Standardized testing or torture? Tis the season...

Since we are in the thick of testing season I thought sharing an excerpt from Caught in the Middle - chapter entitled Standardized Torture (testing mania)- was appropriate. In this excerpt I may just make a little fun of test security - just a tad mind you...

Test security is taken very seriously. Unfortunately, there was a bit  of a cheating scandal (understatement) in a school district located in the capital of a southern state which I shall not name (Hint: state begins with the letter “G”) and as a result of this debacle, the ante has been upped in regards to preventing any wrongdoing (i.e. cheating) in regards to THE TEST. 

A school district's dream...

If districts could afford armored cars to deliver THE TEST they would be lining up at the dealership to purchase them. As it is now, the documents come to the school in sealed bins and must be signed for in blood by THE TEST coordinator before they release them. Test booklets and answer documents are considered top secret. The concern is someone (I’m not sure who) will get a hold of THE TEST and peek at a test question. I guess the fear is that this lapse in security may result in a nuclear war or possibly Armageddon. Therefore, each day of testing, teachers are required to sign a paper saying they will give up their first born child or at least an appendage if anything happens to the materials. Really. Then once the testing materials are in the teacher’s hands they must take them everywhere with them – yes even to the bathroom- OR keep them under two locks. Sounds ludicrous, but it’s true.

As the number two pencils begin to mark the answer choices and the administration of THE TEST is underway, you would think things would calm down. Nope. Au contraire mon frere. Things are just starting to get interesting, especially in middle school.

Students sometimes have issues (shocker). Take for instance an incident where a student gets a nosebleed in the middle of taking one of the subtests. Walkies-talkies will start going crazy and principals shift into high gear.

Head Principal: Did any blood get on the answer document?

Testing Coordinator: No, the teacher pushed the student out of the way, pulled the document and secured it immediately. Crisis averted. Student continues to test with tissue up nose and tissue box on desk. Only slight bruise on arm from push. Noted on testing log.

Head Principal: Roger that.

Ok I admit – it’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I won’t admit it’s THAT far off.

The day of the Math test means kids will be puking all over the
school. I have held more than one students’ head while they vomit

in a trash can in the hallway. The math anxiety kicks into overdrive and all teachers are on the lookout for pea green faces so they can move the documents out of the way before the student blows his or her cookies. The mantra - SAVE THE TEST DOCUMENTS is the cry on math testing day. Because if the student vomits on the answer document, that answer document has to be placed in a plastic bag and sent to the state. I swear – this is the truth. Wouldn’t you love that job? Being the person at the state office opening up all the plastic bags with puke on bubble sheets? Hazardous work to be sure. Serves them right.

Heaven forbid a few students skip a question by mistake and have to erase all their answers and start over. This will be looked at as an anomaly and the teacher will be scrutinized in regards to possibly changing answers to better the results (this actually happened in that southern state capital that I shall not name – think Coca Cola).

Middle school students can be very tricky about cheating, like passing a jacket back and forth with the answers in a sleeve (true story). So teachers are expected to be vigilant and monitor on their feet throughout the test. That’s right – there is no sitting down and grading papers, reading email or posting on Facebook during the endless hours it takes the students to complete THE TEST. I think the district should offer personal trainers prior to THE TEST so teachers can get into shape for this marathon of strolling in between desks. We wouldn’t want any of them keeling over from exhaustion and possibly falling onto an answer document and damaging it. And if the students didn’t really like the teacher, he or she might be laying there unconscious for an undetermined length of time. Hey. It’s middle school.

Bless those testing coordinators! Hang in there - it's almost over.

Who would have thought...?

that my little boy, who was always the tiniest kid in school and the brunt of relentless teasing, would not only grow up to be a National Guardsman, but go on to become a paratrooper and an Army Ranger. Add to that a police officer and a member of the SWAT Team. Unbelievable. Every mother's anxiety nightmare - times two.

 It seems like only yesterday he was playing army in the woods with his friends with his baby sister tagging along. They would all be in cammo and completing imaginary missions and taking care of "the enemy". Anthony was always in charge and his friends followed his lead. Annamarie, his little sister, even had her own little cammo shirt. It's one of the few times he allowed her to play with him. Mostly because he could boss her around and she would willingly follow his "orders". I should have known then that his career path would be service to his country and community. But he was still young and I figured that his interest in wearing a uniform would wane when he became old enough to understand the dangers involved. After all, this was a child that was afraid of the dark. Surely he would lose his desire to be a soldier and/or police officer.

