Do As I Say.....

The auditorium was alive with sound. Papers were rustling, people were talking, some on cell phones while others unwrapped or disposed of their food. We had all gathered to attend an annual conference targeting pre-school and elementary teachers and child care providers. We came together on a Saturday to learn, to consider new practices and to connect with each other.  As teachers we are charged with providing excellent care for children in both loving and educational environments while modeling appropriate social behaviors. We are in charge of honing the social skills of the little sponges in our care, and it is a golden opportunity for us to keep trying to get it right. My contention is that you can't teach what you don't know. Lots of people teach what they don't practice, but the kids know you don't do what you are asking them to do.  Why should they do it? After all, you don't.  What I witnessed was a woman on her cell phone in the classroom while the facilitator was facilitating. Some people were talking non-stop throughout the session and some were napping. The nappers aren't so bad; they don't disturb anyone as long as they don't snore. When the auditorium emptied out at the end of the session, there were empty bottles in the aisles and trash on the floor. These are the adults that are teaching our children to be considerate, empathetic and polite. I am terrified. Many of the teachers present were pushy, rude and just generally not in possession of the sort of "good doobie" behavior we all know is so darned important for children to grasp early on. Like I said: "you can't teach it if you don't know it."

One Hot Mamma

So much of the aging process remains a mystery to me which is probably not a bad thing since ignorance is bliss. I have been hearing my girlfriends talk about hot flashes and night sweats for as long as I can remember. Since I have spent most of my life feeling cold I rather looked forward to the random moments of warmth. Hooray. Alas, those moments have yet to appear. But my recent phenomenon of age is the night sweat. This has been going on for awhile. Initially, I blamed it on the two dogs and the cat with which I have the great pleasure of sharing the bed. Part of it is selfish; they generate a lot of heat. Two nights ago, I woke up with sweat in my ears. My face was dripping not to mention my pajamas were soaked as was the bed. I am not too alarmed yet, because I have paid money to sweat like this. This method is a whole lot cheaper than the spa. I always wake up and assume I have lost a pound or two. Of course I have not. I should wrap myself in herbs at bedtime and then I can have the benefit of the full spa treatment sans the Evian misting and silly new age music in the background.

Twelve Things All Children Need to Know

How to read
How to answer the phone politely
How to swim
That they are loved
That saying please and thank you are not optional
How to sew on a button or repair a hem
Basic kitchen skills
How to have a conversation
How to be a good sport
How to have fun
How to count change
How to read a map

Reality- Too Real for T.V.

After we were released from the training on Thursday, I returned to my hotel room, got comfy, grabbed the remote and settled in for a night of uninterrupted cable watching. Since I don't have cable at home and really don't watch network television, it is all pretty new to me. So I stumbled upon Project Runway and was intrigued. They were down to six contestants and this week’s challenge was to create a companion piece to their winning design from last week’s competition. They were all so hopeful and industrious. Contestants were given one hundred bucks and told to go to a fabric store and buy the fabric for their newest creation in no more than thirty minutes. They had until midnight that night to design it, cut it, sew it, have a fitting and then onto the runway. They were impressive. One guy sewed hundreds of leather "leaves" onto a two tiered gown and one woman, a refugee from Bosnia who looked 60 but was only 44, created a longer than usual, gray suit coat with an open, wide, floppy lapel, horizontal darts and tapered sleeves. The "judges" were unmerciful to the designers whose designs were not going to win. They heckled their designs, poked fun at how drab the woman's coat was and were just mean-spirited. Now perhaps this keeps ratings high, and perhaps that makes for interesting television, but I felt so badly for her. She's a refugee for crying out loud! Of course her stuff is bleak. Her whole life is bleak. She should have gotten a prize for mirroring her experience. Some depressed person would have bought it. I clicked over to MTV and although I didn't see one music video, they had a reality show where horribly mannered, ungrateful, entitled, mean adolescents were sent to spend one week with a strict, "square" family.  I had to click over to the Lifetime channel. Those children were so rude and I know some of it was scripted, but that behavior came way too easy for them. It was painful to watch. What kind of freaky voyeurs have we become? Why is watching someone else in pain fun? Whether torture is administered with a chainsaw or a sharp tongue, I think our need to see it says nothing good about us.

