So Robert Burns was talking about not embarrassing ourselves by being able to see ourselves from others' point of view, but I've always wished I could see myself as an outsider might. Sometimes I feel they've got it quite wrong, but do they?
Today, for example, I saw the guy at the gym who hands out locker keys and whatnot. I always joke with him, and he's been giving me a bad time for losing my membership card. He razzed me today, and I said "Oh yeah? Guess what... 135500." "What's that? Your membership number?" "Yup!" "How'd you get it?" I CALLED AND ASKED, SUCKA!" "But... did you memorize it?" "Yeah, but it was hella easy. It was the prime numbers, plus the numbers at the end are repeated." "Whoo... somebody's got a head for math!"
That tickled me. Math was always my worst subject in school. I never liked it. On the other hand, I am actually pretty good at grasping concepts about things like my personal budget or the cost efficiency of one plan vs. another. In short, I'm pretty good with numbers, which is, I guess, being good at math.
Even more staggering, last Saturday, I was at a birthday party for one of Zadie's little friends. The parents live in a place with a small kitchen, so they'd ordered a cake from Whole Foods. (It was delicious, incidentally!) The mom turned to me and said, "You probably made Zadie's cake, didn't you?" I nodded, and she added, "One of those supermoms."
I thought it was so odd that it's been bouncing around in the back of my head for several days, and I brought it up to some other mom/teacher friends today, thinking they, too, would think it was silly that someone thought I was a supermom. Heck, three of them actually only work part-time so they can go home and be with their kids. But to a one, they were like "No, that's pretty much how we think of you, too." And, you know, it was weird. I mean, I curse myself all the time for all the things I DON'T do for Zadie, like stay home or work part-time or do art projects instead of dragging her on my errands. I feel like a pretty shoddy goddamn mom sometimes. I'd love to do enrichment and reading and nature walks a lot more often, but when it comes down to it, I have about four hours with her on most days, and I usually burn more than an hour of that getting her ready for bed and getting her home from Mom's. Then another hour and a half is preparing and eating dinner. That leaves precious little time to really hang out, and sometimes I'm just exhausted. The last thing that looks like to me is a supermom, and I sure as hell don't think being able to bake a cake makes me one.
I think what I am is sort of domestically inclined, and also sort of a cheapskate. But what I wish I really had more to spend was time with that kid. And no matter what I think of myself or my friends think of me, what really matters in the end is what Zadie thinks. I hope I'm good enough as I am.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Small changes, big effects
[I apologize in advance: I believe in the value of white space, but Blogger has made some changes and I can't figure out how to put space between my paragraphs. I'll work on it, because I know big blocks of text are intimidating.]
So, I am almost out of salt. I buy the canister of Morton's salt with the little girl on it, and I was kind of shocked to discover that I needed another -- this will be the third in about a year. I used to go through one of those far less frequently. They probably lasted more than a year. I briefly panicked, thinking that perhaps our sodium consumption was way up as a family.
Of course, then I realized that part of it is that my husband uses salt for a saline nasal rinse, and I sometimes use it as an abrasive cleanser, so that alone changes things a bit. Still, I started thinking about all the things I cook with salt. A tablespoon and a half goes into by bread recipe (which makes four loaves). Two tablespoons go into the water to cook the beans each week. I add it to other food, but not in mass quantities. Still, tablespoons seemed like a lot.
I did some math and learned that actually, everything I make from scratch now has less sodium in it than all the stuff I used to buy. The bread has less than the sprouted wheat I used to buy. The soup has less than canned or boxed soup. The only thing that was hard to get a good feeling about was the beans, as I add a lot of salt to the water, and the beans certainly absorb some, but I dump a lot of the water off, too. Anyway, we're using a lot more salt, but we're also eating a lot less sodium. Funny.
Here's another funny thing. I was talking with someone about TV, and I've never made any effort to watch less -- I didn't watch much in the first place. But I realized if someone asked Zadie, for example, she would probably answer that I don't watch at all. We cancelled cable last fall just to save some money, since we definitely weren't watching enough to justify $120 a month. I knew I could watch my usual programs on Hulu or Netflix, most of Zadie's programs are on Netflix or DVD, and Sweetie watches almost nothing but football anyway, so he watches that on ESPN's web site.
Anyway, I realized that whereas I used to turn on the tv to watch, say, Community, if it was not on that week or if it was pre-empted or whatever, I had already planned to watch something, so I would just flip channels and watch something else, like American Idol (I know, I know). I would turn on the Home and Garden network or the Food network just to have something to watch. Now I go to the web site to watch my programs when I have time, and if there wasn't an episode that week, then I just do something else, because the ready supply of alternate crap just isn't there. Between movies, the occasional PBS show online, and a couple TV shows I follow, I now probably watch less than five hours a week. Five would be the max, too.
In sum, I guess what I'm saying is I'm happy with the small changes we've made, and I'm surprised at how easy they've been.
Friday, April 13, 2012
An actual bad thing happened on Friday the 13th (for the first time I can remember)
Today was Springfest, a smallish food fair/talent show on campus. I was bummed about having to stay late on a shortened day, and the drinks we were selling were not exactly flying off the shelves. Worse, once the performances started all commerce stalled. But I do always like the performances.
One of the first was a dance group. It's a large, co-ed group that splices several songs together for one long routine, and they do their best to make sure dancers of all abilities get at least a few moments of feature time. In fact, they incorporated one of the severely disabled students into their routine. One of my students, a very quiet, hard-working, respectful kid is in the group. We'll call him X. He's one of those kids that never fails to say hello in the hall. Some kids don't go out of their way, although frankly most of them like me, but he does, and always with a smile. Recently he has risen in the ranks of ROTC. As the dance went on, it became clear that he was one of the leaders of the group. You could see the other dancers checking his face, and you could see his subtle eyebrow raises that let them know their cues. He seemed genuinely happy, not just to be dancing himself, but for the others. He smiled and clapped for the other dancers as they took their turns in the spotlight.
Then he and a partner took the stage, and I was thinking, "I'm going to have to remind X next year that I'll write a college or scholarship letter for him." He is such a well-rounded kid, I knew I could give some brief anecdotes to show the colleges how deserving he was. His dance finished and he moved to the side of the stage area and fell down. The dance had been dramatic thus far, and I figured it was either choreographed or part of his exuberance that he would slide into home, as it were, after his performance. I noted that his partner hadn't done the same, and I watched him to see if there was more. First one student went to his side, then another. And then I realized something was wrong.
I ran over and, at risk of sounding bossy, took charge. "Okay guys, the recovery position is on his side. Maybe you can help him. X, can you roll over a bit?" He tried and exclaimed in pain. "Okay, we're not doing that. You're cool, X, just stay comfortable. You guys, back off and give him some room. Are you calling 9-1-1?" I hesitated a minute. "Okay, good."
It had taken a minute to determine, as X was pale, shaking, sweating, and breathing hard, but it wasn't something like a cardiac event... just an injury. A pretty bad one, but just an injury. Someone was trying to find his backpack to get his cell phone to call his parents, but it was taking a lot of time, and I decided, "fuck that." "X, do you know your mom's number by heart?" He did, but she didn't speak English, and I knew he couldn't talk very well at the moment. Plus, it's incredibly noisy in there. He suggested his uncle, so I left his side for a minute and asked the uncle to either come down or get a hold of his parents to get them to come to the school. We try hard not to transport a kid by ambulance if it's not an absolute necessity and if they're not insured (which many of our students aren't), because it's a bill many families cannot afford. So if there was any chance we could get an adult there before the paramedics, we wanted one.
The paramedics arrived quickly, and I was glad. I backed up to watch, but shortly it became clear that there was room for me at his side again. I asked the paramedic if it was okay, and it was. I asked X if he wanted me to hold his hand, and he did. I continued to as they cut his pant leg off, started an IV, gave him a shot of morphine, put some foam pads under his leg, and got his information. I have no idea what else was going on at the time. His knee was dislocated, which is an apt description -- it was in the wrong damn place. It appeared that his kneecap was over on the side of his leg, or perhaps the swelling made it look that way. At one point, he let go of my hand, and I started to pull away, but he was just stabilizing himself, and he reached out for me with the other hand. Finally they rolled a stretcher close and I got out of the way so the firefighters and paramedics could lift him. It was obviously still painful, as they had just barely given him the morphine, but they used about six guys and did their best to hold him steady and not jostle his knee too much. I was actually really impressed with all of them, but particularly Joe, who spoke authoritatively but calmly to X, explaining what was going on.
I walked toward the parking lot with them to say goodbye, and the vice principal stepped up and asked if I could ride with him. Someone had to. "Uh... yeah. Let me grab my stuff." I started to run back to my purse and keys, and he added, "Would you have a ride back?" Oh... no, I wouldn't really. He quickly asked another teacher, but while that was going on, X's dad arrived, and he got in the ambulance to go.
You know how sometimes scary stuff happens in slow motion with ultra-focus? It's odd -- the slow motion happened for me several minutes before the accident. (Incidentally, a few other students told me later that they had watched the video, and it looked like he had landed on his knee. He couldn't figure out what happened.) I was honestly just watching him, thinking about what a nice, good, pleasant, hard-working, well-rounded kid he is and how much I like him. I hope he's okay.
One of the first was a dance group. It's a large, co-ed group that splices several songs together for one long routine, and they do their best to make sure dancers of all abilities get at least a few moments of feature time. In fact, they incorporated one of the severely disabled students into their routine. One of my students, a very quiet, hard-working, respectful kid is in the group. We'll call him X. He's one of those kids that never fails to say hello in the hall. Some kids don't go out of their way, although frankly most of them like me, but he does, and always with a smile. Recently he has risen in the ranks of ROTC. As the dance went on, it became clear that he was one of the leaders of the group. You could see the other dancers checking his face, and you could see his subtle eyebrow raises that let them know their cues. He seemed genuinely happy, not just to be dancing himself, but for the others. He smiled and clapped for the other dancers as they took their turns in the spotlight.
Then he and a partner took the stage, and I was thinking, "I'm going to have to remind X next year that I'll write a college or scholarship letter for him." He is such a well-rounded kid, I knew I could give some brief anecdotes to show the colleges how deserving he was. His dance finished and he moved to the side of the stage area and fell down. The dance had been dramatic thus far, and I figured it was either choreographed or part of his exuberance that he would slide into home, as it were, after his performance. I noted that his partner hadn't done the same, and I watched him to see if there was more. First one student went to his side, then another. And then I realized something was wrong.
I ran over and, at risk of sounding bossy, took charge. "Okay guys, the recovery position is on his side. Maybe you can help him. X, can you roll over a bit?" He tried and exclaimed in pain. "Okay, we're not doing that. You're cool, X, just stay comfortable. You guys, back off and give him some room. Are you calling 9-1-1?" I hesitated a minute. "Okay, good."
It had taken a minute to determine, as X was pale, shaking, sweating, and breathing hard, but it wasn't something like a cardiac event... just an injury. A pretty bad one, but just an injury. Someone was trying to find his backpack to get his cell phone to call his parents, but it was taking a lot of time, and I decided, "fuck that." "X, do you know your mom's number by heart?" He did, but she didn't speak English, and I knew he couldn't talk very well at the moment. Plus, it's incredibly noisy in there. He suggested his uncle, so I left his side for a minute and asked the uncle to either come down or get a hold of his parents to get them to come to the school. We try hard not to transport a kid by ambulance if it's not an absolute necessity and if they're not insured (which many of our students aren't), because it's a bill many families cannot afford. So if there was any chance we could get an adult there before the paramedics, we wanted one.
