So, a few years ago, I had this great idea to get kids together in a sort of collaboration at the Field Museum. I wanted kids from many different socio-economic backgrounds and neighborhoods to gather at the Marae at the museum and discuss issues that bother them in society, and what they can do to change things.
The Marae is the entrance to a traditional Maori meeting house (from New Zealand). This meeting house is curated by an amazingly passionate scientist who is fierce in his love for the meaning behind the house and its people, both in New Zealand and here. His name is John Terrell, and he is one of the friendliest and most inspiring people I've had the pleasure to meet. If you get the chance to visit the museum and see Ruatepupuke II (the meeting house's name), please keep an eye out for John and his associates.
So in 2009 I wrote a grant to try and support this idea. It didn't get selected... but no matter... I still think it'd be a tremendous idea, and a great way to get kids talking about themselves, and appreciating what they have around them. The idea came to me that I should share this writing and this idea on this blog- so that maybe someday another Chicago educator (or myself many moons from now), can use this concept to inform their students. So- at the bottom of this post, I've included my grant writing and sources. I'd change a few things, but it's a good idea overall.
A few weeks ago, I attended my last "Field Ambassador," meeting at the Field Museum. It was definitely sad to say goodbye to many educators and let them know I'd be leaving. I was most sad about saying goodbye to the education department and the meeting house itself... I'd never bring my plan to fruition. But then, when we were taken into the Whales exhibit (awesome- go see it!) and I made a connection that has inspired my thoughts for next year. .. . I saw a structure in the exhibit that sits outside many Maori Meeting houses. It was part of the exhibit that connected the history of whales and their makeup to the people who hunt and cherish them. The structure looks something like this (the red posts that make a roof of sorts) (I tried to post a picture, but it removed it... BOO
I'd like to have the students help me create a similar opening for our classroom. I would have them reflect on things that matter to them and to our culture in the school and community. We would create "carvings," that would be posted on painted cardboard (so it'd look like carvings). I believe this could be an exercise, in the spirit of the Marae- that could bring together our students and help them, "buy in" to the classroom spirit. If we build our own Marae at the entrance to the room, and the students understand that this is a place were we share ideas, are safe, welcome, and become one people - - I think it will help them to feel that our classroom is a, "sacred" space.
I found the perfect molded cardboard tubing in the alley today- someone's packing trash has become my inspiration. I plan to prime the cardboard and paint it, and the students can add cardboard details to make it complete. We can either decoupage or paper mache it together, and then, when we hold our class meetings, we can use some of the key words and ideas from the Maori people. I hope that this tribute will serve to connect my students, and to envelope them in the excitement I feel for the Marae.
If possible, I'll be bringing the Maori to Madison!
I put mine on, and in second, it’s smeared, smudged, and all over the place- both my bathroom and otherwise.
I like to imagine that these women with perfect lids – both on TV and in person- have hired personal make-up artists who follow them around and correct any imperfections.
2. City Stickers.
$75 now, or $100 ticket, $60 late fee, and $75 later.
I won't make that mistake again.
It just sucks that I have to pay to park in my own garage.
3. How my baby can be so sweet.
Each day he does something that amazes me. Yesterday he kissed his favorite characters and hugged the iPad during the song “Hug.” ..... He fed my brother in law blueberries, making subtle “mmmmm,” noises, and then ran around giggling when I was chasing him playing tag. He walked down the block with me to get dinner, holding one finger so fiercely, I smiled the whole way.
This baby is the coolest baby ever.
4. How laundry is created so quickly.
Keith and I used to have to do laundry only once every two weeks or so.
Now, every few days, there is some milk stained, baby filth-covered, mess to deal with. The laundry is insurmountable sometimes.
5. Sloths.
They are amazingly weird, yet great. They look like they could murder you many times over, but move so slow, they seem harmless at the same time. See this picture. Yeah. Point for the sloths.
