tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233957682024-03-07T13:12:01.577-08:00Chronically Sleep Deprivedsleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-37709313543436654222021-01-17T06:58:00.002-08:002021-01-17T06:58:31.413-08:00<p> I made it. I made it all day yesterday without lounging in bed. For me, that's a huge victory. I did take a nap on the loveseat by the cozy fire my husband had going, but that's okay. This current three-week challenge is ONLY about staying off my bed during the day.</p><p>Today, I didn't get up the second I woke up, which was probably technically against the "rules" of my self-imposed challenge. Then again, I didn't read, look at my phone, or watch TV either, so I'm going to let it go. I just sort of laid in bed in that half-asleep state for a bit. It IS Sunday morning, after all.</p><p>I'm up now though. Up for the day. Not going to lay on the bed next to my husband for a Sunday afternoon nap. Not going to watch anything on Netflix this afternoon while snuggled in my duvet. I'm going to create new, healthy habits.</p><p>Ugh.</p>sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-34899511243633044182021-01-16T07:34:00.001-08:002021-01-16T07:34:21.695-08:00<p> It's the first official day of my self-imposed "sleep hygiene challenge. First step: 21 days of not using my bed for anything but sleep or sex. No reading in bed, no browsing social media, no watching Netflix. For someone who has developed a bad pandemic habit of lounging in bed and doing all of the above, plus having long debates with my husband while lying in bed, this will be HARD. </p><p>But it's got to stop. All the sleep experts say that associating your bed with all these other activities makes falling asleep harder. So today, I slept in a little (because it's Saturday, and also, I'm being gentle with myself) but since I got up, I haven't even sat on my bed. I got up and had breakfast, and went to my church to clean it (we all take turns helping to clean, and it was my family's turn to pitch in). Now we're home, and there's the usual Saturday "stuff" awaiting me: chores, shopping, planning, family time. </p><p>But, I'm not laying on that bed until at least. . . 9:30 tonight. By then, I'll probably be ready for an early bedtime. So that seems reasonable.</p><p>We'll see how it goes.</p>sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-45478185063323484022021-01-15T12:50:00.003-08:002021-01-15T12:50:26.777-08:00<p> I've decided to resurrect this blog. It's been a lot of things over the years - a simple journal, a hodgepodge of memories, a collection of my work stories. Lately, though, I need a place to write about my sleep habits, and where better than a blog with this name?</p><p>Four years ago this month, I had my first tonic-clonic seizure. It led to me being diagnosed with epilepsy, and trying out a series of anti-epileptic drugs (AEDs), in varying dosages and with varying side effects. Sleep hasn't been the same since. Add in four kids, the occasional job (usually part-time, but not always), a global pandemic, and well, sleep quality is not something I can brag about.</p><p>I've tried a new mattress. A couple of different pillows. A body pillow. A silk pillowcase. Melatonin. I'm not supposed to take sleeping pills like Unisom, because of my epilepsy, but sometimes I get desperate and take one anyway. They leave me groggy well into mid-morning the next day. Sleep deprivation is a common trigger for people with epilepsy; I know it's one of mine. Life has become a constant balancing act between enough rest to not have a seizure, and getting enough done to not have my household fall apart.</p><p>But I want more. I want more stamina, more energy. I want to be able to work full time, if I choose. So I'm going to challenge myself. I'm going to improve my sleep hygiene. I've always heard it takes 21 days to make a habit, so I'll focus on one habit for three weeks. First up - I'm really, truly going to stay out of bed.</p><p>Challenge starts tomorrow.</p>sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-64216509402014543142020-12-22T07:36:00.000-08:002020-12-22T07:36:47.541-08:00Kyle Smith’s National Review Column is Un-American - And Not Because it Attacks the Future First Lady<p><br /></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-ad8abcfa-7fff-b5e4-fdd7-38aa8dc37eb0"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kyle Smith, a journalist for the National Review, recently wrote a scathing indictment of Dr. Jill Biden. I could defend Dr. Biden, but I don’t think she needs my help. I’m sure she can take care of herself. I can’t comment on her dissertation, because I haven’t read it. But when Mr. Smith - a privileged Yale graduate from a Massachusetts suburb - attacked Dr. Biden, he, a former lieutenant in the U.S. Army who writes for a conservative magazine, did a decidedly un-American thing: he went after the American dream.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I get into why, let’s talk about sources, since Mr. Smith is, after all, a journalist. He picked a student review - one that can easily be found on ratemyprofessor.com (such a reliable source!) - as his example of Dr. Biden’s teaching abilities. It says, “She very bad teacher and it is hard to pass class. I RECOMMEND NOT TAKE THIS PROFESSOR.” I don’t teach community college; I DO teach adult ESL, and I would bet my life savings (admittedly, not much, I’m a teacher) that review was written by someone who is still learning the English language. Probably, someone not really ready for English 111, the class Dr. Biden most often teaches at Northern Virginia Community College. He ignored the rave reviews that wrote of her as an inspiring instructor and neglected to mention her overall four out of five star rating. He didn’t want to mention, I’m sure, that many of the complaints centered around her reputation as a tough grader who gives a lot of homework. Oh no, high standards and a lot of work? We wouldn’t want that in college!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Is cherry-picking your sources to support your argument something they encourage at Yale? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which brings me to another point about sources. Mr. Smith accuses Dr. Biden of spending “a lot of time teaching remedial English to slow learners in community colleges.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His sources are less reliable than my first car, and that’s not a compliment.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">English 111 is not remedial. It’s freshmen English, the standard English composition course many colleges and universities require students to take or test out of in their freshmen year. Dr. Biden’s students likely include recently graduated high school students who have decided to take some of their classes at community college as a way of avoiding astronomical student debt - something that most people contend is a wise move, particularly if you’re thinking about a career in public service, anything that might not pay big bucks, or even if you just want to retire early. If local high schools offer concurrent enrollment, she might be teaching highly motivated, brilliant high school students who are starting college while still in high school, also trying to avoid student debt by getting college credit as cheaply as possible. She almost certainly teaches some English as a second language students, which is a misnomer; many “ESL” students are learning English not as a second language, but as a third, fourth, or fifth.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Slow learners? Please. Spare me the stereotypes.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here’s the part that is so incredibly sad to me: what if he was right about Dr. Biden teaching remedial English? If Dr. Biden DID spend her entire career teaching remedial English to learners who struggled to understand how to use a semicolon correctly and had to take GED more than once, would that be a waste of her life, professionally speaking? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am not now, nor have I ever been, a community college instructor. I am not personally insulted by Smith’s disparaging analogy that Biden’s career as a community college instructor makes her like “</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a rock musician who’s in a bar band. That plays covers. At mixers. Held in assisted-living facilities."</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I have briefly taught high school - in a Title I high school, where 99% of the students were eligible for free lunch and only 260 of the 1500 students were seniors; many of our students dropped out before their senior year, so our student body was skewed to the lower grades. I have substitute taught in middle schools and high schools. I have been a volunteer tutor for an adult literacy program and helped a 21-year-old who read at a first-grade level improve his reading because he wanted a chance at a better job. For most of my career, I have taught adults in various English as a second language programs and often, I have worked alongside other instructors in adult education. Adult education is always, as my husband would say, the red-headed stepchild at the family table. In the perpetually underfunded field of education, that leaves adult educators begging for crumbs.