Have a Blast with the Parent Bloggers Network

PBN (Parent Bloggers Network) has done it again. They have arranged for a Blog Blast with an irresistible topic. This one is co-sponsored by PBN and marriage.eharmony.com.


You know you need a real date with your husband when...

• You can find his cell phone number in your phonebook without looking.
• You talk over important issues while preparing the lawn for mowing.
• You would talk while mowing, but the mower's too loud, and you're not fluent in Sign Language -- yet.
• You say "I love you" by filling each other's vehicles with gas.
• You leave email messages for each other at work saying, "Check your home email."
• You look at each other and say, "When did you get a haircut?"
• The last serious discussion you had together involved rototilling and compost -- two weeks ago.
• You text message him with baseball results -- because he's at work and you're chaperoning a field trip to the ballpark.
• He text messages you with his opinion on the football game you're watching -- because he's working on the sideline, and you're at home with the kids. ("That was a fumble!")
• Both of you come home with bunny food and greet each other with, "I thought I was supposed to buy bunny food, not you."
• Neither of you come home with bunny food, and you stare at the hungry rabbits and say to each other, "I thought you were going to buy bunny food."
• Watching Jeopardy together is the most romantic part of your day.
• He complains that his nickname on your blog is boring.

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How do you spell Meme? or Eight Random Facts

There's a reason one of my "labels" is "Random Thoughts." Sometimes posts just kind of trip from my mind and through my fingers onto the keyboard, and then to the blogosphere. Mary of Mom Writes has tagged me for a meme of random thoughts: Eight random facts about myself.

I could claim this is terribly difficult because my family, those faithful readers, already know the randomist things about me. Is randomist a word? It is now. However, that's not the point of a meme like this. It's usually more of a get-acquainted, getting to know you (sing it, everyone!) type of tag. Most definitions of "random" refer to random items as unrelated, so rather than trivial or new facts, here are a handful of unrelated facts that you may or may not know about me, "Daisy", the Groundskeeper, caretaker of home, garden, family, and coffee.

1. I am hearing impaired. My hearing loss was discovered in a routine screening when I was twelve. I now wear two high-tech hearing aids, and I just bought software to help teach lip-reading skills. I hope extending my skills will keep me teaching in a classroom for a while longer.
2. In the scheme of Multiple Intelligences, I am a strong Verbal-Linguistic. I love to read and make time for reading in my life. Starting a blog encouraged me to make time for writing, too.
3. My garden isn't beautiful, but it is mine, all mine. Chemical fertilizer? No, thanks. I prefer compost. Watching the composting process is slow, relaxing, and all-around priceless. Did I mention it does great things for the soil, too? Hey, those coffee grounds have to go somewhere instead of cluttering up a landfill.
4. I love my work; I don't always love my job. I'm sure there are other public school teachers who feel that way at times. Most of us are very dedicated to helping children learn as much and as well as they can. We seek personal and professional balance, however, and our ever-increasing workload makes that harder and harder.
5. My husband is a better cook than I am. He does the grocery shopping, too. I'm a better baker, though. Rhubarb cake, anyone?
6. I'm a die-hard Green Bay Packer fan. Did you know that I also follow the Milwaukee Brewers? Their sausage races in the 7th inning stretch are a riot. Oh, and they're having the best season they've had in twenty-five years, too. Go Brew Crew!
7. I enjoy reading and writing poetry. I plan to expand "A Mother's Garden of Verses" when summer comes and my time is more, well, mine.
8. I identify myself informally as a parenting/family blog, a Mom Blog, even though my children are no longer children: they are 20 and 15 years old. They are still a delight and a challenge and sometimes both in one day!

I don't know if I could find eight unwary targets who haven't yet been tagged. Feel free to jump on the Meme bandwagon -- just leave a comment with your link so we can find it!

(Update: My hearing aids are a CNResound by Canta, purchased and serviced through my local audiologist.)

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"Not for the first time, a argument had broken out over breakfast at number 4 Privet Drive."

