Category: Family

Discrimination

April 28, 2011

Periodically, I like to take a break from the sweets and healthy vegetarian fare and give you updates on my sweet son Graham.  Just this year, he has learned to ski, swim, and ride a two-wheel bike.  There were times when I wondered if he would ever do any of those things, let alone all three.  We are proud parents.

I went in to his school recently to amend his IEP.  IEP stands for Individualized Education Plan, and each student with special needs has one.  Graham has met a lot of his goals that were set last year, and we just needed to draw up new goals and adjust the amount of time he spends with the resource room teacher and the speech therapist.  Graham is doing incredibly well in school.  He is learning to read, do addition and subtraction, and, as he always has in his short life, he is bringing joy to peoples’ lives.  The librarian in particular thinks the world of him – the enthusiasm Graham shows for books makes him happy.  The principal told me that he is delightful and that any teacher would be lucky to have him in their classroom.

Graham is attending our neighborhood school.  It is public, it draws from the area surrounding our house.  The permanent structure is under construction but when the school moves into that building, in the fall of 2012, it will be a very short walk from our home.  We did a lot of research last year and looked at several private schools and a parochial school.  What we found is that Graham would be best served in our local public school.

Recently, the school board made a decision that spells disaster for us.  With pressure from the neighborhood, the school has been designated a “language immersion” school.  This means that all children will spend every morning learning math and science in either Spanish or Japanese.  Immersion meaning that those languages will be the only ones spoken in the classroom for half the day.

What does that mean for a child who has a speech delay?  A child who tries with all his might, but who struggles with English?  A child who has been getting speech therapy since the age of 22 months?  It means that he cannot go to his neighborhood school.  It means that his neighborhood school, a public institution meant to serve the people in the neighborhood, those who reside in the area, does not serve our child.  Is this discrimination?  I think so.

I went to a meeting recently with other parents who are unhappy with the decision.  The goal was to let a school  board representative know how this decision affects our children.  It was an emotional meeting.  A woman, seven months pregnant with her third child, told of her typically developing child older child and her younger child with Downs’ syndrome and how they would not be able to attend the same school.  She was devastated as she was counting on the older daughter being able to look out for the younger.  Another woman, herself an immigrant and personally thrilled with the immersion decision for her own child, told the school board that her heart was breaking for the parents of special needs children and how unfair this decision was.  A kindergarten teacher who had taught special ed for seven years, told of her desire to teach all children and spoke of the importance of a diverse classroom, especially in a public neighborhood school.  Graham’s resource room teacher stood up and said that she has twins starting kindergarten in the fall and she wants them in a classroom with all kinds of kids, not just typically developing ones who are capable of learning math and science in another language.  A man wondered about the children who will be diagnosed with special needs later in their schooling – where will they go?

It all did no good.  The decision is made.  We have to find another alternative.  We are fortunate in that Graham’s wonderful resource room teacher is moving to an “option” school that will focus on technology.  She suggested even before the language immersion switch that this new school might be a good place for Graham.  Now it is our lifeline.  We applied during the open enrollment period and now we wait.  If he does not get in to that school, he will get bussed to another public school where the resource room teacher has the reputation of being lazy and very old school.  At this point in Graham’s life, the resource room teacher is almost more important than his actual teacher, so this prospect terrifies me.  But he can’t be in a classroom using another language for half the day.

I also wonder about Spencer, who will start kindergarten in the fall of 2012.  Although he is typically developing, I don’t like the idea of language immersion for him either.  I fully support foreign languages being taught in our schools, just not immersion style.  Will Spencer be able to get in to the option school?  Is there sibling priority?  If not, I will have kids at two different schools and that just makes me dizzy.

So, we wait.  We worry.  I remember being pregnant with Graham and being so worried about him.  I had had some bleeding about mid-way through my pregnancy and he sometimes seemed to be small for his size on ultrasound, and I was just so desperate to know that he was all right.  I remember saying to someone, “I just want him to be born so I can stop worrying.”

Ha.



Kauai 2011

March 15, 2011

I  love that the beach is endlessly entertaining for boys.

