Badgermama

undersea life
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry

I just went through a foot-high stack of papers that had piled up, and realized I haven’t seen any of Moomin’s homework since early April. At home, I mostly stay in bed reading and messing with the computer, and it’s only been in the last week that I do anything useful, like paying bills or washing dishes or giving anyone a bath. There hasn’t been much creative or affectionate energy in me either, because I’ve been in pain. Here and there I did a little bit of reading to Moomin, but mostly not even that, because it jostled my leg to have him next to me. So, that’s been sad for me. Part of it is my own fault, and not knowing how to allocate my energy.

The bits and pieces of paragraphs started… he has learned some multiplication tables and can do things like count by sevens… and here is a wonderful chalk drawing that I want to frame and put up on my bedroom wall!

And this,

I admire my mom for three reasons. First, she is creative and knows what to do. Once we had these gray, wide, wheels, and a friend of mine named Jason was going to come over. She thought that when he was we could put on a stuffed animal circus. Second, she is kind.

Oh how I’d like to know my third virtue! The essay ends!

It mean a lot to me because I have not felt that I’ve exhibited any motherly virtues lately. Especially at WisCon where Rook and the evening babysitter and the daytime kids’ programming did everything, and I felt like a frivolous mother from British childrens’ books who would whirl into the nursery for 5 minutes in a gauzy evening gown and then floatingly leave a cloud of perfume behind; except I was in a wheelchair and wearing a superhero outfit and a bright orange wig with no perfume.

His essays charm me with incompletion and hints of what will come someday. “I’d like to invent some sort of machine that can make me go inside the TV… Tigerfish are very fierce, hence the name…. On a boring day, I like to make a fort, make up books, and read books.”

I’m still stunned to know that I could possibly be interpreted as “kind”. When I’m not floating out of the nursery with a tinkling laugh wearing all my diamonds I’m stumping around on crutches yelling at everyone to stop fighting and for god’s sake shut the screen door!

My teaching job is over, so the hard months of working nights and weekends are over too! I hope I can live up to being a kind creative mom who knows how to do things again, instead of the grumpy person working from bed!

tinfoil helmet
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

We had a great time at Maker Faire yesterday!

Consider how the tinfoil helmet making booth succeeded! It was so simple. The suggestion of space aliens and tinfoil, provided by the giant UFO and the informational poster, did not constrain one’s concept of what a helmet should be. Rook made Moomin’s helmet. Mine was a headband with antennae. I saw bonnets, top hats, beanies, and all different kinds of helmets and hats!

All from a few rolls of industrial strength tinfoil!

The giant Mousetrap was great. Rook got chosen to turn the crank to lift the 2-ton safe, along with a dude in a yellow shirt. We cheered wildly! The main Mousetrap dude, Mark Perez, proposed marriage to his partner, the chick in the sexy mouse costume with corset and frilly thigh highs. I couldn’t tell if it was real or something they did every hour on the hour, but it seemed real and very romantic if you’re the sort of person who doesn’t mind being put on the spot.

I’m all hot to download the instructions to build a marshmallow popgun from .

The Battlebots, or Combots, or whatever, fill me with bloodthirsty glee. Brutality really kicked ass. Plus it has a cool name. On the other hand cute zippy little robots like Mosquito were alluring… and I love Texas Heat for the outrageousness of having a flamethrower. I wish I could remember the name of the robot I saw years ago — the one that had a giant hammer sort of thing. It made for a dramatic battle, the way the hammer would come pounding down with a tremendous noise, very ominous, while the other robot zipped around frantically trying to avoid squashing! Anyway, I watched some battles with Moomin, and then later after he left with Rook I watched some more with another bloodthirsty small child in my lap and a slightly more peaceful one by my side.

I nearly bought this tiny helicopter but didnt’, and now am filled with regrets. It’s almost my birthday… Radio Shack here I come…

If you have a nerdy child you could teach them how to build their own game controller using Exemplar, which is open source software from HCI at Stanford, along with some fairly cheap bits of hardware. I tried a motion detector, a pressure sensor, and an accelerometer. You set a threshold for each kind of motion and then associate it with a keystroke or other action. So, very quickly, you can make a Wii-like controller that will work with any game. That really rocked!