In a recent post, Mom-Nos reminded me that among other happenings in the world, Harry Potter the 7th will be arriving in July. Amigo has declared that he would like it in Braille, as usual, so that we can read it together. I am working on re-reading the first six so that I'm really ready for the next, er, final installment.
If you've been around me for any length of time, you know my theory on Dementors. But Mom-Nos brought up another yet-unsolved dilemma: Snape, friend or foe?
I haven't liked Snape since the beginning. However, J.K. Rowling is surprising and tricky with her characters. As she reveals more and more about Snape, he becomes more, not likable, but tolerable. Knowing his background, how he was bullied by James Potter, how he had to defend his half-blood heritage in full-blood Slytherin, can almost build an understanding of how he became such a bitter adult. A reader can almost identify with his pain.
Almost.
Snape is an extremely talented wizard. He is a skilled potion-maker, occlumense, and creator of useful spells, as we learned through the inadvertent loan of his potion-book in The Half-Blood Prince. But is he good or evil?
He turned out to be on the side of good in Sorcerer's Stone. Despite his hatred of Harry, he helped him out of trouble in The Order of the Phoenix.
After Half-Blood Prince, well, I still can't trust the guy.
I'm still rooting for Harry to take on and defeat Voldermort. I just hope Snape doesn't get in the way.

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A Saturday in the Life

...or More Working, Less Waiting

Accomplished so far this morning:
I slept in! (Sort of -- my normal "up" time is 5;30, so anything after 7 is a major sleep-in accomplishment)
Fed all three bunnies
Made coffee, had breakfast, read newspaper
Sorted laundry, including that of the college student now home for summer
Started laundry
Finished rough drafts of progress report comments!! Woo-hoo!! With 29 students of all levels, behavioral issues, and academic needs, that's a big accomplishment.

Yes, I'm still dressed for success in my pajamas. I'm sitting on the deck with my laptop with a cup of half-caff coffee by my side, rejoicing in my accomplishments thus far. I hear a lawnmower down the block, a weed-eater nearby, chickadees, sparrows, and an occasional cardinal. What a mix!
Amigo is up and dressed, listening to Public Radio and eating frozen waffles for breakfast. Husband looks ready to go outside and attack the yard with his weed-eater and/or play with the rabbits. I know which one would be more fun!
My plan: start another load of laundry, begin recording math grades on the progress reports, and stop using the blog as an excuse to stall.
I think I'll make more coffee, though. Full strength this time. Hazelnut, perhaps. Mmm...

Update:
Third load of laundry is in.
Math grades are done.
Dishwasher is unloaded and reloaded.
I am still in my pajamas. Is this a new record? Accomplishments in PJs?

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Waiting and working, working and waiting

Random thoughts on a Friday afternoon while working on the dreaded spring progress reports

Waiting:

• for Amigo's new bedroom furniture to arrive (look forward to pictures in a future post!)
• for my late afternoon appointment at the podiatrist

Working:

• on drafting individual written comments for each student
• on copying grades to the reports in the old-fashioned low-tech way
• wondering when elementary teachers in our district will get software to make this more efficient (middle and high school teachers already do)
• on completing the social skills and study skills part of each report

Waiting:

• for my Hills Bros. instant double mocha cappuccino to get cool enough to sip

Working:

• on nibbling a Memorial Day cookie (flag-shaped, with strategically placed red and blue sprinkles on white frosting)

Waiting:

• for Husband to finish mowing the lawn so I can work outside on the deck
• for La Petite to finish her shower
• for the motivation to start writing math and reading grades
• for Husband to finish the garden fence to I can play in the dirt, er, plant the rest of the vegetables

Working:

• on getting back to the gradebook so I can play in the dirt all weekend. Woo-hoo! Cappucino's ready, here I go!

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All the major food groups

I was baking a cake and preparing a meatloaf. I took both out of the oven and proceeded to make frosting. Next I started frosting -- both the cake AND the meatloaf.

Then I woke up.

I have no idea what kind of frosting tastes good on a meatloaf or why on earth I'd be frosting one. There may be some subliminal meaning here -- or not.

Okay, dream analysts, what do you make of this? Never mind; I probably don't want to know.

