfortunately a bit too much -- I had to make him finish my veggies! But when she came back talking about dessert options, my philosophy is that it never hurts to just hear them. In this case, we both saw the first item listed and knew it was all over -- it was a Scharffen Berger chocolate pate. I am nutballs over Scharffen Berger. We shared it, and they were even nice enough to bring it on a plate that said "Happy Anniversary." 

We made one more stop in California Adventure so that Sweetie could ride the Grizzly Rapids thing, and I bought one small souvenir -- a bear for the baby. Then we went back to the hotel to meet Mom, Boompah, and Z. 

We thought hard about going back to the park, but the other group had had a late dinner, too, and we all ended up hanging out in the hotel lobby for a while, talking. Z was in a Stickley rocker watching Donald Duck cartoons, and she seemed perfectly content to go up and go to bed after a while, so that was essentially the end of our trip. Oh! It turns out that they had used the Fastpass for the water ride -- and my mom had gone with her!! My mom does NOT go on rides. But it seemed like she had fun. 

We're all home safe now. My stomach is still fairly queasy. The garden was dried out, but not dead. We had a quiet afternoon and evening resting and putting a few things away. I have some more observations, but they're not really about our experience as much, so I'll wait on those. I've really written a novel this time, sorry! 

If you couldn't tell, we had a really wonderful trip, and I hereby officially understand the magic of Disneyland, why it's called The Happiest Place on Earth, and why grown-ass adults go there over and over. Zadie probably said it best. On Tuesday, we asked her if she was having fun, and she said it was the best day of her life. Somewhat teasingly, we asked her on Wednesday if it was also the best day of her life. She answered seriously that EVERY day at Disneyland was the best day of her life. 

Hope you're all well. Take care, 

CM

Disneyland! (Part 1)

Wow. The last time I went to Disneyland was in the early 80s. I've only been there three times (until now), and one of those, I had pneumonia and did hardly anything, so my memories of it were very sparse. I remember a Yeti on the Matterhorn, the cannons of Pirates of the Caribbean, and seeing a ghost in our reflection in the Haunted Mansion. Even those are hazy -- I thought I was in the Haunted Mansion with my cousin Cristin, but my mom says we never went with those cousins, so who knows?

If you follow my blog here, either you already know me pretty well as a person, or you have learned a pretty good bit about me, but let me reiterate something I think is important. I am an optimist, and probably one of the happiest, most cheerful, almost annoyingly Pollyanna-ish people I know. And I can be a real cynic who is repelled by smarminess, hokum, and crass commercialism. We don't even have commercial TV in the house anymore, but if we somehow spot or hear a commercial, I usually say "Boo! Commercial!"

So I was excited about going to Disneyland, but I was a little worried that it would be, well, hokey and commercial. It mostly wasn't. It was beautiful. At one point, I almost cried at how pretty it all was. That's not to say that the cynic in me completely quieted down, but it was a pretty small wedge of the How-I-Felt-About-Disneyland pie chart.

This trip was a gift from Mom and Boompah to Z for her 6th birthday. We set off on Monday morning pretty early, and the traveling was easy, with one exception -- I had gotten food poisoning! I felt a little queasy the night before in bed, but thought it was just reflux or too big a dinner. But about 5 minutes before our boarding time, I went into the airport bathroom and puked voluminously. I vomited once more in the airplane bathroom, and that was the end of it, but I did feel pretty out of sorts all day. In fact, I still feel kind of terrible that I was an attendee at several expensive meals, and I   ordered a dish, but wasn't able to eat much. Both the raviolis at the Storyteller's Cafe and the corn cakes at Ariel's Grotto were lovely, but I basically ate less than a third of each dish.

Anyway, we got a shuttle to the Disney Grand Californian, which was jaw-droppingly beautiful. It's apparently modeled after the Ahwanee in Yosemite, but it's enormous. The attention to detail is flabbergasting -- there's wallpaper that coordinates with the borders and marble floors whose patterns meld into plush carpeting and reproduction Stickley tables in the lobby and Tiffany-styled lamps and just... EVERYTHING. The light fixtures and the wall texture and the elevator doors... It was the most aesthetically pleasing hotel I've ever been in, and luxurious and quiet to boot. They even had a bunch of kid-sized Stickley-styled rockers in front of a TV in the lobby that played old cartoons. Z loved that.

Wait, have I not even gotten past the hotel yet? Maybe this is going to have to be a two-parter. We went first to California Adventure. I wasn't sure how big the parks were or where they were located or anything, so I didn't know it was so easy to go back and forth, and I had thought we'd to CA one day and Disneyland the other two. As it was, we switched back and forth a great deal. Sweetie and Z went first to the race cars in Cars Land, which is apparently a very popular feature. I found a shady place to sit and mostly just did so. By the time they were done (she had a blast), I wasn't feeling that well, so I went back to the hotel. They stayed on and explored A Bug's World, and then someone gave them FastPass tickets for Grizzly Rapids, so they were excited to go back and do that.

By late afternoon, Mom and Boompah had arrived as well and done some exploring, and everyone came back to the hotel for a bit. Sweetie and Z were talking about going to the hotel pool, and I felt revived enough to at least change into a suit and sit poolside. There are three pools and a spa at the hotel, and one had a couple waterslides, including a charming little one with about a 10% incline for the little ones. Zadie played on the waterslide and chatted the ear off a non-English speaking little girl.

Then she and Sweetie went on their ride, and Mom and Boompah made dinner reservations for us all at the Storyteller's Cafe, and I rested just a bit more. The restaurant was also beautiful, and I had a lovely-looking dinner (I ate about two ravioli), and the service was impeccable. Because it was kind of a late evening, we retired after that.

On Tuesday, we sort of took advantage of having the "magic hour" early admission. That is to say, we woke up a little late, and then we wandered through Downtown Disney first, when if we were smart, we would have made a beeline to the gates. The first thing we did was get Sweetie, Z, and Boompah passes for Indiana Jones. We then sat down at a cafe and had some breakfast -- my appetite was returning! I ate the head and one ear of a Mickey Mouse pancake, plus a couple pieces of fruit.

While they went on the ride, Mom and I did a little shopping and looking around. I was surprised to find that the little gift shops in every area were thematic to the area! You probably know this, but nearly everything about Disneyland was a revelation to me. I told Sweetie that I was kind of expecting it to be like a bigger, better version of the state fair midway, where every vendor has the exact same crap. But not at all! The Adventureland area (where they have the Tiki Room and Jungle Cruise) has safari-print Mickey dresses. The area with the camp-type stuff sells camp blankets. It was SO commercial, but so skillfully so, I kind of forgave it!

We all went on the Jungle Cruise together, and while it was fun, this was one of the more troubling aspects of our experience. I mean, I'm sure there have been editorials and articles about this sort of thing, but let's just say that watching a rhino poke a big-lipped black guy in the butt as he tries to climb a tree was probably funnier back in the racist good old days. When we passed the African tribesmen that our guide proceeded to speak to and translate for (with a stream of gibberish and tongue-clicking), Sweetie and I gave each other the "did that really just happen?" look. While we were there, people of every ethnicity seemed to be enjoying the park, and there are certainly nods to multiculturalism ("It's a Small World" is one), but it was kind of unnerving. It was like the whole place was so steeped in nostalgia that it was largely unobservant of the actual melting pot of modern-day reality.

Another thing that was so skillful we sort of forgave it was the lines. The lines were long. LONG. But  they hid it so well and kept you so entertained that you kind of thought, "Eh, whatever." The Jungle Cruise was a perfect example. You enter the line just a few feet from where you enter the building and wind out of sight. From the front, there's no way to tell how long the line actually is. But once inside, to wind your way back and forth, in and out, upstairs and back down, past a number of clever little things to see so that you might ultimately walk half a mile without leaving the building or getting stuck in one spot!

I was delighted, however, to see Z's reaction to the Jungle Cruise. There were times when she was obviously and utterly terrified, like when the Piranhas jumped next to the boat and she yelled, "PIRANHAS!!" But moments later, when the danger had passed, she was like, "It's fine, everybody." And at the end of the cruise, the captain said something like, "I hope you weren't scared," and she said, "Not me! Not at all!"  Tough girl.

