More decapitations...

When I was a kid, I bit the heads off my chocolate bunnies in one big bite so that they wouldn't feel any pain...

Some things never change, and in fact, seem to have been passed down to my daughter.

What a great Easter weekend!

This past weekend was so much fun. As my roommate Clare said, some days are long and miserable, some are short and sweet, but not many are long and wonderful. We spent the last two days lazily eating, spending time with friends, and just generally relaxing and playing. We even went to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens in the rain, which was worth getting a little chilled (although I might have been a little grumbly in the beginning?), especially as afterward we went to my friend Geoff's place for hot tea and snacks!

Yesterday my roommates and I hosted a brunch- everyone brought treats for Anevay and tasty things to contribute- the day was a (sweet) success. We even fit in yet another Wong Kar-Wei film (Anevay wants to see all of his films- yesterday we saw 'Chungking Express'), and had a long and terribly fun game of Charades.

Looking around the dinner table yesterday, I realized we all came from different backgrounds, religions and cultures. Ireland, South Africa (with a Korean twist), Spain, Israel, Puerto Rico, the States (Midwest, East and South)- Jewish, Catholic and Agnostic. How cool is it that Anevay is growing up with such a wealth of stories and ideas. We really are quite fortunate.

Everyone Poops Trailer

OK, I'm sure most of you have had the opportunity to see the 'Where the Wild Things Are' Trailer. If not, check it out:



*Almost* as exciting is yet another movie adapted from a beloved kid's book. My daughter nearly peed her pants laughing over it:

Anevay learned how to ride her bike!!

My kid is just about the coolest kid on the planet. In minutes, she learned how to ride in circles. If there was a race in which all the contestants rode around on a very tiny circle track, Anevay would kill 'em all...

...A little more practice is needed in riding in a straight line, however, but I know my speedracer will get the hang of it soon enough.

I'm sooo excited about starting a new Brooklyn biker-chick gang.

Which reminds me- One of my best friends on the planet (I've known Courtney Webster since 4th grade, she's the one seated in the video) just made a biker-chick short for the NYC 24 Hour Film Face 2009. Yep, that means that the video was made in just one day!

Check it out:

Friday morning decapitation

Anevay: My doll's head fell off.

Me: It fell off? Or you pulled it off?

A: It fell off. I swear.

M: I understand. The same thing happens to me sometimes.

A (looking quarrelous): Mom, you're a person. This is a doll.

M (also looking quarrelous): You mean you've never done it before? To yourself?

A: Noooo...

M: Well, don't look so apprehensive. I bet you could do it if you tried.

A: You mean you want my head to pop off?

M: Only if you put it back on.

Anevay and I then spent many minutes trying to will our heads to pop off. It didn't happen, of course, and Anevay was no further along in believing me than she was before our little experiment, but I must say, the whole process of trying was extremely amusing.

Now, I understand that most grown-ups don't believe that decapitations are humorous, but when I think about how many millions of kids take apart their dolls, I think that there is something in their thinking that us adults would be wise to remember... That bodies are just bodies. In addition to treating them like temples (which is something that they learn how to do from adults, who have developed the fear of them dying), they are also great sources of amusement.

When I was a kid, I believed that my stuffed animals and dolls were truly alive. For this reason, and because I thought they were such good friends of mine, I never maimed them. Hell, I didn't even cut off the hair on my Barbies. Anevay, on the other hand, ties up her Barbies, cuts their hair, and, as evidenced in the pictures above, pops their heads off.

I love it. I wish that I had been comfortable enough to maim my dolls when I was a kid. But I had an overdeveloped fear of dying that I let fester rather than, like many kids, explore...

Bringing her doll to me, in such a state, felt like some kind of weird test. It seemed like Anevay wanted to see what my reaction would be.

After the whole head-popping experiment, we had another talk...

M: So, did your doll's head really just fall off, or did it have a little help?

A (smiling): It had a little help. Are you mad?

M: No. It's your doll.

A: I'm glad in real life our heads don't pop off like that.

M: Me too. But it sure is fun trying.

Lots of giggles ensued, and then we took a handful of pictures to document the moment. (I love the one in which Anevay flares her nostrils, making herself look like a cute little piglet... Our roommate, Clare, caught us taking the last few of these pictures... I wonder if she thought we were nuts!)

For what it's worth, I think I passed Anevay's little test. I'm proud that she feels comfortable enough to come to me with her decapitated dolls. If I had done such a thing to a doll when I was a kid, I probably would have hidden it away in shame.

As an adult, on the other hand, I have thankfully come to see the macabre playfulness in all of this. Believe me, I don't expect that most people will understand this... But maybe some of you, like me, get something out of Charles Simic, or Poe, or have enjoyed the Kill Bill films (I just watched them last week, and thought they were a lot of fun)? I don't think the world is filled with only rainbows and unicorns, and I don't think it's all death and destruction, either. Recognizing that life is all of these things is healthy, right? I sure hope so, because that's the attitude I seem to be passing on to my kid... Not that I ever expect either of us to be decapitated, but we'll certainly have to deal with, at some point, illness and death, and my hope for Anevay is that those events not be as isolated as much as they are simply part of the big picture.

