None of my boys are readers, not even Mike. Mike, when he reads, reads technical manuals or magazines about the ski area industry. Jordan reads ads. Ian reads skateboarding catalogs. So when I implemented the "Reading Every Night in Our House" mandate, Ian informed me that I had ruined in his life. Then he said, "Okay fine, but I'm only reading "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" books, those are the only books I like."
"What if I find a book just like that?"
"No, you'll never find another book like that." and with that he stomped off to ponder the destiny of a ruined life. (On a side note, if you haven't ruined your teen's life then you aren't doing a good job parenting.)
Then I found "Accidental Genius" which is about a 14 year old boy whose parents AND older sister ruin his life, plus it has pictures running throughout it, like a graphic novel, like "Diary of a Wimpy Kid." I'm reading it out-loud to him and I'm not supposed to say ANYTHING to his friends about ANY of this.
I read "The Diary of a Part-Time Indian" by Sherman Alexie out loud to him last winter, which also has graphics running throughout it, and he loved it, but don't tell ANYONE about that.
I raised my boys to read. I was the mother who took her boys to all the story-times at the libraries, always bought books for presents, read to them every night (Mike not too often - he'd fall asleep halfway through the story plus he didn't do the voices as well as I did), enrolled them in the library summer reading programs, I did everything right (for once) but Ian and Jordan just don't read. I think it's a boy thing. There are not a lot of books written for boys by boys and, let's face it, reading is not an active activity.
If you could find books that literally came alive, like if you have a car chase scene, there are miniature cars that appear and chase each other around the living room, then boys might read. Or if you're reading "The Hatchet" by Gary Paulsen and when he has to eat a raw turtle egg, an egg actually appears and the boys have to eat it before they can read anymore, then boys might read. But other than that, it's hard to get them to read.
There are a few boys in our library that read a lot and Ian has classified them as "weird." Okay, maybe there are a little...eccentric, but they're nice kids, I think. Ian just rolls his eyes. "Fine, but those weird kids are the ones owning companies like Microsoft." "Whatever, they can't even skateboard." Ian's latest ambition is to be a professional skateboarder. You'd think someone would capitalize on this craze and write books about professional skateboarders, preferably with an ending that has the main character realizing he can't make it as a professional skateboarder and going to college and getting a degree and getting a real job, one that makes money and doesn't involve baggy pants.
But I'm going to keep reading out loud every night for thirty minutes and see what happens. Maybe when Ian and Jordan are forty they'll go to the library and check out books, not DVDs and music videos. Maybe.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
The Birds and the Bees
Girls have entered the picture.
Ian had two friends stay the night last week and they did a lot of wandering around town and taking walks, which I thought was kind of strange, but they are 14 and most everything they do is strange. The wandering and taking walks had to do with girls.Where once there were three boys hanging out downstairs, there were now two girls who had joined the mixture. Nice girls. I invited them up for tacos with the boys and they were polite and one had a Golden Retriever which in my book made her very likable. But they were still girls.
Ian told me Conner is going out with one of the girls. How can they go out, I asked, he doesn't have a car, he doesn't have a job, he's only 14, what do you mean by going out?
Ian ignored me. He thinks I'm crazy, especially when I start telling him to stay away from girls, they're nothing but bad news, really, just ask your dad.
Conner couldn't tell me what he means by going out either. I think it means they wander around town and take a lot of walks.
This all brought up the subject of kissing, which happens when you're in a car with three 14 year old boys. They start razzing each other about kissing and girls and ugly girls and cute girls and cool girls and desperate girls and weird girls and kissing. Conner says Ian has kissed three girls and proceeded to name all three of them. I know them. I'm going to call their mothers and tell them to keep their daughters away from my innocent child.
I think it's time Mike had the sex talk again. Last winter we had one when I saw that he was looking at "questionable" sites on his computer- this would be about our fourth. Ian told Mike he knew everything and no, he didn't have any questions.(I bet he didn't know that girls are evil.....) Then I brought him home a brand new book from the library titled "The Boy's Book of Questions on your Changing Body." It was cute, it had funny drawings and diagrams, much like Ian's favorite series of books, "The Diary of a Wimpy Kid." I set it on his bed, precisely in the middle, and waited for us to have a heart-to-heart. I don't think 14 year old boys have heart-to-hearts with their mothers, only their dads. But the only thing Ian was interested in from the book was how tall he was going to get. There was a chart where you did some sort of complicated math (the only time Ian has enjoyed math) that estimated how tall you were going to be. Ian is the smallest in his class, which is why I never think of him being interested in girls. He does keep raising his arms and showing me that he's getting hair under there, but I can't see it. And he still breaks down in giggles when either his dad or I say the word "penis" so I just can't see him interested in girls.