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Smith’s disdain for community colleges, their students and their instructors is unmistakable, as I’m sure he intended for it to be. For someone writing for a “conservative editorial magazine,” and someone who is a veteran, I can’t imagine a less-American sentiment.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People in this country are constantly told to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. It could be our national slogan.We practically shout it, like a rallying cry, the way my son’s football coach yells “rub some dirt on it!” when a player scrapes some skin off on a hard play. But when some students pursue the most logical avenue available to them - the affordable community college, not wanting to incur the massive student loans that they may never be able to repay - they’re mocked. They’re shamed and ridiculed by people with Ivy League educations (not all, of course - apologies to the decent Ivy Leaguers out there) who think they are somehow better because their degree has a different college’s name at the top. Those poor community college students, they must be bottom of the barrel; and their teachers, too, must be less than stellar, if that is their only option.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Smith is right in some respects, even if he does paint with a broad, stereotypical brush. Community colleges do offer remedial English classes, if students need them.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And if a student does, in fact, need remedial English?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Does that deserve derision?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A student who needs to take a remedial English class after high school usually has a very good reason. Not always, but since Kyle Smith painted with broad strokes, I’ll follow suit. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A student taking remedial English might have suffered abuse in their childhood, or homelessness. They might have had an undiagnosed learning disability. Their parents might have gone through a painful, traumatic divorce while they were in high school, and they fell behind and never caught up. Maybe they had to work two jobs to help with the family bills. Maybe they were in foster care and went from family to family and school to school and were just trying to survive. Maybe, it just took until they were nineteen or twenty for their executive function skills to really kick in, and now they’re ready to conquer the world - or at least, English 101. It’s possible they were raised by parents with drug problems or struggled with mental illness or any one of dozens, if not hundreds, of scenarios that make school the very last priority on anyone’s to-do list. So they failed English class in high school. Do they deserve to be looked down on for that?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It really doesn’t matter why that student is in English class again. It matters that they’re there. They are paying for that class. Their teacher, however little they’re making, is a professional who is trying to help that person achieve their goal - whether it’s getting their GED or a degree or starting a business. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t know Smith’s religious views, but he writes for a conservative magazine, and the majority of conservatives consider our country a Christian nation (I could argue with this, but let’s just roll with it for a minute). Consider this: if the story of the Prodigal son occurred today, where do you think the reformed son would go, once he had his life in order? He’d squandered his inheritance, he’d partied when he could have (should have?) been building a career. The Prodigal Son, newly penitent and ready to be a good citizen, would be the perfect candidate to go to the community college for a second chance.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And there’s not a thing wrong with that. This is America, land of opportunity, second chances, career changes, and endless possibilities. Community colleges, with their affordable classes and varied schedules, represent the idea that it is never too late to learn. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Smith, with his insulting analogy, denigrates every teacher who has taught in a community college, every teacher who has helped the “slow” (and that word is also enraging) students. It’s highly likely that one of Dr. Biden’s former students read Mr. Smith’s article, read his opinion of students who gathered their courage, took a deep breath, and went to the registrar’s office to sign up not just for a class, but for a second chance. I hope that student still knows the truth: that their education was worth seeking out. That it takes true grit to start over when the education system, teachers, and possibly even your own family have told you you’re not smart enough to succeed. That it takes guts, to know your own value and believe in yourself. That some students might give up or become disheartened by some cheap shots from a so-called journalist seeking his fifteen minutes of fame simultaneously breaks my heart and makes me want to throw something.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wonder if Kyle Smith has ever done anything, even during his military service, that takes the kind of courage that it takes for an adult to go back to school for a GED at 20 or 30 or 40, after quitting or failing high school. The kind of courage it takes for a resettled refugee to pick up and start over again, learning a new language, a new alphabet, a new culture. It’s a special kind of courage, the kind of courage shared by pilgrims and pioneers, and it shouldn't be dismissed.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The other truth is, the teachers who help students who aren’t gifted - those who are behind - are usually amazing. They’re the teachers with creative techniques to connect with students, the ones who have studied the research and have taught for years to become adept at the best techniques, and have the most patience. Teachers who can teach reading and writing to adults who struggle know their stuff, quite honestly. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not going to hunt down Dr. Biden’s dissertation and read it and defend it to anyone, because she’s already done it. But it’s disingenuous to drag community college students into arguments about whether or not our future First Lady deserves her title of “doctor,” and whether or not she’s a good teacher. If Smith has issues with whether or not she deserves her degree, he can do research - thoroughly, please, with well-documented sources - and leave her students out of it. They’re busy pulling themselves up by their bootstraps, and it’s disgusting to watch a bully try to kick them back down.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On a side note, to all the community college students and instructors out there:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you’re attending a community college: good for you. Don’t let this privileged snob get you down. Your education is meaningful. You decide what you get out of your classes, by your effort and participation. The degree is just a piece of paper. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To the student who went back: you are brave, and you are amazing. Don’t quit. I am rooting for you. You can do this.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To the instructors: thanks for doing what you do. Thanks for being there for the students who need encouragement, and patience, and solid, research-based instruction. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I doubt Kyle Smith will read this, but just in case, - as far as careers go, I’d rather be “a rock musician who’s in a bar band. That play covers. At mixers. Held in assisted living facilities,” than a shoddy journalist who picks on people doing their best. One requires talent, at least.</span></p><br /><br /><br /></span>sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-54613206913545015432020-04-22T17:23:00.001-07:002020-04-23T14:24:18.617-07:00Think before you comment, because the kids are readingIt was probably the fifth article on distance learning I'd read this week, but the information was not new. The pandemic, and the fear of spreading a potentially life-threatening virus, had closed schools all over the country. Teachers scrambled to post their classes online. Videos, quizzes, instructions for doing projects and experiments at home. Reading and math assignments. Educators everywhere spent hours figuring out how to make what was once delivered face-to-face work in an online format, some of them even decorating a corner of their house like a mini-classroom.<br />