As if a haughty joke, today on the Backyardigans, the characters pretended to be a package delivery service. Complete with hats, glasses, and a rousing rendition of "We'll never lose a package, it'll get there safe and sound."
Nice.
If you're unfamiliar with the irony here, please see the "Inequities in Children's shows," and "Big Bald Wolf."
To follow up, my documents NEVER arrived, and with a call to UPS, I found out that after the label was created, UPS has no record of the package. Funny, huh?
Still at the store? Possibly.
Yesterday morning I participated in my fifth triathlon.
The race began at 4:15am as I tripped to slap the alarm clock and fell into a hole that lurks between my mattress and bed frame.
With a giant oops, my morning was in full swing.
Three cups of coffee and a 45 minute drive later, we were in Palatine, IL ready to rock the Twin Lakes Triathlon.
The distances were a 700 meter swim, 14 mile bike, and a 4.5 mile run. I’ve never been in a race of this length, always either longer or shorter than this one.
When we arrived at the lake, I left the sleeping baby and supportive husband in the car and biked to the transition area- about a ½ mile from the parking lot. I racked my bike next to a few gentlemen in some serious tri-gear, and was already feeling sub-par when I went looking for some of the other members of my tri team.
My team is a bit misfit-y, we don’t know eachother, none of us our tremendously experienced, and we’re a motley looking crew. I couldn’t tell you more than 3 people’s names, and have not consistently been to practice due to the whole moving/baby momma, crazy teacher scheduling. Anyway, I digress.
Before the race, you check in, get a chip for your foot – to let you know your time overall, and a t-shirt (usually so unattractive that you know you won’t ever wear it). You then proceed to the marking station, where two strangers emblazen your race number on both arms, and both calves (akward!).
After check in, I went and double checked my race gear, getting out my Altoids (for opening your lungs after the swim- it’s amazingly helpful actually), my running shoes, glasses, hat, bike helmet, baby powder in a towel (for drying your feet after the swim- ingenious- new this race!), a towel, and bike shirt with nasty Power Bloc gummies for added race fuel (ha!). My socks were lovingly rolled in my shoes, ready for nimble toes. My bike positioned towards the end of the row, facing the bike “out.”
Next I went for a practice dip in the lake. Temperature? Fabulous actually- my lucky break! Realizing that people were already lining up for race start behind me, I jumped out, and ran back to the car where Keith and August were just preparing to join the race fans. I grabbed sun block, my swim cap and goggles, and went down to the water’s edge. Kisses from the baby, and a rousing pep talk from Keith-“I hope you don’t chafe.”
The race began, and immediately I was startled into the reality that once again I wasn’t sure I was ready. After about the first 400 yards freestyle, I had to stop and catch my breath… I’m a strong swimmer, but with the thrashing kicking feet and slapping arms all around me, I couldn’t seem to catch my stride. Some sidestroke, backstroke, and breaststroke later, I was out of the water, and off running.
Up the hill, over a bend, and off to my waiting bike. … First a towel on the face. Feet powdered, socks rolled, hair touseled, helmet on, shirt over head (opposite order), race belt on…. Ready, set, go. Out of the bike rack, down the hill, to the start line, and pedaling up the hill. Bike gloves on as I ride. A quick swig of water, and a slimy gummy (For Power!) down the gullet. Then we biked through the hills of Palatine. I guess I could say, we biked through the box-filled subdivisions of Palatine. Past lakes, houses, parks, and schools, up gorgeous hills, and past houses I’ll never hope to own- enormous staff filled houses with more windows than souls. Down past the local college, over some speed bumps, and through a nice part of Rolling Meadows. All the while thinking, “I think I can, I think I can.”
It doesn’t matter who you’re near in these things, you want to beat them all. For me, it’s about how slow I am on the run… the bike is my chance to make up time. One less person to have to try and pass on the run, I think to myself as I pick my competitors on the bike.
