Burka Princess

One of the reasons I love New York is for the diversity. Now don't get me wrong--I'm not delusional and/or ignorant. I know I live in a White suburb of New York City by living in Park Slope, but even my White suburb of the City is more diverse than a White suburb of say Washington, DC or Raleigh, NC. I know this because I grew up in those suburbs, and you'd never see the diversity of races and ethnicities there that I see here. I love that my kids are growing up thinking that exposure to all sorts of people is the norm. Honestly, this is a huge reason why we continue to stay here even when a nice little house in Carborro, the college town outside of Chapel Hill, continues to haunt my dreams, pregnant with possibility.

Alexandra is in her princess stage. I guess it was inevitable; everyone told me that no matter how much you try to keep her from the Disney mania that the princess phase sneaks up on you and swallows your daughter whole around this age (she will be four in June). They were right. We have never watched a Disney movie, have NO Disney paraphenalia in our home, nor do we speak of princesses, but she is obsessed with all things pink, wearing dresses 24/7, and wearing a veil (which is more bride than princess, but whatever....). It's pretty sick.

She has a few criteria that define princess-hood. One: you must have a dress that touches the ground (which she has been endlessly begging me to buy her) and Two: you must be wearing some sort of head jewelry or scarf. So, naturally, as we walked home from daycare the other day when she saw a group of Muslim women wearing full burka (albeit, faces showing, but long black dresses/cover ups and black hijabs) strolling past the playground she screamed and pointed:

"Mo0000mmmmmmmmmy! Look at the princesses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I guess there's still some hope for her afterall.

Baby Ego

When I had Alexandra, folks used to say the rudest things to me. Statements like, "Are you sure that's your baby?" and "She looks NOTHING like you!" and "Maybe they gave you the wrong kid at the hospital!"--all sorts of crummy things that break a mom's heart.

Of course, I'm not blind. I know Alexandra looks nothing like me; she is a carbon copy of Adam, his mom, and her grandmother (strangely, she doesn't look like her namesake, Osa, but like Osa's mom). I comforted myself with saying that she was Adam on the outside but me on the inside, but the older she's gotten the more I have realized that the inside of these little people is nothing but uniquely them. They might have picked up some of our qualities or neuroses along the way, but they are--from birth--simply themselves.

When I had Nico I had hope that he'd look--at least a little bit--like me, and he does. Thank freakin' god. Nico is a blend of Adam and I, but he has my eyes, and the eyes are what folks notice first. Alexandra has Adam's almond eyes; Nico has my round eyes. I get comments all the time on how much he looks like me, and, honestly, they thrill me. They resonate in my core. They make me happy.

And having Nico, having a kid that resembles me, has made me like myself more. Not that I have low self-esteem or anything, but I have never been one to like my looks. Since my teen years I have taken refuge in the fact that I have a solid and likable personality--I'm funny, kind, and have a good soul, but I'd never describe myself as physically attractive. I remember looking at myself in the mirror when I was a little girl and thinking I was pretty, but somewhere in adolescence I lost that feeling. I also remember the guy I lost my virginity to telling me (in a disgustingly cliche line), "I think you're beautiful, not on the outside, but on the inside" and thinking, in my head, "F**k the inside, I know I'm pretty there! Tell me I'm pretty on the outside!" I didn't even realize how "meh" I thought my looks were until I had Nico.

But when I look at Nico, I see myself as a little girl and I remember that feeling of being pretty again. In some twisted way, he has bolstered my feeling of self-worth in terms of my looks. When I look at Nico, and I see myself, I see beauty. My baby has boosted by ego in a way that continuously surprises me. One more perk of motherhood noted.

Freudian Smell

The other day while curriculum mapping some of my co-English teachers and I got on the discussion of smell, who has what kind of smell, if we find those smells attractive, strong, correct for that individual, and so forth. I was told I smell "spicy." I'm okay with that.

But the conversation was somewhat serendipitious in timing as the night before Adam had gone to bed before me. He closed the bedroom doors and when I opened them to go to bed a couple of hours later the room was filled with the smell of my DAD. Adam, when in a contained space, emits a smell that is uncannily like my father's smell. Now my dad has been dead since I was 22 years old, and I don't really know his smell nor could I really describe it in words, but when Adam sleeps in a closed room his body makes my dad's smell.

How Freudian is that?

Teacher Effectiveness

I have been getting irritated to bordering on rage lately with this entire discussion of teacher effectiveness. Let me premise this post by saying that I *do* think that teachers should be held accountable for being effective in their classrooms. I do think less-than-effective teachers should be given professional development, and I do think that some should be counseled out of the profession. But, this has been happening! Not like this is some new idea in the education sector.

