A Dollar's worth of Stories

Jenna does like to fold laundry, do dishes, sweep, mop.  She even likes to clean the bathtub and scrub the toilet.  But it is ever so painful to get her to clean up after herself – usually when her stuff is scattered all over the living room or her own bedroom.  That is the worst. 

I just don’t know what incentive to use to get her motivated.  I’ve tried everything – rewards when she does it, removing items when she doesn’t. We honestly have more of her belongings out in the shed than we do in her room.

Getting her to practice her handwriting has been a big chore as well.  She’ll draw, read, study, tell stories and play learning games.  But getting her to write anything (or print in her case) is on ongoing battle.

She is competitive.  When the school was invited to participate in a handwriting contest, she came home all excited – and I thought “great – incentive” I’m afraid it didn’t last.  It was still a huge struggle.

But this weekend she asked, “Mom, what can I do to earn money?”

She had recently told me a story that I had asked her to write down.  I told her that I would pay her a quarter for each story she could write.  It has to be written.  Yes, you can draw a picture to go WITH the story but not in place of. It was still a struggle.  But finally she gave in.

I have corrected her spelling and inserted missing words [in brackets] and added punctuation.  But here’s what we have so far (minus the story I am still waiting for her to put on paper)

1.

Once upon a time dinosaurs roamed the earth.  One dinosaur loved to play.  His name was Ale.  Ale also loved to explore and one day he got into a fight with his best friend.  But they got along and since then scientists thought dinosaurs were mean.  But they’re not.

2.

          Once upon a time there lived a king.  He was worried about his daughter, Anastasia (but everyone called her Ana) and she had a huge imagination and it continued to grow.  The king was worried because she had to marry soon but she did not know who to choose.

And the queen, well she was not worried.  She was fine.  So they had a ball and she chose her groom and they got married and . . .

Ten years later a daughter was born and they lived happily ever after.

3.

          Once upon a time in a [small town] there lived pleasant folks who used positive words.  Then one [day] a stranger walked in and he used negative words.  The sheriff and the stranger had a conflict.  If the stranger won then he would have the sheriff’s star.  If the sheriff won, the stranger would have to leave town.  Fortunately the sheriff won.  But then the stranger said a positive word and all was peaceful.

4.

          Once upon a time a girl went to mars and met some aliens.  And they treated her like a queen.  All was pleasant until one afternoon* a robot marched in and [said], “I’m hungry.  Feed me.” 

          The queen was startled and made the aliens get food.  He kept* on coming.

One day the queen said, “Why don’t you stay with us instead of making all those trips?”

And since then all was peaceful on Mars.

*original words: p.m. and keeped.  She chose p.m. as it was easier to spell.

 As a bonus, she wrote a poem inside her drawing of a mountain:

Once

A mighty

Girl climed up

A mighty mountain

But she was [brave] and

Didn’t panic. She climbed the

Top.  Hooray! But up on top lived

A witch but she thought up a plan.

Hooray!  It worked.  The witch is dead

and the kids are back to normal

The Quiet Tree

          “My dad reminded me of a tree – always present, steady and strong, but silent and still.  A person has to notice the tree.  It’s not going to make a big fuss over a person.  It will just quietly make a shady spot and keep it there day after day until someone needs it.  I loved my dad.  He loved me.”

 

- from Palace Beautiful by Sara DeFord Williams

          As I read these words I thought of my own dad who would silently support us from behind the stage – never wanting to be in the limelight himself.  He may not have been as mighty as an oak – for an oak tree stands out.  An oak tree gets noticed.

          My dad was noticed by some – many who admired his quiet strength.  And yet there were many who really hadn’t noticed that he was there – because he was so quiet.  Because he never made a production of himself.  Just went about his business and fulfilled his obligations, callings and assignments with very little voice.

          He was a pillar.  He is the one who would wait up until everyone was home.  He is the one who added structure to our lives.  I miss my father very much. 

          Corey wrote a poem about my dad – we played the recorded poem at my dad’s funeral.  Later, Cory created music to go along with the poem.  With Corey’s permission I would like to post that to my Blog:

Knights who fight dragons,
Soldiers who fight wars,
Explorers who tread jungles and such
Have nothing to boast of;
They've nothing on
The hero that I love so much.
Men who climb mountains
Or cross the stormy seas,
Men who lift tremendous weights
With the greatest of ease;
There is no comparison
Among any of these.
My hero matches them all.

