Sunday, April 27, 2008

curricula....

Curricular
Curriculum...Latin, course, from currere, to run;

Watched Atonement yesterday. It was pretty good. Featured prominently was the evacuation of the British from Dunkirk. It was a major event of World War II, but American children don't get taught about it. In the UK it is integral to the study of the war (link if you don't know about it)
Recently when I was desperately searching for more stuff on the war to teach I ran across an activity that was created by a teacher in the UK. I quickly downloaded it and ran it off for my students to do while I was gone. I confess, I didn't really read it much, just wanted something quick and easy for the sub to do. Upon my return I scanned through the children's work and discovered that it had some errors on it, namely, the date of Pearl Harbor was wrong. Several of my students noticed it as well. I pointed out that it was from the UK, and my students were worried that the British students are not being taught about Pearl Harbor properly and it is so important to what we learn. I told them it was ok because they don't even know about Dunkirk.

It got me to thinking of how much of what we are taught - what is in the curricula - is perhaps wrong. Maybe even just watered down too much, the Virginia history curriculum (known affectionately as the Standard of Learning) leaves out lots of things I think are important (Douglas MacArthur - a Virginian and General during the war) and includes some stuff I struggle to get the kids to understand: "decreased regional variation in the latter half of the 20th Century." I don't "teach to the test" - I can't see the test anyway, but I do teach the curriculum, and try to enhance it where possible. I have tried to serve on committees that revise the curriculum, but I am usually not chosen, and even if I was, the process becomes so politicized as to be ridiculous.

My lesson plans are checked, my test scores analyzed ad nauseum, but no one really checks to see if what I am teaching is in fact accurate. So, that leaves me with little loopholes and things to entertain myself, such as answering students' questions very matter of factly as if I know for sure that it is the truth -- and you know what? They believe me!!! So, of late, I have been injecting some stuff for my own jollies; When studying the technological revolution of the 20th Century, a student asked very sincerely, "Who invented the internet?" I very sincerely replied, "Al Gore." When studying about reasons for various wars, I inevitably get asked "What is the reason for THIS war?" On my especially devilish days (normally, I say I can't talk about it until it's in the history books)... I say "Oil." They don't question me or challenge my authority at all. At least on that front.

Tomorrow I get to help revise the Code of Behavior Activity Package!! I think I'll have to keep my mouth shut on most of it.

BTW - Do you know what decreased regional variation is?

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Teaching


Let's remind everyone what I do. I teach 12 year olds American history. I use movie clips (ala YouTube) music (ala my iPod) art, activities, and a book or two. I'm pretty awesome compared to my social studies teachers in school.

None of that matters. The birds are chirping and the hormones are RAGING! I could be handing out gold doubloons and they would ignore me. No matter, its not like I am judged on my teaching abilities by boring bubble tests given this time of year or anything. Whoops.

Rescue me!!!! 34 days to go!

My feet need you - just stop by anytime and swoop me up. You can take me anywhere -- hell, the parking lot is good enough for me!

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Opiates

"...had a happy thought. Into the bowl in which their wine was mixed, she slipped a drug that had the power of robbing grief and anger of their sting and banishing all painful memories. No one who swallowed this dissolved in their wine could shed a single tear that day, even for the death of his mother or father, or if they put his brother or his own son to the sword and he were there to see it done..."


That is from Homer's Odyssey, one of the earliest pieces of literature in which there is a reference to opium. When I think of opium or opiates I think of things that people do to escape reality, to "feel good." Or maybe feel less bad. All this thinking was spurred on while wandering alone through the Trump Taj Mahal casino yesterday. I kept thinking of addictions, especially gambling addictions.

It was kind of a test for me, as some people, even me, thought that perhaps the casino would be dangerous for me and I would become addicted to gambling or something. I actually became quite disillusioned and bored very quickly. I can take it or leave it. I was amazed at the people in there sitting for hours mindlessly (or maybe not) pushing buttons (no more pulling the arm) on slot machines. What relief of life's pain is gained by gambling? I think it may be the feeling, however fleeting, of hope that comes before the dials stop turning.

I played Roulette, and it was fun. Except that it was very expensive, and I think may be rigged. I played the slots and mostly just lost a bunch of money without any real fun. Where do those people get all this money to just throw away?? Hundred dollar bills flashing across the tables, huge stacks of chips....I guess I don't have anything to worry about as far as becoming addicted to gambling. Thankfully, I do have a tightwad side to me, which I am sure rubbed off from Scott.

