I am getting older. This is a simple fact. But I am reminded of this fact often when I go out into the world to conduct my daily errands. This is because when I return, my ranting sounds much like the rantings of my father (see Braindrops blog).
My daughter wants an iPod from Santa. So, since Ava endures a lot more than any child should ever have to, Santa got her an iPod. I ordered it on-line from Wal-Mart, since they had a sale. You can have the item shipped to your closest store for free, then go pick it up. Easy enough, right?
Yesterday I walked into the "Site to Store" department, which consist of a small counter with a register. It's attached to a warehouse in the back of the store, and also right near the restrooms. When i got to the dept., 3 young people, maybe in their early 20's, were standing in a huddle texting pictures of a recent party they attended to each other. I knew this because they were laughing wildly and saying loudly, "LOOK HOW DRUNK I WAS HERE?" "BOY WE WERE WASTED." Not one of them approached me until I asked if I could have some help. One of the young ladies (and i use the term loosely) said she would be right back with help. Well, she never returned. The texters continued and then an older man, who was also a Wal-mart employee, walked by asked if he could help. He paged someone for me, but I had little hope. Another 5 minutes went by. Finally, I noticed the credit card pad had a place to "click" to page help.
Finally, around the corner comes my a very large young man. His first words to the young people were "REALLY? You are just standing around texting and doing nothing?" They all replied curtly that "they were on break." He started to help me.
Just when I thought he was my Savior, the large young man took a huge sack of food out of his pocket labeled "Teriyaki Steak Bits" and proceeded to shove them in his mouth while he typed my info into the computer. Yuck. He went into the back room and returned with a box. He was about to open it when I pointed out that it wasn't MY box, so he went to the back room again. This time he had the right box and he finished up my transaction. Then he said, "Hey do you have a pen? I need you to sign this slip." Was he kidding? I'm surprised he didn't ask me to buy him a soda to wash down his dried meat bits.
And finally, as I was about to leave, one of the texters says loudly, "Well my break is over so I better go PEE." What a charmer; those 4 years at Miss Porter's did wonders for her.
Honestly, it was the worst customer service ever. I rarely go to Wal-Mart for just this reason, plus the stores are full of white trash, but they do have good prices on electronics. I realize it's not Tiffany's and I shouldn't expect anything extraordinary, but it would be nice for people to at least have a small amount of work ethic. So there. Harumph.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Going to Work with Daddy
My father recently wrote about a trip he made to the Museum of Natural History with his mother when he was about 10. He said that people often don't appreciate those moments as they happen. I want to write about this now so my father and mother know I did appreciate it.
When I was a kid, likely between 8 and 11, my Dad used to take me to work with him one day a year. I think it may have been on Christmas Eve, since he worked half a day, but it may have been any day close to Christmas; I can't remember exactly. We would rise early and take the Staten Island train to the Ferry, and then the subway to where Dad worked. I don't recall where the office was; all I knew was that I had my Daddy to myself for a while and that was very good. I think he may have bought me hot chocolate on the ferry.
When we got to the office, the atmosphere seemed jovial. People popped in and out of Dad's office, doing more socializing than actual work. Looking back, it was the early 70s and people likely had a little "something" in their coffee; those were the days when you could have a drink in the office and no one blinked an eye. We were like Don Draper and his daughter, Sally.
I know I went with Dad several times to work, and although I don't remember any single visit, a few things always stand out. People always made a fuss over me. I am sure my Mom dressed me in a cute outfit and people were just nice to a little kid in the office for a day. Sometimes there were other kids too. I played with the typewriter, drew on paper Dad gave me, and played with the telephone and the things on his desk. He had a Rolodex; it had the letters of the alphabet down one side and if you pushed a little tab down to a letter, the Rolodex popped open to the place where people whose name started with that letter were stored. I thought this was a fine piece of modern office equipment. Who knew there would ever be such a thing as a Blackberry...
I also remember the copy machine and a cafeteria where we got donuts and other assorted goodies. (Leave it to me to remember where the food was.)
On several of these occasions Dad took me to lunch, I think at McDonalds or a coffee shop, and then he took me to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. I remember thinking that I would have been happy enough with the office and McDonalds, but the Nutcracker was a bonus. When I think of it now, it must have been a sacrifice for my parents to get those tickets. They are not cheap now, and I am sure they were not cheap then. My mother could have easily gone instead of me, but she let me have that time with my father. It was precious time that still fills my heart with warm memories. I remember the beautiful music, and the dancing, and my father reading the program with me. I got lost in the magic of that ballet, and in the magic of having a parent to myself for the day. After the ballet, we would go to my Grandma's house for Christmas Eve. (This was before the Christmas Eve celebration moved to Aunt Paula's, where it is to this day.)
I always felt that my Dad and I had special times on those days. My parents both worked hard when I was a child, and outings like that were a real treat. I often wonder what my own daughter will remember of her childhood. I hope that she retains memories of special times. I know I do.
When I was a kid, likely between 8 and 11, my Dad used to take me to work with him one day a year. I think it may have been on Christmas Eve, since he worked half a day, but it may have been any day close to Christmas; I can't remember exactly. We would rise early and take the Staten Island train to the Ferry, and then the subway to where Dad worked. I don't recall where the office was; all I knew was that I had my Daddy to myself for a while and that was very good. I think he may have bought me hot chocolate on the ferry.
When we got to the office, the atmosphere seemed jovial. People popped in and out of Dad's office, doing more socializing than actual work. Looking back, it was the early 70s and people likely had a little "something" in their coffee; those were the days when you could have a drink in the office and no one blinked an eye. We were like Don Draper and his daughter, Sally.
I know I went with Dad several times to work, and although I don't remember any single visit, a few things always stand out. People always made a fuss over me. I am sure my Mom dressed me in a cute outfit and people were just nice to a little kid in the office for a day. Sometimes there were other kids too. I played with the typewriter, drew on paper Dad gave me, and played with the telephone and the things on his desk. He had a Rolodex; it had the letters of the alphabet down one side and if you pushed a little tab down to a letter, the Rolodex popped open to the place where people whose name started with that letter were stored. I thought this was a fine piece of modern office equipment. Who knew there would ever be such a thing as a Blackberry...
I also remember the copy machine and a cafeteria where we got donuts and other assorted goodies. (Leave it to me to remember where the food was.)
On several of these occasions Dad took me to lunch, I think at McDonalds or a coffee shop, and then he took me to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. I remember thinking that I would have been happy enough with the office and McDonalds, but the Nutcracker was a bonus. When I think of it now, it must have been a sacrifice for my parents to get those tickets. They are not cheap now, and I am sure they were not cheap then. My mother could have easily gone instead of me, but she let me have that time with my father. It was precious time that still fills my heart with warm memories. I remember the beautiful music, and the dancing, and my father reading the program with me. I got lost in the magic of that ballet, and in the magic of having a parent to myself for the day. After the ballet, we would go to my Grandma's house for Christmas Eve. (This was before the Christmas Eve celebration moved to Aunt Paula's, where it is to this day.)
I always felt that my Dad and I had special times on those days. My parents both worked hard when I was a child, and outings like that were a real treat. I often wonder what my own daughter will remember of her childhood. I hope that she retains memories of special times. I know I do.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Baby, If you Ever Wondered..
...Wondered whatever became of me, I'm living on the air in Cincinnati, Cincinnati WKRP." Most of you will likely remember a quirky show from the late 70's called "WKRP in Cincinnati." I think it may been on on Saturday night and thus we watched it as a family when I was growing up. I was about 11 or 12 when this show came on: too young for a social life, so I was at home with Mom and Dad. I recently watched the theme song from this show on youtube and was surprised at how much of the scenery I could identify. Never in a million years - as I sat on the blue shag carpeting in our livingroom, watching TV and dreaming of a more glamorous life - did I ever imagine I would ever actually be in Cincinnati. I also never imagined a lot of other things, but here we are.
For some bizarre reason, Cincinnati Children's Hospital is the place to go if you have a child with a "complex airway." Dr. Robin Cotton leads an incredible team of surgeons. This is our third visit and I love the hospital. It is a very family friendly place, and we have come to enjoy the city. I can't say I would come here unless the hospital was here, but we have had our fun.
On our first trip we stayed right next to the hospital, at a place for families with children having surgery. It was clean and quiet, but somewhat depressing, as it was an old hospital building. It was fine for our initial visit because most of our time was spent at the hospital. During this visit, we discovered a beautiful Marriot, right across from the hospital, with an excellent bar and wonderful food. We ate there probably 3 of of the 5 nights we were there, because it was convenient. I looked into staying there for our next trip, but at $220 a night it was just a bit pricey. I think they have a lot of medical conferences there. On our second trip, we stayed at a different Marriot, about a mile and a half from the hospital. It was very nice, with a great pool, and we got a very reasonable rate.
On this trip, the Marriot was full, so I booked us downtown at a place called the Garfield Inn and Suites. It is right in downtown Cincinnati, next to a statue of President Garfied, who was assassinated or died in office or something. This place is a riot. When we checked in they decided to give us a 2-bedroom suite at the rate of the 1-bedroom suite we had booked. I certainly did not argue. They then mentioned the complimentary wine, beer and appetizers they served every Wed evening from 5-6. CA-ching! It was Wednesday and we were downstairs at 4:49. We had a few belts and then went to the in-house restaurant, which was decorated in retro-70s style. The food was very good.
Our suite is quite spacious....however, it was decorated in about 1974 and has not changed a bit since. It's kind of funky and interesting. The people who stay here are a mix of gay men, families for in-town weddings, and some business travelers. They pipe in 70s music throughout the hallways, so when you are waiting for the elevator you find yourself singing "Band on the Run", or some other song you haven't heard in 30 years. On Sunday they were playing a jazz mix, including Ella Fitzgerald, who I loved listening to before my child got interested in music and my CDs got buried at the bottom of a heap.
