At The Dark End of the Street by Danielle McGuire
Dumbing Down Our Kids by Charles Sykes
Academically Adrift by Richard Arum and Josipa Roska
The Testing Trap by George Hillocks, Jr.
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The Earth Flower: A Story
The following story was created by 3 4-year olds. At my children’s school, the early childhood curriculum/theme is dictated by the children and their interests. Zoë’s class was fascinated with natural materials–sticks, leaves, stones, and making books. So, natural materials, the natural world and books became the year’s focus and all areas of the curriculum were taught through the exploration of the natural world. It’s great because the culminating project in their classes are never the exact same.
The final project in Zoë’s class was a collection of stories written by the students. Below you will read the story written by Zoë and two of her classmates.
This is the Earth Flower. It’s a flower that everybody lives in. There’s an earth inside of the flower. Bees come to take the earth out because there’s pollen inside this flower. The bees actually come and take all the earth’s pollen, but when it’s nighttime, the earth takes all the pollen back.
The bees live in the earth, and they make honey for the earth. The bees give it to the earth, and then the earth gives it back. Then somebody takes the Earth Flower and makes it into more flowers.
The Earth Flowers die at some point. They turn littler and littler until they die, except for the big one. It stays alive. People live in the Earth Flower; they just walk around and they have houses. The bees are nice and they don’t sting anyone at all. Because the Earth Flower somehow died, it doesn’t stay how it looks forever. It changes. the stem somehow pops off, and it turns into the regular earth. The people didn’t know what to do, but they had an idea. They put some tape in a big line and what they did was they turned it back into the Earth Flower.
I read this story and I see so many of the things that Zoë (and her classmates) learned at school. They spend one to two mornings a weeks in the greenhouse or on and “adventure” with the sustainability teacher. This story showcases the emerging understanding of pollination and it is beautiful.
It is moments like these that remind me of what our children are capable of doing and understanding. If only we stopped seeing their limitations and only saw their potential–what a beautiful world we would live in.
What It Means To Be An Adoptive Mom
May 13, 2012
Posted in Adoption
Posted in Adoption
Today is always a bitter sweet day for me. I celebrated my first mother’s day in 2006 (while Noah was still in Ethiopia) three days after we received our referral. I remember wanting to celebrate but no one outside of my immediate family recognized me as a mother yet. But I was one and I knew it. From the minute I saw his picture and then later Zoë’s, I was their mother.
Being and adoptive mom (and I am so clearly identified as an adoptive mom-I am white and my two kiddos are clearly not white a all) means…
I am often asked where my children are from
I am often asked who does my daughter’s hair
That I share my children with two amazingly courageous women in Ethiopia who are also mother’s even if they aren’t raising their children
That I have to be hyper aware of how others treat my children
That I have to work hard to learn about racism and teach my children (especially my black son) what it means in our society to be seen as black.
It also means…
That I kiss their booboo’s and owies’s.
That I kiss them goodnight each evening and kiss them good morning each morning (usually way to freaking early).
That I get to laugh at their silliness.
That I get to snuggle them when they are sad.
That I have to punish them when they misbehave (and hit their brother/sister).
That I get to watch then grow up.
That I get to watch them get their first base hit and slide into home.
That I get to help them learn to write their name and read.
That I get to watch them grow (right before my eyes).
That I get to take them on their first roller coaster.
That I get to watch in amazement as they learn something new.
That I get to help them navigate the world.
That I get to dream about their future.
That I can sacrifice so they can have the best education and opportunities possible.
That I get to raise them and love them.
That I never forget that I owe a debt of gratitude to their birthmother’s for the sacrifice they made.
That I always remind my children of the courage and selflessness of those two women in Ethiopia that made us a family.
That I remember to honor two women in Ethiopia who don’t get to do any of the things I get to except dream about their future.
That I hope I am doing right by the women who bestowed this gift on me.
That I aspire to raise their children in a way that honors them.
That I ensure our children understand.