The others fall.
My dear hero,
How I miss you.
You and I are worlds away.
Did you know that
You're my hero.
It's the "verité." (Truth)
You never did anything especially noteworthy.
Your name was never in the news.
Flocks of people never hounded you for your autograph.

You never sang the blues.
You never won a Nobel Peace Prize,
A Grammy, or a medal of gold.
You never appeared on Johnny Carson.
You never fought blizzards of cold.
You were never on the front lines of Vietnam.
You were never Prince Charming at the ball.
You were never ruler of the universe,
But your my greatest hero of all.

I love you,
Not for your massive feats,
But for the simple things you did.
You climbed the highest mountains.
You waged the strongest wars.
You won the greatest battles.
For you, Dad, my heart soars.
Your courage, your endurance,
Your patience through the pain
Have shown me the example.
Of you I can't complain.
For you're my admiration.
Now all is said and done.
I love you, my father.
Your son

I am so grateful for the opportunity of having known my dad, and for the example he set for everyone who knew him.

Fortunately it tasted much better than it looked

          I admire those who have the talent of decorating cakes which appeal to the eye.  I have seen waterfalls cascading over islands, mermaids swimming in a lagoon, realistic looking animals and mighty castles.  I have a hard time just getting a cake to look like a cake.

          I don’t claim ever having made a cake from scratch.  It’s quite satisfying just to know that I can do it from the box.  It’s always a surprise to the family when they learn that it was me and not Roland who made it.  But usually the presentation alone tells you which one of us made it.

          I greased the pans I used for the last cake I made.  I greased them rather well, I thought.  But neither came out terrifically smooth.  One broke in the process.

          I made Roland’s wonderful frosting – which actually turned out better than his last two frostings had.  I was quite excited about that, as it just really does not happen all that often.

          It was a very ugly cake.  I think Jenna would have done a better job with it but she wasn’t even here to help me. I made the entire meal all by myself. The entire cake had been devoured by the next morning. 

Beagle Juice

        I did not understand that when dogs barked at Houdini (first family dog), it was only because they wanted to play or sniff each other out.  But with Houdini, his was a mission to find his boys.  He managed to ignore every snide remark and pick up line that every dog may have barked to him.  He just kept his eyes ahead and moved at a steady pace. Didn’t even acknowledge the other dogs.

Highness (our current dog) walks with his nose to the ground – searching for a long lost friend (we think) and will sniff out other dogs and decide that’s not the one he’s looking for and will move on.  Generally if I allow Highness and the dog behind the fence to sniff one another, things are cool and the barking generally stops.  Not always.

          There have actually been a few mean dogs.  MEAN.  They grow extra fangs right in front of us and growl as they bare their new sprouted teeth looking as though they will bite off Highness’ nose.  But don’t mess with Highness!

          Realistically, Highness is quite a good natured dog.  He yowls occasionally, but for the most part he is just a quiet, often lazy dog.  But when another dog continues to growl and bark at him and really isn’t being nice,  Highness will just lift his leg up and mark his territory right on the other dog’s face.

          For my own wicked reasons I am generally amused – sometimes feeling envy.  Not that I’d want to urinate in the face of another – be it human or another animal.  It just would be nice for those occasional irritating moments to squirt some sense into the face of another to symbolically say, “Who do you think you are?”  “Don’t even think of messing with me;  I am NOT  one to be messed with” etc.

          Long before we got Highness – perhaps at a time when we were dogless – I was taking a walk to relieve some tension that had been building up inside of me.  I have an idea of what I may have been stressed about at the time, but it really has no relevance to what I’d like to convey at this time.

          The point is I was already not in the greatest of moods.  I had walked past a house where a pit bull had run out to torment me with its barking and populating fangs.  Normally I am actually quite cautious of dogs and not a violent person, but I already had a bitter anger inside of me.  The dog’s actions allowed me to add fuel to the fire and I kicked him.  I kicked him hard.

