I feel the wrath...

...so where's the grapes?! Well, Mr. Joad, what's next?

It shouldn't be so difficult...

...to get a child the help he or she needs in school. Really, it shouldn't. And, it's sad to say, I've spent much of my time and energy these past few months battling it out with the special education department at my daughter's new school. KJ has something that functions like dyslexia and/or dysgraphia. But my daughter is very confident and is a dedicated and determined student, so, ironically, it is because of those desirable qualities that we have a problem...

I could give you a play by play of the last two IEP meetings (IEP = Individual Education Plan - the document that states what the school must do for my child because she needs special education services), but there is not enough space here to give you the dirty details. What I will tell you is that California, and in particular - this school district - makes it very difficult for students with a general "learning disability" to get the services they need so that they are successful in both the short and long term.

What you should know is that in order to qualify for special ed., a student must 1. have a discrepancy between the student's IQ and performance (performance = test scores from tests administered by the special ed. teacher and a school psychologist). In addition, 2. the student's educational performance is considered (educational often is equated with academics, and they often refer to grades for that). Finally, it must be determined (at least in California) that 3. there is a processing disorder. As I mentioned, my daughter is a good student - she always has been. Even though she gets frustrated and cries and spends twice as much time working on assignments as everyone else, she somehow manages to earn As and Bs. Still, if you look at her writing, you can see that there is a problem...

Without further adieu, the highlights (or the "low" lights - which is the case here):

Meeting one:

• I was ambushed. While very few of my daughter's test scores have changed, still they told me, straight out, "your daughter DOES NOT have a disability."
• I noticed discrepancies in several areas in my daughter's tests. When I brought up those concerns, however, the special ed. teacher spent most of the time comparing my daughter to her non-special ed. child to minimize my concerns.
• The psychologist straight out told me that I have to let my daughter fail before she will be reconsidered for an IEP.

Meeting two:

• They brought in a district representative in order to further squelch my concerns.
• I came prepared. I brought my husband and my research.
• They had to admit this time that my daughter actually has a discrepancy in THREE areas, which is one indication that she has a learning disability.
• The district rep. did agree that my daughter does seem to struggle in writing, but the psychologist was adamant in her conclusion that my daughter "does not have a processing disorder."
• Both the special ed. teacher and the psychologist poured over the previous IEP designations, questioning me as if I had somehow sneaked my daughter into the system. I explained in the last meeting that she couldn't read until the third grade and couldn't read cursive until a year ago, but they didn't remember that.

To make a long story short, my husband requested that we have KJ re-tested.

Wow. Talk about running a marathon. I guess all that training prepared me for more than just running a foot race. I can't imagine how a person without a degree in education fares in this process!

putting the mantra into practice

"Get busy living, or get busy dying." ~ Andy Dufresne, from Shawshank Redemption

How I got busy living today:

• met a parent and student for coffee; walked him through the process of writing two different types of essays (which he missed due to a serious injury that had him home bound for about six weeks)
• took the younger two to the "boat" park (which features an eye shaped sand pit) even though it was a chilly 50 degrees here (now, now - be easy on we cold sensitive Californians. Fifty degrees to us is like 25 degrees to you)
• strung Christmas lights across the front of the house even though Christmas is a just few days away

fake + uggs = fuggs

My Fuggs are not fugly. But they are warm. And they are fuggs. No doubt about that. The tell-tale sign is that the sole of the shoe is the reverse pattern of a real Ugg - as if someone bought a real pair of Uggs and used the sole of the shoe to create a manufacturing mold by pressing each shoe into wet plaster.

The other tell-tale signs are the obvious typographical and grammatical errors on the very real looking "note of authenticity" and "customer care" cards.

Notice in the last picture that at the end of the first paragraph the contraction "you've." There is an extra space between "you'" and "ve." Minor. Now read the first sentence in the second paragraph. "In order to arrain the sumptuous color of these boots..." Arrain? That isn't even a real word. Did they mean to spell "arraign?" Are these boots on trial? No doubt about that either. And that's what's gonna happen to these guys when the US government discovers that the "Uggs International" company has been selling fake product. And finally, at the end of that same paragraph, notice that "some dye transfer may occur onto light "colothing..."" Such as on kinickers? Oh my.