This is what it means to be an adoptive mom. I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Happy Mother’s Day to my children’s birthmother’s (an all other birthmother’s) and all mothers. Mothering is the hardest thing we do.
How Meet The Robinsons Got My Kids Asking Questions
Well, last night we sat down after Judo to each dinner and the kids wanted to watch SpongeBob. I did not (yes sometimes we eat dinner around the TV–not always but sometimes–done judging?). So I was looking for something entertaining and I noticed that Meet the Robinsons was on. So I flipped to that and Noah was immediately interested and asked “Where is the guy we are looking for–the main character?”
We watched the movie until the neighbors got home and then the kids went and jumped on the trampoline together (I know what you are thinking–”don’t you know how dangerous trampolines are?” Well I do, and I also know they are fun). Then we finished watching the movie. At the end, we had a long discussion about the premise of the movie and the idea of time travel and how cool that would be–and it took Noah a bit to understand the whole idea of being able to go into the future, etc. But in the end put it together.
Then we talked about the adoption part. Then he asked about his own adoption story–he wanted to know what I knew. This is the first time he has really asked for me to tell him what I know–he was never interested before. So we talked a long time (I will not tell the story here–as it belongs to my son). We talked about how he was in the hospital and Bill and I were so scared that he wasn’t going to live and then we talked about how babies sometimes die all over the world from things that seem not to bad to those of us fortunate enough to have money and regular access to doctors and healthy food and environments. Then Zoë wanted to know her story and hers is more cloudy than Noah’s story and a bit more sad). It was a hard conversation, as you want to be honest but these kids are only 4 1/2 and 6 and adoption, while happy for us, is also very sad and confusing for kids–especially for kids who are adopted internationally.
After our talk, they were both visibly sad. They didn’t know how to feel. They were sad that there was their birthmoms who they wouldn’t ever know. Noah really wanted to know if his was alive and I had to say that I didn’t know. He said “I think maybe she died.” I had to say I didn’t know, but I can see how for a child it might be an easier way to understand and/or cope. We then talked about Ethiopia and the nannies who took such good care of them when they were babies waiting for us. They talked about being excited to travel to Ethiopia and play with the babies and kids who are waiting for families. They want to thank the nannies who took care of them.
It was such a great conversation, but it was so hard. I am glad we had it, but I know it isn’t the last time we will talk about it. These are conversations I always knew we would have and have had some version of over the last almost 6 years, but when we got that phone call 6 years ago today about a 1+ month old baby boy, I had no idea how complex this parenting thing would be.
I wouldn’t change a minute of it or a single choice we made.
Gender Specific Play Time
UGH! Even the title of this post makes me cringe–just not feeling creative in the title creation.
Bill is leaving for a business trip today for the rest of the week. The kids are used to me traveling for work, but Bill doesn’t travel for work much. So, we originally planned to go to a movie and dinner as a family. But Noah wants to see the Avengers (as does Bill) and it is almost 2 1/2 hours long and there IS NO WAY IN HELL OR ANYWHERE ELSE that Zoë could sit that long or even really be interested in the movie. So we decided that Bill and Noah would see the movie another time.
Noah was crushed, but much to my surprise he didn’t throw a full-on tantrum. He cried a bit, but then said he wanted to do something special with just his dad. That then started that Zoë wanted to something special with me. I suggested making dinner.
“That isn’t special or very fun!” pouty face.
So, I asked her what she wanted to do.
“Put on make-up. That is what girls do.”
UGH! I don’t own any “real” make-up. I don’t wear make-up. As I get older, I probably should, but I am too old to learn how to correctly apply make-up. I think Zoë knows more about make-up application than I do.
So, I pulled out my make-up kit–which is really a Victoria’s Secret give-away that my mom got. But for as often as I wear make-up (maybe some eye-liner or mascara 2x per year) it works just fine. And Zoë is convinced it is just the right size for her.
So, I begrudgingly put some make up on her. She was in girly girly heaven.
“Don’t I look pretty now mom.”
“You look just perfect and beautiful without it.”
