Soapbox #2

The other crisis our country is facing, is that of education. If you don't have children in the public school system, you might not realize just how bad it has gotten. But I have two, and I can assure you, that the educational needs of our children are not being met. Not by a longshot.

There are a plethora of problems, but the most prevalent problem right now, is reliance on standardized testing as a barometer of success for the public school system. The Georgia benchmark test is called CRCT, but every state has one. And every kid, from kindergarten to high school, dreads taking it.

Standardized testing has made the classroom more like boot camp and teachers have become drill sergeants. They are not teaching our kids to learn, they are teaching our kids to take tests, and there's not much they can do about it. The good teachers still try to make learning for learning's sake fun and exciting, but they are fighting a losing battle.

I actually think that the premise behind these tests is a sound one; making sure kids have the skills they need to advance to the next level of education. As a trouble shooting tool, I think it's fairly effective. But as the be all and end all of educational standards, it can't even begin to address all the variables that occur when one static unit of analysis is applied to a group of individuals.

That's what has been overlooked here.

Our children are being treated and educated as a collective.

But children are individuals; as widely varied as flakes of snow, or seashells on the beach. And like children, intelligence is a highly individual thing. It is not easily defined or quantified and it cannot be measured by the ability to fill in bubbles on a piece of test paper.

Also, these tests fail to take into account the value and importance of creativity, imagination and visionary thinking. In the American public school system, children who are unconventional learners, out of the box thinkers, and/or creatively inclined, are either ignored, or forced to fit into an ideal by which they can be labeled for later acclimation into a world of worker bees; unthinking, unquestioning drones who take direction well.

Other nations are making sure their children are schooled not only in reading, writing and 'rithmatic, but also receiving a comprehensive education in art, music, and language. Why? Because studies have shown that students who receive instruction in those subjects are stronger students as a whole. They receive higher test scores in all areas because these disciplines encourage free thought, inspire imagination, and celebrate the individuality that each person brings to the creative process.

They are being taught to think, not just learn.

But our kids? Nah. As long as they can fill in a bubble, we call it an education.

This has got to change.

I know you've heard it before, but my boys are both extremely intelligent; albeit in different ways. However, they share a distinct handicap when it comes to math. Neither cares for math, neither excels at math. They are competent when they apply themselves. When they don't, they lag behind. This doesn't seem to matter one bit to either one of them...they simply can't see the importance of math, when neither of them plans to be an actuary or an accountant.

I can't say I disagree. I struggled with math my whole life, and even had to repeat basic algebra in high school. I haven't used algebra once since then. When I've needed to perform more complicated feats of computation, I simply pulled out my handy dandy calculator. These days, people with math handicaps can rely on technology to make up for that deficit. Why...the iPhone even has a tip calculation app you can download. Even I can calculate 20% of a bill to within a few pennies, but now? I don't have to.

But I digress....

This year, in 5th and 8th grades, both of my boys were in a position where they had to pass the math and reading portion of the CRCT to go on to the next grade.

Pubescent One failed math every single quarter this year. But he passed the math portion of the CRCT.

Diminutive One got passing grades in math and had resource math as well. But he failed the math portion of the CRCT.

Pubescent One will be allowed to move on to 9th grade. Diminutive cannot move on until he can pass.

Does this make sense to anybody?

Let me explain further: Pubescent One and Diminutive One are probably about equal in terms of math ability. Both can perform at grade level if they apply themselves. They have to work a little harder than most kids; because they are both right brained individuals and they both suffer from ADD/ADHD. Typically, math is more difficult for kids with this disability. But they can do it.

The difference?

Pubescent One tests well. For a variety of reasons, Diminutive One does not.

Pubescent One failed math because he did not turn in work. Some he did, but lost in the abyss of his locker. Some he did halfway. Some he blew off completely. But he knew the material, because both of my kids retain information very well. So he passed the test. And he gets to move on.

What does this say to my son, people??

I'll tell you...in the mind of a 14 year old boy, this just confirms his belief that homework is unnecessary bullshit. It's a belief I happen to share, but that's irrelevant. The point is, he is being taught that he can be lazy, undisciplined and unmotivated, and still get where he needs to go. This is not a lesson that is going to serve him well as an adult.

Diminutive One is an entirely different story. I won't go into all the reasons why he doesn't test well; that would take an entire treatise on "The Pathology and Psychology of Diminutive One" and we don't have time for that.