P.S. I’m all for geeky parents, but WHY must Wired be all up my grill with the Geek dad thing? I’m sure it’s a cool blog with cool guys and all… BUT. What would be so wrong about geek parent? Did I not just see a jesus fuckload of geeky moms at Maker Faire? It seems so simple…. just make it neutral! Could have been a cool opportunity to bust some stereotypes – but no.

Today in the car Moomin asked me if I wanted to hear about the coolest and most powerful superhero ever. “Heck yes! Who is it?”

“Well, I’ve just made him up.”

“What’s his name?”

“Wild Fighter, Son of the Sabertooth.”

“Wow. That does sound powerful. Wild Fighter. Son of the Sabertooth!”

“I just need to make sure you know something. That’s actually ‘Wild Fighter comma Son of the Sabertooth. It’s important!”

I agreed and mentally put in the comma.

Image_16.jpg
Originally uploaded by not halfway there.

Happy Mothers Day to Minnie!

I just got back to town from a trip for work. I’m told that Moomin has a present for me. Can’t wait! Will it be built out of popsicle sticks? *hoping*

The trip was great, though I got exhausted and melted down a couple of times. I had fun at the hack day and stayed up way too late in strange hotel rooms — drinking rum, giggling overtime.

So I spent most of today in transit. Since I had to wait a few hours at the airport, I got a pedicure at a very strangely fancy spa. This strikes me as a great idea. There you are trapped at a boring airport for hours, feeling miserable and stressed. Why not blow 40 bucks on a long foot and calf massage!

*Oh I just got the present and it’s a coathanger wrapped in pink paper with a pink string and a heart dangling from it. It’s so perfect!

Just think, very soon Minnie’s snorfily little baby is going to make her a craft project made out of a half a milk carton with crepe paper glued on!

iminur_heystopit1
Originally uploaded by marvins_dad.

While I’ve been stuck in bed, Moomin has discovered the main joys of the Internet, and is now well versed in I can has cheezburger? language. We’ve explained all the stuff about walruses and buckets and “do not want” and why a cat would not know how to talk or spell right.

Meanwhile I’m on pain meds and just kind of waiting.

Moomin also loves Cute Overload!

Today I’ll lie here in bed, grading papers while totally on drugs, and sometimes reading about war moose, while Moomin and Rook go to the library and then to Free Comic Book Day. You see why I haven’t been blogging here much. Lying in bed, hmm yeah. Anyway, it’s free comic book day, so go to the comic book store! P.S. “be patient with a soft warm tender moose.”

john and milo
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Last night while playing a board game, “Talisman”, Moomin had a choice between two cards. He had to take one of them to affect his character, The Prophetess.

The first card, Mephistopheles, would have turned his character evil, which had no discernable or immediate effect, though if you land on certain spaces, there are varying consequences depending on character alignment – good, neutral, or evil. The second card, the Whirlwind, would force him to roll a die for each possession; sword, helmet, amulet, magic stuff, and horse. Unless he rolled a 6, that possession would be carried away in a tornado.

There was no question in anyone’s mind that he should choose Mephistopheles, keeping all his stuff and his good chance of winning the game. I knew he would not… He looked around the table like we were insane or joking. “Of course, you know I choose the whirlwind.” Various persuasions were attempted. “Are you crazy? Why would I be evil?!”

So in order to avoid just the name of evil, he risked and lost all his stuff and his advantage in the game. I was proud and a bit awed.

Like a good sport he rolled and kept one item. Some of the others, according to the roll, were discarded or put on the board in the Cursed Glade. He was completely resigned. Luckily next turn he rolled the exact number he needed to land on the Cursed Glade and pick up his things!

Ever since he was quite small he has seemed sometimes frighteningly a person of principles and absolutes and we have joked that he will grow up to chain himself to trees or rescue baby harp seals or something equally idealistic and impractical. It seems a question too of being a person who figures out various unwritten rules (as with language, grammar, or reading skills) and applying them. I’m not always sure what his unwritten rules are, picked up from us or pop culture. But sometimes I see a glimpse and then I think about my own unwritten rules, and places I might not live up to them. What were my unwritten rules, my code of ethics, when I was 7? I can’t remember very well, though at the time, I swore I would.

