Holla' has been with us for about a week or so now, and things are settling in pretty well, I think. School started today, so now we're really off to something, and we'll see how that goes. This is our second year doing this, and last year, the school didn't have any other exchange students than CJ. So this year, Holla' has been hearing a lot about him, and that's got to be weird, especially since they don't know each other and all. This year, though, there are five exchange students at school, and that will be much nicer, I think.

At any rate, Holla' reaffirms my belief that teenagers are some of the best people around. Especially when they are mature for their age, funny, smart, clever (I forgot that the first time!) and curious. And, it probably doesn't hurt to be living with people other than your parents. At any rate, we are having a good time. So, stay tuned! I'm sure we're in for a totally awesome year!

In other news, CJ, our exchange student for the year, has returned home. It's quite an adjustment living with a (nice) teenager and then having them suddenly depart. We all certainly miss him, but S and I miss him most, I think.

I thought that over this last year, I might write a little here and there about what it was like to have an exchange student, but I didn't really do that so much. Frankly, I think I mostly enjoyed living it, and I didn't want to stop to reflect on things, like CJ's constant badgering about my not using the metric system, or the relative difference in how students in the US and students in Germany consider grades. Honestly, cooking with a recipe that uses the metric system really has a whole different way of measuring, and that might have been interesting, but mostly it just was. It was a negotiation that didn't seem blog-worthy at the time, and maybe will be some day, but not today.

Today I'm still reflecting on the quietness of a room left vacant, and silence on one end of a conversation about politics and culture and the success of the Euro (I still maintain it won't be strong forever). I'm waiting for an equilibrium that will take a long while to settle, I suspect.

Last time, I wrote about "per aspera ad astra," an idea shared with me by a true friend who helped me see the glimmer in every tough situation. Well, friend, this is a different type of aspera, and I'm hoping we can find some stars together.

S has been "walking funny" ever since she started walking, and it hasn't gone away. She was a late walker, and being a vigilant mama, I took her to the doctor, who referred us to an orthopedic specialist, who told us she was "structurally sound" and I was probably just worrying for nothing and she would walk soon. When she started to walk, she remained tentative, and now she walks with her left foot turned inward. She complains that her legs hurt all the time. So, back to a (new) orthopedist, who told us she was "structurally sound" and suggested a neurologist. She added not to wait, and that she would help us get an appointment.

S saw the neurologist this week, and since this all started, I've heard things mentioned like cerebral palsy, fluid pockets in the brain or spinal cord, genetic disorder. S is having an MRI next week to figure out what this all could be. Right now, none of it sounds good, but I trust her neurologist to figure it out and do the right thing.

I'm sure we'll all be better on the other side of a diagnosis and treatment, but being in the right here, right now is a challenge. There's a little too much dust, and the stars feel too far away.

I've been in DC for the last four days for an Educational Policy Fellows seminar. If you're in education, it's worth looking into the EPFP program. We had some great speakers, met some incredible educators doing good work in other states, and spent a half day on Capitol Hill learning the workings of government.

One of our program leaders says something like this: "Knowledge is what remains when the experience is gone." I'm not sure how to make sense of what's left now that I'm at the airport waiting for my flight out, but I do have to say that I think it's our civic duty to visit our nation's capitol city and see all that it has to offer.

I have been to DC many times, but always for meetings that take up my day and leave me too tired to sightsee. I usually get to see a few things, but it's more like on the way to something and without deliberation or intention. This time was different:

I went to the Lincoln Memorial. It's a pretty incredible memorial to an important man. I have not much to say but to share a picture from my time with him:

After I left the Lincoln Memorial, I walked through the Vietnam Memorial. I didn't take any pictures. It all felt a little to sacred, really, to photograph. I saw a woman rubbing the name of her classmate from the wall. "He was just a kid," she told a passerbyer who asked whose name she was rubbing onto paper. Just a kid. The whole wall is a massive reminder of what a waste that war was. I'm glad it's there, so that we never forget (although I think we have already, haven't we?).

