Wiggly

One of the big reasons I haven't been blogging this week is that I'm spending all my spare time wiggling Zoe's teeth for her and with her.

The girl has NOT lost a tooth since last October, and now, suddenly, she has four loose teeth, including those crucial two top ones which are threatening to jump out at any moment.

I can't help but imagine that when those teeth fall out they somehow activate her hormones, signalling the beginning of breasts, mood swings, crushes and door-slamming.

Temporary or Imaginary

Zack is three. He can almost read, almost cook for himself, almost understand the world.

Right now he wants to know what is alive and what is real.

Is Spongebob real? Is lemonade real? Is Shrek real?

No, honey. I mean lemonade is real, but not THIS lemonade, and Shrek is imaginary but Mike Meyers is real and.... I am not up for this. It's the first week of school and my mind is almost numb.

I try to distract him with nilla wafers, ice cream, coloring tie-dye patterns on napkins with markers.

I don't think I should have to answer these tough questions, so I stall.

He persists.

Are the napkins real?

Yes. They're real.

Are they alive?

No.

I look for the remote control because maybe this kid will watch Monsters Inc and leave me to read Black Hawk Down.

He persists.

How do you know they aren't alive?

Well, when they were trees they were alive, but now they're just what's left over.

Trees die? And become napkins?

Sometimes.

Is the grass real?

Yes, and it's alive.

What's alive?

Everything alive has to be born, grow and die.

Everything DIES? He is fascinated and repulsed.

Yes, Zack. Everything alive is temporary. Everything we see once wasn't here, and one day won't be here anymore. Everything is always changing. Got it?

He nods, pushes the bowl of cookies back at me, and slips off to the sanctuary of his big sister's room.

I turn the page of my book, firm in my own certainty it will have a happy ending.

Dear Tita and Abuela

Here, like I promised ~

Chocolate Covered Caramel Apple Bluffer

Zoe climbs on the kitchen counter, pokes around at boxes and hollers at the food.

"Where is it? Where could it BE?"

I look up from my writing. "Where is what, Zoe?"

"The chocolate covered carmel apple! Where did it gooooo?"

"The one from Xmas?"

She nods enthusiastically. "Yes! You promised it to me for dessert!"

"Well, if I did, it was back in January."

"I never ate it! Where isssss it?"

"Your father ate it."

This is a bluff.

I think maybe I threw it away in May.

Perhaps? I'm not sure.

But I don't think that apple is up there, and if it is, I don't want to get up, help her find it, then watch her drool over it while explaining what a rotten apple is.

Good bluffs include a distractor... so I continue....

"Wow, girlfriend, you have an AMAZING memory. What kind of job will you get to use that memory? A detective? A doctor?"

She dives off the counter toward me with no warning, and I catch her ballet-style. "An artist."

"Artist? how do THEY need great memories?"

Zoe rolls her head back, tossing her hair over my arm. "Well, an artist needs to remember to get up, what the colors are... they need to remember to go to their boutique... and wear a beret...."

I shake my head and start to drop her.

Zack emerges from his self-imposed exile carrying a tower of blocks. "It's my birthday! Want some cake?"

Zoe smiles and her demeanor turns feline. "Zackyboy? Happy Birthday! Would you like some chocolate covered caramel apple for your birthday?"

I release her to the ground then lean over to whisper, "Zoe Maria, there is NO caramel apple..."

She leans back into me and whispers without moving her lips, "I know. Dad and I ate it in January."

Together, Alone

Zack is crying.

It has been a long and eventful day for this three-year old who woke up 10 minutes into his usual three hour nap.

He is laying on the hardwood floor, facedown, proclaiming to no one who would listen, "They won't let my play football! They won't let me plaaaaaay!"

Of *course* they won't let him play! He is three and he doesn't know what a line of scrimmage is yet.

I sit down next to my son, putting my hand on his back.

Zack growls at me and marches away, waving his hands in the air, lamenting to God and the universe and anyone who might be listening, "They won't let my playyyyyyy! I'm going to be alonnnnne!"

I wait a few minutes before checking on him. And yes, I know it isn't good to feed into drama, but this kid is tired and he's had a cough for about 2 weeks, and I know he's not himself so he needs a little extra love.

"Hey! Booger McJones! Want me to read you a book?"

"No, I'm going to sit here alonnnne! In my ROOM!"

