Monthly Archives: May 2007

>A Poet and her Chamber Pot

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

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>Loveliest of Trees

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

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

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

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>Mother’s Day Blog Blast — a party without the scary clowns

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

You know you’re a mom when:

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

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

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

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

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>Out of the mouths…off the chests…oh, I give up…

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

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>I Eat Pizza

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

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>simple pleasures

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

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>Vacation Station

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

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

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>May Day and Blogging Against Disablism Day

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

Blogging Against Disablism Day, May 1st 2007

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