Such are my thoughts as we go around the board and roll the dice!

morning comic books in bed
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

I’m managing fairly well on crutches as long as I don’t have to go very far, drive a lot, or sit up for a long time. I think sitting up pinches the nerve, or the disc, or something. It hurts quite a lot to drive. Even when I can walk fairly well, I can’t bend over, which makes it difficult to put on socks. If I drop something, well, unless it can get picked up with the toes of my left foot, forget it. That reminds me, I need to order one of these reacher grabber things and hang it up by my bed! So, anyway, Rook is out of town on a lightning business trip and I have to manage by myself, a big challenge but not impossible.

After I got Milo cereal and juice, and coffee for myself, he came to bed with me for another half an hour. I listened to him read the story of Scrooge on a Mississipi riverboat. He does the dialects very well, in different voices. Then I sat on the edge of the bed to fold laundry. I directed Milo how to put everything away. He picked up all the things on the floor, put dirty clothes in the hamper, all while being "the laundrybot" and making machine noises. The laundrybot accomplished a lot very quickly and was proud to help the Mombot and to earn a dollar.

The past couple of weeks on crutches has been, in a way, good for Moomin’s independent skills. He knows now where the trash bags are kept (a thing he never noticed in 3 years of living here!) and how to do laundry: put the clothes in, turn the dial, push some buttons, Mom puts in the soap; then take out wet clothes, stand on a stool to throw them into the dryer (stacked on top) and push some more buttons. Then, be proud! You helped your mom and dad!

He found his own shoes (under my bed!). It becomes way more important when you’re disabled to have things in their proper places and findable. I refrained from lecturing, but you, Internet, get to hear it. Next time, put your shoes in your cubby, and then you can find them again when you need them. (Advice I almost never follow myself, but I cruelly expect him to follow it.)

Then I drove him to "camp" and waited in the car. He bravely went up the hill in the rain and came out again with his teacher to have me sign the log book, so I didn’t have to go up the hill in the rain on crutches. I was very proud of him this morning.

It hurts to drive, and I have to go to physical therapy at 4 anyway, so I’m going to call around and ask for someone to pick him up later in the day!

I’ve set myself some goals for the day, like writing up a blog entry for work, and sending in taxes, before I get too tired, though in reality I’m already too tired. So, a rest, then work, then I’ll do physical therapy and nap and read.

I ordered a good and lightweight folding sport chair off ebay. That way I can get out of the house, can go teach my class, go to work, go speak at my conference next Tuesday, and not feel so trapped here. Pain will still be limiting, but I’ll be able to get around. The other issue here is that dragging my right leg, or as I now think of it, my zombie leg, around after me, is weighing in hard on my left knee. So I might as well get in the chair now before my knee blows out. Earlier I was resisting the idea of a chair. But now I’m desperate! An MRI happens next week, by the way.

dear son, i am sorry but your mom lives in squalor
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Anyone want to come and tidy up… not like, cleaning and mopping or anything, but just put away everything in logical places? For pay? I’m still on crutches, and can’t bend over very well. Rook’s working full time, commuting, helping me when I need help, doing all the kid-wrangling and regular parenting stuff, shopping, and cooking, which he was already doing a lot of before this injury.

Plus, since I started working full-time things got out of hand – for example no one has really dealt with Moomin’s toys in quite a while, so a lot of them are just thrown into bins, while I used to sit with him and lovingly sort out the dinosaurs from the tinkertoys from the Godzillas. He cleans up, don’t get me wrong, but there’s a certain amount of grown up thinking and intervention that has to happen in the organizing. Probably because he has too much crap.

So at this point I’m so frustrated! I don’t want to ask Rook to do a single extra thing. I can’t do my own laundry, I can’t clear the floor so that I can get around on crutches, I can’t find anything, and I can’t walk around the house looking for stuff when I can’t find it.

Want to come work for me for a couple of days putting things away and maybe decluttering? Extra bonus love and pay if you want to shelve my books. The higher level help I can get, the better!

If asking on my blog doesn’t work, I’ll try craigslist!

Email me at lizzard@bookmaniac.net if you would not mind being my temporary helper while I’m on crutches.

