Dailyish Musings: August 2008 Archives

I am so incredibly happy it is the weekend. I love my job, but it is also overwhelming right now. I know about seven of the hundred and fifty names I should, I keep having high school flashbacks when I walk down the halls between classes since most of the students are taller than I am, and that kind of psychological damage is going to take more than three days to process.

Kyna woke up this morning and requested a fire. I was only too happy to oblige. The sky even cooperated and rain streaked down the windows for an hour or two while we listened to The Gift of The Tortoise by Ladysmith Black Mambazo.




I love fall. I have  a robust and woolly sweater collection that I can't wait to smell again.

These three days will be spent gardening, writing, and reacquainting myself with my beloved camera. Happy long weekend!

Three days in and the students are great. Looks like I'll live. In fact, the only real negative side to my job is the amount of time I have to spend without a camera in my hands. I had to stop myself from dashing out to buy a little plastic point 'n shoot when I spotted the words 'Fight The System' carved on the table leg facing the back of the class. These are kids in the most conceptually advanced, free-thinking, non-systemic learning environment in operation today, and they're still feeling oppressed.  I derive a great deal of hope from that.

Today was the first day of first grade. Kyna switched schools this year, which was a big decision for such a little person. She did it with aplomb and only the smallest amount of wishing she could change her mind at the last minute. This morning she put on the bravest face ever and calmly walked through the total chaos in the halls to her new classroom, was greeted by her lovely new teacher and began her new social life in earnest. Alas, I was not quite so poised. In fact, the term would be 'blubbering mess'.

I firmly believe switching schools was the culprit. I can't imagine that I'm going to lose it every year she heads off in September, am I? Who does that? Not me, surely. I thought I had that whole emotional first day of school thing processed with her kindergarten departure last year. How could I relapse so... so... publicly?! It was dead embarrassing really. Luckily the school's alternate name could be 'The Rainbow Love School Of Positive Social Development' (my neighbor calls it just that) and the parents lived up to the social contract in spades. One mom hugged me, another patted me on the back and explained in great detail the two days worth of crying she did when her kid went off to kindergarten last year. Everyone reassured me that Kyna would love it and have a zillion friends by the end of the day, which she did. I couldn't explain that I wasn't worried. That my tears were not because I feared for Kyna's wellbeing. Her walk down the hall had shown me that she was more than capable. In fact, it was crystal clear that she will be all right. Always. I was crying because in that moment I knew it, and as a parent, that feeling has no words.

May I just take a moment here to say that working everyday this week for four hours a day totally kicked my butt. Don't worry. I'm owning my patheticness openly here. I realize that single mothers work a job ALL day, then come home and work an even harder job until their kids hit the sack, then they get to do the dishes. I realize I'm a complete wuss. I understand that next week I get to work six to seven hour days, with students, not just really cool and interesting co-workers who already know everything, but kids who have questions, issues, fears, and shyness to accommodate. This week was just the tip of the iceberg.

On a fun note, I've been developing my Digital Portfolio (DP). A DP is basically a website incorporating a bio, projects you've worked on, and any other tidbits useful to those who might view it. It won't be live until sometime on Monday, but here is a screen shot of my progress so far. I'm pretty happy with it.

To show my super keenness at my new job I agreed to help teach a humanities prep course twice a week to freshmen and interested sophomores. We'll cover everything from sentence structure to research techniques and plagiarism. The trick will be covering it in a manner that matches the school philosophy of integration and project based learning. I was thinking we could make the students sew punctuation costumes and then arrange poster boards stenciled with words on the floor and get the kids to go stand where their costume is appropriate.

All right, I'm not actually serious, but it has to be something like that, only not quite so lame. Which means I am going to cut this 'musings' short to type up a rough syllabus and (try to) brainstorm fun ways to torture teach students. Any brilliant ideas?

I'm trying hard not to be too inspired by my new job. The staff and teachers met today to hear what had percolated through CEO Larry Rosenstock's mind during the summer, which was considerable and impressive, to say the least. A re-commitment to the underlying design principles of integration (both racial and subject based) and adult world connection while striving to inspire the sublime goal of 'quality' in the students academic endeavors. I was having Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance flashbacks and kept reminding myself that I hadn't had to put any of these weighty ideals into actual action with a real live student yet. It is all well and good, aspiring to be the greatest resource specialist ever, but chances are, once I'm mired eyeball deep with an apathetic sixteen year old gang member over the sublime concept of 'algebra', these principles could be tricky to recall, let alone instigate. It continues to amaze me that such pure ideals can sprout from such emotionally flawed creatures as us human beings. I suppose it's called hope.

Lisa, my beloved friend, had set up an early doctors appointment out in La Jolla and while she was under doctor scrutiny she kindly assumed that I would watch her young son (he is six, the same age as Kyna). Because I love her, I dragged myself out of bed in time to shower, get the kids packed into the car, and drove her the thirty minutes out to her appointment. Instead of trying to entertain the kids myself (since I was still asleep), I detoured towards the nearest beach. Sun, sand, water; the perfect babysitter. I rolled up everyones pant legs and turned them loose. It was awesome. In the first minute they waded up to their knees. The second minute had them up to their waists, and within three minutes they were swimming, fully clothed. 



Not only did I not have a change of clothes for either of them, I also didn't have any towels. C'est la vie. They're kids. They stayed happily occupied for a good hour, diving in and out of the waves, chasing seaweed and looking for fish. Finally they came ashore to warm up by rolling in the sand.



