She Can't Drive 55

Lindsey behind the wheel of her dream F150 at the State Fair this summer.

Getting your license sure has changed a lot since I was 16. When I was learning how to drive, my classmates and I were handed the DMV driver's handbook and put in a simulator where we goofed around for an hour a day for one week. I tested for my permit after that, then I did two or three behind-the-wheels with Mr. Berceau, our biology teacher, and eventually took my driving test. I'm sure I did lots of practice hours so I could pass the test, but had the opportunity to do more when I failed my test the first time I took it. Oh well.

Lindsey had to complete 30 hours of classroom training before she could even get her permit. After that, she needs six hours of behind-the-wheel instruction with a certified instructor, then 50 "practice" hours with an adult. Which means, a parent. Which in our house means me, because we all agree that Wayne would not have the patience or composure needed to be the parent with a new driver behind the wheel.

These 50 hours should be a good mix of neighborhood, highway, daytime and nighttime driving. The night time driving is mandated — 15 hours required. There's a handy little app called "Road Ready" that can track all of your practice drives and awards you badges based on the kind of driving you do.

I had forgotten how much driving is habit. Deeply ingrained, instilled habits that experienced drivers forget to teach. Like, when you back out of parking space, you need to begin turning the wheel in the direction you want to go before you take your foot off the brake. If you don't, you end up doing what Lindsey did one Saturday afternoon, which had to be quite amusing to passersby. She parked, backed up, re-parked the car in the same spot, backed out, re-parked, backed out, until I finally realized she wasn't turning the wheel in the opposite direction before taking her foot off the brake.

She has tried to take the car out of park before she's started it. She's almost gotten out of the car before realizing she hasn't yet turned it off. She's mistaken the gas for the brake and vice versa. (But realized it quickly and corrected her mistake.) These are all deeply ingrained habits for people who have been driving for years, and they all have to be remembered by a new driver every single time.

It's so fascinating to see these habits build upon themselves. Things that were difficult to remember are becoming habit. Neighborhoods are now a snap, and now we're moving on to highways, then freeways. She's building her skills and her confidence and is always careful.

Posing with my car with her student driver sticker...and damage done in an unrelated incident.

This brings me to the title of this post.

The first time Lindsey drove down France Ave, the main street in our neighborhood, she felt like she was flying. She checked her speed and discovered she was going 20 — 5 miles under the speed limit. When we hit four-lane roads that are 40 mph, she dutifully pulls into the right lane, knowing that everyone else will be speeding around her in the left-hand lane because she's only doing 35. And she drove on a highway for the first time this week, telling me she felt like she was driving a spaceship, her elbows locked as she gripped the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. A semi-truck passed her on her left and she was like "Whoa!" She may have hit 55 for a minute or two, but most of the time she was being passed by a parade of vehicles.

This experience is making me realize how much trust we all have in others when we are passengers. I have to work hard to keep  my mouth shut and not point out every little hazard that I see when Lindsey is practicing. She sees it, she's slowing and signaling appropriately, she needs to not rely on me to point this stuff out because I won't always be with her. It takes a lot of trust to be quiet and let her learn.

Let's just say she and I are out of our comfort zone, but getting comfortable there.

New High School Adjustments

While many kids are going back to school today, Marissa has already been at Eagle Ridge Academy one week. What an amazing week it's been!

Her first night she came home with a passage she had to read and answer questions about. The passage? "The Apology" by Plato, written about Socrates' trial and sentence, as translated from ancient Greek. It starts like this:

How you have felt, O men of Athens, at hearing the speeches of my accusers, I cannot tell; but I know that their persuasive words almost made me forget who I was - such was the effect of them; and yet they have hardly spoken a word of truth. 

Ummmm....yeah, sure.

For a girl who does not love to read and is often quite literal in her interpretation of writings, this was going to be a challenge. I read it aloud to her over several nights, paraphrasing what each section meant so she could make sense of it and answer the questions. If a person is unaccustomed to reading this kind of writing, it is incredibly difficult to understand. But with practice, it gets easier. By the end of the week she was starting "The Iliad" by Homer and was having no problem reading and comprehending the stanzas on her own. Wow, okay...

Some observations about her school that she appreciates:

1. She is loving wearing uniforms. So far she can't tell who the "popular" kids are in her class because everyone is dressed the same, there are no brands to distinguish between the "haves" and the "have nots."

2. The class sizes!! Her largest class is Humanities with 16 students, her smallest is Spanish with six. She is one of very few freshman in her Spanish II class and has a native Spanish speaker as a teacher, which she is super excited about.

3. School lunch is delicious! She brought a lunch the first day but after that has been eating the lunch at the school. It is freshly made there at the school, not shipped in and warmed like her lunches at Lake Harriet, and there is always a salad bar option.