But he is, so I guess I better start my ranting and raving on how he needs to stay away and they're only interested in one thing and it's not your mind....oh wait a minute, that's boys. Maybe I should call the girls' parents and tell them that they should keep their girls away from these 14 year old boys, that they're only interested in one thing and it's not their minds. But I tried this with Jordan and it didn't work - he still had girlfriends and I was nice and open and made tacos for them secretly wishing they didn't even exist and that they'd stay away from my innocent 16 year old boy.
None of this works. Boys with girls are inevitable and Mike needs to have the sex talk with Ian again...that's his job.
Ian had two friends stay the night last week and they did a lot of wandering around town and taking walks, which I thought was kind of strange, but they are 14 and most everything they do is strange. The wandering and taking walks had to do with girls.Where once there were three boys hanging out downstairs, there were now two girls who had joined the mixture. Nice girls. I invited them up for tacos with the boys and they were polite and one had a Golden Retriever which in my book made her very likable. But they were still girls.
Ian told me Conner is going out with one of the girls. How can they go out, I asked, he doesn't have a car, he doesn't have a job, he's only 14, what do you mean by going out?
Ian ignored me. He thinks I'm crazy, especially when I start telling him to stay away from girls, they're nothing but bad news, really, just ask your dad.
Conner couldn't tell me what he means by going out either. I think it means they wander around town and take a lot of walks.
This all brought up the subject of kissing, which happens when you're in a car with three 14 year old boys. They start razzing each other about kissing and girls and ugly girls and cute girls and cool girls and desperate girls and weird girls and kissing. Conner says Ian has kissed three girls and proceeded to name all three of them. I know them. I'm going to call their mothers and tell them to keep their daughters away from my innocent child.
I think it's time Mike had the sex talk again. Last winter we had one when I saw that he was looking at "questionable" sites on his computer- this would be about our fourth. Ian told Mike he knew everything and no, he didn't have any questions.(I bet he didn't know that girls are evil.....) Then I brought him home a brand new book from the library titled "The Boy's Book of Questions on your Changing Body." It was cute, it had funny drawings and diagrams, much like Ian's favorite series of books, "The Diary of a Wimpy Kid." I set it on his bed, precisely in the middle, and waited for us to have a heart-to-heart. I don't think 14 year old boys have heart-to-hearts with their mothers, only their dads. But the only thing Ian was interested in from the book was how tall he was going to get. There was a chart where you did some sort of complicated math (the only time Ian has enjoyed math) that estimated how tall you were going to be. Ian is the smallest in his class, which is why I never think of him being interested in girls. He does keep raising his arms and showing me that he's getting hair under there, but I can't see it. And he still breaks down in giggles when either his dad or I say the word "penis" so I just can't see him interested in girls.
But he is, so I guess I better start my ranting and raving on how he needs to stay away and they're only interested in one thing and it's not your mind....oh wait a minute, that's boys. Maybe I should call the girls' parents and tell them that they should keep their girls away from these 14 year old boys, that they're only interested in one thing and it's not their minds. But I tried this with Jordan and it didn't work - he still had girlfriends and I was nice and open and made tacos for them secretly wishing they didn't even exist and that they'd stay away from my innocent 16 year old boy.
None of this works. Boys with girls are inevitable and Mike needs to have the sex talk with Ian again...that's his job.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Of Birds and Beasts
My friend Laura is on her way to some muggy Southern state to grade AP papers. For one week she reads essays submitted by eager high school students hoping to earn a few college credits without paying for them. She's stuck in a room with other teachers desperate for the extra money.
Last night and this morning she called me about birds she's seen. She saw two bald eagles cavorting in the air above the ocean and she was hoping that meant she shouldn't get on the plane. This morning she saw a raven flying, which she also thought might be a sign to not get on the plane. She calls me whenever she sees birds; pelicans (she lives on the coast) eagles, ravens, robins, bluebirds, crows and blackbirds. She thinks they mean SOMETHING and she also thinks that since I'm about one-one thousandth Hupa, I should know what they mean. (I'm actually more than one-one thousandth, but you get my point.) Basically Laura thinks birds mean something when she doesn't want to do something. Like read one thousand essays in a hotel conference room surrounded by women who wear pink cashmere sweaters accessorized by pearls and men who are drunk on cynicism.