About three and a half years ago, we got a letter from Starwood.  In it was an offer for five days on Kauai at a ridiculously low price.  It was an offer we could not refuse.  Randy and I had never been to Hawaii together and we had yet to travel with Spencer.  It was time and Kauai in February seemed like a great idea.

(Yes, we rented a convertible.  We thought the boys would totally dig it.  They were a little perplexed by the whole thing.  I loved it and so did Randy.)

We knew we would get some kind of pitch to buy something while there, but it seemed worth it to us.  Five nights of cheap accommodations for a sales pitch seemed like a small price to pay.  Randy went instead of me and came back with the news that he thought we should go for it.  I was shocked.  Randy is the more fiscally conservative half of our marriage and I would never have thought a time share would appeal to him.  I resisted initially.  To me, time share meant mediocre accommodations, being forced to travel only certain weeks, getting penalized if you didn’t use your time, etc.  Life is complicated enough without stress about a vacation.

But, as it turns out, this time share is very flexible.  There are lots of different ways we can use it and so far, we have had only positive experiences with it.  Being able to travel with two young boys and stay in a place that has a kitchen, separate bedroom for them, and a washing machine takes a lot of the stress out of the picture.  It also ends up being cheaper because we are able to eat in more than out.  (Although the groceries in Princeville are no bargain.  I went for a basic shop – breakfast stuff, snacks for the boys, wine, enough food for a couple of simple dinners, and spent $400.)

Anyway, this is the reason that we went  back.  And will go back again.  After our last trip, I swore we would never go back to Kauai.  Six hours of sun in seven days was not a vacation.  In fact, when we walked in to the living area of our condo this year, it seemed so much bigger – I think because it seemed very small after being cooped up there for an entire week with a then four and two year old.  We had some rain this time but we also had sun and Kauai is impossibly beautiful in the sunshine.

Our boys ask me everyday when we can go back.  Our place has a kids pool that is only 1½ feet deep with a water slide and turtle fountains.  They played there for hours everyday.  The beach paled in comparison for them.

We fell into a nice routine.  Wake up, eat breakfast, be mellow for a bit, hit the pool.  Maybe a lunch outing, maybe not.  After hours of playing in the sun and the water, the boys would take a three hour nap – heaven!  By the time they woke up, it was time for happy hour.

(Trust me, we are not drinking the same thing.)

Randy and I had two dinners out, one with a couple who are friends of ours and happened to be there at the same time, but mostly we just stayed local and mellow.  This is something I like about Kauai.  The pace is slow and relaxed, the people are nice, the beauty is overwhelming.  We heard stories about how you have to get your towel in place on your beach chair by 9am in Maui, otherwise you were chairless (the horror!).  We never felt anything like that on our trip.  Just cruising the roads, soaking up the sunshine, drinking fruity rum drinks, and eating lots of pineapple.  I’m ready to go back.



Four

February 2, 2011

This is my baby.  Four years ago, I had a 2:30pm appointment to have this baby.  My previous baby, who ended up only weighing 6 lb. 13 oz., would not come out the traditional way, despite 18 hours of labor and 3 hours of pushing.  My doctor was all for trying a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarian – sorry guys) but a late term ultrasound showed that baby #2 was going to be bigger than baby #1.  And so, I made an appointment to have a baby.  Who, by the way, ended up weighing 7 lb. 12 oz.

With a planned c-section, they want you to deliver at around 39 weeks to avoid going in to labor (which would just complicate things).  My due date fell on a Saturday so my doctor gave me a choice.  Did I want to have a baby on February 2nd or February 5th?  What a weird thing to decide.  Randy and I like even numbers better than odd (which is odd, I know) so we settled on the 2nd.  And besides – it’s Groundhog Day!

So my little, or not-so-little, groundhog.  Who are you at four?  You have some of the same traits you did at three.  Still obsessed with vehicles, especially garbage trucks.  Still very independent with a mind of your own.  Still so big but more tall than stocky these days.  Your hair is less blond (sob!), your belly is a little flatter (sob!), you are potty trained (yay!) and sleeping in a big boy bed (yay!).  We still have a nightly bedtime conversation, but now you always want to talk about birthdays.  We have to start with Thanksgiving, then move through Graham’s birthday and everyone else in our family until we get to yours.  You share your bed with tiger, doggie, giraffe, and blanket – incredibly imaginative names, I know.  After the birthday ritual, you want me to “sweep” with you.  (Your “l’s” are still “w’s”).  I lay next to you and your put your face right up next to mine.  Your big beautiful eyes with their impossibly long lashes so close I can’t really see them.  Breathing softly onto my face.  How is your breath so sweet?