4. They pipe in classical music to the lunchroom during lunch time. It is a classical education school, after all! There is plenty of room, there are even a few empty tables in the area, and she eats with the entire 9th through 12th grade students. Lunch is at a reasonable hour, because they don't need to stagger lunches due to class size. (Her lunch at her middle school started at 1:40.)

In a small group in her Humanities class they were discussing Achilles, which Marissa pronounced "Ah-CHILL-ease" having never encountered the name before. A boy in her group teased her about not being able to pronounce it. Shortly after he said, "myu-SAY" for muse, and she teased him back. The rest of the class they gave each other a hard time and intentionally mispronounced things to see who could say it the silliest.

She has already made many friends, both girls and boys, and has mixed grades in many of her classes — many are helping her get accustomed to the new things she's studying. Most everyone in school is engaged and ready to learn. She often gets frustrated and annoyed at students who talk or whisper while the teacher is talking, especially because with her ADHD she has a really hard time tuning out distractions. That is less of a problem at Eagle Ridge than at her last school.

I'm so excited for her to be at this school and for the opportunities she will have there.

Our Mathlete: An Update

Thanks so much to everyone who expressed their concern, well-wishes, advice and commiseration after I wrote about Marissa's struggles with math.

I can give you a couple of updates.

I learned a whole lot about the resources available at our school, or the lack thereof. While we could never afford private schools, I was encouraged to try to open enroll her to Edina or St. Louis Park school districts, both of which seem to have no issue finding resources to give a little extra help to students who need it. Still on the table, but not thrilled with a school change for her, away from friends, and the extra complexity that having kids in two different school systems would bring to our family.

We learned that Marissa is not a terribly attentive student. Her math teacher this year has let us know that her number one goal for Marissa is to pay attention in class. When we talked to Marissa about focusing and listening to the teacher, she said that her friends would get upset with her for not talking with them. We told her that she should tell her friends that her parents will be even MORE upset if she doesn't pay attention, and that they should probably be listening, too. I can only imagine the amount of chatter that happens in the classroom.

Because of this, we know that changing teachers mid-year this year probably won't help. It's not the teacher, it's her lack of focus. We considered whether or not she had ADD. After reviewing the questionnaire for the disorder and talking to her teachers, we decided not to put her through the testing because the chances are so slim that this was the case. Bottom line, she's a social, lovable, happy little girl who would rather spend time with her friends than listen in class.

Mathnasium rocks and is an incredible resource. Marissa loves to go there, loves to work with the various tutors and enjoys the little rewards they get along the way. They started her with 1st grade math, which she has nearly completed after 2 months. She'll be starting on the 2nd grade math curriculum probably mid-winter, and if she continues with Mathnasium through the summer, she'll be ready to start the 3rd grade curriculum next fall...just as she enters 4th grade.

We are incredibly frustrated that she has fallen this far behind and it was on no one's radar but our own.

But she is plugging along. We have noticed considerable improvement in her math skills, and less resistance to doing homework in general, though she still has her moments. She likes to show off her math skills now by writing word problems in her math notebook, which you will find in her hands nearly every evening, making up problems like...

If Daddy had 3,546 jelly beans and he gave 1,252 to Marissa and none to Mommy or Lindsey, how many jelly beans would he have left?

The answer: 2,294, until Mommy stole and bunch and then he had none. (She knows me pretty well.)

"My Child's Greed is Killing Santa" -- An Update

Just in case you thought that my eldest was still in her room, sulking...

She is not.

But we did have a good conversation about the value of money. Someone who read my original post suggested that perhaps Lindsey could save up her own money to buy these Uggs that she wants so badly. Actually, she wouldn't have to save, she's already got more than $200 saved up from the last few birthdays and Christmases. If she wanted Uggs, she could go out and buy them right now.

But she won't, of course, because it would use all her money for a single pair of boots she would grow out of in just a year.

My point exactly.

I think she was actually more upset at learning in a roundabout way that Santa is not actually sending her presents, that parents spend the money for the gifts from Santa and that we are not bottomless pits.

She revised her gift list down and said that Uggs are off the list. Whew.

A day later our family was watching the news and a report came on about consumer spending for the holidays. The report said that the average American family was planning on spending around $750 for gifts. Wayne and I both looked over at our formerly greedy girl and said, "That's $750 for the entire family, not one child."

She hid her head in the blanket in embarrassment.

I think she got it.

"Math Doesn't Like Me"

Our youngest daughter has always been the easy-going one. She is quick to smile, even faster to hug, and meets "best friends" every day.

With a late July birthday, we considered waiting until she was age 6 to begin school. But she was 90th percentile in height and weight and scored so high on her pre-K screening that her tester asked us, "Is she bored in pre-school?"

Yet now, after completing 2nd grade and beginning 3rd, she is falling behind in math. And her lack of maturity in dealing with school work is making the matter difficult.