In Iraq

But then when he was a sophomore in high school, September 11, 2001 reared its ugly head. This tragedy had a profound effect on him. From that day forward, he had a resolve to serve his country that was unshakable. Since becoming a soldier, he has been deployed twice and as his mom I hope never again, but of course he would be ready and willing to go whether I like it or not. I seriously doubt those bullies at school would mess with our boy now. Hah!

Anthony is not only a son, a soldier, and a police officer, but also a husband and a father. His dad, sister, and I are very proud of all he has accomplished and the man he has become.

Saying goodbye to sons Kyan and Cole before deployment to Kosovo

America - you've got a good guy watching over you who happens to be turning 29 this week and who, by the way, is no longer afraid of the boogeyman and definitely not afraid of the bad guys.

Happy Birthday Anthony! You are loved.

His sister definitely doesn't follow his "orders" now!

Parking in LA? Mission Impossible

Are we supposed to read this?

Like most big cities, parking in LA is a dilemma. In LA, most cars sport a variety of dents, have doors that have been swiped, bumpers that house a crack or two, or side mirrors that are hanging like dead leaves on a tree. My theory is it's all from the incredibly difficult task of  #1 finding a place to park and #2 trying to fit your car in a spot whose size is more appropriate for a Shriner's clown car as opposed to a four door sedan.

How the hell do they ever get out of there?

Typical dent - this guy got creative and covered it in clear plastic wrap.

Another mirror bit the dust.

But there's more than just finding the opening and squeezing into it.

Once you find the treasured geographical location in which to park, the next step is trying to understand the frickin' signs - and there's never just one. They put as many on that skinny pole that it takes to thoroughly confuse you.

Are you kidding me?

I'm pretty sure I even saw one that said:

No parking except every other Sunday or when there is a full moon, unless you have a chihuahua and in that case you can never park here.

After you take the time to read all the signs and have absolutely no idea if you are legal or not you usually just say "screw it" and do your best not to be hit or hit anything on the way in. Even with all the work you put in to try and understand the signs you will probably end up with one of these...

Obviously parking tickets are a big business here. Most residents are resigned to the fact that half of their paycheck goes to the City of Los Angeles in the form of parking fines. Wonder where the city spends all that revenue? My guess is it they use it to purchase more signs because four on a pole is just not enough.

Postcards from LA. What the....?

Every trip to LA is an experience. It's like it's own little planet out here - unique, freaky and beautiful in it's own way (except for the traffic, which is abominable). I think it's important to have a "go with the flow" kind of attitude and try to appreciate the city for what it is - an eclectic collection of lifestyles, ethnicities and neurosis. But sometimes you just run across things that even the most La-Di-Da attitude just finds a little too weird and hysterically funny.

I have no idea...

What every home needs.

So random

SUPER CREEPY!

I just don't even know what to say about this...

Maybe he's waiting for the rest of his bathing suit to drop from the sky.

Ending my postcard with Having a great time. Wish you were here. Although not really, because my daughter's apartment would be a bit crowded. Happy Easter all!

Am I a square, or will my life come full circle?

Back in my single days in SoFla., I have to say I did not own an appliance with the exception of a toaster. Even though it was "the time to buy" real estate, I never had enough money to put a down payment on a condo. I was basically - no, actually I was- living paycheck to paycheck. I lived in four different apartments apres college and prior to meeting my husband. Home ownership was a foreign concept to me.

I remember fantasizing about owning my own place so I could decorate it how I wanted, and not throw rent money out the window with no equity. The tradeoff was that there was no responsibility whatsoever except to pay the rent, which is why I spent my free time biking, playing tennis, jogging and hanging out at the beach and pool. Hmmmm - sounds like a fantasy life now. What the hell was I thinking?

My husband and I have been paying on our house for over 29 years and recently paid it off. Done - finito - burn the mortgage paper time. I wanted to celebrate when I sent the final balance to the bank, but as I reflected, I put on the brakes.  I started thinking that with all the interest, we probably paid millions for this house that was originally less than $100 thousand which is mind boggling and a bit depressing.

