I hate bringing my kids to the doctor. When it's not a routine exam, it usually ends up with an order for some sort of blood test and as faithful readers know, my children (and 99.999% of all other children) HATE needles being jammed into their skin and veins.
My most recent excursion to the doctor was a follow-up visit to the Gastrointerologist for 6-year-old Jackson. Jack has always had issues with controlling his bowels. (See how nice I am? I'm making pooping his pants sound fancy!) We've had many close calls with being kicked out of preschools and day cares because of this issue, not that I blame them. Who wants to clean up a 4-year-old's undies? Not even me, his flesh-and-blood mother. After many trips to see our good friend, Dr. Joe, we received a referral to a GI doc. The first doctor we saw in June examined Jackson and ordered a complete "flush-out" since he was completely backed up like an overflowing toilet. This explained why he was eliminating his bowels unintentionally. The analogy the doctor used totally explained it. We did the flush and went on with our lives, with no change in Jackson's poor little tummy.
On our follow-up visit yesterday, we met the new GI doctor, Swati. She came in, played with Jackson for a bit and asked me about his lifestyle. My Jackson has his flaws, I told her, but health is NOT one of them. He gets TONS of exercise both in and outside of the pool (his dad's a swim coach, so he's training to be a fish.) He prefers broccoli to french fries at restaurants. He eats frequently, and well.
Swati ruled out a lack of fiber and stress as the causes to his bowel problems. Her next concern was/is that Jackson isn't digesting something correctly, so she ordered...wait for it....Blood Tests!
"Do you have any children," I asked the doctor. "I do not right now," was her reply as she gave me a look that said, "I know what you're accusing me of - not knowing how terrible it is to bring kids to get blood drawn." Which is exactly what I was thinking. She told me that she was ordering a battery of tests for Celiac, Diabetes, and a few other things. Knowing Celiac very well, I ruled it out in my head. Diabetes? Not so convinced either.
In addition to this blood test, Swati asked me to do another cleanse with Jackson this weekend. This translates into Jackson wearing a Pull-Up diaper, taking 8 Dulcolax over 48 hours plus double doses of Miralax every 8 hours. Not fun, but it works.
We went in for the Blood Tests today (our former vampire was not there this time to intimidate poor Jackson!!!) and everything went well! Jack was brave and only whined a tiny bit.
Swati seems to know what she's doing and for not having kids of her own - yet - she wowed me with her empathy. At the end of this visit with Swati, she gave him a toy, a sticker, AND a lollipop!
In two months we'll see Swati again. Something Jackson's excited about, because he can't wait to brag about how grown-up he was at the blood center.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Friend #60
Dwayne is the father of one of my very sweet students. I reach out to all of my students' parents during the first week of school to introduce myself and it was then, that I met Dwayne.
"Do you guys have sports?" was the first thing Dwayne asked me. I replied that economy situations have forced us to pause our sports program, but I could give him the names of community sports programs for his son. "Oh, no, I don't wish for him to play sports!" O...K...
Dwayne gave me his background story. In high school, Dwayne was a star athlete. Teachers did "favors" for athletes by altering grades and expectations so that they could play in games. In 11th grade, Dwayne's math teacher arranged for a college-aged tutor to DO his work for him. 40 years ago, teachers must have been different that we are today. When I was student teaching ten years ago, my mentor-teacher started off by telling me, "This school has a ten-time state championship record in wrestling, and we're all so proud. We teachers help the players out when we can." Which translated into, "We fix the grades." I was not willing to be a part of that and asked for a transfer.
This is the very thing that Dwayne wants to avoid for his son. He wants his son to genuinely learn things and enjoy school. Dwayne entered college completely unprepared, resulting in many failed classes and lost tuition money. Eventually he became a police officer but he always felt badly when he thought of his high school education. He wishes teachers hadn't made it so easy for him to not learn.
Dwayne has it figured out. As he says, "At the age of 57, school life is so much clearer than it was while I was living it."
"Do you guys have sports?" was the first thing Dwayne asked me. I replied that economy situations have forced us to pause our sports program, but I could give him the names of community sports programs for his son. "Oh, no, I don't wish for him to play sports!" O...K...