We noticed at the end of 2nd grade that math was getting harder for her. Homework assignments that should have only taken 10 minutes would drag into 30 minutes, then 40 minutes. There was much gnashing of teeth and rolling of eyes. Many times we sent the homework back to school with her half finished, with a request for the teacher to walk through it with her, because she clearly didn't want to work with her parents on it. It was emotionally exhausting when she brought home homework.

We decided that a little extra tutoring over the summer would help, and her 2nd grade teacher agreed. So she tutored for an hour a week with her teacher and did homework a couple of times a week to make sure she didn't have a "summer slide" in her math skills. By the end of the summer her 2nd grade teacher pronounced her ready for 3rd grade math.

But she wasn't.

In an assessment test this fall she got 1 out of 10 answers right. A week later, only 3 out of 30. Concepts that had been taught one-on-one over the summer had apparently been completely forgotten, like they were a foreign language.

We took her to Mathnasium, a learning center that specializes in math. In the initial assessment test they gave her she got a 60% on 1st grade math. We decided to have her tutor at Mathnasium twice a week.

We talked to the social worker at her school, her 2nd grade and 3rd grade teacher, and eventually called a meeting with both the teachers, the social worker and the principal.

Our concern: How is it that Marissa is so far behind in math and yet was given a "meets grade expectations" at the end of 2nd grade? But more importantly, how do we help her to catch up, so she doesn't struggle with math her entire school career?

While we love her 2nd grade teacher and so far are finding her 3rd grade teacher to be a very reasonable and caring person, the school's response was nothing less than frustrating.

Marissa is already in the most basic math group. When they have their math lesson she goes to another teacher's classroom to learn, and she seems to be getting those concepts well.

They have no math specialist at the school.

They have no additional tutoring available.

She's not so far behind that she qualifies for special education.

Basically, there's nothing more they can do.

The school has been trying to pull together something called Alternative Learning Center or ALC, which is additional tutoring for kids who qualify that would take place right after school. Marissa would qualify for this program, but they are asking teachers to volunteer their time to make this happen, and so far only one teacher in the school has volunteered for the program.

My initial thought: Why of COURSE you only have one teacher willing to volunteer! You are asking paid professionals to do FOR FREE something that they do all day long, when they already are being asked to do so much more every single day! That's time that the teachers end up having to use for record keeping, grading, organizing, and doing the job they are paid for. I wouldn't volunteer for that either.

Eventually we received an e-communication from the school that the ALC program has been canceled due to a lack of volunteers. Shocking.

But they encouraged us to keep spending our own money on the private tutoring she's receiving, they think that's great.

They reassured us that some times some kids just don't "get" math, it's okay. Yet her test scores indicate that once upon a time, she DID "get" math. She scored higher on her tests at the beginning of 2nd grade than she did at the beginning of 3rd.

Again, we love her teachers, they are doing everything they can. But the lack of resources at our Minneapolis Public School for Marissa is incredibly frustrating and problematic.

Yes, we are VERY fortunate that our family has the resources to pay for private tutoring for her. We don't have to worry about where we'll stay from one night to the next, or where our next meal will come from, unlike some families in the Minneapolis Public School system. I cannot imagine being a family who faces those challenges and having these discussions with the school on educating our children. No wonder the education gap in Minneapolis is widening. Resources to help children who just don't learn like the majority, or who need just a little extra help, should be available to all families who need it, regardless or whether you can or can't pay for it.

As for our sweet girl, we're going to assess how she's doing at the end of the first semester and possibly ask for a change in teacher. She doesn't seem comfortable having a male teacher and won't ask him questions, something she's never had issues with in prior years. I think she used to bother her 1st grade teacher ad nauseum with questions. Her current teacher noticed that Marissa won't ask him questions and said he  wouldn't take it personally if we asked for a change. We will continue Mathnasium, and will keep encouraging her and giving her positive feedback for the "wins" she's getting in school in reading, writing and other work.

And as much as we hate to do it, we're going to keep our school options open. I am a big believer in public schools, but if we cannot get the resources needed to educate our daughter, we have no choice but to seek them elsewhere. There is nothing more important that we can do for her.

Lindsey's Project

Lindsey has a book report due every month. Not just any old book report. It's more of a book project.

Each month she comes home with an instruction sheet on how this month's book report will be presented. Last month she "canned a character," by wrapping a tin can with her character study, then making a representation of the character and putting it in the can.

The projects are unique, fun and get the kids engaged in new ways of talking about books. I am amazed by her teacher who comes up with these projects, I don't think I could be that creative.

This month she had to make a pizza box to talk about a biography. She had to cover the outside of the box with photos of the person she read about, create an 8-piece pizza out of cardboard, then pick 8 facts about that person's life to put on each slice of pizza. On the front of each piece she wrote the fact, on the back she drew a picture illustrating that fact.

Lindsey's first order of business, which took up the first two weeks of the month, was figuring out who to write about. Abraham Lincoln? George Washington? No, others are sure to do them. Helen Keller? She will probably also be picked, since they recently discussed her in class.

"Mom, who can I write about that no one else will do?" she asked. "Do you have a library at work?"

