My Daughter, the Crab-turtle

Do they make muzzles for children?

If so, I need one. And some type of straight jacket thing where the child's hands are restrained would be helpful too.

You see, my daughter, Ladybug, thinks she is a snapping turtle/crab hybrid. Instead of a rosy, smiling mouth, she sports razor sharp teeth which she wields with great accuracy. Instead of hands, she has pinchers and she is not afraid to use them.
Every time Ladybug gets mad or frustrated or is told no, she lashes out either by pinching or, now, biting.

The pinching has been going on for several months. She gets upset about something and whips those little fingers out and gives whoever is closest a good pinch. If no one is close to her, she will pinch a toy or the wall (which is pretty darned funny).

Yesterday, she added biting to her repertoire. Three different times during the day, she got mad at her brother and bit him. Bit him hard too.

Obviously this has to stop. We have been using time outs and diversion, but are getting nowhere fast. I know this is normal behavior to a certain extent and I know it stems from frustration and will likely resolve itself when she is more vocal, but I am not comfortable ignoring it. I am especially eager to nip the biting in the bud since she will be in daycare in August and I don't want her to get kicked out for biting.

Ladybug is very high-strung and always has been. She was angry from the get-go and has always had a temper. We used to think she would grow out of it, but I am beginning to think it is just her personality. She will have to learn to control herself at some point.


Nothign we have done has worked. Timeouts and stern no's have had no effect. Diversions don't work. Short of a muzzle/straight-jacket combo, I am at a loss. Any suggestions?

Just plain tuckered out

I am pooped. Our house smells like paint fumes and my hands have blisters from a pruning saw.
In an insane flurry of home improvement, hereto unknown in these parts, my mom and husband painted our kitchen over the weekend and I stripped, sanded and painted a kitchen island. Then, my mom and I pruned our three humongous holly trees to half their size They used to reach the second story windows. They were full and bushy. They are now crazy looking skeleton trees that barely reach the middle of the first story windows. Then, as if that weren't enough, we pruned the crepe myrtle, cut down four bushes entirely and took out an entire mystery tree in the front yard. To finish things up, I took off the screens and washed our kitchen windows and shutters inside and out.

I am exhausted. And since today I have to make a batch of Easter bunny cupcakes with coconut fur, marshmallow ears, and jellybean eyes and nose and clean up the house for an afternoon playdate, I just don't have time for an involved post. Though this seems to be getting there.

In the spirit of taking it easy, I am stealing a meme from lord knows where.

Name one thing you do every day: Teeter on the brink of insanity. The only thing aside of pharmaceuticals that keeps me from going batty is reading and so, in an effort to stave off a straight jacket, I read. Right now I am reading Three Cups of Tea. More on this in a day or so.

Name 5 things/people that make you feel good: Chocolate, good conversation,warm sunshine and a blue sky, my children when they are not screaming like banshees, an evening curled up on the couch with my husband and Lost.

Name 4 things you love to eat but rarely do: Well, I love diet soda but can't drink it anymore because I have Interstitial Cystitis. Sometimes I have one but I usually pay the price later. I am not supposed to eat chocolate either, but that's just damned impossible. Ice cream I love but rarely eat. Pizza. Cookies. German chocolate cake or just about any flavor cake. Donuts. Can you tell I have a sweet tooth?

Name 3 things that remind you of childhood: El Chico, Old Spice deodorant, motel swimming pools.

Name two things you wish you could learn: I would like to learn to play the banjo. That would be cool. I would like to learn to make yeast breads--I just never get them right and they are always hard as rocks.


Tag, you're it: Missy from The House of Flying Monkeys, Rima from Rimarama Mama Drama, Jennifer from Thursday Drive and Marge at Marge in Real Life.



That took way too long.

Molly's La Casita

When I graduated from college in 1995, I was a little, OK a lot, directionless. My parents were going through a divorce after 20+ years of marriage. I had recently broken up with my boyfriend of five years, the one I was supposed to marry after graduation. I had no real idea of what I wanted to do and I had not applied to graduate school, which would at least have given me some buffer time. I went home to
Nashville that summer, spent a couple of miserable months, and promptly moved back to Memphis where I could bide some time hanging out with friends and getting my groove on.

I initially got a job waiting tables at a hoity-toity French restaurant. They never should have hired me in the first place. I was way out of my league and quit almost immediately. Several doors down the street was and still is a small, independently owned Mexican restaurant, Molly's La Casita. The food is OK, some dishes better than others, and the margaritas are strong. I walked in one afternoon, sat at the bar, and asked for an application.