The people here are very nice. It's not quite west enough to be the midwest, but that attitude of friendliness and politeness dominates. I won't lie; I'd be much happier if this center was in San Francisco so I could visit my old stomping grounds. But I am glad I've had the opportunity to see this small city. Now, if only I could spot Dr. Johnny Fever...
For some bizarre reason, Cincinnati Children's Hospital is the place to go if you have a child with a "complex airway." Dr. Robin Cotton leads an incredible team of surgeons. This is our third visit and I love the hospital. It is a very family friendly place, and we have come to enjoy the city. I can't say I would come here unless the hospital was here, but we have had our fun.
On our first trip we stayed right next to the hospital, at a place for families with children having surgery. It was clean and quiet, but somewhat depressing, as it was an old hospital building. It was fine for our initial visit because most of our time was spent at the hospital. During this visit, we discovered a beautiful Marriot, right across from the hospital, with an excellent bar and wonderful food. We ate there probably 3 of of the 5 nights we were there, because it was convenient. I looked into staying there for our next trip, but at $220 a night it was just a bit pricey. I think they have a lot of medical conferences there. On our second trip, we stayed at a different Marriot, about a mile and a half from the hospital. It was very nice, with a great pool, and we got a very reasonable rate.
On this trip, the Marriot was full, so I booked us downtown at a place called the Garfield Inn and Suites. It is right in downtown Cincinnati, next to a statue of President Garfied, who was assassinated or died in office or something. This place is a riot. When we checked in they decided to give us a 2-bedroom suite at the rate of the 1-bedroom suite we had booked. I certainly did not argue. They then mentioned the complimentary wine, beer and appetizers they served every Wed evening from 5-6. CA-ching! It was Wednesday and we were downstairs at 4:49. We had a few belts and then went to the in-house restaurant, which was decorated in retro-70s style. The food was very good.
Our suite is quite spacious....however, it was decorated in about 1974 and has not changed a bit since. It's kind of funky and interesting. The people who stay here are a mix of gay men, families for in-town weddings, and some business travelers. They pipe in 70s music throughout the hallways, so when you are waiting for the elevator you find yourself singing "Band on the Run", or some other song you haven't heard in 30 years. On Sunday they were playing a jazz mix, including Ella Fitzgerald, who I loved listening to before my child got interested in music and my CDs got buried at the bottom of a heap.
The people here are very nice. It's not quite west enough to be the midwest, but that attitude of friendliness and politeness dominates. I won't lie; I'd be much happier if this center was in San Francisco so I could visit my old stomping grounds. But I am glad I've had the opportunity to see this small city. Now, if only I could spot Dr. Johnny Fever...
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Well, what a coincidence; it looks like my last blog was written right around the time school ended, or more accurately, when all my free time disappeared like a box of doughnuts at a Weight Watchers meeting. Believe it or not, my summer has ended and Ava is scheduled to started second grade tomorrow. I cannot believe I have a second grader, or that yet another summer has gone by.
Back-to-school time is always filled with mixed emotions for me. As a child, I hated it. It meant grumpy teachers, the same old kids year after year, and the end of playing outside after dinner. I didn't like it much more as a high school or college student. I had a few years where it didn't matter much, since I was a working adult in an office, and the start of school really meant nothing to me.
Then I became a teacher, and back-to-school took on another whole meaning. It was the end of my summer off, and back to work. There were boring teacher's meetings to endure, and a whole bunch of new stuff to organize and label. Actually, I liked that part...when the kids came, it was another story. There was some excitement about starting fresh with a new class, but that lasted about 2 days until the chaos started and they began to drive me insane.
And now as a parent, the emotions are even more mixed. For the most part, Ava is a good kid, and I enjoy having her around. This was the first year that it was just the 2 of us; we always had a nurse with us, and this year I felt we didn't need it. We had a nurse come 2 mornings a week, while I worked, but the rest of the time it was just us. Our days were pretty predictable: we started out slowly in the morning, watching some TV or using the computer. We'd go out for the afternoon, sometimes for lunch, sometimes to the library or a friend's house. Sometimes we'd go to the beach or a museum, or to the park. We stopped at the farm stand a lot for fresh fruit and veggies. We did some crafts and made books and pictures. We had some doctor's appointment, karate once a week, and physical therapy twice a week. We tried lots of different ice cream shops and had some dance parties in the evenings. Weekends were often spent visiting friends or family, or sometimes just enjoying our yard and home. If I have tried to instill one thing in Ava, it is the appreciation of the small things in life. I try to simple things mostly. We can't really afford to vacation, so we'd spend long weekends with family of friends. For the most part, this worked fine.
Sure, there were many times, when she'd be screaming for me when I was trying to do laundry, or asking me for the fifth snack of the day, that I glanced desperately at the calendar and wish for Sept. 1. When she started complaining of boredom, or I had to watch the same episode of iCarly for the millionth time, I wanted school to start. But now that it's here, I will miss her during the day.
I hope to get back to exercising (not because I want, but because my ass will need its own zip code soon if I don't). I hope to get back to getting my laundry done, cooking meals, and doing some projects I have started. It's not exciting stuff; it's boring as hell, but boring isn't always bad. I will always be happy to see the bus come home at 3pm, because by then I will want a little Ava time. Here's to the start of school!
Back-to-school time is always filled with mixed emotions for me. As a child, I hated it. It meant grumpy teachers, the same old kids year after year, and the end of playing outside after dinner. I didn't like it much more as a high school or college student. I had a few years where it didn't matter much, since I was a working adult in an office, and the start of school really meant nothing to me.
Then I became a teacher, and back-to-school took on another whole meaning. It was the end of my summer off, and back to work. There were boring teacher's meetings to endure, and a whole bunch of new stuff to organize and label. Actually, I liked that part...when the kids came, it was another story. There was some excitement about starting fresh with a new class, but that lasted about 2 days until the chaos started and they began to drive me insane.
And now as a parent, the emotions are even more mixed. For the most part, Ava is a good kid, and I enjoy having her around. This was the first year that it was just the 2 of us; we always had a nurse with us, and this year I felt we didn't need it. We had a nurse come 2 mornings a week, while I worked, but the rest of the time it was just us. Our days were pretty predictable: we started out slowly in the morning, watching some TV or using the computer. We'd go out for the afternoon, sometimes for lunch, sometimes to the library or a friend's house. Sometimes we'd go to the beach or a museum, or to the park. We stopped at the farm stand a lot for fresh fruit and veggies. We did some crafts and made books and pictures. We had some doctor's appointment, karate once a week, and physical therapy twice a week. We tried lots of different ice cream shops and had some dance parties in the evenings. Weekends were often spent visiting friends or family, or sometimes just enjoying our yard and home. If I have tried to instill one thing in Ava, it is the appreciation of the small things in life. I try to simple things mostly. We can't really afford to vacation, so we'd spend long weekends with family of friends. For the most part, this worked fine.
Sure, there were many times, when she'd be screaming for me when I was trying to do laundry, or asking me for the fifth snack of the day, that I glanced desperately at the calendar and wish for Sept. 1. When she started complaining of boredom, or I had to watch the same episode of iCarly for the millionth time, I wanted school to start. But now that it's here, I will miss her during the day.
I hope to get back to exercising (not because I want, but because my ass will need its own zip code soon if I don't). I hope to get back to getting my laundry done, cooking meals, and doing some projects I have started. It's not exciting stuff; it's boring as hell, but boring isn't always bad. I will always be happy to see the bus come home at 3pm, because by then I will want a little Ava time. Here's to the start of school!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sleepovers
Ava went out with her friend Jayne today. Jayne used to be Ava's nurse and still comes by to take Ava out. They go to lunch, shopping, museums...whatever they want. They are an unlikely pair, considering one is 54 and one is 7, but they get along perfectly. Today they went swimming at the lake and back to Jayne's house for lunch and play. Ava has been asking if she is old enough to sleep over at Jayne's house. She told Jayne that "She would have to ask her Mom because Mom would have a lot of questions, and we don't want to shock Mom." Bless that child, she must know my nerves are shot.
I think I was about 7 when I began to sleep over at people's houses. (My first attempt, at age 3, was a disaster and ended with my poor father having to drive back to Brooklyn from Staten Island late at night to pick me up. My mother was in the hospital at the time since she had just given birth to my brother.)
I also remember crying once when I slept over at my best friend Donna's house; this resulted in Donna crying as well, but the whole mess was solved when Carol, Donna's mother, promised to make us extra large pancakes in the morning (excellent). Clever woman...she knew her target audience.
By far, the best sleepovers were at Grandma and Grandpa Salamo's house. I don't think I ever cried there; in fact, I think I jumped up and clicked my heels when everyone had gone. Most of the time I think my parents left me there on a Sunday after our visit and returned to claim me on a Tuesday.
Life at the Salamo's was far different than life at my house. For one thing, they lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, a far cry from my suburban Staten Island neighborhood. Not too mention that I was the only child there; my brothers were at home with my parents. This made me the center of attention (excellent). And for this reason I was happy to do anything that was asked of me, or cooperate with any plans my grandmother had. Grandma always wanted to go out, which was fine with me. Monday started with an Entenmann's corn muffin, toasted, and Sunday's re-heated coffee. I had Tropicana OJ rather than coffee, but this breakfast was delicious. Then we got dressed; my Grandma always wore a dress back then, and so I probably did too. We always took the bus or the subway to Manhattan, or sometimes to downtown Brooklyn. Being on the bus or subway was an adventure in itself; I was fascinated with the tokens that went into the box on the box, or the turnstile of the subway. There were so many people, and Grandma and I looked out the window and talked. She told me about the buildings and the places we were seeing. Sometimes we went shopping to Saks Fifth Avenue or Macys; A&S if we went to downtown Brooklyn. Grandma liked to shop.We always went out for lunch; it was always a little coffee shop, but it might as well have been Sardi's. I LOVED going out for lunch and ordering anything I wanted from the menu.