So I feel terrible. I try to tell myself that these are factory seconds and not contraband stitched by the nimble fingers of children and purchased off the black market. And even now as I wonder how such items can make it through customs, I marvel at how cleverly the packing slip refers to my purchase as a "gift."

Got a package today...

...and the product arrived safely from *China*. Actually, the package is waiting at the post office as I'll need to sign for it. Ah, the sweet smell of capitalist consumerism! The product may be conterfeit, but they do pay attention to some details...such as making sure that my fake product is delivered properly.

Looks like my Fuggs are here!

In my defense...

...a friend found the great "deal" online, and she passed the web address on to me. Name brand sheepskin boots for half the retail price. Right then and there I should have been suspicious. But, I must confess, all that morning I had been admiring her *real* pair of tall chestnut sheep fur (okay - wool - whatever) lined boots. That was my second mistake. My first mistake was to spend most of the previous night shivering outdoors at a football game. The ol' Converse left my feet exposed to the elements, and by the end of the evening I could have used my feet to ice down a Popsicle. Mistake number three was to think that somehow the hard to believe prices were for legit merchandise. So after I made the secured payment and received the confirmation email from a company that was spelled in Chinese (a company name never mentioned anywhere on the web site), I knew I had been scammed. Of course no one from the company responded to my emails to "cancel the order." As desperate as I was to undo the undo-able, I even considered translating my request into Chinese and emailing that. But they probably outsource anyway, so I abandoned that plan. Now I wait patiently for my order of Fuggs to arrive, and I will be glad when they do come because that will mean that I'm not a total idiot. Then I can hide them in the corner of the closet next to my "Roldex" watch and "Guccli" handbag - a shrine to the demise of capitalism - while I wait for the paypal dispute to be resolved.

Am I losing my mind?

Don't answer that.

A week ago, I lost my "bookmarks toolbar" after a recent Firefox update. I spent at least an hour trying to figure out, a. where it went, and b. how to get it back. And then I just gave up on the whole darned thing.

Today, I opened up my browser, and voila, the toolbar is back. Tricky trick. So here is a tricky haiku:

toolbar gone, then here -
firefox stealth update or
computer gremlins?

A recap of the last month:

soccer games (oldest won a legit trophy; her team earned second place in a soccer tourney)

grading papers. hundreds of them. need to stop assigning work. boo.

karaoke at women's church retreat: costumes of paper, duct tape, and foil were fabulous

homecoming float building

treat or tricking

oldest turned 14

Those were the non-parallel structured highlights. I plead the fifth on the rest.

On the Corner

One an' two an' three an' twirl. That's my rhythm
this afternoon. I don't complain even though
it's god awful hot out here. Almost a hundred
an' two degrees yesterday. "All you can eat
Pizza buffet, lunch special!" Seems you'd
want a guy drivin' by to read the sign, but
they got us spinnin' and shakin' and dancin' it
around. Not that I'm complainin'. I need the job.
There's talk of closin' the plant where Mama works.

Yeah, young guys like me don't do the jobs guys
used to do. My Grampa was a printer. He learned how at
the newspaper up north in Tacoma. He tells me 'bout
how they had him luggin' around stacks of paper
hundred pounds each an' clankin' an' pullin' an'
hummin' all kinds of machines. He was thirteen when
he started. Long time ago, Mama took me to the shop, but
I don't remember. She says he always had his head stuck in a
press - inkin' it up or scrubbin' it down - punchin' buttons
and checkin' papers as they spit out the other side.
She says one press was the size of our house! Mama says
in the old days, Grampa used to smell like ink when
he came home at night - an' his sausage sized fingers
got stained black from mixin' all day. They used to
scoop blobs of ink from big tins an' plop it on
an old printin' plate an' mix it all around 'til it
was just the right color. That's how they did it way
back then. Now the colors come ready mixed, I guess.

