For Posterity (and Rainy Days)

We've had bad luck with our kids.--they've all grown up.  
-Christopher Morley



Yesterday I woke up to a lovely poem on my nephew's 17th birthday:

This is what my nephew looks like now:

Yikes!!! I think I am getting older because I am in the same place these days.  My son is only 14, but I am feeling a similar nostalgia about him aging and going away.  I am recording this today as proof that having 4 small children actually pays off at some point.  I remember when a friend of mine had her first baby she said something like "You know before I had kids, I thought it was going to be 90% and 10% fun.  But when I actually had a baby, it turns out it was 10% work and 90% fun."  When she said that I thought she was so sweet but a little crazy.  It IS 90% work!!! 

But now, now that my youngest child is in kinder, I am getting there.  I still feel that my younger kids are high levels of work--they are always wanting things like food and help finding shoes.  But my older children, wow, what a sweet payoff.

They used to ask for stuff.  When they were this size:

But lately, when they call and ask "hey can I stay at my friend's house?"  I feel like saying "No!!! come hang out with me!!!" But I don't really have a reason to say no, so I just say "I guess.  Be home by 5:30."  

Because this is what it is like to hang out with them now:

And the feeling is bittersweet--because just as I like them more, they like other people more.  Just as I want to hang out with them and play games or watch youtube videos of stupid music videos from my childhood, they want to come home late from doing more fun things with their friends.

Soon enough, these wonderful little children will become actual adults and move out while I will be left wondering why I found cooking dinner such a chore after all.

I suppose having 4 children at least gives me a little extra time because while they are still asking for stuff and needing stuff, they are getting pretty fun too:

And even now, as I am posting this, I am worried about my kids' grades, their friendships, and developing the spirituality in my children.  But when Jenny posted her poem about her oldest child, it gave me a fleeting glance into my own future in which I am reluctant to let my kids go, I am devastated that they are leaving me and my first act as an empty nester is to show up on the doorstep of some poor child of mine and say "Hey, come home and watch this Jimmy Fallon bit with me."  

And their roommates will look them in the eye and whisper "Make sure she takes you food shopping while you are out."

Girl's Camp

I spent a week at camp Mia Shalom:

It was the first time in a long time that I went an entire week without technology.  The first little bit I was actually imagining the chime of my IM or the feel of my phone on vibrate, a phantom phone.

But once I settled in, it was kind of painful to come back to society.  I missed my husband and children of course, but since I had one of my children with me:

I think I could have stayed another week.  A few things came out of my experience:

1) I want to learn how to build an awesome fire.  I think I am going to try to take the family camping, just so I can burn a huge fire.  A man came with us for the week to help us out and he was like, the firestarter of the universe.  One night I think we used somewhere around 60 logs for a single fire.  It was epic.

2) I like teenagers.  I was reminded of why I liked teaching, all the beautiful opportunities you have to actually teach something in a small moment and the very immediate reminder about whether it worked.

3) I like being around other women.  We had our own cabin for leaders and it was so nice to just hang out sometimes.  

4) I like working.  If it seemed like something needed to be done, it made me happy to do it.  I preferred cooking and cleaning to sitting in all cases.

5) Camp food can be awesome.  Our camp director was the best meal planner, the way she organized food for 30 people without batting an eye (and with leftovers) was kind of crazy.  We had Cafe Rio imitation chicken, we had a J-Dawgs hotdog (Costco hotdogs with J-Dawgs sauce), and a serious dessert every day.  It is a miracle I only gained 2 pounds.

6) I love singing.  I wish we sat around and sang with guitars more.

SAHD

Most of you know that Steve has been home with the kids for most of our marriage--not that he hasn't had plenty to do as a full-time student which he has been for much of that time, but he has also taken on the responsibility of being the primary care giver in our home for the days I am gone or when I am home and on the phone (which seems like a large percentage of the time.) This year, he had to step it up as a full-time student dissertating while I pursued a Master's Degree and was gone even more than normal.

One might wonder what Steve does when I am out of town.  Does he cook?  Clean?  Do the dishes?  Laundry?  What kinds of activities does he do with the kids?

In a world in which we still make a big deal about men who know what to do with their kids, it can surprise people to know that I never do laundry yet it is always clean and put away and there are no piles of dirty clothes around.  The children are not starving when I come home as evidenced by their yummy chubby faces and the dishes seem to be just as clean when I am here as when I return from being gone.

