If you had a penny for my thoughts...

...You would have a lot of pennies.

I heard a story on NPR a few years ago about ADD/ADHD. There is a strong heritable link with this particular neuro-type, so there was a particular segment about the experience of the many adults who realize they have been dealing with it their whole lives, because their children have just been diagnosed. One lady recounted how she received a diagnosis, then went to the pharmacy and filled her prescription for Ritalin. She was supposed to take the first pill the following morning, but  couldn't endure the wait, and she took it right there at a drinking fountain in the store.  

I was driving off the island after just dropping the kids off at school and it was sunny (you always remember the sunny days when you live in Seattle.) And I was forgetting to breathe as I waited for her to get on with her story. And then she said what I was afraid she'd say. 

She said it was quiet.

I knew it. I felt slightly sick. She said that the realization snuck up on her. She was driving just as I was, and suddenly realized that she was just concentrating on driving and on the car in front of her. Usually there would be an incessant stream of thoughts, ideas, and to-do lists as her constant internal companion. But it was so quiet. She cried because she had never experienced anything like it. I cried because I never have.

Every day so many words fill my head. Not voices, mind you. We aren't talking about psychosis. And we aren't referring to the normal, mental notes to "go buy milk and bread at the grocery store before you pick up the dry-cleaning, and the kids have flute and soccer today."  

The words filling my brain weave a net of connectivity and possibility around me. They sometimes make me a creative and funny, quick-witted person that I like. And sometimes they immobilize me such that I might drown. I clear them out every night through meditation as I fall toward sleep. They leave willingly enough, usually. But they are waiting for me to return to consciousness in the morning just as eagerly as my dogs wait for my return home.

It seems a bit unfair that the time it takes me to write this post existed as a nano-second in my brain. This is one reason why I like writing, it converts a micro-thought into a fuller form. This post exists only because last week that I began several different posts on dogs, education, rage, advocacy, empathy... And I couldn't finish any of them ...for reasons that will enrich future posts.

When I first heard Girl Talk (thanks to KEXP DJ Michele Myers, one Saturday afternoon) I was gobsmacked. This energetic, chaotic, and beautifully blended album of mash-ups - 363 songs in one long mix - sounds like what ADD feels like. Creating a video from all the songs involved is just icing on the cake. This is part one - "Oh no."



 

Sub-par

 Hey, 6th grade. Nurturing a love of science? You're doing it wrong.

I run the risk of appearing negative or cynical as you make your way through these blog posts. But it is much more fun to write about things that go awry, than it is to wax poetic about motes of dust floating on sun beams. I am actually pretty Zen about things, and shed my anger as the humor of the situation finds its way into the folds of my brain. Life is fucking hilarious, and you can't make this shit up. Unless you are writing a memoir, then you can say whatever you want. I now present to you my stink-eyed view toward my son's 6th grade science curriculum.

My son loves solving problems, He enjoys science. He constantly asks great questions about the hows and whys of the physical world. Last summer he attended a STEM camp where the theme was "Moon Base" and he had such an amazing time that he was in tears at the end of the week. It was heart-breaking when he sighed, and asked why regular school couldn't be just like this week had been. And it had been fantastic. A week of learning scientific concepts, developing hypotheses and testing them. The practical application of what he was learning; it was ideal. Six hours a day of math and science and technology. The school district's foundation created a grant for this specific camp, and it was money well-spent. They were even able to procure an astronaut to come and give a presentation to the kids, who ranged from 5th-8th grades.

This year, his 6th grade science teacher is one of the teachers who led the camp, so we were both pretty stoked. We learned another grant would provide for a unit on robots, using sets of Lego Mind-storms. The year looked so promising.

Since this is the first time I have mentioned my son, I need to fill in a few details. He is, what in the olden-days, we would call a quirky kid. In the modern days we would still call him a quirky kid, but then we would diagnose his ass and medicate him pronto, to try to make him conform as much as possible to the current definition of a successful, sorry, compliant, student. Wanting to be a modern parent, that is just what I did. 

No - I'm kidding. Well, actually, it's complicated. In the lingo of parents of quirky kids everywhere, he is what is referred to as 2E. This is pertinent, because even though he has an IEP, his science and math teacher is reluctant to allow my son alternative ways to handle note-taking, tests and assignments. This has made the year challenging. We have dealt with it in many ways, including letting my son know that sometimes, you must work within the parameters you are given - and you still have to meet or exceed the expectations. Even if it means a 45 minute assignment takes you three hours to complete. There is so much I could say about this topic alone, but I just need to get on with the matter of the most recent project. The float-sink-float submarine.

I had hoped that this project would have disappeared in the five years since my daughter was in 6th grade. That project is a sonofabitch. The kids are learning about density, mass, volume, buoyancy and so on. The thing is, they perform a simplistic version of the experiment in the classroom with a paper cup and marbles. Having them perform this experiment at home doesn't do anything to further their understanding of the concepts involved. It does, however, provide an education on some new swear words that maybe they haven't heard before. So really, it's an English lesson. You know they don't really teach grammar or diagramming sentences in school anymore. Some examples to work from:

Oh for fuck's sake. 
Why the fuck isn't this thing sinking? It sank the last time.
What the fuck? Why are the tablets fizzing already?
I am going to fucking explode if this doesn't work.
 