In the novel I'm completing, one of the characters is from a region in India where many of the people worship Kali, a Hindu goddess associated with death and destruction.


And yet, by those who know and study her, she is recognized as the goddess of time and transformation. There is an acceptance that life has cycles, and that death is a part of this. Kali is most often depicted dancing upon the prostrate Shiva. Whereas Shiva is stable, always the same, Kali is always changing. Together, their iconography signifies opposite forces that make up the universe.

I totally simplified all of this. Forgive me. This must seem like the most fragmented post ever...

It all boils down to this. This morning, Anevay included me in a sort of play that kids usually do behind closed doors. She let me be privy to this intimate child's play. Instead of asking her why she pulled off the head of her doll (would she really have understood why she did it? really?), I played along. I think I surprised her. I think she thought I would be mad, or disappointed. But instead I helped make it fun.

And why not?

Besides, I'm starting to play around with some of the same ideas in my most recent embroideries... I just had a much later start than my smart, confident little Anevay:



(this is a detail of a canvas I have up at the Brooklyn Collective)



(I embroidered the guillotine and Miz Antoinette on a sweatshirt that I sell in my shop, as well as at the Brooklyn Collective)

(this is a detail of a cool convex canvas I did...)

Lazy Thursday with my girl

Today was the first day of Anevay's spring recess... and it was a good one. I had told her that today would be a day for me to tie up loose ends (I had a couple of orders in my shop to get out, as well as a few other errands), and, true to form, my girl let me get my work done, and then we were free to roam the neighborhood (picture above is from Bedford Ave, here in the BK)!

When I had a job, Anevay's vacations were very difficult for me. I was forced to leave my girl with friends, and when I couldn't do that, I had to spend insane amounts on money to have other people watch her. It was heartbreaking. Not only did I detest my crappy job, but not being able to be with Anevay was very painful. I couldn't figure out how any of it was really worth it. When she was in school, I saw her for less than an hour in the morning, and then an hour and a half at night. And then Saturdays were taken up by grocery shopping, laundry, and other equally fun and exciting chores. Anevay suffered, she wanted me around, and I was so exhausted by my insane schedule that when Sunday finally rolled around, our one truly free day, I was too beat to want to do anything. Really, it was no way to live. Not for me. Not for us. But I was trapped. Writing a book (I woke up at 4:15 in the mornings to work on it), but still, trapped...

Until I was laid off.

Overnight, things were different. I didn't have to rush in the mornings. I could finally, for the first time, pick up my daughter from school. I can't tell you what that felt like, to be able to do that (without having the guilt for leaving early from a crap job, or skip out on classes before school, which is where I was before I worked said crap job).

Where am I left...

Well, I have no money, and have no idea if any of the things I'm working on will prove lucrative. But Christ, man, I get to be with my kid, right now, during her spring recess. And the way the economy is looking, I might get to be with her over the summer. And if I'm not living today, then when the hell am I living?

For the last few years at my job I wanted so badly to look on the bright side... Now I'm living on the bright side. Right now, as I sit next to my kid, watching the end of a crappy movie (too embarrassing to name, although she did redeem her bad pick by also picking out another Wong Kar-Wei movie for tomorrow), I feel lucky. If the economy hadn't tanked, I'd still be sitting at a desk in an office on Park Ave. where my CEO paid more a month for the rent of that office than he did for my yearly salary. Yikes. The thought gives me the shivers.

Hopefully this will be the year for small, grassroots businesses, and hopefully people will stand up to the standard of living that many of us became so accustomed to adhering to. Because I don't know, honestly, if I can go back to feeling so squalshed. I have too much, people. I'm too fucking talented and smart, the biggest thing I was lacking before was that I hadn't loved money above all else. I went to school for what I wanted to go to school for (although in hindsight I would have chosen a different program, in a different creative direction), and thought that to work hard meant one climbed that ridiculous 'ladder to the top' that I've been hearing about since bad 80's movies. But unfortunately, I learned the hard way that working hard wasn't enough. Maybe it will be now.

I'm not going to wait anxiously to find out. I'm going to enjoy this time I have with my kid, not matter what comes next. And so, here's our itinery for the next few days:

Friday: Going to the park with Anevay's bike and not leaving until she learns to ride it, once and for all (this has proven difficult). Have ice-cream. In the evening, either watch back-to-back Wong Kar-Wai movies or go gallery hopping with friends here in Williamburg, as all the galleries are open late (second Friday of every month...). My guess is that Anevay will want to stay in and watch the movies... Fine by me. Lastly, I expect we'll talk, hug, then go to sleep. I plan on writing tomorrow late into the night.

Saturday: Go to a friend's for brunch, then off to the Botanical Gardens to see all the flowers opening (I love, love, love flowering trees). Tomorrow night I'm going to work on a medium-sized convex canvas I just bought... Playing around with some ideas.

