On Monday as I was getting breakfast ready, David came to me with a serious look on his face and said, "Mom, something very, very important happened on Thursday and I forgot to tell you about it".
Well, shit. Here we go again, I thought. I had heard from David's teacher on a handful of occasions last fall about things he was not getting done in class or at home. It seemed to be a matter of organizational skills and his ability to focus on the kinds of details that allow you to say, bring home the papers you need to do your homework. (She's a terrific teacher and really knows David well, but she doesn't sugarcoat anything with the parents. In one of my favorite parent-teacher moments, she gestured at his messy desk, overflowing with loose papers and referred to it as "a cry for help". )
Last fall, we'd had a number of conversations with David stressing his need to communicate with us. To avoid getting in trouble, he'd taken to not telling us the things he'd forgotten to bring home or get done and that part of it made me crazier than anything. Let me give you an example. David does the Worldly Wise spelling program. That means that each week he has to learn the spelling and definitions of 15 words. The test is given on Fridays. It's an independent study program and we've developed a great system that breaks it down into a week-long process. But some weeks if there is a lot going on, his class doesn't have spelling. It's David's job to know when there is or isn't spelling. A few days after one of our talks on honesty and open communication regarding schoolwork, and after denying that he had spelling that week, he tearfully admitted on a Thursday morning that he did indeed have a spelling test the next day. My head nearly blew off. I debated letting him just fail the test, but I didn't like the idea of letting him off the hook for doing the work. Instead, he came home after school that day and worked on them all evening. The next day he aced the test. Still not exactly sure the lesson learned by that experience...
So, even though this issue hadn't come up for months, I braced myself to hear about some looming deadline or undone assignment. Instead, this is what he said: "On Thursday during P.E., Hannah held a hockey stick and tried to hit the ball with it. It's the first time she ever tried to use the equipment."
Hannah is a girl in his class who has a severe disability. She and her younger brother have a genetic condition in which they are missing a part of the corpus collasum which connects the two hemispheres of the brain. The condition is so rare that it doesn't even have a name and Hannah and her brother are thought to be the only two people in the world who have it. Hannah doesn't talk at all but when she's happy, she smiles and flaps her arms to show she's excited. David loves Hannah. His favorite classroom job is to be Hannah Helper which means escorting Hannah to and from the classroom to her structured learning room or to recess. (Another reason why I love his teacher is the way she introduced them to having Hannah in their class. She told the class that the principal thought long and hard about which room would be right for Hannah. He looked until he found a class that was filled with kind and caring children and that's where he placed her. Not surprisingly, with a build up like that, the class has embraced her in a big way.)
The next time I was at school, I took a moment to speak with the aide who works with Hannah in the classroom. She said it was indeed the first time Hannah had participated in any of the activities. She and the P.E. teacher were thrilled. The aide was amazed that David had even noticed, much less bothered to tell me.
Something like this makes up for a lot of whistling.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Proud Moments
Here are a few of my recent proud moments:
On Monday, I was retrieving laundry from the washer. Unbeknownst to me, the cabinet door above the washer was slightly ajar. I straightened up and cracked my head so hard on its edge that my teeth actually collided with a loud clackity sound. I had to put an ice thingy on my head. Also, I had to think long and hard about crying.
Last week I was slicing an apple for David when I managed to slice right into my thumb nail. My friend Jimmy recently sharpened some of our knives. Originally I took it as a thoughtful gesture. But providing me with sharp knives? I'm thinking this may be his attempt to get away with the perfect crime.
This morning I was using the sprayer to rinse out the sink. I used my right hand to replace it in the little holder and somehow sprayed cold water directly onto my right elbow. Underneath two layers of long-sleeved shirts. My wrist and cuffs were perfectly dry. How is that even possible?
In other news, David took the right shoes to soccer this morning. And pancakes were enjoyed by all.
On Monday, I was retrieving laundry from the washer. Unbeknownst to me, the cabinet door above the washer was slightly ajar. I straightened up and cracked my head so hard on its edge that my teeth actually collided with a loud clackity sound. I had to put an ice thingy on my head. Also, I had to think long and hard about crying.