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Dad's playing in the dirt! Where's Mom?

The vegetable garden may be my "turf", but Husband (despite his complaints about his boring name) is an active participant in the process. He is the best cook in the family, I admit it, and when there are fresh vegetables he will find a delicious way to use them. This weekend, he rented a rototiller and expanded my small garden to, well, at least medium size. I removed as many grass/dirt clumps as I could, replanted the chives I'd moved out of roto-tiller range, and set out my pseudo stepping stones.

My stepping "stones" fall into the category of waste not, want not. After we knocked down an aging fence in the corner of the yard, I used the remaining boards as a walking path. I did the same this year, also incorporating boards left over from our deck remodeling project. They're not beautiful, but they will fade in the sun to match the dirt and to me, that's aesthetically pleasing. The knowledge that I didn't waste money, I re-used something that would have taken up landfill space, and I'm about to plant veggies that will feed my family contributes to the general feeling of well-being that a garden provides.

Now if I can get the fence tight enough to keep those cute little neighborhood bunnies out of my carrots, all will be well with the world.

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When work Email goes Wild - the sequel

You might be a teacher if:

• TGIF has more meaning to you than to most.
• You haven't planted your garden yet because you're working on report cards.
• Your work email shows that the people you work with are feeling just as stressed and punchy as you are.

From Mrs. Puff to all staff : As you have noticed, we are adding some stylish new furniture to the teachers' lounge. All items not needed will be removed and sold at Daisy's rummage sale in June.

Reply to all staff from Mrs. Potts: It is my fervent hope that we can add a lounge singer to the decor. That is my highest hope, although a deep fryer and chocolate fountain would be nice, too. Shall I run the ad and get started on the auditions?

Reply to all from Mrs. Petunia: Oh, I'm good at this! I'm a professional solo-ensemble festival judge, remember? I just have to curb my inner Simon Cowell. You know, the one who would say, "Well, the quality of your singing would math the 'stunning' piece of furniture we call a 'cottage chic' couch." (note: the couch is hideous.)

Reply to all from new Maintenance dude: As I’m only subbing here for a few days I wouldn’t normally intrude on these email discussions, but, as a singer/pianist (and choir director/music teacher/organist) I felt that perhaps I should throw my hat into the ring… Of course, the maintenance department would need to OK it first.
Jack from Maintenance

Reply to all from Mrs. Picasso: Ok. I vote for Jack the lounge singer. No need to ask for permission if we have a tip jar. Jack-the-lounge-singer, do you have an old black tuxedo coat? Because we need to keep the place upscale.
I say we use the extra money for blenders for tropical drinks. Non-alcoholic of course. Smoothies perhaps.

Reply to all from Mrs. Piccolo: What you folks don't know is that I used to be a lounge singer!

Reply to all from Mrs. Petunia: Oh, Mrs. P., you topped me there. I only did singing telegrams in college. Oh, the jobs we'll take to pay our tuition!

Reply to all from the boss, taking a break from an administrative meeting at the main office: GET BACK TO WORK!!!

Reply to all from Mrs. Puff: Oh, we'd better not tell her about the chair races in the hall.

Now, dear readers, can you guess which of the Perfectly Pleasant P's is me, Daisy? Hint: a few of my coworkers have started calling me "Simone".

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progress in small steps

Today, there was progress. Not big steps, but significant progress in small steps.

My stress-induced stomach ache was much better this morning. (I suppose the evening nap followed by nine straight hours of sleep helped.)
I waded through three large stacks of papers, graded them, and recorded them in my gradebook. I can see the computer mouse now, and the screen is next, I'm sure.
I ate lunch in the lounge and didn't feel too guilty.
It was chaos in my class because of individual band lessons and the all-school bike rodeo. Most of the peer mediators who were volunteering to help out at the rodeo were in my class, too, so I think I had the entire class together for, oh, maybe ten minutes all day. I think (I hope!) I got all the work to all of the kids so they can get it all done and handed in tomorrow. (I hear you laughing -- let me dream, okay?)
My class behaved and participated well in the bike rodeo when their turn came.
And last, but not least:
In honor of Ride your Bike to School Day, I did. I rode my bike to school. It is a small accomplishment, but I'm proud of myself. And as the Gershwin brothers once said, "No, no they can't take that away from me!"