The paramedics arrived quickly, and I was glad. I backed up to watch, but shortly it became clear that there was room for me at his side again. I asked the paramedic if it was okay, and it was. I asked X if he wanted me to hold his hand, and he did. I continued to as they cut his pant leg off, started an IV, gave him a shot of morphine, put some foam pads under his leg, and got his information. I have no idea what else was going on at the time. His knee was dislocated, which is an apt description -- it was in the wrong damn place. It appeared that his kneecap was over on the side of his leg, or perhaps the swelling made it look that way. At one point, he let go of my hand, and I started to pull away, but he was just stabilizing himself, and he reached out for me with the other hand. Finally they rolled a stretcher close and I got out of the way so the firefighters and paramedics could lift him. It was obviously still painful, as they had just barely given him the morphine, but they used about six guys and did their best to hold him steady and not jostle his knee too much. I was actually really impressed with all of them, but particularly Joe, who spoke authoritatively but calmly to X, explaining what was going on.
I walked toward the parking lot with them to say goodbye, and the vice principal stepped up and asked if I could ride with him. Someone had to. "Uh... yeah. Let me grab my stuff." I started to run back to my purse and keys, and he added, "Would you have a ride back?" Oh... no, I wouldn't really. He quickly asked another teacher, but while that was going on, X's dad arrived, and he got in the ambulance to go.
You know how sometimes scary stuff happens in slow motion with ultra-focus? It's odd -- the slow motion happened for me several minutes before the accident. (Incidentally, a few other students told me later that they had watched the video, and it looked like he had landed on his knee. He couldn't figure out what happened.) I was honestly just watching him, thinking about what a nice, good, pleasant, hard-working, well-rounded kid he is and how much I like him. I hope he's okay.
Friday, April 06, 2012
I love vacation days!
This week, we didn't do anything too extraordinary. On Monday, we did a lot of gardening. On Tuesday, we went to Berkeley to meet Monkeygirl, and we had pizza and gelato. On Wednesday, I mainly cleaned the house, as we had friends coming for dinner. Zadie also got a haircut. Thursday was a bake-a-thon. And today? I said we'd go to Effie Yeaw nature center, but Z's not even awake yet. I have a few things to do around here, but not much. I ordered and assembled a Trail-Gator, a bar that attaches Z's bike to mine so that it's like a big tandem bike, and we'll probably do some riding today. (Incidentally, I can put stuff together like a mofo, but when you tell me it's time to use "ratchet assembly C" or whatever, and there's not a single page in the instructions that labels the parts, it's not that damn useful. Might as well just have a picture that says "this guy right here.")
Here is some yesterday stuff.
Sticky rolls for Easter morning egg hunt with the neighbors.
Sugar cookies for the kids on Easter.
I always make these at Christmas, and for the last two years, I've made them at Easter, too. I started making them with lemon extract instead of vanilla for the Easter version, and though I love them the normal way, the lemon kind is growing on me.
I made dinner rolls for Easter as well.
And of course we dyed eggs!
Here is some yesterday stuff.
Sticky rolls for Easter morning egg hunt with the neighbors.
Sugar cookies for the kids on Easter.
I always make these at Christmas, and for the last two years, I've made them at Easter, too. I started making them with lemon extract instead of vanilla for the Easter version, and though I love them the normal way, the lemon kind is growing on me.
I made dinner rolls for Easter as well.
And of course we dyed eggs!
Monday, April 02, 2012
Happy birthday to me... again!
We have been waiting to take our annual Santa Cruz trip for a while so our schedules were a little freer. Of course, we've been really looking forward to it, but as the day approached, the weather reports were grim. Still, I love Santa Cruz and was looking forward to going. Sure, a little rain might mean no beach time, but there's still lots of great stuff to do. Of course, on Friday morning as we left, it was about 65 and sunny in Sacramento, and we were sure we were headed into a pouring rain.
We weren't. Santa Cruz was gorgeous. We dropped our things off in the hotel and went directly to Natural Bridges State Beach. We started by going down the trail to the butterfly migration stop, knowing that it was past migration time, yet still hopeful. Well, it wasn't as swarming with Monarchs as it sometimes is, but we saw a few, and it was a really lovely, clear day.
We then went into the visitor's center. (I know, the beach lust was killing me, but I also kind of like building up the suspense!) There, we found some beautiful posters, one of which Sweetie bought and I'll have framed. The ranger was really friendly and showed us around. She recommended a book to Sweetie that he bought, and I think it was a hit, as he kept reading me lines from it all evening.
Finally we went down to the beach. We ran in the surf just a bit (taking turns, as Zadie would NOT go near it -- she told us it freaked her out). We rolled down hills, buried her, watched someone fly a kite, and just enjoyed the sunshine.
We showered the sand off, then went to Saturn Cafe for dinner. We walked around downtown a bit and bought some things in the bookstore, then retired. Sweetie bought me two books for my birthday.
The next morning, we went to Cafe Brasil. I can hardly describe how much I love the dish gallo pinto. There's a rice pilaf with beans, warm tortillas, fried plantains (both sweetly ripe and starchily unripe), and scrambled eggs with a vinegar-y sauce. It's practically every flavor and texture, but they go so well together...
When we left, it was raining, so we grabbed coffees, then headed to Seymour Marine Research Center. It's such a great place for kids. It's like the Monterey Bay Aquarium writ small. It's cheaper, smaller, and requires very little attention span. Plus, it's crawling with helpful docents. I love their little gift shop, too, where I got two pieces of jewelry (one a birthday present from Sweetie).
(Zadie got a treat, too -- this is Bonny Lily Bogginsons, her new turtle.)
We then did some shopping downtown. The rain had cleared up, and it was nice again. We split up a bit so each of us could shop alone for a while. I found a great dress, some stationery, some socks, and I can't recall what-all else. Stickers, I think.
I wanted to stop by Bonny Doon winery's tasting room, which used to be a ways down the Cabrillo highway. I looked it up to check the hours, but as it happens, it had moved... to right around the corner from our hotel! We went there, and we found that there was a whole bunch of stuff -- a natural food store, a French bakery, a vintage clothes shop -- so after I did my tasting, we looked around a bit more. It was a bit of a funny feeling, because that area is right off the path I used to take when visiting friends and walking to the beach, yet it wasn't there when my friends lived there. It's a whole new bit of Santa Cruz that I know and they probably don't.
That evening, we stopped at Donnelly's chocolates, a place we hadn't noticed before, but that boasted that it was voted among the top ten chocolates in the world by National Geographic. Inside, the room was quite small and there were already three people crammed in. We peeked around as best we could and found dark chocolate with chipotle, Chinese five spice, rose, lavender, sea salt, and more. Reza bought nine of the fancy chocolate bars for me as a birthday present (and if you haven't noticed yet, I am miles beyond spoiled by this man).
We were next door to Vasili's, which is a Greek restaurant I like. I ordered too much -- we shared an appetizer as well as the vegetarian plate, so there was salad, tzaziki, dolmas, veggies, rice, feta... I had skordalia on the side, which is a garlicky potato dip. It was served with two warm, fresh pitas. It was starch dipped in starch. It made me think of the meme of Xzibit saying "Yo, dawg, I heard you like Facebook, so we put a Facebook in your Facebook so you can Facebook while you Facebook."
I am the only one who will get this.
Finally, we got Z and Sweetie both Slurpees, and we turned in. Sweetie would want me to mention that getting Z to bed was an absolute horrorshow both nights.
On Sunday morning, it was lovely again. We tried out the French bakery, and it was good. We only tried bread and coffee, but their other pastries looked good, and I'd love to try them sometime.
Honestly, I was feeling sad about leaving, and I wanted to see the ocean just once more. We went back to the beach, but there was a marathon or something blocking the road. We parked, but Sweetie was over it and decided to stay in the car. Z and I took a walk around the beach, but the tide was really high, so we didn't venture close to the water.
Finally, we hit the road.
We made it almost all the way home before I (really!) needed to pee. We were in Vacaville, and I (okay, fine) wanted to stop at the Nut Tree and see what it's like now. We used the restroom in Peet's, but then we checked out the kids' attractions, too. Obviously, it's not the Nut Tree that lives in my nostalgia, but it was fun anyway. I have really fond memories of that place, so it was nice to see some of the old stuff still there.
And then today, I used my birthday gift certificate to Green Acres to buy some more plants! We did some gardening, and now I've got yogurt... yogurting. It's been a lovely break so far.
We weren't. Santa Cruz was gorgeous. We dropped our things off in the hotel and went directly to Natural Bridges State Beach. We started by going down the trail to the butterfly migration stop, knowing that it was past migration time, yet still hopeful. Well, it wasn't as swarming with Monarchs as it sometimes is, but we saw a few, and it was a really lovely, clear day.
We then went into the visitor's center. (I know, the beach lust was killing me, but I also kind of like building up the suspense!) There, we found some beautiful posters, one of which Sweetie bought and I'll have framed. The ranger was really friendly and showed us around. She recommended a book to Sweetie that he bought, and I think it was a hit, as he kept reading me lines from it all evening.
Finally we went down to the beach. We ran in the surf just a bit (taking turns, as Zadie would NOT go near it -- she told us it freaked her out). We rolled down hills, buried her, watched someone fly a kite, and just enjoyed the sunshine.
We showered the sand off, then went to Saturn Cafe for dinner. We walked around downtown a bit and bought some things in the bookstore, then retired. Sweetie bought me two books for my birthday.
The next morning, we went to Cafe Brasil. I can hardly describe how much I love the dish gallo pinto. There's a rice pilaf with beans, warm tortillas, fried plantains (both sweetly ripe and starchily unripe), and scrambled eggs with a vinegar-y sauce. It's practically every flavor and texture, but they go so well together...
When we left, it was raining, so we grabbed coffees, then headed to Seymour Marine Research Center. It's such a great place for kids. It's like the Monterey Bay Aquarium writ small. It's cheaper, smaller, and requires very little attention span. Plus, it's crawling with helpful docents. I love their little gift shop, too, where I got two pieces of jewelry (one a birthday present from Sweetie).
(Zadie got a treat, too -- this is Bonny Lily Bogginsons, her new turtle.)
We then did some shopping downtown. The rain had cleared up, and it was nice again. We split up a bit so each of us could shop alone for a while. I found a great dress, some stationery, some socks, and I can't recall what-all else. Stickers, I think.
I wanted to stop by Bonny Doon winery's tasting room, which used to be a ways down the Cabrillo highway. I looked it up to check the hours, but as it happens, it had moved... to right around the corner from our hotel! We went there, and we found that there was a whole bunch of stuff -- a natural food store, a French bakery, a vintage clothes shop -- so after I did my tasting, we looked around a bit more. It was a bit of a funny feeling, because that area is right off the path I used to take when visiting friends and walking to the beach, yet it wasn't there when my friends lived there. It's a whole new bit of Santa Cruz that I know and they probably don't.