Dwayne gave me his background story. In high school, Dwayne was a star athlete. Teachers did "favors" for athletes by altering grades and expectations so that they could play in games. In 11th grade, Dwayne's math teacher arranged for a college-aged tutor to DO his work for him. 40 years ago, teachers must have been different that we are today. When I was student teaching ten years ago, my mentor-teacher started off by telling me, "This school has a ten-time state championship record in wrestling, and we're all so proud. We teachers help the players out when we can." Which translated into, "We fix the grades." I was not willing to be a part of that and asked for a transfer.
This is the very thing that Dwayne wants to avoid for his son. He wants his son to genuinely learn things and enjoy school. Dwayne entered college completely unprepared, resulting in many failed classes and lost tuition money. Eventually he became a police officer but he always felt badly when he thought of his high school education. He wishes teachers hadn't made it so easy for him to not learn.
Dwayne has it figured out. As he says, "At the age of 57, school life is so much clearer than it was while I was living it."
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Friend #59
Teaching English Language Learners (ELLs) is something I was thrust into when I wanted my old job back. I was at this wonderful school for at-risk students but became disenchanted. I made a move that I thought was "moving up" but ended up revealing to me that my calling is where the at-risk kids are, not in an affluent public school where everyone is very religious and pure and perfect. I lasted two years before I had to get back to my old school. Luckily, they accepted me with open arms and asked me to teach ELL.
Teaching ELL was the scariest thing I have ever been asked to do in my job. I've been the student council advisor, which forced me in front of 1.000 kids many times per year, and it didn't phase me. But teaching English to Spanish speakers is daunting. It takes patience, understanding, and lots of preparation.
One issue I ran into right away was two-fold: some kids were not only ELLs but also Special Ed or Genius-level in their home language. This is when I made my higher-ups aware that I needed someone more fluent than I, to assess their home language levels. Out Special Ed coordinator doesn't speak Spanish, so together we rallied for help.
Help came this week. After two years of asking, we received the help of a bilingual speech therapist. Reina has so far identified two of our ELL students who have speech impediments that may be hindering them to learn english as quickly as they could. Those poor students! They waited for four years in ELL classes before someone was able to help them! Their impediment was keeping them from passing their exit exams from the ELL program.
Now, thanks to Reina, these kids will receive the speech therapy they need so they can learn english faster and move on with their other high school courses.
I am so thankful to have Reina as my partner. The one day a week that we'll work together will be so useful and helpful.
Teaching ELL was the scariest thing I have ever been asked to do in my job. I've been the student council advisor, which forced me in front of 1.000 kids many times per year, and it didn't phase me. But teaching English to Spanish speakers is daunting. It takes patience, understanding, and lots of preparation.
One issue I ran into right away was two-fold: some kids were not only ELLs but also Special Ed or Genius-level in their home language. This is when I made my higher-ups aware that I needed someone more fluent than I, to assess their home language levels. Out Special Ed coordinator doesn't speak Spanish, so together we rallied for help.
Help came this week. After two years of asking, we received the help of a bilingual speech therapist. Reina has so far identified two of our ELL students who have speech impediments that may be hindering them to learn english as quickly as they could. Those poor students! They waited for four years in ELL classes before someone was able to help them! Their impediment was keeping them from passing their exit exams from the ELL program.
Now, thanks to Reina, these kids will receive the speech therapy they need so they can learn english faster and move on with their other high school courses.
I am so thankful to have Reina as my partner. The one day a week that we'll work together will be so useful and helpful.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Friend #58
Do you remember when you were in school and got something new and couldn't wait to bring it to school to show it off? In 10th grade I got a fluffy white kitten who I named Rajah. We adopted her right after school one day and I was so excited to show my friends, that I had my dad drive me to that evening's basketball game so I could show it off to everyone. Weird. I know.
And then there was the time when one of the students at my school came in for a parent-teacher conference with his mother. She was SO excited to show off her very ornery chihuahua, which she brought everywhere she went. It was her baby. (I'll refrain from going in-depth about how much I hate this dog.) The principal needed to be at this conference as well as the teachers. At some point during the meeting, the principal got up to get a piece of paper and the damn rat-dog bit him! The thing actually drew blood from the principal!