I also saw something I'd been wanting to see forever, a lesser known statue. There were no lines to this one. There was one family stopping for a snapshot, and an Air Force officer hanging around, having a phone call with some loved one about why he is going to Kuwait right now. That was it. The family left, and then it was just me and Al. I took his picture. See?

If you want to have some time with Einstein, he's hanging out these days at 2100 Constitution Avenue. He reminds us of his commitment to peace, his awareness of using science for good, and of the freedom we have had for so long in this country. He gives me hope. And, on the eve of a potential government shutdown and partisan bickering like never before, I need hope. So, I am forgetting about Michelle Bachman and debt ceilings and tea parties and budget deficits and all of that and choosing to let my knowledge linger on Einstein and this quote inscribed on the wall at the Library of Congress:

"Science is organized knowledge."

We've been hosting an exchange student this year (hello, CJ--yep, that's your blog-o-nym--and I know you're reading this), and I've been enjoying the experience immensely, and wanting to post some thoughts about our exchange experience. Yet, it's taken me awhile to figure out how to do that while respecting CJ's privacy and my own, while also not coming across too trivial about any of our experiences.

CJ is from Germany, and NOT from Bavaria, so I'd say I've learned a little about that distinction and how there's a tendency here in the US to associate Bavarian elements of Germany with all of Germany. Part of my family comes from north of Hamburg, so I have to say that I appreciate having a better understanding of this distinction, and I'm really enjoying learning more about Germany and the EU and CJ's perspective on a host of topics, like politics, economics, technology, and education. I hope I'll write about a few of these things here in the next few posts.

One interesting little topic that has come up in a whole variety of ways for me during CJ's stay has been names. He and I talked about it a bit today, but we really just scratched the surface.

My own children's names, which are usually referred to around here as J and S are in fact, of German origin. J's name, when pronounced correctly, starts with a "y" sound, and S's name should start with more of a "z" sound (well not exactly, according to CJ), but we don't ever really say it that way. J gets his name mispronounced all the time, as do I, and he seems to handle it pretty well. S probably will have some trouble with her name too, but for now she's too young.

CJ's name is also uncommon in Germany, but common here in the US. The pronounciation in German is different than it is in English, and I've gotten so used to saying his name the German way that to hear it in English doesn't sound right anymore. Yet, he goes by the English version at school here this year. His brother also has an uncommon name in Germany, and that name is also uncommon in the US. It's sort of neat to me that his parents chose interesting names for their kids, as we did too. We share some values across our cultures, and I like that this is one of them.

One difference, although slight, is that CJ calls his parents by their first names. It came as a bit of a surprise to me because I had asked him what he called his parents when he had first arrived, and he told me "mama and papa" which is also what we want our kids to call us. Of course, CJ calls us by our first names, but I wouldn't expect anything else. Nonetheless, I was surprised to hear him on Skype using his mother's first name. He also seemed a little upset or insistent in his tone with her, and maybe that added to my surprise because even as an adult, I don't call my mother by her first name, and even if I did, I wouldn't call her by her name in an argument. (Readers, do you call your parents by their first names? why or why not?)

In the meantime, S has taken to calling me "mommy." Of all the possible ways of referring to me, this is absolutely my least favorite. Everyone around her tries to correct her with "mama" but she insists "mommy!" Right now, I've given up.

This name, to me, conveys a certain helpless dependence that I don't want to foster in my children. I've joked that if she's still calling me mommy when she's four, I'll insist on her just calling me by my first name instead.

This comes as a shock to a few people. This fall, J was calling C by his first name, which really irritated C. It was a passing phase, and J is back to calling C "Papa," but I know there'll come a day when J is going to ask not to use mama/papa anymore, and I'm feeling right now like it should be okay to call us by our first names, even in an argument. Even if they are exchange students talking with us via Skype from some other country. But right now, the whole idea feels a bit of a foreign concept that still takes some getting used to.

