Halloween Turtleneck

 

Ah yes, another rainy Halloween is going to be on the books for the great folks of Seattle. Tonight we will trick-or-treat all over the drizzly city, dodging puddles and collecting candy in pillowcases or banned plastic grocery bags. But one thing you will see a lot of: the Halloween Turtleneck.Even more pervasive than Steve Jobs’ daily staple, is the Halloween Turtleneck. It really should come standard with any costume sold in the greater Pacific Northwest. Not only is this Halloween Turtleneck fashionable (although I’m doubting they will come out with a ‘sexy turtleneck’ costume by next year), it is also extremely practical. Want to wear a costume but don’t want to have it covered by a North Face jacket, or worse, a plastic rain poncho? Turtleneck.

Even now, as an adult, I can’t begin to imagine deciding on a Halloween costume that coulnd’t be accessorized with the traditional turtleneck to make it warmer.  I wish I had pictures of all my costumes as a kid, but thinking back, I cannot recollect even one outfit that wasn’t accesorized with the Halloween Turtleneck. It was much better than always going as Paddington Bear, in his yellow rain slicker.

Now What? Moving on After Rejection.

I’m trying to remind myself that we are all made of sparkle dust, souls merely existing earth-bound for a period of time, and that, in cliche terms, this too shall pass, but hot damn I haven’t cried so much in months.

Yesterday Boof found out that the job he wanted, the firm we felt SO good about, the one he had built relationships with people who seemed to really get him and be excited to offer him a job…isn’t going to happen. The official rejection letter came on Saturday. We were crushed. Not just crushed because, at this moment, he has no other options lined up, and that firms are so far into their interviewing/hiring process that he has virtually no shot, but because we had felt so good about it. So good. That gut feeling that I always get when something is going to work out…yeah…that meter is clearly off now.

Square one.

In the practical reality of things, nothing has changed, save the hope that things would be different come the first of the year. Boof is still studying for his CPA exams, watching Potamus in conjunction with his own mom, and we are still scrimping and relying on our in-laws to float us indefinitely. I am still the not-quite-enough-breadwinner, the one who gets up in the dark and leaves my sleeping boys to trudge through rainy traffic to the ‘office.’

Nothing has really changed.
And we aren’t even at risk for feet of flooding like my East Coast friends.

Sparkle on.

Insomnia, Inspiration, and The Moons: A Review of Poetry

I wake up from half-sleep
haunted
by images of closet-starved idea children,
beaten by electrical cords and made
to sleep in cramped corners
on cots
or coats
if they’re lucky.
When were they exiled?
Did it happen one by one?
And why do I wait, anxiously
for the sleepy pied piper to come and lull away
the rat-child-poems,
so that I can dream easily
and forget
that I drifted
or strayed
or fell
so far from the Source
of inspiration.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone. But I couldn’t miss the opportunity: 3pm on a Sunday. To reconnect with a few classmates from high school and the English teacher that prompted me to graduate from high school with the equivalent of 6 years worth of English classes AND THEN go on to be an English Lit major in college before realizing that I DIDN’T want to teach…before realizing that I did.

If any of that makes sense.

The amazing part was the re-connection, the re-inspiration toward all things written and being able to see myself even more infusing my class with purposeful writing that will aid in their college transition. One high school classmate lives locally, with a son, and is in social work. We instantly connected again, and I was happy that while we had been loose friends in high school, there just lacked the emotional drama of one of the innermost circle of friends might have had.

And the poet.

Powerful.

The imagery in The Moons spoke volumes, and there’s something magical about hearing the words spoken aloud by the writer creator. Almost like bearing witness when God spoke the world into existence.

And afterward, the poet, the re-acquaintance and a few others, ran between fat Seattle raindrops to a local coffee shop to indulge in their velvet foam lattes. We talked about being mothers, being working moms and trying to find balance (as I explained to one, non-mom, why I was at the reading minus Potamus, even though it was the weekend). We talked about education, for the poet’s day job is the high school version of mine. The social worker and I made loose plans for happy hour sometime in the next few weeks.