It all boils down to the fact that we, as his parents, had to find a way to help him pass that test. Because if he doesn't, he will not be allowed to advance, despite the fact that he is a fantastically intelligent and creative child, who is clearly gifted, clearly leaps and bounds ahead of his peers in the way he approaches learning and problem solving, but who struggles within the parameters of a conventional classroom setting.

So.

What to do.

Well, he was eligible for summer school at no cost to us; three weeks, three hours a day. But the dynamics did not change, only the setting. He would still be one of 30 children in a classroom, being taught to as part of a crowd, a collective. His individual needs would not be met. It wasn't very hard for us to conclude that we needed another option.

We chose Sylvan.

People...I am paying Sylvan $2,000 dollars so my son can pass a test.

Now, in a variety of ways, Syvlan has been worth every penny. It has boosted his confidence by showing him that he can do math and he can learn. Failing that test did inestimable damage to his self-esteem, but Sylvan has taught him that he can learn anything he puts his mind to learning. Pubescent One, despite his intellectual gifts, has always thought of himself as the dumb kid. Slowly, he is realizing that he is not a dumb kid.

They haven't taught him a great deal of math. They have helped him become stronger in basic concepts and to not be afraid of math. They have addressed areas where he was weak (mostly newer, pre-algebraic concepts that were just introduced at the end of this school year). But the bulk of what he has learned is how to take the test.

And let me tell you...he was not alone. Sylvan's enrollment rates typically skyrocket after CRCT results are received each June.

Sylvan even offers a crash course that they call "CRCT bootcamp" during spring break week. The course is all about how to take the CRCT. It is not concepts and skills, it is tips and tricks.

But what about children whose families who don't have the resources to pay for that kind of individual attention? Well, I guess they just go to summer school and take their chances with the rest of the underprivileged kids and overburdened teachers.

Does this seem wrong to you? It SHOULD.

How many children are being left behind thanks to No Child Left Behind????

The priorities in our public school systems are dangerously skewed. We badly need education reform...nay...complete and total overhaul...if our children are going to remain viable and valued in a global community. We need to figure out how to produce leaders and visionaries.

We can start by eliminating standardized testing and beginning to focus on educating our children as independent thinkers. Bring back arts and enrichment and put as much emphasis on their value, as that of math and science.

And for God's sake, let's pull our heads out of our collective asses and realize that intelligence is a multi-faceted jewel that can outshine any and all material baubles if only it is honed and polished with care and attention.

Off Soapbox.


Related Articles by yours truly:

Intelligence Quotient Quotient

Art Is Free

NCLB Strikes Aagain

No Hablas Engles

A Question Of Freedom

Soapbox #1

I've been saying it for years...

We DESPERATELY, DESPERATELY need a system of universal health care in this country.

I said it because I lived it when Husband was consulting and I'm living it now that Husband has lost his job.

When Husband was an independant contractor, we were responsible for our own healthcare needs. The cost to insure our family of four was in excess of $900 each month.

Just let that figure sink in a for a few minutes.

Nine. Hundred. Dollars.

Since we had small children and only one income, we came to the realization that we really had no choice but for him to stop consulting and take a salaried position with good benefits.

That was ten years ago. For ten years we have watched our premiums and copays rise, while the number of covered services and providers became smaller and smaller. Still, I felt fortunate that we had insurance at all.

I don't mind telling you that there was some pretty serious panic in those first grim hours after we got the news. But we've crunched the numbers, done the math, and gone over the budget with a fine toothed comb.

It's going to be very, very tight, but we can sustain for a while, assuming no disasters strike. The kids will not go hungry, the mortgage will not go unpaid, we will not have to cook our meals on a hot plate by candlelight.

So my focus has shifted from feeding my kids, to insuring them.

Well what about COBRA?

That's what you're thinking right? COBRA is the answer, that's what it's there for!

Well guess what. The RIGHT to insurance doesn't do a damned bit of good if we can't pay the premiums. Would you like to take a wild guess as to the dollar amount of our COBRA premiums?

$1,067.00.

With no money coming in, we are supposed to magically produce $1,067.00 each month to insure our children. That's an impossible number. BUT...if we don't pay it? One debilitating illness, one serious injury, one little disaster could absolutely devastate us. Ruin us. Bankrupt us and leave us fighting the rest of our lives to regain our financial footing and restore our credit. We have planned well, laid a little aside, carefully tended our modest nest egg. But it could all disappear in a puff of smoke if one of us gets sick.