By and large, most educators don't go into teaching in order to coast for 25+ years until retirement. The teachers I work with work HARD. And yes, some are more effective in delivering instruction than others, but as mentors/substitute parents/caring adults they are all 100% effective. Unfortunately, we are never be rated on the hours of social work we do as educators.

The vilifying language used to describe the teaching profession is infuriating and the idea that our country's students are failing b/c teachers are ineffective is ridiculous. Our students are falling behind globally for myriad reasons, none of which have to do with the quality of their teachers. The country itself has fallen behind economically, technologically, and scientifically for the past several decades. Anyone remember the "Nation at Risk" report that came out in the early 80's with these same fears? Same shit, decades later.

Coming down hard on teachers is NOT going to solve any of the educational conundrums we are facing at this moment in history. What it will do is drive the best and brightest out of the profession. And it most certainly will drive the strong teachers out of the struggling schools. And yes, I *am* indirectly talking about myself. I have taught in a Title I, academically struggling school of all Black, Hispanic, and Arab kids for 10 years by choice. I could have left many times, but I chose to stay. But, this spring I will be getting my doctorate in education. At this point in my teaching career, I have had myriad leadership positions in my school, including being a Lead English teacher, the school's literacy coach, and currently the school's Master Teacher for English. As much as our school has struggled in other subject, our English scores have been solid. I have options--even in this economy. I could go elsewhere.

But teaching this student population is truly where my heart is. It will break me to either leave my students to go teach at a celebrated high school (like Brooklyn Tech, or Stuy, read: White and Asian kids) or to leave the classroom overall. But I am not sure how long I can handle this pendulum swing that has all fingers pointing at me as the root cause for my students' failure to pass. I am not.

The semester just ended. I had 14 kids fail my 6th/7th period English class that has 34 kids in it. And I don't mean fail by a couple of points, I mean FAIL b/c they had a 17 average. I will be asked for call logs that document the millions of times I called their homes to question their lack of attendance (do you know how many parents asked me to stop calling?), my gradebook will be scrutinized, and my documentation of letters sent home will be checked as will those students' empty work portfolios. Of course, they are all in order b/c I *am* an effective teacher. But I will be questioned nonetheless.

And it didn't use to be like this. One, I never had so many kids outright fail--students are not coming to school for various reasons, and in 2011 I think it has a great deal to do with the economy, the lack of value in a high school diploma, and the easy access to making money illegally. Two, in the past, the administration didn't every question me when I did fail a kid (and I did), but now each kid = a statistic, and each statistic = our school's progress, and our school's progress = Race to the Top funding...

I honestly just don't know how much longer I can be held responsible when 18 year old juniors decide they want to sell weed or work at McDonald's instead of coming to class. You seriously think that an engaging lesson on "The Crucible" will pull them away from immediate monetary gain? Bullshit.

Nobody is discussing the real issues in education: both poverty and entitlement, the economy, the increasing divide between the rich and poor and the disappearing middle class, the lack of jobs, the institutional racism in public schooling....Teachers can't be the scapegoat for all the issues our government refuses to address. If they fire all of us and rehired a new crop of teachers, it wouldn't change a thing.

Classroom Management

I have been teaching ten years, this is my 11th. Classroom management has never been my forte in this profession. I have never had serious problems, but when given a difficult group of kids that I can't immediately win over with my charming wit, my hilarity of performance, and my illuminating content knowledge, combined with my amazing lesson planning & effective instruction of course, I struggle.

Which is why today's anecdote about Alexandra made me laugh.

Adam came home to report that Alexandra's teacher told him this morning that Alexandra now reads the classroom story to the daycare class before naptime. Let me preface this by saying that Alexandra cannot read, but she makes up very descriptive and mostly accurate stories based on the pictures in the book. She creates different characters' voices, and oftentimes the dialogue emulates what she's heard at home or at school (i.e.: and the lion said, "If you don't stay in your chair through all of dinner you will get NO dessert!"). Having caught myself listening to her storytelling instead of doing the dishes, folding laundry, or making dinner, I can attest that she has quite a talent and is captivating. No exaggeration b/c I'm her mama.

BUT, the best part of the story--according to her teachers--is that when one of the teachers at daycare reads the pre-nap story, she always has to tell the kids to sit criss-cross-applesauce (the new politically correct term for indian style) and to stay seated and focus about a dozen times. But when Alexandra reads, the kids sit still and listen. Perfectly. Every. Time.