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Mind if I vent?

If you mind, you'll need to go elsewhere, because I'm going to vent anyway.
I am stressed. How stressed am I feeling? Let's put it like in Internet joke style.
You might be a wee bit stressed at work if:

• The piles of papers on your desk are so tall you can't see the computer monitor.
• Lunch gets shorter every day as you keep realizing you have too much work to justify taking a full lunch break.
• You get a stomach ache just thinking about how much needs to be done.
• You look in your purse to find medicine and realize you don't know if the one lone tablet is Immodium or Dulcolax.

Yes, that was my day today. I started my day talking with a special education teacher about an incident I had the misfortune to witness yesterday, and ended with a cancelled prep time because the Spanish teacher was sick. In between, students were off the walls wild because -- hey, it's May! Let's be done learning! Every day!!

You may be thinking, "Whine, whine, whine. So -- stop whining and do something about it!"
Okay. I will. Here's my plan.

1. I will make a to-do list. Having a list helps me relax because I don't have to worry about forgetting to do something.
2. I will make a "Ta-Da!" list for those things I accomplish from the to-do list.
3. I will stop multi-tasking -- sort of. I will only attempt one or two things at a time, not more, so that I can actually see progress.
4. I will allow people to help me when they offer. I'm packing up my classroom, and good friends have offered to bring their minivans and help me with the move. I will say yes.
5. I will prioritize. Report cards have to be ready to go sooner than the moving boxes, so I will work on the gradebook first. The side benefit of this will be dramatic reduction in the size of the paper piles (see above).

I will keep happy songs in my head, or at least relevant lyrics. "Where's the fire, what's the hurry about, you'd better slow it down before you burn it out..." or "you've got so much to do, and only so many hours in a day, hey" and "It's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two, oo-oo."

(Trivia fans, can you name the tune? It fits the way I feel, but it still helps me settle.)

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A Poet and her Chamber Pot

The title enticed me to read it. The plot pulled me in and kept me turning the pages. Mameve Medwed's How Elizabeth Barrett Browning Saved my Life is as delightful as its name.
The story unfolds through the eyes of Abby, a dealer in antiques/junk/collectibles and a Harvard drop-out, much to the dismay of her scholarly parents. Her restrictive and somewhat sheltered college-town upbringing did not prepare her well for a life outside of academia, but her intelligence and creativity nonetheless serve her well. Abby talks directly to the reader at times, giving background as needed to explain the long and winding road to her current predicaments. The boy next door, her best friend, and her eccentric co-workers come alive through her perspective. Like them or not, they're important to her, and they become important to us.
If you've ever watched or even heard of The Antiques Roadshow, you'll find Abby's adventures thoroughly believable. It doesn't spoil the plot to let you know that her appearance on the show changes her life for better and for worse, and fills it with adventure as well. I thoroughly enjoyed How Elizabeth Barrett Browning Saved my Life. The poet in me, the liberal arts graduate, and the PBS fan took to this book like a duck to water. I really, truly couldn't put it down.

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Loveliest of Trees

It's actually a mock cherry. The fruit isn't edible, but the blossoms are gorgeous in the spring. I like to think it is putting on its best and brightest colors for Mother's Day.

Now if you look closely, in the shade at the base of the tree, slightly to the right of the railroad ties, you'll see a little visitor. She's not one of our pets, but she seems to know that our yard is a safe place for bunnies.

(Photo credit: Husband, who admits to enjoying watching the wild rabbits)

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Mother's Day Blog Blast -- a party without the scary clowns

What makes a mom? Or a dad? What makes a parent? That's the topic posed by the Parent Bloggers Network and Light Iris today.
The easy answer is this: It's different for everyone.
The personal answer is: It's different every day.