I zeroed in on two folks to “wrastle with” on this leg of the journey. One young lady who kept passing me, then I’d pass her, then she’d pass me… Her bike = expensive (jealous? YEAH!). Mine, like the ugly cousin who wants to date her bike- 20 years old and tired looking. But, there was no stopping me. I was going to catch up and triumph. The second competitor, a man I’ll only refer to as “Lunchable,” was an able bodied young chap, fast, and prone to re-adjust his “bits and pieces,” as we rode. I don’t want to see that stuff on the street, let alone in front of me on a multi mile bike.
The three of us were neck, neck, and sausage, the whole race. We’d pass each other, fall back, and come right back up cycling.
Then, travesty. My shoelace wrapped around my foot and into my gear. Bad news. Not only was it cutting all the circulation in my foot off,- I could no longer pedal. I had to let lunchmeat and lady friend pass me up. It was not the end of the race for me…. Oh no. I didn’t stop. I reached down – yanked my lace, and continued pedaling with my left foot while I stretched to shove the lace into my shoe.
It was very dramatic.
Seriously.
Stop laughing.
This is some scary stuff.
So, I caught back up with my friends. Them, and their fancy, lightweight, drool inducing bikes. . .and I passed them! HA HA!! Passed them both with about a mile to go. I could see the lady coming back up on my left, but I kept going… working my mantra= “Speed walking is an Olympic Sport.”
Back to the paddock. Bike hooked back, helmet off, visor on, more slimy chews, an Altoid or two, and run, run, run… I forgot to tie my shoe after the bike incident, so I had to stop and fix that.
Into the hills of Palatine we ran. Legs jelly after miles of biking, teenage race helpers shouting, “You can do it.” Occasionally passing friendly faces, occasional friendly faces passing me. I passed an old man with a great blond comb-over and some kicking Speedos. He was cruising. I told a guy I was going to “Kill this #$%^&,” shocked at my odd racing chatter. I guess I was nervous? Each race attendant we passed would tell us how much longer till the end—almost taunting.
But, I made it. Sweaty, nowhere near first place- but I finished. Since I am clearly an amateur, I race for my own satisfaction, and to see if I can finish a race. Not to win, and not to break records. There are so many hardcore athletes at these events it can be intimidating. But darn, it feels good to finish.
After a ride home, a quick nap and a nice lunch, I checked my scores.
Top 75 women, 10th in my age group. Possibly my best finish yet. I have 2 months till my next race- the Chicago Triathlon on August 28th.
Right now I need a rest, but I’m hoping that my August, I’ll be ready to take “Lunchable” on for a second round.
It has become apparent to me that I watch all too much children's programming.
Between school and my own son, I've been steeped in children's shows the last two years.
Please don't get all high and mighty with me about children and TV. I know that there are limits, and I much prefer playing and laughing without the TV. However, in the early morning and later evening, when it's wind down time... it's been a nice respite from the mad chase that usually describes my home life with August.
So, here are a few things I've noticed about the inequities in children's programming.
The dogs never have their say.
There are a number of shows in which the dog is the only non-talking creature.
This is BS. In Word World, all the other animals, bugs, and creatures talk. - -If you have not seen it, all of the characters and things are made of words. I have a hard time with this only because if you have a talking duck, frog, sheep and ant as main characters who talk, why can't the dog also speak? It just grunts and whines, and it seems unfair.
Also, in Blue's Clues... an annoying show for parents to suffer through, but boy does the kid like it.... The darn dog doesn't talk. He leaves amazing clues all over the house and throughout the show - - clearly understanding language, but unable to speak. I'm not sure I understand why the nightstand can talk, the salt and pepper and mailbox talk, but not the dog. Even the cat talks for goodness sake.
So why all this discrimination towards dogs?
I have two particularly annoying dogs, but I'm sure they'd talk long before my mailbox would.