“But I feel really pretty with it on.”–Oh brother. But how can I not understand. I always feel pretty after a pedicure.
Then she insisted on putting make up on me. I limited what she put on me and we talked about how I don’t like stuff on my lips or face. So she did just a little blush and eye shadow.
“You look more beautiful mommy.”
How on this earth did I get cursed blessed with such a girly girl? I am rapidly being pushed beyond my knowledge of all things girlie.
Then I had to get my toes painted. She threw a fit when I told her should couldn’t paint all my nails a different color and that she couldn’t paint my fingernails. I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t professional for me to have my toe nails painted a bunch of different colors. So we compromised with one foot one color and one foot another color. I have to admit she did a good job of painting for a 4 year old–she even wiped up where she painted my actual foot. And I do feel pretty with my toes painted. Damn.
Since we have apparently traveled back to the 50′s for one night, Zoë and I went to cook dinner. She made tartar sauce for the fish and after she ate at least 3 forkfuls of relish, I put in the salt and pepper.
“Why do you use salt and pepper in lots of things?”
“They are considered spices and they add flavor. There are lots of spices.”
“Oh so things taste good on our flavor dots.”
“Flavor what?”
“Our flavor dots. On our tongue.”
“Oh…you mean taste buds.”
“No flavor dots.”
Okay, so flavor dots it is. I for one am happy to have my Flavor Dots.
Rites of Passage and Pride
May 3, 2012
Posted in Noah
Posted in Noah
I have been drafting this post in my head for about a week now. I have just been so busy that every time I sit down to write at my computer, work keeps nagging me. So. Much. WORK. But I am forcing myself to write it now or I will forget and the moment will be lost…
Day In The Woods:
I have written about the school we have chose for our kids a lot (sorry, not going to link to all past posts–but will to the school). We love the school and everything about their philosophy and mission is something we want for our kids. There are several Rites of Passage moments at their school and Noah just participated in it–Kindergarten Day in the Woods. It is a full-day of hiking, where the kids carry their own packs–with their lunch, water, bug catching/holding things, etc., and they hike approximately 3 miles. It is totally a big deal. We were lucky that Bill go to go have this experience with Noah and it was quite a father-son bonding day. His final thought in his field journal was that he wanted to remember how happy he was that his dad came—melt my heart.
The kids come back a little more confident and closer. The class designed t-shirts (every kids gets one) and on the back you can maybe see that there is a self-portrait of each kid in the class–if you click on the picture below you can see the back of the shirt better).
The kids hike and they stop and write in their field journal–they draw pictures of what they saw and then they write their thoughts or what they hear. The big winner in the field journals was the snake that they saw and one of the dads picked up for the kids to really get a good look at it.
They built fairy houses and tried to catch tadpoles, bugs and little minnows from the pond. They walked together. They experienced this all together. Many of them (about 16) have been in school together for 3 years and you can see the bonds forming and deepening. You can see their attention to the world around them expand. You can see them grow as people with each step they take. You can see their independence develop as they walk a little further down the trail.
Piano:
Noah has been playing piano for about 18 months now. He loves it. Okay, honestly…he loves it most days. He is also pretty good at it. He seems to have an ear for music and will sometimes just sit down and play random notes, chords (really what the hell do I know–but it sounds good when he does it). He takes lessons at school—which is really nice as it’s one less activity we have to run around to. His piano teacher is really good and she encouraged us to sign Noah up to participate in a music festival–through the National Federation of Music Clubs. I told Noah what is was–memorize and play from memory (no music), two pieces in a room with a judge. He thought that sounded cool. So he said yes. So we worked for 2 months on his two pieces of music. Alright, he worked for 2 months on his two pieces–really all I did (or could do) was encourage him to practice and to clap for him when he was done. I can’t read music.
He practiced nearly every day–”because if I practice for 100 minutes a week, I get a GREEN STAR STICKER.” Wow, okay. That piano teacher is on to something. I need to get some green star stickers. He knew the songs. When he practice at home he would still miss a note and start over every now and again. So, I was pretty sure he would do good at the festival, but I made sure he knew it was okay if he missed a note and that he should just keep going.
