New Year. New Post.

It has been about a year since my last post. Thought I was done with this site until I reread what the boys were up to then, laughed, and remembered why I originally began writing hellocandidate.

So, I'll begin again with their hijinks.

Jack - 5 years old:

Incredibly kind and sensitive. 
Loves soccer and karate
Is just now playing more by himself, with action figures he throws around with grunts and yells...
Never...
Favorite food: salmon
Favorite color: green
Favorite subject: math (Yes, I think I know this already :)

Benny - 3 years old:

Incredibly mischievous
When disappointed, he will put his head in his hands and sigh for a second. Then, lift his head and continue his day. A great lesson.
But...he is in some kind of hitting and throwing things stage (not fun)
Favorite show: Yo Gabba Gabba
Favorite food: Pizza (Or really, bread and sauce. We have to take the cheese off or he will throw it up)
Favorite color: blue
Loves to sing and will break out in song randomly

Here's to a wonderful 2012 filled with fun, growth and focus!

March 2011

So, time is quickly slipping by, and between work, kids, avoiding the dishes and passing out every night in the eight o'clock hour, I haven't been recording the hilariousness that is 4 1/2 and 2. 

Jack - 4.5:

- Enjoys dressing up - as anything

- Likes to play the game "bad monkeys", which means we are a family of bad monkeys doing...something, just living, I guess. The next day, we will play "bad tigers"

- Can catch you in a lie in a nanosecond

- New movie loves: Star Wars and The Wizard of Oz

- Will choose to keep Benny laughing, even if it means not listening to us

- If you stub your toe, Jack will run over to kiss it.

- Is great at puzzles, but doesn't concentrate on just one toy for too long!

Jack's litany at bedtime, which he calls "the rules":
If I have to go poopie or peepee I could just call you? And I shouldn't have to go for long?
If I pick my nose, will it bleed? If it does, tell Daddy because he's older.
Will I have bad dreams?
Watch which way my head goes. Can it go that way (points)? Can it go that way (points to the other side)?

 Benny - 2

- If you ask him, "Are you Benny?", he will respond, "I'm a good guy" 

- Loves Nemo, Shrek and Toy Story, which he now just calls "number 3"

- Would beat us all in a pizza, hot dog, meatball eating contest 

- Is so cudldly and talkative when he first wakes up

- Loves his green shirt. He'll say, "I have green shirt. Mommy has bluuuuueeee shirt."

- Loves to talk about and look at pictures of his friends - Will Will and Andi especially!

They both cannot stop wrestling each other and love to sleep in the same room. Their favorite game to play together involves throwing around action figures (which they call "bad guys") in a pretend ambush. 

Thanks

A couple of weeks ago,  I fell into a huge depression. I'm not exactly sure why, but probably a culmination of the move, work and being so busy that I could barely see straight. My perspective was so off that I truly believed some very strange notions about life, parenthood, teaching, etc. It started with a panic attack I had over my freshman seminar class. 

My students are learning about each academy we have at the school - Engineering, Finance, Law, IT, and Hospitality. We have a professional kitchen for the Hospitality students, and they often cook for the the teachers' meetings. Yum! So, for this unit, my students had to type up a family or favorite recipe and write a narrative about it. I gave them an example from Coolio's Cooking with Coolio. I struggled a bit before giving it to them...because there is a little cursing and some drug references...but there is also an incredible voice and attention to audience that I wanted the students to model. I picked a relatively benign page to copy, but after passing it out, I regretted my choice. I envisioned parents trying to protect their children from the rampant world of drugs, cursing and negativity around them, and wondering why their son/daughter was given this example in school. I totally overreacted; panicked; called my friend in a panic. Asked the kids to give it back the next day, and replaced it with a MUCH less interesting page from 1,000 Jewish Recipes. This "mistake" started a downward spiral into anxiety and depression for a week and a half. My confidence was shaken. My ability to see clearly...shaken.