You know you're a mom when:

• You take the child's fancy bike to a fancy bike shop for a safety tune-up, and he announces loudly that you bought your own bicycle at (gulp) Fleet Farm.
• You take your personal day from work to drive five hours, round trip, to pick up your college student's aquarium and fish. That's fish, singular. Not plural. (and please note: I enjoyed the entire drive and visit!)
• You spend the day with a group of youngsters at your daughter's high school and marvel at the idea that she's no longer there: she graduated two years ago.
• You exchange worries with another mom while secretly thinking, "Wow! I don't worry as much as she does!"
• You call home to leave a message that you're stuck behind a train and will be home any minute, just in case your disabled child's bus gets home before you do.
• You learn to text message, email, and use IMs -- and you're a Baby Boomer
• You don't worry if your computer crashes; the kids will be home soon.
• You actually like fruit snacks and yo-gos

You know you're a parent when you come to enjoy and look for the little contrasts in life. For example:

• the 9 year old shopping for Beanie Babies and bras
• the 15 year old with the rapidly deepening voice, who snuggles the cat he made himself at build-a-Bear workshop
• the 20 year old who types out a three page list of instructions for fish care, but forgets to send the fish food home with you
• the kid who moans and groans about how you make him work too hard, but then labels you as "nice" in his Spanish report on his family

What makes you a mom? A dad? A parent? Too many variables play into this. I'll just tell you this: you'll know. Trust me, you'll know.

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Out of the mouths...off the chests...oh, I give up...

I took my class of 6th graders to their annual spring track and field meet today. We got on the bus and headed down the road to meet the three other schools that will feed into the same middle school next year. They had signed up for events in advance, packed their water bottles and sunscreen, and gotten themselves all excited for the day.
When we arrived and took our places in the bleachers, a few spirited boys posed for the crowd, showing off their homemade t-shirts. One said GO. The others had one letter each: F-O-X-S. As they were cheering and acting as cool as only tweens can, one (slightly brighter) student called out, "Hey, you guys spelled Foxes wrong!" Oh, no! The horror! The embarrassment! Okay, I admit it, I snickered a little. The self-proclaimed Spirit Squad solved their problem by enlisting another boy wearing a plain white undershirt and using the other teacher's permanent marker to make an E. Then they added an exclamation point to yet another shirt, and they were ready for anything.
We were glad they fixed the spelling. They used these shirts in the class "cheer" contest and won the coveted spirit stick!
I suppose they'll be painting their chests in team colors ten years from now. I hope their motivation for correct spelling improves by then.

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I Eat Pizza

That's what Amigo used to call his IEP meetings. In reality, it stands for Individualized Education Plan. I had mixed feelings before, during, and after the meeting. There were good points, the best of which was Amigo's participation, but the process was still stressful.
I am lucky that I speak the lingo. Teachers tend to talk in initials, and those initials don't always make sense to people outside the field. DVR, for example, in this case meant Dept. of Vocational Rehabilitation, while Husband knows DVR as Digital Video Recorder. Luckily, he is comfortable saying, "Translate, please." The OT/PT consult, VI staff, and LEA, not to mention the S/L referral, O&M, Aut, SPE (formerly APE) and SLD cross-categorical, all combine to make it sound like a foreign language, when it's really just another set of technical lingo.
Now that the meeting is over, my neck is less sore, my head doesn't ache quite as much, and I feel a little less stressed -- until we reconvene in two weeks. Oh, my, pour me a gin and tonic just to cope with thinking about it. Bleah.
As long as we're not dealing with the PSL.