Last week I was slicing an apple for David when I managed to slice right into my thumb nail. My friend Jimmy recently sharpened some of our knives. Originally I took it as a thoughtful gesture. But providing me with sharp knives? I'm thinking this may be his attempt to get away with the perfect crime.
This morning I was using the sprayer to rinse out the sink. I used my right hand to replace it in the little holder and somehow sprayed cold water directly onto my right elbow. Underneath two layers of long-sleeved shirts. My wrist and cuffs were perfectly dry. How is that even possible?
In other news, David took the right shoes to soccer this morning. And pancakes were enjoyed by all.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Girl Scout Cookies
Am I the only one who wants to call those peanut butter cookies Tagalogs? Seems like they would go better with the Samoas that way.
Monday, February 26, 2007
We Are A Family Of Eight Year Olds
David loves the word "Neptune". He uses it to answer any question you ask him.
"What would you like for breakfast?"
"Neptune."
"Do you have your library books?"
"I have Neptune."
It's exactly as annoying as you might guess. I try mainly to ignore it. Now factor in the constant whistling between episodes of Neptune and you'll understand why sometimes we have the following conversation:
"How much homework do you have?"
"Neptune."
"For the love of God, that isn't a form of measurement! You can't answer a 'how much' question with 'Neptune'! At least say 'as much as the weight of Neptune' or 'the amount of time it would take to get to Neptune'."
I try to be attentive to his interests, though. One day at dinner he was telling us about the screen saver he put on his computer at school.
David It's a really cool picture that I found.
Me: Is it of Neptune?
David: No.
Juliana: Is it of Uranus?
Me: ::::laughing til I almost fall off my chair:::::
A few days later he came out of school and I asked what he had for homework. They were doing a space unit in science and he replied that he had a little bit of math, some cursive, and that he had to finish coloring Uranus. Cue hysterical laughter from me and Juliana. David just rolled his eyes and walked ahead of us toward the van. I try to be a mature role model, but there is no denying that Uranus jokes are funny 100% of the time.
"What would you like for breakfast?"
"Neptune."
"Do you have your library books?"
"I have Neptune."
It's exactly as annoying as you might guess. I try mainly to ignore it. Now factor in the constant whistling between episodes of Neptune and you'll understand why sometimes we have the following conversation:
"How much homework do you have?"
"Neptune."
"For the love of God, that isn't a form of measurement! You can't answer a 'how much' question with 'Neptune'! At least say 'as much as the weight of Neptune' or 'the amount of time it would take to get to Neptune'."
I try to be attentive to his interests, though. One day at dinner he was telling us about the screen saver he put on his computer at school.
David It's a really cool picture that I found.
Me: Is it of Neptune?
David: No.
Juliana: Is it of Uranus?
Me: ::::laughing til I almost fall off my chair:::::
A few days later he came out of school and I asked what he had for homework. They were doing a space unit in science and he replied that he had a little bit of math, some cursive, and that he had to finish coloring Uranus. Cue hysterical laughter from me and Juliana. David just rolled his eyes and walked ahead of us toward the van. I try to be a mature role model, but there is no denying that Uranus jokes are funny 100% of the time.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The Stupid Family Goes To Soccer
Time for another installment of The Stupid Family!
David started playing soccer when he was four. He loved the game from the start and he's continued to play every fall since then. My favorite thing about watching him play is the huge grin that he simply can't contain. His "game face" is one of complete joy. Up until now, he's played soccer in the fall and either baseball or lacrosse in the spring. This year, however, he made the decision to really zero in on soccer and play year round. Next year he'll be in fifth grade and that's when the competitive league starts. So this winter he decided to enroll in a program that works on skill building. Right now his team is playing futsal which is a version of soccer which focuses on ball control. The good thing about futsal is that it is played indoors. The bad thing about it is that all of his games are first thing in the morning on weekends. Between futsal and Sunday School we rarely have a weekend morning to lounge around. In some ways it's good because we are getting a lot more accomplished by being up and out of the house on Saturday morning. Sometimes we accomplish eating piles of pancakes at a post-game visit to a diner. But generally, it's a matter of hustling people out the door.