Sunday: Meet up with friends, have an Easter egg hunt, host a brunch (I make a mean strata)

Next week: Storm King, Dia:Beacon, Coney Island, all over the place... Point is, I'm able to do any of these things, with my kid, and I don't have to answer to a job that only gives me ten days off a year!

Bliss...

Reality check...

Anevay and I have been having many heart-to-heart discussions lately about mortality, specifically, ways in which, barring accident, we can keep alive and healthy for as long as possible.

As the kid of a single mom (with an absent father), Anevay's biggest fear is that I'll die and leave her alone. It's also one of my biggest fears, and one that I'm working hard to counter.

That's why I have cut down my caffeine intake to a cup a day (OK, sometimes two), why I quit smoking (although I had largely quit, I was still having an occasional cigarette while having a drink... it's been three or four years now since I've had a single puff), and why I've cut down my alcohol consumption to a minimum.

Last night Anevay and I, who already have a healthy diet, decided to eat even better. (We've been a little lax lately)

This morning, I read an article in Counterpunch (a great political newsletter) that seemed not only to confirm that the choices Anevay and I are making are wise, but it put them into context alongside one of the biggest fears our government and media have instilled in us... terrorism.

Read below for a snippet of the article:

"A significant majority of Americans, polls repeatedly tell us, list terrorism as one of their greatest fears. Like most of our media-inspired interests and worries, however, this one has little basis in reality.

In actual fact, unless you’re serving in a war zone, the most dangerous person you’re ever likely to encounter – by several orders of magnitude – is the one you see in the mirror every morning.

Not some shadowy arms dealer peddling second hand nukes. Not some dusky Jihadi with a song on his lips and a suicide belt around his middle. Not some mad scientist, bribed by the forces of evil to cook up a bio-bug capable of ending life as we know it.

Here are the hard facts.

The single greatest killer of Americans is the so-called “lifestyle disease”. Somewhere between half a million and a million of us get a short ride in a long hearse every year because of smoking, lousy diets, parking our bodies in front of the TV instead of operating them, and downing yet another six pack and / or tequila popper.

According to the US Department of Health and Human Services, between 310,000 and 580,000 of us will commit suicide by cigarette this year. Another 260,000 to 470,000 will go in the ground due to poor diet and sedentary lifestyle. And some 85,000 of us will drink to our own departure."

After reading the article, it's hard to believe that our country maintains such a fear of terrorism even while our healthcare system ranks 37th in the world (Take a guess at which kills more people... Terrorism or inadequate healthcare):

1         France
2         Italy
3         San Marino
4         Andorra
5         Malta
6         Singapore
7         Spain
8         Oman
9         Austria
10        Japan
11        Norway
12        Portugal
13        Monaco
14        Greece
15        Iceland
16        Luxembourg
17        Netherlands
18        United  Kingdom
19        Ireland
20        Switzerland
21        Belgium
22        Colombia
23        Sweden
24        Cyprus
25        Germany
26        Saudi Arabia
27        United  Arab  Emirates
28        Israel
29        Morocco
30        Canada
31        Finland
32        Australia
33        Chile
34        Denmark
35        Dominica
36        Costa Rica
37        United States of America

Surprised? Unfortunately, as an unemployed single mom with terrible healthcare, I'm not...

Too bad our country has such a costly, yet inadequate healthcare system, as the US has the fifth highest obesity percentage... (A person who is 40% overweight is twice as likely to have health problems and die prematurely as is an average-weight person)

(We can partially thank the US Farm Policy- geared towards driving down prices for corn and soybeans- for our country's obesity percentage. Just Google the US Farm Policy and obesity if you don't believe me):


I won't even get into smoking statistics, as they disgust me so much to the point where if I ever met a person who worked for the tobacco industry (lobbyists, that means you, too), I'd be liable to beat him/her down...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to not only have another cup of tea so that I can get over my cold and get my ass back to my muay thai gym, but I need to get on the phone to sign my kid up to play summer soccer. (No, I see nothing wrong with being a soccer mom... If my kid wants to play soccer, she'll play soccer, dammit.)

My healthy body = that many more days I can spend on this Earth with my sweet daughter...

Raising my daughter to keep healthy habits = successful parenting...

As far as my fear of terrorism goes, I think along the lines of John Goekler (Read here for the full Counterpunch article), who wrote:

"Terrorism is an act of the weak. But so is walking through the airport in our socks."

Buying an Obama condom and the conversation it started with my kid...

China Town is filled with the cries of vendors hawking their wares. The shops spill their goods over the sidewalks, luring tourists with cheap prices and bright colors. I'm often in China Town. Anevay's school is just minutes away, and both my Muay Thai gym and one of my art supply stores (Pearl Paint) are located on Canal Street, which is located right in the thick of the neighborhood. Amid the flurry of commotion in China Town, I feel completely anonymous. It's a strange, yet strangely welcome feeling.

Today, as Anevay and I made our way down Canal Street, a man's voice stood out in the crowd...

