Show Me The Proce$$

Despite the fact that I didn't go to college, I've given my boys no say in the matter - they are going to college. Should they challenge me when the time comes, their alternative will be to enlist with the Israeli Defense Force. I think the boys will make the right decision given that choice, don't you?

But the way schools are re-focusing their agenda, I'm hoping they'll be enthusiastic about pursuing higher education anyway. In my day, the cookie-cutter standards were based on memorization. It's why I loathed Social Studies - who cares about the Gold Rush or the bubonic plague? How come they never mentioned the Flintstones or Little House On The Prairie?

Algebra, on the other hand, piqued my interest to no end. The mysterious X factor. Trying to figure it out was all consuming. When I learned later on that algebra isn't so much math, as it is a creative problem solving process, it explained why I'm always getting ripped off at the cash register.

But that's where the school's are headed now. Critical thinking - show me the process. It's called the "Common Core," and if your kid is anywhere between Pre-K through sixth grade, you've been hearing about it. Unless you're in Alaska or Texas where I assume survival is critical thinking in itself.

According to a parent workshop I attended, by 2014 all state testing, in forty-some-odd states, will incorporate the new format.

In a nutshell, it's read, process and react.

This sounds easy, but believe me, I've worked with a few twenty-year old kids who had trouble multi-tasking.

Go tell the boss his client's here and bring back the stack of mail.

"Whaaaat? How'm I gonna do ALL that?!"

Critical thinking. We're starting to teach this in America now? My generation is so screwed when it's time to retire.

In the meantime, here's what I've learned that can be done to prepare your kids. Read. A lot. Interact and ask questions, kind of like Dora, only you don't have to blink as much - or stand deathly still until they answer. Help them articulate and formulate their answers because by the time they're in third grade, they're going to need to write a best selling essay.

I asked the literacy coach how much handwriting and spelling counted - she said, "Not as much as sentence structure."

Phew.

"But they have to clearly articulate their thoughts."

Oh. So, when Zuki writes stuff like, "I throwed him the the scinse," or "Can you buyed me u wach," we need to work on that.

A Good Thing

You know those cliche scenes of the protagonist being the last to be picked for a team? Well, that never happened to me. It's not that I was popular, it's that most city schools don't have yards to play in, we have stuffy, stinky gyms. We're lucky if they're not co-ed and even then, it's overcrowded. We don't play Dodge Ball because that would be like target practice encouraging drive-by shootings or gang beatings.

Of course, I'm exaggerating. We all know drive-by shootings happen in L.A., not New York but that doesn't stop me from avoiding Chinatown on Chinese New Year. The Chinese mob are notorious for shooting everybody except the target and what better time to practice than Chinese New Year? Happy New Year, by the way.

But again, I'm delaying the topic. I'm here today to talk about a good thing. A very good thing. It's called a Read-A-Thon and it's a fundraising event that's been introduced to Zuki's school by the current PTA team. The object is for every student to pledge a set goal of books to read and get sponsors to donate towards the goal.

Isn't it a fantastic idea?

We're not pushing candies to diabetics or knickknacks to hoarders to raise money. We're reading books. And with the money, we can replace the lightbulbs. No actually, we're replacing worn out books. An idea that's foreign to our local library, apparently.

Also, the drive appeared in the January 13th issue of the Woodside Herald but that's not the exciting part. The real news is: I wrote it. Yes ma'am; my first published piece in print.

And I'm working on my best Jerry Lewis impression just in case they need a spokesperson for TV.

Beauties And The Midget Beasts

The boys met Rebecca and Melissa - pictured here. These beautiful girls are the daughters of very good friends who moved to New Zealand when the girls were wee tots. The reason this meeting was so special to me was because of who was missing - my sister.

Long story short: my sister died thirteen years ago and I've had very little or rather, no contact with her daughter. My niece and Rebecca were best friends when they were babies. They're the same age, so seeing Rebecca now, is a reflection in time of how my niece must be doing.

I feel like their aunt by association - approximately five degrees of separation. These lovely ladies are not my daughters but because I like to take credit for things I didn't do, I am so proud of them. The boys, especially Zuki, are totally in love. I'm glad he has such excellent taste. They're smart, gorgeous and entirely so sweet, my teeth are rotting thinking about it. Damn, I'm really getting old.

Rebecca (Zuki/Samu) Melissa

Oh, That Samu

Age has nothing to do with experience. When it comes to babies and kids, age is just a marker. If your baby isn't walking at 15 months, then I say, sit back and have a cold one because once that thing starts walking you're not going to have a chance to finish anything but a shot of vodka. And you'll need that, too by the way.

Big brother, Zuki liked to take it easy. Talking and walking...what for? He made raising baby so easy, that we decided to have another! But his little brother has always kept me on edge. Even pregnant, I couldn't rest between the hiccups and the skinny elbow poking out from my stretchy blouse. He started walking at exactly eleven months and twenty-nine days. He walked for a day and then took off like lightening towards the nearest speeding car - laughing all the way.

When he entered Kindergarten, I wondered when he'd start pushing the panic button - just for shits and giggles. Kindergarteners love experimenting with strings. You know, the ones that are attached to their parents wrists and head? They play them like marionettes dancing in a Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Apparently, he figured it out last week. I got that heart stopping phone call from school. "You need to pick up your son - he's had...an accident."

You always brace yourself for the worst. Hospital trip or possible law suit? But no, all it was - was number two. He didn't make it to the midget-throne in time.

I cleaned him up. I tried not to emphasize it and we spent a pleasant afternoon off together.
Mistake Number One. But don't step in number two.

This afternoon, one week later - another phone call. Same thing.

Are you shitting me?