That evening, we stopped at Donnelly's chocolates, a place we hadn't noticed before, but that boasted that it was voted among the top ten chocolates in the world by National Geographic. Inside, the room was quite small and there were already three people crammed in. We peeked around as best we could and found dark chocolate with chipotle, Chinese five spice, rose, lavender, sea salt, and more. Reza bought nine of the fancy chocolate bars for me as a birthday present (and if you haven't noticed yet, I am miles beyond spoiled by this man).
We were next door to Vasili's, which is a Greek restaurant I like. I ordered too much -- we shared an appetizer as well as the vegetarian plate, so there was salad, tzaziki, dolmas, veggies, rice, feta... I had skordalia on the side, which is a garlicky potato dip. It was served with two warm, fresh pitas. It was starch dipped in starch. It made me think of the meme of Xzibit saying "Yo, dawg, I heard you like Facebook, so we put a Facebook in your Facebook so you can Facebook while you Facebook."
I am the only one who will get this.
Finally, we got Z and Sweetie both Slurpees, and we turned in. Sweetie would want me to mention that getting Z to bed was an absolute horrorshow both nights.
On Sunday morning, it was lovely again. We tried out the French bakery, and it was good. We only tried bread and coffee, but their other pastries looked good, and I'd love to try them sometime.
Honestly, I was feeling sad about leaving, and I wanted to see the ocean just once more. We went back to the beach, but there was a marathon or something blocking the road. We parked, but Sweetie was over it and decided to stay in the car. Z and I took a walk around the beach, but the tide was really high, so we didn't venture close to the water.
Finally, we hit the road.
We made it almost all the way home before I (really!) needed to pee. We were in Vacaville, and I (okay, fine) wanted to stop at the Nut Tree and see what it's like now. We used the restroom in Peet's, but then we checked out the kids' attractions, too. Obviously, it's not the Nut Tree that lives in my nostalgia, but it was fun anyway. I have really fond memories of that place, so it was nice to see some of the old stuff still there.
And then today, I used my birthday gift certificate to Green Acres to buy some more plants! We did some gardening, and now I've got yogurt... yogurting. It's been a lovely break so far.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
February comes to a close.
Well, it's the end of February, and I've managed to keep myself as busy as ever. Z will be four in a month, which is amazing. Four seems like, oh, not my baby, not my toddler, but a complete little person. But she's a really interesting person and I'm glad to know her.
We've added a few chores to her repertoire -- she now takes her laundry basket to the laundry room and picks up the things in her room, mostly shoes and books. She does them pretty happily; this weekend she did the laundry before I asked.
She really talks in a sophisticated fashion. She's always peppering her conversation with little phrases like, "Well, for instance," and "I'll bet," and "I suppose." She sounds like a teeny adult a lot of the time.
One big difference between her and me when I was little was reading. I wanted to read, by myself, a lot. I could read already and I did. She can't (although she's getting there), but she LOVES being read to, and she wants to read books that are way advanced for her age. She finished the first Harry Potter and is now on Matilda. She's also expressed interest in A Wrinkle in Time and The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. It's funny, because I forget how many stories are about caregivers (often parents) who are mean, abusive, absent, or otherwise terrible. She wanted me to read to her from Huck Finn today, which I was reading, and it was all about Huck's Pa drinking himself into a stupor and complaining about the "govment."
She just eats it up, though. Funny girl. I'm trying to figure out the line of what I do and don't want her exposed to just yet. In Harry Potter, I guess I'm okay with the idea of evil, but I am not that fond of how often they use the word "idiot." She's already asked about that and "shut up," which appears in Matilda.
We've talked her into a "put a bird on it" birthday, and I just ordered photos to use as the invitations. I'm excited.
She outgrew her bookshelves. They were little Ikea ones with pressboard that rested on pegs, and one day she tried to shove just one more book on the top shelf and it collapsed onto the second shelf, which collapsed onto the third. I decided to get her sturdier ones, so we went to Ikea last week, and I assembled them yesterday.
Before: (also before cleaning up)
After:
Even though there's more shelf space, once we brought in some books from the living room and put some toys on there, every inch is taken up again. At least I am not worried about these collapsing.
Last weekend we also went to Toys R Us. As part of an ongoing sneaky campaign to get her to learn about money, we give her an allowance, then occasionally take her to spend some of her money with a parental price-matching scheme. She had $20, and we encouraged her to save half, so she could spend up to $20 total. She wanted a number of things, especially a $19.95 fashion coloring thing that I thought would be frustrating (you had to be able to trace well), and I finally pointed out that she could get only the tracing thing or three other things -- a pink wig, a Barbie flashlight, and something that slips my mind now. She went for three things, and here is the video of her using two.
In other news, our little homestead is doing alright. We're not that apartment-dweller who manages to come up with six bushels of tomatoes grown vertically on his balcony or whatever, but we're making progress.
Here's lavender and rainbow chard.
Our lemon tree is flourishing after last year's pruning.
Our raspberry is showing signs of life.
And spreading, and I believe that's arugula that I planted last fall!
The blueberry looked pretty touch and go this winter, but it is coming back to life, too!
Our strawberries were so lovely to have last year that I think I'm going to plant about a billion more.
The parsley and chives overwintered.
We harvested the first peas yesterday.
And our very next project on the long list is filling this with dirt and herbs.
I believe that about covers it. Take care, all!
We've added a few chores to her repertoire -- she now takes her laundry basket to the laundry room and picks up the things in her room, mostly shoes and books. She does them pretty happily; this weekend she did the laundry before I asked.
She really talks in a sophisticated fashion. She's always peppering her conversation with little phrases like, "Well, for instance," and "I'll bet," and "I suppose." She sounds like a teeny adult a lot of the time.
One big difference between her and me when I was little was reading. I wanted to read, by myself, a lot. I could read already and I did. She can't (although she's getting there), but she LOVES being read to, and she wants to read books that are way advanced for her age. She finished the first Harry Potter and is now on Matilda. She's also expressed interest in A Wrinkle in Time and The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. It's funny, because I forget how many stories are about caregivers (often parents) who are mean, abusive, absent, or otherwise terrible. She wanted me to read to her from Huck Finn today, which I was reading, and it was all about Huck's Pa drinking himself into a stupor and complaining about the "govment."
She just eats it up, though. Funny girl. I'm trying to figure out the line of what I do and don't want her exposed to just yet. In Harry Potter, I guess I'm okay with the idea of evil, but I am not that fond of how often they use the word "idiot." She's already asked about that and "shut up," which appears in Matilda.
We've talked her into a "put a bird on it" birthday, and I just ordered photos to use as the invitations. I'm excited.
She outgrew her bookshelves. They were little Ikea ones with pressboard that rested on pegs, and one day she tried to shove just one more book on the top shelf and it collapsed onto the second shelf, which collapsed onto the third. I decided to get her sturdier ones, so we went to Ikea last week, and I assembled them yesterday.
Before: (also before cleaning up)
After:
Even though there's more shelf space, once we brought in some books from the living room and put some toys on there, every inch is taken up again. At least I am not worried about these collapsing.
Last weekend we also went to Toys R Us. As part of an ongoing sneaky campaign to get her to learn about money, we give her an allowance, then occasionally take her to spend some of her money with a parental price-matching scheme. She had $20, and we encouraged her to save half, so she could spend up to $20 total. She wanted a number of things, especially a $19.95 fashion coloring thing that I thought would be frustrating (you had to be able to trace well), and I finally pointed out that she could get only the tracing thing or three other things -- a pink wig, a Barbie flashlight, and something that slips my mind now. She went for three things, and here is the video of her using two.
In other news, our little homestead is doing alright. We're not that apartment-dweller who manages to come up with six bushels of tomatoes grown vertically on his balcony or whatever, but we're making progress.
Here's lavender and rainbow chard.
Our lemon tree is flourishing after last year's pruning.
Our raspberry is showing signs of life.
And spreading, and I believe that's arugula that I planted last fall!
The blueberry looked pretty touch and go this winter, but it is coming back to life, too!
Our strawberries were so lovely to have last year that I think I'm going to plant about a billion more.
The parsley and chives overwintered.
We harvested the first peas yesterday.
And our very next project on the long list is filling this with dirt and herbs.
I believe that about covers it. Take care, all!
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
The saga of the house
So, as it turns out, that other house sold already. But I had come to the realization that, if we ever wanted to, uh, expand, we were going to need a bigger house. So I was looking at our place critically and thinking about what needed to happen. New counters in the kitchen, probably, which was a bummer because the materials I had been considering probably wouldn't appeal to buyers. We'd have to cover up all our lovely paint colors, including the room we did just last summer. The yard needed work -- it was perfect for our budding eco-friendly urban homestead, but most people would want a lawn. We'd have to rip out the decomposed granite and the planter beds and put down sod. And the bathroom... We were planning already on doing some things, but we'd have to do more. Could I paint over the pen marks on the doorframe of Zadie's room showing her height? No. If those assholes wanted to do it, they'd have to do it themselves!
In retrospect, the moment I started thinking of the potential new owners of my home as "those assholes" should have been a clue that I didn't really want to give up this house.
When I bought my first house, my gut feeling that told me to buy it was something like, "This will do." But when I walked into this house, my first thought was, "home." I love this house, and I love the neighborhood, and I love the neighbors. In fact, I spend more social time with my neighbors than I do with any of my friends. They're among the few people I hadn't mentioned thoughts of moving to, because I had no idea how I could tell them.
A realtor came by last Monday. He's the guy who helped us buy this house, and I've always trusted him. I run into him sometimes and he always remembers me, asks about our family, etc. Nice guy, and he knows the market. I wanted him to tell me what we needed to do most to the house in the next couple years to make it more marketable. (We couldn't sell it now, because we're underwater.)
But he looked around, made a few suggestions for making it more marketable, and then sort of changed his tune. "Of course, if you wanted to stay here, you could get a lot more usable dining room area if you just popped out this wall. And... does the garage meet up here on the outside? You could extend this half bath into the garage, add a shower, and have two bathrooms. And if your husband needs a man-cave, but you need another bedroom too, you could hook up the laundry in the garage and turn this laundry room into a little cave. There's even a door to close it off. And of course, you could convert part of the garage into office space..." He had a lot of ways of looking at my house that I'd never considered. "I say, if you love this house and this neighborhood and you can make it work, you should try to stay here." We talked a little more, and on the way out, I thanked him. "You know, this is the first time I've ever had a realtor try to talk me OUT of buying a new house." "You just have to maintain trust."
And he drove off, and the proverbial weight was of my shoulders. We COULD stay! We could close off a door and have more space in one area. We could do the bathroom thing. He mentioned that if we actually did expand the dining room, we'd lose a window in the kitchen, so we'd probably have to remove a cabinet to get some more light. But then we could add more cabinets over here... and then I'd have the kitchen space I'd been wanting. Sweetie didn't like the idea of the man-cave, so I'm already decorating it in my head as a mom-cave! A desk! Storage for my fabrics and yarn and crafty stuff! We could use the materials we want without worrying about who would or wouldn't like it. We could keep expanding on the edible garden -- hell, we could add grapes and more berries!
