explaining I-T to a boy in a 5-T

Last week, I sat on the floor in the living room, because all the cushions on the couch and chair had been deployed to fort-building duties. The Minnesota Vikings just beat the, well, you know who, I won't even say their name, and Fox Sports took viewers inside the Viking's locker room to watch Brett Favre lead his team in a new, American Idol-inspired chant.

Later that evening, I sat at the kitchen table, this time on a chair, and began to chant about pants being on the ground. My oldest wanted to know what I was saying. He wanted to know if my pants were on the ground. He wanted to know why I was chanting 'pants on the ground'.

So after the twins went to sleep, I pulled out the laptop, loaded up YouTube, and found the video. He watched. He laughed. He wanted to know why the Vikings were saying 'pants on the ground'.

I knew that any answer should be age-appropriate, so I told him that Brett Favre heard it on a TV show. And Mark was satisfied.

This morning, my Mark woke up, walked down to the kitchen, and asked me who won last night, the Saints or the Vikings?

I told him that the Saints won in overtime, and that the Vikings lost. He thought for a moment and asked if he could ask me a question.

Okay, how do I explain 'overtime' to a five-year old? Think, think.

How did that football player get that pants on the ground video on our computer just for us?

So I told him that it's on everyone's computer. Problem solved.

How did that football player get that pants on the ground video on everyone's computer?

So I told him that he could put the butter on his bagel all by himself. And he could have juice instead of milk.

not a moment too soon

My angry voice, at home, to my four-year old:

You better find a way to share that chicken!

I'm ready to get back to work.

presenting, formally

I'm available for corporate functions, in-service days, Bar & Bat Mitzvahs, and the occasional Bris. I tend to shy away from birthday parties, but if you are willing to provide a complimentary 10-framer, then I'll gladly pay for the rental shoes.

Recent presentation offerings, each 45 minutes long (title, location, door prizes/preso favors):

• "Problems with PowerPoint"; Pennsylvania Educational Technology Expo & Conference; Hyperlinks

• "Daddy, Being"; Southeastern Pennsylvania (literally); StrideRite BOGO card

• "DI&IT: Arriving at the crossroads of Differentiated Instruction and Instructional Technology"; School District of Springfield Township; Chipotle sauce

• "No Hitting Your Sister! Hitting Hurts. And I Know That I'm Yelling and That I Used The Word 'No' and I'm Well Aware That Every Parenting Magazine or Advice Columnist Condemns The Overuse of Negative Words Because Words Like 'No' Lose Their Meaning, But These Rainbow-Coated Parents Espousing Discipline-esque Phrases Like, 'Tumultuous Times Call for Peace and Hugs and Good Deeds So Give Your Sister A Hug That Reminds Her That Love Is The Goal and Maybe, Just Maybe, Your Hug Will Help Cure Cancer. Now Go Play With Homeless Children' Are Unrealistic and Time-Consuming; Anywhere/Anytime; Pez
  

Sometimes, I'll double the time and the repetition up to a 90 minute session, but only for ed-tech workshops. I hear they love those long sessions. And hate the word 'no'.

short haircuts

We hold the door open because the man is in the process of leaving, and we are in the midst of entering.

He's probably my age. I've been spending a lot of time recently Price-Is-Righting my way around everything. I'll best-guess that guy's income, how many boyfriends she's had, his accumulated frequent-flyer miles, and any other quantifiable spec of personal data that I know I'll never know, but take pleasure in the best-guess gymnastics of it all.

The man says 'thanks', and then he continues, addressing my two sons, as if this tiny interior-exterior switcheroo at the precipice of the Hair Cuttery is cause for conversation:

Are you two going to get your hair cut? Be careful not to get it cut too short, I mean, I know our mommy is going to be a bit upset with our hair cuts. Right Sammy?

We hold the door open because the man is in the process of leaving. And his son, Sammy, sitting in his motorized wheel chair is right behind him. And there's no mistaking his breathing tube, or his slightly askew facial features.

Sammy smiles and uses the joystick on the right arm rest to move the wheel chair toward the door. He's what? No more than six. And he, like his father, wants to talk:

I like my haircut. I bet their mommy will like their haircuts no matter what. Right daddy?

And I know that he's talking to his father, but I'm certain that he's asking me something.

As Sammy starts moving toward the door, my youngest son, Brian, steps in front, blocking the path, and asks:

What's he doing?

