Live in Living Color

I just got back yesterday from a four-day trip to New York City with my mom and two brothers. (I'll just call them 14 and 23.) Madre and 14 were returning from 14's performing arts camp in Upstate NY, and 23 was on a break from architecture school. Madre makes it to New York a few times a year, and we try to join her as much as possible. She frequents fabric and trim shops (I've been to Mood from Project Runway with her) for her business, and we always see a ton of Broadway shows.

Confession: I am a huge, giant, raving Broadway geek. I listen to the "On Broadway" station on my satellite radio pretty much whenever I'm in the car (until I hastily change it to something cooler right before I pick someone up). I even spent the night after my wedding this summer - in the Ritz-Carlton in Atlanta no less - watching the Tony Awards. I'll say it again: my husband is a gem.

Fortunately, Mom and 14 feel the same way. 14 is planning to be an actor and participates in any theater he can get his hands on. He's starting in an afterschool musical theater program this fall and can't get enough of his summer camp. And I must say, he is a pretty talented actor and musician. (The dancing not so much... but there's time.)

Anyway, I got a chance to see four shows this week: Sister Act on Sunday, How to Succeed... (yes, starring Harry Potter) on Tuesday, and a matinee/evening show combo of Anything Goes and Catch Me If You Can on Wednesday. This isn't a Broadway critic's blog, so I'll spare you the theatrical details - but I thoroughly enjoyed all four shows.

23 and I also had the opportunity to have lunch with two different friends of mine from high school, who are roommates in NYC. I actually have quite a few friends who live or have lived in New York after college. One of my friends works in the amazing Hearst Tower and gave us a tour. That place is freakin' amazing. (Excuse me, why don't elementary schools have organic cafes and huge gyms with complimentary workout clothes you don't have to wash yourself?)

So what do these two aspects of my trip - Broadway shows and lunch with my friends - have to do with each other, or anything for that matter? One word: regrets.

Every time I visit New York, I get the same feeling of low-grade longing to live there. Yes, I know it's difficult and expensive and the apartments are the size of an airplane bathroom... but I love that place. Hubs and I considered moving there for residency - he interviewed at two programs in the City and ranked them highly - but ultimately we decided that it made the most sense to come to Durham. But I know that I will always have a small tinge of regret that I didn't even get to try it out for a year or three.

As for seeing the shows, well, in hindsight I really wish I'd done more in the way of performing myself. I have loved to be on stage ever since my first summer at the Tulane theater camp I went to for a good chunk of my childhood. I've been dancing since about third grade (still am!) and was in the choir, school musicals, etc. While I don't think I ever had enough talent to make theater my career, I can carry a tune and tap circles around the average person... and I feel regretful now that I didn't make more of it.

I don't really know why, but I suspect it has something to do with fear. I'm an anxious person, and I struggled a lot with my self-image when I was younger. Add to that relentless academic overachieving. You end up with someone who desperately wants to be a performer - again, still do! - but never had the balls to actually try it out. It sucks that I have no one to blame but me, by the way. It's not like Madre forbid me to go into the theater, or I had some crippling injury that ended my ill-fated career before it began. Nope. I just wasn't willing to risk it.

Frame of Reference

**Note: I've been reading a lot of blogs to figure out how to do this better. What I've noticed is that most bloggers, for anonymity purposes, use nicknames for the subjects of their blogs. As my spouse is the only person I've referenced by name so far, he shall henceforth be known simply as Hubs.

"Frame of reference."

My mom likes to use this term a lot. When she says that someone has a similar "frame of reference," what she means is that they come from a similar type of background. Often this has to do with socioeconomics, family values, social strata, etc.... but when I'm using it today, I mean something more specific.

One of the things I love the most about my relationship with Hubs is that we have almost the exact same frame of reference. We grew up less than a mile from each other in Uptown New Orleans and we are the same age. Well, to be precise, I am five days older than he is - so I guess technically I'm robbing the cradle? Anyway, the fact that we are from the same geographic region, exact same era, and had similar families and education (though, come on - my school was far superior) makes for really hilarious moments sometimes.

A while back, we were having some conversation about something, and for some reason I said, "Calm yourself." To which Hubs replied, "Calm yourself, Iago..." - a line of Jafar's from the Disney movie Aladdin. Now, we have never watched Aladdin together, talked about Aladdin, or mentioned Jafar to my knowledge. But because we were both babies of 1985, Aladdin was high on both of our lists as "movies we knew everything about because we were seven when they came out." (See also: Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid)

Example number two: There was a HI-larious commercial in New Orleans when we were little for a ridiculous furniture store called Frankie and Johnny's. (So hilarious that Conan O'Brien even had a contest for remakes recently.) Well, my family thought this commercial was golden, so we videotaped several versions of the four of us acting out the commercial. When we showed them to Hubs, he understood exactly how freakin' magical they were. He understood this because we come from exactly the same place.