Ironically, I do! Gillette has a great little library of books and resources available to families of children who have disabilities. I was sure we had some biographies in there that would work.

Sure enough, I learned about Jean Driscoll.

The minute Lindsey saw the book and read the outline, she loved it. She immediately read the entire book cover-to-cover, and spent the next day reading the other book option I'd brought home, too.

We went to Papa John's to pick up some pizza boxes that didn't have grease on them, and I spent the next two nights cajoling Lindsey to stop working on her project to go to bed.

"Just one more piece, Mom!" she said, as she began writing a new fact or drawing a new picture.

I think she did a pretty good job of telling Jean Driscoll's life story in 8 facts:

1. Jean Driscoll is born in 1966 with spina bifida.
2. At age 9 she taught herself to ride a bike.
3. At age 13 she has a crash on her bike and fell to the ground.
4. After her fall Jean needs an operation and has to wear a bodycast for 11 months.
5. When Jean gets out of her cast, the operation has failed. Jean will need a wheelchair.
6. When Jean goes back to school she starts playing wheelchair sports.
7. Then Jean qualifies for the Boston marathon.
8. Jean wins the Boston marathon 8 times, and sets 5 different world records.

This was so perfect for her, the girl who loves to run, whose heart is as big as a house. Last year her biography was on Cathy Freeman, another story of triumph over challenges which, featuring running as the sport of choice.

I love that we are so influential in our children's life, and that we can show them a world that's more accepting and has more opportunities than the one we grew up in. We can take something as simple as a book project and turn it into a bigger lesson than reading comprehension or following directions.  I love that she wishes so much to do something unique, that no one else was going to do.

That's my girl.

My Daughter the Word Nerd

 

Scene 1

Our home, dinner time. Lindsey is helping me make enchiladas for dinner. A Rob Thomas song comes on over the radio.

Lindsey: This song drives me crazy!

Me: Why?

Lindsey: Because! He says that he will share a secret that no one knows. Well, if no one knows it, then HE doesn't even know it, so how can he share it? It's a secret that no one ELSE knows.

Me: That's pretty smart. I hadn't thought of that.

Scene 2

Our home, the next morning. Family is gathered in the kitchen, this time backpacks are in the midst of being packed and hats, gloves and coats are being donned.

Me: I'm so excited, I get to wear my winter hat that my friend knitted for me today.

Lindsey: Your friend knitted it today?

Me: Well no, but I get to wear it today. She knitted it for me some time ago.

Lindsey: Well then, you should say you get to wear it today, not that she knitted it for you today.

Me: Okay, word nerd, let's get going.

Lindsey: [Giggles]

 

End Scene.

School Year Rumination

My what changes a year can bring!

It was such a joy to watch Marissa come into her own this year. As a kindergartner last year her friends were Lindsey's friends, and she didn't have many friends her own age. But now that they've spent a year in different buildings, Marissa has lots of friends whose names we hear frequently, and who we are asked often for play dates and sleepovers. She is such a joyful little girl, quick to smile and to hug.

It's hard to believe she struggled so hard to read at the beginning of the year. She and I found some books in her room from nine short months ago and she tossed them aside with her baby books, stating that they were "too easy." And they are.

If asked she'll tell you her favorite subject is math. She has an unusual way of forming some of her letters and numbers, and I don't see a reason to correct her since they are perfectly legible. I like that she has found her own unique method of making the number "6."

She goes all the way across the monkey bars now, over and over apparently, as evidenced by the rows of calluses on her palms. She arrives home with knees and ankles black with sand and dirt, and her shoes contain the Sahara Desert. I take all those as signs of a fun day at school.

I have heard that in 3rd grade children transition from learning to read to reading to learn, and that couldn't be more true of Lindsey. She's always been a strong reader, so from the very beginning of the year she dove into learning. I love her curiosity and her fascination with the world. She'll tell you her favorite subjects are reading and writing first, followed by science, followed by math. She is amazed by science and the natural world, and would come home throughout the year and tell me excitedly about what they had discovered that day.

Lindsey's friendships are important to her -- an argument with a friend will shadow her entire day and be the first thing she tells me about when I pick her up. She's entering that age when girls tend to take sides with each other and switch best friends on an hourly basis. My only advice to her is to stay true to herself and just be the good friend that she naturally is -- friends who enjoy her company will remain by her side.

And oh dear, the boys. She has determined that a certain boy in her class must like her because he throws paper at her when the teacher's not looking, or if she goes to sharpen her pencil she'll find him watching her. He calls her a silly nickname that they all laugh at, and surely that must mean he likes her.

I guess she likes boys.

This post isn't really here to tell a story, but to capture a snapshot of the school year that was, and to let my girls know how very proud I am of them.

I'm a lucky mom.

We are Hard-Wired

We are all products of our environment. Or are we?