It's All About the Jellyfish. Separately, I have an issue with Nick Jr. That's right Nick, I'm upset by your blatant advertising within other children's shows. I know that your "dancey-dance time," doing the "Jumping Jellyfish," with Hector Jimenez, although hysterical on Yo Gabba Gabba - was a clear advertisement for Spongebob Squarepants. Why? Oh, because in a week's time I heard "Jumping jellyfish" mentioned on no less than three times on separate shows - Blue's Clues, The Backyardigans, and Yo Gabba Gabba- - All Nick Jr. shows.
I like their dissonant singing and colorful illustrations, but find it odd that these backyard friends are not just people. Instead, they are colorful make-believe creatures. They are supposed to be your "backyard friends," but their adventures take them under the sea, and on dolphin races- - - in the backyard?
I just wish they were regular kids using their own brains to play make believe games.
I see why some of my students have issues determining real from make-believe.
The only saving grace of children's shows for me is Yo Gabba Gabba.
It makes me laugh. http://yogabbagabba.com/#
August smiles huge as soon as DJ Lance Rock comes on screen, and Brobee is the coolest.
So there, now that I've shared some of the oddities I've noticed, maybe you can add to them?
August and I enjoy a good show, but right now, we're going to the beach. That's what I'm talking about.... If he's going to see a jumping jellyfish, I want it to be a real one.
This week I have had the sincere displeasure of visiting the UPS Store and their trite associate.... Oh, you know who you are. . . .
Complete Embarrassment / or / My Wisconsin Teaching License Application-
Needless to say, an important multi-page document with LOTS of personal info and transcripts, signatures, work histories… etc. . A huge pain to compile, and even bigger pain to ship…
It was a bright and breezy day when August and I took a stroll down to our local UPS store. . . . and there I met the worst customer service associate of my life. This gentleman was friendly at first- a wolf in sheep’s clothing – or should I say, in bald, angry white guy clothing.
I asked his assistance in finding the best shipping options to an address very unfamiliar to me. He asked me for the address. I pause (not even a dramatically long pause--- a very short, thinking pause) and while doing so the clerk told me "I've never seen someone stare at a paper, start pointing, and yet is unable to share simple information about an address. "
WOW!! That's amazing customer service!!
Now, rather than jumping across the desk and karate chopping the bald-wolf-sheep-man, I blushed and said that I was trying to verify the correct address, and realized it was a postal box… stammering now that, “I’d, um, I’ve never before seen “Drawer 791” as a physical address.”
The big bald wolf continued to go on about how he didn’t understand what my issue in finding the address was - - He was very curt with me after that, but did help me complete the order. So, needless to say, I left the store feeling somewhat abused and disappointed.
Like a good former Catholic, I bit my lip and ran home to complain to my husband about the whole thing….
HA HA / or / Our Much Abused Cobra Application… Darnit to Heck.
The next day, when I stepped in to UPS another document, I clearly checked the address, and was all ready for his stuff. Wolfie did not greet me, but rather said, "Do I look like I have a problem to you?" I said, "What?" He said, “I’m sure that you'd be a nice customer, not like the last guy, who said that I had a problem." I said, “Look, I have a real address this time.” (trying to make a joke of his lack of humanism the day before)… He ignored me, blathering on about, “If someone asks you if you’re in a bad mood, wouldn’t that put you in a bad mood?... I mean, I didn’t have a problem till that guy. Who does that.. so rude.”
To me, standing there, staring at him, I’m thinking- Whoa! Someone had the balls to call him on his rudeness. He continued on. “I’m just a simple bald guy here, I don’t know what that guy’s problem was. I only asked him a few questions.”
Despite his outward chatter about how nice he was, and how hurtful the other customer had been, all I could think about was how I felt justified in being hurt yesterday, and maybe the Big Bald Wolf would change his ways.
REALLY? NO! STOP! / Or/ They Lost My Insurance Application and Now My Family is Uninsured. No, Really. Stop.