"OBAMA CONDOMS... BUY YOUR OBAMA CONDOMS!"

I pulled Anevay through the crowd and stopped in front of the man, laughing. "Where do they come from?" I asked.

He told me about how he and his partner made condoms for each of the presidential candidates, bought domain names, and that after the election, they ceased production of all of the names except for Obama.

Poor as I am, I bought one, just so that I can keep it in my bag to pull out as a conversation starter. I can't see wanting to use it with a partner. (Although seeing as how I'm looking for a presidential boyfriend, who knows... Maybe there's a fella out there who wouldn't be intimidated by wearing Obama's cap?)

As Anevay and I traipsed off towards the subway, she asked, "well, that was cool. But what's a condom?"

Oh, man... Did I open up a can of worms or what?

I'm pretty open with my kid. She knows what sex is. She knows all about a period and what that means for a women. I don't hold back much, although I do refrain from discussing violent crimes made against women (those discussions will come... but not yet).

After a brief hiccup, I looked down at my sweet little daughter and told her the truth.

"A condom," I said. "Is a piece of thin material called latex that a man puts over his penis before a woman lets him put it inside of her vagina while they are having sex. The condom keeps his sperm from going inside of the woman, and therefore lessens the chance of her becoming pregnant. It's one of many ways men and women can practice what is called 'safe sex'..."

At this point, Anevay nodded, understanding a little bit about what safe sex entails.

See, just this morning, after singing 'We Are the Champions' on the way to school (some kids sing Hannah Montana... my kid sings Elvis, Queen, the Ramones and, among other things, Fugazi and the Beatles), we mandered into a conversation about Freddy Mercury dying of AIDS, which led to a lengthy discussion not only about AIDS, but how many people around the world are not getting the preventative care they deserve, and, finally, a talk about safe sex and responsibility.

Yes, Anevay and I covered a lot of ground today.

And yes, I realize that these are heavy topics for a seven year old kid.

And yet, I am resolved to continue being matter-of-fact as I give my daughter information. At school, Anevay roams the Internet. I want her to be well-equipped and informed enough to sort through all the garbage that might cross her path. I want her to be powerful. She is powerful.

I like to think that I am powerful...

Funny, then, that the question of what is a condom made me- if only briefly- falter. As a women, there are many ways that I take precautions to take care of myself when I'm with a partner. And yet, I've always left it up to men to supply the condoms... Sure, I have them at home (who doesn't?!), but I never carry them on my person. It's baffling!

Why?

Why leave this responsibility to a partner instead of taking it upon myself? And what message might this send to my daughter (not that I talk with my daughter about my sex life... The topic is a little more generalized)?

Don't get me wrong. I insist that my partners (save for the few that I've been with longterm) wear condoms. No condom? No sex. Simple as that.

But today got me thinking... I realized that someday, when Anevay is older (much older, I hope), I will let her know that being in charge of her body means that she should- when the time comes- be in charge of the condoms her partners wears (oh, man, the thought of this makes me feel queasy!!). I want her to know that being a strong woman means that one makes strong decisions for herself, and that she ought to always, when and if she is sexually active, carry a powerful weapon against AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases... And not only by taking the pill, but by carrying condoms on her person and insisting that they be used.

My Obama Condom may be in my bag only as a conversation starter, but the one I've put next to it will be there when and if it is needed...

Check out the Obama Condom's website for more info on their product. If I were Obama, I'd be proud to be the face of a product that promotes safe sex (although truth-be-told, Obama Condoms is selling their little pieces of latex for an outrageous price... Besides the gimmick, they are, after all, just condoms, which can be picked up for free at any Planned Parenthood in the country. But hey, power to the people. It's a tough economy. I commend anyone able to legitimately make a buck... or five smackers, in this case.).

Thoughts? As a single mom- sans partner to refer to about such things- I'd especially like to hear how other parents deal with the difficult questions our children ask.

I F*%king love New York!!

What a beautiful spring morning! As I towed Anevay and one of her pals to school this morning, it occurred to me that there is no where I'd rather live than New York... Bathed in the morning light, neither the shrill sound of trucks backing up, migraine-inducing jackhammers, nor the stinky woman who stood behind me on the subway with her bag pressed full-stop against my spine, could shake my good mood.

It being a Friday, and me being the type of mom I am, we were running late. 20 minutes late, to be exact. There's something about being late that makes me move even more slowly... It's the feeling of heck, I'm already late, so instead of stressing out Anevay trying to make her hurry, why not just take our time and enjoy it!

See, New York has a pace that is a little faster than most other places. When we moved here from Wisconsin six years ago it took us a few months to adjust. I've always been a fast walker, but it was more than that. It was learning how to navigate my way through a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of people without bumping a single person, and running to catch a subway train even though another one was only two minutes behind it (what a difference from Wisco, where a bus might not come for another hour). In New York, minutes count.

Or, in the case of one man this morning, seconds count.