I'm not hurt. Really. Actually, I'm very deeply proud that he is turning toward himself to resolve this. I think this is awesome. I'm ready to leave, but I just want to offer my company one more time, just to be sure...

"OK, well I could sit here and just read one of my books, quietly, and you could pretend I'm not here? Or we could play?"

He scowls at me.

"I understand. Look, I'll be in the kitchen, writing, if you need me."

"Close the door, Mama! Please?"

Blocks, Mickey Mouse and other detritus of childhood are strewn across the doorway from an earlier fort-building expedition.

While enlarging the clearing with my toe, I uncovered a treasure.

"Would you like the pink guitar?"

"Yes"

There is no enthusiasm in his face. He remains still under his blankets, exactly where he tucked himself in before my intrusion.

I hand it to him, then leave, closing the door.

Right now Zack and I are together, alone.

Not a bad way at all to spend a hot Saturday afternoon in August.

If Castro is Dead....

If Perezhilton.com is right, and Castro is really dead, then, um, that crazy blogger had the scoop of the century.

I, personally, remain guardedly optimistic.

Castro exemplifies "bicho malo" and there is a saying that bad bugs never die. In other words, the tough nasty old ones live forever.

My grandparents --- who, I dare say, are TAN malo -- are besides themselves hoping to see the end of it all.

They are ready to watch Castro's funeral (in Spanish, but in their airconditioned Fort Lauderdale house with a pool!) and breath deeply of their imagined vindication.

Oh?

I am curled up on the sofa, reading.

The dishes have been done, dry cleaning put away, lunches partially packed for the morning.

Twenty minutes until bedtime.

Zack puts his warm hand on my knee, wide-eyed, unsmiling.

I fold the book across my lap, giving him my undivided attention.

I notice he is clutching a cracked pink guitar that has not worked since Zoe was 2 years old.


"Jimi Hendrix can play guitar with his teeth."

"Really? "

"Really!"

He walked away, rejoining his sister at the computer.

For the record, I remain unconvinced...

First Day of School 2007

Here is the laughing smiling almost-first grader

the morning before we went to school.

There was a tie with this outfit,

but she made a crucial fashion decision and ditched it.

I agreed with her decision.....

I'm still haunted by my 1985 school picture

where I'm wearing a gray tie and...

oh, nevermind. It hurts too much to talk about....

See how fast Zack's busted lip is healing?

On Thursday night I though I would have to take him for stitches

(ask me later how helpful Zoe was....)

and here he is on Monday with just a scab. Amazing.

Oh. Lovely children!

Zoe asked for a kiss, and Zack was too giggly to do it.

Notice his backpack?

And can you see her prized and irreplacable saddle oxfords?

My daughter has Catholic School written all over her. (Hoooray!)

Oh, No - Zack Doesn't Make a "Mess"

Oh no, don't be fooled.

This is not a MESS.

It is an engine.

Sometimes he says its for a cotton candy machine,

other times it's a toy factory.

See all the meticulously laid out parts?

Brilliant.

And now you know how I managed to read so many books while he kept busy.....

The Sunday Before School Starts

It is the Sunday before school starts, and Zoe's mood is wavering between excitement and measured introspection.

"I wish I were going into high school, or college.."

Of course she does.
We've been watching High School Musical 2 all weekend.

"You'll get there soon enough. Didn't kindergarten fly by like in TWO weeks?"

She agrees, we giggle.

We, again, go over how much she still has to learn between now and college - Greek Mythology, Chinese art, calculus, the Crimean War, molecular valence, The Great Gatsby .

"And after college, I'll get a job!"

"Zoe, you can job while you're in college, or maybe work during high school..."
(Never too soon to learn that lesson, eh?)

My almost-first-grader continues matching and folding socks.

"Mommy, who makes more.... a college professor, or a person with a job?"

The Key to Order and Stability

Just this week I discovered that what this house really needed, and has needed all along, is a napkin holder.

That was it. The redemptive key to order and stability. Peace.

I found a silver one, art-deco arches, whimsical ball legs. Filled it with thick white napkins and made it the table's centerpiece.

So far, so good.