Now I had two very very wet, and very very sandy young ones and my phone rang. It was Lisa. She was finished and ready to be picked up.

Right.

Herding the kids to the car I popped the trunk, pulled out a shopping bag and stripped them down to their skivvies. In order to help get saturated sandy shirts over faces without getting any grit in little eyes I needed both hands. Chucking my cell phone and keys into the open trunk I went to work. As I threw the last dripping pair of pants into the plastic bag I tossed it into the trunk and slammed it shut.  Really shut.  With my keys, my phone and my wallet  safely inside.

As the trunk 'clicked' I saw my life flash before my eyes. It ended with Lisa killing me. I tried to open it. No luck. The lock was horizontal, in super-duper, anti-theft, thwart all burglaries mode. I ran around to the side of the car and opened the front door. I punched the button to pop the trunk, holding my breath, praying to every deity I'd ever heard of (first to answer and save me wins my everlasting piety!). No luck. Not a sound. No satisfying 'Kachunk' of latch releasing and cell phone, keys and purse happily running into my arms. No, the lock on the trunk remained stoically in the horizontal direction. Uber locked. This particular brand of car is notoriously hard to break into. Chris had warned me (and warned me) about leaving the trunk lock in the horizontal position, but I swore up and down that I needed it super secure because I often leave my laptop or camera in there. And I've never, ever, locked my keys in a car before, so that just couldn't possibly ever happen.  Good logic eh?

Although, I have actually been wrong before, so I guess that can happen.

I stopped swearing and  took stock of my situation.  I was alone (adult wise), at the beach, without a phone, keys, or money, with a friend waiting for me to show up and two little shivering children in their salty wet underwear looking at me with large doe eyes wondering why I locked their clothes in the trunk of my car.  Excellent.

To buy myself time, I got everyone in the cab of the car so I could think. Ok. I couldn't phone Lisa even if I could get my hands on a phone, because, well, her number is in my phone. Which is in the trunk. In fact, the only phone number I know off my heart (aside from the phone number I had when I was four) is my husband's (and I only committed that one, like, last month). Perhaps if I could call him, he could call Lisa and let her know that  I've locked her child's clothes in the back of my car and he's really hungry, but not to worry because I locked my wallet in there too, so I can' t do anything about it anyway.

Not much of a plan, but it was my only plan. I stopped a lady on the street and borrowed her cell phone. Helpfully, my husband didn't pick up. I left a strangled message and returned to the car and kids to think of plan B. They were kids. This was a plus. Kids can wear their underwear on a public beach and it really isn't that big of a deal. Grabbing a hand from each I towed them over to the lifeguard station.

"Um, I don't think this is really appropriate."

"I know sweetie, but your mom will forgive me in her next life. I'm sure of it."

The lifeguards didn't have any bright ideas either, but they did let me use a cell phone to make a 411 call. I found the number of my friend's doctor's office and pleaded with the receptionist to search outside the front door for Lisa and tell her about my predicament and maybe suggest she get a cab.

Then I left a few more agonized phone messages for my husband, because that's what marriage is all about.

Dragging the poor kids back to the car we hunkered down to wait. Twenty minutes later Lisa arrived and our situation improved somewhat. We could now count a cell phone and a wallet among our assets. We tried Triple A.

"What make is the car Ma'am?"

"Uh, one designed by security freaks."

"Hmmm. Those are notoriously difficult to break into. We'll probably have to drill out the lock."

"Uh, I'll give you a call if I can't find an alternative. Thanks, but no thanks."

Then we tried the dealer.

"Whoo. The trunk lock is horizontal?"

"Yes."

"I only know one guy who can do it. You got a pen?"

I copied down the number and verified it three times. Then we called.

"You say the lock is in the horizontal position?"

"Yes."

"Oh well... we'll think of something.. I'll be there in forty five minutes."

Ok! Dubious rescue on the way! Meanwhile the kids were trying to eat their own appendages.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Finally Mr. A-1 Locksmith arrived and went to work. He tried half heartedly to pick the lock, although he had the look of someone doing something just to appease someone else. It didn't unlock. Since there was no way to pick it, he resorted to removing the license plate, drilling a small hole and manipulating the lock from the inside.

Kachunk.

I kiss Mr. A-1 Locksmith and promise that when his divorce is finalized I'll marry him. He only charges me $200. We buy the kids ice-cream as a treat because they didn't turn cannibalistic and eat each other, then drive home four hours later then we planned. Welcome to your vacation Lisa!

Lisa arrived safe and sound and has graciously agreed to stay, despite having to make her own bed and the zero closet space. We're storing every computer we've ever owned in the guest room closet at the moment. You know, just in case the Internet breaks and technology slips backwards by twenty years. Currently those computers comprise the main thrust of our family disaster plan. In the event of a tornado we plan to hack into the phone line with an old modem and post a want ad on Craig's List to find ourselves some free water.

My friend, Lisa-The-Cleanest-Woman-In-The-World, is coming to stay for five days. So far I've been cleaning flat out since the break of dawn and it still looks like a tornado blew away our house and left an identical filthier one in its stead. I've done a thousand loads of laundry, still have two massive suitcases to unpack, I haven't gone grocery shopping yet, the car is full of sand, my garden is full of weeds, some vibrant young door to door vacuum salesman tricked his way into my house with the promise of a fruit basket and then only cleaned a 3x3 foot region of my cat urine stained carpet because it was so full of detritus he ran out of little demo filters, and I'm supposed to pick up LTCWITW in five minutes.

I. Give. Up.

Universe, you win.