>Dadditude

>I’m off to a bookstore later today for a fundraising book fair sponsored by our PTA. I have a gift card and I’ll make myself stop when I’ve used it up. For me, buying books is like eating chocolate; it’s really hard to stop. That’s one reason I enjoy doing book reviews. I need no pay for these; the complimentary book is enough. I can find a new home for the book later, since most of my friends and colleagues enjoy reading as much as I do. However, I do try to stick to books that I can review honestly, stories with which I have some connection.

Dadditude, by Philip Lerman, turned out to be one of those.

Dadditude’s subtitle is “How a real man became a real Dad”. Philip Lerman was a man’s man in a man’s world, doing a macho job in a tough and manly field; he was an executive producer on the television show America’s Most Wanted. Let’s put this in perspective: he talked to police officers, local, state, and national, and heard and dealt with stories of increasing violence on a daily basis. He managed teams of reporters and directed well-known television host John Walsh.
Then Lerman became a dad.
When he and his wife, Rachel, decided to have a child, they were in their late forties. Time was running out on their biological clocks. They were willing and eager and sped through medical fertility processes at a speed that would make a pregnant mom nauseous. Oh, wait, that doesn’t take much. But I digress. Typical of “older” parents, Lerman thought that since he’d handled cops and reporters and managed a television empire, he could certainly deal with something as simple and tiny as a child.
I hear you chuckling. Snickering. All of you parents who learned the hard way about the sleepless nights, the terrible twos, and the indescribable worries that come with motherhood and fatherhood, you know of which I speak. And at this point you can predict that Lerman’s Dadditude contains a lot of familiar moments and funny anecdotes that will make you laugh out loud and say, “Oh, been there, done that. So true it is!” And you will. I certainly did.
Phil Lerman’s chapter titles hin at the wealth within. “The Vagina Dialogues” — who else but families dealing with infertility can discuss reproductive organs so calmly and carelessly toss about language that’ll make most of us blush? Well, maybe the middle school sex ed teacher can. Trust me on that one.
“To Dream, Perchance to Sleep.” Anyone who’s raised a child can nod in understanding. Unique to Lerman’s perspective is his age: a 40-something dad has a harder time dealing with little or no sleep than one in his twenties. As he floats seamlessly from serious anecdotes to lines that bring laughter in snorts, readers realize that this dad’s not kidding when he describes “…the delirium caused by the sleep deprivation.”
I hear your question: How can a 40-something mom of a teen and a college student feel any kinship with a couple that became parents at, well, the age I am now?
Trust me: you’ll never forget. I think I’m still making up for sleep that I missed when my kids were babies. It doesn’t take much imagination to think about how grateful I am that I’m not lifting a two-year-old to a diaper table with my middle-aged back and aching knees. It was much easier twenty years younger. But even as I admire (and question the sanity of) parents who start their families later in life, I remember well the hassles of potty training. The growth charts. The guilt and the worry of leaving a child in preschool and day care, even though I was a preschool/child care teacher myself.
So Lerman’s transition from the macho world of television (where my husband makes his living these days) to the confines of the stay-at-home father is anything but smooth. We readers should be grateful for that, because a smooth transition wouldn’t have given Lerman such wonderful stories to tell.
Yes, I recommend Dadditude for a fun and fascinating read. Buy it for Father’s Day or read it now; you’ll enjoy it.

Mr. Lerman provided me with a free copy of this book in order to review it. I will be passing it on to other dads I know will enjoy it — that is, after Husband reads it himself!

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>When life hands you lemons, make lemon bars.

>Baking is one of my favorite stress relievers. I enjoy the simplicity of following a recipe and enjoying the results. My family life and my professional life are both complex, and baking, like gardening, provides a necessary balance.
I baked a disastrous batch of lemon bars long, long ago, and the trauma was enough for me to swear off trying again for decades. I tried again last night: successfully! Here’s the recipe, from the same Cookie Book as the Cranberry Hootycreek Cookies:

Lemon Bars
from the 2007 we energies cookie book
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1 cup butter, melted
4 eggs (or 1 cup egg substitute)
2 cups granulated sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup lemon juice from concentrate
Powdered sugar for topping

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In medium bowl, combine 2 cups flour and 1/2 cup powdered sugar. Blend in melted butter. Press dough into bottom of ungreased 13X9X2 pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes or until golden.