On the long bus ride home....and it was long....and filled with raucous laughter of the over 70 crowd and lots of loud snoring. (I do NOT snore - but the lady two rows back does- mouth open, drooling kind of snoring) I did a lot of thinking about addictions. How do people get addicted to gambling? Or, anything? And, what is an addiction, really? I often use the phrase, "i'm addicted to...." fill in with the latest thing....but I don't think they are real addicitions.

Once upon a time I was labeled a food addict. Considering that food is a requirement for sustaining life, I don't think one can be addicted to it itself. I am addicted to OVEReating - which is eating when not hungry and or eating too much. I am getting better about that, but I do love food. (Who doesn't?).

I do have what I call phases. Phases in which a certain food and or drink or even activity are very prominent in my life. They eventually wear out, then only return for sentimental appearances. Here is a list of my current and past phases of addiction/obsession.

Current:
Stacy's Pita Chips - naked or parmesan garlic. FAB U LOUS!!!!
Vitamin Water - the Revive flavor is the best
Chardonnay - Yellow Tail Reserve
Curry - my chicken red curry specifically
Naval oranges - I even eat the peel (not the orange part of it)
(all of these are in my weekly repertoire)

My current list is much better than my past one.

Ben and Jerry's was a big one. Now, I can't have more than one spoon of it. Also certain flavors came and went as obsessions with Cherry Garcia always topping the list.
Little Debbie I am ashamed of this one - there are no redeeming qualities in them.
Happy Meals Rarely made me happy, although ordering one always gave a thrill.
Pepperidge Farm Milanos still good - but I don't eat the whole bag in one sitting anymore, and rarely have them at all.
Chips and Dip
Hershey Bars - eaten one square at at time


All that being said, I still haven't solved my need for opiates. Opiates defined as things that bring a feeling of escape and hope, however fleeting. I wish I could substitute yoga or something for the various comforts I turn to daily. For now, I'll try to make them less unhealthy.



Tuesday, April 15, 2008

my feet....

I know you have been waiting, and not wanting to disappoint...here is the history of ......my feet.

There are no footprints of my feet at birth....my sister's have those of theirs, but my page is ....blank.





When I was little I was reminded that I am one of the lucky few to have had my feet in the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, and the Pacific. That does make me feel lucky, but I also want to have my feet in the Mediterranean again, and the Pacific again....and after a week like the past few I've had...I'd settle for the Atlantic. Hell, the Gulf would be alright. I hope that doesn't make me greedy.

When I was about 4, I stepped on a bee, the first memorable injury to my piggies. More memorable, is the endless tickling and the singing of that piggie feet song ....the phrase..."and THIS little piggie...." makes me cringe to this day.

These feet once sported angry cowboy boots that stomped through the dust and straight into the snow when they left California for the unknown and (thankfully) still untold horrors of Connecticut.

These feet once stood firm as they put a boot right in the ass of that ass who convinced them to go to Connecticut....although it took these feet a few years to get the courage.

These feet have walked the terrifying halls of "higher learning," only to have their owner wonder, what exactly is "lower learning?" and....something about "higher" made them laugh.

These feet walked the streets of D.C. at 3 am handing out flyers of a certain missing person.

These feet have skipped and danced and jumped with joy at the return of said missing person, and said missing persons achievements.

These feet have throbbed, stepped in cat shit, do not believe that stepping in dog shit brings good luck (MOM!) get dirty when walking around bare (IN the house) and are dying to explore different soils and different experiences.

These feet hold up these 200 pounds from 8 am to 5 pm most days with no break and they HURT. These feet have bunions, cuticles, callouses, blisters and need a pedicure.





If I had a paypal, I'd start a collection for my pedicure fund....and I know you would contribute....right?

Monday, April 14, 2008

long in the tooth

The expression means old, and came from horses of all things. As their gums recede their teeth look longer, so to say someone is long in the tooth is to say they are old.

Well, I'm not long in the tooth, but my teeth are old. And bad. I'm going to fight tooth and nail to keep them. I'm armed to the teeth with floss, mouthwash, toothbrushes, pastes, and luckily.....percoset. And antibiotics. Cliche much?

I have to have a root canal and a crown. I'm in agony, but I have to wait three weeks to start the process. Oh, well. I should have not let it go so long. I seem to always make my appointments for various things last - after everyone else. And then, sometimes not at all. My teeth have taken a back seat for too long. And I'll pay the price, and by paying the price I mean 3,000 bucks....

Sadly, after all that work, pain and money, I'll still have a funky mouth full of teeth. I've always been embarrassed of my teeth. I don't let it stop me from having a big mouth and grinning and laughing raucously.