It was like the sun came out on a cloudy day. I don't know why I couldn't see the things he saw. I know I'm not particularly spatially oriented, so it was so interesting to see someone who is thinking about my space. And I'm not saying we'll take every suggestion or in just the way he suggested. I'm going to call up a contractor and ask for some of his ideas, share some of the ideas the realtor had, and start making a (long-term) plan for some of those changes. Some of them may not be made at all -- There's a better-than-average chance Sweetie will never need a different office space. But there are a lot of ways to make this place work for us, and I am so happy for being able to see that now. In fact, I'm re-energized in terms of getting this place in shape for US.
Well, I meant to be brief, and I wasn't. I meant to save room for some Zadie pictures, and I haven't. I have to get to bed. But take care, y'all, and thanks for listening.
In retrospect, the moment I started thinking of the potential new owners of my home as "those assholes" should have been a clue that I didn't really want to give up this house.
When I bought my first house, my gut feeling that told me to buy it was something like, "This will do." But when I walked into this house, my first thought was, "home." I love this house, and I love the neighborhood, and I love the neighbors. In fact, I spend more social time with my neighbors than I do with any of my friends. They're among the few people I hadn't mentioned thoughts of moving to, because I had no idea how I could tell them.
A realtor came by last Monday. He's the guy who helped us buy this house, and I've always trusted him. I run into him sometimes and he always remembers me, asks about our family, etc. Nice guy, and he knows the market. I wanted him to tell me what we needed to do most to the house in the next couple years to make it more marketable. (We couldn't sell it now, because we're underwater.)
But he looked around, made a few suggestions for making it more marketable, and then sort of changed his tune. "Of course, if you wanted to stay here, you could get a lot more usable dining room area if you just popped out this wall. And... does the garage meet up here on the outside? You could extend this half bath into the garage, add a shower, and have two bathrooms. And if your husband needs a man-cave, but you need another bedroom too, you could hook up the laundry in the garage and turn this laundry room into a little cave. There's even a door to close it off. And of course, you could convert part of the garage into office space..." He had a lot of ways of looking at my house that I'd never considered. "I say, if you love this house and this neighborhood and you can make it work, you should try to stay here." We talked a little more, and on the way out, I thanked him. "You know, this is the first time I've ever had a realtor try to talk me OUT of buying a new house." "You just have to maintain trust."
And he drove off, and the proverbial weight was of my shoulders. We COULD stay! We could close off a door and have more space in one area. We could do the bathroom thing. He mentioned that if we actually did expand the dining room, we'd lose a window in the kitchen, so we'd probably have to remove a cabinet to get some more light. But then we could add more cabinets over here... and then I'd have the kitchen space I'd been wanting. Sweetie didn't like the idea of the man-cave, so I'm already decorating it in my head as a mom-cave! A desk! Storage for my fabrics and yarn and crafty stuff! We could use the materials we want without worrying about who would or wouldn't like it. We could keep expanding on the edible garden -- hell, we could add grapes and more berries!
It was like the sun came out on a cloudy day. I don't know why I couldn't see the things he saw. I know I'm not particularly spatially oriented, so it was so interesting to see someone who is thinking about my space. And I'm not saying we'll take every suggestion or in just the way he suggested. I'm going to call up a contractor and ask for some of his ideas, share some of the ideas the realtor had, and start making a (long-term) plan for some of those changes. Some of them may not be made at all -- There's a better-than-average chance Sweetie will never need a different office space. But there are a lot of ways to make this place work for us, and I am so happy for being able to see that now. In fact, I'm re-energized in terms of getting this place in shape for US.
Well, I meant to be brief, and I wasn't. I meant to save room for some Zadie pictures, and I haven't. I have to get to bed. But take care, y'all, and thanks for listening.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Being a teacher
A little over a week ago, a former student posted on my Facebook wall that she was glad I had taught them about magical realism -- she was the only student in her college class who didn't look confused.
On Monday, a different student commented with a similar sentiment -- she found my web site so helpful that she was still using it to write college essays.
On Wednesday, I got in the middle of a fight between gigantic football players. It turned into somewhat of a brawl, with other kids jumping in every time we got one or two kids under control. It finally got settled, but left me with my heart racing and a minor bruise. And of course, the kids in the period immediately following found it very difficult to settle down and get back to learning.
The same day, I had to write a kid a referral because he just would not shut up and let me teach. It was my first of the year, because I can usually handle shit myself, but he went into it knowing where he intended it to head, and there was a point at which i had no choice but to send him out. It pissed me off, though. And I was already pissed at him because I'd planned a lesson specifically designed to help kids pass the exit exam. In my other class, there are 6 kids who have yet to pass, but in that class, it was just him. I was trying to help him personally, and he could give a rat's ass.
On Thursday, the principal stopped me to ask if I was okay after the incident the day before. I was in the middle of answering when we actually heard another fight start around the corner. We both jumped in and grabbed a girl each, but they were hard to get apart because one had a handful of the other's hair. There have actually been four fights in the last two days.
I posted about it on Facebook, because it was personally on my mind, but ever since, I rather wished I hadn't. My school has a largely undeserved bad reputation, and I always try to speak of it in positive terms in public.
Yesterday after school, we had a department meeting in which one of my colleagues argued passionately against adding more books that marginalized our students of color. I was so proud of her for speaking her mind. Of course, at the same meeting we were informed that we should be discussing ways to address the achievement gap for African-American males at our school. I asked, knowing full well the answer, whether that was the same achievement gap they were having all around the nation. The answer was affirmative, and I said sweetly, "Well good, I hope we can solve that, then."
Friday I had a lot to do, and I needed to make copies. (English teachers at my school have to copy 30 page packets for every student every 3-4 weeks. It's a lot of copies.) We have to use these things called Rizograph machines, because it's too much of a load for regular copiers. I replaced one master roll, rewound one other master roll twice, peeled off and threw away two masters, replaced one ink cartridge, and dealt with two error messages, and ended up using a machine that SAID it was on auto-process, but really wasn't, so I kept having to stop it so it would make a new master. It took my whole prep, so I stayed an hour after school to get the rest of my work done.
That morning, just before school, a student asked, "Do you remember that letter you wrote for me for the scholarship?" I said sure, thinking perhaps she needed another copy. No; she wanted to tell me she'd gotten the scholarship. I risk losing cool points by admitting that I pumped both fists in the air and my feet flew off the ground.
I don't think all these things have anything in common other than that teaching is a very different job than some other jobs. I know there are others with great rewards and with great risks and frustrations, but it feels like a unique endeavor sometimes. I guess that's why it hurts my feelings so much when newspaper commenters insult us. They could never understand.
On Monday, a different student commented with a similar sentiment -- she found my web site so helpful that she was still using it to write college essays.
On Wednesday, I got in the middle of a fight between gigantic football players. It turned into somewhat of a brawl, with other kids jumping in every time we got one or two kids under control. It finally got settled, but left me with my heart racing and a minor bruise. And of course, the kids in the period immediately following found it very difficult to settle down and get back to learning.
The same day, I had to write a kid a referral because he just would not shut up and let me teach. It was my first of the year, because I can usually handle shit myself, but he went into it knowing where he intended it to head, and there was a point at which i had no choice but to send him out. It pissed me off, though. And I was already pissed at him because I'd planned a lesson specifically designed to help kids pass the exit exam. In my other class, there are 6 kids who have yet to pass, but in that class, it was just him. I was trying to help him personally, and he could give a rat's ass.
On Thursday, the principal stopped me to ask if I was okay after the incident the day before. I was in the middle of answering when we actually heard another fight start around the corner. We both jumped in and grabbed a girl each, but they were hard to get apart because one had a handful of the other's hair. There have actually been four fights in the last two days.
I posted about it on Facebook, because it was personally on my mind, but ever since, I rather wished I hadn't. My school has a largely undeserved bad reputation, and I always try to speak of it in positive terms in public.
Yesterday after school, we had a department meeting in which one of my colleagues argued passionately against adding more books that marginalized our students of color. I was so proud of her for speaking her mind. Of course, at the same meeting we were informed that we should be discussing ways to address the achievement gap for African-American males at our school. I asked, knowing full well the answer, whether that was the same achievement gap they were having all around the nation. The answer was affirmative, and I said sweetly, "Well good, I hope we can solve that, then."
Friday I had a lot to do, and I needed to make copies. (English teachers at my school have to copy 30 page packets for every student every 3-4 weeks. It's a lot of copies.) We have to use these things called Rizograph machines, because it's too much of a load for regular copiers. I replaced one master roll, rewound one other master roll twice, peeled off and threw away two masters, replaced one ink cartridge, and dealt with two error messages, and ended up using a machine that SAID it was on auto-process, but really wasn't, so I kept having to stop it so it would make a new master. It took my whole prep, so I stayed an hour after school to get the rest of my work done.
That morning, just before school, a student asked, "Do you remember that letter you wrote for me for the scholarship?" I said sure, thinking perhaps she needed another copy. No; she wanted to tell me she'd gotten the scholarship. I risk losing cool points by admitting that I pumped both fists in the air and my feet flew off the ground.
I don't think all these things have anything in common other than that teaching is a very different job than some other jobs. I know there are others with great rewards and with great risks and frustrations, but it feels like a unique endeavor sometimes. I guess that's why it hurts my feelings so much when newspaper commenters insult us. They could never understand.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
January's at an end...
IMG_4641
Originally uploaded by Mrs. Piggs
Well, lots going on as usual. We've still been doing stuff to the house, although at a less-frantic pace. The other house got sold. In this market, we're pretty unlikely to sell this one now, although we are having the realtor come visit on Monday and hopefully he can make some suggestions about getting our place more marketable for the future.
I haven't been writing much or making music much, but I have been working out every day, catching up on some media, and doing some planning and grading for school. I like being creative best, but I can't berate myself for taking care of other areas of my life.
Zadie is incredible, as always. Her stories are becoming so detailed and include dialogue, transitions, and interesting details. Today one of them started, "On a dark and gloomy day..." I also heard her talking to herself, and she was narrating like "Oh, will you come to my house? But there was no answer." She can be a particular pain in the ass, too. I mean, the other day we had one of those parenting nightmare scenarios that you hear about, but you hope only even happens to other people. I won't go into it, but her room still smells like 409.
And she and her dad have similar personalities in some ways that mean they clash a lot. Neither one will give in. Neither will let anything go. So when they have fun together, they have a LOT of fun, but when they aren't doing so well, I try to just keep them apart. Today was one of those days. I left the house for two hours to go to my writers group, and when I came home, I realized I needed to keep Z out of R's path for a while. But we both deserve time to ourselves, and I try to make sure he gets his, so I need to take mine, too, regardless of how much they both sometimes hate it.
And to be honest, she can be a mean little cuss who knows JUST how to say hurtful things, and if she doesn't get you the first time, she'll keep trying until she does. Sometimes it actually quite worries me. The other day she told me to drive her to the store so she could buy a gun to shoot me. I don't even remember what it was over -- asking her to put a book away or something. I'm hoping she's just trying stuff out and not actually a budding psychopath.
I supposed that's the bulk of what's going on. February should be fun because I'm taking one Monday off to go to preschool and then we have two more Mondays off for holidays! Whee!
Hope you're all well. --CM
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Sooo...
It's been pretty busy around work. Assessments are next week, plus every senior is applying to schools and scholarships, and I have been dutifully writing their recommendation letters. It's actually one of the most rewarding parts of my job -- it's extra, and it takes a lot of time, but it has the potential to help them so much. Of course, that means I'm kind of behind on grading the other kids' work and whatnot. Mostly they seem to understand (and I'll have to get it done pretty soon anyway, as grades are due in two weeks).