Fast forward to today. A student, Ashley, who I have had for two years now, asked me if she could wait in my classroom until her mom picked her up. We chatted about how her grandmother, Alona, passed away recently. She told me about her grandmother and how she used to make Ashley wipe the floorboards every time she visited. She told me about Alona's hate toward anyone outside of her own race. We discussed whether her grandmother was in Heaven now...or not. We had some really great laughs for the second day of school.
Ashley's mom arrived and Ashley got into the car. Her mom said something to her and Ashley did a little clap clap clap. "Miss!" I turned to the car. "Miss! Mira! Look!" Ashley ran to me with a box in her hands. I looked at the small box. I looked at Ashley. I looked at Ashley's mom in the car. The mom was smiling ear to ear, just as Ashley was. "Miss! My mom just picked up my grandma's ashes! Look!"
Yes, I stopped her before she opened the box. So although I never laid eyes on Alona, I met her today.
And then there was the time when one of the students at my school came in for a parent-teacher conference with his mother. She was SO excited to show off her very ornery chihuahua, which she brought everywhere she went. It was her baby. (I'll refrain from going in-depth about how much I hate this dog.) The principal needed to be at this conference as well as the teachers. At some point during the meeting, the principal got up to get a piece of paper and the damn rat-dog bit him! The thing actually drew blood from the principal!
Fast forward to today. A student, Ashley, who I have had for two years now, asked me if she could wait in my classroom until her mom picked her up. We chatted about how her grandmother, Alona, passed away recently. She told me about her grandmother and how she used to make Ashley wipe the floorboards every time she visited. She told me about Alona's hate toward anyone outside of her own race. We discussed whether her grandmother was in Heaven now...or not. We had some really great laughs for the second day of school.
Ashley's mom arrived and Ashley got into the car. Her mom said something to her and Ashley did a little clap clap clap. "Miss!" I turned to the car. "Miss! Mira! Look!" Ashley ran to me with a box in her hands. I looked at the small box. I looked at Ashley. I looked at Ashley's mom in the car. The mom was smiling ear to ear, just as Ashley was. "Miss! My mom just picked up my grandma's ashes! Look!"
Yes, I stopped her before she opened the box. So although I never laid eyes on Alona, I met her today.
Friend #57
Back-to-school time was never so apparent as when I received a phone call from my son's new school's PTA president this morning at 7am. Yes, I said 7am. 7am. Not 7pm.
Not one to give in to early-morning phone calls, I let it go to voice mail and called her back at 8am. Her name is Ramona and she is the most enthusiastic PTA mom I've ever seen, and I've seen some crazies.
Ramona wants me to join the PTA. Ramona wants me to donate cookies for the Open House. Ramona wants my money...and my time...and my soul. Well, that's what it feels like.
I understand what she's trying to do, really I do. Both of my parents were teachers AND very active in PTA. I've always been involved in my kids' classrooms and donated what I've been asked for the most part. I've gone on lots of field trips (which I'm given the five most difficult students because the teachers think I can handle them with my super teacher powers.)
As my kids get older, I'm being asked to do more difficult tasks. The one thing Ramona really wants me to do this year is....wait for it....chaperone the junior high dances!
So my question is: Do I cave now and sign up for everything, dooming myself to two years of PTA hell, or do I kindly sign up for a few manageable tasks that will not drown me?
Not one to give in to early-morning phone calls, I let it go to voice mail and called her back at 8am. Her name is Ramona and she is the most enthusiastic PTA mom I've ever seen, and I've seen some crazies.
Ramona wants me to join the PTA. Ramona wants me to donate cookies for the Open House. Ramona wants my money...and my time...and my soul. Well, that's what it feels like.
I understand what she's trying to do, really I do. Both of my parents were teachers AND very active in PTA. I've always been involved in my kids' classrooms and donated what I've been asked for the most part. I've gone on lots of field trips (which I'm given the five most difficult students because the teachers think I can handle them with my super teacher powers.)
As my kids get older, I'm being asked to do more difficult tasks. The one thing Ramona really wants me to do this year is....wait for it....chaperone the junior high dances!