She ran up and down Tarzan's Treehouse a couple times, then we wound our way through the center of Disneyland to Fantasyland, where we saw the iconic castle, rode the teacups (yes, even the day after food poisoning, I don't get motion sickness!), and headed for It's a Small World. The boys sat that one out. But Mom and I and Z really enjoyed it. It's kind of a trip to look at it from the outside and not be aware just how big it is inside. Z loved that one, too, rounding each corner and shouting, "INDIA! CHINA! THE WEST!" She even told a little guy who was floating upwards with balloons, "Pop one of them and you'll come down!" I was excited to go on this one partly because my grandma just told me that my great-grandma had been really tickled by it. I was crazy about Granny, and I thought of her while we rode.

We then got on Star Tours. I wasn't really sure what it was, but it didn't have the "no pregnant chicks" advisory, so I signed on. All five of us wound through the very long line (even after getting a Fastpass, there was a lot of waiting), and then we finally filed into our "tour." It's one of those 3D movie things with the seats that move, and it was pretty convincing. The best part, though, was that we were stopped by Darth Vader, who said we had a "rebel spy" aboard, and then they showed the picture -- of Boompah!

After that, it was time for lunch at Ariel's Grotto, which is in California Adventure, so we hoofed it over there. We had reservations for 1:10, but  doubt we were seated until 2, because having reservations just gets you in the line. But it was worth the wait. At the bottom of the stairs, you meet Ariel, and Z was enchanted. Ariel was very beautiful, and they got to chat a little before posing for photographs. I noticed as Z skipped back to us that Ariel commented to the photographer how precious she was.

At our table, they brought lovely bread and our drinks and some veggie sticks with dip for Z, but she could NOT be bothered to eat, because there were princesses everywhere! Every couple minutes, a new princess would come by, take Z's hand, chat with her, give her a hug, and pose for pictures. We saw Snow White, Cinderella, Belle, and Aurora, and Z says she saw Prince Charming, too. The lunch there was delicious, and I was really pleased that there were healthy and vegetarian options. I had corn cakes with black beans, onions, and spinach, but again, I couldn't eat too much.

Then we split up for a while -- I needed a nap, and Mom and Z went to A Bug's Life while Sweetie and my stepdad rode Tower of Terror. I said something later about whether Sweetie had had to talk Boompah into going on the ride, and he said he really didn't have to work too hard -- Boompah was game! They got a hilarious shot from the ride-camera of the two of them falling.

This has become rather epic, so I think I will do a part 2. Tune in next time, when we'll re-join our heroes poolside, after the bugs, terror, and ... napping.

This and that

Well, vacation has begun! This seems to be the week o' appointments I've been putting off, which is normal for the first week of vacay. I haven't yet taken the car in, which usually happens pretty soon, and I haven't gotten sick (knock wood!), but otherwise, this is about typical in my 14-year teaching experience. I'm tired as HELL and concurrently devoted to getting some stuff done.

The pregnancy is going fine. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Little guy moves less frequently than Z did, but when he does, he feels big and strong! He does big somersaults instead of little tap-dances. I'm hoping that his long, quiet periods indicate that he's, just maybe, a more restful child than his sister. I love her to itty-bitty-bits, but by god is she hard to raise sometimes.

She's so interesting, too. I've noticed that when she hears a song she likes, she starts to "sing along" with it, even though she may never have heard it before. She mumble/hums like you do when you know a song, but don't remember the lyrics to that one line, and she's fairly convincing; she has an ear for music, so she does a good job of anticipating which note will come next. Therefore, even though she's mumbling, she's often got the melody right.

She's been begging to get her ears pierced. We initially told her she could in August, after all our camping and everything is done (so that we don't have to worry about keeping her ears clean while camping). But she made a compelling case for getting them done earlier, so I agreed. I took her yesterday, and I tried to prepare her for what would happen. She seemed to want it not to hurt at all, and I wouldn't lie to her -- it DOES hurt, of course. So we set up a kind of "safe word," so that she could complain and express fear and nervousness, but we wouldn't just leave unless she said the secret word. We filled out all the paperwork, chose jewelry, the guy set up his station, autoclaved everything, and had her ears cleaned and marked and clamped before she bailed. He had told me it was $25 to cover all the set-up if we did chicken out, so I paid that. Honestly, I still think it was overall a good experience. Now she knows what it will be like, and we don't have to deal with the begging for another year.

She and I are both a little obsessed with birth right now. I notice that the number of "How You Were Born" books I pick up from around the house has increased, and yesterday she told me she wanted to design a "birth-themed water park." Obviously in my mind, this translates to a 5-story pair of spread legs, but who knows what it's like in hers. About once a week, I wake in the night (to go to the bathroom) and end up staying awake thinking/worrying about birth. I just had such a rough time last time, and I want this one to go well. I'm trying to do these positive, creative visualizations, but it still sort of amounts to obsessing and worrying.

I get to be on a garden tour this year! I'm so stoked. Unfortunately, we've had some really hot days, and the city has limited us to watering two days a week, so some of my plants are suffering. I'm hoping to get everything back in tip-top shape by September, when the tour is.

I haven't done much on the creative front lately, but I'm helping to copy-edit our local poetry journal, which is fun. Now Z is demanding some attention, so I'd better go.

Take care,
CM

Fence-sitter, or "I love-hate pregnancy"

I have found that there are many areas of life where, even when I have strong views, they tend not to be black and white. Instead of being wishy-washy or a fence-sitter, I prefer to think of myself as nuanced and complex. (I am winking, here.)

I have heard so many people lately say that they LOVED being pregnant -- they'd do it a hundred times more if they didn't have to raise the children! Or that they HATED it, but at least the end result was worth it. I feel... neither.

See, I love the part with the kicks and turns and getting to communicate with my kid before he's born. I remember singing in the car and feeling Zadie kick, and thinking that I am the only one who knows she likes Paul Simon before she's even born!

But I can't pretend I love the lower back pain or that it doesn't exist.

But I also feel beautiful and womanly and curvaceous, and my skin is in great shape.

And I'm so bone-tired by the end of the day. I am a person with a lot of energy, and feeling like I just can't do one more thing after about 8:30 is disheartening.

I've never felt harassed by strangers trying to touch my belly. In fact, the few people who have are usually good friends or family. Sometimes I have to suggest they do it -- my mom has hardly touched it! It doesn't bother me a bit.

It is somewhat uncomfortable, however, to feel so looked at in public all the time. Like, I've spent most of my adult life overweight (with brief periods otherwise), so I suspect sometimes people look and judge, but I never really notice it. But when you're pregnant, people openly look at you, ask about your body (well, about how far along you are, your due date...), and are evaluating. They're not even doing it in a mean or judgmental way most of the time, but they're giving it careful and obvious thought, because they want to be good at guessing. So someone will ask, "When are you due?" and when you answer "three months from now," they will size up your belly and go "Wow!" Because yep, I am HUGE.

And I'm fine with that. I understand my own body, and one of the things I've figured out is that I have a very short waist -- there's really nowhere for a baby to go but out.  So it goes out. It's supposed to. In fact, I'm very pleased that everything is going as it is supposed to this time around.

So there are ups and downs. Shades of gray. I love parts and I hate parts, and that's all okay.

Next week marks 28 weeks, or the FINAL COUNTDOWN. I'm getting excited!

Letter to a new mom

I have a couple close friends who are pregnant. I don't give advice generally unless someone asked, but one of them asked! So here's a version of the letter I'm going to send her.

There are just a few pieces of advice I wish I'd had before I started parenting, and that I'm glad to have the opportunity to remind myself of now, before I start the journey again. They go like this:

Make your decisions out of love. But understand that sometimes that love is love for yourself, for your husband, or for your relationship. That's all okay. 
We all tend to question ourselves: is it right to go back to work so soon, to not work, to breastfeed, to not breastfeed, to let the baby cry, to feed it conventional fruits, and a thousand other things. I think that if you are making the decisions out of love, you are going to be fine, and so will the baby. See, I could be a stay-at-home mom -- if we lived in a MUCH worse neighborhood and a smaller house. Am I doing the right thing by working? Well... YES! I get a lot of satisfaction from my career, and I am happy we can provide a safe and stable environment for my kid. That's love, for me, and for her.
If you are frustrated and stressed and tired and you really need to go get a massage and see a movie, then do it -- the decision isn't coming out of a LACK of love for your child, but out of self-love, which is important, too. And when you mess stuff up, forgive yourself out of that same self-love well. You'll be setting an important example.