In a large bowl, beat eggs until light. In a separate bowl, combine sugar, baking powder, and remaining 1/4 cup of flour. Stir sugar mixture into the eggs. Mix in lemon juice. Pour over prepared crust. Bake an additional 30 minutes or until filling is set. Cool.

Sprinkle with powdered sugar before cutting into bars. Makes 2-3 dozen.

Notes:

  • I put much too much powdered sugar on top. Next time I’ll be more sparing with the topping. Husband scraped his off. Amigo didn’t mind, though.
  • These are rather rich, too, courtesy of the eggs. A small bar is a good serving.
  • They’re delicious with coffee. Was there any doubt?
  • Share the story of my lemon bar trauma? Maybe, but I’d rather bake.

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>Because "Hootycreek" is so fun to say

>

I received a collection of cookie recipes for Christmas, and this one looked good. It had some of my favorite ingredients (dried cranberries, oatmeal, chocolate) and had a cute name.

Cranberry Hootycreek Cookies
from the 2007 we energies cookie book

1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened
1 egg (or 1/4 cup egg substitute)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 cup uncooked quick oats (or old-fashioned)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup white chocolate chips (see below)
1/2 cup chopped pecans

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, cream butter; beat in egg and vanilla. In a separate bowl, combine flour, oats, baking soda, salt and sugars; gradually blend into butter mixture. Stir in cranberries, chips and pecans. Drop heaping teaspoonfuls onto greased cookie sheets. Bake at 350 degrees for 8 to 10 minutes or until edges start to brown. Cool on wire racks. Makes 2 1/2 dozen cookies.

I didn’t have the white chocolate chips called for, so I substituted semi-sweet morsels and topped the cookies with the last of the chocolate brown jimmies from the annual family cookie-decorating experience. They turned out absolutely delicious. I’ll put white chocolate chips on my next shopping list; I can’t wait to try the original version!
But what is a hootycreek, anyway?

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>But will it grow?

>Winter, lovely winter. The snow softly drifting across the yard, the sounds of power snowblowers muffled by the television news announcing school closings (in my dreams, at least), and the crashing of icicles falling from the eaves.
Or the dripping of icicles from the eaves followed by the vision of puddles frozen solid on the steps and front porch, making getting to the school bus a dangerous escapade.
After Amigo survived the adventure mentioned above, I made my way back to the garage to look for rock salt or other ice-melting compounds. I was fairly certain we had run out after the last storm, so when I dug into a big bucket of sand and lo and behold, found a familiar looking white bag with red lettering. I dug in my mittened hands, grabbed a fistful, and scattered it all over the front porch and steps.
Later that day, I emailed Husband at work and asked him if we had a bucket we could keep on the front porch with a little rock salt in it. He said sure, but we were out of the stuff, so he’d stop on the way home and stock up. Until then, I should use the biodegradable kitty litter that would absorb excess moisture and provide some texture to the ice, giving us a little traction in the process.
Out of it? I replied. Then what’s in the bag that’s on top of the gray sand bucket?
He didn’t know. Neither did I.
After school, I checked on the front porch so that Amigo could get in the house without slipping. What was this stuff? It looked like — birdseed? Curiosity got the best of me, and I went looking in the garage. With the benefit of wakefulness and a full day’s worth of caffeine, I took a good look at the white bag with red print. Then I laughed out loud.
It was lawn fertilizer — an old bag of a product we don’t even use any more.
That’s what happens when I try to be efficient pre-caffeine on an early Monday morning.

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>I’ll take care of me, in one way or another

>Standard advice on grocery shopping tells us not to go to the store hungry.
I would add to that the following: don’t go to the store when you’re hungry for pleasure reading material.

A few days ago I went to the local discount store pharmacy for a prescription refill. While the pharmacists were filling it, I wandered the store and picked up a few things we needed. Shampoo, conditioner, bandaids, and the rest of my short list took only a few minutes of the allotted quarter hour. That’s when the danger began.