As for the activities, this is where his parenting gets a little questionable.  Often when I come home from being out of town, I encounter strange new possessions that arrived in my absence.  Things like this:

I know that some of you recognize the life-sized bear from Costco.  We own one.  Actually, we own two:

My sister-in-law suggested that they look like passed out frat boys in the middle of the night (you may recall a similar post I made about it awhile back).

These bears also have a little friend that arrived later one, a little  big stuffed sheep.  I tried to take a pictures so you can get a sense of scale, but the thing is larger than a standard pillow.

These large stuffed animals are a nuisance, but never before has something shown up that has been as disruptive as these three two ratoncitos. 

They purchased three but Steve decided it was one too many and returned one without consulting the girls, it was very traumatic for poor little Gillian

In a sad turn of events, however, one of the little rats got very ill with pneumonia and a side of my beloved husband came out that reminded me of why I married him.  He put the rat cage in the bathroom and turned up the water to provide a steam room for the sick rat.  And in spite of his eternal cheapness and the lack of return on his investment ($5 dollar rat: $50 vet trip) he took the sick pet to the veterinarian to make sure that the animal was cared for properly.  In watching him make sure this little animal was going to survive, I couldn't help but forgive all of his crazy antics when I am out of town. 

To you, my love, on your birthday, thank you for all that you are to our family.

Beauty and the Teen

A friend of mine posted an article on the facebook today entitled How to Talk to Little Girls.  Certainly I concur with the author's point about the problem facing young women and an overemphasis on beauty.  It also sits well with me to encourage a young woman to develop her other talents and develop her mind.

But what bothered me a bit was to hold back enthusiasm about the adorableness of little girls because seriously, how can you not rave about someone that looks like this:

???

And when your natural instinct to express your love for how much she gives you joy to see her, witholding that enthusiasm and giving into a "don't you love to hike?  I do!" doesn't quite convey how much it pleases you to see her face.

But what struck me the most about this article is that it neglects the research that I believe to ring true--that the main influence on a young girl's body image is in fact her relationship with her mother as well as her mother's own body image.  Do these young girls seeking ways to be more beautiful have mothers who are completely satisfied with their own looks (not sure this is fair to ask, is any woman?)

I read an article years ago about the influence of a mother's body image and got some great tips:

• Praise your own body in front of your daughter by saying things like "don't I look good in this swimsuit" or "doesn't this color look pretty on mommy?"  
• Avoid saying things like "I am fat" or referring to your dieting practices. 
• Stay focused on health

I will admit that this was very difficult for me at first, not really feeling like "mommy looks pretty in a swimsuit" ever.  And, perhaps looking at this cyclically, my mother had a very tortured relationship with her own body image and constantly complained that she was overweight--at a mere 120 lbs.  I have never once in my life looked at my body with any level of satisfaction.

But wanting to try something new with my own daughters, I have worked very hard to appreciate my own looks in front of them.  I feel that this has been very successful and the level of confidence my oldest daughter has is tremendous in comparison with where I was at her age a quarter of a century ago.

This whole theory was tested last week when my 8-year old, watching me zumba to a youtube video, asked "Mommy, did you ever think that you were fat?"

YES!!! I STILL DO!!! DON'T EAT THAT DONUT OR YOU WILL BE FAT TOO!!!

But rather than shout my true feelings, I did what any good mother does: lie.

"Well, honey, I see other women, like in this video, and I know my body does not look like that.  What I try to think about is keeping my body healthy with good exercise and healthy eating so that I can feel good about myself.  So I try not to look at other women and notice what I look like in comparison with them."

She seemed pleased with my response--I had to really refrain from asking her why-- I am not sure if she was asking me because she was worried about her own body or if she was thinking that I looked kind of fat, I just didn't have the mental space to handle her answer if she said "well you are kind of bigger than those girls" when I was in the middle of sweating up a storm to lose those 7 grad school pounds.

I have come a long way, baby.

The main point I wish to make here is that refraining from telling a girl she is beautiful because you do not want to reinforce what society says only works if everyone else is fighting that battle too, specifically, her mother.   But we cannot pretend that beauty is going to be less important over time if we all just stop complimenting young women on their looks.  So I propose a compromise, next time you want to squeal in delight at the young curly-haired girl at the dinner party:

1) Stick with a focus on the talent as the primary goal of the conversation

2) Still tell her she is beautiful, for what harm does it do for her to believe it about herself?