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For some teachers, the effort was in vain. By and large, America's students have not followed their teachers into the virtual classroom. For some, it is lack of access; schools have frantically distributed Chromebooks, iPads, and Internet hotspots, but that's not always enough. Even with some companies generously offering free Internet for a couple of months, there are language barriers and time constraints preventing families from taking advantage of these offers. Older children babysit younger siblings. Students at my school, a Title 1 high school, rushed to pick up extra hours at their jobs as soon as schools closed. The majority work at fast-food restaurants or grocery stores, and many have been able to continue working through the pandemic. If their parents are furloughed or laid off, their incomes becomes even more critical. And then there's good old teen laziness. There are a lot of teenagers and young adults who, while being intelligent and well-mannered, are not necessarily going to get up and log onto an 8 am class that isn't graded and is merely a "learning opportunity."<br />
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The comments following the article I read were nearly all the same. The parents should be responsible for making sure their kids log on. The parents should be responsible for their kids' education. The parents should be responsible for making their kids learn.<br />
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The parents.<br />
The parents.<br />
The parents.<br />
<br />
Should.<br />
Should.<br />
Should.<br />
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I don't know anyone, personally, who would argue against the premise that it is the parents' responsibility to support their children's education, just as it is a parent's responsibility to provide food, housing and health care. That's not the question. We're dealing with facts and the fact is, some kids are not logging on. Some kids don't have access. Some kids don't have parents who will make them check their school email, or even provide the bare minimum in support. Some parents can't, either because they never received enough education themselves to know how to help with homework or because their mental health - a broad designation for a slew of conditions - doesn't allow them to support their children. The facts say, some kids don't have parents who help them get an education.<br />
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So the question becomes, what now? Do we, as a country, as a society, believe that if you are born to parents too poor to feed you, to busy to help you with your homework, too depressed or overwhelmed or whatever to educate you during a pandemic, then that's just your bad luck? Life is a game and you've lost before you ever really rolled the dice?<br />
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If these commenters could just meet some of the teachers I work with, some of the kids I teach, their attitudes would change. They would hear about the student who came to school a few years ago - before I started - suddenly smelling of body odor. Teachers gently questioned him about whether everything was ok at home and discovered no, it wasn't, because he didn't have a home. His mother had left, and he was squatting in an abandoned house near the school. Fifteen, and on his own, and the teachers were the ones who noticed.<br />
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One of my students told me a few weeks ago, near the end of first period, that her heart hurt. We had been talking about some emotional topics, potentially triggering things, and I thought she meant she was sad. I told her to wait for a few minutes until the bell rang. Then I took her to the guidance counselor. When I checked in with the counselor later that day, I found out I had been way off: my student has a pre-existing heart condition that was acting up because she hadn't taken any medication for it for a while. Her older brother is her guardian, they don't have insurance and didn't know where to get help. She meant her heart <i>literally</i> hurt. The guidance counselor took her to the school nurse, who gave my student and her brother resources for medical care.<br />
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I've wondered, all through this pandemic, what will happen if another student has a medical crisis and doesn't have the school nurse. Or a student's mother leaves him because her addiction or mental issues or whatever demons cause mothers to leave their children overpower her, and he's alone with no one to notice his personal hygiene is suddenly lacking. It's not really an if - it's what is happening. It might not be at my school, but it is happening somewhere.<br />
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Parents shouldn't abandon their kids. Parents should feed them, and make sure they have medical care and food and clothes; parents should comfort them and educate them.<br />
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But not all of them do. So, do children deserve it anyway?<br />
<br />
We know they do. If you're posting about "those people breeding" and how your tax dollars are feeding other people's kids, please just stop. Those kids can read. If you're ranting about the money schools spend trying to provide access to educational devices or Internet, please check yourself. The kids I teach? They read the news. They read the comments. More importantly, they're really good at reading body language. They know when people resent them. Find God or a therapist or whatever helps you let go of your anger, because these kids don't deserve it. Posting your vitriol and judgment, your nastiness and hatred, whether in the comments section of a news article or on social media, is the same thing as saying it to their face. Just stop. They don't deserve it.<br />
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They do deserve a chance.sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-80908834312701263592015-12-18T18:54:00.002-08:002015-12-20T16:44:34.976-08:00Somebody Raised HimAs many of you know, I teach English as a Second Language. I teach Level 1, for beginners who have had at least some education in their home country, and Literacy 1, for students who have had no prior education, in any language. Literacy 1 students, or preliterate students, often speak native languages that have no written form. Dinka, spoken in South Sudan, falls into this category (or so I have been told). Others simply had no opportunity, whether because of poverty, or war, or because they were female in a society that didn't educate females. Whatever the reason, they present a whole slew of unique challenges. Some can't distinguish between a drawing and written language; the methods that work with children learning to read in their native language don't always work for these students.<br />
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In my Literacy 1 class, I have several students from Burma. One in particular stands out to me. Every time I hand something to him, or he hands something to me, he cups his right elbow with his left hand. He only ever uses his right hand to pass or accept things; in Southeast Asia, the left hand is "unclean," and it's not polite to use it for that kind of task. Cupping the elbow with the left hand is a traditional, respectful gesture in most of that region. It makes me a little homesick, if you can be homesick for a place you only lived for a year and a half. Every time he does it, it reminds me that somebody raised him.<br />
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Somebody raised him to be polite and respectful. Cupping his elbow is deeply ingrained behavior for him; somebody worked hard to raise a well-mannered adult. He's smart, and he catches on to new concepts quickly; somebody raised him to be curious and thoughtful about the world around him. He's a Muslim raised in Southeast Asia, so somebody raised him straddling two worlds, even before he came here to take on a third. He's never been to school before, in any country and he doesn't read in his native language. I'm still not sure what his native language is, because his English is pretty limited. Even though he's at a huge disadvantage, learning to read for the first time as an adult, and in a second language, he's putting a tremendous amount of effort into his education. He comes to class on time and rarely misses. When we practice numbers or the alphabet, his voice is loud and clear. Somebody raised him to be disciplined; he shows up to class even when it's snowing and cold. He's taking on a new country, and a new language, so someone raised him to be brave.</div>
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And somebody raised him to be happy. He smiles all the time and laughs easily. He thanks me every day. It's likely his childhood was difficult. He's short and slightly built, which could be genetic but could easily be a result of food scarcity during critical growing years. He was part of an unpopular minority in a country that doesn't tolerate diversity. If he's one of the Rohinga Muslims, which is likely, Burma doesn't consider him a citizen, even though he was born there. He'd have to prove his family settled there before 1823 to gain citizenship, and that's nearly impossible. His rights would have been nearly non-existent. According to Human Rights Watch, some Rohinga Muslims are forced into labor as young as seven, which could also explain why he never went to school. It's possible he spent a good portion of his childhood in one or more refugee camps, uncertain of the future. But somebody raised him to be resilient, to keep trying and be positive. He'll need that to thrive here. </div>