As I got a little older, Grandma took me to the museums, the Botanical Gardens, movies, Radio City or theatre shows. I am sure I would have groaned with boredom if my parents had suggested going to the Botanical Gardens, but with Grandma, it was different. She listened to me in a way others did not, and talked to me in a way she likely didn't talk to anyone else. We shared a lot. Wherever we went, we always got home in time to give Grandpa his dinner. He was always in his chair, reading the paper, and would peer at us when we came in, wondering what there was to eat. Most Monday nights it was leftovers from Sunday (excellent). We ate quietly in the kitchen and then changed into our pjs.
Grandpa always wanted to watch the ball game, which was usually on since our sleepovers took place mostly in summer (when school was out). But Grandpa would be snoring in his chair by 9 pm and Grandma took over the TV. We watched MASH and then Lou Grant. I didn't make one sound during any of the TV shows, mostly because I didn't want to be sent to bed. Funny thing is, they never sent me to bed...I just stayed up until they went to bed (excellent). It didn't matter that i didn't understand most of what was going on on Lou Grant; I knew the character from watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show as a younger child, but Lou Grant was a drama and dealt with some fairly mature issues. Sometimes we'd watch the 11 o'clock news and then go to bed. Mind you one of those summers was the Summer of Sam, and so I knew more about the Son of Sam than any other 10-year old around. I even remember when they caught him.
Grandpa, bless his grumpy little heart, slept on the sofa bed and I slept in the big bed with Grandma. We would chat in the morning and then Grandma would do these crazy stretching exercises, which I did too. I didn't care...I was just looking forward to lunch. I guess I was happy to see my parents on Tuesday evening, but I could have stayed at Grandma's for a month. My grandparent's treated me like I was the most precious gift they had ever received; they let me do mostly whatever I wanted; and they never sent me to bed. I thought they were the best people on Earth. Somehow I think they are the best people in heaven too.
I think I was about 7 when I began to sleep over at people's houses. (My first attempt, at age 3, was a disaster and ended with my poor father having to drive back to Brooklyn from Staten Island late at night to pick me up. My mother was in the hospital at the time since she had just given birth to my brother.)
I also remember crying once when I slept over at my best friend Donna's house; this resulted in Donna crying as well, but the whole mess was solved when Carol, Donna's mother, promised to make us extra large pancakes in the morning (excellent). Clever woman...she knew her target audience.
By far, the best sleepovers were at Grandma and Grandpa Salamo's house. I don't think I ever cried there; in fact, I think I jumped up and clicked my heels when everyone had gone. Most of the time I think my parents left me there on a Sunday after our visit and returned to claim me on a Tuesday.
Life at the Salamo's was far different than life at my house. For one thing, they lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, a far cry from my suburban Staten Island neighborhood. Not too mention that I was the only child there; my brothers were at home with my parents. This made me the center of attention (excellent). And for this reason I was happy to do anything that was asked of me, or cooperate with any plans my grandmother had. Grandma always wanted to go out, which was fine with me. Monday started with an Entenmann's corn muffin, toasted, and Sunday's re-heated coffee. I had Tropicana OJ rather than coffee, but this breakfast was delicious. Then we got dressed; my Grandma always wore a dress back then, and so I probably did too. We always took the bus or the subway to Manhattan, or sometimes to downtown Brooklyn. Being on the bus or subway was an adventure in itself; I was fascinated with the tokens that went into the box on the box, or the turnstile of the subway. There were so many people, and Grandma and I looked out the window and talked. She told me about the buildings and the places we were seeing. Sometimes we went shopping to Saks Fifth Avenue or Macys; A&S if we went to downtown Brooklyn. Grandma liked to shop.We always went out for lunch; it was always a little coffee shop, but it might as well have been Sardi's. I LOVED going out for lunch and ordering anything I wanted from the menu.
As I got a little older, Grandma took me to the museums, the Botanical Gardens, movies, Radio City or theatre shows. I am sure I would have groaned with boredom if my parents had suggested going to the Botanical Gardens, but with Grandma, it was different. She listened to me in a way others did not, and talked to me in a way she likely didn't talk to anyone else. We shared a lot. Wherever we went, we always got home in time to give Grandpa his dinner. He was always in his chair, reading the paper, and would peer at us when we came in, wondering what there was to eat. Most Monday nights it was leftovers from Sunday (excellent). We ate quietly in the kitchen and then changed into our pjs.
Grandpa always wanted to watch the ball game, which was usually on since our sleepovers took place mostly in summer (when school was out). But Grandpa would be snoring in his chair by 9 pm and Grandma took over the TV. We watched MASH and then Lou Grant. I didn't make one sound during any of the TV shows, mostly because I didn't want to be sent to bed. Funny thing is, they never sent me to bed...I just stayed up until they went to bed (excellent). It didn't matter that i didn't understand most of what was going on on Lou Grant; I knew the character from watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show as a younger child, but Lou Grant was a drama and dealt with some fairly mature issues. Sometimes we'd watch the 11 o'clock news and then go to bed. Mind you one of those summers was the Summer of Sam, and so I knew more about the Son of Sam than any other 10-year old around. I even remember when they caught him.
Grandpa, bless his grumpy little heart, slept on the sofa bed and I slept in the big bed with Grandma. We would chat in the morning and then Grandma would do these crazy stretching exercises, which I did too. I didn't care...I was just looking forward to lunch. I guess I was happy to see my parents on Tuesday evening, but I could have stayed at Grandma's for a month. My grandparent's treated me like I was the most precious gift they had ever received; they let me do mostly whatever I wanted; and they never sent me to bed. I thought they were the best people on Earth. Somehow I think they are the best people in heaven too.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Just Beachin'
Ah Memorial Day weekend...the official opening of summer when everyone and their brother is out trying to have the time of their life. I like a long weekend as much as anyone, although for a stay-at-home Mom, weekends don't differ much from weekdays. The traffic going down to the CT shoreline beaches was long and winding when I went zooming past it, going in the opposite direction, earlier today. CT beaches are not very big (mind you I'm comparing them to Long Island beaches, such as Jones Beach, so maybe to say they are not that big is unfair). In any case, they will be packed this weekend will all those who MUST be at the beach the day it friggin opens.
We were chatting with my parents at the dinner table last night about the beach. I've concluded that there are several stages of "beach going" we all experience as we go through life.
The first stage is Beach as a Kid (BK for short). BK is the best stage. Your only jobs are to put on your bathing suit, and once at the beach, make sure your parents don't get an ounce of peace. Between running back and forth to the water, trips to the bathroom, asking for snacks, begging for ice cream and looking for beach toys, this is a full day's worth of work. And let's not forget asking your mother for the time every 50 seconds during the mandatory "30-minute after eating before you can return to to the water" waiting period. Whoever came up with this did herself, and every other parent, a great disservice.
Then there's the Beach as a Young Adult (BYA). BYA is lots of fun because basically, you grab a towel, a swim suit, and a cooler full of beer and get in the car and go. You plop down on beach, drink beer, and pass out in the sun, while getting a tan. During the BYA phase, you likely look very good in your bathing suit and strut around proudly during your trips to the ocean to cool off. Also, the trip to the beach is merely the start of the day at this point...there's more partying later on in the evening and into the night.
And then there's the Beach as Parents stage (BP). This stage is fairly tiresome and not for the faint of heart. The night before, you search frantically among the Christmas decorations, Halloween costumes, and Valentine's Day cards for the beach stuff. This includes, but is not limited to: beach chairs for everyone, huge umbrella, at least one towel per person, coolers, sunscreen, hats, bathing suits, flip flops, sand toys, Frisbees, floats, swim vests, etc. Then one has to pack all of this into two small bags because 2 adults can only carry so much.
In the morning one adult has to load all this crap into the car, while the other feverishly dresses the children, packs the lunch, fills the cooler, feeds them breakfast, lathers them with sunscreen, and gets them into the car. After sitting in traffic forever, listening to "ARE WE THERE YET?", and paying $10 for parking, the parents must unload the children, all the gear, and then schlep all the gear to find a spot. Since you are probably late, you get to squeeze between a family with screaming infant triplets and some BYA's with their music blaring. (Next, see BK paragraph above for all the things the kids do at the beach that you now get to endure.) And when the day's done, you get to schlep that same gear, plus your sunburned, sand-covered children, back to the car. When you get home Mom usually throws the kids in the tub while Dad rinses off all the sand and cleans out the car. Doing this once is enough to make you never want to see the ocean again.
I imagine there's a fourth stage, the Beach as a Retired person stage (BR).BR is probably almost as good as BYA, except you have coffee to drink and likely have a tent over your bathing suit. You can sit in peace, maybe take a dip in the water, and get the hell out of there as soon as the BP's come.
Here's to another summer...
We were chatting with my parents at the dinner table last night about the beach. I've concluded that there are several stages of "beach going" we all experience as we go through life.
The first stage is Beach as a Kid (BK for short). BK is the best stage. Your only jobs are to put on your bathing suit, and once at the beach, make sure your parents don't get an ounce of peace. Between running back and forth to the water, trips to the bathroom, asking for snacks, begging for ice cream and looking for beach toys, this is a full day's worth of work. And let's not forget asking your mother for the time every 50 seconds during the mandatory "30-minute after eating before you can return to to the water" waiting period. Whoever came up with this did herself, and every other parent, a great disservice.
Then there's the Beach as a Young Adult (BYA). BYA is lots of fun because basically, you grab a towel, a swim suit, and a cooler full of beer and get in the car and go. You plop down on beach, drink beer, and pass out in the sun, while getting a tan. During the BYA phase, you likely look very good in your bathing suit and strut around proudly during your trips to the ocean to cool off. Also, the trip to the beach is merely the start of the day at this point...there's more partying later on in the evening and into the night.