This afternoon, with all the UPS work behind me, I decided to check on the packages shipped. The teacher documents… CHECK. Thank goodness.
The Really super important Cobra back coverage for tons of medical bills I can’t pay- to help cover my family in our move, my triathlons, and to give me peace of mind?
NOPE!
SO, thinking they’d be helpful, I called our friend the Wolf at the UPS store.
I said, “Hi, I shipped a document the other day, and it wasn’t…….” He cut me of, "Do you have a question for me?" I have never been so disrespected in the first 10 seconds of a phone call. I said, “Yes, I have a question, and you can stop being rude right now – you had a problem with me in the store the other day, and now you’re being rude again.” He stopped (for a second) then began telling me how he would gladly help me. So, again, I started with, "I shipped a package with UPS, and it wasn’t delivered.”Before even knowing the package in question he went on to tell me it was UPS’ fault, not theirs. Amazing that he’s able to tell that I didn’t know Wolves were all knowing.
So, thanks to my friend the Abominable Wolfman, my package never arrived, we are currently in insurance limbo, and I’ll participate in a triathlon on Sunday, not knowing what will happen if I bust my butt. Keep your fingers crossed for Wolfman that all turns out well in this scenario… or I’ll re-think that jumping karate chop maneuver, and he’ll be the one wondering if insurance will cover his injuries.
In the meantime, feel free to use other UPS stores. The Clark Street store has a faulty shipment.
A friend of mine recently prophesied this summer would be a time of great change... how right she was.
Of dear friends, one is moving to San Francisco, one to Austin, and many friends are changing schools and jobs this coming year.
In a time of great change, it's easy to question your decisions and dwell on the hardships ahead. But do not fear... it change leads to great discoveries. If we stayed in one place forever, we'd all know what to expect.
At the same time, as things wind down this summer, it's hard not to get sentimental about Chicago and all its offerings (see yesterday's post).
So, to feel better, I've made a list of a few things I'll be grateful to be without this coming year in Sun Prairie... I'm Grateful to Leave behind:
Fear. On the EL, in the street, fear of dog loss, baby loss, and thievery, etc.
Expenses. Thankfully, WI living expenses are less.
Traffic
Pan-handlers. Darnit... I saw some kids grow up begging- "trying to get back to ...." for years.
Road Construction (seriously Foster Ave, you suck)
Parking Tickets (KEITH!!!)
Parking meters
Bikers on the Lakefront- one accident, and you'll never want to ride again.
City Stickers
Wrigleyville - before, during, and after games.
Taxis.
That's it.
I racked my brain, and that's it.
My list of loves is much longer.
I can't help it.
I'll miss you Chicago.
Friends, I'll miss you more.
But, I can't help but hope for good things to come!
As we move forward in our preparations for moving, it's hard not to reflect on the years we've had here in Chicago. Here are a few of our favorite things.
If you are a recent transplant, or have been in the city for years, check out our list and see how your favorites stack up. (mind you, they are in no particular order)
Keith proposed to me tonight, or rather, he proposed an interesting idea.
"You can only feel bad about that if you stop feeling bad about something else..."
Novel for me.
I stopped and stared. He looked back at me with confusion and said, "What do you feel so guilty about?"
My answer may surprise you.
I feel guilty about EVERYTHING.
This all began when a friend visited our home, and we broke the news- we're moving.
Sad, happy, all that jazz. This particular friend is hurt by our decision, and is clearly blaming me.
When Keith was away from us for a moment, he wasted no time in telling me how difficult it would be for Keith to be at home. Hinting that I could have just as easily found a job in Skokie (not! I tried!). I knew that this was going to be a hard conversation, but felt hurt right back - it wasn't an easy thing for Keith and I to decide to move the family, dogs, and all our stuff far far away. But, it was a family decision, and I stand behind it. So, thankfully, does he (Keith).
So, as soon as he left, I began feeling bad about upsetting our friend.
I can't control it, I know it doesn't make sense.