It has happened and is happening to people all over America. People are losing their homes and filing bankruptcy because of unexpected and insurmountable medical expenses.

It's a very complicated problem with many causes.

First, the cost of procedures and medications have risen beyond what most people can afford to pay out of pocket if they need to. Second, lifetime caps on insurance are met relatively quickly when a calamitous and prolonged illness such as cancer strikes. Third, affording insurance as an individual is almost impossible, unless one has a substantial amount of disposable income, in which case, they probably can do without it anyway. Fourth, insurance companies, not doctors, are in control of what procedures are considered "necessary" and therefore, a covered service.

There's a lot more to it than that, of course. As I said, it's an extremely complicated problem that is going to take some time to fix.

What I know is this: If we had a system of Universal health care in place in this country...I would not be facing this problem right now, and neither would the countless other Americans in the same boat.

Now, the ARRA is helping us a little bit. That brings our premium down to around $400. But assuming that someone is completely without resources, even that amount is completely out of reach.

The maximum payout for unemployment benefits is $330/week, which is laughable, really. That's $1320 a month. That happens to be almost the exact dollar amount of our mortgage payment, and we live in a very modest home. So let's assume we have no other resources. How exactly are we supposed to pay for water, electricity, groceries, car payment (we have only one, most people have two), car insurance, gas, orthodontist...and still pay out $400 a month for health insurance? It just doesn't add up.

As I said, we do have some resources, but regardless it's going to be very, very difficult to pay on our limited and finite means. For us, that means I will have to streamline our food budget and cut out some small luxuries.

Perhaps I will have to buy store brand orange juice instead of Tropicana, or the 10 for $10 Ravioli instead of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Maybe we will have to stop renting movies for a month or two. Maybe unlimited texting will have to be limited. Maybe I will have to start going to the library more often, insteading of patronizing Barnes&Noble and indulging in a $4 dollar coffee while I browse. The lawn service is already gone as is pest control (That one really hurts. Have you seen the size of cockroaches in Georgia?)

But for some people, it could very well be a choice between one necessity and another. For some people, it really is a matter of either/or. Either buy food...or take a sick child to the doctor.

Realistically, it could come down to that for us if this goes on long enough.

People, we are the wealthiest developed nation in the Western Hemisphere. This is not an issue our populace should be facing. Nor should sick people be denied the latest and most effective treatments because they are too costly. Did you know that some cancer drugs cost in excess of $1,000 PER DOSE?

That's what happens when you combine Capitalism and health care. That's what happens when we let the insurance companies and the drug companies take control and use our misfortunes to line their pockets.

Some of you might argue that letting the government take control is just trading one set of problems for another.

That may be true. But at least, with a universal system of health care in place, everyone will have access to basic medical care and medications that they need. Mothers won't have to debate about taking a feverish child to the doctor, or sacrifice their own health for that of their family.

We Americans like to point fingers when crisis looms. Politicians did it. Big Business did it. Greedy doctors did it.

But the real truth is much uglier.

Americans have done this to themselves with their sense of entitlement. We have resisted a government subsidized health care plan because we want only the best, we want to choose it for ourselves, we want it right now, and we want it at a reasonable price. We don't want to share our sparkling, tastefully decorated clinics with the poor unwashed masses. We want to think ourselves worthy of more and better options.

And now, the cost of that proletariat thinking is becoming very clear. We are paying for our short sightedness with shrinking benefits, higher premiums, and perfunctory care from health care practitioners who are working under almost intolerable conditions and who are taking their orders from actuaries and administrators.

Soon, only the very wealthy will be able to afford any health care at all. And then we'll be back to the way things were at the dawn of the Industrial Age, when disease spread rampantly and even minor illnesses resulted in death. Mortality rates will skyrocket and the number of babies who make it past their first birthday will plummet.

Does that sound melodramatic? Well, perhaps it is. But not terribly so. Things are deteriorating quickly in this country. Those of you ensconced in comfortable jobs with good benefits are too blind to see it; purposely, perhaps. It's not fun to think about. But it's there. And it's getting worse every day.

It's time to make some sacrifices. It's time to think about the many, rather than the few. It's time to think about what's best for everyone.