As I filled out the application, I tried to scope out the place. I noticed the waitstaff had on shorts and t-shirts. That was a plus. One was smoking a cigarette and talking with a customer. They all seemed happy. Everything was very laid back. There would be no pretentious winelist nonsense here and no starched white aprons. I I thought it looked like a good place for me.

After I handed over the application, the owner, Robert Chapman, came out to speak to me. He was warm and friendly and made a joke about my being a graduate of the high falutin' college a few blocks away. I liked him immediately. He hired me on the spot and I started work the next day.

I worked at Molly's for about five years, a long time in the restaurant business. Of all my non-teaching jobs, it was the best job I have ever had, much in spite of itself. I didn't make a ton of money; I could have made much more elsewhere. Waiting tables itself is hard, sometimes demoralizing work and there were quite a few nights when I thought I couldn't wait to throw in my apron. I went home every night half covered in salsa and smelling like an enchilada. I suffered rude customers and an occasional lousy tip or walk-out. Once night a drag queen almost hit me. By closing, I was always exhausted and would sometimes go home and have nightmares about being in the weeds. Despite all this, it really was a great job.

What made Molly's so special was that it became a family to me when my own family was in so much turmoil. The owner, Robert, and manager, Kelly, were half-friend, half-parent figures to me, always ready to give advice or offer help if needed. The staff was a small, close-knit group who spent most of their free time together and with other area restaurant staff. We had a core group of regular customers who were as much a part of our life as we were of theirs. We were invited to their parties and they to ours. People cared about one another.

Even the kitchen staff, often a totally separate entity in a restaurant, were friends with everyone. One of the cooks was nicknamed Pig. I used to make little pig figures out of the chip basket and frill picks and set it on the line for him. He'd just laugh and keep slinging tacos. I used to drive Prentis home some nights and he'd have me drop him off just before the railroad tracks, just on the edge of his hood because he didn't want to put me in danger.

Another of my favorite employees, Traveler, was mentally retarded but had been taken in by Molly's and given a job which could have been done better by someone else, but remained his out of love for him. Kelly even helped him find housing and manage his money. The kindness with which Traveler was treated is indicative of the type of place Molly's was and I am sure, still is.

I have not been to Molly's in years, but if I close my eyes, I can still conjure up the smell of the chips, the sound of the dishroom door banging as Traveler barreled through it, a bin of dishes in his hands, and the feel of the hot and humid Memphis air blowing through the open front door. I can hear Kelly calling someone a nimrod and Pig, barking out orders in the kitchen, tickets piling up on the line, his gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and his face shining with sweat. The down ramp to the lower level dining room made a certain sound every time you walked on it and the tile floors were impossible to sweep clean. I can taste my favorite shrimp quesadilla or the burger, which, oddly, was one of the best in town. I can feel the icy headache from a maragrita downed too quicky and Butch, the bartender's slightly diabolical laugh as he posted his latest top 10 list. The old computers were the type where you had to enter a numerical code to modify an order and I can still remember some of the PLU's. I can tell you the table numbers and recite most of the menu. I still have my tray that I had marked my own with a lizard and which, when I left, was signed by everyone and given to me as a gift.

My time at Molly's will always remain one of the best times of my life. The other day, I was reading a Memphis blog and read that Robert, the owner, had a stroke some time ago. He survived, but I don't think he is actively a part of the restaurant's day to day life anymore. This makes me very sad. I know Molly's is still open, and I hope it remains as it was, a welcoming and oddly nuturing way station for those who need it. It is much loved.

Bedfellows-Edited--Again!

I posted a previous version of this a little while ago and it was not a complete version. That's what happens when you try to write a meaningful blog with a toddler around.

Moving from micro to macro here....

One of the blogs I read every day is The Field Negro. A few days ago, Field posted a rebuttal and link to another blogger who had posted her thoughts on the existence (or lack thereof, really) of racism and what she, as a white woman, views as the problem with black people.

I checked out the woman's site and she has what I would call some angry views about the world. She's angry at blacks, Muslims, liberals, communists, socialists, etc. etc. I didn't see any posts about illegal immigrants, but I am sure they receive her wrath too. If you go look at it, make sure to read the comments and her responses to them. They are more telling, really, than the original post.

I don't want to try to repeat her beliefs here, because it would take awhile and they seem more hate-filled than well-reasoned. Let's just say she doesn't understand why African Americans harbor any feelings of oppression and doesn't get why they might be upset with American society. She also proclaims a hatred for the Muslim religion and its adherents. ALL Muslims, not just radical fundamental groups.