Your facility with language and ability to process complex concepts is astounding to us.  You ask soulful questions and tell long-winded stories with lots of “and then”.  Truthfully, sometimes I zone out while you are talking so I don’t always hear what you say, but I am deeply soothed and satisfied by the sound of your surprisingly high-pitched (for such a big guy) and raspy voice.  There are very few words that you say incorrectly anymore.  Instructions are constructions and umbrella is umbabrella.  Currently you want to marry Stella, a former preschool classmate.  Why?  Because “she has a headband.”  And you never answer just yes.  It’s “I sure do” or “I sure will”.  You are incredibly bright and funny.

I have a million nicknames for you.  Pooky, pickle, noodle, noodley pants, lovey bug, cute face, sweet sweet, yummy yum yum, and my favorite – 2T.  I started calling you that when you were just a year and fitting into 2T clothes.  Now you are four and fitting into 5T.

Recently you asked me, “When Graham and me are grown ups, who are our kids going to be?”  How do you answer a question like that?  You also asked me whether or not your legs came off.  When I told you no and why were you asking, you said, “Well then how did they make me?  Who made me?  You and Daddy?  How did you make me?”  I don’t think you are quite ready for that answer yet.

You might be this guy now.

But you used to be this guy.

And this guy.  Happy birthday my sweet.



Change

January 15, 2011

Last week something amazing happened.  On Thursday, at around noon, I sat and had a lunch date with my husband.  In the 6½ years since we returned from London, we had never done that.  I don’t think we ever did it in London either for that matter.

The reason for the lack of lunch dates?  Randy worked at a very large company located across the lake from our house, a company well-known for a certain “culture”.  A company called Microsoft.  Perhaps you have heard of it?  Perhaps you know its reputation for asking a lot of their employees?

Randy is a self-described type Triple-A personality.  He works incredibly hard.  His trajectory since graduating from the Naval Academy in Annapolis goes a little something like this:

Go to flight school and graduate top of his class
Fly A-6 Intruders for a few years until they de-commission the aircraft
Go back to the Naval Academy to teach English
Get a Masters in Philosophy at nearby St. John’s at the same time
Go to Harvard for the MBA program
Move to Seattle to work at a start-up (this is when we met)
Get recruited by Microsoft

Basically, the guy has not slowed down since the day he was born.  Microsoft LOVES people like that.

All along, his career has afforded us a wonderful lifestyle but has also been hard on me and our family.  For the first five years of having children, he rarely saw them during the week.  Because of the commute, he was on the road before they were awake and home after they were in bed.  In the last year and a half, his office moved to the Seattle side of the lake and things got significantly better.  But then his travel schedule picked up dramatically and he was out of state 50-60% of the time.  He would come home and be exhausted from time changes plus the overall stress of travel and the job.

Periodically we would check in.  Is it worth it?  Are we ok?  Are the kids ok?  I would worry about him.  Waking up at 3am and not being able to fall back to sleep night after night because of stress is not sustainable.  To be fair, that was an extreme.  Most of the time, life as a Microsoft employee was challenging but not over the top.  He was very successful there and they recognized his hard work.  He was promoted steadily and received awards for the work he did.  And for the most part, he enjoyed his actual job, the work he did day to day.  He did not enjoy the constant “re-orging” and never being sure if the job he was doing that day would be there the next.

And then one day, Randy had had enough.  It was one request too many or one too many trips.  Maybe it was looking at Graham and thinking, “I have a six year old and I have not been here”.  Whatever it was, he reached a breaking point.  He reached out to his considerable network and started taking recruiting calls more seriously.  A company that had already approached him about a job twice re-appeared, this time with a friend of over 20 years as CEO.  Coffees, conversations, and number crunching happened.  As a family, we weighed the pros and cons.