Well, Holy Shitballs, the kid, my son, did PERFECT. He still could have played a little “better”but he was PERFECT. Didn’t miss a note. He was so proud of himself. Before he left for the festival–he told me he was going to be better than we thought he could do…I don’t know if that should make me sad or happy. But I had told him to just try his best.
It was great that he did perfect–but what I like the best was how proud he was of himself. There is nothing better than seeing your child proud of what they did. He can own his success and know that he did it. It ‘s so great.
No Longer Wondering Where She Gets It From
April 26, 2012
Posted in Zoë
Posted in Zoë
Zoë is a talker. And by talker I mean she NEVER STOPS TALKING. Seriously.
Often times I feel really bad, because I am asking her to be quiet for 5 minutes here and there. But then I talk while she is quiet. Yes. I too am a talker. This really just hit me last night. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I was just a little.
So, we were driving home from gymnastics and Zoë was talking and talking and I just couldn’t think. So I asked her to be quiet for the ride home and we would just listen to music. Just sit and the peace and quiet and listen.
Well, before I knew it we were talking again. WHAT!?! We were supposed to be quiet. I am pretty sure that I asked her a question to start the whole thing. To ruin my 5 minutes of silence until the kids are in bed. What was I thinking?
I said “We aren’t so good at this being quiet thing are we?”
Zoë: “Nope. We like to talk. WE SHOULD PLAY THE QUIET CAME.”
“yes please” (so I don’t have to listen to the excited yelling anymore)
“Mom if my beads make noise does that count?”
“No–only if you talk.”
“READY, SET, Go” she yelled and was then quiet for the entire 5 minutes it took us to get home.
It was pure bliss.
Then I pulled up to the curb and it stopped.
Please Don’t Let Me Ever Be Single Again
April 20, 2012
Posted in Life
Posted in Life
I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be single at my age (40–shhhh). I am so happy to be married (and happily married at that) with two kids who are amazing. I sometimes forget how lucky I am.
My best friend is about a year older than me and isn’t married and doesn’t have kids. Both things she wants. She is beautiful, funny, loyal and smart. She is a catch–she spent 8 prime years in a relationship that wasn’t a good fit and didn’t end the way it was supposed to. That relationship ended when she was in her early thirties. She is career-driven. She is a doctor and was the head of her department at USC for years–the hours were long and LA is a hard place to meet people.
My best friend met a new guy and needed a wing man last night. I was telling my husband that I was going to be her wing-man. He asked me “What does a wing-man do?”
“I haven’t been out in the market since I was 25–how the hell do I know?”
“Well then why are you going?”
“There will be wine drinking and talking.” Why else would I go out on a night that where I traveled home from Kansas City for a meeting then to a family dinner? Wine and talking with my best friend.
So, turns out we were going to this “private” club, where it is byob. So, I bring a nice ($65) bottle of wine and this club provides solo cups. So, my best friend and I sit and drink our $65 bottle of wine out of solo cups and sit in a room where we are close to, if not, the youngest people in the room, so she could talk to a guy. A guy who worked the door, then left early because his son needed him to.
It’s funny when I say it out loud. I am so glad that I am not single and I don’t have to worry about signals and how my ass looks in my jeans and what it means when someone does or doesn’t kiss me and how they do it, etc.
She Still Eats Random Food She Finds
So, the Mecca of all girlishness, consumerism and future bankruptcy–American Girl–just opened a store up in my fair city. I never paid much attention to this store before, even as I read/heard countless tales of moms and daughters trekking to the Chicago store for a special shopping trip.
We just started getting the American Girl catalog not too long ago. Zoë loves looking at the catalog. I tell her it’s a book so she hasn’t quite thought about it enough to realize that it is a propaganda tool to get girls indoctrinated into over the top consumerism.