She has the two issues on the same page and in looking at her blog, I was reminded of the work of New York Times columnist and Pulitzer Prize winner Thomas Friedman. Friedman has studied and written extensively on terrorism and America's relationship with the Middle East. A few years ago, his work was featured in a news program documentary. I can't remember the specifics. I have a recording of it somewhere, but it is in one of my gazillion school boxes. In it, Friedman interviews young people in the Middle East and asks them what they think about America. It was riveting.

What you hear especially in the young men's replies and what Friedman also writes about in his essays on the subject, is that these young Muslim men feel oppressed. They feel shut out of economic opportunity and trapped in third world poverty. They feel they have no future. They are aware of the wealth we all enjoy in the US and they resent that they may never have the opportunity to enjoy such wealth because of the economic structure of their countries and lack of opportunities.

What struck me especially hard was that these young men feel emasculated by the U.S. and Western culture. The Arabian empire was once one of the greatest empires on earth. Our earliest civilizations sprung up in the Middle East. These young know the long and important history of their land and people and they resent that they no longer hold the power they once did.

When you combine these feelings of inferiority and oppression, you get rage and rebellion, hence the violence we know see being played out on the world stage.

I suggested to this blogger that perhaps she should read Friedman's work as it might inform her views of race in the US. Friedman's explanation for terrorism also holds true for the young male African American population in the US, albeit on a smaller scale. Thankfully, these feelings have not resulted in the horrific violence they have in Middle East, but they fall on the same spectrum.

I am a white female, but I think I can say without a doubt that African American men have also felt oppression and lack of economic opportunity. They also feel emasculated by white society. Isn't it the same basic feelings that Friedman asserts drive young Muslim terrorists?


This whole line of thought is not new theory. Anyone who has studied race and class knows that they are intertwined and in fact, inseparable. The ruling, monied class has always used racism as a way to control others and ensure their power and control over the economy. One of the most stark examples can be found in the history of the Belgian occupation of Rwanda. When the Belgians colonized Rwanda, they systematically and deliberately stoked tribal differences between Hutu and Tutsi, deeming one tribe superior over the other in part on the basis of skin tone and skull size, helping to ensure the Belgian control over the region. This social engineering resulted in a massacre fueled by those racial tensions. The portrayal of Africans as being beneath whites, dumb and savage helped justify slavery. Some would argue that the media's portrayal of "dangerous and armed" black men serve to keep African American men in their place today. And the reason for the tension between the African American community and the Hispanic community is based on economics but plays out as racism. The Hispanics compete with the African Americans for jobs. This is threatening, of course, to both sides and results in both communities exhibiting fear and dislike of the other.

And how about the example of all examples--the Holocaust? The German people resented the wealth of their Jewish compatriots in a time of economic crisis. If the economic crisis had not occured after WWI, the people may not have been as easy to convince of that the Jews were the "scourge of the earth."

Is radical Islam really that different from other race and class rebellions? Yes, it is nominally based on a religion, but isn't what really fuels it the economic and class issue? And yes, it is horrifically violent and many would say inhumane, but when you get down to the causes how is it really that different from revolutions in Cuba and Central America, the Black Panther movement, and, dare I say it, the American Revolution?

Obviously there are other factors at play in the Middle East, but I think it is interesting to compare the two. Don't we, the US, have reasons to attempt to control economics in the Middle East, just as we have had in the past in attempting to control slave labor? Aren't the results the same?

Thoughts?

And please know that I am in NO way defending radical Islam. I find their tatics reprehensible and grotesque. I think their actions are evil. There is NO excuse for the violence and extreme hatred toward the west and Israel.
I am just looking, very detachedly, at the reasons behind it.

Choosing the Tools

First of all, thanks to everyone who weighed in on my last post. I have a lot to consider! Everyone who pointed out that needy kids are in every school are exactly right and I am sure that if I take the job in the rural school, that I will have plenty of kids to love. And really, I probably ought to take that job simply because it would be easier than an inner-city school and I will probably need easy my first year back. I can always transfer when my own kids and family life is less demanding. And it would be kind of a challenge for me to take the rural job. I've never taught in a school like this one, so it would be interesting to see the differences and the similarities. Kids are kids after all. It's just not the demographic that I most want to work with, but it might broaden my horizons too. Hmmm. Much to consider.

Now, to fill you in on a related worry...

I am worried about putting my money or kids, rather, where my mouth is.

We currently live in Knoxville. Conservative, very religious, 86% white Knoxville. The school my kids are zoned for is one of the best elementary schools in town. It is something like 98% white and upper middle class. Our neighborhood is almost all white. I can go days without seeing one African American or Hispanic person. We live in the land of soccer and SUV's.