Go ahead and make plans, but be flexible enough to change to plan B, C, D and so on. And to make new plans on the spur of the moment. 
We had so many plans when Z was born. First was the birth plan (which got scrapped when the birth went horribly awry). We planned to have her sleep in a crib in her own room (and then she screamed bloody murder, even from a deep sleep, when we took her anywhere near it). I planned to breastfeed until she weaned herself, which I assumed would be at about a year (HAHAHAHAHAHA! She kept going until 2 1/2, at which point I decided to bribe her to get her to stop). The thing is, babies really aren't cogs that you can fit into a pre-selected agenda. They are people, and just like with spouses and friends and co-workers and neighbors... you have to figure out how your needs and their needs meet and make allowances for the people they are. It's when you don't have flexibility that it starts to feel like butting your head against a wall, because, well, you are.



No one knows your child like you and your husband. 
People say lots of stuff. Sometimes they just like to hear themselves talk. Sometimes they are wise and sometimes they are full of shit (myself and this whole letter included). If YOU think there is something wrong with your kid, there probably is. If you think the kid is too tired to stay out later, they are. If YOU think they're allergic to gluten or ADHD or whatever, as long as you don't have a tendency to the hypochondriac, they probably do. I have a cousin who, at almost 3, still wasn't talking much. We all said it was no big deal, boys talk later, etc. But they had him evaluated, and he has Autism. They got early treatment for him, and he's integrated in regular classrooms now and doing brilliantly! The rest of us should have shut the fuck up, because the parents knew something was up. People tell me all the time that ADHD isn't real, or it's over diagnosed, or kids who are medicated turn into zombies, or yadda yadda. But I know my kid best -- she's not a zombie, and she's WAY happier and more successful on the medication.
This doesn't just go for negatives, either -- sometimes people will think there's something wrong with your kid ("He's so cold! Doesn't he need a sweater?"), and you'll know he's fine (he's snuggling contentedly). You know him best.



Keep the lines of communication open.
This one goes for the kid, too, but it's mainly relationship advice. Parenting together is HARD. Like, really hard. Sweetie and I pretty much agree on everything, never fight, and have spent 11 years without a major disagreement or even, if I am remembering correctly, raising our voices at each other. But parenting has made me want to kill him once in a while. Let's say, for example, that I think I'm doing all the work with the kid, or that I disagree with his methods of discipline -- I tend to seethe in anger, writing angry secret missives and lying awake at night. And then finally I get to this point where I say, "Hey, I'm feeling like this doesn't work." And sometimes then HE'S pissed off, seething that I would criticize his parenting, and probably (just a guess) filled with self-doubt, too. And then a day or two later, he starts addressing the issue, and life gets a lot better. You just have to talk about stuff.
Of course, this means listening, as well. I'm hoping my kid knows I listen to her and take her seriously, because if she does, then maybe she'll continue to talk to me into those rough teenage years. I can only hope.

Be consistent. 
You have no idea how hard this one is, and yet most of the problems we ever face around here are consistency issues. She had a bad day? We didn't get her to bed early enough the night before. Fight over cleaning her room? We didn't insist on the 5-minute before-bed clean-up we set in place. She's begging for candy before dinner? Shouldn't have let her have it yesterday as a special treat. Discipline isn't about punishment and consequences -- discipline is largely about having set expectations and sticking to them. Life is SO much easier when we don't screw this one up, even though the actual consistency part of it is really hard, too. Why NOT let her stay up, when there's only 10 more minutes of her program left? Why not skip the clean-up if I'm busy with other things? Consistency is a lot of work, but there's a lot of reward for it, too.

Enjoy it. 
Have you gotten this one yet? It goes so fast! They grow up before you know it! But seriously, yo -- I was JUST making this one laugh by nibbling her toes, and now she's explaining natural selection to me. Write stuff down. Take actual photographs and mental photographs. Relax and do stupid stuff, like going "AH-boo" a hundred times while poking the baby's nose. Cuddle. Take naps. The older kid stuff is fun, too, and someday I'm sure I'm going to enjoy it to an extent that she's gone and off to college or whatever. I know I'll be happy to see her get married and whatever else comes. But the little kid years do rush by, so try to be in the moment as much as you can.


I'm really excited to get to do this all again, even though writing this helps me remember some of the rougher times that I've managed to gloss over!

Sometimes the internet blows my mind

This weekend, there was a tragedy at UCSB. A man named Elliot Rodgers killed seven people, truthfully because he was mentally illl, but in his mind, because the world was unfair to him, in that he had a nice car and still couldn't get laid.

Subsequent to the news of this breaking, I learned that there are a TON of men online who gather in virtual communities to commiserate about similar things.

Now, I already knew about Men's Rights Activists. If you haven't heard of them, their party line goes something like this: women get the better hand dealt to them in society, because child custody cases are often found in their favor, because they don't have to register for the draft, and because fewer of them have died in wars over the last couple centuries. Also, men are hurt by women's suspicion of them: a woman's fear that a man following her might rape or kill her is less important than the man-following-her's being unfairly judged.

Sometimes one of these MRA guys will show up on a feminist blog I follow, and someone will respond empathetically but reasonably: "Hey, we care about the custody issue, too! Feminism is about equality." And then generally one of these guys will shoot back with "Well, it won't be equal until as many women die in wars as men have, so let's start lining up all the women and shipping them to combat zones."

And then most everybody goes like this.

But this community was new to me. These guys call themselves "wizards" (apparently there's an in-joke that if you get to 30 as a virgin, you become a wizard) or "incels" (short for "involuntary celibate"). 

The feminist blog was sort of... visited by a bunch of these guys after reporting on the Rodgers killings. And their philosophy seems to go like this: Women label them as "creeps" simply for being shy. Once a woman decides you're a creep, all women are alerted to this, and they create a vast conspiracy wherein no woman will sleep with you. Women are denying them the sex they are owed. Further, rape is really not that bad, because women sometimes have intercourse voluntarily, and they can recover from it. Whereas these men suffer in their loneliness daily, and it is therefore much worse. A few of them take that to its logical extreme: it would make sense to rape women.

Obviously, that's a pretty mentally ill standpoint. But that's where these guys live: they are owed sex by virtue of being alive, and the fact that it's not happening is an active denial on the part of those nefarious women.

Here's the thing they can't see -- if they're being called creeps, it's probably because they're CREEPY.

I'm going to say some things about my husband for a second that may sound negative. He's a D&D playing, Dr. Who-watching, introverted G.I. Joe collector with no car who would not/did not make the first move. By their logic, I should never have married him.  He should be one of them! He's (in their minds) just like them!

But I never thought for a second that he was creepy. Without knowing these guys personally, here's what I'd guess they lack that he has: he's well-groomed (clean, non-smelly, face and head hair are attended to, clothing is clean and cared-for). He's charming, and can make conversation with basically anyone (though he doesn't love to). He's funny. He's savvy about politics and world affairs. He's well-read. He's smart. He is fit. He's polite (and has good table manners, etc.). He appears at ease with women (me included/especially).

I started thinking about many of the other men in my life -- various degrees of nerds, cyclists, metal-heads, etc. And pretty much all of them ended up with attractive, talented, funny, normal women. Because they're NOT creeps. And they don't believe they are owed anything. They were looking for connections with women based on common interests, and they treat those women respectfully.

I watched one of the Elliot Rodgers videos. In it, he seems angry that a woman is with another man. Where is *his* woman, he wonders? That other guy isn't even very good-looking! But the whole time, he's speaking with an affect that would be chilling even if you weren't aware that this is the guy who killed seven people.

I don't think these guys could actually listen to reason -- they're so immersed in their own worldview that it's too late to try to convince them otherwise -- but if I could, I'd make a few suggestions. First, if someone calls you a fedora-wearing neckbeard, ditch the statement hat and shave. It's not a super-attractive grooming choice that others are spitefully shaming you for, it genuinely looks weird and unkempt. Second, make sure your clothes fit, are clean, and are, if not "in style," at least somewhat timeless. Third, shower daily, brush your teeth, and get your hair cut every six weeks or so.  Fourth, get out of the house. If you spend hours a day in your internet community, that is valuable being-in-the-world time you're missing out on. Go play tennis. Or go to a whiskey tasting. Or adopt a dog and take it to the dog park. Take a class in something. Not only will all these things probably improve your life by themselves, but sometimes WOMEN go out in public too, and you might meet one you have something in common with. You don't have to have a nice car, but it does have to be free of fast-food bags and smell clean. You don't have to have a great job, but you probably should have one. Or be in school.