Aside from the pain (and it is actual, physical pain), I cannot stand how selfish depression/anxiety are. Example: I forgot to pay our car payment and a few other bills, forgot my parents anniversary, and I mean completely forgot. And because I was too depressed to take their phone calls, Michelle wasn't able to remind me (though she tried). 

I got out of it, slowly...it took a couple of good days at work for me to feel confident again. Or rather, the ability to SEE that they were good days. The days themselves were probably not so different from any others.

So, this year, I am thankful for so many things (for Evan - my rock, for Jack, for Ben, for their health, for family, for friends, for love, for all the things we notice when they are shaken)

But I am most thankful right now for mental health and adequate perspective. 

And these things, too:

- Old mix tapes that Jack and I dance to in the kitchen

- Ben's squishy cheeks

- Jack pretending that we are all bears about to hibernate

- My pillows

- The way Benny touches my eyebrows and says, in his sweet little voice,  
   eye...brow

-  Hanging out in our new home (with all of its natural light) on a Saturday

Moving Along

So, after the rocky transition that was last year, the 2010-2011 school year was going to be my "year of the same". I was so looking forward to a year of no major transitions...

Ha.

We just moved again last weekend! That's four times in four years (if you count the three months we lived with the Serpicks) We found out my first week back at work that our landlord wanted to sell the place, and I blocked that piece of information out of my mind for an entire month! Then, we were forced to begin looking at what was available to rent in Mt. Washington. Slim pickings. We had a great deal at our old place, and it was hard to imagine paying more money for a shittier space. 

Alas, we found a great house to rent - more money, but more space too. And we love it. 

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of packing, cleaning, moving and transitioning into the new place (add Halloween, Evan and Benny's birthdays in there too). It took Benny a few nights of whining and a few mornings of waking up at 3:30, but he seems adjusted now. I only had one major panic attack. Evan and I have stopped bickering. Jack took the transition the easiest. He loved the space from day one and still gets excited to see it.

Jack: Are we going to our NEW house now? 

Mommy: Yes. And from now on, honey, when I say we're going home, I always mean our new house.  

Five minutes later: Jack: Are we almost at our NEW house? 

Alright, so our stuff is all over the place and I can't find my clothes and now when I want to lay down and rest, I can add, You have to unpack, too!! to the uber-long list of things to do. That's okay. I think as a parent of small children, transition just comes along with the territory. It's something to just get used to and not fear.

As my dad reminded me the other day, these are all good things. Lucky transitions.

Been A While

Here's why:

The school year started. Plain and simple. Teaching takes over my life, again.  I have yet to be able to teach and write poetry (bye for now, Fagel) or teach and concentrate on anything extra - consumed by the plans, the students, the grading, the needs.

I used to manage this obsession through practicing Capoeira, but then it seemed that Capoeira had to become my life for me to get to the next level, and I was ready to settle down with Evan and start a family at that point. So I quit both teaching and Capoeira (abruptly, regrettably) and had a few relatively less stressed years to enjoy pregnancy and adjust to motherhood (and move to Jersey City, then Baltimore - okay, some stress!).

Now, my "Capoeira" that takes my mind off of teaching has turned into making dinner, playing, baths, and bedtime routine for two little guys who deserve every bit of attention I can muster (and don't even get me started about dishes, laundry, or housework in general! That shit never gets done.) The problem is, I'm not always giving them the attention they deserve. My mind obsesses about what happened in the classroom or didn't happen, etc. When I catch myself, it becomes a battle that I don't always win. I'm starting to spend the time writing these obsessions down in order to let them go.  It's a very complicated relationship.

That said, I'm in a good place with teaching in many ways. Someone once told me that it takes about seven years to truly find your way. This is my seventh year in the classroom - though because I took a break for a few years, and entered a new system, and began again with middle school, and had a baby less than a year old, last year sure felt like my first year teaching! I cannot even reference the blogs I wrote those first few months here - I was a total mess - kind of embarrassing. Now, I'm in a school I love, where I have support in the curriculum, while given the freedom to be creative. I have a good handle on classroom management, after yeeeeaaaaaarrrrsss of trial and error.