I think compassion is partly about recognizing suffering in someone else. Suffering is such a buddhist word to me, and although I find myself drawn to buddhism, I sometimes question (in vain) whether suffering really conveys the right meaning of other people's pain and struggle. To me, suffering is a really strong feeling, like the agony of being in the last days of dying of cancer, not the pain of being surrounded by too many things. But when I reflect, I recognize that they are both a type of pain, one just being more profound than the other and that the degree of pain and how it inflicts itself depends on the person and their perceptions, so I think suffering IS a useful word in relation to compassion. So, in order to be compassionate, I think you have to recognize the suffering of others. And then, I think you have to respond to that suffering with love and kindness. That show of love and kindness might manifest itself differently depending on the person and what that person needs and appreciates, and maybe knowing how to respond lovingly is part of the challenge and the learning that comes with experience.

I think that people respond with anger, hurt, and thoughtlessness when they are so distracted by their own suffering that they are not able to respond with love. Our own suffering can sneak up on us--sometimes I think we don't even know we have a wound until something comes along and rips the scab right off.

This happened to me recently. I have struggled over the last several days because I have wanted to respond in kind (i.e., not with kindness). I have wanted to go looking for a wound that needs some salt rubbed in it because I have been suffering myself. In the process of talking with a few good friends, though, I have started to embrace my suffering, and am trying to take care of it. I have been working to recognize that thoughtlessness happened because of someone else's suffering, and it is better to take care of myself and be ready to respond with compassion than it is to point out the short comings in others. This is not easy, and I am working on it. I will let you know how it goes.

If you've been following my blog of late, most of my posts are about raising kids and finishing my PhD, and there might be a craft project or two thrown in. But, if you go back further in my archives, there's a few other topics that surface now and then, and I have written in the past about the Fighting Sioux logo/mascot issue that has been a major challenge for the University of North Dakota, my alma mater. With school starting in Grand Forks in a few weeks, I'm not surprised that my entries have resurfaced, and a few folks have asked for an update. Earlier this year, it was determined that the university will need to have a new mascot. The Englestad hockey arena, which has many built-in elements with the old logo, will likely remain the same.

The issue of this mascot has been a passionate one for people on both sides. Some have wanted to keep the mascot/logo for reasons of tradition and pride. Others, myself included, have wanted to change the mascot/logo for reasons of pride and respect for those native Americans who want the mascot/logo changed. Having not played sports at UND, I don't feel a strong connection to the mascot/logo, but I certainly understand how someone could feel that way, and I know that there are plenty of angry and disappointed alumni, students, and other supporters who will have a hard time making this change.

Other schools have made the change. UND has many exemplars out there to learn from, and I believe that the process of developing a new mascot/logo can be a healing process. I'm looking forward to following the process, and will post another update when there is something new to report.

. . .

This summer has been a lazy one for J, and it's taken me back to my own childhood, with unstructured hours of watching cartoons, reading books, and playing outside. Late this spring, I joined a health club with the primary purpose of taking J swimming, and we have done a lot of swimming, and now his only structured activity is swimming lessons. All of this has had the fore-hoped benefit of getting him relaxed and in a good place to start school this fall. He has even mentioned spontaneously things that he thinks will be true of his new school, like they will have good lunches. Not sure if that is true, but we'll find out soon enough. There's less than a month left before our new routine begins.

I have begun working out on a regular basis, and even after only a few weeks of this new routine, I am feeling addicted. I think my PE teachers in high school must not have been very good because I don't remember working up a sweat and feeling that great endorphin release that comes from a good workout. I've been going to the gym so much that C has decided to join me, and now it's truly a favorite part of our day together. We bring the kids to the gym's childcare center and spend an hour together. Well, half hour really because one half is spent on the bike (me) and the treadmill (C). But then we do strength training together, and that is fun!!

I've also been working on responding to C's anger and frustration with love and compassion. This takes practice. As you've read from other postings here, C has been suffering from an arthritic condition, and it has certainly taken its toll on him in many ways. The pain has made him angry, and most of the time his anger is not too far below the surgace, ready to pop up whenever it can. I have grown tired of resonding to anger with anger, and so I have decided to practice something different. I got a lot of guidance from Thich Naht Hanh's book, Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames. I'm still practicing--it's not easy.