The world owes you nothing. But you can bend the pathways of your life to make it more easy for things to come to you. And you can be happy, to an extent, with what you have instead of seething with anger (which generally gets you nowhere). It's like "The Secret" but with less woo-woo. If you have a positive attitude and work towards some goals, people will tend to want to be around you more, women included. If you're angry and hateful and resentful, no, a woman is not very likely to fall into your lap.

Update-y

Well, I haven't posted much about the in utero kid, because there hasn't been a lot to tell. I did have a 6-month appointment, and it all went smoothly. His heartbeat sounds great. I had just a couple questions, and we made my next appointment. I'm supposed to go have another glucose test next time. The doctor said I should go drink the goo before my appointment, then go back for the blood draw after, and that I couldn't eat or drink anything in between. But that before, I could do whatever I wanted. I said, "So I can pound a couple Pixy Stix right before?" He perked up. "Sure! In fact, it would probably help, because your body starts processing them immediately, so you'd already be making more insulin before you drank the glucose drink." He seemed kind of stoked on the idea, but I assured him I wasn't planning to throw the test.

I'm pretty huge. I keep opening doors and forgetting where my belly is, so I'll open a door right into it! Sorry, kid! Until very recently, I could look down and see boobs, but not belly, and now I can generally see belly too. One funny thing is that the old wives' tale is that you carry girls low and boys high. But I carried Z VERY high, like, the belly extended horizontally from just below my bra strap. Whereas this guy is very low indeed. In fact, he has started to kick a lot, and about half the time, the kicks feel like they're below that little crease where the top of your panties sits.

I'm really looking forward to meeting him. I'm not nervous, but I do hope I have a better labor this time. In two weeks, I'll be in the third trimester. I don't know if it's because I'm older, because of our loss last year, or for some other reason, but it seems kind of miraculous and surprising that this has all been so easy and is progressing so normally.

I haven't done anything towards re-painting Z's room or buying baby stuff, but there's always the summer.

Oh! Last thing. We have reached the stage where I can see the baby moving from the outside. It is very freaky. But so far, I'm really the only person to have seen it, because whenever I call Sweetie or Z over, he stops.

The love-fest.

Zadie has been a little difficult lately, so I'm going to focus on a positive story instead.

On Thursday at karate, it was a student's turn to bow the class out at the end. They asked, "Any comments or questions?" Several hands shot up.

"Yes Connor?"

"I thought you had really good side kicks today, Ma'am."

"Thank you, sir. Yes, Azadeh?"

"You looked really focused during attention stance, Ma'am."

"Thank you Ma'am."

They've been instructed to only take two to three comments at the end, otherwise this could go on all day. The student dismisses the class, and another parent leans over to me and whispers, "How did all this positivity start?"

"Well," trying to answer honestly but not without pride, "I think it was all my kid's fault."

It's true: a little over a year ago, the resounding answer to every "any comments or questions" was dead silence.  Until my kid came along. One day, her hand shot up. The kid in front was so surprised they had to look at their sensei for what to do. "Call on her," he said. Still a little nonplussed, they had to be prompted again. "Say, 'Yes, Zadie.'"

They did, and she had a compliment. At that time, it was less focused than it is now. She would often compliment, say, the color of their belt. This started when she was four, so I remember her complimenting a young lady's purple belt more than once. Hey, she likes purple. But pretty much a class never went by without her raising her hand for a comment at the end. As it was always complimentary, I decided to let it go. If her sensei found it disruptive, he could handle it. He didn't seem to. As time went on, her compliments drifted toward the performance-based. "I thought you did a good job leading the class today."

After several iterations of this, one day another hand shot up. They had a compliment, too. And now it was as if some kind of wall had been broken down. The students all wanted to say something, to be called on, to share what they had noticed.

It started taking a long time. The sensei at that point instituted the "two or three quiet hands" rule, and now it's a standard part of the end of class to hear a few compliments.

I know I'm a big ol' hippie, but I like it. I think it's sweet to see a bunch of 4-6 year olds sincerely complimenting one another's performance. And I think it's one of the best examples of leading by example she's ever done. She effected change in a positive way, and I think that's really cool.


NB: Not that the dojo's atmosphere was negative in any way before. Sometimes things that are good can still improve.

Just a quickie

I'm super-exhausted, but I need to remember to write down this story.

Zadie went to skate camp over Spring break. I was nervous to leave her. Even though she had been to music camp last summer, there seemed somewhat less risk of injury there. Given that she had been on her skateboard about twice ever, I was concerned. Plus, I was leaving her with a bunch of skater boys in a concrete and plywood skate park down by the river.

I shouldn't have worried. First, the skater boys were consummate professionals. They were great with the kids. I'd often return to find one holding her hand and helping her skate up a small ramp, or letting her borrow his board so she could do a move more easily.

But the second reason is that she's the most self-assured kid I think I've ever met. The first morning, I stayed for about 15 minutes and took some pictures while they introduced themselves, went over the rules, and split into groups. They were doing that, "My name is X/ Hi X!" thing. When kindergarten started, Zadie decided she wanted to go by her full name Azadeh. Most of her friends now call her that, and we go back and forth. So when it came time to say her name, she said "Azadeh." They needed her to repeat it. She did. They asked again. She said, "It's okay -- I have a nickname. It's Zadie." They said "Hi, Zadie!"

A couple hours later when I came back, one of the first things I heard was her instructor calling her. "Azadeh," he said. "Let's try over here."

I have no idea when or how she corrected him on her name, but she did. And she did it without me there. It was something that mattered to her, so she got it done.

I just feel like that's pretty cool -- when I was a kid, I think if someone had pronounced my name wrong, I'd have just rolled with it. But not her. She knows who she is and how she wants to be addressed, and she'll make it happen. That feels like it bodes well for the future.

Follow-up on that scary stuff, plus happy stuff!

So, when you get a call from someone who introduces herself as a genetic counselor and tells you that the state of California is ready to pay for pretty much any kind of diagnostic test you want, the actual number of the chance that there's something wrong, 1 in 150, loses some of its meaning.

I was a little nervous going into the ultrasound, and when we checked in, we were a little early, so the genetic counselor had us sit in her office and talked to us about what tests are available, how accurate they are, and why we got the call in the first place.

And while we're not 100% clear out-of-the-woods, that talk was VERY reassuring. See, you have these hormones that they test, and the hormones have a sort of baseline level of 1. They naturally range higher and lower, but that's sort of the middle. A baby with Down's Syndrome would tend to have numbers like .5 and 2.0 or 2.5, and ours were all 1.43, .78, etc. It's just that our blood work fit the sort of general pattern of which ones were high and low. She even drew a bell curve for us with our results wiggling gently along the center line and a typical Down's Syndrome result going off the chart back and forth.

Then we had the actual ultrasound, and the good news from there, which I'll share first even though chronologically it was last, is that they didn't see any of the "soft signs" of Down's Syndrome. In fact, the doctor said the baby looked "marvelous." We still opted to have a blood test that's over 99% accurate, and we'll hear from that in a week or two. But we chose not to have an amnio.

The ultrasound itself was kind of fun! The tech had just barely put the wand thing down when she said, "Oh!" She picked it up again. "Did you guys want to know the sex?" We said yes, and she put the wand right back where it was and pointed. "It's a boy! There it is, right out there."

Then she took a whole lot of pictures. The genetics counselor had moved our appointment so that we could have this more sensitive one done, and she had told me on the phone that even though it was different, we could still get pictures if we told the technician ahead of time. I very seriously intoned that we would definitely like pictures, and the tech (who reminded me of one of Z's pre-school teachers) was like, "Of COURSE we do pictures! Heck, we probably do more for you than they do at the other facility! Who told you that, anyway?" For the record, they did give us a LOT. I think I have three times as many as I had of Z.

