I left you hanging.
I did enter the race, so here we go . . .
Two and a half weeks.
I would like to tell you I am feeling more confident emotionally, but I am not. Complete panic in my heart of hearts. That being said, I do think I can drag my fat mommy butt across the finish line, so that's something.
I shall think about and look for signs of the life cycle of the gymnosperm on my way.
HA! Ohhhhhhhhh! Some days we are crazier than others.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Homework
 |
| Pine Cone resting comfortably after exhausting trip through reproduction |
LIFE CYCLE OF THE GYMNOSPERM
(which is a pine cone in case you didn't remember)
Fill in the blank.
The (blank) is (blank) and grows (blank) to (blank). (Blank) then (blank) and is released by (blank) which then (blank).
Okay. I am exaggerating. It wasn't that bad. Or maybe it was worse. Either way, I wanted to cry. I am going to be 43 in a couple of weeks. I have two bachelor's degrees and I just couldn't figure out what was supposed to go in those blanks.
Not that I was doing my son's homework for him, but reading comprehension isn't really his bag. It helps if I can point to the area in the text where he needs to start looking. Only last night (and this was not the first time), the text and the worksheet didn't seem to match.
This is good for me anyway. Reading comprehension is my bag, so when I was Colin's age I zoomed through these worksheets. I retained none of it. Now I know the life cycle of the pine cone.
 |
| Soon to be track star and favorite s'daughter Shelby. |
Track is getting less painful for Colin each passing day. We have yet to go to a track meet. It was cold and rainy -- and when I say "rainy" I mean snowy -- from Friday to Monday, so two meets were rescheduled. We try again this Friday. I will keep you posted.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Letter to the Editor
One of the best parts of the week in the family weekly newspaper business was reading the letters to the editor. Every periodical no matter how large or small has writers who send in regular letters. Some of these writers are crazier than others.
One of ours was a woman whose personal campaign was public schools. She lived near an elementary school and she had some really powerful opinions. One of her beefs was that the elementary school had trees on their property. The leaves fell off these trees and she, an innocent taxpayer, was forced to clean up the mess. The least the school could do was send over some child to rake. I mean how were those kids going to learn responsibility?
My favorite letter from her concerned school breakfast. In Minnesota if the majority of your district's residents are under a certain income level, the school must serve free breakfast to the elementary students. My letter writer was incensed! Incensed, I tell you!! Couldn't these children learn to make toast?! Why was she, an innocent taxpayer, forced to feed them? Especially since they couldn't even be bothered to rake her yard!
She was just one of several regular writers we had. It made me sensitive to responding to something in writing. I really have to be fired up -- and then I tend to assume maybe I am overreacting. Maybe I need to think carefully and choose my words carefully, so I don't sound like a crazy person forcing kindergartners on a diet of bread and water and forced labor.
Well, last week I read an article in a national news magazine that I mostly agreed with but thought the author had taken some liberties with what I believe are the facts. Rather than mull over my best argument, I sat right down at this very computer and dashed off a strongly worded email with pertinent references. As I hit send I thought to myself, "Huh. I wish I had taken more time to think that through. Oh, well. I will never have my letter printed in this magazine. They will probably say, 'Crazy person!' and throw it in the trash."
So it was with trepidation I opened this week's copy of the magazine and . . . there it was. Right there. In a national news magazine.
I have never felt such a tremendous mix of pride and horror. Why, oh why, oh why didn't I take a few more minutes to think through my argument rather than just fire off what was on the tip of my tongue? Why?
On the plus side, it is nicely edited. And it is my debut as an international writer. HA! And the news cycle is very short. As we used to tell upset people when they called the newspaper, "Next week there will be a different copy."
As long as I don't keep writing or endorse child labor, I should be okay.
One of ours was a woman whose personal campaign was public schools. She lived near an elementary school and she had some really powerful opinions. One of her beefs was that the elementary school had trees on their property. The leaves fell off these trees and she, an innocent taxpayer, was forced to clean up the mess. The least the school could do was send over some child to rake. I mean how were those kids going to learn responsibility?