Last week I went in to get my mammogram; not inspired by any birds I'd seen, but inspired by my friend Zena who called to remind me to get one. I'm usually pretty good about things like that; I keep up on the dentist and the well-women checkups and I get my car's oil changed every 5,000 miles. But I haven't had a mammogram in three years; don't ask me how the time slipped by, it just did. And of course I'm being punished by my laxness by the discovery of a mass.
The mammogram specialists calls me two days after my first one and the first words out of her mouth were, "Now, don't be nervous, we'd just like to get another mammogram. Today. As soon as possible." Hmm, it's hard not to be nervous with those opening words. Plus, my personality tends to be a little dramatic (my husband might says it's really, really dramatic,) so already I've placed myself in the hospital with various faceless surgeons cutting into me.
So I went over that morning and yes, there is an unknown presence in my breast which I'm having to go back again and have more tests before faceless surgeons cut into me. The ultrasound specialist says, "Aren't we lucky we live so close to Denver and some of the best hospitals in the world?" That was supposed to be reassuring, but it wasn't.
What's weird about the whole thing is that evening Mike and I were at a BBQ and the talk turns to breast cancer (I have no idea how the conversation veered that way) and out of the five women there, three were breast cancer survivors. One said she finally got the perky breasts she always wanted, one said she finally got rid of the breasts she always hated.
It's a scary, scary thought and since I prefer to live in Gina-Land, I'm trying to not think about it and let my imagination run wild but like Laura, I keep seeing signs. The women at the BBQ, my friend Zena calling me to remind me and then this morning my son Ian, who is spending the night at a friend's, called and left me a message that he wants me to pick him up as early as possible (this from a kid who never wants to come home) because he's worried about me. Ian knows nothing about this.
The day is gorgeous and so far no wind, so I'm heading out to go riding and I hope I don't see any birds.
Last night and this morning she called me about birds she's seen. She saw two bald eagles cavorting in the air above the ocean and she was hoping that meant she shouldn't get on the plane. This morning she saw a raven flying, which she also thought might be a sign to not get on the plane. She calls me whenever she sees birds; pelicans (she lives on the coast) eagles, ravens, robins, bluebirds, crows and blackbirds. She thinks they mean SOMETHING and she also thinks that since I'm about one-one thousandth Hupa, I should know what they mean. (I'm actually more than one-one thousandth, but you get my point.) Basically Laura thinks birds mean something when she doesn't want to do something. Like read one thousand essays in a hotel conference room surrounded by women who wear pink cashmere sweaters accessorized by pearls and men who are drunk on cynicism.
Last week I went in to get my mammogram; not inspired by any birds I'd seen, but inspired by my friend Zena who called to remind me to get one. I'm usually pretty good about things like that; I keep up on the dentist and the well-women checkups and I get my car's oil changed every 5,000 miles. But I haven't had a mammogram in three years; don't ask me how the time slipped by, it just did. And of course I'm being punished by my laxness by the discovery of a mass.
The mammogram specialists calls me two days after my first one and the first words out of her mouth were, "Now, don't be nervous, we'd just like to get another mammogram. Today. As soon as possible." Hmm, it's hard not to be nervous with those opening words. Plus, my personality tends to be a little dramatic (my husband might says it's really, really dramatic,) so already I've placed myself in the hospital with various faceless surgeons cutting into me.
So I went over that morning and yes, there is an unknown presence in my breast which I'm having to go back again and have more tests before faceless surgeons cut into me. The ultrasound specialist says, "Aren't we lucky we live so close to Denver and some of the best hospitals in the world?" That was supposed to be reassuring, but it wasn't.
What's weird about the whole thing is that evening Mike and I were at a BBQ and the talk turns to breast cancer (I have no idea how the conversation veered that way) and out of the five women there, three were breast cancer survivors. One said she finally got the perky breasts she always wanted, one said she finally got rid of the breasts she always hated.
It's a scary, scary thought and since I prefer to live in Gina-Land, I'm trying to not think about it and let my imagination run wild but like Laura, I keep seeing signs. The women at the BBQ, my friend Zena calling me to remind me and then this morning my son Ian, who is spending the night at a friend's, called and left me a message that he wants me to pick him up as early as possible (this from a kid who never wants to come home) because he's worried about me. Ian knows nothing about this.