Other funny things we saw were his cute little booty, how he likes to keep his hand by his face, and how he had his lower legs crossed in the exact position Sweetie had his in!

It's so hard to tell from the freaky pictures, but I think he has a handsome profile. I mentioned that with Z, they had only been able to get a straight-on shot of her face. I posted that picture on Facebook, and my friend Skye said, "She has lovely orbital cavities!" The tech laughed and said, "Oh yeah, the Skeletor shot! I love that one. Here, I can get that..." So we got a Skeletor shot of him too.

I mentioned that he hasn't been kicking as much as I remember Z doing, and she said sometimes it's because of the placement of the placenta, but mine was in back, so that wasn't it. But as we went on, she noticed that he was moving a lot -- she called him a wiggle worm -- and that although he wasn't making big kicking-type motions, he was constantly moving.

She was trying to get a good look at his brain, and she told us that. He moved his head into my pelvis. She said, "Okay, well, let me have a look at his spine, then... Hey! You see that?! He's rolling away from me. I think he heard me. Stinker." That is so much like Zadie when she was still in utero, although I know it's crazy to say they have little personalities already. She used to dart away from the instrument every time they'd try to get her heartbeat.

Anyway, it was nice to get to see him in there, and to have pretty good reassurance that he won't be affected by Down's Syndrome. Not that I wouldn't love a baby no matter what, but I think this may be easier. Still, no counting chickens! We'll wait for the blood tests to really exhale.

Here's his profile shot. Try to ignore that it kind of looks like a freaky old man with a beard (the beard would be my little guy's shoulders).

18 weeks, the upcoming ultrasound

I'm 18 weeks now, and I feel the baby kicking a few times a day, usually when I'm leaning forward. I think he/she gets cramped. I feel good, though I'm ashamed to admit that all my cravings for healthy foods have disappeared and been replaced with cravings for the offerings of SuperTaco. 

I am in all maternity clothes now, and I look decidedly pregnant, but even today it was mentioned and a few people said, "oh, I didn't know!" Perhaps they think I am just getting terribly fat in the abdomen only. 

People keep asking if we know the sex, and we don't. I honestly don't care, either. I didn't care with Zadie, and this time I am curious, but have very little preference. (A girl would mean sharing a room, which is a benefit, but one of each sounds nice, too.) Our ultrasound, in which we find out, is next week. But the sex is not really high on my list of priorities. See, we got a call that my blood work came back with a slightly elevated risk of Down's Syndrome. Not, like, crazy elevated-- a one in 150 chance, which is the same chance you have just getting pregnant at my age. But it was enough that they called me to reschedule the ultrasound for a different lab and location, whe they can do a very thorough job. At that time, they can either tell us we're in the clear, or do more tests. I have chosen not to have an amniocentesis because of a friend's nightmarish experience, but there's another test that's accurate if the ultrasound indicates further testing is needed.

I'm not terribly worried, but I am looking forward to it being over with. I know Sweetie is worried, but he says no more than normal. I'm glad I'll have him with me there. 

Honestly, the worst case scenario isn't some unknowable thing. It's that we have a child with Down's Syndrome. And while I'm sure that isn't easy, it's not like we wouldn't still have the second child that we've signed on to love. 

Speaking of worry, I sometimes wonder whether Zadie will suffer from the anxiety that seems to plague her Dad's sided of the family. The other day, I said something about taking Christmas pictures with the new baby this year, and she said, "IF there's a new baby. You aren't having pains or anything, are you?" I reassured her. We've told her about our loss last year, and I wonder if that's what made her concerned. It is really hard, sometimes, to figure out the delicate balance of her intelligence and curiosity, our belief in honesty, and her tender, tender age. 

This has been a very serious kind of post, and I didn't mean for it to be. I'm feeling good, if tired, and I like watching my belly pop out and feeling the kicks. This one kicks less often and less hard than Z did -- is that a good sign? Z has been rambunctious forever-- I could use a mellow one! 

Sweetie and I are discussing names. As this is my blog and he hasn't blogged for years (or commented here), I'll tell you without bias that my names are wonderful and he has stubbornly rejected them all, whereas he has only a handful of really terrible ones, which I've politely declined. 

All for now. 

Yours, Mockula

#evaluatethat

The latest wave of school reform is focused on linking student test scores to teacher evaluations. There are a bajillion good reasons not to do that, and a couple lousy ones in favor, but this isn't exactly about that.

This is about the backlash to it, wherein some teachers have taken to writing little Facebook stories about the ways in which they've helped students that can't be measured by a test. I have a couple of those, and this is a decent place to share them. I actually don't feel comfortable sharing them on Facebook for reasons I'm not sure I can articulate.

Anyway, Gemma* was a freshmen in my English class when, a few months into the class, it occurred to me that she wasn't really doing that well. She tried, and she turned everything in, which counts for a lot. If you have a rowdy class, you turn your attention to those little fires to put out first before you turn your attention to a girl who's quiet, respectful, and working. But it became hard to ignore: her writing was awful. Her spelling was bad. I looked at her test scores, I looked at her grades, I looked at everything I could look at, and then I called the counselor. Although Gemma's first language was Spanish, she had been enrolled in schools here since kindergarten. She had been designated as an English language learner, and been in ELL classes for a full ten years. Most students test out of it much sooner than that. The counselor, the student, her aunt, and a special ed professional and I had a meeting wherein we decided it would be best to test her for special ed services. Ultimately, she qualified, and was able to receive the help she needed for the rest of her high school career. She graduated two years ago. #evaluatethat

Three weeks ago, I woke up to a message on Facebook from a former student. I write personal letters to all my graduating seniors. Alyssa was writing to tell me that she had kept my letter over the years. It was one of the only things she had kept from high school, but she likes to get it out and re-read it periodically, because it encourages her and reminds her that "it's okay to be me." #evaluatethat

Last week, Carey was having a bad day. He said something about how he had already ruined his life, and he thought it would be better if he weren't alive. I didn't take it as a suicide threat, because it wasn't delivered that way. Nevertheless, I pulled him out of class later that day to talk to him. We sat and chatted about a lot of things, and he admitted that he normally didn't feel that way, it was just a rough morning. He had big plans, and wanted to follow through with them. Near the end of our conversation, I reminded him that he could come talk to me whenever he needed. I asked, "you know I'm on your side, right?" He said he knew. #evaluatethat

Last May, Jessica came in after school. "Ms. Mockula, you know that letter you wrote me for the scholarship?" "Sure," I answered, half-turning to my computer thinking that she needed another copy. "Well... I got it!" It was a huge scholarship, and it was going to help pay a pretty good chunk of her tuition at a private school. #evaluatethat

Although each of these is a real, specific event, they're also representative of countless others. I was reminded of Gemma because I had a similar meeting today: we discovered that a kid I thought needed services already had been identified as special ed in a previous district. We just didn't have his cumulative file because he had moved schools so many times. Alyssa's story is one I've heard from many, many of my alumni. It sounds like a lot of them keep their letters. And the students I counsel, and the students I write letters of recommendation for... I couldn't begin to keep track of how many over the years.

And yet none of that is "value-added." None of that shows up on test scores. None of that "counts."

I'm not trying to be self-aggrandizing. I don't think I go above and beyond the call of duty. I think most of my colleagues do the same kinds of stuff, some of them a great deal more. Which is why test scores and percentages and value-added measures et cetera mean so little to me: because that's all bullshit. It's not the work of teaching. I do good work every day, and only some of it involves my subject area. A lot more of it involves those kids knowing they have someone in their corner. And you just can't evaluate that.



*All student names changed.

Mishmash

I am trying something new in my garden this year. I'm having a go at polyculture, growing a bunch of different kinds of things all mixed up. I made a mixture of bush beans, chard, parsnips, carrots, beets, green onions, radishes, and lettuces, and sprinkled them liberally on one of my raised beds. They're supposed to grow at different rates and heights and whatnot and provide each other with some shade and protection, plus I can harvest the first things that come up so the next ones have some sunlight. The book I was reading said you have to be semi-good at recognizing stuff, but I think I am.