And it's been a reminder that relationships, especially those with a spouse or a partner, take ongoing work. It's so easy to get into a habit of taking the other person for granted, and expecting that we don't have to exercise care and compassion with that person because they live with us, and they know us and love us anyway. But, in fact, I think knowing C and loving him is exactly why I want to not take him for granted and show him a little more love and compassion.

The winds of change are blowing my direction, and I am choosing to embrace this breeze.

Recently, we took a family vacation to the Wisconsin Dells. If you haven't been, it's probably one of those places everyone should have to get to experience once in a lifetime. I think it's best to approach the whole enterprise with an open mind, ready to embrace the campiness of a place that has 5 times more tourists than residents. Maybe my estimate is too low?

Although Wisconsin Dells is named for the beautiful rock formations in the Wisconsin River, it's much better known for its waterparks. There's Noah's Ark, the largest waterpark in the U.S., and Mt.Olympus, the largest waterpark/resort in the U.S. There's no end to the number of waterslides, roller coasters, lazy rivers to tube down, and various wave pools to bump around in.

I'm not sure how the location of the Wisconsin Dells got picked for a family vacation destination. This was one of those big family reunion get-togethers, and I think the location was sort of chosen by committee. At any rate, we were looking forward to some rest and relaxation more than we were looking for thrills and spills of the wet variety.

But it so happened that toward the end of our week in the Dells, J decided that he really really really wanted to go to a water park. There had been some discussion of this earlier in the week by others, and I think some people thought that there would be better ways to spend our money than to take a child who is generally rather timid to a place that is better suited to teenaged thrill seeking. But, since he was asking, we slathered on some sunscreen and went.

At first, for a few moments anyway, the naysayers might have had their moment in the sun. The long walk into the park past the Hades rollercoaster (partly named due to its drop down into a tunnel and coming out on the other side of the street) caused an immediate ear covering by the young lad. But eventually we found our way into the indoor portion of the water park. We started out in something more like a regular pool, but quickly found our way into a lazy river (which we LOVED!!). We might have done that all day, but then there were the indoor water slides (which we LOVED!!). Again, again! Again, again! And then there was the outdoor lazy river with a little more current. J ditched his innertube and had fun swimming along, being pushed by the current.

At one point he turned to us and said, "That sign says 'Strong swimmers only.' Am I a strong swimmer?" "Of course you are," was our reply. This, after he had already shown his strong swimming skills with all the things he had done. He jumped back in and wound his way around all the adults and teens in their inner tubes on the fast-moving lazy river.

We continued on to a tide pool/beach area. This one had waves that started every 10 minutes or so, and then the waves would last awhile, rocking you back and forth in a tube. J thought this was fun--he wanted to be right up at the rope, pressing the limit to make sure to get as much out of the wave as possible. Where did our timid boy go?!

Finally, we checked out Poseidon's Rage. This was a bigger tidal wave pool--the waves can crest as high as 9 ft, and it's pretty much a body-surfing free for all. We would still be there right now if J had his way!! I think this was his all-time favorite. What surprised me most was that he didn't need to have us in the pool. He managed alone, in spite of the chaos of the wave and the people everywhere. My boy is growing up!

Moments like these remind me it's good to take calculated risks, and to always be open for the moment when your kid will surprise you. This was a fun surprise. Seeing J beaming as he was recounting his adventures in the wave pool with his cousins that evening was the highlight of my trip.

How would you respond when, in response to a rough day at school, your child turns to you and says, "They just don't understand me there."? What would you say?

How can a parent continue to send their child to a place in which an adult has called their child a brat? or told their child repeatedly that they are not special?

I am frankly too sad, discouraged, and worn out to continue this list, which could go on at length. Even more sad is that my sweet J has only been attending this school since March. So, it should be the case that we haven't had enough time to amass this list, but unfortunately, that is not the case.

We went to a bit of an effort to show our commitment to the school. We met with the teacher. We emailed. They don't email back--why commit to anything in writing after all? We raised money for the school carnival. We went to the carnival and had a reasonably good time. We diligently supported the completion of countless worksheets that were returned with a sticker saying "Very good!" or "Excellent!" and nothing more. I'm not sure any of these efforts really had any effect.