The day is gorgeous and so far no wind, so I'm heading out to go riding and I hope I don't see any birds.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
When the Student Becomes the Teacher....
And no, I'm not talking about Ian. Ian is, however, excited that he is done with school. He finished math this morning; seven lessons yesterday and four this morning and he's reached his 80%. So what did I do? I went down and bought him two glazed donuts, a strawberry lemonade from McDonald's and a pianola.
A pianola is a fretless zither, which kind of reminds me of some people I know, but it's kind of like a hand held violin, banjo country music instrument. Ian saw it last Christmas at the local junk store and really wanted it, but it was almost Christmas and I was out of money. So today I went and bought it for a reward present of sorts. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the store and the thing was still there. You would have thought it would have been snapped up by so many people in Grand County (read this line with a huge amount of sarcasm.) We then spent the next hour on the Internet trying to figure out how to play the thing. Apparently it's supposed to have a bow, so now I have to get on EBay or some other site and find a bow for a pianola so Ian can create beautiful music.
At any rate, he's finished with school and right now he and three other friends are down at the airport skating on the runway, seriously. I told them if they get arrested to not call me. Sam, one of his friends, said it's okay, his dad really wants a plane so he won't get in trouble...I cannot see the connection there. Mike is out chopping up scraps of wood to build a bonfire so the boys can roast hot dogs and marshmallows when they get home (unless they get arrested.) Mike's really concerned about the wind (Mike is always a concerned person.) I'm not - I'm hoping a spark catches this house on fire so we don't have to worry about selling it.
But back to my title. My friend Diana, who was once a student of mine, has started a non profit that helps women transition from prison to "real" life. Diana is smart and funny and pretty and a visionary. I want to be like Diana. She started this organization and, in fact, was recently recognized by Southern Oregon University for this work. I want to be like Diana. I want to have a vision and finish it.
I have lots of visions, that's not the problem. I want to work with kids who have difficulties and somehow throw horses into the mixture. I want to create a center where kids and parents and teachers can go to learn and share and be successful and want to learn. . I want to give speeches and go to conferences on the importance of education. I want to save every single Native kid in the entire United States- and then I want them to go back to their homes and save even more. I just can't figure out how to make all this happen.
Mike said he was first attracted to me because I told him I believed I could save the world. I really did believe that and even though the world hasn't changed, I have. Now I'm not too sure, but I think, I think maybe I still want to try. Maybe this move to Oregon is a chance for me to save the world, or at least a few of the people in it. I don't know, but I think this may be my last chance. My great-grandmother always told me that we all have a responsibility to make things better wherever we live. I think I did this here in Granby, but now maybe I need to think bigger.
Now maybe I need to call Diana.
A pianola is a fretless zither, which kind of reminds me of some people I know, but it's kind of like a hand held violin, banjo country music instrument. Ian saw it last Christmas at the local junk store and really wanted it, but it was almost Christmas and I was out of money. So today I went and bought it for a reward present of sorts. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the store and the thing was still there. You would have thought it would have been snapped up by so many people in Grand County (read this line with a huge amount of sarcasm.) We then spent the next hour on the Internet trying to figure out how to play the thing. Apparently it's supposed to have a bow, so now I have to get on EBay or some other site and find a bow for a pianola so Ian can create beautiful music.
At any rate, he's finished with school and right now he and three other friends are down at the airport skating on the runway, seriously. I told them if they get arrested to not call me. Sam, one of his friends, said it's okay, his dad really wants a plane so he won't get in trouble...I cannot see the connection there. Mike is out chopping up scraps of wood to build a bonfire so the boys can roast hot dogs and marshmallows when they get home (unless they get arrested.) Mike's really concerned about the wind (Mike is always a concerned person.) I'm not - I'm hoping a spark catches this house on fire so we don't have to worry about selling it.
But back to my title. My friend Diana, who was once a student of mine, has started a non profit that helps women transition from prison to "real" life. Diana is smart and funny and pretty and a visionary. I want to be like Diana. She started this organization and, in fact, was recently recognized by Southern Oregon University for this work. I want to be like Diana. I want to have a vision and finish it.
I have lots of visions, that's not the problem. I want to work with kids who have difficulties and somehow throw horses into the mixture. I want to create a center where kids and parents and teachers can go to learn and share and be successful and want to learn. . I want to give speeches and go to conferences on the importance of education. I want to save every single Native kid in the entire United States- and then I want them to go back to their homes and save even more. I just can't figure out how to make all this happen.