Of course, this morning, the stupid squirrels had dug a bunch of holes in my new garden to get to the seeds. So today I built a hoop house. I've been planning to try it for a while anyway, but it seemed like the time had come. I used these instructions. I had read up on greenhouses, hothouses, cucumber frames, and more. Most are a way to extend the growing season by providing a temperature boost, but since it's March and next weekend is forecast to be 80, I'm not very concerned about that right now. The hoop house seemed simple enough to build and had the added advantage that I could swap out coverings: plastic sheeting to keep the temperature up, and mesh to keep the birds out.

It wasn't too hard or expensive to put together, although I did badly miscalculate one thing. The bed I'm using is the one I think of as my "lettuce bed." It's very shallow and short -- I used salvaged wood from my mom's yard. Which means that it was REALLY hard to screw in the dowels, because there were only a few inches of space between the ground and the screw. I had to hunt up a stubby screwdriver and then some slot/flat screws, because my only stubby screwdriver is a flathead. Nevertheless, I got the project done and I'm hoping it deters the squirrels, although I know those little buggers are relentless.


As for my pregnancy stuff, I'm feeling pretty great. My morning sickness seems to be basically gone (but for some weird, frequent burping) and my appetite normal. Of course, I'm gaining weight now and starting to look decidedly pregnant, although that somewhat depends on what I'm wearing. I remember with Z that when I could no longer sleep on my stomach, I was super-bummed. I am a stomach sleeper! But it seems to have happened, and it's no big deal. I'm more accustomed to sleeping on my side, I guess.

I just finished a book called The Luminaries, by Eleanor Catton, and I popped onto Goodreads to see what others thought of it. A lot of the reviews were lukewarm, many for two reasons: they had high expectations because it won the Man Booker prize, or they didn't understand the horoscope/star chart stuff. Well, I quite liked it. It was like an old fashioned mystery. I probably have low standards, because I basically like everything, but the award didn't unduly raise my expectations. And as for the astrology stuff, I didn't get it either. But I have zero interest in that stuff anyway, so I didn't even bother looking at it. Honestly, I don't know either my husband's or my daughter's astrological sign, and I have checked my horoscope about ten times in my life, usually on my birthday just for kicks. So when I saw the pages with the star symbols, I thought "might as well be Kabbalah or Greek" and skipped it entirely, never attempting to make any sense of it. So I wasn't hung up on that at all. The beginning of the book was a little slow (mainly because there were about 20 main characters, and I had a hard time keeping track of who was who), but by the end, it was terribly gripping.


And finally, I thought I'd mention that I've been playing with a band. They're kind of serious -- like, a two-hour practice every week. And they play music that's WAY faster and more complicated than I'm used to. I'm working hard to pick it all up and learn the new songs, and it's very challenging. Sometimes it's frustrating, too. Like this week, we tried "Sweet Child of Mine" for the first time, and I had worked to learn it over the last week. I didn't have it perfect, but thought I'd blend in okay. But when we started playing it sounded WRONG WRONG WRONG. I stopped a few measures in, and was like, "I'm sure it's me, but something sucks. What key are you guys in?" "Oh... shoot. I forgot to tell you we play this a half-step down to make it easier to sing." Well, for a really pro musician, that would be no problem, but for me, I've practiced it one way, so I need to really re-think how to do it. Hopefully by next week I can have it down. So even though it's challenging and frustrating and a lot of work, it's also really rewarding. I'm learning a lot and improving my playing, and I'm grateful for that.

Take care all! Mockula out...

Announcement time!

Many of you (I can only ever think of four or five people who read this) already know, but in case you don't...

I'm three months pregnant! I've been journalling all along, but wasn't really ready to share it with more than a handful of people, so here's an excerpt of what's been going through my head. 

12/26: In December, as Christmas approached, I wasn't feeling particularly hopeful about our chances of getting pregnant again. We'd been trying for so long, and with so little luck. In fact, when I got violently ill on late Friday early Saturday, I called the hospital about what I could do for my throat pain (I damaged it vomiting!), and they asked if I was pregnant. I said I didn't know, but that it wasn't likely. 

Christmas Eve was day 28, and although I wasn't having what I thought of as symptoms, I was in a Rite-Aid and I thought strongly about buying a pregnancy test. But no, I thought to myself -- I'd have to wait until Christmas day to be sure not to waste it, and I just couldn't handle that kind of disappointment on Christmas day. 

But on the actual day, we had a long quiet period when I was hungry for something healthy. I went to the grocery store for fruits and vegetables, and given that I still seemed not to be at the end of my cycle, I bought a test. 

At home, I took it, capped it, stood up and washed my hands. I had avoided looking at it, but I thought to myself that I ought to put it somewhere for it to finish out its wait time while I distracted myself with something else. I picked it up and... even though the time wasn't close to over, it clearly had a plus sign. I looked at the package to make sure that a plus sign meant what I thought it meant, that it wasn't some sort of elaborate control line or that I wasn't holding it wrong. But it was positive!

Anyway, I'm excited! I'm terrified! I'm trying not to get too attached, although I know that will be difficult. 

12/31: I'm still quite nervous, and the nervous is outweighing the excitement a bit. Like, I want to go look at cute baby clothes and things, but I haven't even Googled, because I've been busy trying to check my lab results and memorizing the normal range of hCG levels at this stage. 

I feel... kind of normal. Fatigued, for sure. Peeing a lot, but not every 15 minutes or anything. Just more than usual. I remember with Zadie, I was craving sweets like crazy. This time, I can kind of take or leave them. I was also starving, and this time my appetite is normal. I even find that it's reduced a bit at mealtimes. I feel a little hungrier when mealtimes roll around, but then I find my capacity is just a bit reduced. I am, however, fantasizing and daydreaming about food of the very healthy and hearty type. Like, I want cooked greens, chickpeas, black beans, squash, stew, barley, lentils, roasted vegetables... This morning I made kimchee rice with basted eggs for breakfast, and if I hadn't been worried about using another pan, I'd have sauteed some greens to go with it.

1/7: Sweetie says he thinks it's a girl. I don't have a feel for it. Last time I wanted it to be a surprise, but my mom and Sweetie both wanted to know so badly that I gave in. This time, I will definitely want to know. If it's a boy, we need all new baby clothes, and you're not really supposed to have a shower the second time around. I still like the idea of being surprised and hearing "It's a ___," but I'll get over it.

1/11:I had my first ultrasound yesterday. I had to wait a while, because the office was busy, but then my doctor came in and asked a few questions and we got started. I told him in advance, "I've been pretty nervous, so if you feel like making any comforting noises during this, that would be great." He said he'd do his best. The screen was turned so I could see it, and at first it looked like static. But then there were dots. And the mostly-black dot is the little amniotic sac, and inside it was a whitish thing that was flickering rapidly. He said almost immediately, "Oh yeah, there it is. That's looking good." He pointed out where a yolk sac (ew) was forming, and then asked if I saw the flickering. I did, of course, and I already was pretty sure I knew what it was: the heartbeat. He confirmed it, then made a couple measurements on the screen, and I watched them both come up as "6 wks" (which is exactly where we are). As the doctor said, we're not completely out of the woods (most miscairrages happen in the first trimester), but at this point, we're going to treat it like a normal, healthy pregnancy. So my next appointment isn't until February! 

I'm feeling good, and I'm exercising and trying to get a lot of rest. Sweetie has a nickname for the baby: Ant. He thinks it's a girl and would like to name it Antigone. I have known exactly one Antigone, and she was a rather quirky science teacher, so I'm not sold yet. 

1/17: Zadie kissed my stomach in the shower the other day, and she has out of the blue begun to ask Grandma to play "baby sister" with her again, after about a 6 month break. I don't know if it's a coincidence, if she has some sixth sense about it, or if she just has figured it out from the many whispered conversations that have taken place around her, but I don't know if we're going to be able to hold out on telling her as long as I'd thought. We'll see, I guess. I bought her a cute t-shirt that says "Big Sis" on it, and I'm wondering what her reaction will be. Obviously, I'm hoping she's wildly excited, but whenever I get my hopes up like that, her reaction is inevitably, "Oh. Cool." 

Appetite situation is the same. I feel full after eating about half my normal portion. And I'm definitely more queasy/refluxy than usual. That's fine. I didn't have it at all with Z, so it's kind of a new experience. 

I read these updates from pregnancy web sites about the baby's development, and it's just amazing. The kid is making its own blood cells, growing hands and feet, has color to its eyes, etc. And in the last week, it has doubled in size. What a lot of energy that must take!