And I don't like it. I do not want my kids to grow up in a bubble. I don't want them to think that this place is reflective of the larger world. I want them to have friends who are different from them. I want them to experience other cultures and ways of life. This is so, so important to me.

I think in order to be prepared for the larger world, children need to know things different from themselves. They need to learn tolerance and acceptance of people and ideas who are at odds with them and this is hard to do when you are only surrounded with folks like yourself.

Plus, people from other cultures and backgrounds have so much to offer you. You can learn so much from them. I want my kids to have this experience.

Someday in the next few years, we will move back to Nashville, in part because of the diversity issue. When we do, we will not be able to afford to live in such a great school zone. My kids will go to a school that has more problems then the one here and it worries us.

The questions is, how do you choose what is best for your kids? What is more important; that they got to a diverse school or that they go to the best school academically? It's a tough call. We all want the best for our kids and we want to give them the tools to succeed. But what do you do when you have to choose which tools to give them?

This issue is also a test of my dedication and belief in the value of public education and it is a test that can directly impact the quality of that education for us all. If all the upper-middle class, highly educated parents took their kids out of the public schools, those schools are all but doomed for failure. Indeed, this has happened in other larger urban districts such as Los Angeles.

The upper middle class and educated parents are the ones who know how to work the system and demand excellence for their kids. They are the ones who call their school board, who are in the office talking to the administration, who are attending conferences. They are the ones organizing the PTO's, giving money and helping fundraise. Schools depend on the funds and support that these parents give and it improves the school for everyone.

In my old school, we had a group of parents who all fit into the upper middle class, educated bracket. They had the option of moving out of the county to wealthier areas with excellent schools, but they chose not to and it was a deliberate, reasoned choice. These parents decided as a group to stay in their neighborhood schools. They planned it together, in fact. They were committed to the neighborhood school, kept their kids in, and worked together to improve the school for all the students. They served on the PTO, organized fundraisers, volunteered in the classroom. They met regularly to discuss ideas and ways to improve the school. It was a noble decision and I really think their kids were the better for it. I know the school was.

Without these parents and their children, the schools become institutions that serve only the urban poor and immigrant children. Children whose parents are too busy making ends meet to attend after-school functions. Children whose parents do not have much of an education themselves and are often fearful of schools and teachers. Children whose parents do not speak enough English to communicate with the school. Children who live in single-parent households where they are expected to work themselves to contribute to the household income.

In addition, when the upper-middle class pulls their kids out, the remaining children are not left with many peers who raise the bar for everyone. They have no peer role models and the level of discourse in the classroom lowers a little. This is the argument folks make against academic magnet schools and it has some degree of merit.

And let's not even talk about the message it sends to kids when you tell them you don't want them in "that school" with "those kids."

What it all comes down to is that public education only works to its full potential when we all buy into it.

So, do I buy into it enough to put my kids in a school that needs help and then work as hard as I can to change things? Yes, I think I do, but it sure is a hard choice.

No More Ms. Funny--At Least for Now

Foreword: I am having a blog personality crisis. I know that a lot of what I have written has been mommy oriented and most of my regular readers are other moms. However, I am just not feeling very inspired these days by typical mommy blog issues. More serious issues have been on my mind lately and I am going to go with them. I may lose some of you readers out there, I know, but I really started blogging for me, and therefore, I am going with my writing muse.


One issue that has been at the forefront for me recently is race and class. It is something that I have been thinking a lot about in both the macro and micro. It is a topic in which I have always been deeply interested, more interested in, really than anything else. If everyone has one central issue that is key to who they are, race and class issues are it for me. The subject of racism and class has informed every serious academic and professional choice I have made. I have studied in/lived in/worked in the African American community for almost all of my adult life. I feel more comfortable in the company of African Americans than I do with some groups of my fellow whites.

I don't like having to prove my beliefs by saying things like, "My best friend was black." That's is not at all what I am trying to do with this. But since many readers don't know me at all, I have to give a little background. I apologize if it seems like I am white-girl-trying-to-prove-how-down-she-is.

One thing that I have really been struggling with in my own life is my choice to go back to work in the fall.

I made the decision after college to pursue teaching because it is one way that I can directly impact the future of society. It allows me to immediately effect the lives of children, especially those at a disadvantage because of the color of their skin or their economic situation. Of course I love learning and kids and all that, but the real core reason I got into teaching is to work in those inner-city, African American schools. I want to do something to improve the lives of those kids.