Something funny happened about two weeks ago. I looked at the back of the East Sac News, as I often do, because I like to read about houses and look at the pictures (it's always a real estate ad). One had the header "Room to Roam." Man, room was exactly what we needed. I glanced a little wistfully at the rest of the description -- 5/6 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, a pool, a few blocks from McKinley Park... Ah, to dream. But wait, what's that last line? $369,000? Shut. Up. I called the realtor and asked what was wrong with the place. What is wrong is that it's really, really dated. Most people want to move in to the McKinley park neighborhood and have granite countertops, and this place has laminate. People love hardwood floors, and if this place has them, they're under 60s shag carpeting.
I went to see it, just on a whim mostly, and talked to the realtor, whom I trust. He said that the market has changed enough in the last six months that our house would be unlikely to sell for more than something in the low $300k area. He did say, however, that the residents were not in a hurry, so maybe some things could change. They were elderly and looking for a smaller place. "They wouldn't want to swap, would they?" I asked with a laugh. But when I went home, I thought maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, and I emailed the realtor again. He's looking into the feasibility of the idea. It's about a 1% chance, but it's an interesting idea.
In the meantime, we had some serious conversations about future plans and needing more space and just exactly what we'd do with that space, and it seems as though we are likely to try to sell and find a bigger place within the next five years or so.
With both those ideas in mind, I've been looking at our house with a critical eye, and there's a LOT I've been ignoring. Deferred maintenance. I've given a few rooms a deep cleaning, hired a housekeeper to come in once for a thorough cleaning, did some de-cluttering, some paint touch-ups... I painted the front door inside and out, re-painted the front rails and a column, repaired a mess-ed up spot right by our mailbox, repainted some of the siding, and painted the garage door and the trim around it. I also took out a couple dead plants and bought new ones to replace them, but I haven't planted them yet. I also have paint to do some more interior painting. The kitchen has needed it for quite a while.
And while I've been doing all this, it kind of became more about living with the place looking nice than about what other people would think of it. The garage door, for example. When we moved in, the paint job was just awful. It looked like someone had quickly painted it to cover something else and done only one coat. In fact, here is a detail shot:
So when I painted it, it was one of those things where you go, "Are you kidding me? That cost $35 and a couple hours of my life and I got THAT much improvement out of it? Why haven't I dont this before?!"
So anyway, yes, it has been nice to get some things done to the house, no matter for what purpose.
Just a few other things. Friday was my birthday, and I'm now 36. And I... kind of don't care. I mean, I enjoyed a lovely birthday dinner with my family, my mom and Boompah gave me great presents (as did my husband), we still have a Santa Cruz trip to plan, and all told, I don't feel any older or weaker or more decrepit. I admit to being vain, and I don't particularly want to look "old," so it was also a nice boost to, on the actual day of my birthday, run into someone I hadn't seen in years and have her tell me spontaneously that I hadn't aged a day.
Despite my having abandoned my cooking blog again, I have been making interesting stuff (last night's dinner excepted).
Here is something I wrote in 2004 on this very blog: "Beets. I really disklike beets, actually. People always seem to put them in our communal salads at work, and I try not to get them. They're weird and wet and taste like soil. And I'm not one of those people who are obsessive about food not touching, but I'm not jubilant about it either, and whereas if most things touch, you can kind of quietly separate them and forget it, beets leave an indelible flourescent pink stain on whatever they've touched, and usually leak a hot pink puddle around the plate, too. Bleh."
Well guess what? I've had a change of heart about beets. A friend was bringing them to work, and instead of bringing canned beets, which is what I've mostly had, she was roasting fresh ones, and people were raving about them, so I tried them. And they were quite good. I got in the habit of taking some every time she brought them, sometimes even getting seconds. I ordered a beet salad or two while out at a restaurant. And now I've started making them for myself. My newest creation is "Not yo' mama's pickled beets." I've been pickling, and it's a lot of fun and pretty easy, so I decided to make pickled beets. Pretty much every recipe I found, though, called for a lot of cookie-type spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, etc.) and a bunch of sugar. Well, I remember those kinds of beets from my childhood, and I don't like them much. So I made up my own recipe. I threw just a little sugar in the pickling mix (vinegar and water and salt), then added just about 20 dried chiles de arbol to the mix (and I put them in the jars, too). I baked the beets first, cut them into french fry-size sticks, and pickled them. I know they'll probably be best after a week, so I won't open them yet, but I tried one before it got jarred, and it tasted pretty good.
I guess that's about all for now. Z's getting bigger and funnier and hungrier and more verbal all the time. (And for this kid, "more verbal" means playing word games, writing song lyrics, and using idiomatic expressions like a pro.)
Something funny happened about two weeks ago. I looked at the back of the East Sac News, as I often do, because I like to read about houses and look at the pictures (it's always a real estate ad). One had the header "Room to Roam." Man, room was exactly what we needed. I glanced a little wistfully at the rest of the description -- 5/6 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, a pool, a few blocks from McKinley Park... Ah, to dream. But wait, what's that last line? $369,000? Shut. Up. I called the realtor and asked what was wrong with the place. What is wrong is that it's really, really dated. Most people want to move in to the McKinley park neighborhood and have granite countertops, and this place has laminate. People love hardwood floors, and if this place has them, they're under 60s shag carpeting.
I went to see it, just on a whim mostly, and talked to the realtor, whom I trust. He said that the market has changed enough in the last six months that our house would be unlikely to sell for more than something in the low $300k area. He did say, however, that the residents were not in a hurry, so maybe some things could change. They were elderly and looking for a smaller place. "They wouldn't want to swap, would they?" I asked with a laugh. But when I went home, I thought maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, and I emailed the realtor again. He's looking into the feasibility of the idea. It's about a 1% chance, but it's an interesting idea.
In the meantime, we had some serious conversations about future plans and needing more space and just exactly what we'd do with that space, and it seems as though we are likely to try to sell and find a bigger place within the next five years or so.
With both those ideas in mind, I've been looking at our house with a critical eye, and there's a LOT I've been ignoring. Deferred maintenance. I've given a few rooms a deep cleaning, hired a housekeeper to come in once for a thorough cleaning, did some de-cluttering, some paint touch-ups... I painted the front door inside and out, re-painted the front rails and a column, repaired a mess-ed up spot right by our mailbox, repainted some of the siding, and painted the garage door and the trim around it. I also took out a couple dead plants and bought new ones to replace them, but I haven't planted them yet. I also have paint to do some more interior painting. The kitchen has needed it for quite a while.
And while I've been doing all this, it kind of became more about living with the place looking nice than about what other people would think of it. The garage door, for example. When we moved in, the paint job was just awful. It looked like someone had quickly painted it to cover something else and done only one coat. In fact, here is a detail shot:
So when I painted it, it was one of those things where you go, "Are you kidding me? That cost $35 and a couple hours of my life and I got THAT much improvement out of it? Why haven't I dont this before?!"
So anyway, yes, it has been nice to get some things done to the house, no matter for what purpose.
Just a few other things. Friday was my birthday, and I'm now 36. And I... kind of don't care. I mean, I enjoyed a lovely birthday dinner with my family, my mom and Boompah gave me great presents (as did my husband), we still have a Santa Cruz trip to plan, and all told, I don't feel any older or weaker or more decrepit. I admit to being vain, and I don't particularly want to look "old," so it was also a nice boost to, on the actual day of my birthday, run into someone I hadn't seen in years and have her tell me spontaneously that I hadn't aged a day.
Despite my having abandoned my cooking blog again, I have been making interesting stuff (last night's dinner excepted).
Here is something I wrote in 2004 on this very blog: "Beets. I really disklike beets, actually. People always seem to put them in our communal salads at work, and I try not to get them. They're weird and wet and taste like soil. And I'm not one of those people who are obsessive about food not touching, but I'm not jubilant about it either, and whereas if most things touch, you can kind of quietly separate them and forget it, beets leave an indelible flourescent pink stain on whatever they've touched, and usually leak a hot pink puddle around the plate, too. Bleh."
Well guess what? I've had a change of heart about beets. A friend was bringing them to work, and instead of bringing canned beets, which is what I've mostly had, she was roasting fresh ones, and people were raving about them, so I tried them. And they were quite good. I got in the habit of taking some every time she brought them, sometimes even getting seconds. I ordered a beet salad or two while out at a restaurant. And now I've started making them for myself. My newest creation is "Not yo' mama's pickled beets." I've been pickling, and it's a lot of fun and pretty easy, so I decided to make pickled beets. Pretty much every recipe I found, though, called for a lot of cookie-type spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, etc.) and a bunch of sugar. Well, I remember those kinds of beets from my childhood, and I don't like them much. So I made up my own recipe. I threw just a little sugar in the pickling mix (vinegar and water and salt), then added just about 20 dried chiles de arbol to the mix (and I put them in the jars, too). I baked the beets first, cut them into french fry-size sticks, and pickled them. I know they'll probably be best after a week, so I won't open them yet, but I tried one before it got jarred, and it tasted pretty good.
I guess that's about all for now. Z's getting bigger and funnier and hungrier and more verbal all the time. (And for this kid, "more verbal" means playing word games, writing song lyrics, and using idiomatic expressions like a pro.)
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Year in review
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
I love, I love, I love my little calendar girl every day, every day of the year.
Happy 2012, all.
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
I love, I love, I love my little calendar girl every day, every day of the year.
Happy 2012, all.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Parenting stuff
Well, the blog is a bit dusty, isn't it? It seems I have a little more free time (we've been getting Z to bed by 8:20 most nights), yet I've been using it in different ways. Lately it's been a lot of crafting, baking, candy-making, present-wrapping, and that sort of Christmas stuff. In November it was NaNoWriMo (and yes, I did finish 50,000 words!). Plus, as my friend Suzanne recently mused, it's so easy to just share something quickly on Facebook...
But I want to keep this up, and to catch you up a bit.
Z is charming, funny, smart, sweet, and stubborn as a mule. She can also be a little dramatic and emotional. For example, one day this week, she burst into tears because I didn't feed her oatmeal. The next day, she burst into tears because I did. It's not a constant sob-fest around here, though. Those episodes are rare.
I don't know if I even wrote about it at the time, but when Z was around 2, I started worrying/wondering whether she had some sensory issues. She fit the profile -- hyper-kinetic, unwilling to wear certain kinds of clothing, kicks the blankets off -- but we just worked around it, and it sort of slipped from my mind. Recently, we've been dealing with a lot of touching issues. Not inappropriate stuff; she just wants to hug everyone, put her arms around them, sit so close to others that they're touching... And some of the kids in pre-school are fine with that, but I think some find it off-putting. So there have been some talks in the pre-school class about personal space (and there've been a lot of talks at home about personal space). It's kind of funny -- I think personal space is a perfectly normal thing to talk to a kid about, but if we're out in public and she needs a reminder, I'll say "personal space, Zade!" and some adult nearby is almost sure to laugh. I don't get it.
Anyway, recently at school, one of the teachers was talking about how if you turn around with your arms out, that's your bubble, and lots of people don't want you to be in their bubble. Apparently Zadie announced, "I want EVERYONE to pop MY bubble!" And that's just about the truth -- she really does.