[Undated, but around 1/26] About 8 1/2 weeks now. I've been thinking a lot about how my pregnancy with Zadie and this one have been different. I remember that with Z, I was starving all the time -- I basically carried around a zipper bag full of cereal, raisins, and nuts everywhere I went. This time, I am hungry, but mainly in the hour or so before mealtimes, and then about 75% of the way through the food, no matter how delicious, I start feeling over-full. In fact, twice lately, I've taken seconds and then realized I shouldn't have -- I felt really sick one night after trying to eat a second serving of pasta. 

2/5: The ultrasound was kind of neat -- Zadie's first one, at about the same time, looked like a fava bean. This one is super-clear: you can see a head, torso, and hands pretty clearly. It's cool to have. 

2/14: 11 1/2 weeks! Doctor visits ramped up rather suddenly. I had an ultrasound at ten weeks, plus we did a bunch of paperworky intake stuff, and then this week, we had another appointment scheduled. I thought it was just for lab work, but I actually met with a nurse practitioner who checked all my vitals, did a breast exam, and did the external ultrasound (so I got to hear the heart for the first time!). She said it was a good, strong heartbeat. I was making my next appointment, and they said I should come back next week for a glucose test as well. No need to fast or anything -- just don't eat anything I knew was high in sugar beforehand. 

It was the day before Valentine's Day, and there was a basket of fun-sized candies on the desk, so I asked if I could take one. I had a small Twix. Then I went downstairs for the blood work for my genetic testing (we've decided to do this check for issues like Down's Syndrome, but are skipping anything more invasive which carries more risk). When I checked in at the pharmacy, the woman asked if I wanted to do my glucose test that day. Well... I sure as hell didn't want to come back again next week (since that would make three weeks in a row), but I had had that Twix. Would it throw off my results? Was it worth it? I decided to stay and do the glucose test. Luckily, the results came back this morning, and they were fine. Because I really didn't want to have to call my doctor and be like, "Hey, I know my glucose was high, but, well, there were these fun-sized Twix, you see..."

And that mostly brings us up to date. I'm at 13 weeks, which depending on where you look, is either the last week of the 1st trimester or the first week of the second. We have told everyone -- a few people knew already, then on Monday we told Zadie, and then we called Sweetie's family, and then I posted the video above on Facebook. We are surrounded by love and happiness and congratulatory wishes, and I'm feeling good. 

Oddly, the one thing that's vastly different (as alluded to above) between this pregnancy and the one with Zadie is that I have had morning sickness. Like, a lot. But it's not really bad sickness -- more like a bad case of reflux. I'm not puking or anything. Which I consider to be a bright side! Lots of people have it worse than me. The other kind of bright-side-ish thing is that my appetite has been so decreased that I've only gained a single pound. I am starting to round out a bit, but I'm still in my normal clothes. In fact, I have some cute maternity dresses that I bought, and I considered wearing one the other night, but when I put it on, it looked ridiculous! By three months with Z, I was wearing maternity clothes almost exclusively. I really popped early, and by four months I was huge. I'm not saying this because I'm vain about my body -- I know I sound proud of having not gained weight in my pregnancy, and for most people, that would be kind of perverse. But given my starting weight, I'm supposed to limit the amount I gain overall, so it's more like so far so good! 

And there's your typical Pollyanna optimism silver-lining of the day: I have morning sickness, but I'm not puking, and I'm not huge. Double rainbow all the way!!

Ray

I was outside surveying the garden today, not really working, but trying to plan for what I might plant and where. A neighbor walked by, one I didn't know, but still, I said hello. He stopped first to hope for rain (here in California, as you may know, we're in the middle of a serious drought, so we address it in most small talk). We talked about what measures we were taking to conserve water, and about letting our lawns die. He said that soon we'd have to not flush our toilets until we did "something serious." I mentioned that we already have a dual-flush toilet to help conserve. He expressed worry that his house was old enough that it wouldn't work well.

He indicated that his house was one of the oldest ones on the next block. Our two streets and one more form a sort of W with no real outlets other than the main cross-street. He mentioned that he has lived here since 1947. I said that my house was built in 1948, and he said he could remember -- that many of the lots were vacant when his parents first moved in. In fact, he gently chided a woman who I previously thought was the longest-residing neighbor for "thinking she remembers things that she doesn't really remember." After all, he remembers when she was born! (For the record, I think she's about 70, and she also lives in a house that belonged to her parents.)

We may have chatted a bit more than that, but not much. He started to walk on, and he glanced at the bumper of my car, which has a Human Rights Campaign equals sign sticker, the one that supports marriage equality.

"Oh!" he stopped. "You're gay!" (It's, uh, not an unreasonable conclusion to draw from the way I appoint myself on weekends.)
"Oh, no, just a supporter."
"Well, I'm gay!"
"Oh! I support you!" I laughed.

Apparently drawn to tell me a story, he then shared that he had first gotten married in 1965. His wife couldn't have children, and she feared that she faced limited marriage prospects because of it. He was willing to adopt (though he says that they did try the normal way), and they did. They had two children, a boy and a girl, and shortly thereafter, he was of no use to her anymore. He asked for a divorce, and by then it was the 70s, when it was a little more acceptable to be openly gay. He came out, and for a long time, his ex-wife and her friends accused him and blamed him. Why did he get married to her if he knew he was gay? He said that he didn't know when he married her, and he would have divorced her even if he was straight.

He didn't fill in a lot of the intervening decades, other than to mention that he has another "little old gay man" friend who is just a friend ("gayer than a peach orchard, though! You could see him coming a mile away.") I asked him if we was happy now, and he said he was. He had a very happy life.

He reminded me it was better for my car to keep it in the garage, he shared that he had gotten a bad case of the flu in November that lasted into December, we chatted a little bit about home sales and prices in the area, and then he continued on his walk.

He glanced once more at my car, this time at the only other sticker.
"'I guess I was punk once.' Huh. I guess I drank punch once."

There's no real takeaway from this story, other than that I'm so glad to live in the kind of neighborhood where people stop to chat. I love hearing people's stories.

The myth of the magical teacher: or, why I am putting in LESS effort today

I don't do it often, but I complained about a kid on Facebook today. I got a lot of sympathy for me, and one very sympathetic response to the kid. This friend suggested that he probably had a lot of disadvantages (true) and could benefit from a home visit (perhaps) and that I could (I'm sure she meant this jokingly) take him in.

Sigh.

I thought of the movie Freedom Writers, which I watched with my students for the first time last year. The teacher in it goes to great lengths to help a group of troubled kids at a troubled school. She gets a second job to afford books, and then a third job to afford field trips. She calls in favors. Her marriage breaks up. She goes to their houses, finds them on the streets, etc. It was moving. When we finished watching, the kids asked, "Is she still a teacher?" I told them I'd look it up, but in my heart, I already knew the answer: no. You can't put that much effort in and continue to do the job for thirty years. I was right: she taught for exactly four years.

Jaime Escalante, hero of the movie Stand and Deliver, taught for longer, about 18 years, although perhaps not as heroically as in the movie. Friends who had his class at Hiram Johnson all said he was nothing special -- in fact, they used to sneak out after attendance, and he apparently never noticed.

Mr. Holland's Opus depicts the good he did for his students at the expense of his relationship with his family.

Every once in a while, someone shares a meme about how much teachers actually work.

This is the one I saw most recently. And I think it's kind of ridiculous. Like, do most teachers really spend 4 weeks (20 8-hour days) on campus in the summer before school starts? Because I sure as hell don't. I mean, I might spend several hours here and there lesson-planning, communicating with colleagues, making copies, refining my syllabus, organizing my room, etc., but like... maybe 4-5 hours at a stretch, you know? Not full-time. Do I go to trainings? Yeah, but for 3-4 days. And the rest of the time, I'm taking my kid to the zoo. 

And 3-5 hours every night of meetings, phone calls, grading, planning, etc.? Uh... no. More like 40 minutes of it at school, then at most, an hour at home. There are variations on a theme -- if I have a lot of essays, I might spend 90 minutes at home on them for a whole week straight. Then the next week, I might not do a damned thing but read the book I've assigned my kids. 