          It is mind boggling when I look back upon it.  I have never been athletic.  NEVER had great eye/hand (or foot) coordination.  I don’t know how I was able to kick him as hard as I did – or that I was able to kick him at all.  I had injured him – I don’t know to what degree.  I was angry.  He had started it.  I was just minding my own business, trying to relieve some stress when this high and mighty literally went out of his way to start barking at me.  What business was it of his anyway? 

          How nice it would have been just to rationalize with him.  He wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I had had some kind of squirter – some kind of Beagle juice to throw into his face.  And yet I wonder, if it weren’t for the fences would the dogs become more provoked and actually eat my Highness?  Only one out of three dogs was actually bigger than Highness (maybe twice as big) while the other little yappers have been so much smaller. 

          What is up with small dogs who are so unpleasant?  I mean, think about it.  Why would such a small creature provoke one who is obviously four to eight times its size.  Doesn’t it realize that the larger one could sit or step on it and crush it?  The pit bull for example – much smaller than me – though larger than my foot.  Duh?

Chocolate milk to die for

          BYU Creamery makes the BEST chocolate milk.  I don’t know why it always tastes richer and more succulent than any other chocolate milk product.  But it does.

          I do not believe it is sold to the public as many name brand dairy products.  The items are distributed to the school, the missionary training center, the LDS temple and bishop’s storehouse to name a few.  Those who have gone to BYU or the MTC or have been recipients of the Church welfare program may know what I’m talking about – for it is the students and faculty in the Provo area who are the more fortunate to experience this luxury.

          It has been a while, but there was a time when I had the privilege of bringing home two gallons of the rich, succulent chocolate milk to my family – though Biff said he never had any. He doesn’t know that he is really missing out.  Even Roland noticed the difference – and he is definitely NOT a name brand snob.

As I continued to indulge much more than I should,  I thought, “You know, it probably is a good thing I don’t have easy access to BYU Creamery’s milk products” as I have found it rather addicting and would become even wider than I already am.  If I lived in the Provo area I think I would be drinking chocolate milk ALL of the time.

          I am grateful for the opportunities that I have had to sample some of the BYU Creamery’s wonderful products.  Especially the chocolate milk.

Dogs

Recently I made a scrapbook page of Jenna posed with various dogs. They have all been good dogs – except one.  Our first dog ran away before I had even learned that I was pregnant with Jenna.  Houdini was our favorite dog.

I had worked with a women who was a humanitarian and on a mission to save all animals – dogs in particular.  She asked me if I’d be willing to take a dog.  And the boys had always wanted one – and finally we had the room.  We went to take a look at the dog before we moved to the house I had just purchased.

My boys commented that the dog was fat.  They were more interested in the dog’s sister (who was not available for the taking)  apparently a fat dog was better than no dog.  I told my co-worker we’d take it – but first she’d have to wait for us to move into our house before she brought the dog.  But actually the dog was brought to us on first day of the move – so we hadn’t actually settled in yet.

Houdini was an overweight borderline collie/Australian shepherd – who when shaved of all of his hair looked like he could be part greyhound. A board was used to block the entrance from the driveway to the backyard.  It was only because of his weight that Houdini was unable to escape. 

  

Once the boys slimmed him down, Houdini would make escapes from the yard as he often went in search of the boys.  That’s not the real name that our dog answered to, for he had been given a name already long before he came to us. But it is the name we would have given him had he not already come with one.  And actually what we had called him that when we make reference to him.

 Houdini was a larger dog and any gaps that we could find in the yard seemed much too small for his body to slide through. And yet he was always making these astounding escapes that would make us scratch our heads.

Our boys were out of town and we left Houdini with a sitter while we went to meet the boys.  Houdini made his escape and was never rescued.  The sitter felt bad, though I assured her that it wasn’t her fault.  I had warned her about Houdini - but there are some things that some people don't take upon face value - and she may have ended up even more floored than we were.

My oldest son asked if I was pregnant.  At the time I didn’t realize that I was.  But I suspect Houdini knew.  It was after Houdini was gone that I understood why he had been sticking so close to me.

We didn’t get our second dog until after Jenna was born.  Roland had wanted to get a dog that could protect me and Jenna while he was away.  And we’d gone to animal shelters in search of something – nothing specific in mind.  

We happened to be at the pound when Roland received a phone call from a business partner who inquired about the background noise.  By coincidence he had a dog and a newborn though he didn’t seem to have room for both and perhaps we’d be interested in taking his dog? So we went to check her out.