My sister and I often talk about how different we are, yet we grew up in the same family. "Isn't it strange?" we both laugh, we can't believe sometimes that we came from the same set of parents. Clearly, some of those differences are hard-wired into us.

I am finding the same in my two girls, and it is fascinating.

Great example:

One of the expectations of Lindsey and all her other 3rd grade classmates is that they will read independently for 20 minutes every night. Each evening Lindsey records what she read, how many pages, and one of us has to sign it.

This is not a hard task for Lindsey -- she LOVES to read. Her reading list of books she wants to tackle next is longer than mine. She's got the Laura Ingalls Wilder set, the C.S. Lewis "Chronicles of Narnia" set, and now she has discovered Roald Dahl, author of "James and the Giant Peach," and is currently picking up every Roald Dahl book she can get her hands on.

The first night this instruction and the corresponding chart came home Lindsey couldn't wait to start filling it out. Lindsey wanted to use a timer to track her minutes so she could accurately record how much she reads.

"Mom," she calls, "Set the timer for 25 minutes."

"25 minutes? But you only have to read for 20."

"I know, but I want to do more than that. Set it for 25."

What is it in her that makes her, at age 8, want to exceed her teacher's expectations? We didn't tell her she had to do more, she set that goal for herself. Is it because she loves reading so much? Is it because she wants to please her teacher? Or is she an over-achiever, who always wants to go above the standards?

We'll have to watch for other clues in her behavior as to what's motivating her. In the meantime, I am fascinated by learning how my kids are hard-wired.

Comfort Zone? What Comfort Zone?

Image from http://www.gosmellthecoffee.com/

The CEO of my former employer LOVED pushing people out of their comfort zones. He was always asking more of those around him, be it staff, vendors, even (or should I say "especially") clients. He encourages people to stretch themselves, to try new things, and then they'd get hooked on that feeling they'd get when they succeeded at something completely out of their box. It's one of the reasons why people love him -- he somehow convinces people that change is good, and that they have talents that can be used in more ways than currently being used.

I have determined that even though I am nearly two years into my new gig at Gillette Children's, I am still outside of my comfort zone.

It happened when someone on my staff asked me a question related to the work I used to do. The conversation went from, "Are there lists available with this kind of information?" to a discussion about statistical modeling, the effectiveness of behavioral selects over demographic selects, and so on and so forth into all kinds of industry jargon.

I couldn't believe how quickly and easily I spewed information that's in my head from the work that I used to do but hadn't for nearly 2 years. It was easy. It was instinctive.

It was comfortable.

That's when I realized it -- what I do nearly every day here at Gillette is out of my comfort zone.

What are good incentives for our employee giving campaign? What worked in the past? Let's see what we can come up with.

How do we measure the success of a stewardship event for major gift prospects?  I don't know off the top of my head. Let's find out.

Which is the best month to host a fundraising event? Let me do some research on that and get back to you.

And guess what? I'm loving it.

I am learning new things every day, and expanding my experience to include new "key skills" that weren't on my résumé previously. I am glad to be in a place where I can dabble in all kinds of projects I didn't have direct experience in but have the skills to take on.

Guess what's happening to my comfort zone? It's getting larger. And that's a good thing.

Graphic from JewelDiamondTaylor: http://www.donotgiveup.net/

The Less Than Ideal Workplace

Imagine that you have a job in which you work with a team of other people. Because you all work on the same project, you work in close quarters, in cubes surrounded by your team mates.

Unfortunately your building is not air-conditioned. So in the hot weather your employer brings fans out and blows the air around for circulation; despite the fact that you are hot and sweaty, you are expected to perform and get your job done.

In cold weather the old radiators tick and rattle away, and because you're on the first floor, you get to roast so that the heat can make its way up to those working on the third floor, since the radiators up there are frequently under repair and having air leached from them to improve the heat flow. Those poor employees get to sit in thick sweaters and boots in their cubes. Again, do your best work, everyone!

When you're hungry, you may get to eat your lunch. But because the lunch room only accommodates a fraction of the workers at a time, you may have to wait until much, much after your stomach started rumbling, because other workers are in there eating in shifts. At least you've got a granola bar to get you through. Or, you could be one of the lucky workers who gets to eat just two hours after breakfast, but because those employees aren't actually hungry when they get their lunch break, they don't really feel like eating and end up snacking later on in the afternoon.

When you do finally get to have lunch, you have 20 minutes to retrieve your lunch, gobble it down and possibly go outside for a quick breath of fresh air. But then it's back to your cube again, doing your best to concentrate on your work.

Your boss decides that he needs more employees to get all of this work done, so he reconfigures the cubes to be a little smaller and puts a few more cubes on your floor. It's snug, but not too bad. Because there are more workers to accommodate for lunch, your lunch break gets pushed back even later because he had to add another lunch shift to accommodate everyone, since the lunchroom holds an even smaller percentage of all of the employees.