I feel so dorky and awkward asking this, but I really need it right now.

crutch pockets made of duct tape
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Using crutches can be a pain. Besides any physical pain, they’re inconvenient because while you’re moving, your hands are always full. Around 10 years ago I made these crutch pockets to hold a book, kleenex, and a travel mug of coffee. It was non-trivial to crutch from room to room or out to the porch and back, so it came in super handy to have extra pockets built in.

The pockets are made of videotape boxes cut in half and spliced together. I used videotape boxes because that’s what I had handy. They aren’t necessary: you could make the whole thing out of just plain duct tape. However, thin boxes provide a shape and a substrate.

To make pockets for your crutches, tape across a nice-sized box, straight around the crutch frame. Taping on a diagonal keeps the pockets stable. These are taped about 6 inches below the handholds, just above the fork. Saddlebags for each crutch might work, but I don’t like anything bumping my legs or knees while I’m crutching around.

The stickers make everything more cheerful, but I could imagine a really nice decoupage project that has more artistic unity!

Old people sometimes seem to learn about putting pockets on everything or carrying bags that don’t have zippers or clasps (in case of arthritis) but not everyone thinks of using the real estate on crutches and walkers. So if you know an older person or someone on crutches do them a favor and explain this cheap, nearly effortless, modification!

Moomin helped me to refresh the stickers. He’s a little spooked but he’s seen me on crutches before. Not for any length of time since he was a toddler, really. It used to kill me to hear him refer to “mama crutch” in his tiny baby voice, I’d get all maudlin… So, I’m okay, in intermittent nasty pain from the sciatica, pissed that I’m having problems, but feeling philosophical. The main problem is putting weight on my leg or moving it forward. Today I got to the point where it made more sense to crutch than to limp, so here I am attempting to make the best of it!

Mobility problems teach you how to give very clear verbal directions, even to small children, on exactly what you want fetched, and from where, and on how and why to clear the floor of any nearly invisible slippery objects. Patience is another possible lesson to learn; I can’t wait for that one to kick in… any minute now…. yup, real soon now I’ll be learning some patience…

book festival, or something?
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

I’m not sure if I just had fun or was bored out of my mind. The sky was blue, the plaza clean and bright, the little kids were running around having fun. Moomin did a hula hoop ring toss, face painting, a bean bag toss, listened to the librarians read stories and play the guitar, ate ice cream and lollipops, and, mostly, lounged by the fountain, sticking his hand in the water to watch the falling sheet separate into strands. I blew bubbles. People knew who I was, which I always find pleasant. The carnival atmosphere wasn’t quite successful, but there’s something attractive about that as well, a particular dorky sweetness.

It is good at such moments when one has detached oneself from work and computer and errands and housework, to cultivate a Zen-monk-ish detachment from the stream of life. Huzzah! Sun! Flowers! Concrete! Living in the moment! Holding hands! (Right?) I think Moomin often makes the same valiant attempt. He knows I sort of expect him to be having kid-like fun. But then it isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be (except for the bounce houses) and he’s wistfully thinking of his cave-like bunk bed filled with stacks of comic books.

We had a funny moment as we walked home. Moomin was so completely spaced out and in his own world that I just had to do an experiment. He was walking on the wall on the way down to the Jefferson Street Underpass. At the point where the wall ended, I sat down on it. Still lost in thought, he sat down next to me. We sat there silently for a few minutes. He didn’t notice anything was odd. It was cool and pleasant under the Caltrain tracks, out of the sun. I blew some bubbles, and we watched them drift across the busy road. “They might see them from the train,” Moomin remarked, fascinated. We appreciated the underpass for a while longer. My feet hurt. This was a moment nicer than all the street fair, even nicer than when I lost my shit laughing at the awesome swing dancers who were letting it all hang out.

The rest of the way home we acted silly. Moomin has learned and/or inherited the family ability to move seamlessly in and out of pretending, just as me and Minnie and my parents used to all suddenly start acting like we were in Robin Hood or Star Wars or Morte D’Arthur.

“I – AM – A – MOMBOT – ” I droned nasally, out of the blue.

“I – AM – YOUR – KID – BOT” Moomin responded in perfect accord with the unwritten rules of robot-pretending. He did a great funky robot walk.

