I was so energized after our non-stressful Thanksgiving that I decided to get a jump on Christmas.

I remember being absolutely insane about Christmas as a kid. Then, after working the retail day-after-Thanksgiving sales for five years, I became so overwhelmed with the hustle and bustle of the holidays that I just tried to ignore them and get through them as fast as possible. This worked fine during the early parts of Decembers past, but sometime around December 20, I would realize that I was missing the good parts of Christmas and I would madly decorate and bake and play Christmas music at top volume, earning myself an exhausted holiday and a pounding headache.

Despite my best efforts, I always missed the holiday and came out of my stupor just in time to take everything down. I would spend most of January regretting that I had again allowed the tide of panic to carry me through Christmas without enjoying any of it and vowing to do things differently, and then, with Thanksgiving approaching again; I would feel the press of imagined expectations and retreat in to my old habits.

But this year is different. I put a few of my favorite decorations up and that will probably be enough. My shopping is essentially done (thank you amazon.com and Costco Photo Center). I finally realized I can do Christmas on my terms, leaving the house when I want to, staying in when I feel overwhelmed. I can enjoy taking Andrew to the mall to see the Santa’s train without worrying about all the things I should be doing.

It seems so simple, but the idea that I am not at the whim of the circumstances that surround me still astonishes me sometimes. I so easily become caught up in the idea that shit happens and we have no control over it, when in fact, shit does happen but we can choose weather or not to throw ourselves in to the mayhem.

So, my tree is trimmed, my carols are playing at a reasonable volume, and, today, I am choosing to stay in and enjoy Christmas.

I admit, I blatantly disregarded the newscasters who were screaming about a WINTER BLAST! last night. I might have even scoffed in their general direction. After all, I live in Seattle, where - according to the news reports - there are six or seven WINTER BLASTS! every year, when really we are lucky to get one.

But, for once, they were right. And for that, I’m okay with being wrong.

You can see the rest of our WINTER BLAST! pictures here.

I decided to give the finger painting another go, and just look at what happened:

I guess the idea of letting my child be who he is and allowing him to learn and grow at his own pace is a good one. I should remember that.

We staged a rebellion this year and spent Thanksgiving with friends instead of with Justin’s family. It was such a feast! We used some new recipes to make mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and apple pie. Jen provided the turkey, dressing, kick-ass jello and the lovely location, Beth made pumpkin pie and candied yams, and Karen and Wendy made an amazing Haitian rice dish called Duris (doo-rees) (I’m didn’t catch the spelling, I was too busy eating it’s yummy goodness). The kids ran around like crazy people and, after dinner, some other friends came over with more desserts for games, drinks and movies on the HDTV (ok, Justin, I will admit it, the HD is awesome - but that doesn’t mean we are getting one, yet).

Celebrating Thanksgiving apart from our family was weird. Since we live close to both sets of parents, we are always rushing from one household to another. We spend the holidays frazzled and exhausted and often bitter that we missed out on the fun events that our friends host. But, to my surprise, when we announced our intention to spend Thanksgiving with friends this year, Justin’s family didn’t reach with outrage or threaten to disown us. (Not that they have ever given me reason to think that they would do that, I just tend to assume the worst about people. It’s not my best quality.)

So this year, we spent the holiday being thankful for our friends, new and old, and looking forward to seeing our families in the not-so-distant-but-much-less-stressful future. Being an adult is a great thing.

I see this and I want to kill somebody. Somehow I don’t think that was the desired effect.

Here is Andrew helping me read one of his favorite books, Tails. So sit back, snuggle in, and enjoy!

I realize I am opening myself up to ridicule, as everyone else might have already seen this joke. But, it’s funny enough that I will take that risk.

Here you go, thanks to my Auntie Dots for making me laugh:

A man died and went to Heaven. As he stood in front of the Pearly Gates, he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him. He asked, “What are all those clocks?”

St. Peter answered, “Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on Earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie the hands on your clock move.”
“Oh”, said the man. “Whose clock is that?”
“That’s Mother Teresa’s”, replied St. Peter. “The hands have never moved, indicating that she never told a lie.”