We didn’t talk about writing.

Clearly I know the poet writes, and don’t know if the Social Worker does.

What I do know, is that I do not. Not pen-to-paper soul writing like I used to.

My feelings about it are complex.

In one vein, I long to spend those hours, or scrape together seconds to jot something down (even unsafely, like, while driving down the freeway) so that the words can create something true. I wish to be less distracted by shiny blue/white screens that flash instant distraction and updates. I want to keep record, somehow, of my life both inside and outside of motherhood. And even on the way home from the reading, an entire book idea came, fully formed (in big thought) into my mind, and the “simple” act would be to somehow get it from brain to paper.

The other part of me is scared.

Because writing and mental illness are blood-brothers, and I have been trying to live a quiet, simple type life.

He’s a Keeper: An Adoption Trigger

While being adopted is always an integral part of my identity, the older I get and the further I get in my reunion with my biological family, the less often I get triggered by words and phrases that send me into a spiral of emotion. However, this past weekend I have had a few instances where I vacillate between extreme anger and sadness and tend to shut down in conversation.

I was playing with Potamus, who was being quite cute, and my a-dad said, “awe, do you think you’ll keep him?”
Through gritted teeth, and trying to pretend I was distracted by the TV, I simply nodded my head.

And, not picking up on the social cues, he went on to say, “yeah, he’s a keeper, as the proverbial saying goes.”

 

What pisses me off about statements like that is the underlying assumption that a) there are certain babies that aren’t “keepers” and b) that my raising my child is somehow dependent on the actions that said child takes. I held my tongue, because adoption talk with my parents is usually futile, and my dad has been super defensive lately, but I wish to express how disgusting that phrase is, because, how I interpret it is: that I was not a keeper. That somehow, for some reason, I, as a baby, was not cute/smart/funny/cuddly/precocious/etc enough to be “a keeper.” Because, you know, she gave me away. She didn’t keep me.

My adult self knows that that line of thinking is ‘ridiculous,’ but my baby self believes it to be true.

And I am disgusted that anybody would insinuate that Potamus could do anything to make me give him up, away, or not ‘keep him.’ I would rather die than give him away to be raised by strangers. Of course he’s ” a keeper,” because he is my baby, and mamas want to keep their babies.

But then he looks so cute with his adopted grampy, that I can’t stay mad for too long.

 

 

Homeschool, Public School and Career Development

A few years ago, when working at a non-profit with my good friend Russ, we had a discussion about career development as it pertained to the youth we served. All of our kiddos were in foster care, and we were attempting to help them graduate high school and go on to college. The high school success rate for students in foster care is pretty abysmal, so our organization was trying everything it could to help these students see the value in education. But the conversation that Russ and I had, was about how school wasn’t always about education, or rather the information that we learned during the hours of 7-3, but rather the other skills that we absorbed that were important in preparing us for the working world. Russ and I participated in a leadership team that was guiding the future of the organization and yet we often found that the “leadership” wasn’t really listening to those of us that were on the front lines. I wish I could remember the study that told us, that freshman year was a great predictor in graduation rates, and how the “soft skills” that were learned were actually more important than knowing all of the presidents or when WWII started.

How does this relate to my class today?

Well, Russ and I are now both “professors” at this local college. And we re-connected a few weeks ago in a work capacity, talking about how our students are prepared or unprepared for life on a college campus. We rekindled this discussion from a few years ago, and I mentioned that in the self-reflections that I had my students write the home schooled students mentioned things like, “I haven’t taken English in over 3 years so writing this paper is hard for me,” and “I am not used to turning things in on a deadline, so I guess I have to work on that,” and ” I’m used to studying things I like.” My public school students said things like, “I am worried about turning in all of my homework,” and “I’m worried about not showing up to class like I’ve done before.”