Since this morning I had decided to slow the pace, it made sense to stop for coffee at the donut cart close to Anevay's school. The two men who run the cart are incredibly kind, know how I like my coffee (even though I rarely buy from them). They were getting my coffee for me when Anevay asked if she might be allowed a donut. I'm not big on junk food (in fact, although we're not vegetarians, we eat a lot of tofu and veggies in my house), but being in such a great mood, I told Anevay to pick something out. Two seconds later, and the man in line behind me hollered, "Hurry the f*%k up!"

My (American)Irish blood immediately blushed my cheeks, and even as one of the guys in the cart yelled, "hey, man, it's Friday, cool off," I spun around and proceeded to get all 'New York'.

"Don't talk to me like that. Can't you see I'm standing here with kids?" (note- Anevay and her friend were standing to the side of me, talking, and hadn't even picked up that any of this was happening)

Immediately, the man smiled, then laughed in a good natured manner. "Hey, how you doin'?" he said in his best New Yorker's accent.

It was one of the security guards at the Tweed Building, which houses Anevay's school (I seem to be having quite the time with security guards this week).

"Not bad, man, how you doin'?" I responded. After all, it had been me who had ignored the cardinal rule of the New York minute... namely that in such a large city, surrounded by millions of people, even when I want to slow things down, I need to understand that the rest of the city is still moving along at the same fast pace!

This is what I love about New York. Sure, the people are abrasive and confrontational. But most of them don't hold grudges. If New York were a person, it would be a PMSing woman... emotional, sensitive, alternately laughing and crying...

New York is my cup of tea. It's the bee's knees. I hang my hat every night on image of the Empire State Building. I call it my own. I'm raising my kid within it's stifling, sweaty, warm, and yet arm's length embrace. New York is home, man, it's home.

And so, a small list is in order (hey, it would be longer, but time is of the essence!!).




1) 'New York I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down' by LCD Soundsystem.

The title of the song says it all... My daughter and I sang it a lot this past winter on cold walks to the subway. Click here to hear the song. It's AMAZING.

(A little aside: Anevay's first love is the son of the drummer for LCD Soundsystem (nice guy). They used to buddy up at the park quite a bit. Now that I'm done hibernating for the winter, maybe I make a call to set up the playdate I've promised to Anevay!)

(Another little aside: One of the best big concerts I've seen in NY was the Arcade Fire/LCD Soundsystem show at Randall's Island two summers ago... SO. MUCH. FUN.)



2) 'Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

Last night one of my best friends, a native New Yorker, came by for movie night. What we saw delighted both of us, and even elicited a few laughs from my roommate, Clare, who sat across the loft working on her computer).

Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist (see trailer here) is not only a well-written, witty screenplay, with great acting and amazing music, but it was so much fun to follow Nick and Norah on their adventures around the city to all of the music venues I love so much, as well as watch them foray into Brooklyn to see their favorite band play, which leads me to number three on my list...



3) 'Union Pool'

In Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, most of the characters were on a mission to find the secret location where the band 'Where's Fluffy' would be playing. At one point they all piled into a van and drove into Brooklyn, where they ended up at a location called 'Brooklyn Pool'.

Well, Brooklyn Pool is, in real life, the fabled Union Pool, where amazing bands and too much booze (at least that's been the case for me) meet on a weekly basis. Union Pool even has a photobooth (I have late night pics from that booth that will never see the light of day)...


...a huge patio, and, although the crowd has become younger (or maybe I'm just getting older), it's just a terrific one-stop venue for chatting up strangers about music, life in Brooklyn, and for seeing some great characters...

In fact, a couple of years ago I went to see some of my pals in TV on the Radio play a Hurricane Katrina Benefit- I went not only to support a good cause, but because I had heard through the grapevine that my all-time favorite, Will Oldham himself (Bonnie Prince Billy), would be playing a few songs... (He did, but unfortunately I was in the bathroom making out with my ex-boyfriend. Sigh. That's sometimes how it goes at Union Pool. Oh- that reminds me... That was the same ex- whom I had met through the Internet and eventually shared the loft I'm in now with- that I had my first date with at Union Pool. Go figure.)



4) Williamsburg Bridge

I live blocks away from the bridge, which is a suspension bridge that connects the Lower East Side of Manhattan to my Williamsburg neighborhood in the BK. I run across it, walk across it, and have even skateboarded across it. From the bridge one can see landmarks in both Brooklyn and Manhattan (duh), the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn, Manhattan, and George Washington Bridges, and, from that vantage point, the water of the East River looks *almost* blue... My ex-roommates from Germany (we miss you, Daniel and Eveline!!) used to celebrate birthdays and holidays with champagne in the middle of the bridge.

Good times!

(And not such good times... I remember a few years ago when the MTA strike happened and I had no choice but to walk home in heels from the Seagram Building on the corner of Park and 53rd to Williamsburg... By the time I got to the bridge I was not a happy camper... Have you ever had blisters on the bottoms of your feet? Not fun.)