Then I was at ballet, and she was in there hugging children while they were trying to dance, and I gave the old hand-to-the-forehead gesture out there in the hall, and one of the other moms sympathized. But then what was interesting was that she told me her older son had been the same way -- always had to cuddle, sit right on you, hug people, sleep with them, and he seemed really unaware of his and others' personal space. She was telling me that sometimes she wrapped him like a burrito in a blanket and told him he was a caterpillar and had to wiggle out. She also pulled gently on his fingers and toes and his joints to give him a sense of his body and where it ended. It sounds so weird, but that burrito thing is actually exactly like a technique I read about for kids with sensory issues. It made me wonder if the finger-pulling thing was potentially related.
I tried it that night as we snuggled before bed. I was only on the second finger when she sighed and announced dreamily, "That feels GOOD." None of that is particularly conclusive about anything, but it does make me think that she does have some mild sensory issues, and they just changed the way they presented themselves. And that's okay. We'll work around that.
Another thing we're working around is the sleep issue. We had a nice long stretch of Z sleeping in her own bed. Then about two weeks ago, she was sick. We had established that she could sleep in our bed only one night a week, Thursdays, unless she was sick. Well, when she was sick, she slept in there every night, and now we can't get her out again. Honestly, I'm not trying too hard. Yes, it's disruptive and uncomfortable, but if she needs it for a while, she needs it. Plus, letting her crawl in and crash out does allow me to fall back asleep a lot faster than arguing with her about staying in her bed, waiting for her to fall asleep and then picking her up and carrying her back, or laying in her tiny bed until she falls asleep and then sneaking out.
Plus, as a parent, I'm trying to not be so problem-solution oriented. (I think some of you at this point might note that I'm a Capricorn.) I have a tendency to be like, "Here is an issue! Let me brainstorm. Aha! Here is the plan in roman numeral outline form." And I'm learning, however slowly, that raising kids isn't really like that. A lot of raising kids seems to be waiting stuff out. And there are phases and backslides and progress and ups and downs, and it's all okay.
One thing that's been slow and long-term but also is showing signs of working is the family meeting. I read about it in the book Positive Discipline, and the author suggested that if a kid is old enough to sit in circle time at pre-school, they're old enough for meetings.
We sing a little song, open our hands like a book and announce "family meeting is now open." We give each other "compliments and appreciations," then read last week's minutes. Then we all bring our agenda items to the table and talk about them. Then we close the meeting.
The first couple times, Z was really restless and disengaged. But over the course of several meetings, she has gotten into it, rarely gets up from the couch, and she likes to do the opening and closing gestures. Her original agenda item was "bouncing." But last meeting she announced that she was going to try not to run away from us anymore.
Running away had been an agenda item from the week before, and as far as I can tell, it worked. We didn't have any running issues that week. When we started the meetings, they were a lot like that. "Thanksgiving is coming up, so my agenda item is that I'd like us all to use our best table manners." They were sort of behavior-directed, and sometimes I think we came off a little heavy-handed. But as of this week's meeting, we had a lot of positive things to say, and one of my agenda items was that I hoped we could all be a team during the next few stressful days. For example, if Mommy got a little high-pitched with the "Come on! Let's go! We're supposed to be there at 7! Where are your shoes?" stuff, that hopefully Daddy and Zadie could remind me to chill out.
One interesting development lately has been that she's making a lot more sense all the time. When kids are very small, there seems to be little separation between reality and fantasy, and sometimes whole conversations are abstract, stream-of-consciousness fantasy things. And you get used to it. You start absently saying "Dog on the moon? Sure. Oh, the princess had a fire extinguisher. Yes..." And suddenly Zadie is very rooted in practicality and seriousness. I mean, she still pretends, but she knows she's pretending, and she hardly ever gets pretend and reality mixed up. But to be honest, I haven't completely caught up with her yet.
Here's an example. We are driving in the car down a major street near our house. She's talking about China. What it's like there, what the weather is, what they eat, how someday she will go there. Then suddenly she says, "That's where Hudson lives." I answer, somewhat absently, "Oh no, honey, Hudson lives here in Sacramento." "No," she insists. "I was pointing at Hudson's house!" And sure enough, we had just passed it. She didn't think Hudson lived in China -- she was changing the damn subject. And I hadn't kept up with her because I still expected her to think her classmates might be secretly commuting from overseas.
We do have a lot of fun around here. We read books, dance, watch the Muppets (Zadie always wants to watch ones with a female guest star, so it's been all Sandy Duncan and Candice Bergen around here), bake, do craft projects, watch music videos... She plays Barbies with her dad, and yesterday they spent nearly all day riding her bike down the street. As I knew because I got this:
But I want to keep this up, and to catch you up a bit.
Z is charming, funny, smart, sweet, and stubborn as a mule. She can also be a little dramatic and emotional. For example, one day this week, she burst into tears because I didn't feed her oatmeal. The next day, she burst into tears because I did. It's not a constant sob-fest around here, though. Those episodes are rare.
I don't know if I even wrote about it at the time, but when Z was around 2, I started worrying/wondering whether she had some sensory issues. She fit the profile -- hyper-kinetic, unwilling to wear certain kinds of clothing, kicks the blankets off -- but we just worked around it, and it sort of slipped from my mind. Recently, we've been dealing with a lot of touching issues. Not inappropriate stuff; she just wants to hug everyone, put her arms around them, sit so close to others that they're touching... And some of the kids in pre-school are fine with that, but I think some find it off-putting. So there have been some talks in the pre-school class about personal space (and there've been a lot of talks at home about personal space). It's kind of funny -- I think personal space is a perfectly normal thing to talk to a kid about, but if we're out in public and she needs a reminder, I'll say "personal space, Zade!" and some adult nearby is almost sure to laugh. I don't get it.
Anyway, recently at school, one of the teachers was talking about how if you turn around with your arms out, that's your bubble, and lots of people don't want you to be in their bubble. Apparently Zadie announced, "I want EVERYONE to pop MY bubble!" And that's just about the truth -- she really does.
Then I was at ballet, and she was in there hugging children while they were trying to dance, and I gave the old hand-to-the-forehead gesture out there in the hall, and one of the other moms sympathized. But then what was interesting was that she told me her older son had been the same way -- always had to cuddle, sit right on you, hug people, sleep with them, and he seemed really unaware of his and others' personal space. She was telling me that sometimes she wrapped him like a burrito in a blanket and told him he was a caterpillar and had to wiggle out. She also pulled gently on his fingers and toes and his joints to give him a sense of his body and where it ended. It sounds so weird, but that burrito thing is actually exactly like a technique I read about for kids with sensory issues. It made me wonder if the finger-pulling thing was potentially related.
I tried it that night as we snuggled before bed. I was only on the second finger when she sighed and announced dreamily, "That feels GOOD." None of that is particularly conclusive about anything, but it does make me think that she does have some mild sensory issues, and they just changed the way they presented themselves. And that's okay. We'll work around that.
Another thing we're working around is the sleep issue. We had a nice long stretch of Z sleeping in her own bed. Then about two weeks ago, she was sick. We had established that she could sleep in our bed only one night a week, Thursdays, unless she was sick. Well, when she was sick, she slept in there every night, and now we can't get her out again. Honestly, I'm not trying too hard. Yes, it's disruptive and uncomfortable, but if she needs it for a while, she needs it. Plus, letting her crawl in and crash out does allow me to fall back asleep a lot faster than arguing with her about staying in her bed, waiting for her to fall asleep and then picking her up and carrying her back, or laying in her tiny bed until she falls asleep and then sneaking out.
Plus, as a parent, I'm trying to not be so problem-solution oriented. (I think some of you at this point might note that I'm a Capricorn.) I have a tendency to be like, "Here is an issue! Let me brainstorm. Aha! Here is the plan in roman numeral outline form." And I'm learning, however slowly, that raising kids isn't really like that. A lot of raising kids seems to be waiting stuff out. And there are phases and backslides and progress and ups and downs, and it's all okay.
One thing that's been slow and long-term but also is showing signs of working is the family meeting. I read about it in the book Positive Discipline, and the author suggested that if a kid is old enough to sit in circle time at pre-school, they're old enough for meetings.
We sing a little song, open our hands like a book and announce "family meeting is now open." We give each other "compliments and appreciations," then read last week's minutes. Then we all bring our agenda items to the table and talk about them. Then we close the meeting.
The first couple times, Z was really restless and disengaged. But over the course of several meetings, she has gotten into it, rarely gets up from the couch, and she likes to do the opening and closing gestures. Her original agenda item was "bouncing." But last meeting she announced that she was going to try not to run away from us anymore.
Running away had been an agenda item from the week before, and as far as I can tell, it worked. We didn't have any running issues that week. When we started the meetings, they were a lot like that. "Thanksgiving is coming up, so my agenda item is that I'd like us all to use our best table manners." They were sort of behavior-directed, and sometimes I think we came off a little heavy-handed. But as of this week's meeting, we had a lot of positive things to say, and one of my agenda items was that I hoped we could all be a team during the next few stressful days. For example, if Mommy got a little high-pitched with the "Come on! Let's go! We're supposed to be there at 7! Where are your shoes?" stuff, that hopefully Daddy and Zadie could remind me to chill out.
One interesting development lately has been that she's making a lot more sense all the time. When kids are very small, there seems to be little separation between reality and fantasy, and sometimes whole conversations are abstract, stream-of-consciousness fantasy things. And you get used to it. You start absently saying "Dog on the moon? Sure. Oh, the princess had a fire extinguisher. Yes..." And suddenly Zadie is very rooted in practicality and seriousness. I mean, she still pretends, but she knows she's pretending, and she hardly ever gets pretend and reality mixed up. But to be honest, I haven't completely caught up with her yet.
Here's an example. We are driving in the car down a major street near our house. She's talking about China. What it's like there, what the weather is, what they eat, how someday she will go there. Then suddenly she says, "That's where Hudson lives." I answer, somewhat absently, "Oh no, honey, Hudson lives here in Sacramento." "No," she insists. "I was pointing at Hudson's house!" And sure enough, we had just passed it. She didn't think Hudson lived in China -- she was changing the damn subject. And I hadn't kept up with her because I still expected her to think her classmates might be secretly commuting from overseas.
We do have a lot of fun around here. We read books, dance, watch the Muppets (Zadie always wants to watch ones with a female guest star, so it's been all Sandy Duncan and Candice Bergen around here), bake, do craft projects, watch music videos... She plays Barbies with her dad, and yesterday they spent nearly all day riding her bike down the street. As I knew because I got this:
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Monday, December 05, 2011
Granny: Master rhetorician
There are few examples of really fine persuasive rhetoric out there which are short, impactful, and easily comprehensible. I would love to use this with my students, but it's far too personal. You'll see.
Granny: I have a question for you. [See how she starts out right away with audience engagement?]
Me: Okay, what?
Granny: Are you pregnant? [Here is an "attention-getting opener" if I ever saw one. It brings up a number of questions for the audience, not least of which is "Can she see how fat I've gotten through the phone?"]
Me: What? No!
Granny: Why not? [Brilliant, because it is surprising and throws me off guard. It immediately puts the listener on the defense. We also now have an implied thesis, which is "you should get pregnant."]
Me: Well, it's just... we have a small house, so it's hard.