April 1986

 I don't think that we moved into this house expecting to be here this long. We just never left. By the time I was eleven, I had already moved five times. Was staying in the same spot a conscious effort on our part not to move our children around? Sounds like a noble thing to do but honestly, I think it's because my husband and I accumulated too much crap and just couldn't even fathom the amount of energy it would take to move it (especially in the 2-car garage that has never seen a car parked in it, but that's the subject of another post). However, the end result is our kids had a memorable and fun childhood here. We established roots and this house will always be home to them.

Big brother and friend welcoming new addition - March 1990

We were the party house - Christmas parties, birthday parties, communion parties, graduation parties, farewell and come back safe from deployment parties, welcome home from deployment parties. Poker parties, barbecue parties, and finally the most infamous and neighborhood-renowned... Annual Easter Egg Hunt parties.

These egg hunts, where we hid over 300 plastic eggs filled with candy and money, entailed lots of food and drink, and usually ended with fireworks and the obvious issues that come with explosives when the gents igniting them have had a little too much beer. Thankfully, no child or adult was ever hurt, but the woods caught on fire once, another time the roof, and if I remember correctly one year a child's Easter basket bit the dust. In hindsight, we should have had people sign waivers at the door.

Now our grandkids search for the eggs with our neighbors' grandchildren. Kind of nice to keep that tradition going, although I have put my foot down in regards to the fireworks. But if I know my husband, he has a stash somewhere that I don't know about. Probably hidden somewhere in his garage (note I said HIS - I lay no claim to that disaster).

Somehow this old house, its inhabitants, and all the guests survived the many celebrations. It's comforting to know that this house is a part of other families' special memories as well as ours and is continuing on with the grandchildren (think circle).

However, now the house is as creaky as the two of us and in need of renovating and repair. Seems the three of us have grown old together. But here's the irony: now that we finally own the house, it's becoming harder and harder to take care of the beast because of our age. The appliance-free life may be calling us again. Hmmm... hanging out at the beach and pool - not a bad idea - not bad at all. Maybe even a bike with a basket is in my future. Now THAT circle sounds like fun! 

OK, so the body might be a stretch - but I could definitely get the bike!

Do you really want to know what's in there?

A small excerpt from Caught in the Middle.
Chapter entitled, "Hey! What's the buzz?" (aka step away from the book bag)

It is a little known fact that you put your life at risk when you decide to unzip a middle school student’s book bag. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but your health could certainly be in jeopardy. In elementary school the parents are all excited in regards to the child going to school and about all the things he or she will be learning. They go through the book bag nightly looking for sweet things their little munchkin made or created during the day so they can completely cover every inch of the refrigerator with their child’s work. This starts to taper off by 5^th grade and by middle school they are only thinking, “How many more years do I have left of this s**t?” and then proceed to leave the kids’ book bags alone until college to collect as much junk as possible and grow enough mold to harvest penicillin from all the food left inside to rot.

When administrators find it necessary to search a book bag, we are never sure what we are going to find; however, two things are guaranteed. The bag will definitely be toxic enough to warrant a haz mat suit, and we are probably going to find things we wish we hadn't, which is exactly what happened to Harry on this fateful day...

I have had one rejection from an agent and have not heard from the three others. Keeping fingers and toes crossed!

What is the best part about having children?

"The Three Amigas"

The greatest joy of having children is enjoying them as adults. Really. Unless of course your child ends up in an orange jumpsuit, which is every parent’s greatest nightmare right up there with driving accidents. If you are reading this and have little ones at home and doubt my first statement I can understand that. You love to snuggle with your little ones, watch them learn and grow, puke, have diarrhea, whine, cry, and keep you up at all hours of the night. And then as they grow older you spend countless hours helping them with their schoolwork virtually repeating every grade level you already completed only to be thanked by an “I hate you!” at least once in their life.

Been there, done that.

When they are adults, it’s time to finally enjoy the fruits of your labor.

My oldest, Anthony, will be 29 next month.  But you will find out more about Anthony in April. And yes Anthony – if you are reading this you are not safe from mom’s blog!

My “little” girl, Annamarie, turns 25 this weekend. A quarter of a century. Yikes. She lives in California – that’s right – the farthest possible place from her mom on the continental U.S.  She chose to go to college in Orange, CA. and decided to stay and make

Graduation Day!

a living in the Golden State. People (including my husband) asked how I could agree to allow my daughter to attend college so far away. My response was how could I not? It was a no brainer to me. What an adventure and experience for her and if I would have had the chance to do that when I was her age I would have been all over it. She was given grants and scholarships and we somehow made it work. Was it frightening to me??? Oh heck yeah. But I believed that my own fears should not keep my child from experiencing life outside of Georgia.