No, it's on your son.

So after I picked him up - he got the talk. The I-know-what-you're-up-to talk. Zuki tried it when he was in Kindergarten, too. He'd tell the teacher he felt feverish and get sent to the nurses office...with two lovely escorts.

I'd take him to the doctor and guess what - his temperature was gone. Like mutant powers or something. After the second time, I told Zuki he'd better not ask to see the school nurse again unless he burst into flames. He got it.

Samu, however, he's got other plans. I can see it in his eyes. I'd like to remember him like this:

But for the past couple of years, he's been like this:
 

So, all I can do is shake my head, dust my hands off and say, "Oh, that Samu!"

Dreams Really Do Come True

My boys have been socially active for a couple of years now - playing in parks, eating in restaurants - attending public schools. In the interim, they have never asked to me to explain any racial slur. A far cry from when I was in Kindergarten, when I asked my mother how to respond to people calling me a "Jap". Her answer was, "Call them a spaghetti face."

Now, I may have been green behind the ears when it came to insulting comebacks, but I knew - even then - that it was better to stay quiet than give that as a retort.

Nigger, Chink, Spic, Gook, Mick, Kike were all phrases that were common to me by the time I was done with second grade. My boys - they never heard these terms in use - not even in movies. On occasion I might call them a half-a-cracker but they assume I'm talking about the ones that get crumbled in soup. Besides, how insulting is it to be called a cracker anyway? Guess that's a Southern thing - it's always about food.

But with all seriousness, every year the boys bring home school work and information about Dr. King for M.L.K. day. They read about segregation - I fill in the details and then I comment, "That's fucked up right?" I'd rather not curse, but there's really no other way to say it. To candy coat it would be like saying Hitler really just needed a better barber.

By the time I came around, Dr. King's movement was but a newborn baby. Do I remember every slight? Yes, I remember. Every-single-incident. I was a child learning ABC's, like my kids are learning now. These days, we're concerned with reading levels - back then it was tolerance levels. Even in New York, the most liberal, melting pot mecca of the country - there were lines.

I think about it and wonder how much parents must've worried about sending their children out into the world. Would they return with their innocence intact or would some violation against their humanity force them to grow up early? And that's not even including the pedophile predators or other psychos lurking as well. And what about the generations of parents before them - it wasn't even a worry for them but a fact of life.

At times, I feel that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. knew he would never live to see the fruition of his dream. Children who see character before they see stereotypes. Children who notice all the beautifully variant skin tones rather than just black and white. They appreciate diversity - they're charmed by it, even. Just as Dr. King had dreamed, children on opposite sides - holding hands.

They have evolved...

...to play Angry Birds.

But I'll take it.

Photo taken by my BFF's dad - She's on the right, I'm in the middle

Friday the 13th 2012

What year starts off with a Friday the 13th and is fine with it? 2012, apparently. It's only just begun and already, it's being boinked from behind. Personally, this day has put me through the wringer - like dealing with the IRS while PMS'ing. About the only thing that made me feel grateful for my current situation was stumbling on a Cosmo article on how to survive a breakup. It's been a while since I've experienced one. I read it and wondered if I was ever that stupid. No doubt I was, I just have really good friends who forgive the douche-y-ness abound. Besides, reading the sidebar articles on Low Down & Dirty Breakups, I actually patted myself on the back for not going that far into loserville.

Since it's Friday the 13th, I'm going to make like a horror flick and not get too deep into a character before killing him or her off.

I actually like the number thirteen. It's PBS "Mister Rogers", "Sesame Street" and my long, lost niece's birthday in October. It's ominous, humbly threatening like Lego's.

Today started off warm and humid - ended up windy and frigid. A lot of relationships are like that. As a matter of fact, most relationships - after time - fall into that category. It's always the ones who say they'll "never" become one of those pet peeves that become that exact pet peeve.

That's what Friday, the 13th of January 2012 has taught me. See, I told you - plenty of bouncing around all over the place.

There's a certain satisfaction in knowing that you're right and things actually fall into place, without your bitchy-prodding, proving that fact. When it happens for me, I'll be the first to tell you. In the meantime, I'll work on my post for M.L.K Day, which is a very big day for me personally, and leave you with this very funny clip of Zuki talking without his teeth.

Before you watch it, he's saying:

"Mickey Mouse's car had a hole in the tire,
Mickey Mouse's car had a hole in the tire,
and he fixed it with chewing gum, hchack-pucht!"

Smile Under Construction

As promised here is a picture of Zuki's current smile under construction.

I expected him to have trouble eating this burger, but as you can tell by the bite mark, fast food does not require actual teeth for mastication.

It explains why a lot of senior citizens eat this crap.

Although, I have to admit that B.K.'s coffee is like cocaine. Tastes like shit - but it gets me through the day without giving me the runs. Now that's a coffee-secret-formula if you ask me.

Apart from having a hard time discerning what this kid is saying, I'm having my own personal fun feeding him food that present some sort of challenge. Yes, it's cruel - like sticking scotch tape to the bottom of a cat's paw or sneaking up on Samu and scaring the nuts off him, but I'm not biased - I do it to everybody with a temporary handicap. Including myself. I try to thread a needle with my contacts in. It's the most frustrating thing.

The food experiment kind of happened by accident. We had steak for dinner the other night. I cut the meat into bite sized cubes for O'Toothless One. He put it in his mouth and was about to eat it when his tongue pushed it right out the opening. He was like a Pez dispenser. Only with steak. Yes, he did re-eat it and no, I didn't laugh...I was hysterical with tears streaming down my face. Terrible, I know. If anything, the boys can write a book about how I traumatized them. Until then, I think I'll make peas tonight.