Words That End in -UCK

I have a few....

For the teachers....

Puck

Chuck

Luck

Muck

Tuck

Suck

Yuck

....And one very special one.

FFFFFFFFF

We are a month into 2nd grade with the Twinadoes. And I'm in tears almost every evening.

Spelling. We have spelling.

(Ordinarily, I LOOOOOOVE me some spelling. I can spell. I am noted for my spelling. I'm a walking dictionary. I know all the rules and I apply them. AND, I know the exceptions).

But 2nd grade spelling? Weeping.

I could handle the first week: side, slide, pride, inside.

Last week was more challenging: painted, mailed, opened.

This week: OMFG. ?Studied? ?Replied? Hurried?

In Kindergarten and First Grade the goal was to get the children to write unabashedly and to not correct themselves. The goal was expression. No spelling rules were taught, no drills were hammered into their brains.

Suddenly, in 2nd Grade, we're not teaching them 'study' 'reply' 'hurry' and teaching them to make the 'y' an 'i' and add -ed. We're not teaching rules, we're just teaching memorization.

Now, each night, I'm hauling out the 'whiteboard' and teaching school....rules, drills, and memorization. The Twinadoes are getting it; we're building skills and I'm learning patience.

But I think about all the kids in the school district that don't have me for a mother....that have single parents, or parents with undue stress from unemployment, or parents that have many more little kids, or chronic illness...or maybe don't even have a high school diploma. How do children in these family situations excel? Or even just make the grade?

How do we fix this gap in school curricula? Do we inspire young teachers to think differently? Do we work through our school boards to change curricula? Do we need to attack things at a state level?

.......confused.....

Time Passages

What a difference a year makes in the lives of your children and your relationship with them. A new college year has begun for my older children and, instead of needing me less, they seem to need me more.

Case in point: When G. entered her freshman year at her college, which is just 45 minutes from my home, she gave me strict instructions:

Don’t expect to see me until Thanksgiving.
Don’t ever drop in unannounced.
Don’t comment on my Facebook page.
Don’t expect to visit every week.

As an intuitive mother I realized that these were necessary steps in breaking away and learning how to fly. I wasn’t upset; I didn’t feel diminished or dissed. It was what it was.

G and her roommate with just a small portion of her stuff.

Fast forward a year. I took her and her Van. Full. Of. Stuff. to college at the end of August, on a Thursday, I think. She called on Saturday, texted me on Sunday and asked me to come take her out to lunch on Tuesday. On the following Sunday, we entertained G. and her roommates on the boat and a week later took them all out for G.’s birthday dinner.

Suddenly, I’m needed and wanted and it fills my heart. She is growing, blossoming and making life decisions. And she is including me in those decisions—I don’t make them for her, but I give her counsel. I hope it’s good counsel. I never had that with my mother. No sharing of feelings or chinks in the façade. I don’t doubt that my mother loves me and I, her but there is little honesty. I know my mother but I really don’t KNOW her. Who she is on the inside, who she was before being a mother, what she has achieved, what she has lost.

I want my children to have a complete picture of me---all my flaws and fabulosity. That is a good gift.

What a Long, Strange Trip Summer It's Been.

Please pardon my absence, it's been a long summer that suddenly has been chopped off at the knees. My sentinel trees on my drive home from work are rapidly changing from greens to reds. I'm caught off guard. I have a son that is a junior in college, a daughter that is a sophomore and the twins are second graders. Michael Jackson is finally buried; Ted Kennedy died and some parents are keeping their kids home from school tomorrow for fear of their children hearing the President's address. WTF. I told you it's been strange.

I'll be happy to regale you all with stories of the summer's antics but rather than start that odyssey now, I thought I'd share with one of the most poignant moments of the past month. In my youth, I was not a tremendously huge fan of Ted Kennedy--I remember Chappaquidick and even as a ten year old, I was suspicious. Then he faded from my radar for a few years, only to rise as the Lion of the Senate in the past few years. Slowly, I developed an appreciation for the man; I was sad when he passed. Maybe because it was an end of the era--the Kennedy's are history, no longer the present. I watched bits and pieces of the funeral but luckily was there to see all of the prayers of intercession. Teddy got the final word in; you KNOW he spent months crafting these. He rocked us all from the grave. God bless him.

Our prayers for our country, and our world:

For my grandfather's commitment and persistence, not to out worn values but to old values that will never wear out. That the poor may be out of political fashion, but they are never without human needs, that circumstances may change but the work of compassion must continue. We pray to the lord.

For my grandpa that we will not in our nation measure human beings by what they cannot do but instead value them for what they can do. We pray to the lord.

For what my grandpa calls the cause of his life, as he said so often, in every part of this land, that every American will have decent quality health care, as a fundamental right, and not a privilege. We pray to the lord.

For a new season of hope that my uncle Teddy envisioned, where we rise to our best ideals, close the book on the old politics of race and gender, group against group and straight against gay. We pray to the lord.