3) Compliment yourself in the conversation so she sees role models who are confident

Imagine this modified version of the conversation:

"Look at this beautiful child!!! What are you reading beautiful child with the yummy curls?  I LOVE books too."  And when she says that she reads books all by herself?  You say "Are you kidding me?  You read a book by yourself?  Age 5?  That is completely awesome and actually pretty rare." 

And as you are telling her about the book you wrote, the success you experienced as a professional woman and your favorite color somehow comes up, why not throw in a "...which is why I wore this green dress because really, don't I look fabulous?"

I want girls to understand that their talents, intellect, and hard work are key to confidence and identity. But I also want them to feel confident enough in their looks to allow them to put their talents on the front page and hearing other women say that they are beautiful (even when we perhaps are not) seems to me to be a much better way to respond to our own instincts about complimenting a cute face while raising healthy girls.

President Obama Validates My Life's Work

So yesterday was a pretty big day for me.  First of all, has anyone seen anyone this good-looking in real life before?

Those three guys are okay too.

Anyway, it was kind of funny to see these famosos because it happened immediately following a major career high.


If you want to know why yesterday was so awesome, like tearfully awesome, you need to watch this video starting at 9:40.  And then imagine you are in a room full of people who you have worked with anywhere from the last year to the last decade.  People who helped you learn about the most amazing possibilities and who believed that a single small school in Northern California could be a model for the rest of the country.  Places like Manor, Texas:





It might just be me, but didn't that sound really compelling? And you know what? What he says here? This is really happening--not just here, but in schools across the country. And don't you want your kid in one of these schools? I sure do. So to all my @newtechnetwork friends, thank you for all the work you personally have done that led to this moment for us as a national movement. For my friends who have supported me while I travel so much, I hope this clarifies the urgency that pulls me periodically away from my family.  The more we can create this kind of community, the more hope I personally have for the future of all of our communities and preparing our kids for the world that will await them.

Even if you didn't vote for Obama, pretty cool, eh?

To My Body, With Gratitude

My dearest round little body,

You are my greatest friend and ally.

My feet who continue to support my increasing berth.

My legs who continue to push me when sleeping has been fitful, on a redeye flight, or interrupted by bloodcurdling screams from the hotel room next door.

My hands that type endlessly, drive rental cars at midnight, gesture with clarity to let people know where they stand with me and then still have the energy to sign my name over, and over, and over again.

My eyes that continue to see far, that without support of any kind, allow me to see the majestic mountains in the morning, the 10,000 foot view of farm fields from an airplane, my beautiful children's faces, and wondrous sunsets.

My stomach, that goes hours without any fuel and then fills up too quickly with ill-timed meals that are not quite right.

My mind that energizes me with funny things to think, surgically takes apart all conversation around me and then processes my thoughts in such familiar ways.

My mouth that generates words that execute all that I want to say and in exactly the way that will reflect who I am perfectly.

My heart that beats with steady perfection and continues to fill me with a feeling of warmth and love for   the people of my world.

I am sorry that I let you fall in that parking lot, that in my distracted and tired state of mind, I allowed you to slam to the ground in such an ungraceful way and leave an asphalt mark in too many little places.  I am sorry for the high heels, I am sorry for the cell phone in my face, and I am most of all sorry that I gave you no attention in any way over the last week.  I know, I owe you.

But you have beautifully managed a recovery and reminded me that with you I am nothing. Please, let me have just a few more decades with you and let me remember to treat you with more kindness and caring because in spite of all of the other relationships I have in this world, you are truly the one who has been the most there for me.

Fairness and Equity (or, Teachable Moments Gone Bad)

Last night I made the mistake of trying to teach my children about equity and justice by taking advantage of a "teachable moment" when my eldest daughter's civil disobedience took the form of dereliction of duty on her chores.

Bridget didn't understand why she had to do her chore three times (dishes) and her brother only did his twice (cleaning off the counter tops).

The following conversation ensued:

Mom: Look, it is spring break, you are generating more dishes so when it is your day to do that job, you will do it more frequently.  So will the person who is on garbage, that is just the way it works.  I believe in equity, not fairness.

Bridget:  What is the difference?