Daisy – our only female dog.  Also fat.  Sweet. Not too bright – reminded me of Odie (from the Garfield comic strips) – she was actually younger than I had thought.  Such a lazy dog for still being a puppy – though she was an awfully big puppy. 

Lab mix with a what looked like a St. Bernard head –or so thought my oldest son and me.  St. Bernard’s are big dogs, though I suppose she could have been part horse. But she did not seem to offer any protection for us – oh, her size alone would throw off a few people.  But overall she was not a threat.  She was a homebody.  Never wandered off to explore the way the rest of our dogs have done.

Houdini had always hidden from the noise of the fireworks – where Daisy would literally stand on top of them.  Crazy dog.  Lazy Crazy Daisy.  Sometimes I think that’s why her previous owners named her so.  Rhymed with some of her characteristics.

All three boys were in high school – busier than they had been with Houdini.  Daisy still wasn’t getting the attention she deserved. Jenna was my priority – not Daisy.  Two years after we got her we learned her previous owners had been looking around for another dog.  We gave Daisy back to them. Evidently they had learned to make time for her as they had slimmed her down so much she literally looked like another dog.

And then there’s Patches a Great Pyrenees.  I don’t actually consider Patches to be a family dog.  He was the only dog that came into our family as a puppy.  He was a Christmas gift to my eldest son from his then girlfriend – who assured us that he would not become too large of a dog.  She must have been comparing it to a grizzly bear. 

It actually took him a while to come up with a name for the few week old puppy. Originally our son had come up with Patch – but his girlfriend had dated a guy who’d gone by Patch and didn’t want the reminders – but Jenna had already started calling the dog “Patches” and that is what I called him – until he ran away.

I don’t remember how long he was gone before my son and his girlfriend found him and returned him to our house.  By then most of his “patches” had seemed to disappear and we referred to him as “Buddy” which is the name my son had finally settled on.  Though neither Jenna nor I considered him to be our “buddy”  What a disobedient dog.

My son has always loved horse sized dogs and actually had that with Buddy as he continued to grow and grow and eat and eat and grow some more.  I remember my brother looking out the window three months after Christmas, asking if that was our dog.  I said yes – though Buddy was just a puppy.  My brother looked again and said, “That ain’t no puppy”

Seems like our oldest son was spending his entire paycheck on Buddy.  First with a dog house that Buddy would never go into – not even when he was puppy sized.  He was a weird dog – always buried beneath the boards which leaned against our house.  We could always find him there when it was raining – but loved the snow.  Our youngest son tried building him a larger house from the boards he used as shelter – Buddy wouldn’t use that either.

Jenna learned to love the dog house.  When Buddy went through his “chewing” stage, Jenna hid all her toys in the doghouse knowing that they would be protected as the dog would never go in.  I thought that was really quite clever of her.

I thought it would be great for her to have a companion – until he got too big for her – still playing like a puppy but outweighing Jenna and pushing her down (which she didn’t like) and actually turned out to be longer than my oldest son. 

Buddy wanted to play 24/7.  He was always barking.  My son would often keep Buddy in his room at night so the neighbors wouldn’t complain – but even if he was inside the house, the neighbors would still blame any barking noise on his dog.

Biff tried.  He really did.  But though he had time for a normal dog – he didn’t have time for an undisciplined puppy. On the first week of October, my son’s girlfriend (who had broken off the girlfriend/boyfriend thing and asked for a more platonic relationship; we’d see her just as often – but I think she came to our house just see Buddy and not so much for Biff) took Buddy back to her home (which was in another county)  We never saw either one of them again.

          Buddy was the only puppy.  Never doing that again.

          The economy has been unkind to so many people.  We lost our house and were forced to move to a much smaller house in another city.  Jenna has always had a lot of friends but seems a lot more challenged in the current city were we presently reside.

Two years after we moved in, we went dog shopping again.  This time we brought home an older dog whose previous owner discovered health issues on her part that made it difficult for her to take care of her dog anymore. 

And it’s not as though Highness (not his given name – but seems to fit as he seems to be under the impression that he is prince or king of our domain; very high maintenance) doesn’t demand much time – although he does enjoy going for walks.