Confessions of An Overachiever

Sometime around noon today I had one of those significant personal realizations where you see yourself from someplace else in the room with absolute clarity.  On October 28th one more piece of my personal puzzle fell into place.  Right now I am in Iowa attending a conference to learn how to improve communication and cooperation between parents and their teenaged children.  Partly because the campus here is so large and the town so unfamiliar I got lost on my way to the training.  I drove 350 miles without incident, but managed to get lost between the hotel and the University extension building.  Being lost is an important detail and clue number one for this story because I was more concerned about being late than any other outcome.  Once I got there, I was concerned about not being in the right parking lot.  The number of the lot I parked in did not match the lot number on my parking pass; a problem I corrected at the first break.  I walked in at exactly 8:30 a.m. which is exactly when the training was scheduled to start. I had my blank check in my folder and was concerned about getting it to the facilitator so it didn't appear I was trying to shirk my obligation.  Right there, right then in Iowa it occurred to me:  I am an over-achieving, approval seeking, slightly neurotic woman with perfection as my personal standard!! Right then I should have gotten up, mussed up my neatly arranged materials, belched or something and released my need to color inside the lines.  No one cares that I am obsessively punctual or that I pay my bills on time or that I RSVP and send thank you notes.  What folks notice are the things I don't do well and those become the things for which I am known.  I've got to relax.  I don't get extra credit and noone cares.

It's Getting Hot In Here

Sometimes not disclosing the truth is worse for your reputation than simply coming clean.  Case in point: the officers of the Northwest Airlines jet that flew past their target won't say what was going on in the cockpit that distracted them to the point of embarrassment and painstaking scrutiny by their employer.  What happened in the cockpit continues to baffle me.  What were they doing?  Smoking a joint?  Having sex?  Watching Iron Chef?  Oh come on- they weren't knitting!  You can look up from your knitting.  My problem with the sex and illicit drugs theory is that neither of those activities take an hour for regular people.  (Rumor has it that Sting is the exception.)  The pilots are unwilling to account for an hour.  Maybe they had a similar moment to Jodie Foster's in the movie Contact and were visting with dead relatives. Maybe the boys were texting and checking their Facebook pages.  Oh for Pete's sake tell the truth and that way noone has to write their own ending; and depending on the author that could be a very undesirable outcome.  In my story someone is naked and drunk but they are in a four star hotel with 700 thread count sheets not a 10' x 7' closet with faux leather seats. Besides, we all know closets are for clothes; perhaps they should consider coming out of theirs. 

Harper Valley PTA  written by Tom T. Hall
I want to tell you all a story 'bout a Harper Valley widowed wife
Who had a teenage daughter who attended Harper Valley Junior High
Well her daughter came home one afternoon and didn't even stop to play
She said, "Mom, I got a note here from the Harper Valley P.T.A."
The note said, "Mrs. Johnson, you're wearing your dresses way too high
It's reported you've been drinking and a-runnin' 'round with men and going wild
And we don't believe you ought to be bringing up your little girl this way"
It was signed by the secretary, Harper Valley P.T.A.

Well, it happened that the P.T.A. was gonna meet that very afternoon
They were sure surprised when Mrs. Johnson wore her mini-skirt into the room
And as she walked up to the blackboard, I still recall the words she had to say
She said, "I'd like to address this meeting of the Harper Valley P.T.A."

Well, there's Bobby Taylor sittin' there and seven times he's asked me for a date
Mrs. Taylor sure seems to use a lot of ice whenever he's away
And Mr. Baker, can you tell us why your secretary had to leave this town?
And shouldn't widow Jones be told to keep her window shades all pulled completely down?
Well, Mr. Harper couldn't be here 'cause he stayed too long at Kelly's Bar again
And if you smell Shirley Thompson's breath, you'll find she's had a little nip of gin
Then you have the nerve to tell me you think that as a mother I'm not fit
Well, this is just a little Peyton Place and you're all Harper Valley hypocrites
No I wouldn't put you on because it really did, it happened just this way
The day my Mama socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A.
The day my Mama socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A