Mom:  Equity means that every person has an equal shot at society (this is where I start to degenerate and change the point of my argument with her).  Say a family has their house burn down, the parents both lose their jobs, and the kids don't have anything to eat.  Then another family, with parents who have a good job and a big house, they are eating a frosty for dessert (gesturing to our own frosty desserts on the table).  They both go to the food bank, who should get the dinner?

Bridget:  They both should get the same amount (said with sarcasm).

Mom: You are a jerk.  I am not raising kids who believe that.

Casey:  That is a bad example.

Bridget:  Why would the rich family be at the food bank?

Casey: Duh, because they are giving the food bank food

Steve:  Wait, what if they are at the food bank because they feel entitled and just want more food?

Bridget: No, let me give you an example, there is a short guy, a medium guy, and a tall guy.  There are all these crates and they are trying to watch a game.  They each get a crate.  And then someone comes along and says "Hey, those guys didn't even buy tickets to watch the game, why are they getting to watch it for free?"

Needless to say, I did the dishes myself (though I did guilt trip her the entire time, resulting in a clean living room.)

Ode to My Students

I have been touched by your kids... and I'm pretty sure that I've touched them.
-Dewey Finn, School of Rock

You know how you read online these warm and touching stories about teachers?  Well, I have never google searched it, but I don't often read heart-warming stories about how students have impacted the life of a teacher even though I believe it happens just as often, if not more.

I have blogged about what I learned from some of my students before (my journey learning about race) and you often hear about how a student, particularly a struggling student shames a teacher into repentance. Has anyone read the story that circulates about Teddy and how he gave his teacher some perfume that she thought was trashy until she found out his mother died?  I hate that story and I think most educators should if they think it is okay to take delight in failing students until you find out they have a deceased parent, are you serious people?

Well I am here to confess that I didn't go into teaching to inspire people, I went into teaching because I was moved by the young people I taught myself.

In another blog post (Paragraph 6) I wrote about my beginning teaching experience in LA Unified.  I often describe that time as like one of those movies (Dangerous Minds or Lean on Me) but without the inspiring teacher part.

I could write a novel on students that I taught in Delhi and how much I loved them as individuals and that I still remember my first experience when someone cheated on a test and I was shocked into reality that it wasn't a violation of the ed code.  Or how a student told me that he already made more money than me as a 15-year old drug dealer.  Or showing up at the house of three punk kids I loved because they stayed home from my boring summer school class in favor of playing video games.  Or how I became so close with some of the students there that it nearly broke my heart to leave the school when we moved.

But today I want to write about Stacee.  See that picture at the top?  The centerpiece to that picture with the white shirt and long hair? Stacee died this last weekend.  It was a jolt to me, to lose a young person--as a teacher, you are supposed to die before your students, all of them.  I sometimes live in fear--when I get a request on facebook from a name that is only vaguely familiar, am I forgetting my students?  Is this person someone who I really should know by name and face?  Will I forget the things that they taught me and the things that they said, and lose a piece of myself?

But when Stacee died, a sudden burst of memories came to me, a reminder of what a beautiful young lady she was, the times she made fun of me or her peers, the times she stunned me with her raw artistic talent, the times she scared me with how deeply she felt things.  I remembered my mistakes, I remembered her mistakes, and surprisingly, I remembered with perfect clarity being inspired by her on the first day of orientation:

We were standing in a group in the front of the room, a group of excited teachers introducing ourselves for the first time to parents and students in a pioneering school.  When the teachers came to stand up front, there was an audible murmuring about how young these teachers were.  And we were!  Tim, Kristen, Kris, Senna, Robin, Matt, Andy... we were all in the first 3 years of teaching, on the mature end of that spectrum.  Lorna had a few years on us and then Proctor--we don't count him though (sorry, once you get busted for drugs you are out of the picture, yo).  And while I had taught for a few years, I was still young.  And as we were introduced and I looked out on this sea of parents, a little shy that we didn't know what the ayche we were doing, I saw Stacee and Nicole, these two cute girls who I had met before the presentation, and I knew that we were going to be awesome.  I knew that these kids, especially the 10th graders, had left a secure and safe place in their previous school and pioneer or not, we had an obligation to do something for them.  It wasn't a teacher who inspired me in that moment, it was students, who gave me the inner strength to do the hard work.