So my question is: Do I cave now and sign up for everything, dooming myself to two years of PTA hell, or do I kindly sign up for a few manageable tasks that will not drown me?
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Friend #56
I like to learn about people's names. Usually there's a story behind our names and we take careful consideration when naming kids, pets, and in my case, stuffed animals.
When I found out I was having Boy #1, I was in a phase of reading the bible every night. One day, the name Isaiah popped out at me and it entered in the running. The next day at church, the sermon was based on the prophet Isaiah. Two days later, I was in the grocery store and I heard a mother scream at her son - named Isaiah. I thought, "How cool is that? Even when his name is being screamed through the store in anger, it still sounds sweet and happy!" So Isaiah it was.
With Boy #2 (don't even ask me how much I wanted a girl), his father suggested naming the baby after an artist. He chose Jackson Pollack and although I loved the name Jackson (it had been a choice of mine with Boy #1), I didn't want to name my child after an alcoholic painter. But Jackson stuck and here we are.
I take issue with parents who give their kids names that will fit with the career the parents want them to have. For example, I've known parents who give their child a beauty queen name, a rock star name, a sports hero name, even a good President of the United States name. The children are usually at odds with their name when they are a "Britney" and they want to go into politics, or a "Norman" who ends up as a dancer.
Today I HAD to inquire about the history behind the chosen names of two girls I saw in Target. Their mother was picking out a birthday card and the girls, about 6 and 8 years old, were playing between the clothing racks. "Justice! Liberty! Come here where I can see you!" Did she just call her kids Liberty and Justice...like the Pledge???
I spied on them for a bit to get a feel for the mom's mental state, and possible offense to a stranger approaching her with a rude question. She seemed cool enough. "Excuse me?" I approached. "I'm a teacher and have a thing for kids' names. Are those your girls' real names?" She smiled a smile that said I've heard this a million times. The mother, who I later found out is named Mary, told me the story. I was taken by surprise first of all, because she was so open to a stranger and secondly, because she stopped what she was doing and engaged in my curiosity.
Mary's grandparents (or maybe it was great-grandparents) were Holocaust survivors. They raised their children and grandchildren to truly appreciate the freedom that the United States allows us. When Mary was pregnant the first time, her grandfather was on his death bed. She told him that she was having a girl and that she wanted him to name her, should he die before he meets the baby. He pondered for five minutes and blurted out, "Liberty. The kid's name is Liberty." Mary and her husband weren't sure this would jive with their personalities and considered making Liberty be the baby's middle name. The grandfather passed away two weeks before the baby was born, and the named her Liberty Promise _____.
When Mary was pregnant with her second girl, her grandmother asked her what she was going to name the baby. "You can't give this kid a normal name now, you know?" Mary asked her grandmother for suggestions. "Justice, Peace, Harmony..." she said. So they settled on Justice.
Mary said that the girls like their names so far but high school could be difficult.
I reassured her that in a world of kids named Apple, Razor, and Inspektor, her daughters will be just fine.
When I found out I was having Boy #1, I was in a phase of reading the bible every night. One day, the name Isaiah popped out at me and it entered in the running. The next day at church, the sermon was based on the prophet Isaiah. Two days later, I was in the grocery store and I heard a mother scream at her son - named Isaiah. I thought, "How cool is that? Even when his name is being screamed through the store in anger, it still sounds sweet and happy!" So Isaiah it was.
With Boy #2 (don't even ask me how much I wanted a girl), his father suggested naming the baby after an artist. He chose Jackson Pollack and although I loved the name Jackson (it had been a choice of mine with Boy #1), I didn't want to name my child after an alcoholic painter. But Jackson stuck and here we are.
I take issue with parents who give their kids names that will fit with the career the parents want them to have. For example, I've known parents who give their child a beauty queen name, a rock star name, a sports hero name, even a good President of the United States name. The children are usually at odds with their name when they are a "Britney" and they want to go into politics, or a "Norman" who ends up as a dancer.
Today I HAD to inquire about the history behind the chosen names of two girls I saw in Target. Their mother was picking out a birthday card and the girls, about 6 and 8 years old, were playing between the clothing racks. "Justice! Liberty! Come here where I can see you!" Did she just call her kids Liberty and Justice...like the Pledge???