“IN – SERT- MANIPULATOR – DIGITS – MAGNETICALLY – IN – TO – METALLIC – CLAW” I said, sticking out a hand. He went “SHOOOMP” and thunked his hand into mine, all magnet-like. I just about died, it was so perfectly done.

“SON – BOT – TIRED – NEED – FUEL” he robotted.

“MOM – BOT – JUST – ADMINISTERED – ICE – CREAM – FIVE – MI – NUTES – AGO – WHAT – THE – HECK – AMBULATE – MORE – RAPIDLY” I countered.

We dissolved into giggles as this teenage dude in a hoodie (WTF it was 90 degrees out!) rolled an eyeball in our direction and sped up to get the hell away from us crazy weirdos!

chocolate syrup and cranberry
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Last week at Moomin’s 7th birthday party, we made potions and experiments with these great plastic test tube kits. I was cruising through the school supply store over on Industrial Boulevard when I noticed it would be about 5 bucks per kid to get a test tube rack and 6 tubes for them all for their “goodie bag” present. (I always like the idea of giving everybody something nifty if I can afford it, rather than a bag of candy and stencils and erasers or whatever else is out of the 25 cent bin at the party store. ) The mad science was a hit! We had three kinds of juice, chocolate syrup, strawberries, cola, and sugar. If I’d thought of it I would have gotten food coloring too. I put the different kinds of juice into smaller containers so that pouring wouldn’t be a problem.

Yes, they drank the disgusting concoctions. Wouldn’t you have? I used to think it was super cool to order a “suicide” at the roller rink – it was a mixture of every kind of soda, plus lemonade. “I’ll have…. a suicide.” (Wearing my metallic-thread blouse, white jeans, an Olivia Newton-John headband, and a gold belt.) Yeah, that was the epitome of coolness. Clove cigarettes were not far off in my future.

Our co-housing mate, the Acrobat, ceremoniously gave Moomin a copy of The Mad Scientists’ Club, which he felt had changed his life when he was little. I remember liking it too, and the sequel where the Club builds a submarine.

Last night Moomin and I started on Chapter 1. By page three or so, the boys in the book, led by Henry and Jeff, had constructed a fake sea monster on top of a canoe. Also, three times, women had screamed in fear and a teenage girl who was ignorant about science was quoted in the paper because she had a pretty face and nice legs. “This book is AWESOME… except for the sexist bits,” I pointed out by page 4 or 5 when some more women were screaming and Men ran for their guns. “Yeah!” agreed Moomin. “It’s awesome, but you wouldn’t run from a sea monster, Mom.” “Right, I would totally jump in the water and chase it, plus, just like you would be, I’d probably be smart enough to figure out it was fake. Or I’d be super curious and would take pictures.” “Right! Me too!”

Okay good, that’s settled, we can go on with the book tomorrow! I’m afraid I will have to continue pointing out the sexist bits, but that’s okay, it’s part of a realistic education; lots of people & books are sexist but we don’t have to be.

Even before I turned out the light, Moomin was whispering and counting something on his fingers, staring off into space with a huge dreamy smile. I was consumed with curiosity. “What are you saying, there, Moomin?” “Well….” “Oh, please, tell me!” (He usually doesn’t, but lately, will tell more often.) “Well, I was making up more of the story, or a whole nother story, where actually, the sea monster is real, and it’s bellowing because it’s mad that the people have polluted the lake waters, and it’s almost the last of its kind. Actually, Henry and Jeff find out there are 7 more pairs deep in the swamp, which I was just figuring out would make 14, so that’s 15.”

That was plenty and I was honored to hear it. I didn’t want to push him, or interfere in the direction of his story. I left him to fall asleep with his beautiful storytelling.

lots of people don’t like war
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

On March 19, we went down to the corner for the local antiwar riot, oh whoops, I mean the Iraq War Candlelight Vigil sponsored by Moveon. It lasted from 6:30 to about 8:30. At 7, I counted 80 people, but then lots came and went. For half an hour, we counted the number of cars who beeped in support, and stopped when we got to 150. Moomin’s response to that was “Sure is a lot of beeping! Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of people don’t like the war!” He didn’t notice that most people drove by without beeping, yakking on their cell phones & thinking about dinner.