I don't know why this stands out to me--but it is false to say that teaching is a thankless job.  It is fake to say that no one appreciates teachers.  That is bullcrap or no one would do it. It is the most appreciated job on the planet.  Every day I knew where I stood with my students, if they liked what I taught, if they learned in my classroom.  I knew if I had completely bored them to death, if I had not provided a safe enough environment, if I had wasted their time, or if they genuinely loved what they had done in my classroom.  I received gifts every holiday (once a group of students planned a surprise party for me during a particular class period), I received notes of appreciation, and was the recipient of random acts of kindness.  Most of all I was inspired.

By students who already knew everything but refused to be lazy, kids who had a killer work ethic.

By kids who had a better sense of humor, a stronger moral compass, a more righteous sense of justice.

By kids who didn't understand what they were saying but fought about it anyway.

By kids who didn't undersand what I was saying but fought about it anyway.

By kids who saw right through everything and realized that the system was not going to be on their side but gave it a go anyway.

By students, like Stacee, who had more talent by age 16 than most people will experience in a lifetime.

I am saddened by her departure, devastated on behalf of her family, but grateful too, that I knew someone like her.

That she reminds me that so much of the inspiration that happens in the classroom is generated not from the teachers, but the students themselves.

What is Important

Sometimes when I tell people about my travels, I get a response like this "Wow that must be nice."

When I get an upgrade, when I am stuck in a town due to weather delays or cancelled flights and I stay in an upgraded suite, dine on room service or Häagen Dazs ice cream, when the car rental company gives me the newest model of a black sleek car, and when I get to skip security it does feel like I get my own little mini-vacation.  I can't pretend like being alone in a hotel room with room service is "stressful" or "sensory overload" like my house often is on a regular basis.

And yesterday at church, someone posed the question: "What is your holy place?"  and I had to admit to myself that unlike some other women whose response is "the bathroom",  I actually have a quiet and peaceful place where I spend time on a regular basis.  That is since my "no TV" policy I established a few years ago (due to excessive Seinfelding at 11 every night).

But when I sit down to look at my travel schedule and find that I am going to be away from my family for at least some portion of the week for weeks on end, I wonder if it really is nice.

My children are growing up.  My two oldest are in fact away from home already much more than I anticipated, spending time with friends, or extra-curriculars and as they grow up, I miss them tremendously.  And I wonder what long-term effect my travels will have on my children.

Will they report to their therapist that their mother was always gone and neglected them or will their sense of independence and ability to make choices be greater and healthier psychologically?

Will I look back on my life and wonder if my sense of purpose was skewed in wanting to serve so many children over serving my own brood on a regular basis or will I feel a sense of satisfaction at having done both?

Will my husband look back on our marriage as a one-sided effort or will he feel closer to me because we made a great effort to spend time together precisely because of my schedule?

If I were working for a standard for-profit industry, I feel that the moral dilemma I face would not be so complicated.  Though I doubt I would be able to recognize it, I feel that in my heart I would know that my time of jet-setting was to come to an end once my husband had a job and we had another income.

But now, I can't imagine giving up the work I am engaging in nationally and by the way being paid for it any more than I can imagine not being a mother.  It is who I have become and who I want to be--so the question becomes even more complicated.  Were I not working for pay, I would still spend hundreds of hours a month in schools, school board meetings, or some other nefarious volunteerism.

As I recently said to a co-worker, we are all busy doing a certain number of things.  Some of us do more things and do them less effectively--I am one of these individuals.  No matter what anyone says, I am certain that my effort to raise my children is less efficacious than a woman who is at home with her children full-time.  I am positive that my home would be cleaner, my medical bills more organized, my budget in better shape and my church service would be greater.  I know I would be a better intern and grad student if I weren't doing 10 other things, a more committed friend and a less needy wife--but these are not the choices I have made.

What I still can't decide is whether more is less, or, as my mind and body insist, more is more.

Hampton Inn, I will see you this evening O my Holy Place.

Early Adopter

I bought myself a lovely new dishset from IKEA this weekend and I am thrilled to pieces about it.

Steve thinks it was a waste.

Anyway, I was trying to show it to someone today, and to my chagrin could not find it on their website.

But THEN I found a picture of it here:

And to my DELIGHT I discovered that they are new, as in 2013.  And I, a woman of no home and no decor of my own, have become an early adopter of IKEA dishware.

I just wanted to share.  Come over for dinner some time and try out my new dishes.