My son was a full participant, with lots of ideas and suggestions. He completed scientific drawings and outlined the steps involved. He even christened the sub the "Abraham Sinkin'." Which is pretty rad. He ran the trials while I did the timing. So many trials. Dozens and dozens of trials. Eventually, we got the sub to work. It floated for 20 seconds, sank, and returned to the top about 30 seconds later. I created a duplicate sub as a back-up. It worked too.

Feeling wise, I had my son ask his teacher if we could record the experiment and upload it to YouTube, in case something happened and the sub didn't work come performance time. You see, the kids have to show their working sub to the rest of the class. For THREE DAYS of science class time, kid after kid will go to the front of the class and repeat the same thing, over and over and over. They get two chances to prove their sub works. Otherwise - zilch - you lose the points. And what with my son's difficulties with fine motor skills and a stutter, what could go wrong? Lots. 

The answer from the teacher? We could upload a video to YouTube if we liked, but the grade will only be based on the in-class performance. How disappointing. I mean, really? Why couldn't all of the kids upload videos of their submarines for the teacher and then bring the subs in to class so everyone could see each original design? If the kid couldn't upload a video, then they could still perform it for the teacher at school. Nope - three days will be spent humiliating some, and thrilling others.

The morning of the performance, we carefully packed the Abraham Sinkin' into a leftover Christmas gift box. Tablets preloaded into their compartment, so he wouldn't have to fumble with it at school. Extra tablets included. I checked to make sure the seals were tight, leaving as little to chance as possible. My son was beside himself, not wanting to go to school. That earlier robot unit I mentioned, the one using the Lego Mindstorms? His robot had trouble on the performance day and he got a "1" which means "fail." He was crushed, because he had worked so hard and because the robot worked prior to the performance. He still checks his grades online to see if that "1" might magically change. It never does. 

I said his name and made him turn to look at me square-on before he went out the door. "You worked hard on this, and you did everything right. You went beyond the requirements. Your sub picks up an object and it has an awesome name. You put great care into your drawings and your explanations, and you understand the math involved. If you sub doesn't work, we-don't-give-a-shit." Actually, I said "We don't care." But I am pretty sure he knew what I meant. He groaned and took off out the door and down the driveway.

Here is the Black Keys with Little Black Submarines...

 

By the way, his sub worked. On the first try. But some did not, and for that I am sorry. 

Samwise Gamgee

Creativity and silliness often go hand-in-hand. When our family gathers to watch a tv series or a movie, we assign the characters to the most closely matching family member. Take the ABC show Modern Family, for example. My son is Manny, my husband is Jay, my daughter is close to Alex, and I am the brother-sister combo of Claire and Mitchell. But we skew Geek, so when we watch Firefly, Doctor Who, or Lord of the Rings, we do the same. To me this is perfectly normal, but occasionally when someone else gets a glimpse of the inner workings our family's quirks, they have a momentary lapse where I can see their thoughts cross their face. They are trying to decide whether this is cool, or if they want to back away slowly while mentioning what a lovely day it is.

Over the school holiday break, we re-watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Blu-ray extended edition, in case there was any question. Then when the boys were out for a two day trip, my daughter and I got our creative on and made some art - the kind with paper, paint, and sculpey clay.  While creating, we listened to the cast commentary - for all three movies - in the background. It was a little extreme to listen to 12 hours of background chatter, sure, but highly enjoyable. We had assigned the characters. My son was Pippin, my husband was Faramir, my daughter was Gimli. But there was some disagreement with my assessment of my being closest to the character of Galadriel. So I reconsidered.

And I have to admit, I was wrong. I am Samwise. Fiercely loyal, would beat the tar out of someone if they threaten my Frodo, able to deliver lines that would sound cheesy if they weren't said with complete sincerity and pureness of heart, a wistfulness for the idyllic life of the Shire, willing to carry heavy burdens on my back (pots) and spices in my rucksack, because there is a right and proper way to eat. Yes, I am a Sam, which is unfortunate for my daughter because once I made that mental switch, the parallels in real life became immediately obvious to me. If I am Sam, then she is my Frodo. And naturally, you assume I have been getting into the Longbottom leaf. But if you are still reading, then enjoy the ride.

My daughter is now in the January of her Junior year in high school. This means she is now on a twelve month journey, culminating in December, when she will hit a send button and cast her college applications to various college admissions offices. Once she throws-in, the heat of their scrutiny will reveal the strength of her essays, the wisdom of her extra curricular activities, the forged layers of her GPA. And the she will then retreat to gulp for air and to await her fate. Which eagle will swoop down and pluck her from the side of the mountain before she suffocates from the searing hot gasses swirling around her? One will come and it will carry her to a place where she will begin a new part of her life. But the journey is long and difficult. And "one does not simply walk into Mordor college" any more. Not like when I attended and the state college admitted anyone who was a resident, you know, because your taxes supported it.