In the meantime--and for those of you not in Minnesota, it is a school choice state, which means that there are numerous options for public school--we have learned of a dream school in a neighboring suburb. Well, the neighboring suburb is actually a 30 minute drive away, but that seems immaterial, all things considered. This dream school is for kids like J. They do fun things like calculate bracket stats during March Madness. They dissect owl pellets and sheep's brains in 3rd grade, and make star charts, and read cool books. They understand the emotional issues of bright kids. They don't really use worksheets, and there's very little homework. And best of all, J has been eagerly accepted into the program for next year.

Once upon a time, I thought that we could always provide additional stimulation for our intellectually curious kid. And we do. Recently, we've grown, and killed, a couple of caterpillars. Before their death, we learned a lot about them, though. We have also been learning about Beatrix Potter's life and times (I recommend the movie Miss Potter). We have been swimming and learning ping pong. We've also started a collection of state quarters. But all these things aren't really enough to overcome the torture of worksheets.

There's a documented condition called schooling resistance and to some degree we have experienced it in this house. I sometimes feel devastated to think that a child who was once so naturally curious about the world and who had so much faith in school has been so enormously let down.

But J is resilient, and a carefree summer has the potential to be healing. When Labor Day rolls around this fall, I think that school will start for real, for the first time.

I thought about that again when I graduated from college with my bachelor's degree. At the time, graduation felt like the end of security. During the time I was in college, my parents paid my way. Graduation was a marker of being out on my own, finding a job, and paying my bills.

Eventually, I found my way through two master's degrees, and my family made me go to two more commencement ceremonies. I remember very little from these events, except that Donna Shalala was the speaker at one, the same one I'm told was on a cold and rainy day in the pacific northwest. The second of these commencement ceremonies was on a sunny August day, and there was jazz music. But both of these again felt more like an ending instead of a beginning...I've never thought of finishing a degree as an opportunity to move on to something new. Maybe I've been living my life in the past instead of the present? Of maybe all of these commencements weren't really commencements at all, but just a temporary respite on the way to something more?

This past Friday, on a cold and rainy day, I participated in my final commencement. Beforehand, I attended a little reception thrown by my department. My advisor wasn't there, of course. The department chair, who is kindly but doesn't know me, mispronounced my name when he introduced me. I didn't really know anyone, except for one favorite professor who couldn't attend the ceremony today because of a family obligation. None of this mattered.

When you graduate with your doctorate, you get to wear a hood made of velvet. The velvet color varies, depending on your degree. In my case, it was dark blue, for the doctor of philosophy. At the University of Minnesota, the satin lining on the inside is maroon and gold. And, here at the U of M, you can choose the standard robe (black) or the centennial robe (red). Someday, if I choose to become faculty somewhere, I might purchase the centennial robe, but right now, I am content to have the doctoral robe of the former academic dean of General College. I did buy the centennial tam instead of the traditional mortarboard, though.

The talking part of the ceremony was short. The address was given by a geography professor who talked about graduate degrees and global engagement. It was interesting, but not all that accessible to my family. It didn't matter.

I was in the back of the line of maybe 300 or more doctoral degrees given out on that day. Eventually they called my name, and I was hooded for the first time. I don't know who the faculty were who did the hooding, although I think one is the chair of the educational psychology department. It didn't matter.

I walked across the stage and got my diploma cover, which I don't need since my diploma is already framed and on display in my office (doctoral degrees are awarded monthly--and mine's been done for awhile now). Some people got to get hugs or handshakes from faculty in their departments who were there for this auspicious occasion. I did not have anyone standing there, eager to hug me or shake my hand. It didn't matter.

I walked off the stage, and standing there at the end was C, eager to hug and kiss me. My parents, who were in the most awesome reserved seating, looked on with pride. THAT mattered.

When it was all done, I walked out with my little girl and my son, who have a doctor for a mother. They say that the educational attainment of the mother is the most important factor in the social mobility of a child. J and S, I might not have even imagined your very existence back when I was graduating from high school, and my bachelor's, and my master's, but don't think for a minute that I didn't do it all for you, because I did. Because THAT matters.