“Incredible”, said the man. “And whose clock is that one?”
St. Peter responded, “That’s Abraham Lincoln’s clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abraham told only two lies in his entire life.”

“Where’s Bush’s clock?” asked the man.
“Bush’s clock is in Jesus’ office. He’s using it as a ceiling fan!!”

One of the public elementary schools in our district raised their WASL scores by 30 points, earning them one of ten $25,000 awards given statewide to schools that show the most improvement.  This school, which has a very high population of non-native English speakers and draws its students from a number of low-income and transient housing locales, has consistently been in the middle to lowest ranks for test scores in the state.  This accomplishment is a testament to the motivation and persistence of the students, parents, teachers and administration of this school.

Today was the assembly to honor that achievement.  The president of the Federal Way School Board, who, incidentally, has never been to visit this particular school before, was there to present the award.  These were a few of her comments:

“Hello.” (students respond back, hello) “Hola.” (students respond back, hola) “[mangled greeting in Korean]” (silence from the students, at which point she looks at a Korean boy in the front row and asks him how to say hello in Korean.  He says it quickly and she responds…) “Whatever.”

No. Wait. It gets better.

“I can’t believe that you raised your test scores 30 points.  The class before you only had 40% passing rate and you had a 70% passing rate.”

Nice. I’m sure the kids in the 40% group feel fantastic about themselves.

And here’s my favorite:

“This is such an accomplishment.  Nobody ever thought you could do it.”

At which point one of the teachers stands up and says, “I knew you could do it.”

Thank goodness for that teacher.  If we are really going to leave no child behind then we need to fill the schools and the school boards with people like her, people that allow kids to dream outside of their circumstances, who believe that every child can learn if given the right opportunity.  Unfortunately, what we have in most classrooms and school boardrooms are people who take one look at a child’s ethnicity, socioeconomic status or grades from the previous year and immediately decide whether or not that child is worth their time or effort.  And, trust me; the consequences of these decisions leave children behind every single day.

Later on in the day the teacher who spoke up in the assembly was talking to her current students, this year’s fourth graders who, frankly, won’t be able to replicate the accomplishment of last year’s class (it’s one thing to go from 40% to 70%, quite another to go from 70% to 100%).  One of her students commented that she seemed sad.  She replied, “I’m not sad.  I am mad.”  The student asked her what she was mad about and she explained how comments like the ones made at the assembly can hurt people.  A boy raised his hand and said, “So, you’re saying you really believe that we can pass this test?” “Yes,” she said, “I really do.”

And that is what being a good teacher is all about.

Andrew’s friend Thomas spent part of the weekend with us.

Thomas, being the younger brother of a 3-year-old sister, knows lots of tricks that Andrew had yet to learn. Andrew came out of the weekend with a few new tricks, the most interesting being his proficient use of the word ‘mine’. Thomas could also teach Andrew a thing or two about sitting at a table quietly during a meal, or sleeping until the most reasonable hour of 8:30am. But, those lessons did not seem to make as much of an impression.

Seriously though, it is good for Andrew to have another kid in the house … however, having two toddlers running around my living room has solidified my decision to put as much space as I possibly can between Andrew and any future siblings (read: sibling) that he might have. For now though, I will expose him to the joys of sharing with the children of our friends.

Thanks, Zugs, for solidifying our decision-making process, and for sharing your adorable little nugget of a son.

For my money, this is better than anything you can see on ABC…

(but I am a little bit prejudiced)

It’s 11:20pm and I just walked in the door. This may not seem newsworthy to many of you, but, trust me, it is a monumental occasion. A girl who likes her sleep does not voluntarily stay up this late when her child wakes up between 5:30 and 6:00 every morning. This night is indicative of a shift that has been brewing for some time. I’m hesitant to say it, but I think I may have spotted my missing mojo.