A year later yet another new group of employees come in, and once again the cubes are made smaller to accommodate this. If you push your chair back too far you'll hit the chair of the person sitting behind you, and you yourself are frequently jostled by others trying to move around in order to get their jobs done. All the floors are being used in this way -- there is no talk of perhaps taking over another floor in the building, or finding a building more suitable for all of the employees.

How likely would you be to stay at this job?

Sounds like a Dilbert cartoon strip, doesn't it?

It's actually a school.

It's my children's school, one of many Twin Cities metropolitan schools that are facing higher enrollment. While schools get operating money on a per pupil basis, they do not get capital money on a per pupil basis. The message that the state sends the schools are: you got your money to teach these children, go do it with the facilities you've got.

And if you don't fit into the space, go to those taxpayers and ask them to help you build a new space. Good luck with that, because property taxes have steadily increased year after year in this state, even though incomes haven't gone hand-in-hand with that. And while everyone says they support education, from the politicians to the general public, when it comes down to voting to increase our own taxes to make that happen, many of us aren't so keen on that. (Oh, you mean you want ME to support schools? I thought you meant those people over there.)

I attended a meeting at Lake Harriet Community School in Minneapolis last night in which we are at critical enrollment levels. We're not the only one: schools all around us are crammed full, re-purposing music rooms and teacher lounges into core classrooms to accommodate the students. And while no one likes increasing class sizes, the bald fact is that there is physically no more room to cram more bodies into these classes. At what point do we stop thinking of our children as head counts and start realizing that they are people?

While I have an extremely vested interest in my children's school, I know that parents all across the metro area have the same vested interest in their own children's schools who are all facing the same issue. We are all approaching the same source for that funding: the state of Minnesota.

We need to take a fresh look at how we pay for education in Minnesota.

Lake Harriet's Got Talent

This past week I attended the Minneapolis KIDS talent show at my girls' school. Lindsey had signed up to dance to Katy Perry's "Hot N' Cold" with friends of hers, and was incredibly excited the day of the talent show. She and her friends had been practicing for weeks. She'd had her outfit picked out for days, and this morning insisted on pigtails to complete her look.

I was surprised to see Lindsey out front for her performance. In prior years and similar opportunities, she has been a background dancer or singer, happy to have someone whose moves she could follow. I was pleased to see her take a leadership role, even if it is just a dance and not in the classroom.

While I was thrilled to be there and love sharing the video of her performance with you, what I didn't capture was the incredible spirit of all of the performers together.

There was the double-jointed girl who made her fingers bend at the first joint.

The boy who walked backwards quickly back and forth across the stage. (Yep, he can walk backwards faster than anybody I know.)

The "swinging my belt" act, in which a girl swung a belt around in a circle and hopped up and down on one leg, in time to music.

The kindergartener who did ballet, repeating first and second position over and over, as those were the only two positions she could remember. (if you don't know, 1st and 2nd positions are about the least exciting but most basic required steps of ballet).

The two best friends who danced together, even though neither of their moves coordinated with the other girl on the stage.

After every act, the performers smiled, bowed, and ran off to stage to enthusiastic applause.

I was amazed at how supportive the kids were of each other, and the parents of not only their own kids, but of the other children there. I loved the creativity, that something so seemingly simple as "swinging a belt" was presented with such flair. The simplest of talents, like walking backwards, was embraced as something to celebrate.

You could tell that some kids worked hard on their performances, developing skills in teamwork and cooperation with the hardest of those to work with, their closest friends.

It was the best hour of my day. Possibly my week.

Teaching Friendship

This past weekend Lindsey had a birthday slumber party. After last year's birthday shenanigans, we decided to tone things down a bit, keep it to just a few close friends and have a slumber party, instead of a party with lots and LOTS of friends.

I insisted that she keep it to three guests for a total of four girls. That way if they ended up pairing off in activities or games, there would be an even number. And there was no way I was dealing with six girls, four was quite enough, thank you.

She had a hard time deciding which three of her friends would be her guests.

After weeks of debating and discussing, she made the decision and excluded a very close friend of hers whom she sees five days a week at her before and after school program, as well as in the classroom. Her reasoning was that she sees this friend all the time, and the party was an opportunity to spend time with other friends who either aren't in her class or don't go to Minneapolis KIDS (the before/after school program).

I asked Lindsey a day after this decision was made if that was who she wanted at her party, and to make sure she did not want this one very close friend. Yep, she was sure. So I emailed the moms of the invitees to make sure that weekend was set aside, and a week later Lindsey brought invitations in for her three friends.

Her dear friend who hadn't been invited was crushed. Right after handing out invitations after arriving at school Lindsey came up to me and whispered, "Can I change who I ask?" No you can't, your other friends have already been asked. "Can I invite one more?" she whispers. No you can't, that is the rule.

She felt really bad for her friend who had been excluded. And then she came upon a different solution.

"Can I have a sleepover just with her one time to celebrate my birthday?" Yes, absolutely, we can have a sleepover with just this one friend, some other weekend.