And then there's the Beach as Parents stage (BP). This stage is fairly tiresome and not for the faint of heart. The night before, you search frantically among the Christmas decorations, Halloween costumes, and Valentine's Day cards for the beach stuff. This includes, but is not limited to: beach chairs for everyone, huge umbrella, at least one towel per person, coolers, sunscreen, hats, bathing suits, flip flops, sand toys, Frisbees, floats, swim vests, etc. Then one has to pack all of this into two small bags because 2 adults can only carry so much.
In the morning one adult has to load all this crap into the car, while the other feverishly dresses the children, packs the lunch, fills the cooler, feeds them breakfast, lathers them with sunscreen, and gets them into the car. After sitting in traffic forever, listening to "ARE WE THERE YET?", and paying $10 for parking, the parents must unload the children, all the gear, and then schlep all the gear to find a spot. Since you are probably late, you get to squeeze between a family with screaming infant triplets and some BYA's with their music blaring. (Next, see BK paragraph above for all the things the kids do at the beach that you now get to endure.) And when the day's done, you get to schlep that same gear, plus your sunburned, sand-covered children, back to the car. When you get home Mom usually throws the kids in the tub while Dad rinses off all the sand and cleans out the car. Doing this once is enough to make you never want to see the ocean again.
I imagine there's a fourth stage, the Beach as a Retired person stage (BR).BR is probably almost as good as BYA, except you have coffee to drink and likely have a tent over your bathing suit. You can sit in peace, maybe take a dip in the water, and get the hell out of there as soon as the BP's come.
Here's to another summer...
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Kids Today...
Last week Malcolm and I were driving and a few 20-somethings were crossing the street. We resurrected a conversation we've been having for a few weeks: Tattoos seem to be mandatory for people of this age. We laughed as we thought of how we sounded "old"...talking about "kids these days and their crazy tats" (short for tattoos, because that's the hip lingo). When I think of tats I think of 2 things: pain and hepatitis, neither of which I want. I do not feel passionately enough about anything to have it permanently engraved in ink on my skin.
Things have changed a lot over the years for me. I am not sure how I went from 16 to 42, but it happened. I recall a time when 4o was ancient, something I am sure some of my students think when they look at me. I usually work with young children, but sometimes work with high school students. High school students have no idea how easy they've got it. (See, only old people say that.) My student today brought in his Geography project on world religions. He had to pick a religion and make a poster about it. When I went to high school, that would have been the extent of the directions. This kid brought me a 2-page document. The first page had a list of the things the poster should include. There were 10 categories and each was listed like this: 1) Origin of religion a) Why did it start? b) When did it start? List at least 5 major milestones in this religion's development. Include a visual.
On the reverse was what we teachers call a rubric, or a list of criteria on which your project will be graded. It lists how it will be graded (Creativity, Neatness, Level of detail, Clarity, etc.). It then lists what constitutes Excellent, Good, Pair, Poor.
So basically, you get an outline to follow, and if you follow the written instructions you are guaranteed at least a B. If you make the extra effort - and the rubric tells you what is considered the extra effort - you can easily get an A. We got our papers back with some random letter or number grade, with no clue as to why or how we got it.
So, imagine my annoyance when my student handed me 3 pages of random sentences about Christianity not in any order, or organized in any fashion. I asked him if this was all he'd done; of course, it was. I xeroxed his "notes" and had him write the 10 categories (and their accompanying questions to answer) each on a piece of paper. We then cut up his sentences and taped them under each category, to form a rudimentary outline. I helped him fill in some of the gaps, but he still has a long way to go to even meet the basic requirements.
I guess it irritates me that the students basically get handed an outline of what to do and if they simply do just that they can get a decent grade. Yet, many kids don't even bother to do this. They are being handed a gift of an assignment, and don't even realize how easy it is, especially with resources like the Internet. Now I will admit that maybe it seems easy to me, because I am 42, not 15; but, even at that, if you can't finish this kind of assignment with at least a B, I don't hold out much hope for you. Tests are the same. Kids bring in a "study guide" for a test, which is basically the test; all they need to do is complete the answers and they have the info they need to ace the test. But they don't bother to do it,and I'm not sure why. Most of them are smart enough; they just don't care, and their parents don't bother to impose any expectations on them.
I got good grades in high school, not because I cared a whole lot about school work, but because my parents basically said I had to do my best or no social life. Mo-ti-va-she-own! Not every student is an A student; some kids will try hard and earn lower grades, but that's OK if that's their best. I tell my daughter that I expect her to do her best, and I also help her with her schoolwork. I am not Parent of the Year, but I do think it's part of my job as a mother. A lot of kids I see don't have parental help at all.
And so, as I lament the current state of our youth, I begin to take my place as a middle-aged grump. Don't even get me started on that noise they call music...
Things have changed a lot over the years for me. I am not sure how I went from 16 to 42, but it happened. I recall a time when 4o was ancient, something I am sure some of my students think when they look at me. I usually work with young children, but sometimes work with high school students. High school students have no idea how easy they've got it. (See, only old people say that.) My student today brought in his Geography project on world religions. He had to pick a religion and make a poster about it. When I went to high school, that would have been the extent of the directions. This kid brought me a 2-page document. The first page had a list of the things the poster should include. There were 10 categories and each was listed like this: 1) Origin of religion a) Why did it start? b) When did it start? List at least 5 major milestones in this religion's development. Include a visual.
On the reverse was what we teachers call a rubric, or a list of criteria on which your project will be graded. It lists how it will be graded (Creativity, Neatness, Level of detail, Clarity, etc.). It then lists what constitutes Excellent, Good, Pair, Poor.
So basically, you get an outline to follow, and if you follow the written instructions you are guaranteed at least a B. If you make the extra effort - and the rubric tells you what is considered the extra effort - you can easily get an A. We got our papers back with some random letter or number grade, with no clue as to why or how we got it.
So, imagine my annoyance when my student handed me 3 pages of random sentences about Christianity not in any order, or organized in any fashion. I asked him if this was all he'd done; of course, it was. I xeroxed his "notes" and had him write the 10 categories (and their accompanying questions to answer) each on a piece of paper. We then cut up his sentences and taped them under each category, to form a rudimentary outline. I helped him fill in some of the gaps, but he still has a long way to go to even meet the basic requirements.
I guess it irritates me that the students basically get handed an outline of what to do and if they simply do just that they can get a decent grade. Yet, many kids don't even bother to do this. They are being handed a gift of an assignment, and don't even realize how easy it is, especially with resources like the Internet. Now I will admit that maybe it seems easy to me, because I am 42, not 15; but, even at that, if you can't finish this kind of assignment with at least a B, I don't hold out much hope for you. Tests are the same. Kids bring in a "study guide" for a test, which is basically the test; all they need to do is complete the answers and they have the info they need to ace the test. But they don't bother to do it,and I'm not sure why. Most of them are smart enough; they just don't care, and their parents don't bother to impose any expectations on them.
I got good grades in high school, not because I cared a whole lot about school work, but because my parents basically said I had to do my best or no social life. Mo-ti-va-she-own! Not every student is an A student; some kids will try hard and earn lower grades, but that's OK if that's their best. I tell my daughter that I expect her to do her best, and I also help her with her schoolwork. I am not Parent of the Year, but I do think it's part of my job as a mother. A lot of kids I see don't have parental help at all.
And so, as I lament the current state of our youth, I begin to take my place as a middle-aged grump. Don't even get me started on that noise they call music...
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Does Anyone Really Care What x Equals?
Math and I have never been friends. Let me re-state that: Higher mathematics and I have never been friends. I can do - and find useful - basic math operation: addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. I also think it's a good idea to know your basic shapes and how to find area and perimeter, as these are useful when designing a garden or measuring a room. Speaking of measurement...another good skill...comes in handy many ways. I also think decimals and percents are useful, as these help you calculate sale items when at the mall. Beyond this...well, I'm not sure who came up with the rest of the stuff.
Actually I am pretty sure higher mathematics developed because people were bored. No TV to watch, no pubs to visit; they already contemplated their existence and life's meaning so why not play with numbers? Actually I have no idea when or who started higher mathematics, and quite frankly, I don't really care. (Obviously I am also poor at history.) I do, however, have a bone to pick with whoever started this nonsense.
Let's take algebra for instance. Yesterday one of my students, who I usually do not tutor in math, brought me his algebra (insert gasp) homework. It looked something like this:
y=2x-1/4
2y=3/4x-1
First of all, who the hell ever thought of inserting letters into math problems? They were fine with all digits, as far as I'm concerned. Then he had to plot these equations on a graph and solve for both letters. Then he had to list the points where the 2 points intersected. Huh?
Now I can do this:
2x=6
I may be even able to do the kinds of problems where you have to get all the x's on one side or something like that, but solve for 2 letters and graph the equations ? I had no clue what to do AT ALL. He mentioned something about "rise over run" and rise and run is exactly what I wanted to do. Apparently this means something different in algebra. Something to do with a slope.
I could not help him at all. I didn't even know where to start. I'm sure he thought I was dumb as a rock, but I really just hate math that I view as completely pointless. When, in life, have I ever had to calculate a slope? I am sure my engineer husband could quote me a thousand uses for algebra, but since I don't do any of those things it means nothing to me. In fact, I bet it means nothing to most people.
Here's an idea: Why not save the algebra, trigonometry and calculus for students who plan to go into careers where this knowledge is helpful? These classes could be taken as electives in high school or college. I think schools should spend more time teaching useful math skills such as:
The Stock Market: Friend or Foe?
What IS the Economy and How Does it Work?