My favorite letter from her concerned school breakfast. In Minnesota if the majority of your district's residents are under a certain income level, the school must serve free breakfast to the elementary students. My letter writer was incensed! Incensed, I tell you!! Couldn't these children learn to make toast?! Why was she, an innocent taxpayer, forced to feed them? Especially since they couldn't even be bothered to rake her yard!
She was just one of several regular writers we had. It made me sensitive to responding to something in writing. I really have to be fired up -- and then I tend to assume maybe I am overreacting. Maybe I need to think carefully and choose my words carefully, so I don't sound like a crazy person forcing kindergartners on a diet of bread and water and forced labor.
Well, last week I read an article in a national news magazine that I mostly agreed with but thought the author had taken some liberties with what I believe are the facts. Rather than mull over my best argument, I sat right down at this very computer and dashed off a strongly worded email with pertinent references. As I hit send I thought to myself, "Huh. I wish I had taken more time to think that through. Oh, well. I will never have my letter printed in this magazine. They will probably say, 'Crazy person!' and throw it in the trash."
So it was with trepidation I opened this week's copy of the magazine and . . . there it was. Right there. In a national news magazine.
I have never felt such a tremendous mix of pride and horror. Why, oh why, oh why didn't I take a few more minutes to think through my argument rather than just fire off what was on the tip of my tongue? Why?
On the plus side, it is nicely edited. And it is my debut as an international writer. HA! And the news cycle is very short. As we used to tell upset people when they called the newspaper, "Next week there will be a different copy."
As long as I don't keep writing or endorse child labor, I should be okay.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Entry Form
This is week five of my running training. It's going better than I thought it would. It's time to pre-register for the 5K which is four weeks from now.
I've had the on-line form open on my desktop for two days now. I can't bring myself to do it, but what am I afraid of?
I suspect I am having old phy ed emotional issues. I don't want anyone looking at me while I run (even though my daily route takes me alongside a state highway). I don't want to be passed by 10k runners. I don't want my high school classmates laughing at my goofy self-expressive running outfit (even though it's been 25 years since I was in high school). I don't want to be defeated by the hill which starts the run. I don't want pitiful looks as I come panting my fat-mommy pant across the finish line.
What if I get stuck?
What if I get sick?
What if Jesus comes and I am out in the middle of a field instead of standing with my family?
What if I am beaten by a rogue gang of highway robbers?
What if I am the dead last one and everyone has gone home?
What if I am the dead last one and everyone has stood around waiting for me?
What's that you say? Just enter the stupid race because you're going to be fine?
*sigh*
Okay. But you better wait for me at the finish and pretend like I'm not dead last and you haven't been standing there all day.
I've had the on-line form open on my desktop for two days now. I can't bring myself to do it, but what am I afraid of?
I suspect I am having old phy ed emotional issues. I don't want anyone looking at me while I run (even though my daily route takes me alongside a state highway). I don't want to be passed by 10k runners. I don't want my high school classmates laughing at my goofy self-expressive running outfit (even though it's been 25 years since I was in high school). I don't want to be defeated by the hill which starts the run. I don't want pitiful looks as I come panting my fat-mommy pant across the finish line.
What if I get stuck?
What if I get sick?
What if Jesus comes and I am out in the middle of a field instead of standing with my family?
What if I am beaten by a rogue gang of highway robbers?
What if I am the dead last one and everyone has gone home?
What if I am the dead last one and everyone has stood around waiting for me?
What's that you say? Just enter the stupid race because you're going to be fine?
*sigh*
Okay. But you better wait for me at the finish and pretend like I'm not dead last and you haven't been standing there all day.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Running Update and other Sundry Items of Little Interest
I chose today's title over "Writer's Block Monday: The Anguish Continues." It's just very dull around here.
Running is going fine. Saturday was 2.5 miles. It's been very windy which has been a challenge. Also, I seem to have aggravated an injury I received walking downhill at reader-friend Molly's last summer. I may or may not have been trying to balance my tasty summertime cocktail and some snacks as I made my way back down to the lake in wedge flip flops. Tricky.
Colin has survived his first week of track. He's not in love with it. He doesn't like it when he doesn't know exactly what to expect. I, personally, know how this feels. I'm hoping when he gets his first meet out of the way, he'll rally.