I had always heard that term “golden handcuffs” but working through the decision, I really came to understand what it meant.  In all the years with Microsoft, we never paid a single cent for health care.  No monthly fees, no co-pays, no deductibles, no cost for drugs.  My two c-sections, Randy’s knee surgery, a herniated belly button surgery for Graham, four years of speech therapy, all the pediatric visits, and the two emergency room visits – we never paid a dime.  It is probably the best health care in the United States.  To me that was much more valuable than the stock left behind.

The fact that Randy would be taking a pay cut and our benefits would become more like most Americans (at least those who have health care) were the cons for the new job.  The pros list was less tangible and more emotional.  Working alongside two people he admires without question, an office 2.1 miles from our house, 25% travel at the most, a conscious decision to slow down – to be more present in our family.  It was that last one we really discussed.  For him to make this move, it had to be a lifestyle move, not just a job change.

I give him a lot of credit.  He was climbing the corporate ladder.  He had over 300 people reporting to him.  He had tremendous success.  And he decided that having lunch with his wife once a week was more important.  This new job is going to be very challenging.  He will still work very hard – he doesn’t know how to work any other way.  But he will go on field trips with Graham, he will be home at 6 (!) every night, he will sleep better, and learn from a trusted friend.

I have always loved the idea of sending Randy to work with a weekly treat.  But Randy has always worked in groups that were too large for it to make sense.  Now that he is at a much smaller company, the weekly treat tradition has begun.  His first week, I asked what he wanted me to make.  I knew it would either be the White Chocolate Almond Chunk Cookies or the Cowgirl Cookies, so I already had the Holly B’s cookbook in hand when I asked.  Sure enough, the Cowgirls won out.

This week, I made something new.  I was paging through my Tartine book, looking for the Lemon Cream recipe for last week’s party, when I happened upon this chocolate amazingness.  How is it that my chocolate loving self never made these?  I know they don’t look like much, but they are one of my most favorite cookies ever.  Essentially, they are a regular cocoa-based chocolate cookie to which you add a half pound of melted bittersweet chocolate.  The batter is like ganache and you pull the cookies out when they are just starting to set and the end result is like a chocolate pillow that you will want to sleep on forever.  As I was scooping them out, I thought a scattering of chocolate chips might be good for texture, but no no no!  No texture needed.  My only change is that I scattered a bit of sea salt (smoked Chardonnay if you must know) over the top of each cookie before baking and that was a good decision.

One Year Ago: Oatmeal Carmelitas

Deluxe Double Chocolate Cookies
Tartine
Makes about 24 large or 36 small cookies

These cookies are very soft when you take them out of the oven so I would advise letting them rest on their baking sheet for a few minutes before moving them to the cooling rack.

8 oz. bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 cup + 1 tbsp. flour
½ cup + 2 tbsp. cocoa powder
2 tsp. baking powder
½ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup + 2 tbsp. sugar
2 large eggs
¼ tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1/3 cup whole milk
Sea salt, for sprinkling (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350ºF.  Butter a baking sheet or line with parchment paper.

Pour water to a depth of about 2 inches into a saucepan, place over medium heat, and bring to a simmer.  Put the chocolate into a stainless-steel bowl that will rest securely in the rim of the pan and place it over, not touching, the water.  Make sure the pan is completely dry before you add the chocolate and that no moisture gets into the chocolate.  Moisture will cause the chocolate to seize, or develop lumps.  Heat, stirring occasionally, just until the chocolate melts and is smooth.  Remove from the heat and let cool.

Stir together the flour, cocoa powder, and baking powder in a bowl.  Set aside.  Using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter on medium-high speed until creamy.  Slowly add the sugar and mix until the mixture is completely smooth and soft.  Stop the mixer and scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula as needed.  Add the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition until incorporated before adding the next egg.  Beat in the salt and vanilla, and then add the melted chocolate and beat until incorporated.  Add the milk and beat until combined.  Finally, add the flour mixture and beat on low speed until incorporated.

Drop the dough by heaping tablespoonfuls onto the prepared sheet, spacing them about 1 inch apart.  Bake the cookies until they are just barely firm on top when lightly touched but are still very soft underneath, about 7 minutes.  They wil get firmer as they cool.  Transfer the cookies to a wire rack and let cool.  They will keep in an airtight container at room temperature for several days.