How to Save for Retirement-It's Closer than You Think
What Credit Really Is and How Long It Will REALLY Take you to Pay Off that Fancy Cell Phone
How to Pay Bills-On Time
What is a Mutual Fund Anyway?
Honestly, I think courses in how to manage finances, how to negotiate a mortgage, or where to invest your money are far more useful to the average person than graphing equations. You should be able to read a financial document and understand it before you cosign it, rather than be able to calculate the cosine of some angle. (Go ahead...ask me how long it took me to come up with that one.)
Actually I am pretty sure higher mathematics developed because people were bored. No TV to watch, no pubs to visit; they already contemplated their existence and life's meaning so why not play with numbers? Actually I have no idea when or who started higher mathematics, and quite frankly, I don't really care. (Obviously I am also poor at history.) I do, however, have a bone to pick with whoever started this nonsense.
Let's take algebra for instance. Yesterday one of my students, who I usually do not tutor in math, brought me his algebra (insert gasp) homework. It looked something like this:
y=2x-1/4
2y=3/4x-1
First of all, who the hell ever thought of inserting letters into math problems? They were fine with all digits, as far as I'm concerned. Then he had to plot these equations on a graph and solve for both letters. Then he had to list the points where the 2 points intersected. Huh?
Now I can do this:
2x=6
I may be even able to do the kinds of problems where you have to get all the x's on one side or something like that, but solve for 2 letters and graph the equations ? I had no clue what to do AT ALL. He mentioned something about "rise over run" and rise and run is exactly what I wanted to do. Apparently this means something different in algebra. Something to do with a slope.
I could not help him at all. I didn't even know where to start. I'm sure he thought I was dumb as a rock, but I really just hate math that I view as completely pointless. When, in life, have I ever had to calculate a slope? I am sure my engineer husband could quote me a thousand uses for algebra, but since I don't do any of those things it means nothing to me. In fact, I bet it means nothing to most people.
Here's an idea: Why not save the algebra, trigonometry and calculus for students who plan to go into careers where this knowledge is helpful? These classes could be taken as electives in high school or college. I think schools should spend more time teaching useful math skills such as:
The Stock Market: Friend or Foe?
What IS the Economy and How Does it Work?
How to Save for Retirement-It's Closer than You Think
What Credit Really Is and How Long It Will REALLY Take you to Pay Off that Fancy Cell Phone
How to Pay Bills-On Time
What is a Mutual Fund Anyway?
Honestly, I think courses in how to manage finances, how to negotiate a mortgage, or where to invest your money are far more useful to the average person than graphing equations. You should be able to read a financial document and understand it before you cosign it, rather than be able to calculate the cosine of some angle. (Go ahead...ask me how long it took me to come up with that one.)
Friday, March 26, 2010
Well I just looked at my blog and realized that I have hit 50 posts! Fifty posts about silly little things. I guess it's the silver anniversary of The Whiner.
It's funny, I have always enjoyed writing. I don't think I am clever enough to do it for a living, although I wouldn't mind giving it a go. I mean, if people like Jenny McCarthy can get books published...well, I'd like to think I am a little smarter than she is (if not nearly as "hot").
I often think of people and their talents. Some people are amazingly creative, some are gifted in athletics, some are great with facts and figures, and others are musically talented. There are way too many different talents to list. I often moan and groan that teaching was a poor career choice. I suppose I am good with children to an extent, but I find as I grow older I have less and less patience. I am good with a couple at a time, but a whole room full...well, it's not as appealing as it once was. I often lament that I should have been a plumber or an electrician, even though I have no interest in these areas. However, these professionals are always needed, and they make good money. I know, since I have to pay them to do any work I need.
I also often think what I would have been really bad at. I know that sentence is not grammatically correct, but I can't figure out how to say it any other way. Here are a few examples:
I would have been a very bad saint. If a group of Romans came up to me in the early years of Christianity I don't think I would have stood up for the faith. "What's that you say? Denounce my belief in Jesus or you'll tie me to that pole and burn me alive?" I am ashamed to say it, but I think my answer would have been "Jesus who?"
I would have been a very poor pioneer, and I don't mean financially. If my husband came home one afternoon after hunting rabbits and asked me to move from my cozy log cabin in Wisconsin to the flat lands of Kansas territory, which was filled with angry Indians at the time, I think my answer would have been a resounding "NO". "I"m sorry, but I am SO NOT getting in that godforsaken wagon and traveling 200 miles to the middle of friggin' nowhere. This place is bad enough as it is."
I don't think I would have been a good plantation girl. As much as I love Gone with the Wind, and think Scarlett O'Hara is a scream, there is no way anyone would have stuffed me into those corsets and huge hoop skirts in that southern heat. Not to mention that I would have had a real problem with owning slaves. I don't care what anyone says about "Well everyone did it and it was just a part of the times." Everyone, even back then, knew that owning another human being was wrong. Fiddle dee dee...
Now here are some things I might have excelled at:
I would have been a good bootlegger or speakeasy girl during Prohibition. I don't know who's idea that ever was, but it was a dumb idea. I like my drinkee poos now and I would have liked them then; I don't think the law would have gotten in my way.
I would have been one of those Rosie the Riveter girls. Husband stuck in WWII? Me at home, in a frumpy Donna Reed frock? Snoozers! I would have stuck a cigarette in my mouth and been on that assembly line in no time.
I think I would have been a really good hippie. I was born in the summer of love, much too young to enjoy the revelry that was going on at the time. Having lived in San Francisco for 8 years, I know I would have loved that time. I am somewhat of a rebel and probably would have enjoyed the protests just for the sake of the argument.
I also wonder if I could have been a doctor. I was immature when I went to college and never took any of it very seriously. Now that I am older I wish I had realized that a college education was a gift (Thanks Mom and Dad) and I should have thought more seriously about a career choice. Oh well. If i had been a doctor it would have been the research type. I think I could make it through med school, but I would never make it through residency and staying up for 36 hours at a time. I like my sleep. Plus I don't really like touching icky people. But...i could do research...
Anyway, whatever our talents, it's important that we use them for good purposes. And so I shall take my talent for tasting fine wine and head downstairs for a good nap.
It's funny, I have always enjoyed writing. I don't think I am clever enough to do it for a living, although I wouldn't mind giving it a go. I mean, if people like Jenny McCarthy can get books published...well, I'd like to think I am a little smarter than she is (if not nearly as "hot").
I often think of people and their talents. Some people are amazingly creative, some are gifted in athletics, some are great with facts and figures, and others are musically talented. There are way too many different talents to list. I often moan and groan that teaching was a poor career choice. I suppose I am good with children to an extent, but I find as I grow older I have less and less patience. I am good with a couple at a time, but a whole room full...well, it's not as appealing as it once was. I often lament that I should have been a plumber or an electrician, even though I have no interest in these areas. However, these professionals are always needed, and they make good money. I know, since I have to pay them to do any work I need.
I also often think what I would have been really bad at. I know that sentence is not grammatically correct, but I can't figure out how to say it any other way. Here are a few examples:
I would have been a very bad saint. If a group of Romans came up to me in the early years of Christianity I don't think I would have stood up for the faith. "What's that you say? Denounce my belief in Jesus or you'll tie me to that pole and burn me alive?" I am ashamed to say it, but I think my answer would have been "Jesus who?"
I would have been a very poor pioneer, and I don't mean financially. If my husband came home one afternoon after hunting rabbits and asked me to move from my cozy log cabin in Wisconsin to the flat lands of Kansas territory, which was filled with angry Indians at the time, I think my answer would have been a resounding "NO". "I"m sorry, but I am SO NOT getting in that godforsaken wagon and traveling 200 miles to the middle of friggin' nowhere. This place is bad enough as it is."
I don't think I would have been a good plantation girl. As much as I love Gone with the Wind, and think Scarlett O'Hara is a scream, there is no way anyone would have stuffed me into those corsets and huge hoop skirts in that southern heat. Not to mention that I would have had a real problem with owning slaves. I don't care what anyone says about "Well everyone did it and it was just a part of the times." Everyone, even back then, knew that owning another human being was wrong. Fiddle dee dee...
Now here are some things I might have excelled at:
I would have been a good bootlegger or speakeasy girl during Prohibition. I don't know who's idea that ever was, but it was a dumb idea. I like my drinkee poos now and I would have liked them then; I don't think the law would have gotten in my way.
I would have been one of those Rosie the Riveter girls. Husband stuck in WWII? Me at home, in a frumpy Donna Reed frock? Snoozers! I would have stuck a cigarette in my mouth and been on that assembly line in no time.
I think I would have been a really good hippie. I was born in the summer of love, much too young to enjoy the revelry that was going on at the time. Having lived in San Francisco for 8 years, I know I would have loved that time. I am somewhat of a rebel and probably would have enjoyed the protests just for the sake of the argument.
I also wonder if I could have been a doctor. I was immature when I went to college and never took any of it very seriously. Now that I am older I wish I had realized that a college education was a gift (Thanks Mom and Dad) and I should have thought more seriously about a career choice. Oh well. If i had been a doctor it would have been the research type. I think I could make it through med school, but I would never make it through residency and staying up for 36 hours at a time. I like my sleep. Plus I don't really like touching icky people. But...i could do research...
Anyway, whatever our talents, it's important that we use them for good purposes. And so I shall take my talent for tasting fine wine and head downstairs for a good nap.
Friday, March 5, 2010
"Hello, Is There an Expert in the House?"
Since I am a stay-at-home Mom I have a little routine I follow. After putting Ava on the bus I have my breakfast and coffee, while I catch up on email and Facebook, and do a few other computer chores. I do this for about an hour before I start my "housework." I use this term loosely as I am the world's worst housekeeper, although I almost always cook (I have my priorities).