The snack and junk food department (okay, they call it “groceries”) was right next to Health and Beauty Aids. I dropped a Hershey’s bar with almonds (on sale!) into my basket, followed by a small bag of Hershey’s Kissables in Special Dark (also on special, of course). I did not buy coffee, and they didn’t have the kind of tea I was craving, so I left the area.
For the book section.
Pleasure reading for me can include anything from Time magazine to paperback romantic novels. I usually buy my books used, but sometimes I just have to have something new. Call it guilt (writers have to make a living!), impulse (oh, this looks good!), or just laziness (The second hand bookstore means yet another trip out of the house) and you’d be right on all counts.
I bought three books. Me and Mr. Darcy by Alexandra Potter, Dear John by Nicholas Sparks, and Jennifer Weiner’s The Guy not Taken.
I really don’t have much time for pleasure reading right now. I’m finishing progress reports, planning a new geography unit for Social Studies, and pulling myself out of the near-depressive deep blue funk that comes with a major Green Bay Packer loss. Who has time to curl up and read?
When I start thinking along those lines, it means I really need to take a mental health break. It’s time to set up the heating pad in the rocking chair, brew a pot of my favorite coffee, gather a small dish full of chocolate and a good book and settle down for a long winter’s, well, rest.
This ought to hold me for a while.

This post was written for Jordan’s latest Group Writing Project. You can acess the entry page at MamaBlogga or read her regular blog, including an updated list of entries.

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>The Minimalist or a Talk in the Teacher’s Lounge

>”We’ll just red-flag him in case he needs interventions later.”

Pause.
“When ‘just’ and ‘red flag’ are both in the same sentence, I know I must be at (insert name of school here). Nowhere else would a red flag be a relief.”
“Teachers in my former school didn’t have a clue as to what needy and poor students are like.”
“Not at all?”
“No, they kept saying that their school should have all the programs for the poor and the lower class sizes that go with it. And in the next breath they’d mention that they had no free or reduced lunch families in their classes, and there was a stay-at-home mom volunteering all the time while her husband was ‘taking depositions’.”
Snort in response. “No clue.”
“None.”
“And do you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is a great school with great kids and really neat families.”

Unwrapping of lunches, tea bags dropped into mugs of water and placed in microwaves

“Which students go to the Talented and Gifted class with you today?”
“Susan, Ron, Jorge, and Jerome.”
“I thought there were five. Um…Hans! Isn’t Hans in the program?”
“He chose not to participate.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. He’s so bright. He learns so quickly, and seems to pick up new concepts out of thin air.”
“I remember his brothers. They were the same way — minimalists. Nothing but the bare minimum effort to get by.”
“Oh, that’s so sad. So much ability, and so little motivation.”

Beeping of microwave, setting up of plastic forks and spoons, as teachers inhale a little lunch

“None of us are minimalists.”
“Hmm?”
“None of us put a bare minimum of effort into our teaching. If we only wanted that, we wouldn’t teach here.”
General laughter and nods.
“Hey, all. Isn’t this an awesome school?”
General chorus of “Yeah, all right, you bet!”
And off we went into the wild blue yonder of trying to tame and teach our young unpredictable charges in a diverse, largely low-income school, while the weather outside was frightful and there was a full moon on the way.

And no, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

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>Am I repeating myself?

>In the process of writing progress reports and reviving myself with a “smooth and nutty” from Starbucks (thanks, Secret Santa, for the gift card!), I’m finding myself writing some of the same phrases over and over. Yikes! It is the character of the class, though.
So far, here’s the score.
Easily distracted — 6
Impulsive, acts before thinking — 3
Finds transitions difficult — 4
Social interferes with academic or needs to control excess talking — 5
Has a hard time working in groups — 2
Needs reminders to stay on task or follow directions —
5
Inconsistent effort (translation: quits when things get tough) — 5

But on the other hand, I’ve already written “a pleasure to have in class” three times, and it could happen again.
These are just the general comments. I can’t wait to get to the “Social Skills/ Work Habits” section!

(However tempting, I haven’t reached for the mythical checkbox of “shallow gene pool” or “chaotic home life” yet.)

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>On watching too much television

>Random thoughts, in no particular order, while sipping strong coffee and watching the snow fall

On watching The Weather Channel: Looks like we’ll get steady snow, as expected, and those east of the lake will get more. Okay with me; I enjoy winter, but I have family on the road today. I want them to reach their destinations safely.