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I don't know who raised him. It could have been a mother, father, uncle, aunt, or grandparent. I'll probably never know. He'll probably never see that person again, since traveling back to his homeland would be incredibly expensive and possibly unsafe. But every time he cups his right elbow, I smile; because it's such a polite gesture, because it makes me miss a country that holds a special place in my heart, and because it reminds me that he, and every one of my students, has a story - even if it's one I'll never know.</div>
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sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-76479727341080358132013-07-26T21:34:00.000-07:002013-07-26T21:34:04.225-07:00Maybe I'm just cheap, but. . .The local classifieds have an entire section devoted to Home & Garden. I love browsing this section; the Farmer's Market, in particular, I love. Yesterday, out of curiosity, I decided to browse the ads under the "Fertilizer" heading. There were a few people selling their spreaders, a few bags of commercial fertilizer, and a number of farmers offering composted steer and/horse manure. Most the the farmers were either giving it away, or selling it very cheap - like $10 for an entire pickup load, which they would load for you. Completely reasonable, I thought.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then there was the rabbit manure.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
This lady was offering to sell her rabbits' manure. For $3 a GALLON. I'm tempted to call her. I imagine the conversation would go like this:</div>
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Me: Hi, I'm calling about your rabbit manure. I have a few questions.</div>
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Lady: Okay.</div>
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Me: What do you feed your rabbits?</div>
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Lady: Oh, it's completely natural food. Nothing artificial at all!</div>
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Me: Oh, great. So, how old is this rabbit manure?</div>
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Lady: It's pretty fresh. But the great thing about rabbit manure is that it's a cold manure, no need to compost it.</div>
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Me.: Okay, great. You know, it's very important to me that my manure come from happy rabbits. (I would be totally joking about this, but she's trying to sell manure for $3 a gallon. I think she's asking for people to mess with her a little.) I believe all living things are connected and happy rabbits will produce better manure. On a scale of 1 to ten, how happy are your rabbits?</div>
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Lady: Um. . .a nine?</div>
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Me: Nine. Great. So it's three dollars a gallon?</div>
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Lady: Yes.</div>
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Me: Okay, one last question. . . </div>
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Lady: Yes?</div>
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Me: You get that this is POOP, right?</div>
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Maybe I should buy some. For that price, my tomatoes better grow like Jack's beanstalk.</div>
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Or maybe I should just get a rabbit. The kids want a pet anyway.</div>
sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-6151668595552417602013-07-11T22:05:00.001-07:002013-07-11T22:05:15.062-07:00Good to knowWe've been spending a lot of time at the rec center lately. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, the older two girls have swim lessons. We leave the house a little after nine, drive to the rec center, drop the two little ones off at daycare, get the girls showered, and off they go to swim lessons. Then I hurry upstairs to the cardio area and hop on a treadmill for 30 minutes. Then I meet the girls in the locker room, get them dressed, and go pick up the little kids from daycare. We generally go to the indoor play area for a bit (they have a play grocery store that Dylan could spend hours in, and an awesome indoor play structure) and kill some time before lunch.<br />
<br />
We frequently see the local firefighters working out at the rec center. They're easy to spot, since they all wear their "uniform" t-shirts while they're working out. I've always found it reassuring that they are there; it's a job you'd have to be in decent shape to do well, right? But I've always wondered what would happen if they got a call while they were mid-workout.<br />
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Wednesday, I found out.<br />
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I had just picked up Dylan and Mailaya from the daycare, which is just inside the doors of the gym, and we were heading back to the indoor play area. Seven guys in matching t-shirts came BOOKING it down the steps from the cardio loft and head out the door. They weren't at a flat-out run - there were lots of kids and old people around, so it was too crowded - but they sure weren't wasting any time. They looked pretty intently focused, though. One of them did notice Dylan's awe-struck face and managed to smile and say hi.<br />
<br />
It's nice to know that if we ever do need to call them, they move fast.sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-68525118558770353082013-06-23T20:32:00.000-07:002013-06-24T14:08:30.952-07:00Just when you think Church is boringOur ward is shaking things up.
Today, the Relief Society, Young Woman, and Primary presidencies were ALL released. I was secretary in the Primary presidency, and now I'm second counselor. Not a huge change, except doing Sharing Time scares the heck out of me. The new Primary president is an amazing woman who I have admired for a long time; the other counselor and new secretary are busy, busy ladies but I think they will be awesome to work with.<br />
<br />
Three years ago this summer, I was called as secretary in the Relief Society Presidency. Just a week or two later, one of the counselors developed appendicitis and had to have surgery. I was called to this new presidency last Sunday. Today, the secretary in the new Primary presidency had HER appendix out. I don't believe in curses but. . .what the heck??? I told the other sisters in the just-released Primary presidency that they were very lucky none of them lost an appendix.<br />
<br />
I'm also Assistant Compassionate Service Coordinator. I like to joke that I'm Assistant TO the Compassionate Service Coordinator, but apparently no one in my ward watches The Office so I've given up. The Compassionate Service Coordinator in our ward is this sister who's a little, well, rough. She tells it like it is. She can be a little bossy. She can be a little grouchy. But man, can that lady organize a funeral. She's awesome at getting stuff organized, and that's really the role of the Compassionate Service Coordinator, isn't it?<br />
<br />
She's also had health issues for the last few years so about a year ago, maybe a year and half, they asked me to assist. Fine, no problem. All I have to do is show up and take orders, and I am good at that. They called me to be Primary secretary eight months ago and asked if I would still assist her. Sure, no problem. Then they called me to be second counselor, and asked if I could still assist. Sure.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
The Compassionate Service Coordinator is REALLY sick. She's been out of commission for the last couple of months and is not expected to be back in full health any time soon. And today they announced that we are having a special ward fast because there are SO MANY people in our ward who are battling cancer or having major surgeries or otherwise struggling healthwise.
Now I'm wondering if it's too late to change my mind about keeping both callings???
It'll be okay, right? He qualifies those he calls and all that. It'll be okay.
sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-36193355203683019002012-12-01T18:48:00.000-08:002012-12-01T18:48:01.131-08:00Today was supposed to be a peaceful, spiritual day, watching my daughter get baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
It didn't go exactly as planned.
Yesterday, when I picked Trea up from school, she told me that it hurt when she peed, and she'd had to go to the restroom at school four times during the school day. Uh-oh. She's had three UTIs already this year.
So, since it's 4 pm when I get home, and my doctor's office is 30 minutes away, I decide to wait until John gets home and take her to the urgent care clinic near our house. He gets home at 7. We go to urgent care, deal with an overly perky doctor who at first tries to convince me it's just irritation from her imperfect hygiene, and then writes a prescription when the test comes back positive. We get home at 10.
Today, Trea was miserable. Wavering between wanting to be baptized and just wanting to go home. I talked her into it, mostly because my dad had come all the way from North Carolina to be here. The bishop, her dad, and both grandpas gave her a blessing right before her baptism. She went from being nearly in tears because of the pain to fine in less than 10 minutes. She was baptized, confirmed, and had a great rest of the day.
