Tag: Lydia

The Lydster, Part 111: the agony and the ecstasy

I explained that sometimes people moan when they are experiencing pleasure, such as a back massage.

The weather on Saturday before Memorial Day was cold and wet; it rained virtually all day, and the high for the day was only 47F (8C). It was just as well that we (mostly my father-in-law, wife, and daughter) were painting the living room. I was primarily moving furniture and taking things out of the cabinets, etc.

Sunday was a bit better, in terms of the weather, but there was church and more painting to do.

So Monday, Memorial Day was a nice respite from the storm. The Daughter was out front playing around 10:30 a.m. when she came inside, quite concerned. She was afraid that someone had gotten hurt. She’s a very caring person.

I went outside with her, and we could hear the distinct sound of moaning emanating from an open window next door. But these were, I quickly discerned, the sounds of pleasure, not pain.

I explained that sometimes people moan when they are experiencing pleasure, such as a back massage. She accepted that because she’d seen my pained laugh when something unfunny took place.

This, of course, leaves me with two related issues. One involves talking about the birds and the bees. The other is trying to discern which of the neighbors – it’s a three-story building – were celebrating the holiday, then finding a way to suggest that anyone walking by was aware of their activities. I have a pretty good idea but don’t want to discuss this with the wrong party. Or maybe I won’t mention it at all unless it comes up again.

The Lydster, Part 110: vacation homework

In general, the hardest seems to be how to MAKE CONNECTIONS to her own life.

It’s been a LONG time since I was in school, but I don’t recall having homework in third grade at all. And I’m fairly certain that I didn’t have homework during school vacations. Things are different, however, for MY third grader.

These days, they gave to read chapters from a book, and then write a REVAMP. Revamp, of course, means to renovate, make new, patch up, redo.
Thus, she and her classmates must:
R READ a section of the text, note the page numbers
E ENCODE the text by telling the gist (main idea) of your reading in your words
V VISUALIZE the text by drawing a picture of your reading
A ANNOTATE the text by writing down important details, ideas, words, or quotes
M MAKE CONNECTIONS by telling your personal experience or what it reminds you of
P PONDER the text by asking questions, making inferences, or predictions

For the winter break, the Daughter procrastinated so much that we (and I do mean we, not just she) was working on it the Monday morning she returned to school, which is unsettling and exhausting for both of us.

During the spring break, she was to encode The Indian in the Cupboard. Also during that period, she and a friend went to the Kopernik Observatory & Science Center in Vestal, NY, two hours away; the Wife took them to this Girl Power science activity.

When they returned on Friday, they’d only done one REVAMP chapter of the book, though she’d read five chapters. Saturday, we did two more. The ENCODE is fairly easy, but the ANNOTATE is difficult, especially if you have to go back and remember the specific section. This means I, who did NOT read the book or see the movie, end up having to skim through the chapters myself.

But, in general, the hardest seems to be how to MAKE CONNECTIONS to her own life. I throw some possible examples out there – “Did you ever get hurt like the Indian did?” – which she will accept, or reject (mostly reject) until she finally comes up with one of her own.

Thus, the entire Sunday afternoon after church, we are doing homework, when I could be reading the paper, or vacuuming, or doing any number of things.

I HATE vacation homework, and it isn’t even MINE!

Those damn standardized tests

Someone lied to my child that she’ll otherwise flunk third grade, and this caused her undue stress, which really ticked me off.

There’s a columnist for the Metroland weekly newspaper, Miriam Axel-Lute, who wrote on her Facebook page the middle of last month: “Good luck to all the parents and kids who are refusing this crazy high stakes testing tomorrow. Stand strong.” My daughter had been stressing over these same tests, but I was unaware of this “opt-out” thing. I replied, “Damn test is ticking me off.” She then asked me and a few others: “Would you guys talk to a Metroland reporter about this? I’m going to be opinionated about it in my column next week, but I think they are also interested in maybe doing a reported news story.” Another guy said likewise, adding “Albany schools get enough unwarranted BS, and removing my kids from the mix will cause more.” True enough; if fewer than 95% of the kids take the test, the school could be taken over by the state, as I understand it.

This is how busy I am lately: I received a Google Alert on April 25 based on ‘Roger Green’. Usually, it’s some OTHER Roger Green, but in this case, it was the story for which I was interviewed by phone the previous week. Also in that issue: Miriam’s column on opting out.