I truly believe his last owner tied a bib around his neck and allowed him to sit at the dinner table with her. What a finicky eater.  I don’t know who is more finicky – Highness or Jenna.  If I did not know better I would think Highness was/is a cat.

          Highness (a beagle) seems to be a cross between Houdini and Daisy.  Not quite as active as Houdini – but sweet – very sweet.  And naps almost as much as Daisy did.  We all enjoy Highness’s company.  Even my oldest son who would still like a horse sized dog is happy with our actually smallest dog. 

          My scrapbook page also includes Max and Bear.  Max, who we see on occasion outside the library and Bear who belongs to our hairdresser.  Both dogs are bigger than Jenna – but not puppies who don’t know their own strength.  Jenna has enjoyed playing with both.  Often both she and my oldest son wish Highness was more active – but I’m happy with him the way he is – and I’m the one who spends the most time with him.  Jenna loves him, too. 

Railroad Tracks

          I don’t know when or why I came to be freaked out by railroad tracks.  I remember liking railroad ties when I was a kid – not that I ever got that close to one.  I don’t think I did.  Trains and tracks were usually seen from a distance.  Except for maybe crossing them.  I don’t recall being so quite bothered as a kid.

          I really don’t know when or why it bothers me to cross the tracks – but it does.  Perhaps not so much on foot as it does when I’m driving.  Not when I’m a passenger – but only when I’m the actual driver.  There is nothing devastating that happened in my lifetime to make me feel so uneasy – but I am.  Even if they’re tracks that haven’t had trains on them for decades.

          As a child I had been fascinated by trains.  I remember watching them sometimes while going on family vacation when the railroad tracks ran alongside the road we were driving.  I remember trying to count all the cars.  For a while trains kept me entertained.  Not so much now however.  Especially if I have to wait for one so I can cross the street.

          One time Roland was driving downtown and I was a passenger.  The route was quite unfamiliar.  We were driving northbound and had just crossed one set of railroad tracks and were approaching another when the arm came down and we had to stop for a rather long train going west  bound.  After just a few cars (from the train) has passed and there was still no end in sight, Roland considered a three point turn – only a police car was right behind him. 

          Finally the driver of the police car grew impatient and turned his car around.  Just as Roland started his started in with his turn, a train going east bound suddenly crossed the tracks behind us.  We were stuck.  There was nothing to do but wait.  We never did see the end car of the train ahead of us.  The east bound train crossed over first and we ended up turning around and driving toward the south.  That was before we had Jenna.

          Last summer I had enrolled Jenna in a theatre class. It was up at the high school near my sister’s house.  For the most part we would just park in her driveway and walk up to the high school.  In doing so, we would have to cross a set of railroad tracks on foot. In my mind they had been abandoned – as I don’t recall ever hearing trains in the entire time when I lived in the same city.  Trains just don’t seem to be so popular anymore.  At least in my neck of the woods.

          And actually so many of the abandoned tracks have been used and rebuilt in some places at becoming one form of our current public transportation.  They’ve been running for nearly twenty years now and there are still bugs to be worked out.  “High speed trains” is what they’re called at the crossing. I knew a bus driver who was literally freaked to have to drive one of those.  He declined from operating the train part and just stuck to the busses.  He’s probably retired now.

          Crossing railroad tracks seems almost unavoidable now.  Seems like I am crossing one set or another at least once a week.  And I am still uncomfortable with doing it.  Perhaps that’s a good thing. 

Chua Thien Duc

         Jenna had a hard time after we moved in – often crying as we were waiting for the bus that would take her to school.  I am so grateful to Angie who took the incentive to befriend Jenna – though it was only for a couple of months.  They were really hoping to have a play date together.

          Angie’s mom worked – and so the only time we could come over was after dinner.  The first time we had gone over to play with Angie, her mother looked at me and asked what kind of pizza I liked.  We visited a bit while the girls played and then Angie’s mom put on a video.  Cinderella III – in Spanish.

          Jenna watched that show all the time – but in English.  But I was certain she’d still understand what was being said.  But that’s not why Jenna was there. She was hurt when Angie started watching the movie and paid little or no attention to Jenna.  We left before the movie ended.

          Angie had given Jenna a penguin she had made in school.  That was the last we saw of her.  Her family had moved out during fall break.