I spied on them for a bit to get a feel for the mom's mental state, and possible offense to a stranger approaching her with a rude question. She seemed cool enough. "Excuse me?" I approached. "I'm a teacher and have a thing for kids' names. Are those your girls' real names?" She smiled a smile that said I've heard this a million times. The mother, who I later found out is named Mary, told me the story. I was taken by surprise first of all, because she was so open to a stranger and secondly, because she stopped what she was doing and engaged in my curiosity.
Mary's grandparents (or maybe it was great-grandparents) were Holocaust survivors. They raised their children and grandchildren to truly appreciate the freedom that the United States allows us. When Mary was pregnant the first time, her grandfather was on his death bed. She told him that she was having a girl and that she wanted him to name her, should he die before he meets the baby. He pondered for five minutes and blurted out, "Liberty. The kid's name is Liberty." Mary and her husband weren't sure this would jive with their personalities and considered making Liberty be the baby's middle name. The grandfather passed away two weeks before the baby was born, and the named her Liberty Promise _____.
When Mary was pregnant with her second girl, her grandmother asked her what she was going to name the baby. "You can't give this kid a normal name now, you know?" Mary asked her grandmother for suggestions. "Justice, Peace, Harmony..." she said. So they settled on Justice.
Mary said that the girls like their names so far but high school could be difficult.
I reassured her that in a world of kids named Apple, Razor, and Inspektor, her daughters will be just fine.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Friend #55
I am a sucker for animals (I really am, except for hamster dogs.) Last weekend was the weekend for animal disasters: my son's hen, Amelia, died. Two hours later his gecko, Stewie, died too. 24 hours after that, one of our dogs broke his leg while he was greeting us at the door. We were left with one chicken, a tank of fish, and three dogs.
I knew I had to replace the lost hen first and foremost when I saw her sister running the perimeter of our back yard, crying for her lost best friend. This went on for a few days but surprisingly she continued to give us eggs.
I knew our two regular feed barns were out of hens for the summer. I turned to Craigslist and found a woman who had lots to sell. I called her and inquired about her location. She lives on the other end of town but was eager to sell those hens. "They're only $10 each" she grunted in her smoker's voice. I explained that I didn't want to drive that far but thanks. Three minutes later she texted me, "It's Jay, the lady with the chickens. I'll give you four for $40." How is that different from one for $10, I thought out loud. Hmmm. This crazy called me FIVE more times that evening and left messages. That was the end of my Craigslist endeavours.
The next day I discovered The Feed Barn in Phoenix. It looked nice online so we ventured through a monsoon storm to get our new girls.
There, we met the coolest, most dorky family: Mindy, Bob, Cory and Tasha. They own and operate the store. Bob's sweaty shirt greeted me before he did, at the door. He reminded me of that friendly neighbor who borders on creepy/special needs/redneck/life saver. He was dirty but soooo nice. He brought me to his wife, who showed us to the back barn where she keeps her chicks. I told her what I was looking for (two chicks, different breeds) and I introduced each breed to my son as we came upon each one. He decided on one hawk-looking one and named her Shakira for the celebrity's matching hair color. We chose one for my other son's birthday gift and settled on a gold Buff, now named Sunny. Isaiah pointed out that now Jack has two and he only has one hen, so I agreed that he should have two also. This is when he chose Bella Swan, a white Leghorn who is very feisty and bitchy.
The 17-year-old acne-infested son, Cory, checked us out and volunteered his 14-year-old sister Tasha to carry the 50 pound bag of feed to my car. "She's kinda small, isn't she? Can your dad get it?" I hoped. "Nah, Tasha does it all day long!" Cory replied, as proud as a brother can be. He nodded at Tasha with a "Watch This" look on his face.
And she did it! 90 pound Tasha hurled that 50 pound bag over her shoulder and marched over to my car. "I could carry it all the way to your house if you let me!" she yelled with what I thought was an Alabama drawl.
Isaiah and I got in the car and giggled all the way home. I can't wait until that 50 pound bag is gone and I get to go back there for more!
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