On watching CNN: I remember reading about Benazir Bhutto many, many years ago in my first subscription to Ms. Magazine. She was an incredibly strong woman. I was impressed by her then, and I’m saddened by her assassination now.

On more Weather Channel: The Southeastern U.S. is finally getting a little rain. I hope they get a significant amount, but not so much that they get floods. Dry/ drought-ridden land doesn’t absorb sudden deluges very well.

On watching CNN: Pakistan elected a female prime minister decades ago. Granted, she had corruption within her administration, eventually ended up in exile, and more, but really…. How is it that our own progressive country still thinks gender is an issue for a presidential candidate?

On catching a bit of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood: Hey, this is refreshing. Snore…get me more coffee…maybe I should go outside and shovel….

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>Santa’s a Secret, for now

>In the last few years, I taught in a building where the Secret Santa exchange was a work of art. Aside from the creative gift giving and the sneaky delivery systems, there were the emails.

Mrs. G. “Dear Santa: I have been very good. If you happen to come across a CD of Josh Groban singing ‘Oh, Holy Night’, I’d love to see it under my tree.”
Mrs. O. “Hey, Mrs. G., maybe Santa could send Josh in person to deliver!”
Mrs. H. “Do you think he’d take requests?”
Mrs. McQ. “Who’s Josh Groban?”
Well, we enlightened Mrs. McQ, but Mrs. G. didn’t get her CD. I hope she’s treated herself since then. Josh Groban is an amazing talent, and his Christmas CD will warm the Grinchiest heart.

But this year, I’m in a new school building. The Secret Santa exchange has been creative, but not as heated and suspenseful as I’ve experienced. However, my Santa is sneaky, and has my number, that’s for sure. He or She delivered (by way of a student) a 16 oz. Starbucks Breakfast Blend one Friday at the first bell, and it was still hot. That leaves out all the early birds who arrive long before school — like I do. And…I saw a matching cup sitting on the principal’s desk less than an hour after I got this one. Hmm.
Later that day, a co-worker showed me a Starbucks gift card and asked what kinds of things I liked from Starbucks. He’s not a coffee drinker, and he’d won the gift card as a door prize.
The following week I got a lovely metallic red cappuccino mug, also from Starbucks. Pretty, shiny, and smooth, just like the coffee I put in it.
Then came the sneakiness. I arrived late to a staff meeting (due to a PT appointment), and when I got back to my room, there was a gift bag with Starbucks Christmas Blend, whole bean (Mmmm) nestled within the tissues. This had not been on my desk twenty minutes earlier when I arrived. I think this rules out the principal, as she was running the meeting. My non-coffee drinking co-worker…well, I noticed he (and at least two others) had stepped out of the meeting for a few minutes at one time or another and then come back.
There’s no real evidence, though. I’m not sure who might be playing the Jolly Old Elf, but I know it’s someone with good taste. At least I can tell you the gifts taste pretty darn good!

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>On the nth day of Christmas…

>My students have sugarplums dancing in their heads instead of math facts. They’re dreaming of a white Christmas instead reading strategies. They’re more concerned about getting their snow pants and boots on quickly than finding their homework. If I were a Disney dwarf, I’d be Grumpy.
Maybe.
But it’s hard to be Grumpy when I’m setting myself up for my own holiday Zen, the simple mood-altering atmosphere that gets me in my own Teacher zone and helps me tolerate the Noise, Noise, Noise, Noise! — as the Grinch might put it.

Ingredients:
1 cup (okay, 16 oz., technically two cups) of hot liquid with caffeine
(can be Hazelnut, Peppermint Mocha, or simply the Folgers from the school office)
1 boom box on the table near my desk
1 set of fabulous and unique holiday music CDs
(And when I say unique, I mean it.)

Directions:
Sip lovely liquid.
Revel in taste and warmth.
Turn on lovely and unique tunes.
Take a deep breath (preferably over the mug of tasty fluid).
Then, and only then, turn on computer, check email, and begin to correct papers and finalize lesson plans.
Serves one teacher, well.

And if you’re looking for a little unique holiday music right now, in your cubicle or home office, try this.
The Twelve Days…and more

On a different “note,” my guest post is up at workitmom. You can find it here.

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