It is frustrating as a new teacher or a teacher in a new environment when the seasoned tell you that you will "find your way" with classroom management. It's like a hazing we all must go through. There is no formula or method that works for all because a teacher must be his/herself in the classroom, or it's 10 months of intensive, impossible acting for hours and hours daily. The first time you have a student freak out for something you thought was benign, you learn what is not benign. The first time you feel like shit for watching a student cower, you learn that is not your way, either. And, certainly, the times you let something serious go because you didn't have the energy to deal with it, you learn that some things need to be addressed immediately, no matter what. Or, as one of my colleagues would add, the first time you have a student whip out his penis and pee in front of your desk, you don't think bathroom passes are such a big deal any longer!

On the good days, I never felt better about myself. I feel like the service I am giving is the one that truly changes people and families and poverty and the country. On the bad days, I feel like an imposter who somehow tricked people into thinking I could handle this immense responsibility! Some days I plan and plan and research and put together a lesson I think is profound, and it bombs. Others, I haphazardly plan a lesson that I think will bomb and it will soar.  It's all a part of that people factor that makes working with them rather than machines so glorious and inspiring.

Again, it's a very complicated relationship. But one I am so happy to be involved in. 

Morning Rituals

It is true that the later the boys go to bed (and the later I go to bed), the earlier they wake up.  Happens every time. I have never understood this phenomenon. Has anyone done a study on this? Well, I thought we were turning a corner with the just about 6am wake-ups, and stayed up late last night to watch Project Runway (1.5 hours? Bor-ring!). But, alas, 5am this morning Benny is wailing and Jack teeters out of his room not too much later. They have always been connected in this way. The day Benny was born, Jack let out a cry and a second later, my water broke. No joke. They work together, those two. 


I consider myself a morning person, always have, but I cannot play or function without my coffee. And that means, every morning the boys watch TV while I make coffee, Ben's bottle, breakfast, go online, wait to wake up, and the like. They were watching Pinocchio as I began this post. 


At this point, we've had to limit our TV. One hour in the morning and no TV at night is the rule we (mostly) abide to. Exception being on dead-tired weekends, when we've spent all day running around or playing together and just need a break. 


And what a break TV is! A true, "free" babysitter. Jack and Benny are mesmerized. I can go upstairs, on line, lay down, have a reasonably timed bathroom trip. It is all too tempting. Kind of like my own battle with TV-to-tune-out-ness.

see...

                      and...worst parents in the world award,  here


Jack's loving Batman, with the fighting and jumping around and all sorts of mahem. Times have surely changed in a year. When he received a transformer last year, I thought I could control the boy socializing, remember? Now, he's all about playing "bad guys" where he attacks us on the sofa with a strange grin, making scary noises. He plays the super-hero-good-guy, saving the world from Ev and I. I play Cat Woman. Evan plays "Sally".


I can only imagine the fears and issues I'd be dealing with if I had a daughter (reason #103 for not having another child), but socializing boys is a delicate balance. I'm trying to encourage Jack's sensitivity along with helping him be a bit more daring. Benny....we'll see...he doesn't seem sensitive AT ALL. He is more the don't worry 'bout a thing type. He is obsessed with trucks and cars. He will knock you over when you're not playing Cat Woman, with a grin on his face, and charm you out of being angry about it. 


Uh-oh.

Fagel

This summer, my goal is to write my first book-length poetry manuscript. I've been working on it most days. Except the few when I had to pick up Benny from daycare due to vomit, diarrhea or hitting his head. Or the hours I got sidetracked by reality TV - damn you TV! But I digress...


The project is to translate my grandmother's numerous, incredible life stories into poems. After she died four years ago (just after her 96th birthday) I made a quick list of every story that I did not want to forget. There are 60 items on that list. I tried to begin writing then, but could only eek out two pantoums (a very cool form. check it out here) before I quit. One is about her first memory - watching the Tsar pass through her town. The other about a baby sister who died of a head injury in Russia when a cousin threw her too high and into the ceiling (to this day, I cannot watch people play this game with a baby). She never knew her sister's name or which cousin accidentally killed the baby. Her mother did not want to further hurt that cousin, who must have felt terribly, or for the children to hold anything against him (him?). I admire that lady for her wisdom under such duress. 