Yeah, sure is hot out here. But I smile an' pretend
this is the best job in the world. At least I'm gettin' a
good work out. Plus I can listen to my I-Pod all day.
Kelton says he's quitting. I'll see if I can get his
shift too. Gotta work on a new routine, though. Can't
be twirlin' and flippin' all Saturday. Gotta pace myself.

Karen, I really did try....

I wanted to tell
you how much I loved the haiku
and anti-haiku.

my first comment was
poetic and brilliant,
but it would not post.

the second and third
i admit were cheap copies
of the original

those deserved to be
sucked into the nothingness
of the black hole where

my comments seem to
be flying into at warp
speed - condemned to die

and after two days
of this, i realized that
i could tell you here

that i loved your poems,
the brilliant fall out and
into a haiku.

Dreams...

Darkness enveloped the mountain hamlet. Pricking the tops of the thick evergreens, thousands of stars pierced the blue black sky. The night was clear and crisp and ominously quiet. As I jogged along the shoulder of the winding barren highway that snaked through the thick forest of sixty foot pines, streaks of white light brushed across the horizon. "A meteor shower," I thought. But the streaks didn't burn out. Then I realized that thousands of silver discs - no larger than a dinner plate - were frantically zig-zagging and descending onto the town. As the discs zipped by, barely grazing my head, I dropped to the ground. "Play dead," I thought, "and maybe they'll go away." But my quick and shallow breaths didn't go unnoticed; a disc returned and hovered over me. Reigning in my panic, I tried to keep still. "Be roadkill," I thought. "Maybe they'll just think you're a dead animal." And then, as if responding to the flip of a switch, a compartment popped open on the disc and out whirred a needle. I knew I couldn't hide my DNA. If the machine - or whatever it was - got a sample... On a visceral impulse, I grabbed the disc and smashed it into the asphalt until the disc shattered.

And that was only half of the dream. In the rest of the dream, for the most part, I was buying rugged hiking boots and camping equipment for my family so that we could hide in the woods by a crystal clear lake in order to escape from the impending alien attack.

So taking my lead from Jane D., of course I went over to dreammoods.com to see what they had to say.

Running
To dream that you are running alone, signifies that you will advance to a higher position and surpass your friends in the race for wealth. Alternatively, you may be running from some situation or from temptation. Or it may also mean that you need to hurry up in making a decision.

Forest
To dream that you are in or walking through the forest, signifies a transitional phase.Follow your instincts. Alternatively, it indicates that you want to escape to a simpler way of life. You are feeling weighed down by the demands of your life.

UFO
To see a UFO in your dream, signifies your desires to find your spiritual purpose in life. Alternatively, it indicates that you are feeling alienated from those around you. The dream may also be a metaphor suggesting that you are a little "spacey" or have "spaced out" attitude. You need to be more grounded and come back to reality.

Needle
A needle is also symbolic of some emotional or physical pain. To dream that someone is using a needle, suggests that you need to incorporate and join together various aspects of your consciousness.

Camping
To dream that you are camping, indicates a need for relaxation and a long-deserved break. You need to be more in touch with nature and go back to a more basic and simpler life. Alternatively, it refers to your social circle and support group. You are looking for a sense of belonging, but at the same time be self-sufficient and independent.

Lake
To see a lake in your dream, signifies your emotional state of mind. You feel restricted or that you are unable to express your emotions freely. Alternatively, the lake may provide you with solace, security, and peace of mind. If the lake is clear and calm, then it symbolize your inner peace. If the lake is disturbed, then you may be going through some emotional turmoil.

watermelon

Watermelon. Watermelon. Watermelon. Watermelon. Watermelon.

When my students don't know what to write, I tell them to write a paragraph of "watermelon."

Not sure why I picked that word - except that I was once told that if I am singing in a choir and forget the words, then I should mouth "watermelon" to cover it up.

Four weeks ago I had a garage sale. Actually, I didn't plan to have a garage sale. I was simply cleaning out my garage. But I was sorting through so much junk in the driveway that people *thought* I was having a garage sale. So I let people rifle through my stuff - even my garbage pile - and I took their money. And I made 50 bucks.