Granny: No it isn't. [Now, to an outsider, this has little credibility. It sounds like the ineffective arguer from the Monty Python sketch. However, this brief statement actually contains both logos (logically, it isn't that hard to raise two children in a three-bedroom house) and ethos (from an I-know-what-I'm-talking-about standpoint, Grandma herself raised five kids in a three-bedroom house).]
Me: Yes, well. I guess you did it, huh?
Granny: Yes, I did. Plus, Zadie would love to have a little brother or sister. [And, if you were waiting for pathos, here it is. I always tell my kids that the most frequent use of pathos in political ads, charitable giving campaigns, etc. is "Think of the children!" And here it is - think of poor, lonely Z.]
And there, in a few easy steps, we got logos, ethos, pathos, and an attention-grabbing opener. I think she may have had a strong conclusion as well, but I was too busy banging my head quietly into a wall to notice.
Granny: I have a question for you. [See how she starts out right away with audience engagement?]
Me: Okay, what?
Granny: Are you pregnant? [Here is an "attention-getting opener" if I ever saw one. It brings up a number of questions for the audience, not least of which is "Can she see how fat I've gotten through the phone?"]
Me: What? No!
Granny: Why not? [Brilliant, because it is surprising and throws me off guard. It immediately puts the listener on the defense. We also now have an implied thesis, which is "you should get pregnant."]
Me: Well, it's just... we have a small house, so it's hard.
Granny: No it isn't. [Now, to an outsider, this has little credibility. It sounds like the ineffective arguer from the Monty Python sketch. However, this brief statement actually contains both logos (logically, it isn't that hard to raise two children in a three-bedroom house) and ethos (from an I-know-what-I'm-talking-about standpoint, Grandma herself raised five kids in a three-bedroom house).]
Me: Yes, well. I guess you did it, huh?
Granny: Yes, I did. Plus, Zadie would love to have a little brother or sister. [And, if you were waiting for pathos, here it is. I always tell my kids that the most frequent use of pathos in political ads, charitable giving campaigns, etc. is "Think of the children!" And here it is - think of poor, lonely Z.]
And there, in a few easy steps, we got logos, ethos, pathos, and an attention-grabbing opener. I think she may have had a strong conclusion as well, but I was too busy banging my head quietly into a wall to notice.
Friday, November 25, 2011
How Z took ten years off my life on Thanksgiving Day
We went to my step-dad's cousin's house for Thanksgiving dinner. He and his wife are very sweet, welcoming people, and they always invite us. I overheard them, as we were leaving, say "I'm glad the kids could come." Meaning us. Lol!
Anyway, we were having a lovely time, and around the salad course, I took Z to the restroom. While she was sitting there, she asked, "Will I be as old as you someday?"
"Yes, I certainly hope so. And someday you can be married and have a kid and everything, if you want."
"I don't want to have a kid."
"Okay, then you don't have to. You get to decide."
"Well, I don't have a uterus yet."
"Oh, yeah you do. It's just not ready to have a baby in it, yet."
"How do the babies get there?"
|"Well, the Daddy plants a seed. The mama has an egg, and the seed and the egg have to get together to have a baby. It's like when you plant a seed in the ground and a flower grows."
"Does baby Leah Rose have a seed yet?" [That is the name of a baby that is due next week. We went to visit her parents on Wednesday.]
"Yep, her daddy planted one, and that's how she's growing."
"Oh. Okay."
At that point, she didn't seem to have any more questions and was done with her business, so we went back to the table. I mentioned the conversation, and I said I was glad she hadn't asked WITH WHAT the daddy planted the seed. My stepdad said, "You mean his PORTUGEE RAYGUN?"
Yeah, so then, we had a lovely next several hours. Z played with a couple older girls for a long time, we had the main course and pie (and numerous other desserts), and then there was coffee and Scotch and conversation, and we checked on Zadie a lot and she seemed fine. And then we finally got our coats and went to say goodbye and Z gave big hugs to everyone and then immediately announced, "I have to go potty!" And then I smelled it. She HAD gone potty. And we went into the bathroom, and I will spare you the details, but my requests from my mom, who was running back and forth to the car, included an entire new outfit, wipes, and plastic bags. It was a horror show. I'm seriously traumatized. I don't want to describe it to you, because I know Mommy blogs get a bad reputation for that sort of thing, but when I took off her tights, it was reminiscent of this:
So this Thanksgiving season, Darrel and Sandy can be thankful that we are gone, and my uncle Mick and aunt Jen, who invited us to their home, can be thankful that we declined. I am thankful for wipes, washing machines, and the fact that we have so many pairs of toddler underpants that it was no problem to just burn one.
Anyway, we were having a lovely time, and around the salad course, I took Z to the restroom. While she was sitting there, she asked, "Will I be as old as you someday?"
"Yes, I certainly hope so. And someday you can be married and have a kid and everything, if you want."
"I don't want to have a kid."
"Okay, then you don't have to. You get to decide."
"Well, I don't have a uterus yet."
"Oh, yeah you do. It's just not ready to have a baby in it, yet."
"How do the babies get there?"
|"Well, the Daddy plants a seed. The mama has an egg, and the seed and the egg have to get together to have a baby. It's like when you plant a seed in the ground and a flower grows."
"Does baby Leah Rose have a seed yet?" [That is the name of a baby that is due next week. We went to visit her parents on Wednesday.]
"Yep, her daddy planted one, and that's how she's growing."
"Oh. Okay."
At that point, she didn't seem to have any more questions and was done with her business, so we went back to the table. I mentioned the conversation, and I said I was glad she hadn't asked WITH WHAT the daddy planted the seed. My stepdad said, "You mean his PORTUGEE RAYGUN?"
Yeah, so then, we had a lovely next several hours. Z played with a couple older girls for a long time, we had the main course and pie (and numerous other desserts), and then there was coffee and Scotch and conversation, and we checked on Zadie a lot and she seemed fine. And then we finally got our coats and went to say goodbye and Z gave big hugs to everyone and then immediately announced, "I have to go potty!" And then I smelled it. She HAD gone potty. And we went into the bathroom, and I will spare you the details, but my requests from my mom, who was running back and forth to the car, included an entire new outfit, wipes, and plastic bags. It was a horror show. I'm seriously traumatized. I don't want to describe it to you, because I know Mommy blogs get a bad reputation for that sort of thing, but when I took off her tights, it was reminiscent of this:
So this Thanksgiving season, Darrel and Sandy can be thankful that we are gone, and my uncle Mick and aunt Jen, who invited us to their home, can be thankful that we declined. I am thankful for wipes, washing machines, and the fact that we have so many pairs of toddler underpants that it was no problem to just burn one.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
With so much to be thankful for...
This year I'm passing it on. Who knows, but according to them, I just helped provide 200 holiday meals. From their web site: "Feeding America is proud to share with you our 96 percent Charitable Commitment rating, reported in the 2010 edition of Forbes Magazine’s annual survey of 200 major charities. This rating was determined by the percentage of total financial and product donations devoted to programs."
So that seems like a pretty good deal.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Zadie is lots of different things.
Today on her way to the park, she was riding her bike. It is the longest ride she's ever been on, and she was awesome. She was a little afraid, but she talked herself out of it by pretending to be an orc.
At the playground, she was climbing in such an agile and fearless way that a teenager called her a ninja.
Later, she put on a frilly skirt to walk to the grocery store. A boy on the street commented, "she's a princess!" Zadie walked on a few steps, then yelled, "Actually, I'm a hula dancer, but I'm just not that graceful."
Also of note, I mentioned that she was getting to hear her new clackers (things that slide up and down the spokes) for the first time, and it must make her feel brave. She agreed; "Yeah, it's like bravery music."
At the playground, she was climbing in such an agile and fearless way that a teenager called her a ninja.
Later, she put on a frilly skirt to walk to the grocery store. A boy on the street commented, "she's a princess!" Zadie walked on a few steps, then yelled, "Actually, I'm a hula dancer, but I'm just not that graceful."
Also of note, I mentioned that she was getting to hear her new clackers (things that slide up and down the spokes) for the first time, and it must make her feel brave. She agreed; "Yeah, it's like bravery music."
Apple Hill
I love holidays! Mainly because I love having time off to spend with the Z-ster.
Yesterday we got up, dinked around over breakfast, and I gave her two choices -- ice skating or Apple Hill. She initially chose skating, but then she changed her mind. So at about 8:30, we hopped in the car and headed out.
Apple Hill is about an hour east of hear, and we had a pretty pleasant drive. I had decided to go early, and I wasn't sure yet whether that was a good idea. High Hill Ranch, which is my usual place, does open at 8, but there's a lot of other stuff there, like a fudge factory and a craft fair. Would that stuff be open? I didn't know.
It didn't matter -- when we got there, we were cold, so we went first into the dining area and enjoyed hot drinks until about ten, so when we were finally ready to go explore the rest of the place, everything was open.
We walked around the fishing pond, ran up and down a muddy set of hills (I bailed and fell on my ass), checked out the pony rides (not quite ready yet) and then went to the Fudge Factory, where there's a little playground. It has an airplane that you can sit on and rock in about six differed ways, and one way it's like a teeter-totter. There's also a wooden train with a bell, two of those things you can ride on if you feed them quarters, and a giant truck tire. All told, a pretty cool playground.
Then she was hungry, and they have apple doughnuts and fritters in the barn, so we went there. I chose about ten pounds of apples (for apple butter, I think), and then we got a fritter the size of her head (literally). She ate all the sugary outside and gave the doughy middle to me.
Then she let me look at the crafts (it's kind of always the same stuff, but I like to check it out), and then we went back to the playground for a while. (A long while, as now there were other kids to play with. She was pretending to be the engineer's helper on the train, and at one point, two new boys wandered up, and she ushered them into seats, saying "Here you go, gentlemen.")
Finally I dragged her away for lunch, and I was very happy with our lunch choice. We usually eat in the large dining room, but the choices there are pretty limited. My only option there is a pretty mundane veggie burger. But in the barn, which is significantly smaller, there were a lot more choices. I went for the veggie sandwich, which came with guacamole, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and cheese. It said it came on whole wheat bread, but if that was whole wheat, I'll eat my hat. Still, it wasn't bad. And Z got chicken noodle soup that came with big fat fettucini noodles, large chunks of dark meat chicken, and lots of diced carrots. It certainly appeared to be homemade. After lunch, we got caramel apples and went to sit by the pond and watch people fish.
We lucked into it, but it happened that when we got our fritter, it was still really early, so there was no line. And at lunch, there were two lines -- one for food and the other for doughnuts. The doughnuts line snaked out the door, but the food line was empty. So we managed to not have to wait in a line all day.
The view was lovely (I forgot my camera and my phone was out of battery, so I can't share pictures), and it was cool, but not freezing. I believe it was in the low fifties. Zadie refused to wear a jacket, and her little nose and cheeks got red, but because she is who she is, she spent a lot of time running, too.
After we finished our apples, she ran up and down the hills some more, and I stood close by and watched. Many other kids joined her, and at one point, some girls suggested that they play tag. Zadie doesn't really get the rules of games like that, so she got tagged and was "it," and went running the other way. The bigger girls decided it wasn't worth playing with her and retreated over by a tree. She went to talk to them, and they looped their arms around each other and one started to whisper in the other's ear. I thought "fuck that," and I called Z and dragged her off to the car. It was time to go anyway. She gets enough of mean girls at school.