We did a lot of laughing this weekend celebrating my sister turning 49. We laughed, sang, didn't dance (next time!) and ate and drank (but not too much...). It was nice to get away from everything. Now I have to face returning to school..not a pleasing prospect, but one I'll share in a later post!

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Soccer moms

I am not sure if being one is good or bad or neither, but I am curious as to when the term originated.

According to Wikipedia, it gained popularity in the 1990's. Urban dictionary has some funny entries about them - apparently, they must be white middle class women with SUV's and conservative values. I guess that is why even when I was a soccer mom (literally a mom who had a kid who played soccer) I didn't fit in.

I didn't know the right snacks to bring when it was my turn, didn't bring the requisite lawn chair, never snapped any pictures, and sometimes I ran the field on the side lines during the whole game. I enjoyed that time a lot, and got a little misty the other day when I saw a girl of about 7 in the traditional Stafford soccer blues. I wanted to run up to her and say, "I used to have a little girl just like you." Thankfully, I held back. Although I had fun, and K had fun, I never could get "in" with the other moms. They had the right clothes, the right car, the right coolers, the perfect snacks. Sometimes, I came in work clothes right from school and graded papers in the bleachers. Much to their disdain I am sure.

Lately, I've been comparing today's mom with the moms when I was growing up. We had great moms -don't get me wrong. But, our moms were not obsessed with every detail of our lives. We were kids, we played, they were moms, they did what they did. My mom made me clothes for my Barbies but she didn't play Barbies with me. She sent me out to play, but didn't photograph every second of it. And, she never set up my circle of friends for me.

As I am grappling with the guilt of the empty nest, I wonder if I did my job correctly, because I see so many women who do it ALL, and I was so lacking. I see mothers now who detail their children's lives in elaborate scrapbooks. There are entire stores devoted to this practice. They make play dates for their infants, they put their children at the center of their life, and although sometimes that is necessary while raising children, sometimes it goes too far -- doesn't it? I used to see them lurking in the school long after dropping off their kids, when I taught in a more affluent area. I would want to tell them, "Go! Get a life!"

When we was too poor to have a camera or develop film, and K would do something awesome or perform in something at school, I'd catch her eye and make a camera with my hands and pretend to click. She and I had a special secret - she knew that I knew and was there. Once another mom felt bad for me and took a bunch of pictures at a concert and gave them to me. She was shocked when I didn't act super overjoyed. I've got the pictures right here - pointing to my head -- I told her.

The last few years I have struggled with the guilt of not being a soccer mom - a mom who does it ALL. I ignored her, sent her away, was annoyed by her sometimes, and led my own life. I have beat myself up over it long enough. (although I'll still do it more - hey I'm a masochist) I've got some pictures, even some videos, perhaps a baby book somewhere. I took her to soccer, field hockey, band concerts, dances, plays, competitions, back to school night, conferences....all that I could. I even played Barbies with her....but I led my own life, too. And that is ok. I guess.

I just wish my memories could be turned off sometimes like when I feel like blubbering in the grocery store when I see a brown haired little girl in soccer cleats. I'm glad I did take the time to just stand back and observe her growing up instead of orchestrating every second.

Saturday, April 05, 2008

Yard Work


Once upon a time I wanted a big yard. I loved it for about a minute. Now, its a jungle of weeds, vines, more weeds, more vines, runaway hedges, patchy grass, wierd bugs, shedding trees and roadside trash. I hate it.

Oh, don't get me wrong....it has potential. It just requires a team of people to work on it. I don't have a team. Boo! I have worked out there since 10 am this morning and feel like I have not accomplished anything. Just to make myself feel better, here is what I DID do:

picked up 4 wheelbarrows full of twigs and branches and winter debris
hosed off the deck and deck furniture
raked out one ivy bed to reveal one peony peeking through
trimmed back one bush
removed a small amount of honeysuckle
chased the dog around the neighborhood as he got loose for about 1/2 hour
hung one mini wind chime on the new porch
and most importantly: called a landscape company to give me an estimate on work

I am no stranger to yard work. Growing up we had two Saturday morning choices: inside with mom or outside with dad. Sometimes it was both. We had to be like mules or something when outside, and interestingly, no matter what we did or how we did it, it was wrong. From pushing a broom, running the hose or carrying bricks --or the infamous slices of sod -- I always seemed to earn a ration of name calling and belittling. The lure to go back in and scour the tub with comet was overwhelming since that job I knew I could do and my mom never said I did it wrong. (I suspect I probably did do it wrong, but she just didn't care) .