Now some of my extra work comes in other places -- I work through lunch a lot of the time, for example. 

Maybe the above graphic is true for some teachers, though. I sure as hell hope they're single, or childless or empty-nesters or something. Because I have a LIFE. Twelve to fourteen hours a day, as this chart suggests, is INSANE. That would mean going to work at 7:30 and stopping working at 7:30 pm to, I don't know, eat? Do these crazy fuckers eat? Do they sleep? Do they go to the gym? When do they shop for groceries? How do they keep up with the Kardashians? 

You may already know that 40-50% of new teachers don't make it to 5 years. 15.7 percent of teachers quit every year, and 40% who pursue teaching degrees never enter the classroom.* There are almost 3 million results on Google for "teacher burnout." 

What would happen if I gave this job my all? My 110%? What would happen to my home, my kid, my marriage? Could I save these students? Could I drag them out of poverty and illiteracy and abusive homes and drug- and gang- infested neighborhoods and show them the light and change their whole lives? 

Right now, I do my best to teach the kids how to write well, how to communicate, how to understand what they read, how to be persuasive, how to recognize bias, how to tell what sources are worth using, how to synthesize information and respond to different points of view. All the English stuff. And then at the end of the year, when my seniors are heading off into the world, I sneak in some lessons that aren't in my purview. I teach them about payday loans and interest rates, and I teach them about pyramid schemes and why not to work for Cutco or Herbalife, and I teach them about consent and the variety of people they'll run into in the world, and I teach them what to do if they get pulled over when driving, and I tell them what jury duty is like, and I encourage them to join all the clubs and take advantage of the movies and the lectures, and I teach them how to dress for an interview, how to shake hands, how to maintain eye contact, and to turn their phones off before they even get in the lobby. 

I think I could sacrifice my personal happiness, my family life, and my sanity, and perhaps I could be a savior for a certain number of students. Let's go with a high number of 25 per year.  I could probably swing that for as much as five years before needing to quit and do something easier. That's 125 students. Or I could help all my kids, about 115 per year, learn how to get jobs and not sell Herbalife. And I can do that for about three decades. That's 3500 students at no personal cost to me. 

When I weigh those options with the greater good in mind, I always end up with me teaching for 30 years. Maybe I'm nobody's savior. Maybe I'm nobody's miracle cure. But I'm a good teacher, I'm a good mom, and I'm a good wife. And I'm on track to be at this for a couple thousand students longer. 

So no, I'm not taking this kid in. I'm going to do exactly what I've been doing: trying to show him how to take personal responsibility. Giving him make-up work when he gets himself suspended. Working gently with his emotional issues so that he knows he's safe with me and welcome in my classroom. Smiling and saying hi in the hall even when he's been an absolute butthead earlier in the day. Correcting his work so that he's doing his personal best, but not setting the bar so high that he's frustrated and gives up. Teaching him how to read, write, communicate. And hopefully keeping him out of the Herbalife business. And out of jail. 

Today, I'm not making phone calls. I'm not answering emails. I have to do some grading later, after Z goes to bed, but right now, I'm playing Monster High with her, and I'm having fun doing it. Except for that this wig is so itchy! (We get very into character.)

*http://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2013/10/why-do-teachers-quit/280699/  

Science is real… and I just got my flu shot!

I don't know why I bother. I saw this image on a friend's Facebook page the other day, and I decided to answer the question. And then I got involved.

The answer, of course, is that I'm not concerned about MY vaccinated kid. I'm concerned about the immune-compromised, the very young, and those who can't be vaccinated. I'm sort of concerned for your kids, even though that's more your business than mine. I mean, if you want to get pertussis, go nuts, but I am a little sad if your argument is "people used to get whooping cough all the time -- it's not that bad!" 

And of course, vaccines aren't 100% effective*. Duh. I mean, sometimes you get the flu shot and then get the flu. But huge amounts of research show that you get it less often and less severely. Now go read this. What it says is that in countries with high rates of vaccinations, they have low rates of pertussis. If bunches of people get vaccinations, fewer people get pertussis. And it's not that bad… for you. But for kids under 6 months old, it can be deadly. 

The thing is, so many of the people who advocate for not vaccinating take this "educate yourself!" approach. And I actually have, and continue to. The overwhelming evidence is that although there are some rare cases of negative side effects of vaccines, and although vaccines aren't 100% effective, they have helped to wipe out many diseases, some of them fatal. I mean, if you're my age or older, you probably met some people living with the after-effects of polio. We don't have that anymore. 

I know I'm probably somewhat more of a critical thinker than many, but I'm not exceptional by any means, and it just drives me nuts the way people torture logic. 

The cartoon above, for example, is kind of a straw man fallacy. It attacks an argument you're not making.

The one I hear about keeping kids healthy through healthy diets is called a false choice: it makes it seem like you either get your kids vaccinated, then hook up the chicken-nugget feeding tube, or make them slow-cooked gluten-free broth and ensure their continued health that way. You can do both. Nothing wrong with increasing their immune response via a healthy lifestyle. 

I also see this all the time: "Well, I got the flu shot, and I got sick anyway!" or "My nephew got vaccinated, and then he was diagnosed with autism!" This is called anecdotal evidence. And it's usually crappy. But I feel like we mostly, as a society, recognize that it's crappy ("They say smoking is bad, but my grandpa smoked a pack a day until he was hit by a bus when he was 95.") But not the people making these arguments. Someone in the argument I managed to get myself into said,  "I didn't realize personal experience wasn't valid according to your statistics." But it isn't. Frankly, my personal experience is that I always get the flu shot and hardly ever get sick. But you wouldn't take that as gospel either, because it's not science… it's just this thing that I said.

And the following argument I'm going to make in favor of science doesn't invalidate the fact that I'm a skeptic, but there are certain things that satisfy my skepticism.

So… I am NOT a scientist. I'm not even that good at science. And I understand and recognize that about myself. What I do know is that science tends to use large samples, tends to control for variables, tends to test and experiment and re-test to get the same results. And when someone is pretty sure their science is legit, they write a paper in which they describe their methods so that other people can examine or re-create them, and then several other science people have to read it and agree that it's legit before it gets published. And even then, lots of other scientists are anxious to publish, so they try to tear it apart or address things that that study didn't address, or take a different spin on it, until there are hella pieces of research out there to read.**

So when you go read that research, and the VAST (like, about eleventy-billion to one) majority of those articles say "Yeah, vaccines are helpful," then my skepticism is alleviated somewhat.

But one has to be thorough, right? So I went looking for the other point of view. I searched. I followed footnotes and links and made a number of slightly-differently-worded searches, and what I found was one or two studies that said, "Well, it's possible that vaccines might cause this bad effect. We can't exactly rule it out. But since they are so overwhelmingly positive, our overall view is that you should probably still get them."

But the anti-vaccine people will argue with you all day. They have a gut feeling. They harken back to our ancestors. They think the decline in disease is due to better sanitation, not vaccines. And they have web sites! Their web sites are, by and large, selling something, but no matter. They have a feeling. They have thoroughly researched both sides (they are just unable, at the moment, to show you the research that supports them). And they made a choice.

Neil DeGrasse Tyson said, "the good thing about science is that it's true whether or not you believe in it." So I still can't figure out how reasonable people can look at mountains of evidence in favor of vaccines and a few woo-woo paranoiac sites with no evidence and feel as though they've considered both sides and come to the decision that's right for them.

My guess is, either they didn't really look at both sides -- they've simply allowed a few cult-of-personality types to tell them what to believe -- or they're not actually reasonable people. Or maybe both.

Because longitudinal studies that include hundreds of thousands of people and "this one time at band camp" stories are just not equivalent.

Now let me finish by saying that this isn't an argument in favor of mandatory vaccinations. I still think you can make your choice -- it's just a bad choice, based on bad evidence. And if you believe that woo is the same as science, then I've got news for you. 


*Neither is birth control, but many of us have used it to great effect.
** A great example of this process is the infamous Wakefield study linking vaccines to autism. It was published, but then a WHOLE bunch of other scientists rebutted it, and then the researchers who worked with him wanted their names removed from it, and ultimately he lost his medical license over it. Of course, that was the ONLY study that showed a link between vaccines and autism, and yet 18% of the population believes there's a definite link, and 30% more just aren't sure.