In this way, I feel like both models have failed our children in various ways. Because, as Russ and I keep talking about, education/schooling is really (whether right or wrong) about preparing workers…drones…people to work in offices from 8-5. The byproduct of education is knowledge and a passion for learning and a curiosity for life around us. It helps to foster discussions and probably makes us better, more informed, people. I love learning about new things, but what I also learned, from kindergarten-12th grade, and then on into higher education was: show up on time, do the work you are asked to do, follow directions, interact with people, pay attention, turn things in on time, sit still, etc. All of these skills are transferable to the workplace, predominately office work of some type.

So, my home school students, who have been encouraged to study things they like and are interested in, will hopefully benefit from their education by finding a career that interests them, because they have had the empowerment to already begin to explore those interests. What worries me about my home school kiddos, is that they haven’t been forced (such  a nasty word!) to do things that they aren’t that interested in, just because “this is the way the world works,” or “this is the way we do it.” If they don’t find a career right away in the interesting field of their choice, or even if they do, will they know how to be timely in assignments that they don’t like? For my student who hasn’t ever had a deadline for things, will, at 19, it be too late for them to learn? How much harder will it be for them to conform to a mold of “normal” career development or as a worker when they have been allowed years of unbridled educational freedom? Or, can we envision a new workforce that allows for this to not be the case? (Things like, the rise of flex-time, and online work, perhaps might fit this).

And, for some of my public schoolers, who have been, seemingly broken down and lack a drive for education (the pursuit of knowledge and information), but also have not learned the soft-skills of timeliness, and turning in work that they don’t see the value in, what hope do they have? When they do come to class, they do the work (most of them), which shows a good work ethic, regardless of whether they find value in the actual assignment. When explaining the per-requisite nature of the classes for the major, I hear no grumbling like with the home schooled students, because these student seem used to the ‘jumping through hoops’ nature of the education system. In theory, though, public school does teach these skills of being on-time (and natural consequences are getting a lower grade, which would equate to a reprimand and firing at a job), sitting doing “work” for hours on end, short breaks (5 minute passing time), and being forced to do some tasks that you don’t really want to do.

I don’t know the answer, but it does seem like, in theory, our education is supposed to prepare us for our jobs, and it’s seemingly failing both sets of my students. I wonder how a mainstream teacher, not dealing with “high school dropouts” or “non-traditional students,” feels about how their students are prepared/unprepared for college work and/or work post-school. Is the disillusionment that our time is our own and we can do what we want and study what we want better to happen early in our education career (ala public school) or at the entrance into college (ala my homeschoolers)?

KidsQuest: A Museum Review

If you’re looking for something FREE to do on a rainy Seattle day, then I definitely suggest KidsQuest Museum in the Factoria Mall. Granted, in order for it to be free, you’ll need a friend with a membership who is willing to sacrifice a guest pass to take you! HA! BUT, if you are looking for something relatively CHEAP to do in the area, then, at eight bucks for adults (and kiddos under 1 are free), this is definitely your place! In fact, the yearly membership is something whopping like $80, so it might even be worth it for our family to shell out that kind of dough, cause even if we went 1 time a month, it would pay for itself in less than a year!

I’m dubbing it a “Little Science Center,” as an ode to THE Seattle Science Center that I grew up loving. What makes KidsQuest amazing, though, is that there is a section that is specifically designed for the under 3 crowd, While this doesn’t limit your access to the rest of the area (with supervision of course!) it does allow for our little pumpkins to explore the world around them (ie crawling, toddling unsteadily) without fear of being bulldozed by some 17 year old on a cell phone or even a pack of 7 year olds squirrelling around. I felt great about sitting back for a few moments, catching up with my college pal (who was there with her daughter who’s 1 month older than Potamus), and keeping an eye on the Potamus as he explored. Today’s adventure included shaking several rattles, rolling a blow-up beach ball all around the room (up the stairs and down the wheelchair ramp), staring at the fishtank, and trying to share his toys with other young fellas.