In any event, I often turn on the Today show while I do my computer thing, since I like to see the weather report and occasionally get a good piece of information. I have noticed that the Today show, along with all the other morning shows, has their resident "experts" in various fields, such as finance, nutrition, and medicine. Every few days, these experts come on with some tidbits of advice. Part of the segment is a piece where people either call, email, or web cam in their questions. I find this amusing.
Last week the stick-like nutrition expert was on. She's always got lots of tips on eating whole grains, saving your one glass of wine a week for a party, and having just a bite of cake. Whatever. This woman, who appeared to be about 30, web cams in her questions which was: "Many of the recipes I have make such large portions. I am single and the leftovers often go to waste. What should I do? Stickly's "expert advice was to "make the whole recipe, and freeze the rest in single-serving portions." Now wait a minute. The caller couldn't figure that out for herself? She got to the age of 30 and never thought of freezing the leftovers? And then the expert advice is to use the freezer? I could have told anyone that!
Another web cam caller phoned into the financial expert. Her question was: "We need a bigger house, but we owe more on our house that it's worth. Is there some sort of program that would allow us to roll the amount we owe on our mortgage (that is above the home's value) into a new mortgage on a new house?" Gee there's a swell idea! You're already in over your head so why not get yourself in even deeper? The finance lady told her "There is no such program (I could tell she wanted to add "you dumb ass"). she continued, "Your best bet is to stick it out in your current house and save some cash to pay down your debt before you buy another house." Wow how smart! Again I could have told her that too. I need, or rather want, a bigger house, but I can't afford it so I won't buy one yet.
I'm not sure how people got so dumb. I am not sure where they learned their life skills. Most of the questions they ask can be answered with simple common sense, something many people seem to lack. They rely on so-called experts, who are likely drawing big salaries for dispensing information that is, again, just basic common sense.
Perhaps I should market myself as an expert in something...I think maybe Housework Avoidance, as this seems to be my area of strength. Call me anytime!
In any event, I often turn on the Today show while I do my computer thing, since I like to see the weather report and occasionally get a good piece of information. I have noticed that the Today show, along with all the other morning shows, has their resident "experts" in various fields, such as finance, nutrition, and medicine. Every few days, these experts come on with some tidbits of advice. Part of the segment is a piece where people either call, email, or web cam in their questions. I find this amusing.
Last week the stick-like nutrition expert was on. She's always got lots of tips on eating whole grains, saving your one glass of wine a week for a party, and having just a bite of cake. Whatever. This woman, who appeared to be about 30, web cams in her questions which was: "Many of the recipes I have make such large portions. I am single and the leftovers often go to waste. What should I do? Stickly's "expert advice was to "make the whole recipe, and freeze the rest in single-serving portions." Now wait a minute. The caller couldn't figure that out for herself? She got to the age of 30 and never thought of freezing the leftovers? And then the expert advice is to use the freezer? I could have told anyone that!
Another web cam caller phoned into the financial expert. Her question was: "We need a bigger house, but we owe more on our house that it's worth. Is there some sort of program that would allow us to roll the amount we owe on our mortgage (that is above the home's value) into a new mortgage on a new house?" Gee there's a swell idea! You're already in over your head so why not get yourself in even deeper? The finance lady told her "There is no such program (I could tell she wanted to add "you dumb ass"). she continued, "Your best bet is to stick it out in your current house and save some cash to pay down your debt before you buy another house." Wow how smart! Again I could have told her that too. I need, or rather want, a bigger house, but I can't afford it so I won't buy one yet.
I'm not sure how people got so dumb. I am not sure where they learned their life skills. Most of the questions they ask can be answered with simple common sense, something many people seem to lack. They rely on so-called experts, who are likely drawing big salaries for dispensing information that is, again, just basic common sense.
Perhaps I should market myself as an expert in something...I think maybe Housework Avoidance, as this seems to be my area of strength. Call me anytime!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Please Stand for Our Opening Hymn (NOOOO!)
Yesterday was Sunday and is my new routine, I went to St. Mary's for the 10:30 service. We have a small parish with only 2 masses: 8:00 and 10:30. (There is also a 5pm mass on Saturday.) Anyway, the 10:30 mass is by far the more popular because not many people like to be up early. There is an adequate parking lot and some street parking. Even though I usually screech in at the last minute and race past Father before he starts his procession down the aisle, I never have trouble parking. Yesterday I was early by at least 5 minutes. I pulled into the lot and every spot was filled. Every single one. I am not sure if there was a cash giveaway for attending mass yesterday but there was no place for me to park. So I had to change strategies: I decided to grocery shop before mass, instead of after as I had planned, and then attend the noon Express Mass I wrote about a few weeks ago.
Having finished my grocery shopping early I was 15 minutes early for Mass. I went into the church and stopped dead in my tracks when I heard an ominous sound: the sound of a church organ. If you read this blog, you'll recall that the Express Mass has no singing, no fancy prayers...it's just a straight up mass. So I began to panic. All kinds of thoughts raced through my head. "I KNEW it was too good to be true! The organist must have been on a religious mission to Somalia and is now back!" Then I heard something that was even more disturbing...the sound of a choir. And it was a very good choir at that. They were singing all kinds of long Hosannas in the Highest, various Psalms and hymns. I think I actually broke out in a cold sweat. "I know what's happened," I thought, "they've changed the Express Mass to the choir mass and I'll be here forever." And then suddenly the music stopped. I checked behind me a few times to see if the organist or choir were returning. I saw Father Speed come up to the alter and fling his sermon notes onto the chair like they were a comic book. And then he said "Please stand for our opening prayer."
Ah the relief. It was unchanged. There was still no singing, Father Speed gave his usual 7-minute sermon and the Express Mass was done is 37 minutes flat. I timed it. I had just enough time to run into Home Goods to see if they had any more of those candles that smelled like glazed doughnuts.
This disturbs me in some way. I feel like I should enjoy the church music and not dread each verse that drones out of the organ. (By the way, how did the organ become official musical instrument of the Catholic Church? Every church has one and why? Why not a piano or a saxophone? Where does one even learn to play the organ?) But the hymns they play are these long, dreary dirges. They are not filled with positive energy or happiness. Those Gospel choirs have the right idea. They fill a church with spiritual music and they dance around, happy as clams. Why can't our churches have that? Why do we have to sing these awful songs that no one sings anyway?
Well, in any event, I was relieved to find that my Express mass was still intact, although sad that there were no more Glazed Doughnut candles. I guess we can't have everything! Amen.
Having finished my grocery shopping early I was 15 minutes early for Mass. I went into the church and stopped dead in my tracks when I heard an ominous sound: the sound of a church organ. If you read this blog, you'll recall that the Express Mass has no singing, no fancy prayers...it's just a straight up mass. So I began to panic. All kinds of thoughts raced through my head. "I KNEW it was too good to be true! The organist must have been on a religious mission to Somalia and is now back!" Then I heard something that was even more disturbing...the sound of a choir. And it was a very good choir at that. They were singing all kinds of long Hosannas in the Highest, various Psalms and hymns. I think I actually broke out in a cold sweat. "I know what's happened," I thought, "they've changed the Express Mass to the choir mass and I'll be here forever." And then suddenly the music stopped. I checked behind me a few times to see if the organist or choir were returning. I saw Father Speed come up to the alter and fling his sermon notes onto the chair like they were a comic book. And then he said "Please stand for our opening prayer."
Ah the relief. It was unchanged. There was still no singing, Father Speed gave his usual 7-minute sermon and the Express Mass was done is 37 minutes flat. I timed it. I had just enough time to run into Home Goods to see if they had any more of those candles that smelled like glazed doughnuts.
This disturbs me in some way. I feel like I should enjoy the church music and not dread each verse that drones out of the organ. (By the way, how did the organ become official musical instrument of the Catholic Church? Every church has one and why? Why not a piano or a saxophone? Where does one even learn to play the organ?) But the hymns they play are these long, dreary dirges. They are not filled with positive energy or happiness. Those Gospel choirs have the right idea. They fill a church with spiritual music and they dance around, happy as clams. Why can't our churches have that? Why do we have to sing these awful songs that no one sings anyway?
Well, in any event, I was relieved to find that my Express mass was still intact, although sad that there were no more Glazed Doughnut candles. I guess we can't have everything! Amen.
Friday, February 12, 2010
I'll have Coffee and a Piece of Li-berry Pie
I've written here before about our local newspaper, a small town publication mostly dedicated to advertising various town happenings, events, and other items of "interest." It actually serves about 10 towns in the area. I often notice how poorly written it is, and, more annoying to me, how poorly edited. I don't think anyone employs proofreaders or copy editors anymore. (Disclaimer: any mistakes in this blog are not due to writer's lack of editing skills, but due to poor typing skills and Friday night cocktails).
This is part of larger trend I see, something often pointed out by my fellow bloggers. Many people have no idea how to write, spell, use correct words, or pronounce the words they do use correctly. Allow me to justify with a few examples:
Li-berry. This word is often used in the following context: "I got this book from the li-berry." Did you really now? I check books out of the li-BR-ary. Notice that consonant blend of BR in the middle. Li-berry sounds more like a fruit to me, as in strawberry or blueberry. "I'll have the li-berry pie alamode."
Inclimate. I have often seen this word used on school notices and other printed material, and as far as I can tell, it's not a word. It is used to mean "harsh weather" as in "School will be cancelled due to inclimate weather." I believe you mean INCLEMENT weather. Inclimate is more like "in-season."
Marshmellow. This does not refer to a white, gooey, confectionery treat; it refers to a swampy area of land where all inhabitants are very calm. "Man, did you see those birds, dude? They live in a marsh that's mellow.." (or a marshmellow). If you are thinking of the stuff you put in fudge than you mean marshmAllow. Teachers spell this wrong all the time, which drives me up a wall.
Except vs Accept. "The children are having difficulty excepting a new class member." Uh that means they are having trouble excluding him. You mean "accept." These are used in error all the time.