So, I walked out of that auditorium wearing my doctoral clothes proudly, holding the hand of my son. I did it! I accomplished an important life goal. And now, as I look forward to what comes next, I understand the meaning of commencement. I think I just didn't get it before because I wasn't really done. I wasn't ready to commence.

In second grade at Neighborhood School, weekends aren't made for homework. On Mondays, a packet of math worksheets comes home, to be returned on Friday. These are dreaded worksheets, or at least dreaded by all in our family.

It seems that while I was away, J did not do his weekly homework, and it was still lingering around when I got back. We slunk off to Target, our place of choice for doing homework these days.

One page spoke volumes: there were probably 30 simple two number addition problems on the page, and then my favorite part: "Shade all of the boxes that result in the number 72."

J sighed every time he found the answer was 72. At one point, he said, "Don't they know this is a waste of pencil lead?" At another point, he inquired, "What is the point of shading all these boxes anyway?" I responded impulsively, "You should ask your teacher what state standard that requirement addresses." J thought for a moment and said simply, "Motor skills."

In addition to those 30 problems, he had another 30 or so of subtraction that involved borrowing, and another page of the same. He also had a few pages of telling time, and some other things I don't even remember anymore.

On top of that, he had to write a journal entry in response to the following prompt: "If I owned a restaurant, I would serve...." J is too pragmatic for these things. He doesn't want to own a restaurant and serve anything. Yet, he knows that's not the right answer, so it takes him forever to come with something. So we sat there for what felt like an eternity, talking about serving lego sandwiches (no one would eat it), cat food (too complicated to write about), and the list goes on. We settled on fruit.

I won't say how the writing got done, but it did get finished. In his own handwriting. The math, on the other hand, is another story. A flock of penguins (are they a flock? or a gaggle? or a quorum?) seemed to waddle by the windows of our local Target, catching J's attention. When he looked back at the table, the math worksheets were gone, and we're not sure where they went.

If J's teacher is reading this, I am so busted. But, I'm sure she's too busy grading papers to take time to surf the net.

The lunch lady called the other day to tell us that he doesn't each the free breakfast, and he also hasn't been really eating much for lunch. Well, I suppose stopping at the bakery on the way to school doesn't leave him much of an appetite for the USDA approved free breakfast. Did I mention it was free? As for lunch, he tells me he drinks a carton of milk and eats a bag of carrot sticks--he says he's just not hungry at that time. He eats a big snack after school and a good dinner, so I'm not worried. But I guess they told him he needs to pick three items so that they can charge him for lunch. He added a pear to the carrot sticks and milk the other day and said it was ok. I think it is just fine he's somehow not eating the chicken nuggets, the meat patties, the pizza, etc. But, that's just my opinion.

We signed up for the virtually free afterschool programs for the spring term. It's our way of not having to pick him up until 5pm and hey, we don't have to pay $12 a day for the afterschool care program. On Wednesdays he had his choice of art adventure or soccer, and he thought for a long time and chose art adventure. This week, when the class met, he sneaked a book into the program and read during the art lesson. They were making paper crowns, he told us later. I'm sure the kindergarten kids had fun with it.

Today, the principal called to say that J had refused to go to music, and he was in her office, and she was unsure what to do. C talked to J, who had no real explanation for not wanting to go to music, and J agreed to go back to class. Sigh.

No one said it would be easy, that's for certain.

In other news, S is refusing to stand on her own. This is a skill marker she should have passed a few months ago, and frankly, she doesn't seem to be anywhere close to making this one happen any time soon. She can do lots of interesting fine motor things--feed herself, empty containers, try to scribble, take things apart, etc--but she's not into standing and walking. We're giving her another couple of weeks to figure this standing thing out before we do something about it. She did just discover that she can hold TWO things if she doesn't have to hold onto something for support. So...that's a good sign!

I guess with kids, it's always something...keeping us alert and making sure we're paying attention. So, here's some eye candy as a reward for your paying attention:

Happy spring, everyone!