Brian's asking more than he can articulate, but I answer literally:

He's leaving, and he can't do that with you standing in his way.

And as if Beckett penned the denouement:

Sammy: Bye.

Brian: Bye.

Sammy (to his father): I like those boys.

Brian (to his father): I like that boy.

attending a homeference

Remember that moment early in your career when you had to separate home life from work life?

Don't let that argument with your girlfriend spill over to your classroom.

Or work life from home life?

Yeah, that kid pissed you off, but check your frustration at the exit.

But how do your separate your living room life from your dining room life?

Okay, so he's crying because he wants you to read Fox on Sox. You'll read to him later. His 3-month old twin sisters are in the dining room, crying for a needed feeding.

There is no transition time. There is no 15 minute break between sessions. There is no vendor village, no blogger's cafe, no keynote.

But every moment is a spotlight session.

I'm living at NECC: the Never-Ending Childcare Conference.

by word, image, & video

Memorial Day 2008

A Drive-By Gawking
The scene: A mother and father, each pushing a double stroller. They are a block away from their home, returning after having lunch at the local pizza shop. A green Saturn, driven by a middle-aged woman, approaches. The driver slows down, stops in the middle of the road, looks at the mother and father (each pushing a double stroller), smiles, nods her head in disbelief, and drives away.

Look Out! Salad!

Seriously, look out! Those cucumbers are eerily close. And the radicchio? Right behind you.


Brothers in Arms

(note: Flip video not a pretty conversion over to Google...yikes!)

momentarily 21 again

Talked briefly with my friend on Saturday about possibly going out to watch the Final Four basketball games.

Today, I had a quick IM exchange to let him know that we really didn't miss much.

me:

turns out those games were "less than exciting" anyhow.

d:

yep. and i had a pretty good fever

me:

if it makes u feel any better, I was up until 2 AM!

so it was just like a night out for me.

surrounded by ladies,

dim lights,

HD TVs (okay, one),

bottles full of drinks,
burping,

lots of undergarments,

moments of brief nudity,

me:

oh...and I went to bed by myself.

what if you can't stop?

Damian lives up Route 611. Not far from me at all.

Damian blogs over at apace of change. His post about behavior is not far from me at all.

Damian curses a lot, but he's working on curbing that behavior.

According to Damian:

Generally speaking, human behavior can be boiled down to attempts to serve one of four major functions:

1. It feels good (self-stimulation)
2. It gets us out of having to do something difficult or unpleasant (task escape/avoidance)
3. It gets (or keeps) us attention (um… pretty self-explanatory, I think)
4. It reduces pain or stress (yeah, this one too)

I don't disagree, but as I commented on his post:

What if you’re a compulsive hair puller? You suffer from Trichotillomania? What then?

Most likely, it satisfies #1, arises b/c of #s 4 & 2, and gets the wrong kind of attention from #3.

But what if you do the behavior b/c of some event 14 years ago? What if you still haven’t found a way to address that event?

Isn’t it possible that cursing could be a better alternative?

Because what if you began noticing your 1 1/2 year old twirling his hair? What if you noticed your 1 1/2 year old pulling threads from blankets and coats and eating them?

Would you curse your way through this one?

Or would you cry and feel like you’ve already screwed up your kid?

waist line

She’s twenty four, but parents, works, and attends evening school.
She’s forty seven, but keeps her home a bastion for her daughter and grandson.

She’s twenty four, and she ties off her arm with a leather belt.
She’s forty seven, and she takes the boy for wagon rides down the street.

She’s twenty four, and she sits in her bedroom shooting heroin.
She’s forty seven, and she takes the boy to daycare.

She’s twenty four, and blood is seeping through her shirt, at her elbow.
She’s forty seven, and she sees the blood and calls the police.

She’s going out, she says.
She’s hurting herself, she says.
There’s nothing we can do, the police say.

She’s bumping into the car in front of her.
She’s looking around her daughter’s room.

She’s losing control, heading into oncoming traffic.
She’s picking up a worn-out leather belt.

She’s plowing into another car.
She’s looking at her grandson.

She’s dead on impact.

He’s two, but he commands his monster truck with omnipotence.
He’s two, and he wields a baseball bat like a would-be major-leaguer.
He’s two, and he digs through his sandbox like an archaeologist.
He’s two, and he skip-jumps to the music.
He’s two, and his mother is dead.

She’s looking at her grandson.
She’s holding the belt.

pause

She’s looking at the belt.
She’s holding her grandson.