I hope she has good memories of today. My mother-in-law commented that no one remembers their baptism anyway, but I remember mine - or at least parts of it. I just want her to be able to look back on today and, if she remembers anything, to remember a blessing healed her. And that her dad and grandpas were a part of that. Not too much to ask, right?
sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-52127547092362942652012-03-29T11:29:00.009-07:002012-03-29T11:53:09.327-07:00"The Project"That's what we call it around here. The never-ending, almost-sorry-I-even-started-it, project. The one that took so long Trea once told me, "Mom, I hope you finish that before I'm all grown up."<br /><br />Me too!<br /><br />So, let me explain. <br /><br />This is the space beneath our stairs:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEU4dPTe_Ct-hHf3cenUYRC2U03s0YgzyiXx5-WEygofxfSE8mFCFryi-w0FSoEoMTNpS2q-al5ZdC0_rA1IJcjnx8liAUYOGPLsaTUE0y3dDsLyrjwc789UmBsJlkciM2oaT8/s1600/03.29.12+021.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEU4dPTe_Ct-hHf3cenUYRC2U03s0YgzyiXx5-WEygofxfSE8mFCFryi-w0FSoEoMTNpS2q-al5ZdC0_rA1IJcjnx8liAUYOGPLsaTUE0y3dDsLyrjwc789UmBsJlkciM2oaT8/s320/03.29.12+021.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725388588501566466" /></a><br /><br />Doesn't that just scream "playhouse" to you? I thought it did. We put the two play kitchens and the table and chairs in there. A good start, but. . . then I read the blog of my cousin's wife, Amy, and she had made the cutest felt cover for a card table, to make a playhouse. And I thought, it would be really cool to make a false front for the play space in our house. <br /><br />So I made this: <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0F5iFQ0cLLz8y8aF-492Em5TyyMybDbkZNusotCCIds_mN5JthZycMfWdPhglU9jnKKAWxaC0Y7ODsYPvGLm6Z4bfvZ7jpfKtckRk6dJrmbSCM8XO7mYNDkTQdS_Ss2h1IBM/s1600/03.29.12+045.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0F5iFQ0cLLz8y8aF-492Em5TyyMybDbkZNusotCCIds_mN5JthZycMfWdPhglU9jnKKAWxaC0Y7ODsYPvGLm6Z4bfvZ7jpfKtckRk6dJrmbSCM8XO7mYNDkTQdS_Ss2h1IBM/s320/03.29.12+045.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725389436834884994" /></a><br /><br />The kids love it.<br /><br />Close up of the rosebush:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NdTJTaBnWYp09f9nUMHX4qXZ-ZxepqF2nnwDoohKd_h10-_ScQkP53E14X9cE46_4Gf_75QC7OFydlMksz-A6b-lTPL4pVdJ-VWhoPKxPoarF0XIDPNmcsFuhE-064rHzcMj/s1600/03.29.12+025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NdTJTaBnWYp09f9nUMHX4qXZ-ZxepqF2nnwDoohKd_h10-_ScQkP53E14X9cE46_4Gf_75QC7OFydlMksz-A6b-lTPL4pVdJ-VWhoPKxPoarF0XIDPNmcsFuhE-064rHzcMj/s320/03.29.12+025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725391097210725234" /></a><br /><br />Close up of a rose:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnd3APyitMAkYKJbH2Ukr7nQrDSowIPnaQ35Twcajk1DjZHtZEWWBbEM-tzmbfoMt9dSh7PpU1rYEMfAMNZCN2vfExZUYQqmfY_6hs-pbDs_GNcAWCGHV3wDNK8udTurolhSzf/s1600/03.29.12+026.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnd3APyitMAkYKJbH2Ukr7nQrDSowIPnaQ35Twcajk1DjZHtZEWWBbEM-tzmbfoMt9dSh7PpU1rYEMfAMNZCN2vfExZUYQqmfY_6hs-pbDs_GNcAWCGHV3wDNK8udTurolhSzf/s320/03.29.12+026.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725391351729962930" /></a><br /><br />Close ups of vine flowers:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz71Pns5pUGePuMbwvmPQsFTfqTErFXgfXh2pcmGmjE-k1R-n-7lz0Hh3C010GkGpuphXCrZBK5tf0XyLFYDhsDLL1v2Pmpe4xxpmkgZgYW_-EGC4ifON77hta4t34Ifc7526P/s1600/03.29.12+032.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz71Pns5pUGePuMbwvmPQsFTfqTErFXgfXh2pcmGmjE-k1R-n-7lz0Hh3C010GkGpuphXCrZBK5tf0XyLFYDhsDLL1v2Pmpe4xxpmkgZgYW_-EGC4ifON77hta4t34Ifc7526P/s320/03.29.12+032.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725392093163002226" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFE2W55btb9A4CAIMTpG2do6n-pvsUaASH4L6eEVuCQ3kYf4NnNgqrhnB4Tcb9gCEI_zpSZASLcBxipRC53yNO2Y7X6UKm70s7k3CTt_lDQ260e-9BtmkxGagE0fbjYezEhHFr/s1600/03.29.12+036.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFE2W55btb9A4CAIMTpG2do6n-pvsUaASH4L6eEVuCQ3kYf4NnNgqrhnB4Tcb9gCEI_zpSZASLcBxipRC53yNO2Y7X6UKm70s7k3CTt_lDQ260e-9BtmkxGagE0fbjYezEhHFr/s320/03.29.12+036.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725392078177415986" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQdlBwi8BCZZDZOeHASGchkJWC1s-p3pbZau4QwT-35ieehpj_pFSk1zoMJcV2jVhSmWmX2J_iG39WYWGldd666z9mmTUIUXZNd7fisVFd_yQ_zz01euuF3ZPMRVMC0HJKQ-h/s1600/03.29.12+027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQdlBwi8BCZZDZOeHASGchkJWC1s-p3pbZau4QwT-35ieehpj_pFSk1zoMJcV2jVhSmWmX2J_iG39WYWGldd666z9mmTUIUXZNd7fisVFd_yQ_zz01euuF3ZPMRVMC0HJKQ-h/s320/03.29.12+027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725392071345111826" /></a><br /><br />(Sorry they're a little blurry, photography is on my list of things to learn. . .you know, now that I'm not working on this.)<br /><br />There are ladybugs on the vine too:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihouLbtCXO-RWIRY-k2XJH9h6a_A0hvkA2ev4IG26FLKnXpiy1HxubFkV8KEuuNKdYYCcELFEWfTi2UbYvkwgAYuleo99LIlvHGcSgY47tah-WwadWSffCJHH-gKDzB4AX_0Ja/s1600/03.29.12+029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihouLbtCXO-RWIRY-k2XJH9h6a_A0hvkA2ev4IG26FLKnXpiy1HxubFkV8KEuuNKdYYCcELFEWfTi2UbYvkwgAYuleo99LIlvHGcSgY47tah-WwadWSffCJHH-gKDzB4AX_0Ja/s320/03.29.12+029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725392490199449746" /></a><br /><br />I thought about butterflies, but I decided to add those later. They will be used to strategically hide any rips/stains/tears (which are inevitable, may as well plan for it, right?)<br /><br />Although I am embarrassed to admit this, I started this nearly two years ago. Memorial Day weekend, 2010. I made a lot of progress at first, and then I was sick, because I was pregnant with Mailaya. . .then I was nursing a newborn and chasing a toddler, which is NOT conducive to big projects that have to be laid out. . .and then my mom got sick and passed away shortly thereafter. I ripped out all the dandelions in my front yard while she was sick, but I didn't want to do anything that needed patience. After she died I just didn't have any desire to work on it for a while.<br /><br />But, it's done now. The hanging isn't perfect - but I've got a plan to tweak it. I also saved the sheer brown curtains that were in the living room, because I thought they'd make good doors. There's velcro on the back of the castle, so I just need to add velcro to the "doors" and they'd be done. <br /><br />John asked me at one point what I was going to do to the back - you know, the inside of the castle? Good grief, like it needs wallpaper???<br /><br />(I might, if I find the right fabric. . .)<br /><br />It was also John's idea to add the rainbow. I had a sketch that I showed him, and he (somewhat sarcastically) said,"Great, all it needs is a rainbow."<br /><br />And I, without a trace of sarcasm, said, "You're RIGHT! It DOES need a rainbow!"<br /><br />That cost him about $30 in felt, so he probably regrets it.