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simple pleasures

Musicians are fascinating people. When I judge a music festival, I enjoy the discussions, the give and take, the casual remarks exchanged with the other judges and the music teachers. For me, a former music teacher turned elementary teacher, it's a chance to renew old friendships and refresh my inner musician. It's a long day, a tiring day, but one full of pleasures, complex and simple.
Yesterday I was judging at one of the State level festivals. I woke at 5:15, showered, and hit the highway across central Wisconsin by six. With a 16-oz. hazelnut in my cup holder and a granola bar in my hand, I watched the road and the land of this beautiful home state of mine. The grasses were greener than green, a light wind was stirring the trees, and the small lakes and marshes looked peaceful as could be. I shared the road mainly with pick-up trucks pulling boat trailers to their favorite fishing holes.
Traffic and excitement picked up as I entered the college town that was my destination and joined the school buses full of kids and instrument cases converging on campus. This excitement, this positive energy, has become one of my favorite parts of any festival. These teenagers are the best of the best: the students who earned a starred rating at their district festival. They take pleasure in performing and listening to others all day. The mood, the crowd, the pure momentum spread like the Wave at Lambeau Field. (Sorry for the sports metaphor. It is Wisconsin, after all.)
The feelings and passions of the day lasted longer than any specific performance. The chats with students after they sang, the teachers who asked how my day is going, the parents who expressed their thanks for my spending a Saturday with their children. The enthusiastic teacher who, too hyped to sit and wait any longer, asked if she could play the piano in the room for a few minutes, then treated us to a fabulous medley of classic Gershwin tunes.
These are the pieces that accompanied me on the road home. I drove in relative quiet, no radio, and hummed a few of what we call "24 Italian hits" and the other vocal standards as I joined the buses and pick-up trucks returning to their own homes.
Then I collapsed on the LoveSac rocker with Amigo and watched the Hot Dog beat the Chorizo in the sausage race followed by the Brewers beating the Pirates. Simple pleasures, indeed.

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Vacation Station

There were plenty of us doing the Friday Dance at school today. Good weather, Friday, and spring energy were enough to make the kids bounce off the walls today. I had to end silent reading early because three boys decided to sing a song about wedgies. Rather quietly, but the sound carried just enough. Yergh. I need a break.
Fifth grade wasn't dancing; they were marching. Today was their annual Civil War Reenactment. They were in "uniform", divided into North and South, with water bottles in their haversacks, wooden drill pieces over their shoulders, and ready to go. They marched from one station to the next and learned about army food, mail call, clothing of the time, and more. Semi-professional reenactors helped stage the day. The kids learn so much! It's truly a highlight of their year.

TGIF, because I need a break. I don't get out much. I've mentioned that before, and noted that it's okay. I'm not complaining. When I do go somewhere for an evening or a vacation, I enjoy it. Scribbit's latest Write-Away Contest has Vacation as its theme. Interested? Go North and West (from Wisconsin, that is) to Scribbit's blog if you'd like to enter the contest or read the posts that have already been entered. I entered this post. Vacation is a state of mind.

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Love Thursday

Love is:

Friends who will give you boxes for your move, even though they want you to stay.

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May Day and Blogging Against Disablism Day

Disablism? What's that? It's another -ism, another indication of discrimination, subtle or overt, in the same family as racism, sexism, and others. I'm not sure who coined the term or if it's even in use outside the blogosphere. Here's my definition.
Disablism. n (dis-ab-lizm) an active prejudice or discriminatory attitude toward persons with disabilities.
I'm hearing impaired, and I'm a teacher. And yes, I've encountered discrimination in my field. It's not important to rehash the difficulties I've faced; it's more important to remind people that disabled people are just that -- people -- and are not solely defined by their disabilities.
My teenage son, Amigo, is blind and has Asperger's Syndrome. We're quite a pair. When we go to a restaurant, I often read him the menu (if they don't have one in Braille), and then he helps me order because I might not hear the server's questions above the din of the dining room. We have typical parent-child moments, too. He likes the TV loud. I keep saying, "Turn it down! If I can hear it clearly, so can you!" He tells me when a timer goes off or the dryer buzzes, just in case I'm not close enough to hear it. He doesn't get the laundry out himself, darn it. I guess the teenager part trumps the helpful.
Sometimes he and I need small adaptations, "reasonable accomodations", to achieve our goals. I need a phone that's hearing aid compatible; Amigo needs screen-reader software for the computer. But hearing or sighted, if you were playing Trivial Pursuit, you'd want Amigo and me on your team. We're good. Very good.
But folks, we're people. We're good, capable, intelligent people. My disability is part of me. I am a good mother, a good teacher, an intelligent learner. Amigo's disabilities are part of him. He's a delightful and talented young man.
Disablism? Forget it. Don't waste your time looking down on us -- because it is a waste of your time, and ours.

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