Six

December 22, 2010

On November 28th, Graham turned six.  Six??  It seems that just in the last six months or so, he has shot up and started looking like a bona fide boy.  His build is exactly like that of my brothers who are 6’4″ and 6’1″ and slim.  He looks less like the baby he was and more like the boy he will become.  I’m not sure I’m ready for that.  (See his right ear?  How it sticks out just a bit?  My brother Michael has been saying, since he was a baby, that girls will go crazy over that ear.)

Life with Graham has felt different in the time that he has become a big boy.  He is more defiant – something he has never ever been.  He is still incredibly compliant and eager to please, but we are getting more attitude.  Considering he is still just about the happiest person I have met, that he still has never had a melt-down that lasted longer than 10 seconds, and that in the past 10 days he has lived through stomach flu, an ear infection severe enough to puncture an eardrum (without ever telling us his ear hurt), and a pneumonia diagnosis with a smile on his face all the while, I think we are due a little attitude.

We have so much to be thankful for and so much to be proud of.  Graham is thriving in kindergarten.  Randy and I could not have dared hope for the success he is having.  Because he often struggles with things that other kids seem to grasp effortlessly, we kind of thought that school – the reading, writing, math – would be hard for him.  In fact, according to his teacher, his resource room teacher, and his report card (!), he is right on track, even for the typical kids in the class.  And he is excelling in some areas.  True to his nature, those areas are “works well on a team” and “respectful and kind to others”.  He is starting to read and to do addition and subtraction.  It is incredible to see him do so well.  And perhaps most importantly, he is loving school.  He loves the kids, he loves going to the library and checking out books and he loves loves loves Mr. Roberts, the P.E. teacher.

To have him do so well in school and yet still be the child who can drive me to distraction by not understanding the difference between his birthday party day and his actual birthday day, or who cannot comprehend that is is not night time even though it is dark, is a continual source of frustration for me.  I tend to hear the same question over and over again, or respond to a question only to have him say the exact opposite.  Every conversation I have with him, every request I make of him, I can feel myself gathering my patience, steeling myself, because so much of what I say he doesn’t get.  He hears me – his hearing is fine – he just doesn’t process what I say in the same way that a typically developing child would.  Often I feel that he still needs so much from me and that sometimes makes me want to bang my head against the wall.

And there in, once again, lies the problem.  Me.  I feel like my patience is constantly at the breaking point and my tolerance for the noise level of these two oh-so-very-noisy boys is constantly low.  Is this Graham’s problem?  Of course not.  He is doing the very best he can, just as he always has.  It is not his fault that he doesn’t process language the way that, say, his brother does.  If anything, he is trying extra hard, being a child who is so eager to please.  I have spent so much time thinking about my reactions to him and even writing about them here on this blog, and I feel like I am doing worse with him rather than better.  It is a terrible way to feel.

Of course, I know I am a good mother.  I tell him regularly how wonderful he is.  I tell him how proud I am at least ten times a day.  I applaud his efforts in school and cheer him on when he tells a mean kid, “I don’t like that!”.  I kiss and hug him and hold him and I read to him and feed him healthy snacks.  I beam with pride when he tells the grocery check-out person to be careful with the eggs because they are fragile, and then praises her with a heartfelt, “Good job!” once they are in the bag.  I feel so very fortunate to have such a nice and delightful child filled with kindness, someone who adults beam at as he yells hello to them and introduces himself as Graham Cracker.  I take him places and I try very hard to bite my tongue when he loses yet another jacket or says something that makes absolutely no sense.  But I get in bed each night and feel guilty about how I have not really stuck to my guns and tried to be patient.  And I have yelled – a thing I promised myself, in my days before kids – that I would never do.

It’s not that I want a mother of the year award.  I certainly don’t want a different child.  I think what I really want is to raise a child who is kind, self-confident, and generous.  A child who gives back to the world, forms bonds and friendships with all different people, and I can definitely see that Graham, already at age six, is that kind of person.  This past spring, I attended an amazing birthday party where the birthday girl asked each of us to submit our favorite poem.  Her sister’s choice is the one you will see below.  I cry every time I read it.  I want to be that mother.  The one who inspires a poem as beautiful and moving as this one.

The Lanyard
by Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly-
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a box
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift – not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.



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