<br /><br />I have big plans for the inside too, but I'm taking a break from this project to do other things. I'll come back to it eventually. I always do.sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-63243478164819396842011-09-28T20:06:00.000-07:002011-09-28T20:12:02.572-07:00Things that make me laughI know, I missed last Friday, and today is Wednesday, but whatever.<br /><br />Things that have made me laugh lately:<br /><br />Adia referring to McDonald's as "Old McDonald's" - as in, the guy with the farm. Oh honey, if there were a closer connection between ANY farm and MickeyD's you might get to go there more often. . . <br /><br />Trea giving Adia advice on the way home from school:<br /><br />Trea: Adia, why won't you let me be your preschool teacher?<br />Adia: I don't need a teacher. Mommy's teaching me.<br />Trea: You won't learn anything from her, she's too busy. You should let me handle it. I know Chinese.<br /><br />And Dylan, when we sing "Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam," jumps so hard that he usually loses his balance and falls over. But he pops right back up!<br /><br />Mailaya mostly makes me laugh by giving me the biggest, cheesiest grins ever.<br /><br />And finally, happy anniversary to my sweet husband! Nine years, four kids, and seven moves later, I'm still glad I married you!sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-63979651780408757132011-09-16T20:19:00.000-07:002011-09-16T20:26:41.183-07:00Just cause it's FridayI've decided Friday is my day to blog, even if I have nothing to say. Today was rough (Mailaya has decided afternoon naps are not required, I disagree) and I'm exhausted. So, just a quick update for tonight. <br /><br />Trea has started her Chinese immersion program. It's through the local school district, part of a regular elementary school. She has Mandarin Chinese in the morning and English in the afternoon. On the way home from school on the second day she told us that every kid has a behavior chart, and her entire class stayed on "green" the whole day. And Adia exclaimed "Even YOU, Trea?" <br /><br />She is very frustrated with me, though, because I still can't count to ten in Mandarin. She thinks I'm kinda slow, since she can count to 100. She sings "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" to the babies in Mandarin, and tries to teach Adia too. <br /><br />Her school is twenty minutes away, which is NOT convenient, but we feel like it's worth it. She's so much happier this year than she was last year, so excited about everything she's learning. <br /><br />The things we do for our kids. . . .sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-28725013621936775212011-09-09T20:13:00.001-07:002011-09-09T20:13:40.017-07:00PreparingMy mom died on July 15th. She'd had cancer for about a year, and been through chemo and surgery. It spread anyway, and she decided to discontinue treatment - well, I don't know exactly when she decided, I found out on July 5th.<br /><br />After she died, a friend of mine was expressing his condolences and I mentioned that we had time, we knew it was coming. And he said,"How do you prepare for something like that?" <br /><br />I've been thinking about that ever since. How do you prepare to lose your mom? So this is my experience.<br /><br />You tell her thank you for the things she taught you. You reassure her that she did an amazing job as a mom, that her efforts to teach you about faith, honesty, kindness, and forgiveness worked. You tell her you'll be ok, that she doesn't need to worry because you are as strong as she raised you to be. You thank her for as many things as you can remember, knowing you'll forget some but hoping it will kind of count.<br /><br />And then you start praying. First, for a confirmation that this really is the Lord's will. You pray to be reconciled to it. You pray for comfort, for peace, to know how to comfort and help her. You pray for strength to endure, and for her to have the same.<br /><br />All this so when the time comes that she asks you to pray for the end to come quickly, you can. Even though the very last thing you want to pray for is your mother's death, she taught you to have faith, that death is not the end. And you know that if YOUR mother, with her almost limitless capacity to endure, has reached her limit, then, well, she also taught you to be compassionate. <br /><br />You pray and you pray, and when the phone rings, you know she's gone.<br /><br />And that's how you prepare for something like that.sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-4464758844853878832011-05-31T11:45:00.000-07:002011-05-31T11:46:54.678-07:00What makes you think that?We walked to school again today to get Trea. Beautiful day!<br /><br />As I was leaving the school with Trea, Adia, two of the neighbor kids (who are 5 and 3) and the babies in the double stroller, the crossing guard asked me if I was running a daycare.<br /><br />No, no I am not. You couldn't pay me enough!sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-17110342755852486802011-05-25T11:43:00.000-07:002011-05-25T11:58:15.696-07:00Open LettersDear Universe,<br /><br />Bad things come in threes. You are over your quota. BACK OFF!<br /><br />Me<br /><br /><br />Dear Dylan,<br /><br />Just because you CAN open the oven and CAN scale every piece of furniture in the house doesn't mean you SHOULD. <br /><br />Your loving mother<br /><br /><br />Dear Trea and Adia,<br /><br />Just because I choose to ignore much of the noise in this house, doesn't mean I'm deaf. When you are laughing and shrieking when you are supposed to be asleep, I CAN HEAR YOU! Knock it off and get some sleep.<br /><br />Mom<br /><br /><br />Dear Insurance Company,<br /><br />If my house happens to burn to the ground when no one's home, and all our really important keepsakes just happen to be in storage, does that look suspicious? Not that I'm trying to get out of cleaning it or anything. . . <br /><br />Mesleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-70325436855644108762011-04-30T09:15:00.000-07:002011-04-30T09:25:29.026-07:00I speak Spanish too!So, for those that may not know, I am secretary of the women's organization in our church, hereafter RS. We have a president, two counselors, and me. We met last Thursday for a meeting, and as we were scheduling our next meeting, had the following conversation:<br /><br />President: How about next Wednesday, May 4th?<br />Counselor: That's probably good. When is Cinco de Mayo this year?<br />Pres: Um . . . it's on the cinco? You know, the fifth?<br />Counselor: OH! Cinco de Mayo means the fifth of May? I NEVER made that connection!<br />Me: Did you take Spanish? (I wasn't being snarky, I was just really curious)<br />Counselor: Well, yeah, but I don't remember DISCUSSING that Cinco de Mayo was the fifth of May!<br />Other Counselor: I always thought Cinco meant May! You know, because May is the fifth month!<br /><br />I swear we really are a reasonably intelligent group. . .sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-70046446750983552262011-04-07T08:28:00.001-07:002011-04-07T08:37:44.739-07:00PicturesBecause 1) I haven't posted pictures in a while and 2) I have nothing interesting to say right now.