Establishing a system of universal Healthcare does not mean we are allowing Socialism to gain a foothold in our country. It just means we are creating a system of checks and balances, prohibiting abuses and maintaining a standard of care that is available to everybody, regardless of economic status.

For the life of me, I don't understand why people oppose this ideal.

Actually, I do. One word: privilege. We have grown complacent and myopic in an era of wealth and privilege. But that era is at an end, and this problem is going to grow into a plague that infects us all.

You could be next. Your family could be next. Is it going to take a crisis like that to open your eyes?

I really hope not. It's a really crappy place to be, because I know it could be and can be, much, much worse. Living with that fear is incredibly wearing, and I've only been doing it for a week. I can't imagine doing it my whole life. Nobody should have to live with that hanging over their head every day; especially when there is a solution.

Support healthcare reform. Stop opposing universal health care. Vote. We have a voice and we can change things for everyone.

Stepping down now. Tommorrow: Soapbox #2 (completely unrelated).

Insult to Injury

Friday night, Pubescent One attended a party at a friend's house. Since he had to be up early for baseball the next day, he wasn't able to sleep over as most of the other male attendees were doing. I went to pick him up around 10:30 or so.

I was in knee length cotton yoga pants, a loose fitting top and flip flops. I wore no bra and no makeup.

I NEVER leave the house like that, but I wasn't even planning to get out of the car. I called Pubescent One to let him know I was on the way, and told him to be waiting on the porch so I wouldn't have to go to the door.

I remarked to husband as I left, "When you leave the house looking like this, you're just asking to get in an accident or something."

So you realize where this is going, right?

The driveway of this home has a funky angle and a steep grade. As I was backing up, I was going very slowly because I didn't want to go off the embankment or take out the mailbox. In other words, I was being extra cautious. But despite my caution, I was horrified to hear a sickening crunch and the screech of grinding metal. I had hit something.

That something turned out to be a small black sedan parked directly adjacent to the driveway. Because the nose of my van was lower than the tail as I was backing up, it was completely invisible to me. Even on the level surface of the road, it was very, very difficult to see because of the low profile and the dark color.

I said a few choice words and got out to assess the damage as two teenagers came running out of the house across the street.

"Oh my god! Somebody hit Becca again!!" exclaimed the girl.

AGAIN?

"Man, she is going to be so pissed!!" asserted the boy.

"Becca" was down the street visiting another friend. The boy went to get her, and seemed altogether too gleeful about his errand. He told me she had just recently gotten her car back from the body shop, freshly repaired and painted. I think he was secretly relishing the incipient freak out.

There was no damage to my van, but her car was sporting a sizeable dent in both the driver and passenger doors. I had hit her squarely between the two.

By that time, the Mom of Pubescent One's friend had come out to see what was going on. She apologized to me profusely.

"Oh my God, I am SO sorry!! I have asked those kids a million times not to park there because you just can't see them when you're coming out of my driveway!"

She turned to the three youths, Becca having been summoned to the scene.

"I have asked you kids and asked you kids not to park there. I've talked to your parents too. It's a dangerous place to park!"

The boy became indignant.

"This isn't BECCA's fault!"

"Yeah, this isnt' MY fault!" echoed Becca.

The Mom and I looked at each other in perfect understanding. She sighed and gave me an almost imperceptible eye roll.

"So, do you think we should call the police?" I asked her.

That made the kids nervous.

"Police? Why do we need the police? We didn't do anything!"

"Relax, guys. It's just standard procedure in an accident. We just want to make sure we follow the right steps."

The Mom told me that subdivisions are considered private property, so police won't issue any kind of citation or make any determination of guilt or innocence. She didn't think it was worth the time or trouble. Clearly, she said, it was just an unfortunate accident, with no negligence involved. She punctuated that sentence with another subtle eye roll. I agreed.

The girl and I exchanged information. She was sullen and pouty and spoke to me tersely. It was very clear that she considered the entire thing my fault and was not pleased with me in the least.

I refrained from giving her my opinion. It took everything I had, but I really didn't want to make a scene in my unbrassiered state. Had the girls been properly holstered, I probably would have given her a piece of my mind.

"So like, what am I supposed to do now? Am I supposed to pay for this or what, cause I don't think that would be fair. All I have is liability insurance, whatever that means."

I explained the process to her while she glowered. I held out a piece of paper with my information on it, which she snatched from my of my hand and flounced off towards the house. If flouncing were an Olympic sport, she would get the gold for sure.