          Like so many houses around the nation (our last one included) the house had gone to foreclosure.   It hadn’t been completely vacant as family members continued to come and go – taking whatever possessions they could.  Often leaving possessions on the curb for any passerby who might be interested.  I think it was the beginning of summer when the new homeowners moved in.

          Flags everywhere.  I didn’t know what kind of flags.  I just thought they were party people who must have had a large number of children who had birthdays quite close together.  For every Saturday there was a large number of cars parked all around the house.

          One day Roland commented that it was a Church.  A church?  Really? Someone had converted Angie’s house into a church? 

          I actually hadn’t noticed the letters over the car port: Chua Thien Duc.  I remember looking it up.  I was told it is the name of a Vietmese temple.  Wow.  Angie’s family’s house had/has been converted into a temple?  Interesting. 

          I don’t have a problem with it.  I would rather have a religious organizational structure in my neighborhood than a crack house.  People are being fed. Uplifted.  They are growing in their faith and spreading their devotion.  And that’s cool.  It’s just kind of different to think I have been in the house when it was used as a house.  I’m certain that I would not even recognize whatever new makeover that’s been created.

I wish we had had the copy and paste when I was a youth

What a great feature – this copy and paste.  Being able to sort your thoughts and move entire paragraphs and transfer information without retyping and having the ability to store information into tiny places and just hit a print button. 

No more messy carbon paper.  No more perfect line up of the typewriter ribbon.  I think my favorite feature though is the copy and paste.  It is SO AWESOME!  Wish it had existed during my high school years.  That would have been sweet.

I also like having spell check.  So often I hit the wrong key - or I really just don't know how to spell the word.  There's dictionary, thesaurus - such wonderful features that make typing up reports and blogging so much easier.

Another feature that I really like on the computer itself is the search.  To be able to type in the name of your document or picture and have the search go through and find it for you.  That is very awesome.

I'm grateful to have access to these great features.

Education in the Pod

          The elementary school that I attended opened the year before I started kindergarten.  At the time the school was designed with rooms that catered to entire grades – not just class sizes. 

          Three modular walls separated each group of students as there were four instructors assigned to each grade.  Each student was assigned a homeroom teacher.  But the homeroom teacher was not necessarily the same teacher assigned for math or reading or science, etc.  All of the students were taught by all of the teachers for that grade. It was actually a very good system.

          I did not appreciate it then.  Nor did I realize that it wasn’t the normal procedure for an elementary school to function in that manner.  Most every person that I know has had only one teacher per grade during his or her years at elementary school.  As I look back on it now, I appreciate having had the opportunities that I did for having been exposed to a variety of teachers and not just one.

          I have never thought it fair to either teacher or student to have to teach all subjects at every level.  Although Dick, Jane, Sally and Michael may be in the same grade does not mean that they are on the same level.  Dick may be exceptionally smart in math while Michael excels in reading.  Sally may struggle with science and Jane may struggle with spelling.

          The four teachers would teach the same subjects, but at different levels.  Mrs. Cleaver may have taught the gifted students math and taught the no so gifted Science and the average students reading. And Mr. Jones may have also taught an average reading class but taught a math class for students who were struggling.  Therefore Dick would have been in Mrs. Cleaver’s math class but may have had Mr. Jones for another subject.

          I was always in the “less gifted” class- sometimes average.  I was never put in with the gifted students.  For the most part I struggled.

          Backpacks were for camping back then.  The idea of taking one to school was unheard of. Each student had a tote tray with his or her name on it.  At the indicated time we would move our tote trays from one desk to another – walking passed the modular walls from one classroom to another.  We didn’t have to walk through the halls to get from one room to another.  The group of classes was called a pod and all our transitions were made inside of the pod.

          I know that some of the charter schools use the method of sending students to different teachers according to that level.  I would like to see it done in the public schools.  It makes more sense to me.

          I am grateful for having had the opportunity to learn from a variety of teachers. I’m grateful that Jenna has the opportunity for having at least two instructors per grade level while she is elementary school.  I am also grateful that she has a better grasp on education than I did.  I pray that she will continue to endure.