Comprised of. This is actually something that has come to be excepted (oh wait I mean accepted) as common usage, but it's really incorrect. The word comprise means to include or contain as in, "Our country comprises 50 states." It should NOT be used, as it commonly is, to state "The Board is comprised of 30 people." You mean "The Board is composed of 30 people." Hmmmphhhh.
And now back to the local paper. This week, some fool listed his or her house for sale with the following description: "Three-bedroom ranch, 1 bath, 1/4 acre lot, good starter home. Handy cap access." Does that mean it's really easy for hats to get in and out of this house?"
Well, with that, I think I'll get my li-berry book, have some cocoa with marshmellows and prepare for tomorrow's inclimate weather.
This is part of larger trend I see, something often pointed out by my fellow bloggers. Many people have no idea how to write, spell, use correct words, or pronounce the words they do use correctly. Allow me to justify with a few examples:
Li-berry. This word is often used in the following context: "I got this book from the li-berry." Did you really now? I check books out of the li-BR-ary. Notice that consonant blend of BR in the middle. Li-berry sounds more like a fruit to me, as in strawberry or blueberry. "I'll have the li-berry pie alamode."
Inclimate. I have often seen this word used on school notices and other printed material, and as far as I can tell, it's not a word. It is used to mean "harsh weather" as in "School will be cancelled due to inclimate weather." I believe you mean INCLEMENT weather. Inclimate is more like "in-season."
Marshmellow. This does not refer to a white, gooey, confectionery treat; it refers to a swampy area of land where all inhabitants are very calm. "Man, did you see those birds, dude? They live in a marsh that's mellow.." (or a marshmellow). If you are thinking of the stuff you put in fudge than you mean marshmAllow. Teachers spell this wrong all the time, which drives me up a wall.
Except vs Accept. "The children are having difficulty excepting a new class member." Uh that means they are having trouble excluding him. You mean "accept." These are used in error all the time.
Comprised of. This is actually something that has come to be excepted (oh wait I mean accepted) as common usage, but it's really incorrect. The word comprise means to include or contain as in, "Our country comprises 50 states." It should NOT be used, as it commonly is, to state "The Board is comprised of 30 people." You mean "The Board is composed of 30 people." Hmmmphhhh.
And now back to the local paper. This week, some fool listed his or her house for sale with the following description: "Three-bedroom ranch, 1 bath, 1/4 acre lot, good starter home. Handy cap access." Does that mean it's really easy for hats to get in and out of this house?"
Well, with that, I think I'll get my li-berry book, have some cocoa with marshmellows and prepare for tomorrow's inclimate weather.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
"Please Speak into the Saint's Mouth..."
Well so much for my attempts at blogging everyday. I guess I can do it only when inspired.
Today's topic is religion...now, don't stop reading, it's not judgemental, just merely an observation. We Catholics have certain expectations at Mass. We also have certain wishes, like "please let this be over soon." I hated church as a kid; I was bored out of my mind and really had no idea what the heck was going on. As a teenager, church was just another annoying thing for me to do on a Sunday, when hanging out with my friends seemed much more important. Then, as an adult, I stopped going altogether; I never stopped praying or believing in God, I just was usually too hungover to think of getting up on Sunday for Mass.
So here I am, 42 years old, and going to Mass again. I've tried taking my young daughter a few times, but much like me at her age, she's bored and doesn't have a clue what any of it means. We spend half the Mass in the church bathroom and the rest of it trying to find amusements to keep her occupied. It's anything but spiritual, prayerful, or peaceful. Since my husband is not Catholic, i just go by myself. It's an hour of quiet reflection for me and I like it. It's also incredible because I have found an Express Mass.
That's right, an Express Mass. We live in a small town with one Catholic parish, to which we belong. We have a wonderful priest, but it's just him and so he says Mass on Sunday at 8am and 10:30 am. Sometimes I'm not up for going out that early so I found a Mass at noon in a town about 20 minutes away. There is no singing and no fluff; just a straight up Mass. I love it. I got there today at 12:06 and they were reading the GOSPEL. Not the first or second reading, but already the Gospel. The priest who says this Mass gives a short sermon, and it's usually a historical piece of interest. The entire Mass has never been longer than 45 minutes. The priests doesn't even walk down the aisle at the end of Mass; he ducks out the back door! It is the McDonald's of Church.
Now it also doesn't hurt that this church is across the street from two other houses of worship I frequent: Bed, Bath and Beyond, and Marshalls with a Home Goods inside. So I go to a short Mass and shop in one stretch. Heaven!
I'm not sure why I still want Church to be over with quickly. As I started to say, I think it's a Catholic thing. I've been to protestant churches and they are looooooooooooooooooong services. We went to an Episcopal church a few times, which is very similar to Catholic church. This is not a surprise since I think King Henry VIII had to separate the Church of England from the Roman Catholic Church so he could divorce Catherine of Aragon, his first wife. This was an HOUR AND A HALF service, so I had to ditch that church and fast. We tried going to a Methodist service (my husband was raised Methodist), but they did everything backwards and were much too stoic for my taste.
So I guess I'm stuck practicing what Ray Romano refers to as "part-time Catholicism." I am better about getting to Mass and even help teach CCD, but I guess I'll never get over smiling when I hear the words, "The Mass is ended; go in peace to love and serve the Lord. And maybe pick up a new springform pan and Bed Bath and Beyond." Thanks be to God.
Today's topic is religion...now, don't stop reading, it's not judgemental, just merely an observation. We Catholics have certain expectations at Mass. We also have certain wishes, like "please let this be over soon." I hated church as a kid; I was bored out of my mind and really had no idea what the heck was going on. As a teenager, church was just another annoying thing for me to do on a Sunday, when hanging out with my friends seemed much more important. Then, as an adult, I stopped going altogether; I never stopped praying or believing in God, I just was usually too hungover to think of getting up on Sunday for Mass.
So here I am, 42 years old, and going to Mass again. I've tried taking my young daughter a few times, but much like me at her age, she's bored and doesn't have a clue what any of it means. We spend half the Mass in the church bathroom and the rest of it trying to find amusements to keep her occupied. It's anything but spiritual, prayerful, or peaceful. Since my husband is not Catholic, i just go by myself. It's an hour of quiet reflection for me and I like it. It's also incredible because I have found an Express Mass.
That's right, an Express Mass. We live in a small town with one Catholic parish, to which we belong. We have a wonderful priest, but it's just him and so he says Mass on Sunday at 8am and 10:30 am. Sometimes I'm not up for going out that early so I found a Mass at noon in a town about 20 minutes away. There is no singing and no fluff; just a straight up Mass. I love it. I got there today at 12:06 and they were reading the GOSPEL. Not the first or second reading, but already the Gospel. The priest who says this Mass gives a short sermon, and it's usually a historical piece of interest. The entire Mass has never been longer than 45 minutes. The priests doesn't even walk down the aisle at the end of Mass; he ducks out the back door! It is the McDonald's of Church.
Now it also doesn't hurt that this church is across the street from two other houses of worship I frequent: Bed, Bath and Beyond, and Marshalls with a Home Goods inside. So I go to a short Mass and shop in one stretch. Heaven!
I'm not sure why I still want Church to be over with quickly. As I started to say, I think it's a Catholic thing. I've been to protestant churches and they are looooooooooooooooooong services. We went to an Episcopal church a few times, which is very similar to Catholic church. This is not a surprise since I think King Henry VIII had to separate the Church of England from the Roman Catholic Church so he could divorce Catherine of Aragon, his first wife. This was an HOUR AND A HALF service, so I had to ditch that church and fast. We tried going to a Methodist service (my husband was raised Methodist), but they did everything backwards and were much too stoic for my taste.
So I guess I'm stuck practicing what Ray Romano refers to as "part-time Catholicism." I am better about getting to Mass and even help teach CCD, but I guess I'll never get over smiling when I hear the words, "The Mass is ended; go in peace to love and serve the Lord. And maybe pick up a new springform pan and Bed Bath and Beyond." Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
First Grade My A**
So anyway, now that I have completed the list of Ava's doctors and their various locations and appointment frequencies, I can bitch about what's really bothering me: the ridiculous standards for students in schools. Now I live in CT so I can speak only about CT. I don't know what things are like elsewhere. I can also speak only about K and grade one, since those are the only 2 grades my daughter has experienced so far.
Let's start with K. Kindergarten is no longer a place for kids to learn to socialize with other kids, to learn to follow a set of group rules, or to learn to solve problems, like whose turn it is to use the play kitchen. This is a shame, since these are lifelong skills and very important ones, if you ask me. All the toys are gone. The play kitchen and Lego table are covered with reading assessments, math assessments, and stacks of word cards. Ava had to learn to read a simple book and 40 sight words (words that can't be sounded out) by the end of K. Now considering that some of these kids are FOUR when they enter K, this seems a tad much. Some of them can barely sit for a story or to have trouble zipping up their pants, and they are supposed to learn to read? And they have to learn basic addition, subtraction and "geometry".
Well enough about K...onto my real rant. So here we are in grade one, which I taught for several years before No Child Left Behind came into play. At the end of grade one a child is expected to know at least 125 sight words; be able to SPELL these sight words, among other words; be able to read what used to be a second grade level book; and to do 50 addition and subtraction problems in 5 minutes.
For some reason, maybe because we've read to Ava lot over the years, or maybe because she's naturally better at language tasks than at math tasks (like this writer) Ava is holding her own in reading. She can read pretty well because she is good at her sight words. However, she has trouble "re-telling" a story. What does that mean you ask? Well she has to tell what happened at the beginning, in the middle and at the end. This is naturally a difficult task for young children because they haven't really yet learned he concept of time. So why do they focus so much on this task? Because the CT Mastery Test (CMT) focuses on re-telling as a comprehension skill. Therefore in order to pass the "comprehension" part of a reading assessment a child has to be able to re-tell a story. It doesn't matter if they can read the book perfectly and answer other comprehension questions (such as a character's name, or the setting of the book), it matters only that they can retell it. This is just plain wrong. There are so many other ways to assess whether or not a child understand what he or she reads. But, because the CMT has become the be-all and end-all of how we grade our children, that's the skill that has become the focus.