5) 'This is New York' by Miroslav Sasek

This beautiful children's book from 1960 is filled with illustrations and brief descriptions of NYC landmarks. My daughter and I have spent many hours pouring over the book's pages...

(both notable and poignant is the absence of the World Trade Center... the book was written before the Towers were built and subsequently destroyed)


And that, my dears, is the shortest list in the world... Perhaps you could add some of your favorite New York places/films/music in the form of a comment? But hurry the f*%k up, wouldjya (written with a HUGE New York smile)?!

xo

Speaking of report cards...

Yesterday I mentioned my daughter's stellar report card.

Today there's an article in the New York Times that discusses how letter grades based on achievement have been replaced by a numerical, standards-based system based on approvement. Numbered 1-4 (with a 4 meaning a child has met the learning standard for a particular skill with distinction, and a 1 meaning she has not met that standard). Anevay, for example, received primarily 3s (which mean she is 'meeting learning standards'), and 4s, (which means she is 'meeting learning standards with distinction').

The New York Times article mentions that "the new grades are based on year-end expectations, 4s are generally not available until the final marking period." Hm. Conceptually I get it... Within this system, Anevay is working towards a year-end goal. This means that I can chart her progress as she jumps from a 3 to a 4, and that I can cheer as I see that the school system is shaping my creative, brilliant little girl into the sort of standardized learner they want her to be.

Right?

"Thomas R. Guskey," it states in the article, "a professor at Georgetown College in Kentucky and an author of 'Developing Standards-Based Report Cards,' a book that is soon to be released, said the new approach was more accurate, because it measures each student against a stated set of criteria, rather than grading on a curve, which compares members of a class with one another. 'The dilemma with that system is you really don’t know whether anybody has learned anything,' Dr. Guskey said of grading on a curve. “They could all have done miserably, just some less miserably than others.”

So does this mean that students are no longer compared with one another? That it's not as subjective?

Hm... I guess I need to know a little more about the ways in which my daughter's teachers came up with the numbers I find on her report card. What exactly is the criteria for a 3 as opposed to a 4? (And a brief aside: What were the determining factors for my daughter receiving a 2 for only 'partially meeting the learning standards' in the skill of 'understanding the cultural contributions of the arts'? I had to laugh over this one... hell, I went to school for art history, have a loft filled to the gills with art and theory books, and regularly expose Anevay to conversations and have her take part in community activities in which she is learning about 'the cultural contributions of the arts'. I'd go out on a limb, in fact, and venture that Miss Anevay has been exposed to more 'culture' than some of the teacher's she has had).

So are they really trying to tell me that this number system is not subjective? How does a teacher from an inner-city school grade using this method compared to a teacher from Westchester? Many of the children in my daughter's school have behavioral and learning issues that they're working on... Would my daughter, who is fortunate enough to not have any learning issues, and is, in fact, reading at a 5th grade level (she's in 2nd grade... and yes, the testing for this is also open to debate) have received lower numbers were she in a school with mostly children from the 'burbs? And what if, *gasp*, my kid is actually 'meeting learning standards with distinction' right now, but the reason she's been given a number of 3s is because if she had been given all 4s I would be unable to mark her 'improvement'?

Hard to say.

Without the lengthy comments teachers used to make on my own report cards (oh, sweet youth!), a number doesn't tell me much.

I agree with John, from Ohio, who made the following comment about the New York Times article.

"The time spent attempting to reach these goals winds up being counterproductive. The drive to provide more data and to 'ensure more consistent grading' is homogenizing instruction and finding teachers spending inordinate amounts of time collecting and communicating data on separate skills and 'learning behaviors' instead of planning and implementing inspired experiences for elementary children."

Amen, brother. John continues.

"Learning has its own rewards and does not have to have false rewards of A-B-C or 1-2-3. Teachers have only 24 hours in their days. I’d much rather see my child’s teacher spend time being creative and inspiring (and actually getting to know my kids) instead of designing ways to measure, collect organize, and communicate data on 39 separate skills. Have we lost all common sense?"

Any illuminating thoughts on this? I have my parent-teacher conference next week. In the meantime, please, let me know if I'm missing something...

The joys and pains of single parenting

The most difficult thing for me about being a single parent isn't dealing with all the hard times by my lonesome, but rather the fact that there isn't anyone there by my side with whom I can talk over the best moments of my daughter's life.

This month Anevay was voted student of the month, and today she received her report card, which was, as always, stellar. These accomplishments occurred not only because my kid has an affable countenance, but because to the core she is truly concerned about the affect she has on others and the planet. Anevay is much more mature and sweet-tempered than I was at her age, that's for sure! It makes me very happy to see how she interacts with her friends at school, and proud that she both respects and questions her teachers.

The thing is, when Anevay and I are going through a hard time, I (mostly) know how to cope... I call my parents, rely on friends as much as I can, and, even though I'm often 'going it alone' on autopilot, I don't (often) crumble under pressure. I'm tough, man.

Yeah, I'm tough...

But when things are right as rain, when Anevay is happy and I'm able to see all the beautiful ways in which she is growing up, when I can see the hand I've had in raising such a miraculous person, well, those are the times I feel the most fragile... The most lonely.