I am a night person. Or, should I say, I was a night person. The real me, the funny and occasionally confident me, comes out about 10pm - even without alcohol. But throughout my pregnancy and the process of caring for a newborn I became so ensnared by my own exhaustion that 8:00 seemed like a reasonable bedtime. And the me that I remembered got buried under the covers.

My friends Cindy and Alicia share my love of the BBC film versions of Jane Austen novels. We instituted movie night a few years ago as an excuse to watch these long movies and have expanded our horizons to include Our Mutual Friend (which we watched while I was on bedrest before I had Andrew) and Bride and Prejudice (which we watched while Andrew was screaming in my lap because he had an ear infection).

Tonight, we met downtown (without Andrew) to go see Marie Antoinette. After seeing Lost In Translation, I knew that I was a Sofia Coppola fan. The girl makes beautiful movies. But I left both Marie Antoinette and Lost In Translation feeling a little confused, almost like I couldn’t quite keep up and that I missed something critical that would have snapped all the pieces in to place. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I never really understood movies like these and I am only now secure enough to not try and bullshit my way through a conversation about their deeper meanings. Maybe the meaning that I get from them is all there is to get and everyone else is just bullshitting. The point is that, while these movies are visually exquisite and are unique in their ability to depict the female perspective, the only thing that I really understand is that Sofia Coppola has an uncanny ability to make me develop potentially inappropriate crushes on her lead characters. Honestly. My desire to find Scarlett Johannson and just follow her around and stare at her because she is like a piece of art concerns me sometimes. I thought my celebrity stalking days ended with New Kids On The Block and Debbie Gibson. And, after tonight, I want to hang out and drink coffee with Kirsten Dunst because she is just so darn cute and spunky!

Ok, the caffeine is officially wearing off. Goodnight.

There will be pictures again… soon, I promise.

As I filled out my absentee ballot earlier this week, I was surprised to find that the only foreign language instruction sheet included in my ballot was in Chinese.  Now, no offense to the good people of China, but there are other languages prevalent in the state of Washington, for example Spanish, Russian, and Korean to pinpoint the big three in my neighborhood alone.  I was confused as to why there would only be one set of foreign language instructions included in the voting packet?  Does it not seem like a better idea to include a list of places to obtain more information in a number of languages? 

I was sure that I was missing some part of this equation, so I went to check and see where the instructions in other languages were available.  During my search, I found this handy little piece of legislation: the Help Americans Vote Act (HAVA), which was drafted by a bipartisan committee shortly after the 2000 election debacle.  Washington State - in keeping with the provisions of the HAVA - enforces the following criteria concerning non-English speaking voters, “the state or county must provide voting registration, notices, forms, instructions, or other materials or information where there is a 5% population of citizens of a single language minority.”* The bleeding-heart-liberal in me immediately balked at this, but practicality had its say and I was almost convinced that it would be a logistical nightmare to provide all of that information in every conceivable language.  Almost, I say, because the more I thought about it I realized that we are still potentially excluding a large number of voters from having the opportunity to fully understand and participate in the electoral process. 

According to the US Census Bureau estimates for 2005, Washington State has a population of 6,287,759 with 24% of that number being under the age of 18.  So, theoretically, there are 4,778,697 people that are old enough to vote.  Remove those that are barred from voting for other reasons, are not registered to vote, or are not citizens, and it is probably safe to assume that 3,500,000 people may be voting in any given state election**.  5% of that number is 175,000, which means that any non-English speaking group that has less than 175,000 citizens in the state of Washington does not have voting instructions or other information regarding elections available in their language of origin.  That’s potentially thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of votes that, if they are made at all, might have been made without a full understanding of the issues on which they are asked to vote.  Are these votes somehow less important to the well-being and future of our state than the votes of the English speaking population?