<br /><br />Mailaya:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jLe1YRoT1d48ZL8HpcGWZ67vUEQUZQpc0AL7cIpVzGfDwJB-OQ1HSCMWqlAWuiLXFItgKuypFhsQd1pdoED9YX_DH57lMmrP3sdJMLod1ITnxxvFrWAOQ80rg_T90apfnuo8/s1600/951.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jLe1YRoT1d48ZL8HpcGWZ67vUEQUZQpc0AL7cIpVzGfDwJB-OQ1HSCMWqlAWuiLXFItgKuypFhsQd1pdoED9YX_DH57lMmrP3sdJMLod1ITnxxvFrWAOQ80rg_T90apfnuo8/s320/951.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592864439820054546" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzh_ROwiRCkAyNXPLs_etjYKGt-ALzaqTHL3x1hHdsBnP7JxgPzrZhGVj3E9DO6KPKa5PyE8JN-9McFhgDKj2EkoifgZh-7PpR7s_mdDCAf04Vy1rgMMocL4FsAv7X7zRvY_Q/s1600/952.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzh_ROwiRCkAyNXPLs_etjYKGt-ALzaqTHL3x1hHdsBnP7JxgPzrZhGVj3E9DO6KPKa5PyE8JN-9McFhgDKj2EkoifgZh-7PpR7s_mdDCAf04Vy1rgMMocL4FsAv7X7zRvY_Q/s320/952.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592864434054459746" /></a><br /><br />Dylan:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodj0rwZ6Zm-I2_OU9CJlhlbseCtmH-_XCcpWHOgI4u3F-J0pwy-jGC4H8PBr_bRYm1CsfT3jBgw04j5tP7OUCzkXXRygGJUtJeiYXh8OdSdwjJg1E0yk5L8iScTYFWPQrgJdf/s1600/885.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodj0rwZ6Zm-I2_OU9CJlhlbseCtmH-_XCcpWHOgI4u3F-J0pwy-jGC4H8PBr_bRYm1CsfT3jBgw04j5tP7OUCzkXXRygGJUtJeiYXh8OdSdwjJg1E0yk5L8iScTYFWPQrgJdf/s320/885.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592865510085787826" /></a><br /><br />Adia:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mCtNL8fOyjuuNOpepNlLYFhhdiHQUSW9uT4aHGvTl60FxNpSufmJGxpHT7kjHIwg3ogZef5T1zJ5_xot0e5rMhogFLHvOZwaodIEUavc9q7auxNm73J_z0BRRivmE-TC-R81/s1600/845.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mCtNL8fOyjuuNOpepNlLYFhhdiHQUSW9uT4aHGvTl60FxNpSufmJGxpHT7kjHIwg3ogZef5T1zJ5_xot0e5rMhogFLHvOZwaodIEUavc9q7auxNm73J_z0BRRivmE-TC-R81/s320/845.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592865842551635650" /></a><br /><br />Trea:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEionjmqcFHGi4NC5wyuZ7VYMlBgjMKRydlHOROJVg53sVUugJlB7HUYhyphenhyphenXD5dADpeWBNYJXurES89IXrUIey6sBafUsLzrykblcGyJRd-wnOnxPVku4XpPg8S-AysIRfrYYuCqM/s1600/914.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEionjmqcFHGi4NC5wyuZ7VYMlBgjMKRydlHOROJVg53sVUugJlB7HUYhyphenhyphenXD5dADpeWBNYJXurES89IXrUIey6sBafUsLzrykblcGyJRd-wnOnxPVku4XpPg8S-AysIRfrYYuCqM/s320/914.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592866055969448146" /></a><br /><br />I'm never bored!sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-64427075938617325792011-03-23T12:09:00.000-07:002011-03-23T12:13:39.483-07:00One cool catThis is actually a story from a few months ago, but it needs to be recorded for the sake of posterity.<br /><br />Adia and I were playing cat and tiger. This is one of her favorite games. She pretends to be a cat, and I pretend to be a tiger. I swipe at her with my claws, growl, and tickle her. She giggles alot. <br /><br />So, we are playing, and she says "Mom! Pretend to eat me!"<br /><br />And I nuzzle her tummy.<br /><br />"Did you eat me?"<br /><br />"Um. . .yeah."<br /><br />"Okay, now I'm dead."<br /><br />Lays still for five seconds, before springing up and shouting:<br /><br />"And now JESUS CAT makes us all alive again!"<br /><br />Um. . .Jesus Cat?<br /><br />Apparently, Adia was under the impression that each species has its own savior. There's a Jesus for the dogs, for the birds, for the cats, etc. I'm not sure how specific this gets (do finches and hawks share? Wouldn't that be complicated?) but she was sure there was a Jesus cat.<br /><br />Who turns water into milk, probably.sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-22488467072671335602011-03-15T13:55:00.000-07:002011-03-15T13:59:05.692-07:00She's in!Trea has been accepted into the dual immersion program for next year!<br /><br />We are so lucky to get a spot - it's done by lottery, and there's a lot of demand. She'll be learning Mandarin Chinese, spending roughly half of every day in the "target language." They have a summer camp, too. Right now, the program is in 1st and 2nd grade, but the plan is to expand it by a grade every year. And in jr high/high school, they plan to have both subject and advanced language classes available to kids who have completed the elementary level program. Now that she's in, her siblings get priority placement, too.<br /><br />It means a 20-minute drive each way to her new school, but. . .she'll be able to read, write, and speak CHINESE! How cool is that?sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-12426451511371138122011-03-12T10:09:00.001-08:002011-03-12T10:16:06.522-08:00Did you know I do magic tricks?At least according to John and the kids, I do.<br /><br />I conjure tasty food at a moment's notice. I untie knots. I wrangle dolls (and real babies, too) into impossible clothes. I find long-lost shoes; I can always find clean socks. I can get the computer to suddenly start working. I know all the words and actions to dozens of songs.<br /><br />John, although impressed by all of the above, has even higher expectations. Like, expecting me to keep four kids, six and under, alive and well for twelve hours a day while he's earning a paycheck. And making that paycheck cover all the essentials, including the medical bills for the four children mentioned above.<br /><br />I can see why they have these expectations. One, I have produced entire human beings from scratch in the past, and proceeded to magically produce their food. And I've been doing all of the above, so they seem to think it's easy.<br /><br />Now excuse me while I go pull a rabbit out of hat (after I find the hat).sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-34639198135600572722011-02-27T12:09:00.000-08:002011-02-27T12:28:22.694-08:00Mailaya's birthI can't believe I haven't posted since I was first pregnant with Mailaya! Sheesh. You'd think I'd been tired and busy and feeling like crap for the last nine months. . .oh wait, I was/did!<br /><br />But, I'm not pregnant anymore!<br /><br />This is mostly for me, because this blog is as close to keeping a journal as I come these days. And I though Mailaya deserved her own post. :)<br /><br />Mailaya was born Jan 22, at 2:30 am. On Jan 21, I had an appointment with Pete the midwife, and asked him to strip my membranes. I was 3 cm dilated and 50-60% effaced (I had been using Evening Primrose Oil like crazy, trying to dilate enough to be a candidate for membrane stripping. It worked!) I'm not usually so desparate for my babies to come (see Adia and Dylan's birth stories, 16 and 11 days late, respectively) but I was up against a wall this time. Tax season was already starting, so John could take one week, and one week only, and sooner rather than later. My mom was unable to come out because of her chemo. I really, really needed baby #4 to come somewhat on time, so John could help me that first week.