"Ummm, Becca?" I called. "Could you please move your car so I don't hit it again?"

She sighed heavily and stomped back to her car. She jerked the door open and got behind the wheel. She moved the car maybe three inches. I won't tell you what evil, evil thoughts flashed through my mind, but suddenly, the voice of Kathy Bates came to me.

"Face it girls, I'm older, and I have more insurance."

Begone evil siren! Do not tempt me for I am weak. Ohhhhh, so weak.

Pubescent One looked at me and raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared into his carefully coiffed bangs.

"Man, whatta bitch." he said.

"You took the words right outta my mouth." I replied. "Don't you ever let me catch you behaving that way to another adult."

"I won't. But I guess she was just kinda upset."

"Well I'm not exactly overjoyed either, but was I rude to her?"

"No. You didn't have to be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She knew what you were thinking Mom."

"Oh is that so? And what was I thinking?"

"How stupid it was to park there. We always know when you're thinking that we're stupid, you know. Even if you don't say it."

"Well I think that was her guilty conscience working. She knew it was her own fault for parking there."

"Maybe." he said, doubtfully.

"Well, whatever. What's done is done. Now let's go home."

"Okay. Mom? Are you alright?"

He didn't mean, was I hurt. He meant, was I handling the stress okay, considering that just 24 hours prior, our entire world had collapsed around us. He hadn't missed the fact that my hands were shaking as I fumbled to put the keys in the ignition.

"Yeah Dude, I'm alright. Nobody hurt, that's the important thing."

He gave a little snort of laughter and said, "I don't think Becca would agree."

"Well Becca can eat me."

He guffawed loudly, as he always does when I have such a lapse.

These little moments in which he sees me as human are both disconcerting and oddly freeing. It can be so tiresome to be the paragon of virtue, integrity, morality and decorum. Don't you sometimes feel that the weight of that is crushing the you inside the mantel of motherhood?

Occasionally, in moments such as those, my kids see through mother me, to the real me beneath. Is that so bad? I think not. I think allowing my kids to see my flaws and frailties once in a while is a good thing. I think it makes me more approachable. I think that it helps them to believe me when I say "I understand" or "I've been in your shoes."

Suddenly I wished I had told Becca she was being a total farking beyotch.

Bra or no bra.

Killing Me Softly

Kids will break your heart.

Sometimes, they pummel it into a pile of barely beating crimson mush; soft and pulpy with the exquisite pain of loving another human being beyond all logic. It's fear and disappointment and regret and guilt and longing and dear God I can't be doing this right!

But sometimes....ohhhhh, sometimes, they break it wide open with the pure radiance of their loving you back, exposing the faithfully thumping core to drench the world with their tender, fledgling strength. Sometimes, they stun you with their capacity to love without condition and their understanding of things beyond their scope of experience.

My husband lost his job today.

We are not alone of course. Job loss is epidemic in America right now. Many are in the same boat. Many are in a much more quickly sinking one.

But we are a one income family, and now, that one income is gone. We have a mountain of responsibility and expectation on our shoulders. Atlas himself never carried such a load.

Those of you who have children know what I'm talking about.

It's beyond terrifying.

Shocked and reeling, Husband could not say the words to our boys. He could scarcely say them to me. I said I would do it and I did, but I didn't expect it to be so hard. I didn't expect the rush of panic that filled me as they looked at me silent and blinking. They were like baby seals stunned by a hunter's club; wide eyed and bewildered. They had no idea what to say or what to do.

Pubescent One spoke first.

"I can work Mom. Chick-Fil-A hires 14 year olds." he said earnestly.

"You and Dad can have all my birthday money." Diminutive One added.

Jesus that hurt. That hurt way down in a place that is rarely breached. But a sweeter pain I've never known, with the possible exception of the day each of them was dragged from my body naked and squalling; terrifying and wondrous in their fragile, perfect beauty.

Did I think I had to be strong for them? Well, sure, that's what Moms do. But I find that I am being bathed in their strength. Bolstered by their courage and selflessness.

Kids. They'll break your heart. Wide open.

We may lose our home, the cars, the posessions that brand us as respectable middle class people. But those are just things. Trappings.

I have my boys and I have my husband and we're going to be okay.