That seemed to satisfy her.

During the past week Lindsey tried not to talk about her sleepover in front of her one friend, knowing that it made her feel bad, and kept reassuring her that some other weekend they would have a sleepover to celebrate. I'm glad she was thinking of her friend and caring for her feelings.

Overall the sleepover was a big hit. Everyone had a great time and no one seemed to get excluded from activities. But it was also an interesting lesson in friendship for Lindsey.

Da Dove Veniamo? (Where Are We From?)

Lindsey's recent 2nd grade project was a cultural heritage project. She brought home a cut-out figure with instructions to research her cultural heritage, create national flags for the countries she's from and dress the figure in traditional dress from those countries.

This brought me to the following question: Do I tell the truth?

See, while growing up we were told that we were of Italian heritage. My mom made spaghetti sauce from scratch; no jars at our house. My dad taught us from a young age how to swirl spaghetti on a fork and that it was considered bad manners to cut noodles to eat them. For Christmas Eve dinner we had lasagna for dinner, partly because December 24th is my dad's birthday and he always picked lasagna as his birthday meal, but also because he told us it was their family tradition growing up, being Italian and all.

When people asked my heritage and I replied "Italian," it was often met with nods and smiles. "You look it with your dark hair," people would say. Never mind the fair skin, that must be my mother's Croatian side.

Then, about 7 or 8 years ago, my sister became interested in our family heritage and a great devastating truth was discovered: we are not Italian. It turns out that many generations ago there was a "philanderer" in our ancestral past. This particular predecessor married and then abandoned two families before finally settling down with his third wife, each time changing his last name to cover his tracks. The final iteration of his name is my last name, Floria. The version before that was Florey, and the original last name was Fleury. Yes, that would be French.

Upon uncovering this truth, my dad remembered that his mother always insisted that they had been French. But no one really believed her, thinking that she said this because at the time it was not popular to be of Italian descent.

This revelation truly startled me. I mulled on it for several weeks, in disbelief that so much of my cultural upbringing had been rooted in the wrong soil.

I don't even LIKE French cuisine.

Our friends from New York, who are proud Irish-Americans, found this tale completely hilarious. Love their support, thanks guys.

Now I was left with this question: Mommy, where are we from? Do I perpetuate the lie, or do I tell the truth?

And so she and I did our research. We looked up the customs and clothing of Croatia, land of my grandfather who immigrated here as a boy. And we researched England, where my husband's ancestors on both sides hail from...we think.

And then we researched France, the land of my father's family.






Someday I will tell her the story, and she can embrace whichever heritage she so chooses. Considering her love of pasta, I have a feeling I know where her heart lies.

What Have Phineas and Ferb Taught Us?

Both my girls love Phineas and Ferb -- it's like teaching kids how to be likable geeks. Which, since they are my offspring, they have a natural propensity toward becoming, anyway.

So what have we learned?

We learned that the plastic sheath at the end of a shoelace is called an aglet.

We know that the Eiffel Tower is in France and that Big Ben is a famous tower in London.

We've learned that platypuses are aquatic animals who lay eggs when they're not on a mission.

And, as Lindsey announced loudly, "We learned that it is a really, really, really bad idea to time travel into the future. Bad things happen."

Yep, that's a good one too.

Can I read to you?

I enjoy this sight because I know how short-lived it will be.

Lindsey's reading skills blossomed over this past summer. She went from slowly reading 1st grade books to zipping through 3rd grade books. She's hit the Judy Blume and Beverly Cleary reading genre, and I'm thrilled to be able to share with her the same authors that I loved when I was her age.

And unlike my childhood experience, she has a little sister - one who is not yet reading.

So this is often the sight in our house - two girls curled up in a chair or on a bed, with Lindsey reading to Marissa. Marissa is enamored and listens well when Lindsey reads to her.

Who knows, by the end of kindergarten Marissa may be starting to read and then she won't be so willing to listen. She'll want to pick up books herself to read. But in the meantime, her big sister is her best bedtime story teller. It's nice to be able to split the bedtime story hour three ways now,with three readers in the house.

I'm loving every minute.

Wordless Wednesday: A Reader is Born



Reading at Uptown Cafeteria while waiting for the check.



Reading to Marissa who was in the tub.



Reading near Lake Calhoun.

A Diorama Dilemma: "Back in the Day..."

A few weeks back I posted about Lindsey's diorama project for Earth Day. She was very proud of her project and had a great time presenting it to her class. It is now in her room on top of her bookcase, a bit worn for the wear but in one piece.

I remember having to make a diorama once in my entire grade school education, and that was in 6th grade. It was a nightmare.

My family had just moved to a new city and I started at the new school. This was a small town, and all the kids knew each other if not from kindergarten then from pre-school or daycare.

While small towns sound quaint, safe and friendly, I'll have you know that it takes years -- YEARS -- for someone who moves to one to no longer be "new in town." But that's for another day.