I feel the weight of the burden she bears. She didn't ask for it, and the college-entry process is all kinds of bullshit. But she has to choose what to do with the time she has been given. (So many lines - I could keep writing this way for days!) She has a few extra difficulties to overcome that most people don't. I have a hope that her response to those challenges may even look attractive to the right school. But no matter, I will be along side until her task is completed and she can sail off to a new land...

"I may not be able to carry the ring, but I can carry you, and it as well." ~Samwise

Robert Plant And Alison Krauss bring it back.

2013

A clear night in Seattle, as is always the case.

I don't like New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. 

OK, I don't like it this year. Well, I am ambivalent about it, as I am with so many things. 

I did like it at one point in my life. When I was a kid, NYE was a raucous and enjoyable time, where I wasn't any longer feeling the loss of Christmas being over, and was not yet sad that school was about to resume again. While it still was intact, my family had a feast of child-friendly foods on NYE - pizza and Cokes, popcorn, Christmas cookies. We gathered in front of the tv to watch the ball drop. Then at the magic moment, we ran outside to bang as loudly as we could on pots with wooden spoons, or we would clash cymbals of mismatched lids; whooping and shouting, "Happy New Year!!" to our neighbors and their barking dogs. One year we even formed a parade - grown ups and children alike, marching around our little 8 house cul-de-sac. No coats; kids didn't need them and the adults had the warmth of inebriation to ward off the chill air.

When my family split from divorce, it was a holiday I would always leave my mom for, in order to spend time with my dad's side of the family. They were far more fun. That, and they existed. My mom's brother was killed while serving in Vietnam and she became an only child in 1968. In the years post-divorce (1978) she had entered into a pentecostal relationship with Jesus, and raising a toast to the new year paled in comparison to raising the roof at a worship service. So the charming Midwestern dysfunction of my dad, his three siblings and their families had a much more tangible entertainment value. It was sometimes overseen by the matriarch of the group, depending on whether she had a man to drive her, or if one of her kids were up to the task. Often the clan would gather at one of the two daughter's houses which were both an eight hour drive away from their brothers, who had never left their hometown.

There were only a few times I missed NYE with those relatives. I even took my fiance to the event, to make sure he could pass muster; which he did. However, things change. Upon the high school graduation of her kids, her own divorce ended one of my aunt's reign as hostess. And for myself, college graduation brought job obligations and a move away from the Midwest to Southern California. As the years went by, NYE was sometimes spent at parties, sometimes at friend's houses, sometimes on our own. But I learned something that hit me as a surprise...

My husband didn't like the "clanging of pots and pans" thing. It was ear splitting and sort of embarrassing, and he would humor me by standing patiently while I made some noise. But he didn't really want to participate. Totally within his right, silly him, I reasoned. When we had children, I showed them the proper way to ring/clang in the New Year. They liked it,  but it also hurt their ears. And in California we didn't have any extended family within 3,000 miles to help back me up, so one year, the pans never left the cupboard. Then I had another shock. Not only didn't my husband like to bang the pans, he preferred to celebrate the clock turning midnight from behind closed eyes, and didn't in fact, need to see fireworks to know that it had become January.

This was difficult for me to accept. There were years when I tried to get him to stay up, and it was not optimal. There were years when he tried to stay up for my sake, and it was still, not ideal. Nowadays I am humoring him when he says he's going to stay up late with me and the kids, because I know his heart is bigger that his sleep cycle. He will only get crankier as he fights the sleep, and a drink or two will only hasten process. I decide to it is best to ply him with wine into a state of relaxation, until he kisses everyone goodnight and slips into the cool dark of our bedroom. Then the kids and I do our thing until the magic hour, and head to bed ourselves. The only problem with our current scenario is that the kids won't be with me for much longer.  

This year in particular, as I see the pictures posted of so many families gathering cousins together and lifting glasses, I begin to feel alone. Not 'lonely' alone, just a sadness that my little family unit is so 'alone.' We have no cousins, no aunties nor uncles, no crazy grandparents to pepper our memories with saucy behavior, no gathering place for an extended family. We don't watch parades or football or have a special meal. We don't really have any sort of tradition other that going on a walk on New Year's Day. And I feel oddly bereft. I lost something I had once, and there is no way to replicate it. 

Hell, I don't even want to replicate the way things were exactly. As I got older and realized "charm" was the wrong description of the dysfunction of my dad's family, and living 3,000 miles away from them was actually just about right. Nonetheless, growing up, I thought my extended family would be a part of a support network for my own kids. I was wrong about that, and part of bereavement includes acceptance of your situation and moving on. 

How we celebrate NYE is not really the issue, is it, then. The root of the sadness is that we started our own family culture essentially from scratch. Like immigrants. We have family in the "old country." But we struck out for a different life. I hope I have done enough to give my kids a sense of place; and the roots of belonging and rest. Maybe someday I will be the eccentric matriarch, and they will return with their families to be silly and lift all our glasses to toast the promise of a new year.
 

Beautiful song about living in Seattle by The Lonely Forest