<br /><br />Lucky for me, stripping my membranes worked. I had contractions on and off all day. We were joking about how to determine when, exactly, active labor started, because they were so irregular for so long. At 9:25 pm, I was walking on the treadmill, and John said something (I don't remember what) and I told him to shut up. And he threw his hands in the air and said, "It's official! You really ARE in labor!"<br /><br />Apparently I only tell him to shut up when I am in labor. Huh.<br /><br />Even after that, the contractions just weren't that strong, and weren't getting closer together, although they were getting more and more regular. Finally, around 11 o'clock, I went upstairs and told John that I felt like it was time to go, even though the contractions were still 7 minutes apart. They weren't that close together but I felt shaky and nauseated. John took one look at me and said, "It's time." I took a shower, and had three contractions spaced 6 minutes apart. We got in the car, and in the 30 minutes it took us to get the hospital, the contractions went from 4 minutes apart to 3 to 2 and a half. We got to the hospital at 12:30. I was five cm upon admission. My midwife arrived at 1:30, and broke my water at 1:45; I was seven cm at that point. <br /><br />The next part seemed to take forever. Based on past births, I figured breaking my water at seven cm would throw me into a quick transition, I'd push for a few minutes, and BAM! baby. Instead, even though I dilated almost completely very quickly, I didn't feel any urge to push. There was a tiny lip on the cervix that wouldn't resolve. I moved from the bed to the rocking chair to the bed again. At one point I looked at John (it was a few minutes before two) and said, "This will all be over by 2:30," and he agreed. I was trying to gear myself up for a set amount of time. At 2:15 I STILL didn't feel like pushing, and I thought about how I was wrong about the time.<br /><br />Shortly after that, I sat on the bed, looked at Pete, and said that I really didn't think I could do it much longer.<br /><br />I didn't notice at the time, but Pete told me later that he and Amy, the nurse, looked at each other; then he pulled on his gloves and uncovered the table with all the birthing supplies. Good thing, because I started to push with the next contraction, and Mailaya was born at 2:26 am.<br /><br />Pete says when a woman who's birthing without meds says she can't do it any longer, it usually means it's time to have a baby.<br /><br />So even though it FELT like forever, it was only 45 minutes from hitting 7 cm to holding Mailaya in my arms. She is beautiful (full lips, lots of dark hair, long fingers) and opinionated. Dylan was the most laid-back baby ever. Mailaya has less patience, but that's probably a good thing. Being the fourth, if she DIDN'T stick up for herself she might never get mom's attention!sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-64088294222046384432010-07-21T10:02:00.001-07:002010-07-21T10:04:26.641-07:00Do you know what the definition of insanity is?Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.<br /><br />Want proof that I'm certifiable? <br /><br /><br />I'm pregnant. AGAIN.<br /><br /><br />I'm three months along (due Jan 21, 2011).<br />Dylan is almost 8 months old.<br />They'll be fourteen months apart, if this baby is a few days late.<br />Yes, we know what causes this.<br />Yes, we own a TV.<br />No, we don't have cable.<br /><br />Anything else?sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-45573435497936549022010-05-06T10:11:00.000-07:002010-05-06T10:18:18.213-07:00Why I'm not sure Adia is my childJohn had all of last week off. It was his second week of paternity leave, which he had to use before Dylan reached six months or lose.<br /><br />It was great to have him home all week. It was especially great because I <s>demanded</s> suggested he menu plan and cook for the week, and he agreed. Monday, he and his dad became embroiled in a project (which is another post altogether) but Tuesday through Sunday, he cooked. The menu for the week:<br /><br />Tuesday: buttered noodles with parmesan cheese <br />Wednesday: Cheeseburgers<br />Thursday: Sloppy Joes<br />Friday: Fajitas<br />Saturday: pan-seared salmon with rice pilaf and salad<br />Sunday: Shepherd's pie<br /><br />Noodles and cheeseburgers are always popular around here, so they went over big. Trea, adventerous as always, ate EVERYTHING with minimal hesitation and no complaints. Adia ate the shepherd's pie, downed the salmon (and ate the leftovers for lunch), ate the fajitas minus the peppers, and. . . would.not.touch. the Sloppy Joes, no matter what.<br /><br />Strange kid.sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23395768.post-57663796074107815982010-04-14T22:05:00.000-07:002010-04-14T22:07:50.493-07:00It’s all about the deliveryTrea had her pre-kindergarten check up today (and the pediatrician, who has seen Trea off and on since she was two weeks old, was as aghast as I was). She got FIVE shots, and didn’t shed a single tear. She was rewarded with coupons to a local fast-food place to get a hamburger and an ice-cream cone. Since John was planning to work late, we went out.<br /><br />Now the problem, every time we go to a fastfood establishment with a play area of any kind, is leaving. They are wonderful kids while we’re there; they play well with others, eat their food, and generally behave themselves. Come time to leave though, and it’s almost always a fight.<br /><br />So we talked, thoroughly, about my expectations. That when it was time to go there would be nothing less than complete cooperation. When the time came, Trea was fabulous and Adia resistant. Still, she didn’t melt down, so this was an improvement. We got in the car and the litany of complaints began.<br /><br />“I’m tired.”<br />“I’m thirsty.”“I really wanted to play some more.”<br />“My shirt has ice cream on it.”<br /><br />I reminded the girls that is a TREAT to go to one of these places, and weren’t they so lucky to get to go? Adia told me AGAIN that her shirt had ice cream on it, the dismay in her voice rivaling the tone most people use for discussing natural disasters or government action of any kind.<br /><br />I talked about being positive and looking at the bright side. Adia repeated herself, louder, in case I just hadn’t understood that immediate action was called for (what did she want me to do while driving the minivan?)<br /><br />When that didn’t work, I told them in no uncertain terms that I was not in a mood to hear complaints, or whining, and only wanted to hear happy voices the rest of the way home.<br /><br />At which point Adia said, in the cheeriest possible voice, “Mom, my shirt has ice cream on it!”<br /><br />Which, I guess, technically, was just a statement of fact.<br /><br />I took them home, stripped off their clothes, and threw them in the bath, from which they emerged 30 minutes later clean, relaxed, and tired: The bedtime trifecta.<br /><br />And I'm still laughing at Adia.sleep deprivedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18106025238113861449noreply@blogger.com1