If we are going to encourage every citizen to register to vote, and then dream of a day when every registered voter actually votes (not to mention expecting them to cast their vote with conviction and clarity), should we not provide the resources necessary to attain that goal?  Or do we really believe that the Chinese-speaking citizens among us are the only people who could possibly need instructions in their own language?  Okay, I know that last question was reducing the argument to its absurd conclusion, but is that not implied by only including instructions in one language? I know that true equality is really hard, if not almost impossible, to achieve in many areas of life but I think that voting instructions are one area where it would not be hard at all.  Here’s my solution, let’s really help every American vote by taking the exact same piece of paper that is filled with all the voting instructions in only one language, erasing it, and then printing the following phrase in any number of different languages:

Voter’s Guides and instructions are available in (insert your language here) by phone or online (insert phone number or web address here).

I know that many non-English speaking groups provide translation resources through community centers, libraries and churches.  I know that English is the official language of the United States, but the fact is that many of our citizens have only a working understanding of the language. Their fluency lies in their native tongue, and while they can function on a day to day basis in our English speaking society, many do not yet understand the political jargon that fills the voter’s pamphlet. (Hell, I’m a political science major and sometimes I don’t understand the political jargon that fills the voter’s pamphlet.) I also know that you have to be a citizen to be a registered voter, and that to be a citizen you must pass an exam written in basic English.  But, again, there is a huge difference between memorizing the answers to a bunch of questions and reading, with comprehension, the information in a voter’s pamphlet. 

The technology is available, the bandwidth is available, translators are available (the work for the public schools or the court system), why is voter information not available in the native language of every citizen in the state? 

Does this bother anyone else? 

By the way, I am using this as a starting point for my letter to Sam Reed, the Secretary of State in Washington.  I am curious to see what he says about this issue.  I will let you know if I get an answer (or if I don’t!).

*You can read the pamphlet for Washington State elections and voting FAQs here. 

**I could be completely wrong with this number (3,500,000), but I think my example still stands even if the number is considerably less.

Is it just me or does it seem like the sun shone a little brighter this morning?

I’m sure that phenomenon had everything to do with the election results and nothing to do with the clear skies that are forecasted over Western Washington.

Who knows, maybe he will grow up to be the next Chris Ofili…

Maybe it is the fact that the greater Seattle area is forecasted to slosh around in the most rain to fall in a 24-hour period in the last 15 years.  Or maybe it is because I HATE daylight savings time with a fiery passion (when even the fire of my passion is not enough to brighten the gloomy, dreary days).  Or maybe it is because Ryan Adams always strikes a chord with me during the dark days of fall and winter…

Whatever the reason, this is the song that has been going through my head since the sideways rain woke me up at 4:00 this morning.

When I was a little kid, my cousins and I would always trick or treat together in our grandparent’s trailer park. It was small enough that we could go to every house and, since all the residents were 55 and older, we were three of only a few children who went there, so we hauled in the candy.

As I got older and fell under the spell of the Youth Group Mentality, I shunned Halloween. Opting instead for a nice innocuous harvest festival where tracts were handed out more freely than candy. It was awful. Honestly, who gets dressed up in a costume to go to a barn dance? The whole thing was just absurd, another example of American Christianity hiding itself and it’s fear of the always dangerous Other in the disguise of the culture without taking the time or energy to actually engage in or participate with the culture. (But that’s another post…)

Last year Andrew had an adorable little dragon costume that he had no idea what to do with. We took him around Justin’s office, where little kids are encouraged to come in and trick or treat during the work day, and then brought him home and that was the end of it. He didn’t even eat any of his candy.

But this year we have been working a little bit harder. Andrew usually doesn’t get too much candy (I’m pretty sure I can count the number of pieces of candy he has ever eaten on my fingers) but when he does get some it is very popular.

With that in mind, I got his little pumpkin bucket out early and started the Pavlovian training, dropping one single piece of candy in his bucket when he said trick or treat. I then let him eat one piece and took the rest out to be used during the next round of training. Suffice it to say that he knows the drill.

So this year we got a costume perfectly suited to Andrew’s current personality and station in life, and set off to Justin’s work with pumpkin bucket in hand. He did a little bit better, actually saying “trick or treat” and “thank you” when people gave him candy, and once he started eating the candy… well, then there was no stopping him! Except when the sugar high wore off.

But that’s what Halloween is all about right?