My teacher had sent home the project assignment, which was to make a scene from a favorite book, and I got started on it right away. Or should I say, my mom and I got started right away. I came up with the idea, she came up with how to create it in diorama land.

Perhaps my choice of books is what set me off from the rest of the kids: it was some sort of sci fi about people who had to live in a ecosystem bubble because they had poisoned the planet and couldn't live outside of the bubble any more. At least they thought the outside world was poisonous, but they didn't know that the earth had re-generated itself and that it was beautiful outside of the bubble; they were afraid to venture out until some kids showed them the way.

What...you think this is what the problem was?

My idea was to create a landscape with green grass and trees, and a large bubble in the middle of it with people walking out of the bubble. So we used green construction paper for the grass, made trees that we glued upright, and made a bubble from wax paper that we had to carefully craft into a sphere. I cut out human shapes and we glued them onto the grass.

The day the project was due I proudly carried it to school and before the school day started I set it in the back of the room along the window where we had been instructed to put them.

No one else's diorama was there. Not one.

No one had done one -- not one single other classmate.

So the teacher extended the deadline by two days.

A couple more trickled in.

She extended it by a week.

A couple more trickled in.

At the end of two weeks she called the final FINAL deadline and finally the majority of kids turned in their projects, though a few never did, a concept I could never grasp. What? Not do homework? But...what??

By the time the rest of the projects showed up, mine had been sitting in the back for over two weeks, being poked and prodded by my classmates. Someone had stabbed the sphere with a pencil multiple times, making the stuffing inside of it trickle out. It resembled a deflated, dented soccer ball. The heads had been ripped off of the people, the trees were smashed down, and it ultimately didn't resemble the finished project that had been turned in what seemed like an eternity ago.

Finally our teacher got around to grading all of the projects. I remember seeing her face as she went down the line and looked at them all, smiling at the new, freshly made projects that hadn't been abused. I will never forget the pursed lips and look of distaste on her face when she got to mine. She didn't even look puzzled, she looked faintly disgusted.

It was one of the worst grades on any homework I had gotten in my life.

The day finally came when we could take our projects home. I swept mine up and carried it home, letting it beat against my leg the entire way. When I got home I threw it into the big trash barrel in our garage -- it never even made its way into the house.

I never told the teacher that mine had been destroyed by my classmates before she'd ever looked at it. I was so defeated I didn't think it would serve a purpose.

Thankfully Lindsey's first experience was a good one. But when I saw her diorama come home a little dented and a little worn, it brought me right back to my first project. I am so glad she had such a different experience.

Lemonade Day

On Sunday Marissa took part in Lemonade Day with her friend Sophia. Lemonade Day is put on by Liemandt Foundation to teach young kids business skills. Marissa and Sophia are perhaps a bit too young for the actual lessons of Lemonade Day, but they aren't too young to take part in it and have fun.

Sophia's parents provided all of the supplies (thank you, Bob & Paula), Marissa and I just had to show up and have fun. Okay, we can do that.

The girls set up their lemonade stand on the walking path at Lake Calhoun. Within an hour they had sold every drop of the one big pitcher of lemonade that we had brought, and were ready to call it quits anyway as we had reached the end of a 4-year-old's attention span. It was a beautiful sunny day with a brisk wind, which meant we had to tape down every piece of equipment on the table.

At the end of the hour they had made $14 collectively, so they split it two ways. Both girls are supposed to donate a part of the proceeds to a charity of their choice, so I'll probably bring a few bucks in to work at Gillette, just to make good on that promise. It was lots of fun, they are already planning a lemonade stand at our house the weekend of the art festival.

Life's Lessons...Kind Of

Some time ago Lindsey and I were driving somewhere when we went past a cemetery. She usually has a question when we go by this cemetery near our house. This particular day the question was, "Why are some stones up and some down?"

The short answer is money and people's personal choices -- I can't remember exactly what I said.

She wanted to know if Daddy and I would be buried in a cemetery, when would we die, would we want a headstone that's on the ground or up, and if I had a wand what kind of power would I want that wand to have.

Truly -- those were her questions, in that order.

I told her that Daddy and I would like to be cremated, that we felt it wasn't right to take up all that space in the earth for our bodies when our spirits weren't there anymore, so we probably wouldn't have a headstone, and I would want a wand that could shoot lightning.

Flash forward several weeks.

Lindsey had many projects the last couple of weeks about Earth Day. She had to write an in-class essay about Earth Day, which looks like this:

I'm sure you can't read it, so I'll write what she wrote here:

The Earth

The Earth has to be clean as well as us. The tub and Earth and us too! If the Earth isn't clean we will die. If we die we will have to be buried. If we are buried it doesn't help Earth. You should be fired instead.

And by fired, of course, she means cremated.

I'm not sure what her teacher thought of this, but she put this little tiny sticker on the top that said "wow."

I think I've got some splainin' to do.