My favorite students have been African American boys and in the urban, big city school I taught in, those boys were all poor. When I look at their faces, I see children who desperately want to succeed, but have already been beaten down by the world. They have been born into poverty, born into single parent or grandparent households. They have few role models and are immersed in a culture that has given up on education. It is so easy for these children to opt out. It is so easy for them to react to their situations with anger and rage. It is easy for them to give up, believing that they will never win the prize anyway. One of the few things that save some of these children is a caring adult who believes in them.

One of my favorite students was a 13 year old boy, Ronteze. He was a sad and angry young man, but underneath you could see a happy, funny kid who was holding on, just barely.

Ronteze lived with his mother, older sister and a assortment of "uncles." He often slept on the front porch of his house because there was no place for him inside. He had ready access to drugs and guns due to his mother's habits. He had learned violence at a young age at the hands of various family members and "uncles". He was not a bad kid, he just lived in a horrible situation and had not been given a real chance by anyone.

Ronteze was one of those students who the other teacher warned about. He was the one who the 5th grade teachers told us would make our lives miserable when he got to us. He was in and out of the office and suspensions.

Ronteze was first placed in another 6th grade team of teachers. I did not have him in any classes, but I saw him in the hall between classes. Since I gravitate towards kids like Ronteze, I made the decision to try to get to know him. I would speak to him in the hall between classes, smiling at him and maybe teasing him about something. Within a week, Ronteze was stopping by my room everyday just to say hi. I could have well been the only smiling face he saw each day and he craved the attention.

A few weeks into the school year, Ronteze was giving his teachers quite a hard time. One was a male teacher and Ronteze and he butted horns every day. The principal convened a meeting to discuss what to do with Ronteze. No one wanted him in their class. When I found out about the situation, I immediatly went to the principal and asked her to give me Ronteze. I told her that I had a good rapport with him and could handle him. At first she was reluctant. This was her first year at our school and I was a second year teacher, young and white. I knew she thought there was no way I could handle Ronteze, but she gave me the chance.

I went and got Ronteze out of his class and explained to him that he was joining my homeroom. I was affectionally stern with him and told him he would have to abide by the rules. I also told him that I expected the absolute best from him and that I would not tolerate anything but. Ronteze smiled and hung his head, embarrassed and happy.

The other students knew his history and were wary of him, but I was his fiercest defender. When he got into an altercation with another student, I backed him. The other student, a white boy who was involved in an Aryan gang, called him a nigger and shoved him up against a locker shouting racial slurs for no apparent reason and with no provocation, Ronteze somehow managed to restrain from punching him. He was fuming, fists clinched and eyes blazing, but he held back. The white boy's father wanted Ronteze suspended along with his child, but another teacher who witnessed the situation and I backed Ronteze and kept him out of trouble with the office. Secretly, the other teachers on the hall and I decided that if the white boy started anything else with Ronteze and called him nigger again and if Ronteze punched back, we were going to let them go at it for a little while because we knew Ronteze would kick the boy's ass.

Ronteze never gave me a minute's problem. I worked individually with him on his schoolwork and helped get him up to grade level. When he got in trouble in other classes, I was in the office talking to him about the choices he had made. I made him accountable for his actions, but let him know that I cared about him and wanted him to succeed.

After Ronteze, the principal put several other similar students in my room and like Ronteze, they became some of my favorites. These are the kids I want to teach.

My problem is that I have been offered a job here (we moved since I last taught) and the school is rural, upper-middle class and 96% white. It is an excellent school with a fantastic principal. I am struggling with the decision on whether I should take this job or whether I should try to get a position in one of the inner-city schools. I would rather teach in a poor, inner city school. My husband gets irritated with me for saying this because he says all kids need a teacher and that is correct. However, my whole reason for getting into teaching was to help those kids who need it the absolute most. My heart says I should go with what I love and hold out for another school. My head tells me that since I will be a novice at juggling work and children and that since this school seems really great, I should go with it and see what happens. I'm very torn.

By the way, I know some people would accuse me of suffering from white guilt. I'm not and I could explain why but this would get too long and too deep, but if it was, would it really matter? So what? If white guilt makes me work to improve the world, how is that a bad thing?









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All Politics, All the Time

Just in case you don't get enough political and social commentary in your life, I happened across some interesting sites last week:

The Field Negro. I warn you that it is not for the faint of heart, but I love it.

Stuff White People Like. Pretty darned funny.

Momocrats. Mothers' commentary on the Democratic party and politics.

Newscoma. Current event commentary from a journalist in northwest Tennessee.

The Soccer Mom Vote Political and Social Commentary from both sides of the aisle, all from mothers' and families' perspectives.