Yesterday David's game was at 9:25. We were taking two cars because Ritu wanted to go to his gym after the game. The futsal place is downtown and requires about 20 minutes of highway driving to get there. Here's the thing. I am the worst driver you know. As a result, I really don't like to drive. I mean, I can do it, but it causes me great anxiety. I am fine within the little bubble of my suburb, but I tend to avoid the highway when I can. I'm the kind of driver who will pass up perfectly good parking spaces until I find one with enough room to guarantee that I won't hit other cars. I'm the kind of driver who will learn one way to get someplace and never, ever vary it.
It was pouring rain when Ritu left with David. David needs 4 things for futsal: his jersey, his shinguards, his water bottle, and his special shoes. They don't allow regular soccer cleats on the futsal court. Now, Ritu is a physician with 25 years of formal education (that is not an exaggeration) and David is a clever child who tested into the Gifted program at his school. Needless to say, four items were too many for the two of them to accurately remember. Juliana and I were almost to the futsal place when my cell phone rang. It was Ritu calling to say that David had brought the wrong cleats and they wouldn't let them play. I pulled over so that I wouldn't crash while I talked on my cell phone. Ritu asked if by any chance there were a pair of his regular tennis shoes in the van, since he could play in those. I took a quick look over my shoulder and confirmed that there weren't. We decided I would go back home, get the right shoes, and bring them with the hopes that he could at least play part of the second half.
I hung up the phone and started to hyperventilate over how to get home. I only know one way to go and I'd aborted my route. It was raining like crazy and I was now wandering around an unfamiliar area. But God smiled and it took me only a few minutes to find a freeway entrance. Traffic moved maddeningly slow in the rain, but I went as fast as I could back home. I flew through our neighborhood, whipped into the driveway and just barely cleared the still-opening garage door. I slammed the van into park and flung open the door to the laundry room. I scanned the shoe rack. No futsal shoes. A tiny light went on in my brain. I returned to the van, opened the back door and found David's futsal shoes in the back row where HE'D LEFT THEM AFTER LAST WEEK'S GAME.
I know it's hard to believe, but I do try to watch my language around my children. (Once, when Juliana was about three, I was muttering something to Ritu about not believing somebody could be so fucking stupid when Juliana ran up to me and said, "I heard you say a bad word! You said "stupid"!) But not this time. As I realized that I had actually taken David's shoes on a tour of I-5, effectively leading them AWAY from their destination, I let loose with a torrent of foul language. I was so mad that the things I was saying didn't even go together. It was like swearing translated into Japanese and then back again. I may have actually been foaming at the mouth. I know for sure that I need to add $20 to Juliana's therapy jar.
Back on the road I went. I retraced my way back down the highway, through the blinding rain. Ritu called to tell me that the game had reached halftime. I told him we were all too stupid to live. Fueled by adrenaline and vitriol, I made it to futsal before halftime ended. David got his shoes on and the coach put him in. I gritted my teeth and willed my blood pressure to drop. David got his "game face" on. Grinning, he scored three goals in the second half. His team still lost, but it was a heck of a performance. It was so fun to watch that I abandoned my plan to superglue the futsal shoes to his feet. If this happens again next week, though, we are abandoning the game all together and heading straight for the pancakes.
David started playing soccer when he was four. He loved the game from the start and he's continued to play every fall since then. My favorite thing about watching him play is the huge grin that he simply can't contain. His "game face" is one of complete joy. Up until now, he's played soccer in the fall and either baseball or lacrosse in the spring. This year, however, he made the decision to really zero in on soccer and play year round. Next year he'll be in fifth grade and that's when the competitive league starts. So this winter he decided to enroll in a program that works on skill building. Right now his team is playing futsal which is a version of soccer which focuses on ball control. The good thing about futsal is that it is played indoors. The bad thing about it is that all of his games are first thing in the morning on weekends. Between futsal and Sunday School we rarely have a weekend morning to lounge around. In some ways it's good because we are getting a lot more accomplished by being up and out of the house on Saturday morning. Sometimes we accomplish eating piles of pancakes at a post-game visit to a diner. But generally, it's a matter of hustling people out the door.