Four weeks ago, school started. I'm back teaching in my old room at my old school. I hate to say anything because I don't want to jinx myself, but classes are going well. Could it be that some of the new classroom management techniques I've employed this year are really working?! Nah. Truth is that God was watching out for me when the schedules were made because I didn't get any of the trouble makers. Although I do have 26 boys and only 6 girls in my first period class... Somehow it works regardless. In fact, only one third of my 162 students are girls. Crazy. Mostly I'm thankful that I don't have the students that are in the room next door. She's had to have security escort students to the office almost every day since school started.

Last week, I ran a 5K. Poetroad beat me by a minute. Iron Girl beat me by 20 seconds. Still, Iron girl and I placed 5th and 6th respectively in our age group. Obviously I have some training to do so that I soundly leave Iron Girl in the dust in our next race. Definitely we will have to sign up for another 5k. She hates running the 5K. I need *something* to work in my favor. Perhaps I should stop eating chocolate too.

Last week, a girl that was kidnapped over 18 years ago was found alive in Antioch. Ironically, her story is freakishly similar to the premise of the story I wrote, but never published, for the last Clarity contest. At the time, I was thinking that the plot was too implausible. Now I know that it's not. Scary.

The summer fun is over!

Took the older daughters and friends to a Jonas Brothers concert.

Saw a terrific production of "Into the Woods."

Found myself yelling at my kids, "Oh, for Pete's sake!" Then I wondered, "Why is it always for Pete's sake?" You are popular guy - hahaha.

Cleaned out my garage. Made fifty bucks because people thought I was having a garage sale. Nothing more wonderful than having a stranger pull out something from your trash and asking, "What do you want for this?"

Then today I went back to work. I gave homework to all of my students. The fun never ends!

I miss all of you all! I'll be dropping by your blogs this week to say hey!

I'm home!

Making my rounds in the blogosphere today, so you probably already knew. :) Thinking about Karen and her Kitty (sorry for your loss!), I'd like to say we own a cat, but actually our cat owns us. :) She yelled at my husband every day while we were in Oregon (sometimes at 3 in the morning, she woke him to complain) because she wanted to know if we were missing or dead. And if we were alive, then why wasn't he busy looking for the missing children??!!

I missed you, Cali,
the valley snug between pines,
mountains, palms and sea.

Of course you know it was raining here...

Sheesh. Every time I visit...anywhere...it rains! Doesn't matter if it hasn't rained in the mid valley region in July since...well...since the last time I was here in July I suppose. Anyway, we went camping this past weekend in one of the warmer, non-rainy parts of Oregon, and it rained. Still, we managed to enjoy ourselves tremendously.

Although the weekend was a little damp, it ended on a dry note. Today we visited Ona Beach with Grandma. Somehow my rainmaker curse doesn't extend to this magical place in Oregon. The weather always seems to be perfect every time we visit this particular beach. The best part, of course, was being able to spend some time with Grandma before we head back home.

She's the girl friend...

...of the whirling dervish. Before I knew what one looked like, long ago in my child mind I imagined a whirling dervish was an animal akin to the tazmanian devil from the old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Just goes to show you that the old cartoons are only semi-educational. Although, I think I was watching a cartoon the first time I actually heard that phrase - Porky Pig once sang the words, "she's the girlfriend of the whirling dervish..." Only he probably said, "d-d-d-d-d-dervish."

Historically, the act of whirling is a spiritual ceremony practiced by the Dervish; it is in the whirling that the Dervish throw off what encumbers them. We have a similar concept in Christianity - there is a verse that says, "let us throw off everything that hinders us and the sin which so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us..." (C'mon - you knew there would be a reference to running right?!)

So even though I am neither a Dervish nor a Sufi, metaphorically I'll be doing a little whirling myself this summer. It's already been a whirlwind of a trip to Oregon (yeah - you knew I was here. Why else would I be blogging? On dial-up, no less!). And I've only begun the soul searching.

Unbelievable...

I've been on summer break for almost two weeks now, and I haven't really done anything on my "to do" list yet. And we are going to Oregon in a few days! So that means I'll have even less time to do stuff around here.