While growing up, my grandmother's stories were a mixture of the exotic and historic. I was in awe, even as a young child, at how it was possible for our lives to be so drastically different in just two generations.


Examples of what I thought was exotic:


- Speaking Yiddish
- Having a Yiddish name
- Growing up as an Orthodox Jew
- Moving from Russia
- Traveling in a boat; on an ocean
- Kicking a man in China who she thought was going to hurt her brother (who broke the man's drum)
- Living in Japan for a couple of months (After they lost all of their money on the way to America. I wish I knew more about this story.)
- Having 5 brothers and sisters
- Having a cantor for a father
- Having a father who called out Sippa (his wife's Yiddish name) as his first word  every time he came home
- Having only one dress and one doll


Examples of what I knew was historic:


- Fleeing the Russian Revolution
- Traveling to America during WWI, through the Pacific Ocean to avoid the war
- Leaving school at 14 years old to work and help support her family
- Being the only working person in her family during the depression
- Her brother freeing Holocaust survivors while drafted during WWII
- Being somewhat of a feminist - a woman who worked outside of the home
- The stories of her own grandmother, Shima, who was the only woman she knew who could read Hebrew. (Shima must have taught herself to read and write, perhaps?) Women used to sit around her while she read (Torah?) to them. Shima also opened a store in America, as an elderly lady, knowing very little English. (I wish I knew more about this woman!)


The book will be called Fagel which was my grandmother's Yiddish name. After Russia, only her closest family called her Fagel. To Americans, she was Fanny as a child and Phyllis as an adult.


A couple of weeks ago, I was rewriting Czar, the pantoum about her first memory. I'd heard this story so many times and not once did it occur to me to wonder which Tsar she was speaking of. I did some quick Wikipedias and realized that this was the Tsar who was taken prisoner and shot in a cellar with his wife, children and servants. And for a long time, people thought one daughter (and son?) survived until DNA proved them all wrong. Yes, I had heard this remarkable story, too! I never thought to wonder, Is this the Tsar of my grandmother's first memory? Indeed, it must have been. She spent her first seven years in a village outside of Mogilev, now Mahilyow in Belarus, where Tsar Nicholas II constantly traveled, because between 1915-1917 it functioned as the headquarters of the Russian Imperial Army. (Thank you, Wikipedia.) 


I am almost entirely Russian Jew (1/4 Czech Jew). My children are 7/8's Russian Jew. But, I am sorry to say, I have never had any interest in Russian history or visiting Russia/Belarus. Perhaps because Russian Jewish history is so savage and ferocious, I never felt a connection to that country. Until now. This writing and revelation about the Tsar of my grandmother's first memory, has opened up a serious inquiry. For the first time ever, I'm all about the Russian Revolution. I'm reading Nicholas and Alexandra by Robert Massie to learn the details of this last Tsar and his family. My poetry has taken a turn from being about my grandmother's memories, to her memories in the context of the Russian Revolution, Bloody Sunday, pograms, Russian anti-semitism at the turn of the century, and Russian feminism in the time of Emma Goldman (also reading My Disillusionment in Russia), which is the time of our own Shima. 


But now, how will I ever finish this manuscript by the end of the summer? (Especially since I have to teach a few weeks of a summer bridge program. You see, I was unaware that BCPSS pays on a 10 rather than 12-month payroll. Thanks again, BCPSS. More about that at another time.) Sigh. 

I have to say, all of this writing and researching just makes me miss my grandmother more. She was the person I admired most as a child; who had the most influence on me; who I just couldn't get enough of; who cried when I was sick.  


I guess missing her is an inevitable side effect. 

*Michelle and I were never happier than when around this beautiful lady. I love how she must have been twirling my pigtails before this photo was taken. Thanks to my mom who (still) dutifully labels every photo. The back of this one says Hanukah Party 1979*