Man, my 3 1/2 year old already has better classroom management than I do.

the f bomb

I'm blaming this on on the Department of Sanitation. They're an easy scapegoat, as everyone has been all up on them since the lack of plowing during the blizzard of 201o and the complete lack of garbage/recycling pickup still, one month later, due to the snow that won't/can't freakin' melt b/c it's colder than a witch's tit outside. But seriously, I think the conundrum I have gotten myself into right now with Alexandra's new and frequent usage of the f-bomb stems from one night in particular.

I went to get the kids and I took the jogging stroller, since I thought I'd be schlepping through some snow/ice. It was on the day that all us teachers thought for sure would be a snow day--problem was--it wasn't. I got a call from Alexandra's daycare that she was sick so I made a doctor's appt. I got the kids, hung out at the Tribeca Peds office and played with wooden toys while over-protective parents scorned their kids for playing with wooden toys (I personally could give a rip), and headed home.

Well, seemed that the Dept of Sanitation decided to plow while I was out, and in one place on my block they plowed a MOUNTAIN of snow/ice/dirt/dog pee & feces RIGHT UP TO THE STAIRS OF AN APARTMENT BUILDING. This = no sidewalk at all but a mountain of snow/ice/dirt/dog pee & feces to summit with my jog stroller. I could have walked around the block, but it was cold, after 6pm (when I"m usually feeding the kids, not on the street still getting home), and shoot--I'm in shape. I strapped Nico in nice and tight and began the climb.

After my extreme toddler sledding post you have probably been questioning my parenting overall, and, let me tell you, you should.

So, I'm hauling Nico over the mountain of snow/ice/dirt/dog pee & feces and cursing like a sailor. Alexandra has scaled it lightly like all kids do, and was walking up the street. I thought she was out of hearing range, until I heard her start yelling, "You f**ker! F**ker! F**king snow!" Uh-oh. I shut up, almost catapulted Nico out of the job stroller by tossing it over the last leg of snow mountain from hell, and had a conversation with her about not using the word. Didn't hear it again until...

...Wednesday. I was still sleeping b/c of previously mentioned UTI and Adam was getting the kids ready and I was trying to sleep which is impossible in our house from 7-8am during a school day. Adam was trying to get the kids' coats on, and suddenly Alexandra just started saying, "F**ker!" like she had turrets. Poor Adam tried to squash the language, and was somewhat successful.

But then I was walking her home the next day. She was telling me about her day and she said, "Daddy gave Nico the mail, and Nico ate it, and daddy said, 'Nico, you little f**ker!'" (which Adam swears he didn't say and I do believe him, he really doesn't use the f-bomb).

Ahhhhh!

Any tips on subtracting Alexandra's amazing ability to appropriately use the f-bomb?

One liners

Today was a day of pure frustration. TMI here, but I once again have a series of chronic UTIs. When I get a UTI, they seem to come in bouts of 5-6. I got one last week, did 5 days of antibiotics, took my last antibiotic yesterday morning and by last night had the raging symptoms all over again, but worse. For anyone who has had one you know--NOT fun.

So, I spent the morning trying to get in to a dr. My doctor closed. My midwife at a birth and not returning calls. The midwives in the neighborhood closed. Seriously, wtf to all the doctors' offices closed on Wednesday? Walk in clinic stopped taking patients at 11 and I got there at 11:15, so I rushed to work to teach two of my four classes so I wouldn't be marked absent for the day. Ugh.

After I taught my class, a student of mine from the morning class I missed came in and said, "Miss, where were you? I missed you a little bit." This girl is a HARD nut to crack. She's mean, and every time I ask her to do anything she sucks her teeth at me and rolls her eyes and says something nasty under her breath. I tried calling the mom about her sass, but no luck. Her and her mom are BFFs--she has her mom's name tattooed on her wrist and she's 16 years old! So, I have been chipping away at her mean girl facade and today's one liner was evidence that I. have. won. Woot! I told her that her comment made coming to work today worthwhile and she paused. "Really?" she asked. "Yep," I said, "It's not everyday you say something nice." Tender teaching moment.

One liner #2: Go back to walk in clinic at 2:30 and get seen at 4:30. Thank god for a good book from a coworker in my bag. As the doctor and I chatted about my chronic UTIs, he said, and I quote, "In a woman YOUR AGE...." What? A woman MY AGE? Lord, he made me sound like an artifact or something. I don't think I have ever heard that expression before, but I'm sure I'll hear it again.

Oy.