Yesterday David's game was at 9:25. We were taking two cars because Ritu wanted to go to his gym after the game. The futsal place is downtown and requires about 20 minutes of highway driving to get there. Here's the thing. I am the worst driver you know. As a result, I really don't like to drive. I mean, I can do it, but it causes me great anxiety. I am fine within the little bubble of my suburb, but I tend to avoid the highway when I can. I'm the kind of driver who will pass up perfectly good parking spaces until I find one with enough room to guarantee that I won't hit other cars. I'm the kind of driver who will learn one way to get someplace and never, ever vary it.
It was pouring rain when Ritu left with David. David needs 4 things for futsal: his jersey, his shinguards, his water bottle, and his special shoes. They don't allow regular soccer cleats on the futsal court. Now, Ritu is a physician with 25 years of formal education (that is not an exaggeration) and David is a clever child who tested into the Gifted program at his school. Needless to say, four items were too many for the two of them to accurately remember. Juliana and I were almost to the futsal place when my cell phone rang. It was Ritu calling to say that David had brought the wrong cleats and they wouldn't let them play. I pulled over so that I wouldn't crash while I talked on my cell phone. Ritu asked if by any chance there were a pair of his regular tennis shoes in the van, since he could play in those. I took a quick look over my shoulder and confirmed that there weren't. We decided I would go back home, get the right shoes, and bring them with the hopes that he could at least play part of the second half.
I hung up the phone and started to hyperventilate over how to get home. I only know one way to go and I'd aborted my route. It was raining like crazy and I was now wandering around an unfamiliar area. But God smiled and it took me only a few minutes to find a freeway entrance. Traffic moved maddeningly slow in the rain, but I went as fast as I could back home. I flew through our neighborhood, whipped into the driveway and just barely cleared the still-opening garage door. I slammed the van into park and flung open the door to the laundry room. I scanned the shoe rack. No futsal shoes. A tiny light went on in my brain. I returned to the van, opened the back door and found David's futsal shoes in the back row where HE'D LEFT THEM AFTER LAST WEEK'S GAME.
I know it's hard to believe, but I do try to watch my language around my children. (Once, when Juliana was about three, I was muttering something to Ritu about not believing somebody could be so fucking stupid when Juliana ran up to me and said, "I heard you say a bad word! You said "stupid"!) But not this time. As I realized that I had actually taken David's shoes on a tour of I-5, effectively leading them AWAY from their destination, I let loose with a torrent of foul language. I was so mad that the things I was saying didn't even go together. It was like swearing translated into Japanese and then back again. I may have actually been foaming at the mouth. I know for sure that I need to add $20 to Juliana's therapy jar.
Back on the road I went. I retraced my way back down the highway, through the blinding rain. Ritu called to tell me that the game had reached halftime. I told him we were all too stupid to live. Fueled by adrenaline and vitriol, I made it to futsal before halftime ended. David got his shoes on and the coach put him in. I gritted my teeth and willed my blood pressure to drop. David got his "game face" on. Grinning, he scored three goals in the second half. His team still lost, but it was a heck of a performance. It was so fun to watch that I abandoned my plan to superglue the futsal shoes to his feet. If this happens again next week, though, we are abandoning the game all together and heading straight for the pancakes.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Ooops, if that doesn't work
If you're getting nothing but empty boxes where the pictures should be on my last post, you can see the same thing at this site.
This Counts As A Post
I'm not much of an email forwarder, but I got this in my email and it totally cracked me up. The subject line was "Let's Face It, We've All Been Frustrated In Exams"
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