He Said / He Said

One of my guilty pleasures is reading celebrity gossip. I know, I've slipped a notch in your esteem with that confession. But everybody needs something mindless in which to indulge now and then, and I always thought of it as a harmless, albeit superbly shallow diversion.

Until now.

I've been considering boycotting one particular source of celebrity gossip; rather, THE source of celebrity gossip for some time now. At first, it was because the ads were becoming way too numerous and pervasive and, with the new addition of pop-ups, completely unavoidable.

We all know how I feel about ads now don't we?

But more importantly, the writer of this blog has become increasingly mean-spirited and unnecessarily insulting. One does not have to be defamatory to be entertaining. For a long time I simply ignored the bodily fluid drippings with which he sophomorically defaced some photos and turned a deaf ear to the vicious pot shots he took at his most reviled celebs. I ingorned the rumors and innudendos and even the more blatantly libelous proclomations.

No skin off my nose, right?

Except that it is.

Why? Well, because, I think we all, as human beings, have a responsibility to treat one another with grace and dignity. And I think we have a responsibility to put a stop to the bullying, the belittling, the deprecation and the humiliation of other human beings. To do this, we not only have to practice grace ourselves, but we also have to stand up to say "this is wrong" when someone else is not.

Now this person is painting himself as the hapless victim of a vicious assault at the hands of another high profile individual. He is outraged, insensed and self-righteous because of the violence that he suffered. He asserts that it is never okay to resort to violence.

But you know, violence can be a spiritual thing as well as physical. As I've said many times in the plethora of posts about bullies, words can often wound far more deeply than fists. This man perpetrates spiritual violence upon people every day; people who have never harmed him, people he doesn't even know.

Even more upsetting is the fact that in this latest instance, he used hate speech to characterize the person with whom he was arguing. He called the man a "faggot". Coming from anyone this word is offensive, coming from a gay man, it's inexcusable. And I don't buy this "I am one so I can say it" bullshit. Hate speech is hate speech and if we're going to erase hate, we have to abolish the vernacular as well. For everyone.

I wasn't there. I don't know what happened. I've read the many and varied accounts of course, including his own. But it all really comes down to is one person's word against another's, and by the time it's all straightened out, some other dust-up will be grabbing headlines. I think what happened is that a mean, insecure, black hearted little man said something hateful and got punched in the mouth for it.

Quelle suprise, eh?

Anyway...I've decided I'm done with Perez Hilton. I can't stop him from making his little pee dribbles or his insulting remarks. I can't stop him from making wild accusations or starting vicious rumors. I can't diminish his scope of influences in the media.

But I can stop being a party to it. I can stop being a silent witness. I can stop putting money in his pocket with my page views. I'm just one person, so I don't expect this to have any kind of substantial impact. He has millions of readers, legions of fans. My lack of readership will go completely unnnoticed. But I'll feel better, knowing that I have done something to engender the grace and dignity that I advocate.

Even if it is a very small thing. Because I tell myself that it's the many small things that make a difference to every day people in every day life.

Right?

My Son The Junkie

Diminutive One and I fight many and varied battles every day. But one of the biggest battles I face with him, particularly in the summer, is food. Diminutive One likes to eat. Often. And he isn't asking for broccoli or brussel sprouts, I assure you.

No sir. I have a bona fide junk food junkie on my hands. I have to watch every bite that goes into his mouth. I have to watch even when I'm not watching, because things disappear mysteriously the moment my back is turned. Every shower, every nap, every personal grooming session, is, for Diminutive One, an opportunity to indulge his penchant.

I can't tell you how many times I have discovered an empty box, bag or package sitting deceptively upon my pantry shelf, looking for all the world as if it has never been disturbed, when in truth, it has thoroughly plundered and relieved of its contents.

I am pestered at least a hundred times a day for candy, cookies, ice cream...whatever. I don't keep those things in the house much, because that's just courting conflict. Diminutive One simply cannot stand to see treats languishing uneaten. The moment something even slightly sinful enters the house, Diminutive One calculates how many servings there are and how many each person should receive. He expects to be given that number of servings and then hounds me incessantly, until said food is either consumed or disposed of.

I don't think I'm exaggerating by saying that food is an obsession for him. In truth, I think he uses food to medicate himself against the anxiety he experiences just trying to get through every day. It worries me greatly.