If anything, this move to California has brought us even closer together though the miles that separate us are great. I’m actually very proud of the fact that she is making it in a very tough place (LA) and is (mostly) off the mom and dad gravy train. As to the question of not seeing each other enough….I have done the math. I spend at least 3 weeks a year (usually 4) with my daughter. 24 hours a day times 21 days = 484 hours. If she lived closer and, for a year, came over every Sunday for dinner and spent three hours at our house that would equal 156 hours. I figure I’m way ahead in quality time with my “California” girl than most parents are with their children that live near to them.

Totally obsessed with the Beverly Hills Hotel bathroon!

I usually trek out west with my sister (her second mom). Believe me, when I say we have a blast. The three of us make very strange bedfellows because of the age difference, but actually we are very amiable traveling companions. Who would have thought someone so much younger than we are would actually WANT to hang out with two ladies “of a certain age”? We have nicknamed ourselves "The Three Amigas" because we are definitely as silly as Short, Chase and Martin and certainly as adventurous.

Santa Monica

We make it a point to take side trips while in LA, which have included Laguna Beach, Santa Barbara, Las Vegas, San Diego, Santa Monica, San Juan Capistrano and even Catalina Island. We have found a place to dance and boogie down in every place we have visited. Could be a dive, could be a disco, or could be a local pub. Doesn’t matter – the three of us live and love to dance. Who do we dance with? What a silly question – each other! I’m sure if my sister and I did not look so much alike we would be 
perceived as lesbians. We could care less.

Laguna Beach

One time, when Annamarie was still in college, the three of us stayed in Laguna Beach for a few nights. She was not yet twenty-one and had some studying to do. So my sis and I went to the local tavern featuring a live band and left her with her books and some quiet time at the hotel.

When we came in at 1:00AM, exhausted from dancing the night away, she was beside herself.

“Where have you two been???? I’ve been so worried!!!! I almost called the police!”

My sis and I just looked at each other and smiled. Payback is hell.

Caesar's Palace

As Annamarie grew older, she was able to join us in our quest for dance music. In Las Vegas we managed to rock Cleopatra’s Floating Barge at Caesar’s Palace. Of course Annamarie had all of the men drooling and vying for her attention. To them, my sis and I were virtually invisible. After a night of observing the ogling and swatting the men away from her, my sister looked at me and said completely straight-faced, “Let’s dump her.” Which led us to fits of hysterical laughter which is how we spend most of our time together – laughing. It’s frickin’ awesome.

Red Rock Canyon - Las Vegas

In Santa Barbara we found a dive of a place with a DJ and shared the dance floor with a Bachelorette Party. They adopted us into their group and we proceeded to dance the night away celebrating the nuptials of a complete stranger. What a riot.

A night of dancing in Santa Barbara

My sister and I are flying out to LA on April 1^st and staying for a week. Our side trip this time will be to Palm Springs and we are already making plans to make this trip memorable. Dancing will definitely be part of the package.

As a parent, you spend your children's beginning years holding them close to you – in your arms, clasped to your chest. Soon it changes to holding their hands as they walk across the street or comforting them when they scrape their knees. As they grow older they may allow you to put an arm around their shoulder or give a daily hug. It’s nature’s way of preparing you for the eventual separation that comes when your child becomes an adult and it all seems to happen at warped speed.

My hope is when I grow older and begin to become feeble and forgetful, my children will hold my hand as they take the role of “teacher” and be patient with me as I was with them when they were learning to read, borrow in subtraction, or learning right from wrong. Maybe someday when my time on earth is coming to a close, they will hold me close to their chest and rock me in their arms as I did them when they were infants. Call it role reversal, coming full circle or whatever you want. One of the biggest regrets in my life is I was not there to do that with my parents in their final days, and they deserved that and much more from me. 

But, until that time in my sister’s and my life arrives, "The Three Amigas" will definitely continue to dance our butts off and spend our time together making priceless memories. Life is good.

P.S. Look for a post with pics from sunny California Easter weekend!

P.P.S. Hey - do you think the gym membership is working?