Never the less, Saturday has always felt like a work day to me and as exhausted and sore as I am, I would feel worse if I didn't work very hard to clean house and do the yard.

Now, to punish (torture?) myself more, here is what I didn't do (yet) and need to get working on:
hedge trimming
weed whacking
mulching
more twigs and debris clean up
mowing (lawn mower still being repaired)
planting and transplanting
painting (shed - porches and deck)
removing the trimmings and twigs to the dump


....there's probably more. Ugh.

Thursday, April 03, 2008

t-o-r-t-u-r-e

A long time ago, during the longest war the U.S. has every participated in, (but we are gaining ground!) a POW used Morse Code to blink the word torture. Jeremiah Denton http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremiah_Denton was held prisoner for eight years by the North Vietnamese. When we learned of his torture and those of his fellow prisoners, we (the U.S.) was outraged. Rightly so.

Now, the U.S. policy on torture isn't so clear. Republican Candidate, former POW, McCain said, “Anyone who knows what waterboarding is could not be unsure. It is a horrible torture technique used by Pol Pot and being used on Buddhist monks as we speak.”

While the president said, "The bill Congress sent me would take away one of the most valuable tools in the war on terror," Bush said "So today I vetoed it," Bush said (March 8, 2008 - Google it!)

Now, you can think what you want, vote the way you want, (this is not an endorsement of McCain) however, think about teaching that stuff to 12 year olds. They watch the news, they know what torture means (have you been in a middle school locker room recently?). They can't understand why the president would veto an anti-torture bill when they are learning about torture used on American POWs. They can't understand why there was not a march on Washington for this issue! I wish 12 year olds could vote!

Ok, after I typed the last line, I thought of Hannah Montana. So, nevermind.

Speaking of torture, for 4 days a week I stand on my feet from 7:55 until usually 4:30 or 5:30 on high heels. I inherited my grandma's bunions. Why do I torture myself so? I'll tell you why......fashion bitches!!!! And, heels make you look 10 pounds thinner!!! Srsly!!!!

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Changes

Ok- so I'll probably pramble on way too long to say that I've had a revelation in the last few weeks. It started a few months back when I discovered a blog oracle.tayker.com - actually acquaintances from www.fredtalk.com, which led me to wouldashoulda.com, which led me to iambossy.com, which may have changed my life in a way. I started reading both woulda and bossy daily. OK, obessively checking them multiple times daily. I love the stories of wouldashoulda's life raising small children, and I love the way bossy writes in general and her treatment of her family history.

I actually went to DC to meet Bossy on her famous road trip. I've been quiet about it so far, but I was blown away. I met a bunch of people who are way too cool for me, yet didn't act that way. And bossy herself is so courageous and brave and an inspiration. I feel stupid for cutting her off in mid-sentence when I saw her Obama button. I don't think she realized the world I live in -surrounded by the religious "right." I saw her Obama button and my mind just went *kapaow* Anywho, check out her blog and read her archives, her family history archives an all comments....then we'll talk.

I felt so scared going to a club in D.C. after school on a Tuesday. Alone. On the metro! I wore heels! And a stupid sparkly sweater! I met a bunch of articulate, funny, nice people -- fair trade.

I felt inadequate sharing our blog: stilltruckin. Not really a blog, but a way to communicate with the women folk in our family. It has been a great experience to write and read our lives. I only wish **we** would write more. Ahem. Nancy, Marianne, Zsuzsi.

Anywho, I found out that blogging has been going on forever, and there is a network of women bloggers and even women bloggers who apparently make moola off their blog! I'm not interested in the money, but the connectivity with other women world wide is historic! Which leads me to my shower the other day....

I was pondering my dorkiness and bossy's coolness, along with shallowgal, vuboq, merrymishaps, and the rest, when as I lathered my wintery leg hair growth for its spring shave: history!

I love history~ I always have - since my very early days here, I have recognized it's importance. I wrote a letter to Nixon when I was 9 about oil and Arabs. If only he would have listened! I tell my students all the time that EVERYTHING has a history. We joke about it, but it is true. I have them tell the history of all kinds of things, and it is fun. So, back to the shower, I thought why not have a blog with a purpose, a theme!!! (Ok, I overheard ALL of the blog women at bossy's gathering)

And such, The History of.... is borne. I love putting e's on the end of things. I have a ton of ideas on which to write...and have started to make a list! Bunions and socks being the only teasers I will leave here. I know I won't have the time or patience (until summertime) to put in pics and fancy fonts, etc. (even videos!) yet, but I have words! Lots and lots of words!