It’s tough to explain the war to him, what to say other than I don’t understand it much myself? “When you were 3, our country’s government decided to start dropping bombs on this other country, and have been killing thousands of people ever since, and we think they’re wrong, and we don’t want to be part of it, so we have to speak up and say we think it’s wrong. Also, p.s., our country’s president is a giant liar and a jerk and stupid.” That about sums it up.

Three teenagers walked by our streetcorner and asked me, “Are you guys hippies or something?” I said we were not particularly hippies, we just hate the war. “Dude we hate the war too but what good is this going to do. No one will listen.” “Okay dude if enough people talk then they will have to listen, that’s the whole point.” The grey-haired hippie chick next to me said acidly, “It’s your ass we’re protecting, if they start drafting you you’ll be glad someone’s speaking up.” Of course we don’t have to draft anyone — we can just force more of the population into poverty and cut off working class jobs and educational opportunities, isn’t that just as good as a draft to make military service seem like the only option?

I wonder if Moomin was listening to those three young guys, and what he’ll think about being taken to these kinds of rallies and protests? Another young kid was at the rally, a 6th grader who was very passionately antiwar and had written a report at school against the war. I hope my son will be more like that. I took Moomin to 2 rallies when we first started bombing Baghdad, the big ones in San Francisco, knowing he wouldn’t remember it, and that it would be a huge pain to haul him around in such crowds. But I thought he might like to grow up knowing that when “we” our country was dropping bombs, “we” me and him and his dad were in the streets protesting as best we knew how.

page 427
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Moomin just came home from school with a spelling test with the word “Indian” marked wrong. My mom or sister suggested he “look it up in the dictionary”. I blush to say he doesn’t have one. But he got excited and said he knew just where to look!

Ran into his room!

Came back with an enormous phone-book-sized book of old silver age Superman comic books!

Flipped excitedly to page 427!

Where there was a rather horrid episode of some character going “Me big Indian chief!”

I have my work cut out for me tonight as I must ponder

a) why my kid does not have a dictionary
b) how odd, but kind of good, it is that he knows the 500+ page Superman comic book well enough to look up a specific instance of a word
c) must sit down and read that issue with him and explain whatever racism is going on and what we think about it
d) it takes a lot of effort to teach the internalization of anti-racism than it does to do nothing in which case the ambient racism will get taught and internalized

To Rook’s credit he had put the Superman book up on a high shelf because it was so much more sexist and racist than the other stuff we have like Green Lantern and Teen Titans; not that he couldn’t read it, but that we thought it would be better to read it with guidance.

I still feel like our explanation of “Pieface” in the Green Lantern comic books sucked. The thing is there, too, it’s not just like we can explain it once and he gets it. It takes a lot of repetition. Rook does a way better job of it than I do.

Anyway, I’m getting Moomin a whole bunch of those graphic novel biographies for his birthday. The books give at least a tiny counterbalance to the weight of popular culture and people’s messed up assumptions. How about this one… Malclom X. 😎 Just kidding, maybe that one can wait. Instead I really like this series of Graphic Biographies from Capstone Press.

Meanwhile, I’m working 2 jobs and am feeling pretty overwhelmed! More on this subject later.

I’m going on Thursday to Austin for SXSWi, which will be a total blast! Rook will be with his family in New York, and Moomin will be with my mom and dad in Texas. If you’ll be at the conference, find me and say hi!

toys under the couch
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

This was so awesome I can’t resist. Newly crawling baby + unbabyproofed environment! I totally remember that phase when Moomin went from blobular to grub-like and wiggling and then all at once to competent crawling around the house. For a while we could still fence him in with pillows, and then he learned to climb, and we were doomed, and I had to overcome the habits of a lifetime, and learn not to leave loose change or paperclips or pens or crack pipes on the living room floor.

So, we hit the baby-inappropriate jackpot under my friends’ futon yesterday. Gilbert was sitting on the floor as the baby kicked around, picking stuff up and chewing it with enormous streams of drool spinning off from its cute, smiley, slime-covered face. (I used to think babies were gross. They’re still gross, but now they’re also cute, like maggots or diagrams of paramecia.) Anyway, Gilbert suddenly dove under the couch and came up with a bottle. “GIN! Good chew toy, mmmm.” We all cracked up and began to discuss childproofing. Then he dove down under there again. “What the…. PILLS!” I didn’t look what kind of pills but this had us all laughing even harder. “WAIT…. wait for it…” and he dove under again like he was bringing up treasure from a shipwreck. “RAZOR BLADES!”