It might help if I actually made a physical list so that I could remind myself what it is I wanted to accomplish this summer...

Too maternal to be cool

I am not sure how we got into this conversation, but a few nights ago I found myself - face to face with my youngest - describing the tattoo I would like to put on my arm and shoulder.

"I'll have a big orange koi fish on my arm here, and maybe a bluebird over here."

"Really??" my four year old asked, wide eyed and incredulous at the very idea.

"Yes! Don't you think that will look pretty?"

And then from the other room, the 11 year old yelled out, "Awe, Baylie! She's just kidding you. MOMS don't get tattoos!

Warning: reader's review...

Vacation = reading for fun

In the past week, I somehow sneaked in enough reading time to finish the two latest works by Carlos Ruiz Zafon: The Shadow of the Wind and The Angle's Game. From the get go, especially true for TAG, it is apparent that Zafon admires Dickens. And while I am not a huge fan of Dickens (shhh...keep it a secret that the English teacher is not a fan of Dickens...I will admit that I like the social commentary and wit of Dickens but could do without a few hundred pages worth of the excessive descriptions), I enjoyed reading Zafon. Reading Zafon is like reading a tossed salad of Dickens, Poe, King, Doyle and G. Marquez with just a dash of sexual tension a la Esquivel (only the tension is not executed as well by Zafon as what is accomplished in Like Water for Chocolate).

Both TSotW and TAG are quazi-murder mysteries that take place in Barcelona at the turn of the 20th century. In both novels, the acquisition of a mysterious novel is central to the plot. While at times the tale unfolds in a Sherlock Holmesian fashion, there is plenty of poverty and sex infused with the surreal and macabre that separates Zafon's artistry from Doyle's.

Because of the (not so subtle) celebration of "story", I love the basic concept for both novels. Let's face it: this English teacher is a sucker for the celebration of the transformational powers of words and stories. But let me remind you that I am not a professional critic - I am just a reader.

According to the professionals, there are mixed reviews of Zafon's artistry, and I would have to agree with several points on both sides. For one, I must admit, especially in TSotW (the first novel in what will be a series), there are some literary cracks. Towards the end of TSotW, for example, much of the resolution is clarified in a note that is sent to the main character. After reading more than a chapter's worth of this "letter," I confess that I wondered more than once, "Either this letter is written with very tiny writing, or it is nothing short of fifty pages long. Is it even probable it could have been written by hand in the time frame given"? Wrapping up the plot in a neat little package like that, too, seems to be the easy way out. Another concern about Zafon's style, as seen in TAG, is that even though the plot is more compelling than the first of the series, some of the scenes in TAG are lost or forgotten, the parallel to Great Expectations doesn't always work, and some of the gore is over done.

Still, I can overlook a number of idiosyncrasies of an author if I am overwhelmingly drawn in by the story (even if the plot seems at times to be a bit convoluted - you can thank Dickens for that influence). True for both novels, the plot is nothing less than compelling. Also, Zafon's language is poetic - in particular, the concluding statement of almost every chapter is thought provoking and/or visually enticing.

Overall, particularly if you have diverse literary tastes, I would recommend both The Shadow of the Wind and The Angel's Game.

Patiently waiting....

...to find out if I still have a job. I already know that I've been transferred to the other high school that is on the other side of the Interstate. But, hey, at least I still have a job. For now.

Unfortunately, over the past month, my school district has been in the process of cutting almost 100 of the 550 certificated employees. Our student to teacher ratio was already 30-40 students per teacher before the cuts began. I can't imagine what the size of our classes will be with 100 fewer teachers. So the last round of cuts happened yesterday (62 teachers), and notices are going out today and Monday. I have no seniority, and, hence, I won't be surprised if I get a notice. Since I am a high school teacher, though, I have a better chance of keeping my job.

Still, the waiting is nerve wracking!

School is out: commence relaxing

Well. That was something else. While it's only an estimate, I think I slept approximately three hours a night from June 2 to June 12. Too many papers and projects to grade, so little time.

On a positive note, Poetroad graduated with his Master's degree this past Sunday. We celebrated by running a 5k in Florida.