When our son started in the school, I wrote of my family's slow acceptance of our decision. I think their reluctance was due to the unfamiliarity of the idea of language immersion in general; I'm sure our choice of Chinese didn't help. I think their concerns were only slightly assuaged by the fact that J's best school chum's family comes from the same part of ND as I do. Overall, my family was slow to warm up, and mostly pretty silent on the issue.

When we decided to switch J to the neighborhood school, for a variety of reasons, some of which I've described here, we were a little uncertain about how to approach our families on the topic. So, we waited until one week of success, and then in an email, I wrote of our decision, that J needs to be able to express his ideas and that Chinese was slowing that down.

My dad's response came this morning:

Glad to hear J is out of Chinese school and has a shot at being a real person and that his new school isn't a long ways off.

Well, gee, dad. Tell me how you really feel, why don't ya? Upon reading this, my thoughts went straight to Carl, the family liaison at the Chinese school. He uses the phrase "heart-safe" to talk about our words and actions. I don't think my dad was thinking about being heart-safe here.

There's a lot of things I think about what my dad said here. I think maybe he doesn't really mean J didn't have a shot at being a "real" person before, that maybe he means he wasn't so sure of the relevance of Chinese? but wow....I'm just stunned that he somehow believed that and didn't share it before. I'm stunned that he could let those words flow from his fingers and not think for a minute that maybe there would be hurt on the other end.

In my family, there's no typical pattern of confronting these kinds of things, so I think I'll mostly have to forget about it and move on. Except that I don't really want to forget about it because it was said, and it hurts, and it shows the limitations of my own father. In two years' time, I won't remember this comment any more than I remember whatever they said when we first told them J was going to Chinese immersion in the first place.

Whatever the case, though, I hope that J will be someone who thinks before speaking, who considers the feelings of others before letting the words go. Somehow, I suspect that in those terms, J really does have a chance of being a real (caring) person, more so than my dad can ever dream of.

J is now a week into the new school. He's going to our neighborhood school, which is a good school, but a plain ol' school with just the typical bells and whistles. The teachers seem to really care about the kids, and J's teacher is no exception. She's the perfect kind of teacher for him: experienced. He's not so sure he likes her, and I think that's a good thing. She's making him do the work, and so far, he's not had many nights of homework. The homework battles are gone!! So, J has more time to do this:

He's a bit of a video-game fan (aren't we all?), and our latest obsession is Doodle Jump on the iTouch. I can hardly keep my iTouch charged these days. And on the subject of video games, there's this local video shop that just opened up in our mall that has some kind of console that plays "old school" video games. J thinks it's just the coolest thing to play the original Super Mario Bros. Who knew those old scratchy graphics would be cool again someday?

C is doing much, much better. I think we've turned a corner, and it feels so good. He still has his moments, but usually they're caused by a medication issue. He takes so many different medications these days, he occasionally loses track, and I can tell when he's missing something. I call it the "asshole alert": when I want to call him an asshole, it usually means something's missing pill-wise. Funny how that works that way, but it does. It's nice to have him back to more of his old self--what a relief. I'll admit I probably believe that there's always a chance to backslide, but for the most part I'm trusting we're headed in the right direction.

Toddler S is super funny these days. She's got an opinion, and she wants to share it. The other day, I was opening a string cheese for her, and the dog was nearby. She turned to the dog and yelled, "Aaaaaah!" She can't really say anything, but she can communicate! It was really funny! She's also a really good eater, and she seems to be willing to try everything. In this picture, she was chewing on the apple core from a caramel apple I'd bought for J. She also ate some curry I made the other night, although I'll admit she shared more with the dog than she ate herself.

So J, C, and S are all good...what about me? Well, I'm going on week 4 of a nasty cold. I went to the doctor about ten days ago, and was sent home with a nasal irrigation system. This many more days later, I've pretty much had it with the unproductive cough, the chills, and the bodyaches, so I'm going back to beg for some relief. I'd like to feel better soon, but given that overall things are looking up, you won't hear me complaining too loudly.