As you can see this bothers me a great deal. Reading is supposed to be a pleasurable task. Isn't it more important for kids to enjoy reading and to learn to read, than it is for them to worry about passing a test? I loved to read as a kid, and i love to read to Ava. We laugh over books and enjoy them very much. Yet every night I am supposed to have her retell me a story so she can practice for school. Yeah that's fun at bedtime. And you think this pisses me off? Wait until the blog about math facts...
Let's start with K. Kindergarten is no longer a place for kids to learn to socialize with other kids, to learn to follow a set of group rules, or to learn to solve problems, like whose turn it is to use the play kitchen. This is a shame, since these are lifelong skills and very important ones, if you ask me. All the toys are gone. The play kitchen and Lego table are covered with reading assessments, math assessments, and stacks of word cards. Ava had to learn to read a simple book and 40 sight words (words that can't be sounded out) by the end of K. Now considering that some of these kids are FOUR when they enter K, this seems a tad much. Some of them can barely sit for a story or to have trouble zipping up their pants, and they are supposed to learn to read? And they have to learn basic addition, subtraction and "geometry".
Well enough about K...onto my real rant. So here we are in grade one, which I taught for several years before No Child Left Behind came into play. At the end of grade one a child is expected to know at least 125 sight words; be able to SPELL these sight words, among other words; be able to read what used to be a second grade level book; and to do 50 addition and subtraction problems in 5 minutes.
For some reason, maybe because we've read to Ava lot over the years, or maybe because she's naturally better at language tasks than at math tasks (like this writer) Ava is holding her own in reading. She can read pretty well because she is good at her sight words. However, she has trouble "re-telling" a story. What does that mean you ask? Well she has to tell what happened at the beginning, in the middle and at the end. This is naturally a difficult task for young children because they haven't really yet learned he concept of time. So why do they focus so much on this task? Because the CT Mastery Test (CMT) focuses on re-telling as a comprehension skill. Therefore in order to pass the "comprehension" part of a reading assessment a child has to be able to re-tell a story. It doesn't matter if they can read the book perfectly and answer other comprehension questions (such as a character's name, or the setting of the book), it matters only that they can retell it. This is just plain wrong. There are so many other ways to assess whether or not a child understand what he or she reads. But, because the CMT has become the be-all and end-all of how we grade our children, that's the skill that has become the focus.
As you can see this bothers me a great deal. Reading is supposed to be a pleasurable task. Isn't it more important for kids to enjoy reading and to learn to read, than it is for them to worry about passing a test? I loved to read as a kid, and i love to read to Ava. We laugh over books and enjoy them very much. Yet every night I am supposed to have her retell me a story so she can practice for school. Yeah that's fun at bedtime. And you think this pisses me off? Wait until the blog about math facts...
Monday, January 11, 2010
Aren't 10 Specialists Enough?
Well today has been fun....we narrowly avoided a trip to the ER last night with Ava. Her oxygen levels were low for a while and we almost went to the ER after a conversation with the doctor. But she rallied a little, and her O2 went up to an acceptable level. I was quite happy because 1) I hate going to the ER and 2) the doc warned me there was a nasty stomach bug going around the ER and all the kids were barfing. No thanks.
So off we went to the pediatrician, who is a wonderful man. he reminds me of my own pediatrician. Kind, gentle and very good with Ava. Ava loves going to see him. Go figure. He knows Ava and her illnesses well and always has good advice. He gave her an antibiotic and we were on our way. So I had a full day of breathing treatments, tube feeds and the like. Plus I had to gt some schoolwork done with her, or God forbid she'll be behind when she returns.
So, before I get to grumbling about CT standards for first graders, allow me to back up a little. You all know that Ava has a very rare craniofacial syndrome that has required her to have numerous surgeries, procedures and therapies. Her early days were very dark and her life hung in the balance for a while. While Pfeiffer syndrome is classified as a craniofacial disorder it affects pretty much every part of her. She has a trachestomy to breathe (which we hope to have removed someday), a feeding tube, since she didn't learn to eat until she was 3, a shunt in her brain to divert excess cerebral spinal fluid to her abdominal cavity, and hearing aids to compensate for her conductive hearing loss. Someday I'll go and count the number of surgeries shes had; I've lot track.
In addition to her regular pediatrician she has the following doctors in the following states (we live in CT) and we visit them at the following intervals:
Craniofacial Plastic surgeon: NY, 2x a year
Neurosurgeon: NY, At least once a year, and when she needs emergency surgery to fix her shunt
Ophthalmologist: NY, 3x a year
ENT: NY, 3 x a year
Airway Team: Cincinnati: once a year, at least
Audiologist: CT, once a year and when her hearing aids need fixin'
Orthodontist: NY, 2x a year
Dentisit: CT, 2x a year
Gastroenterologist: CT, 3x a year
Cardiologist, CT, once every other year
Just for fun we also started seeing a pulminologist and will be adding a neurologist and orthopedist to the rotation since I was starting to have about 10 minutes of free time a day. Stay tuned; perhaps you can see where I'm going with this.
So off we went to the pediatrician, who is a wonderful man. he reminds me of my own pediatrician. Kind, gentle and very good with Ava. Ava loves going to see him. Go figure. He knows Ava and her illnesses well and always has good advice. He gave her an antibiotic and we were on our way. So I had a full day of breathing treatments, tube feeds and the like. Plus I had to gt some schoolwork done with her, or God forbid she'll be behind when she returns.
So, before I get to grumbling about CT standards for first graders, allow me to back up a little. You all know that Ava has a very rare craniofacial syndrome that has required her to have numerous surgeries, procedures and therapies. Her early days were very dark and her life hung in the balance for a while. While Pfeiffer syndrome is classified as a craniofacial disorder it affects pretty much every part of her. She has a trachestomy to breathe (which we hope to have removed someday), a feeding tube, since she didn't learn to eat until she was 3, a shunt in her brain to divert excess cerebral spinal fluid to her abdominal cavity, and hearing aids to compensate for her conductive hearing loss. Someday I'll go and count the number of surgeries shes had; I've lot track.
In addition to her regular pediatrician she has the following doctors in the following states (we live in CT) and we visit them at the following intervals:
Craniofacial Plastic surgeon: NY, 2x a year
Neurosurgeon: NY, At least once a year, and when she needs emergency surgery to fix her shunt
Ophthalmologist: NY, 3x a year
ENT: NY, 3 x a year
Airway Team: Cincinnati: once a year, at least
Audiologist: CT, once a year and when her hearing aids need fixin'
Orthodontist: NY, 2x a year
Dentisit: CT, 2x a year
Gastroenterologist: CT, 3x a year
Cardiologist, CT, once every other year
Just for fun we also started seeing a pulminologist and will be adding a neurologist and orthopedist to the rotation since I was starting to have about 10 minutes of free time a day. Stay tuned; perhaps you can see where I'm going with this.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
A Change
I have a new laptop. Why do I need a laptop, one might ask? I'm a stay-at-home Mom who spends way too much time on her desktop computer as it is. However, I also spend a lot of time hanging out with my daughter in various places; home when she's sick, hospitals when she has surgery, and just relaxing in general. Now Ava will watch the same episodes of her various shows a billion times over and over, so to keep myself from going insane, I can use my laptop while she watches her shows. It's a good arrangement. Plus I can use it when I'm away from home.
Plus I'm thinking of trying to write a small blog each day. Don't get too excited...it's going to be more of a journal of day to day stuff, so I can remember what happened before they threw me in the straightjacket. Don't worry; it will be full of whining, my favorite pasttime.
Ava is sick today. We were supposed to visit my parents today, but she came down with a cough and fever in the middle of the night. Having a child who is hooked to a pulseoximeter at night is an extra treat when she's sick. The machine alarms all the time, sending me into a panic and checking her chest to make sure she's breathing. We get barely any sleep when Ava's sick, but I guess this is true for most parents of sick kids. But as usual, we get the extra bonuses of the alarms, the breathing treatments, the meds...sorry to sound bitter. I am not complaining about this, it's just the way things are. But I have been in a mood lately about the state of CT and their ridiculous academic standards for kids. You are probably thinking, what the hell do academic standards have to do with a kid with a cold? This is too long to explain on a Sunday night. Let's just say that there a few people I'd like to invite to spend 24 hours in this house...and then let them see why I am not concerned about the speed at which Ava can do math.
Plus I'm thinking of trying to write a small blog each day. Don't get too excited...it's going to be more of a journal of day to day stuff, so I can remember what happened before they threw me in the straightjacket. Don't worry; it will be full of whining, my favorite pasttime.
Ava is sick today. We were supposed to visit my parents today, but she came down with a cough and fever in the middle of the night. Having a child who is hooked to a pulseoximeter at night is an extra treat when she's sick. The machine alarms all the time, sending me into a panic and checking her chest to make sure she's breathing. We get barely any sleep when Ava's sick, but I guess this is true for most parents of sick kids. But as usual, we get the extra bonuses of the alarms, the breathing treatments, the meds...sorry to sound bitter. I am not complaining about this, it's just the way things are. But I have been in a mood lately about the state of CT and their ridiculous academic standards for kids. You are probably thinking, what the hell do academic standards have to do with a kid with a cold? This is too long to explain on a Sunday night. Let's just say that there a few people I'd like to invite to spend 24 hours in this house...and then let them see why I am not concerned about the speed at which Ava can do math.
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