So Keith told me I was only allowed to feel bad about it if I gave up some other guilt in exchange.
Then he dropped the question, "What are you so guilty about?"
I started sharing things down a mental list, and he was flabbergasted.
I feel bad about:
Worrying about my son
Feeling unprepared for school - even after hours of preparation
Making him move
Relying on my parents more often than I'd like.
Recycling (We do, but aren't militant)
Cleaning (less than I should, but more than I want to)
Purchasing without extreme coupons (I feel bad now every time I save less than 90%)
Leaving our friends
Leaving my students
Not feeling bad about leaving in general.
Not being more religious
Missing people's birthdays and anniversaries
Only visiting his family once every two years or so
And so much more. (this was a very partial list)
I don't know where the guilt comes from, the concern.
But, I'm taking a note from Keith- I'll try not to feel bad about random stuff anymore.
When I asked him what he feels bad about, his answer surprised me too. "Very little."
So, from today on... unless I did something bad, I'm going to try to release some of the overwhelming guilt and concern.
I am a worry wort. Today has been full of it, as have many days recently, and will many days to come.
So why the worry?
A few weeks ago, a co-worker commented that I should "get my son checked out." Or, "get a second opinion," on him. I was crushed. Not that August is overtly odd... but he does ignore people when he's "busy," and does not always respond to his name. These are two reasons to be concerned. I can give you 400,000,000 reasons he's wonderfully perfect.
The issue is, since that idea was put in my mind, I cannot shake it.
Everything he does that is out of the ordinary is reason to worry.
His lack of regular speech, not a product of his age and ability- but a fear-inspiring concern.
I think, in my heart of hearts, that he is ok. More than ok, WONDERFUL and outstanding, brilliant and vivacious. I love every unbelievable thing he does.
I took him to the doctor a few weeks ago to follow up. I shared my co-worker's concerns, and anything else I could think of. The doctor told me that she was not going to recommend him for an evaluation- that he seemed on track to her. But, now that this was weeks ago, and his words are not coming easily or consistently. . . . my mind is reeling.
The thought that many children do not speak until after 2 does not calm me. The lack of control over this situation does not ease my mind. I don't know what to do about this- there may be nothing to do at all.
If he's fine, then all the worry is for nothing... If there is something more going on, then I'd like to know, but am fearful about what this will mean for his future. I teach students with disabilities of all sorts - so I have seen what they go through at school. Some are able to easily participate and ...
Holy hell... The baby is sitting next to me. He just picked up my phone, clearly said, "Hi Dad" into the phone, shut it, and said, "Bye." I'm tearing up. He's amazing. I have never loved another human more, or believed in their innate ability for success.
As I'm sitting here typing this, he just got down off the couch and gave Keith a kiss, smiled, then walked to me and when I asked for a kiss, he gave one, fully committed with a "BWACHH" sound to go with it.
He's fine right? I think, I hope, I pray, that I am just a worry wort.
There must be so many parents going through this same process, and I can relate. I blame myself for not having a c-section, for not talking to him non-stop, for working. Yet through all this, I am angriest at my co-worker I think. She stole from me my perfect son. No matter how perfect he is, she gave me reason to worry.
I am so grateful that August is my son. No matter what, ALWAYS - So, It's Always August in Chicago.
Today is the first day of the rest of my blogging life. It's also a swollen toed, muggy, rain covered Monday morning.
This is a daunting task. A world of internet strangers artfully judging my very first blog. I intend this to be a forum for all thoughts and musings as my family ventures from Urban Chicago to Suburban Wisconsin.
Who am I? I am a 30 year old mother, teacher, and innovator. My words are nowhere near as eloquent as my thoughts. I'm a former bread maker, waitress, actress, student, and "Experience Manager," who is built for change.
I just drank water out of a cup full of hair and coffee grounds- purposeful? No... but this is my life.
Reader, I hope you enjoy, or at least can relate.