I will admit right now that I had no clear idea of just how pricey these dolls are. One Hundred Fucking Dollars. For a doll? Are you kidding me? My daughter–bless her little heart–still eats random food she finds on the floor (after she blows on it). I am so not buying her a doll that costs $100 plus dollars. Then you have to buy the clothes. The outfits are $28. These are doll clothes. Clothes. For. Dolls.
I am not cheap. I don’t mind spending money–but this seems like such a ridiculous amount of money for a doll. Am I just wrong?
What do you think? Would you spend that kind of money on a doll? Have you?
A Life Lesson
April 13, 2012
Posted in Noah
Posted in Noah
One of the things I love most about Noah’s school is the philosophy of growth, independence and that kids can do anything. The kids school has a great climbing wall and all the kids learn the basics in kindergarten and beyond and then in 6th grade they learn to belay. It’s a great thing-to learn that you have to do the work, but you aren’t alone. It also teaches them responsibility for others.
Recipe For Wasting a Whole Day At Work
April 5, 2012
Posted in Time Wasting, Zoë
Posted in Time Wasting, Zoë
Zoë complained of a sore throat on Tuesday night. Strep was making its way through her class again (only time nuber 312). I was lucky enough to have Noah’s well-child check scheduled for first thing the next morning–getting a twofer at the pediatrician is awesome.
So, it was confirmed that my little girl has strep. We got antibiotics right away–so she could go to school the next day (they can return 24-hours after first dose of antibiotics). I am not one to send my kids to school if they are sick. But, I couldn’t have Zoë with me for another day. She is so high energy and full of fun that it is impossible to get any work done when she is around. She talks non-stop and wants needs to be the center of attention. She talked to my boss for 10 minutes in the am and utter the sentence “I like to talk a lot. My brother doesn’t. But I love to talk.” I don’t think that it is that Noah doesn’t like to talk, it is just that there is never a moment to actually get a word in with Zoë around.
I brought Zoë back to work with me after we took Noah back to school (this boy is impervious to all germs–Zoë has had strep 2x and tonsillitis 1x–and Noah nothing. NOTHING. Bill had a busy day at work and since he works at home he does most of the taking care of sick kids. So, it was my turn to watch the sick kid. Although, there is no part of her that acted sick.
My office is small–we work in an old row house and my office is on the 3rd floor with one other office and then there are three offices on the 2nd floor. My boss and one of my other co-worker were out of the office so that left 3 of us in the office to actually get no work done. If you have met Zoë you can understand why no one got any work done.
There was the 25 minutes where she played with legos and asked me every 2 seconds to help her take a piece of to to “look what I made” after every piece she added. Then there were the dozen or so trips down stairs to yell “Boo” at my co-workers who found her amusing and entertaining. Zoë is a talker and she has a lot to say. She can carry on a conversation about anything. One of my co-workers is also a talker.
Then there was the note communication–
(wanting a unicorn pillow pet)
I then had to respond because “I have to tell Brian what you say.”
“If you want a unicorn, you have to save your money,” I reply. (I had to repeat it twice because her attention span is that of a flea)
She returned with a big smile and this note demanding “read it”
I then had to respond again. So I gave her $1. She wanted a one with more numbers on it. I don’t think so kid.
She scampered off with her loot and then returns with this.
She ran up the steps so excited. “Look what Brian gave me.” She proudly shows me her loot “On really big one (a quarter), a thick one (a nickel), a tiny one (a dime) and a gold one (a penny). I have four mom.”
I laughed so hard. She was so proud until I explained to her that what she had 41 cents and that her dollar bill had been worth 100 cents. The look on her face was one of determination. She stomped off down stairs and I hear her say. I want my dollar back.
She then returned with her dollar and the coins and was so very impressed that she got to keep the coins. By this time of the day it was clear that no one was going to get any work done with my little socialite at work.
One co-worker left because he couldn’t stop playing with her.
Bring your kid two work day should be title “National Do No Work Day.” I am paying the price today, but it was fun having her at work.