So far, I think I'm doing a pretty good job. He's chunky, there's no denying that. But we keep him as active as we can, and I try to make sure a fair amount of organic matter makes it into him on a regular basis. I could do better with the fast food. We're so busy and it's so difficult to keep everyone fed with conflicting schedules....SIGH. But given his love of food, it could be much, much worse. I see lots of kids who are way, way, way heavier than he is.

But I don't judge. It's a battle that is incredibly wearying because it is never ending. Sometimes, I just don't have the energy to say no. Sometimes, after we've battled over clothing and hygeine and homework and chores and computer time and.....I can't muster up enough willpower to battle over a cookie.

Diminutive One is smart. And he's not one to let an opportunity slip past him, especially when it comes to food. One thing he loves about baseball season is the numerouse opportunities and his ability to capitalize upon them. There's concession food. Late night runs to Waffle House because Pubescent One is starving after playing a double header. A trip to Brewsters to celebrate a victory. Oh yes, he rides those coattails with no compunction whatsoever.

The other night, Pubescent One's team had a terriffic victory that put them in the Championship game. Pubescent One had pitched the entire 7 innings and done an amazing job. He has developed endurance and control far beyond what most kids his age are capable of. He only gave up one run and had 9 strike outs. The entire team was high on victory, but Pubescent One was particularly intoxicated by the accolades he was receiving.

It was very late when the game ended, and we had a 90 minute drive ahead of us, so no group celebration was taking place that night. We piled into the car, hot and weary, but happy. Pubescent One, predictably, said, "Mom, I'm STARVING."

Diminutive One, quick to pick up on the potential for exploitation in that simple statement, piped up and said,

"We should stop and get some ice cream. You know, Pubescent One TOTALLY deserves it!"

There was dead silence for a moment, and then we all began to laugh. We laughed because he thought he was being so clever and sly. We laughed because he wasn't about to let that opportunity go by. We laughed because ice cream is his manna. We laughed....just because he is Diminutive One.

He sat in the back seat with his cheeks flaming, grinning, knowing he has played his hand too eagerly.

And did we get ice cream? Yeah. We did.

Keeping Cranky At Bay

Isn't it sad that children are in such a hurry to grow up? Don't you wish you could tell them that those days are halcyon and hallowed; perfectly imperfect and deliciously bittersweet? Don't you wish you could impress upon them how those years should be savored like hard candy that melts slowly on your tongue, instead of gobbled up until they are irrevocably gone?

I wouldn't repeat my adolescence for anything, but childhood? Oh yes.

Adulthood is hard. Parenthood is hard. And sometimes, I just don't want to be the grownup. I would like to think I'm not alone in that. Don't you sometimes just want someone else to fix things for a change?

Summer is especially difficult for me. I like order and routine. I like quiet. I like my time alone to write and reflect and ruminate. When my kids are home and in my hair every minute of every day, I feel frazzled and frustrated and completely discombobulated. The order I prize becomes chaos. The quiet I cherish gives way to a particular kind of cacophony that comes with having male offspring.

All that is to say that I have been a little cranky and a little resentful that all my time is being monopolized by their activities and their never ending neediness.

But one thing I've learned as a parent is that you have to take joy in things that seem mundane, but are really moments of sweet, satisfying wonderfulness amid the disorder, stress and messiness of everyday life.

After a hard won victory at the ballpark, in which Pubescent One pitched seven amazing innings and gave up only one run, we headed home. Everyone was in high spirits.

We sped down the country highway; the boys feeling very cool and superior riding in the sleek black sports car. They grinned at every car we passed, certain that they were being envied. We rolled the windows down and let the wind whip our hair about our sweaty faces. The summer air was tinged with rain smell, and off in the distance, lightning lit the clouds from within, making them look towering and otherwordly in the darkness; a darker darkness than can be found in the city. The boys put their arms out and let them ride the waves of air that sluiced past; rising and falling on the solid feeling streams. A nostalgiac song came on the radio, and Husband and I sang loudly. The boys did not know the words, but crooned the doo-doo-doos of the chorus.

Doot-doot-DOO-do-doot-DOO-doo-doot-DO-do-DOOT-doooooooooooooooooo.

It was good. Really good. And I like to think that some day, when the weight of the world weighs heavy on their own shoulders, maybe they will remember that moment. Remember us happy. Remember us singing. Remember feeling safe and happy in the backseat of a black sports car, with home on the horizon and no cares to mar the last little bit of childhood ahead of them.

Yeah. That keeps the cranky at bay for a little while.