Don't get me wrong, I don't need some dude in my life. Hell, most of the time I don't want a man in my life! I'm busy trying to start a business (see my store!), complete the rewrite of my novel, and spend time with the coolest little person I know.

And yet...

(Always a yet...)

Today, as I watched Anevay take pride in her accomplishments, listened to her talk about how she wanted to become an even better dancer, and watched her write a story, something tugged at my heart... More than anything- just for a split second- I felt very sad that I didn't have a partner. Friends and family delight in hearing about Anevay's news, but today I really just wanted someone beside me who I could just sit and smile with... No words... Just someone who wanted to bask for a little while in Anevay's light.

Has anyone else had this experience?

Collaborative effort with baby Anevay

Anevay and I have always enjoyed working collaboratively. The image above is of a canvas the two of us painted together when she was just over a year old. The painting has been hanging in our loft for so long that it has become, in my often unfocused eyes, just a bright patch of wall. It took my new roommate from Spain (Alberto will be joining us ladies at the end of the month) raving about it to make me see it again.

As a toddler, Anevay was always quite proud of herself when I showed people this painting. Oh, how things have changed. For example, whereas Anevay used to run to show me every item she was making, now she often she works on her projects in her bedroom, behind a closed door. I suppose this type of thing will continue as she gets older...

Sigh. It's inevitable, isn't it, that my girl will rely on me less and less as she gets older (or rather, that she will come to rely on me in different ways...).

Off to take my sweet love of a girl to school. I need to remember, especially these chilly mornings when it is hard to roll out of bed, that everything I do with my daughter, even our daily walk to the subway, is a collaborative effort. Let's see if I can help make today's morning walk full of smiles instead of offering my usual grimace against the chilly wind coming off the East River!

Internet etiquette concerning writing about others?

Here's a great quote I just read on Single Mom Seeking's blog:

"Calling a man a deadbeat dad, if in fact he is one, is not badmouthing."

The quote came from a posting called Blogging about your ex. It struck quite a chord with me. For one, I've never been one to badmouth my kid's dad. And I don't think I've ever called him a deadbeat dad. In fact, I try my hardest not to talk about him at all. When I do talk about him, it's to tell a cute story about him, one that will bring a smile to Anevay's face. That's the stuff that is most important to talk about.

But the quote above got me thinking... My kid's dad is a deadbeat dad. Since Anevay and I moved to NY (going on six years ago), he hasn't paid a dime in child support. And this isn't because he's a destitute loser. The man makes a a nice salary, he has beautiful health benefits (one starts calling health benefits beautiful when one no longer has them), he can afford weekend trips and a car, and, most recently, he bought a house with his girlfriend.

No, he's not a destitute loser... only a loser.

I never wanted to be seen as one of those women. You know, the type who brings her man to the cleaners. The one who takes advantage of him.

I think that this is a common feeling that women who have been abused share. The idea that the men we've been with are sick... that they need to be taken care of... that we're stronger than they are... that it is only fair that we let it go... to let them go... to let them shirk their responsibilities and their pasts...

Hey, no one's perfect... I've been mean and manipulative, too. But I like to think that I grew up after the birth of my daughter.

Unfortunately, my desire to take care of this man emotionally (even though he was a mean, manipulative jerk who made me feel just about the size of a pea) meant that when it came to paying for hefty doctor bills from a couple of hospital visits when Anevay was an infant, I got stuck with the tab (stuck isn't the right word... I would give my life for my kid... it's just too bad that in the richest country in the world people can be driven into the hole by hospital bills).

Oh, Anevay's dad tried to make it up to me. In fact, soon after Anevay and I moved from Wisconsin to New York (before Anevay turned two... she's now going on eight), her dad "helped us out" (his words) with a check for $200. Unfortunately, he quickly emailed me and asked that I not cash the check. I still have the check in a folder (right in front of all the terrible, abusive emails and notes he wrote to me). He never gave me a check again. Said that I had stolen his daughter from him, and that since he didn't see her, he wasn't paying for her. Poor guy... he never knew what he had in her, did he?

Sigh...

A couple of years ago, friends convinced me to take A to court for child support. What an emotional nightmare. After the preliminary steps, I decided not to proceed. When it came down to it, I didn't want a dime from that man. After all the heartache and the abuse, I realized that I have an amazing kid who doesn't need a thing from her dad. We were in NY, where I was following a dream, living amongst friends... My parents, sweet souls that they are, have, at various times, picked up the financial pieces that he ought to have. They do it out of love. Love for me, love for their granddaughter.

Would I have fought harder for child support had Anevay's dad had her wellbeing in mind? Yep. And you know, I hope that someday he figures out how to be a man... or, better yet, I hope that he learns how to be a loving human being. Perhaps someday, when Anevay is older, she might be able to teach him?

No, I don't bad talk Anevay's dad (even though he's a deadbeat, through and through). I don't say anything that isn't true, and I also don't say most of the things about him that are.