I was remembering this morning that for the entire length of last school year, he swore up and down it was his last year of choir. Then when it came time to register, he registered for choir. Who can understand the male adolescent mind?
The neighbors out my kitchen window are snowbirds. They have not returned yet, but someone came and got their car. This weekend a great-granddaughter or someone came and dug up the peonies. Stay tuned for further action packed neighborhood updates.
Running is going fine. Saturday was 2.5 miles. It's been very windy which has been a challenge. Also, I seem to have aggravated an injury I received walking downhill at reader-friend Molly's last summer. I may or may not have been trying to balance my tasty summertime cocktail and some snacks as I made my way back down to the lake in wedge flip flops. Tricky.
Colin has survived his first week of track. He's not in love with it. He doesn't like it when he doesn't know exactly what to expect. I, personally, know how this feels. I'm hoping when he gets his first meet out of the way, he'll rally.
I was remembering this morning that for the entire length of last school year, he swore up and down it was his last year of choir. Then when it came time to register, he registered for choir. Who can understand the male adolescent mind?
The neighbors out my kitchen window are snowbirds. They have not returned yet, but someone came and got their car. This weekend a great-granddaughter or someone came and dug up the peonies. Stay tuned for further action packed neighborhood updates.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Silverware
My 88-year-old grandma, whom we call Gigi, came over yesterday. She is cleaning her house and brought me a few silver serving pieces. I smiled and nodded through the lecture on how to keep silver clean. Gigi is a stickler for untarnished silver. I have heard this lecture many times.
As she wrapped up the lecture she looked at me. "Now," she said. "Do you have silverware?"
I tried not to let the panic show on my face. "Yes, Grandma. I have silverware."
When I was in my teens, Gigi relaxed from her high pressure university job by going to auction sales. She collected several sets and when I was 13 or 14, I was allowed to pick out my own set. Grandma knew who had which set and as she auctioned away, she added to mine. I was underwhelmed owning silver at 14, but I carted that silver to all my single girl apartments. When I got married, I started digging it out for every little guest who came by for grilled cheese. Why not.
Gigi has personally washed and dried my silverware at every Thanksgiving dinner at my house for the past 10 years. As I said, she is a stickler for clean silver. If you wash and dry it right away and put it back in its plastic in its case, it stays nicer longer.
It's not unreasonable for an 88-year-old grandma to have a lapse in memory. Think of all the things you'd have stored in your brain by that time.
It's just unreasonable for my 88-year-old grandma to have a lapse in memory.
As she wrapped up the lecture she looked at me. "Now," she said. "Do you have silverware?"
I tried not to let the panic show on my face. "Yes, Grandma. I have silverware."
When I was in my teens, Gigi relaxed from her high pressure university job by going to auction sales. She collected several sets and when I was 13 or 14, I was allowed to pick out my own set. Grandma knew who had which set and as she auctioned away, she added to mine. I was underwhelmed owning silver at 14, but I carted that silver to all my single girl apartments. When I got married, I started digging it out for every little guest who came by for grilled cheese. Why not.
Gigi has personally washed and dried my silverware at every Thanksgiving dinner at my house for the past 10 years. As I said, she is a stickler for clean silver. If you wash and dry it right away and put it back in its plastic in its case, it stays nicer longer.
It's not unreasonable for an 88-year-old grandma to have a lapse in memory. Think of all the things you'd have stored in your brain by that time.
It's just unreasonable for my 88-year-old grandma to have a lapse in memory.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Light it Up Blue
Today is World Autism Awareness Day. I have written about this over the years, most recently last Monday. My passion on this topic has become to urge people to understand what autism really is and how to interact with autistic people. There are many good websites. This one from kidshealth.org is my favorite. What can you do to emotionally support someone with autism? What can you do to support that person's family? Even a really high functioning autistic kid needs a lot of support from his or her family, and it can be physically, emotionally and financially draining.
Right now my autistic son is practicing with the track team -- not as the "autistic kid" on the junior high track team, but as a kid who can run like the wind.
Learn what autism really means.
Right now my autistic son is practicing with the track team -- not as the "autistic kid" on the junior high track team, but as a kid who can run like the wind.
Learn what autism really means.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)