I hope it’s clear that I believe my daughter would/will probably do well on the test. It’s just that someone lied to my child that she’ll otherwise flunk third grade, and this caused her undue stress, which really ticked me off. We HAVEN’T opted to opt out – yet – because it’s unclear what it would mean to my child. Would she sit in the classroom silently for 70 minutes at a time while others take the test? Would there be some type of retribution against her? Indeed, after the fact, I worried about participating in the article.

Also, my wife’s teaching schedule – she’s an iterant teacher of English as a Second Language – has been mightily disrupted. If I thought the end was worth it, I wouldn’t complain. But this No Child Left Behind/Race To the Top stuff, to my mind, is bogus.

The Lydster, Part 109: E-mail

Thought I would ask y’all your opinion on this issue: when did your kids get their own e-mails?

The Daughter, who is nine, wants an e-mail account. Why? Because her friends have them. Often, when I am trying to decide what is appropriate for her, I try to remember what it was I was allowed to do when I was a child. Lessee, I got my first e-mail account when I was…forty. OK, that’s not helpful.

I asked my friends with children. They let their kids have e-mail anywhere from eight and eleven, but they knew they would have no expectation of privacy. The kids ask but tend to not even use them that often; some would rather text, which my daughter does not currently have access to.

I am inclined to say yes – it would not cost us any money – but The Wife was resistant. She suggested that The Daughter could use The Wife’s e-mail; I think that is a TERRIBLE idea. My bride has hundreds of unread e-mails at any given time. How would either of them find the items of her own? I suspect this whole exploration is that good and natural desire for her to become her own person. That said, I’m willing to monitor her e-mails, probably just to her schoolmates and relatives.

Thought I would ask y’all your opinion on this issue: when did your kids get their own e-mails?
***
In other news, she still misses us. She had two child watchers in two evenings last week, and she said she was fine with it, both before and after the fact. But when we asked if we could get another child watcher this week so we could use the symphony tickets we were given, she said “No, it’s too soon.” So Papa will stay home and let Mama and her friend use the tickets.

Like father, like daughter: to the E.R. again

The lesson relearned – no food where peanuts or nuts are processed.

The Daughter: STILL allergic

When we last saw our intrepid little family, the father of the household was getting a ride home from his overnight hospital stay Friday afternoon by his lovely wife. Saturday, he was still exhausted; he didn’t sleep well Thursday night, and Friday night’s rest was insufficient. He muddled through Saturday, doing a minimum of vacuuming and dishwashing, and not much else.

Even Sunday morning, there was a sense of fatigue within him. But since almost everyone knew about the hospital incident, he wanted to show up to prove he was still among the living. Fortunately, all the songs the choir sang he had performed before.

At the coffee hour, somehow the Daughter had gotten permission (not from her father) to eat some coffee cake, despite being unclear about its origins. Apparently, it’s one of those items that had that warning that it may be processed in a plant that used peanuts or nuts. She is allergic to peanuts, and peanuts and nuts are often processed in the same place.

Shortly after consuming it, she got very upset. Was it a belated sense of fear? Her father took her into a quiet room and tried to calm her down. She was OK for a bit, but by the time she got home, she had a stomachache, and eventually upchucked. This was actually a good thing; the first time she had an allergic reaction, when she was three, that was how her body responded. So the family thought it was in the clear.

A couple of hours later, the Wife noticed, above the knees and below the neck hives over about 30% of The Daughter’s body. It itched greatly. After a call to the pediatrician, another trek to the E.R.

It’s much less busy Thursday at 8:40 a.m. than Sunday at 5:30 p.m. She got some Benedryl, stronger than the OTC we had given her. Then the family stopped at the McDonalds; the Wife seems to believe going inside is faster, an unproven premise, but staying in the car would have meant avoiding the rudest, vulgar-language customer; “Where’s my f@#$ing food?” , more than once, among other things.

The Daughter was asleep by the time the family got home. she got through dinner then was practically carried to bed; the Wife stayed home with her on Monday.

The lesson relearned – no food where peanuts or nuts are processed. I hadn’t heard the rule had changed…
***
That evening, there was an ambulance in front of our house. It was actually called for our next-door neighbor’s house. The father of one of the college kids had been drinking a couple bottles of beer with the guy when he was having some difficulties – I didn’t get the details. Turns out e had food poisoning; glad it wasn’t worse.

 

Ramblin' with Roger
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