A much needed miracle: continuing education

         We were on the waiting list with a couple of charter schools.  I had even looked into homeschooling – which is probably what I would have ended up doing if someone hadn’t pointed out the dual immersion program.

          The dual immersion program allows students to learn a language in addition to English.  Students have two teachers, one who teaches in English for half of the day. The other will teach in a foreign language with math as the prime subject and will touch on the other subjects.

At the time there were only eight schools within this district that offered this dual immersion program.  Two offered Chinese, two offered French and four offered Spanish.  The school closest to where we are living teaches Spanish – which seemed to be the most logical of the three languages as we have contact with almost as many Spanish speaking people as English speaking.  Roland’s family members also speak Spanish – well, some of them anyway.

          I applied two months after the deadline and was put on yet another waiting list.  Within a week we received an acceptance letter.  We were in!  There is no question in my mind that it wasn’t meant to be.

          She may not have wanted to learn Spanish, but I figured she’d at least be learning.  So much seems to just come to her naturally that she needed a challenge.  She no longer takes the bus.  I have to drive her the two miles south each morning.

          So when Jenna started first grade, she had been in three different schools.  She is now in second grade at the same school. The grading system used in this district rates from 1-5 – 5 being the highest.  Thus far all of Jenna’s subjects have received 4s and 5s except for being able to spell words in Spanish.  She only received a 2.  It is something to strive for – which is a good thing.

          I still do volunteer work at the school.  I LOVE the opportunities that Jenna has – though she may not fully understand or appreciate them now.  She is still doing well – though she doesn’t love it near as much as her first school.  Her current school is actually my favorite of the three.

         

second school: another kindergarten

          After the economy started getting bad, we lost our house.  We were forced to move to a much smaller house in a quite low income neighborhood. We spent the first night in our small house the last day in November. But I kept Jenna at her first school until after Christmas break.  Realistically it wasn’t a very practical commute.

If the economy hadn’t forced us to downsize – I don’t think I would have questioned Jenna’s opportunity for even just being considered for another school.  We were in the same district, but the boundaries were for another school.

          I had tried to transfer Jenna into the school nearest to our house – one we could actually walk to if we needed to.  But they were “filled up” and we lived “on the wrong side of the street”.  My main objective for wanting her over there was to keep her on year round.  There are four track systems for that particular school – and they were all full.  Or so I was told.

          I had made three attempts to get her in.  The faculty had always been unpleasant.  I had talked to three different people and each had responded as though she had used too much starch in her underwear and wasn’t allowed to smile. As I exited the building for the last time, I wondered why I would want to have my Jenna around all these uptight people anyway.

          So after four months of full day kindergarten and homework packets, Jenna started another kindergarten class going only half day and bringing home three assignments to be turned in at the end of the week.  We could seriously complete all three assignments in less than 10 minutes. 

          When the school called to let me know that a full day had opened, I jumped at the opportunity assuming the program would be the same as in her first school.  Not even close.  She was put in a class in which most of her classmates couldn't tell their elbows from their knees. Her homework dropped from three sheets a week to just one.  It was pathetic!

          Jenna no longer got up on her own.  She would ask if she could stay home.  Often she would fake illness.  I had lost my morning nightingale.  She had become a teenager shortly after our move in.  The saddest part was that she really did try to fit in, to be happy, and to present herself in a positive way.  It only backfired. 

          She had to be bused to the school that was part of the school boundaries where we currently live.  Same district.  But NOT a first rated school.  The faculty was really nice and friendly and welcoming.  But the academics were so far beneath us.

          I don’t mean to sound like a snob.  And I appreciate that there are schools that can cater to the educationally challenged – but Jenna is advanced.  She did circles around her classmates.  She had known things before preschool that her classmates still didn’t understand in kindergarten – such as rhymes, letters, shapes and so forth.

          If it wasn’t for the backpack program that her teacher had created for her more “gifted” students, her last four months of kindergarten would have been a total waste.  Roland and I were teaching her and creating homework sometimes on a first or second grade level.

Jenna would cry in the morning each time she boarded the bus, and I would cry as the bus drove away.  I just couldn’t have her continue at that school.  It wasn’t fair to mess up her education because our finances didn’t allow us to live near a more prestige upper class school.  But she just wasn’t learning anything.  And I didn’t foresee that education would become any better if she were to remain at that school.