Incidentally, if you were to compare our caramel apples when we finished with them, mine would look like a stick with a tiny bit of apple core still stuck to it. Zadie's looked like a perfect green apple on a stick with not a trace of caramel.
I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving. I have a good idea for a tart in mind. Oh! I have to call my uncle back -- we're invited to his place, but we accepted an invitation on the other side of the family.
Okay, take care all!
P.S. I'm still writing my novel for National Novel Writing Month. I'm more or less on track, with 34,000 words out of 50,000 and nine days remaining. I typically write 2,000 words a day, so if I don't miss more than one day, I will reach the goal. Of course, yesterday was hard, because I had started the book thinking that my character was going to go to jail and get disappeared and have adventures and stuff, and when she finally actually went to jail, it just didn't work for me anymore, and I had her released the next morning. So then it was like, "now what?"
Yesterday we got up, dinked around over breakfast, and I gave her two choices -- ice skating or Apple Hill. She initially chose skating, but then she changed her mind. So at about 8:30, we hopped in the car and headed out.
Apple Hill is about an hour east of hear, and we had a pretty pleasant drive. I had decided to go early, and I wasn't sure yet whether that was a good idea. High Hill Ranch, which is my usual place, does open at 8, but there's a lot of other stuff there, like a fudge factory and a craft fair. Would that stuff be open? I didn't know.
It didn't matter -- when we got there, we were cold, so we went first into the dining area and enjoyed hot drinks until about ten, so when we were finally ready to go explore the rest of the place, everything was open.
We walked around the fishing pond, ran up and down a muddy set of hills (I bailed and fell on my ass), checked out the pony rides (not quite ready yet) and then went to the Fudge Factory, where there's a little playground. It has an airplane that you can sit on and rock in about six differed ways, and one way it's like a teeter-totter. There's also a wooden train with a bell, two of those things you can ride on if you feed them quarters, and a giant truck tire. All told, a pretty cool playground.
Then she was hungry, and they have apple doughnuts and fritters in the barn, so we went there. I chose about ten pounds of apples (for apple butter, I think), and then we got a fritter the size of her head (literally). She ate all the sugary outside and gave the doughy middle to me.
Then she let me look at the crafts (it's kind of always the same stuff, but I like to check it out), and then we went back to the playground for a while. (A long while, as now there were other kids to play with. She was pretending to be the engineer's helper on the train, and at one point, two new boys wandered up, and she ushered them into seats, saying "Here you go, gentlemen.")
Finally I dragged her away for lunch, and I was very happy with our lunch choice. We usually eat in the large dining room, but the choices there are pretty limited. My only option there is a pretty mundane veggie burger. But in the barn, which is significantly smaller, there were a lot more choices. I went for the veggie sandwich, which came with guacamole, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and cheese. It said it came on whole wheat bread, but if that was whole wheat, I'll eat my hat. Still, it wasn't bad. And Z got chicken noodle soup that came with big fat fettucini noodles, large chunks of dark meat chicken, and lots of diced carrots. It certainly appeared to be homemade. After lunch, we got caramel apples and went to sit by the pond and watch people fish.
We lucked into it, but it happened that when we got our fritter, it was still really early, so there was no line. And at lunch, there were two lines -- one for food and the other for doughnuts. The doughnuts line snaked out the door, but the food line was empty. So we managed to not have to wait in a line all day.
The view was lovely (I forgot my camera and my phone was out of battery, so I can't share pictures), and it was cool, but not freezing. I believe it was in the low fifties. Zadie refused to wear a jacket, and her little nose and cheeks got red, but because she is who she is, she spent a lot of time running, too.
After we finished our apples, she ran up and down the hills some more, and I stood close by and watched. Many other kids joined her, and at one point, some girls suggested that they play tag. Zadie doesn't really get the rules of games like that, so she got tagged and was "it," and went running the other way. The bigger girls decided it wasn't worth playing with her and retreated over by a tree. She went to talk to them, and they looped their arms around each other and one started to whisper in the other's ear. I thought "fuck that," and I called Z and dragged her off to the car. It was time to go anyway. She gets enough of mean girls at school.
Incidentally, if you were to compare our caramel apples when we finished with them, mine would look like a stick with a tiny bit of apple core still stuck to it. Zadie's looked like a perfect green apple on a stick with not a trace of caramel.
I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving. I have a good idea for a tart in mind. Oh! I have to call my uncle back -- we're invited to his place, but we accepted an invitation on the other side of the family.
Okay, take care all!
P.S. I'm still writing my novel for National Novel Writing Month. I'm more or less on track, with 34,000 words out of 50,000 and nine days remaining. I typically write 2,000 words a day, so if I don't miss more than one day, I will reach the goal. Of course, yesterday was hard, because I had started the book thinking that my character was going to go to jail and get disappeared and have adventures and stuff, and when she finally actually went to jail, it just didn't work for me anymore, and I had her released the next morning. So then it was like, "now what?"
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Veteran's Day
I appreciate veterans for more reasons than the day off, but I also appreciate the day off.
I still got up early to go to the gym, but then I fooled around on the computer, had an extra-strong cup of coffee, and ate homemade bread with homemade jam and feta cheese for breakfast.
We cleaned the house so we could rest more today, and then Z and Sweetie walked to Starbucks and the game store. While they were gone, I put together a freestanding shelving unit, took down some wall-mounted shelves, cleaned out my cookbooks a bit, and made myself a pantry!
I grew up with a pantry, and every place I've lived in since has felt a little inferior. This kitchen, while laid out pretty nicely, has almost no room for appliances (food processors, mixers, etc.) and not a lot of cupboard space for food storage. I put a big shelving unit in the garage, which did help with space issues in there, and I was able to put my Crock Pot, Kitchen-Aid Mixer, ice cream maker, and a few other things in there. Then I started canning, and I needed space as well for my canning pot, jars, lids, canned stuff... I took up two whole shelves of the big storage unit with stuff that really should have been in a pantry.
So here is the after! (I didn't take a before, but as of a week ago, the washer and dryer were side by side in the middle of the space, there were mismatched and broken garbage and recycling containers, and two shelves mounted with my cookbooks on them, so heavy they sagged in the middle.
I went to my mom's for a little while, but the person I was supposed to meet had screwed up the day. Still, it wasn't like I had any big plans, and I got to engage in a bit of Shadenfreude as mom's awful neighbors found their moving van blocked by a car. Then I went home, made harissa, baked some bread, threw together a batch of cookie dough, had a cup of tea, looked over my cookbooks for ideas, and made a grocery list. I also did a few little jobs in the yard, including planting carrots.
Cup of tea.
Yay cookbooks!
The bread.
Soaking the peppers for harissa.
Z and I went shopping, first at Trader Joe's and then at Save-Mart (there are a few things TJ's doesn't carry). And then it was almost dinner time, so I jumped in the shower. We all went to Shoki for ramen, and then we came home and I baked the cookies. Then it was bedtime for Z. I finished up the cookies, had a glass of wine, and did some writing.
I still got up early to go to the gym, but then I fooled around on the computer, had an extra-strong cup of coffee, and ate homemade bread with homemade jam and feta cheese for breakfast.
We cleaned the house so we could rest more today, and then Z and Sweetie walked to Starbucks and the game store. While they were gone, I put together a freestanding shelving unit, took down some wall-mounted shelves, cleaned out my cookbooks a bit, and made myself a pantry!
I grew up with a pantry, and every place I've lived in since has felt a little inferior. This kitchen, while laid out pretty nicely, has almost no room for appliances (food processors, mixers, etc.) and not a lot of cupboard space for food storage. I put a big shelving unit in the garage, which did help with space issues in there, and I was able to put my Crock Pot, Kitchen-Aid Mixer, ice cream maker, and a few other things in there. Then I started canning, and I needed space as well for my canning pot, jars, lids, canned stuff... I took up two whole shelves of the big storage unit with stuff that really should have been in a pantry.
So here is the after! (I didn't take a before, but as of a week ago, the washer and dryer were side by side in the middle of the space, there were mismatched and broken garbage and recycling containers, and two shelves mounted with my cookbooks on them, so heavy they sagged in the middle.
I went to my mom's for a little while, but the person I was supposed to meet had screwed up the day. Still, it wasn't like I had any big plans, and I got to engage in a bit of Shadenfreude as mom's awful neighbors found their moving van blocked by a car. Then I went home, made harissa, baked some bread, threw together a batch of cookie dough, had a cup of tea, looked over my cookbooks for ideas, and made a grocery list. I also did a few little jobs in the yard, including planting carrots.
Cup of tea.
Yay cookbooks!
The bread.
Soaking the peppers for harissa.
Z and I went shopping, first at Trader Joe's and then at Save-Mart (there are a few things TJ's doesn't carry). And then it was almost dinner time, so I jumped in the shower. We all went to Shoki for ramen, and then we came home and I baked the cookies. Then it was bedtime for Z. I finished up the cookies, had a glass of wine, and did some writing.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The value of literature
It may seem like a Faustian bargain: trading the teaching of literature for increased test scores. After all, attempting to raise test scores as the bar is continually raised may seem like a Sisyphean task. Even a gain over a single year might be a pyrrhic victory. But at high schools throughout the country, teachers are facing a catch-22: if they teach with passion about a subject they like, they are failing to prepare students for the brave new world of education, one where literature takes a back seat to expository text. English teachers cling to literature, but it will prove to be the albatross around their necks.
So let me make a modest proposal: stop teaching English literature altogether. There is no thought police – citizens can still choose to read whatever they like. But when it comes to the value of literature, I’m a doubting Thomas. When has familiarity with literature ever helped anyone understand anything? It’s all Greek to me. I don’t mind to sound like a Scrooge to those who love books, but I just don’t see how literature continues to be relevant to Generation X and beyond.
So lend me your ears: I assure you that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. These teachers are insisting on their beloved subject not being cut. What a piece of work is man! They say that students need literature, and that the focus on passing tests isn’t important. This kind of talk is madness, yet there is method in it: they want to keep their cushy jobs where they get to talk about made-up stories all day. But the truth will out! The game is up, English teachers! Because brevity is the soul of wit, I’ll end here. But I’ll leave you with a thought from Mark Twain: “Literature is well enough, as a time-passer, and for the improvement and general elevation and purification of mankind, but it has no practical value.”
So let me make a modest proposal: stop teaching English literature altogether. There is no thought police – citizens can still choose to read whatever they like. But when it comes to the value of literature, I’m a doubting Thomas. When has familiarity with literature ever helped anyone understand anything? It’s all Greek to me. I don’t mind to sound like a Scrooge to those who love books, but I just don’t see how literature continues to be relevant to Generation X and beyond.
So lend me your ears: I assure you that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. These teachers are insisting on their beloved subject not being cut. What a piece of work is man! They say that students need literature, and that the focus on passing tests isn’t important. This kind of talk is madness, yet there is method in it: they want to keep their cushy jobs where they get to talk about made-up stories all day. But the truth will out! The game is up, English teachers! Because brevity is the soul of wit, I’ll end here. But I’ll leave you with a thought from Mark Twain: “Literature is well enough, as a time-passer, and for the improvement and general elevation and purification of mankind, but it has no practical value.”
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