For my uncle Teddy's call to keep the promise that all men and women who live here, even strangers and newcomers can rise no matter what their color, no matter what their place of birth, for workers out of work, students without tuition for college and families without the chance to own a home. For all Americans seeking a better life and a better land, for all of those left out or left behind, we pray to the lord.

For my uncle's stand against violence, hate and war, and his belief that peace can be kept through the triumph of justice and the truth justice can come only to the works of peace, we pray to the lord.

As my uncle Teddy once told thousands and millions, may be said of us in dark passages and bright day, and the words of Tennyson, that my brothers quoted in love that have a special meaning for us now. I am part of all that I have met though much is taken, much abides. That which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts, strong in will, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield, we pray to the lord.

For the joy of my uncle Teddy's laugher, the light of his presence, his rare and noble contributions to the human spirit, for his face that in heaven, his father, and mother, his brothers and sisters and all who went before him will welcome him home. And for all the times to come when the rest of us will think of him, cuddling affectionately on the boat, surrounded by family as we sailed in the Nantucket Sound. We pray to the lord.

For my grandfather's brave promise last summer that the work begins anew, the hope rises again, and the dream lives on, we pray to the lord.

Lord, hear THESE prayers.

Impatient patient



[this entry has been written under the influence of vicodin, I'm sorry]

My right knee and I have had a love-hate relationship ever since I had some arthroscopic surgery 13 years ago to remove the remnants of my ACL and some fragments of meniscii. We survived nicely with the use of an external support for skiing until I fell down stairs at my parents' in February. Ultimately, I decided it was time to do something before I actually needed a full knee replacement. The picture above details how I spent my last week. Good times.

I can report now that I am up and walking without crutches, but will be in a brace (crotch to ankle) for another 5 weeks (more good times). I'm also coming out of the vicodin stupor...what a nasty drug. I don't understand how anyone could abuse it. Who thinks a high is worth constipation and nausea (TMI, i'm sorry).

I've watched every movie on Showtime, HBO and TBS; caught every update about MJ, Farrah, Billy Mays and Sanford as soon as they broke and followed everyone else's lives on Twitter and Facebook. Thanks for keeping me entertained, guys! (And for the record, Harold and Kumar is REALLY funny when you are jacked up on hydrocodone).

And, I've also thought about the healthcare system in this country (or rather the lack of it), especially after watching 'SICKO'. I'm lucky. I have two health insurance plans (only because either one alone doesn't cover our needs) and I'm fairly savvy about paperwork and medical issues. That said, I'm already overwhelmed with insurance issues...When do you need to call to get pre-authorization? Why is one office visit covered in full; but the next one isn't? How many recorded options does one have to sit through to finally get to speak to a real person? (these insurance companies are getting smart--pressing '0', even if they didn't instruct you to, no longer takes you to a human being).

r>

I can't imagine the trauma of seeking care if I were poor, non-English speaking, or naive. I can't believe that I get one standard of care while another gets a lesser. (Case in point: I have unlimited physical therapy torture visits. My son (who had ACL surgery last December under his father's insurance) was only allowed four visits). Life was much better before we lived in a world run by HMOs.

We need single payer....anything else will just complicate this mess even more. I would be much happier if some of my premiums went to provide health care for another American, rather than to support some wonk at an HMO that can hold other people's lives in his hands.

One Local Summer: June 14

On Wednesday, I picked up my first share from my CSA (community supported agriculture). For those of you unfamiliar with this concept, people who like farm produce invest in a farm before the growing season, and then receive ‘dividends’ in the form of produce for the rest of the gardening season. In the past I have always had my own garden….I’ve tilled it religiously with my little rototiller, planted, weeded, sworn at hail and burning sun and suffered through harvests of 6 peas and 40 thousand hundred and 12 tomatoes.

This year I thought I would take the monies I would normally spend in plants and also consider the value of the sweat equity of my gardening and buy this CSA share. I’m a bit skeptical of the whole process (will I get a bunch of crap we’d never eat; will there be enough for my share?) but I have to say I was pleasantly surprised on Wednesday afternoon. I stopped by after work and came away with collards, kale, lettuce and spring mix, garlic scapes, potatoes (from last year), haruki turnips (which I think will be lovely braised), strawberries, peas and wildflowers. Nom, Nom, Nom.

So this week’s fully local meal (in reality, there are local foods in just about every meal we eat) was:

RED BEANS (sans rice)---if rice could be grown in NY, it would have included that. As it was, I made a stew out of red kidney beans from Mary-Howell and Klaas Marten’s farm in Penn Yan, NY. In that stew was ham from Cobblestone Valley farms and andouille sausage from The Piggery. We sopped it up with some crusty sourdough bread from Le Banneton. The meal was accompanied by a simple salad of greens from the CSA and more of the Lively Run feta, topped with a homemade vinaigrette with herbs from the garden.