Jackpot… totally.

Then we sat around reading the Bunny Suicide books.

I was reminded of a time many years ago when some next-door kids were hanging out at my house. There were a bunch of people over for a games party or something – I don’t remember exactly. The 10 year old dove under the living room futon, where I slept. “Hey look!” she said cheerfully, upon surfacing, waving an object that made me blush up to my 6th chakra. “A rubber dingy-dong! If you had a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have to use this!”

I challenge you all to blog the most hideous thing ever that a child has found on the floor or under a bed.

Alto!
Originally uploaded by deovolenti.

After months of incredibly hard work, money spent, and freaked-out community meetings & conversations and special school board meetings, people talking about selling their houses and moving, *teachers* talking about doing that because they hated the Plan so much; after all that, the state has suddenly announced they recalculated the test scores and percentages and found an error. Our district isn’t in PI status after all. We met the requirement exactly: 24.4 % of English language learners passed the test.

I could only react with bitter laughter. I’m guessing that most schools will stick with the plan. Ours was writing a modified plan, and it sounds like we’ll stick with the extra English teaching part of it, so 1 hour per day at least. I was persuaded of the virtues of this plan and of all the training for teachers, in short, I was talked around. So now I’m upset it’s not happening. What WILL happen? I’m hoping that all the talk about it will have positive results. What happens to the training and to the teams of teachers visiting each others’ classrooms and all the other positive things? Do we get to keep those, or does the funding for it go away?

Does the state pay for the PI things that already happened or is our district now completely screwed – even more?

Six months and more of planning and hard work by the people in the district – and the crazy meetings. Now what?

I hope they don’t burn out and that whatever positive momentum was achieved keeps on rolling.

Incoherent. Freaked out. Mind-boggled.

California’s Board of Education has just flunked its “ability to calculate percentages” test.

I haven’t blogged here in way too long because suddenly I have three jobs. Or maybe two. And then more people wanting me to work for them. It’s a heady feeling!

Meanwhile, for Valentine’s Day, Rook helped Moomin scan in the valentines from Franny K. Stein, Mad Scientist: Attack of the 50-Ft. Cupid.

Franny K. Stein is a young girl who happens to love genetic engineering, time machines, bats, zombies, and evil inventions. Her classmates are sweet, nice, and love to bake cookies and play soccer. Here is one of the valentines:

In the middle of the night Rook was rethinking the idea. Was he going to get Moomin in trouble at school? Was it okay, or even remotely remotely okay, to give valentines with zombies sewing themselves up and eyeballs with dangling optic nerves… to 5 year olds? (Because Moomin’s class is K-2, so the kids are 5 to 8 years old.) We sent him with the valentines and the book to share with the class.

When I picked Moomin up, his teacher drew me aside. She said Moomin had come to her in the morning and said, “Ms. Hand? I want to tell you something. I’ve been questioning my decision to bring these particular valentines….” Ms. Hand encouraged him, explained the book to the class, and gave a lesson to everyone on wordplay, puns, and humor, gamely trying to explain “Suit yourself” vs. “Suture self” to kindergarten students. “He’s very sophisticated in his understanding of humor,” she told me.

This made me think of the first time he laughed, when he was around 4 months old. We were walking around the gardens in our apartment complex in Hellvine, with Rook and my parents, and Moomin in a stroller. I tripped and stumbled and barely stopped myself from falling over. This made him crack up. The connection was so definite, and he laughed so long, just the way he laughs helplessly now when something strikes him as hilarious. I even tested it a few minutes later by pretending to trip again, and it worked. He laughed himself sick.

Anyway, I’ve been working quite hard and long hours including when I’m in bed at night. I’m teaching, grading papers, and now working a full time job that I like a lot. Some of my blogs have been neglected. I haven’t been feeling like a very good mom in some ways, but I’m doing okay at it. A little preoccupied, a little tired, abstracted. Moomin will stay after school in the day care center 3 afternoons a week. The one day I’ll pick him up and the other, Rook will. I feel like the only nice mom-like thing I’ve been doing is continuing to read him Harry Potter out loud at night.

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