A strange thing, writing these things on a blog. 'Blogging about your ex', indeed! Make sure to go to the full posting on Single Mom Seeking and then let me know your thoughts on Internet etiquette!

Six hours later, and Anevay's room is sorta kinda tidy...

One look at the dried snot all over my daughter's nose and hands this morning, and I decided it best to keep her germy, contagious little self home from school.

Once upon a time, when I worked a 40 hour work week and was allowed only 5 sick days a year, being sick wasn't a luxury Anevay and I could afford. I sent my kid to school with her nose dripping to her toes, with headaches, even the occasional fever. 'Cause that's what we do in this country. We persevere, right?

Wrong...

We live miserable lives in which our jobs dictate how much time we have to be sick, how much time we're allowed to take care of our babies, how much time, even, we have allotted to die.

Anyway, all of that ended for me as soon as I was laid off. Now, when Anevay has a cold, she stays where she belongs... with me, being cared for, being loved. I make sure she drinks her fluids, sleeps, washes her hands, and even takes walks outside in the fresh air- just about the best place for a person to be sick.

Today, however, no walks for us. Anevay's sick, but not that sick... I decided we were going to clean her room (I know, I know, cruel, huh?).

Six hours after we started, and we're *sort of* finished.

A little background concerning why this might have taken so long...

Again, this pertains directly to having been laid off back in September...

Right before being laid off my time didn't belong to me. I had my 40-hour per week job, forced myself to write for at least 15-20 hours a week, and both Anevay and I had active social lives. Yet taking care of Anevay and the loft we live in was easier than one might imagine. To get everything done that needed doing, I simply regimented our lives- for example- between 6 and 7 PM Anevay did her homework at the kitchen table while I cooked our dinner. Saturday mornings, between 9 and 11 AM, my sweet little girl cleaned her room while I did our laundry and cleaned the bathroom. And on and on and on...

Since being laid off, I have no schedule at all save taking Anevay to school and picking her up, and, amazingly, I can't seem to find a moment for cleaning, grocery shopping, even cooking.

Before you wag your finger at me, consider this... I've been working since I was 15 years old, and besides a three-month period right after Anevay was born, I have never had a sabbatical to work on myself, my projects, my anything. Besides the occasional week long vacation (would you believe that in my adult life I had never taken a vacation longer than a week before this past Christmas, when Anevay and I spent two weeks at my parents' place!), this is really the first respite I've had since I was a little girl.

I am taking back my life, damn it! I'm using every single second to do the things I want to be doing. I'm writing, working on my canvases, taking walks and reading with and talking with Anevay, and enjoying, at times, a latte at my favorite cafe (Oslo, on Bedford Ave here in Brooklyn). In fact, I'm busier now than when I was working a full-time job (and believe me, even then I was busier than most people!), and I work harder than many people I know (and I know a lot of hard workers).

But alas, many things have fallen through the cracks since I was laid off. Yesterday Anevay had her first bath in... well, let's just say many days (oh my God, was it really five days?!). And the state of her room? Hm. I think it had been a good two months since I poked my head in there. Occasionally, all the crap she kept inside her room would push the door ajar, but I just sighed, turned a blind eye, and used all the weight of my body to force it closed again (I've done the same thing to Anevay's closet door, but that's a can of worms that just isn't ready to be opened yet...).

Yep, her room needed to be sorted through, cleaned, decontaminated...

I'm so glad I don't have a 'before' picture, only an 'after' picture. I would have had child protection services after me if anyone had seen the previous state of Anevay's room.

Many hours and buckets of tears later (from both of us), the room is *sort of* clean. I have a pile of garbage by the door to take outside, two bags of old toys to bring to the park and the Salvation Army, and her electric piano to hook up (we had both forgotten it was even in her room, there was so much stuff was piled up around it!). And this was just from the downstairs of her room...

Yes, Anevay has a loft, which is very cute and treehouse-like when it is clean...

...and something straight out of a Grimm's tale when it is dirty.

But, being the amazing kid she is, Anevay single handedly picked up her loft and made her bed. It's not perfect, but I'm just happy it looks like a bed again.

Of course, I didn't look under her blanket to see what might be hiding out, but you know what? I don't have time for all of that...



So now that the room is (sort of) clean, what next? Well, heck... it's time for us to go work on some of the more important things in life....

I do believe I hear Oslo calling me and Anevay over for a latte and a hot chocolate.

Maybe I'll manage to take our garbage out on the way...

xo

Being and Nothingness

I'm not a huge Sartre fan, and yet he supplied me with one of my all-time favorite quotes:

"We are all condemned to freedom."

I modified it just a bit for this t-shirt I embroidered last night (go to my shop for pricing or feel free to contact me directly):


Great, huh? Seems particularly relevant these days, considering all of the ways I've worked to take back my life (interesting how much easier it is to take control of one's life after it is spun wildly off kilter) .

Love this old shot of Anevay as an infant sitting with Sartre's Being and Nothingness...