Mike said he was first attracted to me because I told him I believed I could save the world. I really did believe that and even though the world hasn't changed, I have. Now I'm not too sure, but I think, I think maybe I still want to try. Maybe this move to Oregon is a chance for me to save the world, or at least a few of the people in it. I don't know, but I think this may be my last chance. My great-grandmother always told me that we all have a responsibility to make things better wherever we live. I think I did this here in Granby, but now maybe I need to think bigger.
Now maybe I need to call Diana.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Job Hunting or How Not to Get Depressed When You Hate Your Life
Today I had a rejection call from the Public Library in Bend. I was turned down for a job as a library clerk. This is what a library clerk does: checks in books, checks out books, talks to people who ask such things as "I'm looking for a book by the guy who wrote the book about airplanes in India," or kids who ask "Can I get change for this dollar." This is the gist of a library clerk job.
I have two Masters Degrees. I have taught Writing at the College level. I have created a GED program and instituted a GED Testing Center in a county (this one) who doesn't even know what GED stands for. And I was turned down for a library clerk job.
After my initial shock and politeness I called back to find out why but no one answered and at this point I didn't care. I waited until Mike got home and told him about this and he said, "I know, I remember when I was looking for a job and how many times I was turned down."
I said to him, "I don't mean to be rude, but I'd like to talk about me right now." (Okay, maybe I did mean to be rude.) For those of you who know my husband, the general consensus is that no one can believe he's married to me. He's very nice and kind and quiet and patient and I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. However, I need someone to rant and rave with me and curse the entire library system started by Mr. Carnegie.
Job hunting is bad for the ego. Those who have known me a long time know that I have a fairly tough ego. I usually think I'm smarter than most people (especially if they're men), I usually think most people are not as "together" as I am and I'm fairly opinionated. But job hunting is slowing breaking me down.
When I write a cover letter I agonize over a sentence and I'm pretty sure I can no longer spell and don't tell me to use the spell-check, I'm convinced it's also wrong. I'm tired of expounding on my strengths, which at this point in my life are: not killing my husband - not killing my 14 year old- how do you put that in a cover letter?
I'm to the point of looking up bomb-making on the Internet so I can put an end to the confidence-destroying Human Resource buildings. I've decided that when I win the lottery, I'm not giving any of it to anyone who did not give me a job. Those people will be sorry.
On the other hand, I think that A - I probably need to be there since once people meet me, who could not want to hire me and B - my supervisor over here at CMC is convinced that one day I'll have the Gina Ricketts Learning Center, so maybe that's where I need to concentrate my energy. Besides, if I create my own school, not only will things be run how I think they should be run, but I'll never have to look for a job.
I have two Masters Degrees. I have taught Writing at the College level. I have created a GED program and instituted a GED Testing Center in a county (this one) who doesn't even know what GED stands for. And I was turned down for a library clerk job.
After my initial shock and politeness I called back to find out why but no one answered and at this point I didn't care. I waited until Mike got home and told him about this and he said, "I know, I remember when I was looking for a job and how many times I was turned down."
I said to him, "I don't mean to be rude, but I'd like to talk about me right now." (Okay, maybe I did mean to be rude.) For those of you who know my husband, the general consensus is that no one can believe he's married to me. He's very nice and kind and quiet and patient and I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. However, I need someone to rant and rave with me and curse the entire library system started by Mr. Carnegie.
Job hunting is bad for the ego. Those who have known me a long time know that I have a fairly tough ego. I usually think I'm smarter than most people (especially if they're men), I usually think most people are not as "together" as I am and I'm fairly opinionated. But job hunting is slowing breaking me down.
When I write a cover letter I agonize over a sentence and I'm pretty sure I can no longer spell and don't tell me to use the spell-check, I'm convinced it's also wrong. I'm tired of expounding on my strengths, which at this point in my life are: not killing my husband - not killing my 14 year old- how do you put that in a cover letter?
I'm to the point of looking up bomb-making on the Internet so I can put an end to the confidence-destroying Human Resource buildings. I've decided that when I win the lottery, I'm not giving any of it to anyone who did not give me a job. Those people will be sorry.
On the other hand, I think that A - I probably need to be there since once people meet me, who could not want to hire me and B - my supervisor over here at CMC is convinced that one day I'll have the Gina Ricketts Learning Center, so maybe that's where I need to concentrate my energy. Besides, if I create my own school, not only will things be run how I think they should be run, but I'll never have to look for a job.
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