(Side note: Franky and Johnny's Commercial here)

This morning, there was yet another example of Hubs and I being on precisely the same page. While the Mickey Mouse Club has yet to return to our countertops (knock on wood), we do find several little insects on a daily basis. No big deal... but for some reason this morning when Hubs was doing away with one, I started thinking about the Sing-Along Songs videos I used to watch on repeat. There was one song called "The Ugly Bug Ball" - and Hubs remembered it too! Neither of us remembered the exact melody, though. God bless you, YouTube:

Ugly Bug Ball video

Anyway, I'm not saying that people from different places or who are different ages can't have very successful relationships - obviously that's ridiculous. All I know is that it's comforting and often hilarious when Hubs and I have those moments of, "Remember that _______? That was so funny!" It makes me feel like we have known each other forever, like we grew up together. Since we're planning to grow old together, it's nice to feel like we started early.

Domestic Enemies of the Elementary Teacher

A few months ago, a parent of a child in my class told me about a fabulous blog called stark.raving.mad.mommy, which chronicles the adventures of a fabulously snarky, honest mom. One of her children is on the autism spectrum, so it has been fascinating for me as a teacher to learn more about how these students function in their daily lives.

One recent post that she did was as a guest on the blog Rants from Mommyland for their "Domestic Enemies" series... in which moms of various types enlighten readers about their biggest nemeses. I was inspired to create my own list of "Domestic Enemies" of my profession:

-Mr. and Mrs. Denial: These are the parents who refuse to acknowledge that their child shows signs of having an issue affecting his/her academic performance. No, his lack of focus and inability to attend to a task for longer than 4 seconds is not because he's "just a typical boy." Last I checked, your male genitalia means you are a boy. Your lack of focus means you may have ADD. (*Note: for the sake of being PC, it makes you "under consideration for having characteristics of ADD." Which is the most I'm allowed to tell you about your child.) My problem with these people is that if a child has an issue - be it ADD, anxiety, learning disabilities, being "on the spectrum", etc. - it will help them if the issue is identified and addressed. It doesn't just go away. Usually I am already accommodating the child for the issue he/she is having anyway!

-Mrs. Overreacting Worrywart: No, there is nothing wrong with your kid. He got a B on the test. Sh*t happens, and it will teach him to study his vocabulary words longer next time. If you meet with his teacher every time he gets anything below an A, he will never learn to stand up for himself OR to realize that he's not perfect. By the way, don't tell me "he's always been an A student." He's eight.

-Mrs. Call-me-at-home: I seriously had a parent call me to ask about a project due Monday on Saturday night at 9 pm. Saturday, February 14. Valentine's Day. For your information, I do have a life, and it does not include acknowledging the existence of my students between Friday evening and Sunday evening.

-Mrs. My-Kid's-Feces-Don't-Stink: No, your child is not perfect, and yes, she did in fact call the girl at her table stupid and ugly. She was not "led into it" by a ringleader - she is the ringleader. Oh, and by the way - MTV is not appropriate viewing material for your third grader.

-Mrs. Jones: as in, the teacher you feel like you need to "keep up" with. She has a color-coded, alphabetized filing system, her graded work folder actually goes home on the correct day every week, her classroom is immaculate... I could go on. Seriously, lady - you're screwing up the curve for the rest of us.

-Papers in my "To Be Graded" bin: I hate you.

- Clutter: It is very difficult to keep a room straight when as many as 27 people operate in it at the same time, with 25 of those being eight- and nine-year-olds. I can't even keep my own one-person mess straight at home - what do you want from me? It's like the piles of paper mate and multiply each night after I go home. I decided a long time ago that given the choice between straightening up my room for an hour or spending an hour planning an amazing hands-on, cooperatively-grouped, high-on-Bloom's-taxonomy lesson, I will pick the lesson every single time.

-Standardized testing. Standardized curriculum. Standardized standards of standardhood. Children are not standardized. Believe me, there are times I wish they were - my job would be a bajillion times easier. But they're not. So quit stressing me and them out by deciding how many bubbles they need to fill in correctly to advance to the next grade.

I'd like to close this rant by noting a few things. First of all, while I have had parents who fall into all of the aforementioned categories, they are few and far between. In my experience, 99% of the parents are lovely, supportive people who just want the best for their child and want to know what they can do to help you. Thanks to all of you who have enabled me to survive three years of teaching still ready for more!

I'd also like to point out that not a single one of the "domestic enemies" that I've listed is a child. Yes, there are annoying kids and mean kids and kids with "issues" - all of whom require patience and often a lot of extra time and effort. The reason I don't have a single kid to put on my list is that the kids are, in fact, the good part of the job. I will love and educate the crap out of every last one of the children who walks in my door to the best of my ability. I'm not perfect, and neither are they. But the kids are the upside, not the enemies. Any teacher who says otherwise is looooong overdue for retirement.