Accounting for My Week

# of days of summer vacation expected: 3

# of days at home, sick, with a sick kid: 3

# of trips to Target to get essentials (ankle weights, long-lasting lipgloss, a blue ball for Zack): 3

# of loads of laundry (from last Sunday) that I have put away: 0

# of pages I've written: 23

# of times I've watched Monsters Inc: 7

# of manicures: 1

# of visit to Zoe's new school to meet her new teacher and visit her new classroom: 1

# of sheets I signed up on to volunteer for help in the classroom: 0

# of times Zack fell in the bathtub and cracked his lip open and bled through 2 towels: 1

# of trips to Whole Foods: 1

# of times Liz has had to remind me that Tallahassee doesn't even have a Whole Foods, and then I felt like an old withered absent-minded professor: 2

# of books I read: 5

# of books I bought: 0

# of times I curled up with a book (and a box of kleenex for sniffly noses) while Zack talked to HIS imaginary friends: at LEAST 15

Do You Like My Hair?

OK, shhh don't answer.

Also, don't answer "Do I look fat in this?"

Those are both traps which hold 1,000 wrong answers and 1 right answer.

You knew that, didn't you?

But you're still going to answer, aren't you?

Then at least be prepared enough to know this is not a "Yes/No" question.

Here's the answer that will serve you each and every time.

First, look awed.
Then take a few seconds ( I count to 11 silently in Spanish.... maybe you can try naming the National Parks in alphabetical order) to create the appearance you are pulling together brilliant insights.

Finally, say this, "I didn't think you could look any better."

Then sit back and wait to be handsomely rewarded.

And the last lessons at the end of the semester ~

“The aim of education should be to teach us rather how to think, than what to think—rather to improve our minds, so as to enable us to think for ourselves, than to load the memory with the thoughts of other men.”
~Bill Beattie


It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education.
-Einstein

The central task of education is to implant a will and facility for learning; it should produce not learned but learning people. The truly human society is a learning society, where grandparents, parents, and children are students together.
~Eric Hoffer

Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.
-Nelson Mandela



No one has yet realized the wealth of sympathy, the kindness and generosity hidden in the soul... The effort of every true education should be to unlock that treasure.
~Emma Goldman


Too often we give students answers to remember rather than problems to solve.
~R. Lewin

Voting Rights Act 1965

From lecture ~

"Is this all?"

From lecture today ~


Read this first...

The Rock Landed on Us

From Lecture Today ~

What Zack Thinks....

It's 7:10am. I've walked, showered, done a load of laundry and made the kids' lunches.

Zack wakes up, super hungry, asking for cheesy scrambled eggs.

I want to be the kind of mom who sometimes cooks, so I accept the challenge.

Ten minutes later, Zack and mommy - the two morning people in the family - are eating eggs, toast, and strawberries.

As he is about to take a huge bite, he puts his fork down and looks at me.

*Oh! I should have cut your eggs up, huh?

He nods.

*I know mommies are supposed to cut up food. I've seen in on TV. You do know your mommy is still practicing this whole "taking care of kids" thing, right?

*Yes, Mommy.

I smile, nod, and turn my attention to making a little toast and egg sandwich.

Zack interrupts my concentration.

*I think you're a man.

*Oh? (Deflect, reflect, be neutral. Deflect, reflect, be neutral....)

* A pretty one.

*Thank you, honey.

Tomorrow he can have poptarts.
In the car.

Momentarily

It's Sunday.

The kids have just helped me clean their rooms.

They're hungry, I'm distracted.

As I lay a forkful of broccoli on Zoe's plate she says thank you, then asks for salt.

*Mom? Can I ask you something? Do you ever just not know who you are or why you're here or what's really going on in the world?

I know better than to answer this.

Don't ask me when or how I learned, but trust me, I learned.

Be neutral, deflect, reflect.

*Why do you ask?

She takes a big bite of broccoli, wipes her mouth, takes a sip of water and puts down her fork, basking in my focused attention.

*Because I just look at myself, at Zack, at this room, and I just want to know who I am... who we are...

*Zoe?

She smiles.

*Zoe, honey, was this on Spongebob or Hannah Montana?

She takes another sip of water, and looks me dead in the eye, busted, but not giving up.

*Neither. It's just something I feel, like, momentarily. Then it passes.

*Oh. In that case, I understand. It runs in the family.

We laugh, then I leave her to find my pen and write this before I forget.

Satellite

Stay or Leave (Dave Matthews)

Hanging by a Moment

This song is spiritual ~

Everlong (Acoustic)

*I am not blogging until I slug through three more chapters. This doesn't count as blogging...its more like commercials, right?

Cold War Warms Up...

* I suggest muting this and/or playing it to your own music....

Duck and Cover

Paul Tibbets (Atomic Cafe)

Atomic Cafe (clip)