After the tots (okay, the mamas) were thoroughly worn out, we walked around the other parts of the museum that have a more sciency feel to them. There were sensory stations with sand, water stations where you could watch ping pong balls flow down a river (that you could change by adding different logs to the river flow), and various other stations that were occupied by interested kiddos. I loved it, and will DEFINITELY be bringing Potamus back…even if I have to pay for myself this time!

Blurts, Flirts and Desserts

Blurts: I have two types of “disruptive” students. The blurters tend to be well-meaning. They have something that comes to mind and they say it, without much thinking about the context of whether their comment is appropriate (during lecture) or inappropriate (during a shy person’s oral report). And blurting doesn’t just happen with their mouth…I have several students who also blurt with their bodies. They get up, mill around, pick up their guitar and begin strumming a little tune. For the most part, I recognize that learning styles come in all types, and that students, especially teenage boys, can’t be cooped up in their seat for too long. Though, this Tourettes like activity is often distracting for my more introverted students, and still needs to be appropriate. I appreciate that my students feel free to express themselves, but yelling “Fire” in a crowded theater is dangerous AND annoying. So, how can I help my word-vomit and body-blurters have a little more…self-control?

Flirts: Mah baby likes to flirt, that is, when he’s not feeling stranger danger. He definitely doesn’t discriminate based on gender, either. He equally gives doe eyes to the men AND the ladies. Though he doesn’t seem to be a huge fan of Trader Joe’s or Costco cashiers talking to him while he sits in his seat in the cart. But he saves his special flirts for his mama. And I’ve been enjoying those open mouth laughing kisses he gives on my cheeks!

Desserts: After almost 1.5 years in our house, we officially met our next door neighbor. She was helping her sister move, and brought a few leftover treats by. Yay for lemon bars and raspberry/oatmeal bars! It was nice to have an actual name to the “hi howareya?” that I’ve thrown across the fence or in passing to her husband while we have tried to round up our escaped pooch. I’m thinking of reciprocating the desserts with a sweet bottle of wine and thank-you card, but have yet to muster the energy to walk across our tiny lawn to give it to them. Because this is Seattle, I do not feel weird that my neighbor waited 1.5 years to meet me…I’m just glad she stopped by at all. Because, while we are known to be surfacely friendly (saying ‘hi’ and nodding on the street), to actually go out of our way is a pretty huge deal!

Speaking of desserts, since beginning again in the world of offices, I have noticed a strange fascination with chocolate. While I have somehow eaten my own packed lunch for the past 6 weeks, I have also begun drinking more coffee (an excuse to get out of the office) and eating more chocolate during lunchtime. Gah!

Sweet dreams ya’ll!

On wanting to smash everything with a hammer

Today I feel like smashing things. Smashing the TV so I don’t have to see one more goddamn fucking politician and their smarmy lies and twisted truths. Sure I still plan to cast my very-first-ever-non-elementary-school-election-vote, but that still doesn’t take away from the urge to smash the TV. And while I’m at it…the radio. I’ll keep my one sane CD and smash the rest. This Smashy feeling inside me is like the character Yzma, from The Emperor’s New Groove, who wanted to tun Cuzco into a flea, and put him in a box, and smash that box with a hammer. She looked like this:

That’s how I feel inside. Smashy.

It wasn’t a particularly annoying or unproductive day, though my afternoon class is starting to wear on me. It feels a little like a car whose brakes have been cut and we’re careening downhill. How do I rein it back in and keep my integrity as a teacher? I genuinely want ALL of my students to pass…and 99% of them I want to pass because they deserve it, and the other 1% so that I don’t have to see their smug mugs in my class again next quarter. I’m a college instructor. I don’t want to give seating charts or make them raise their hand or lock the door after a 10 minute break when they can’t show up on time.