This Morning's Playlist

It's darker out at 5:45 a.m. than I remember.  When did I officially become a night runner? (That should NOT be confused with Knight Rider, though I would love a car that could drive me places while I took a nap.)  Thankfully I didn't have a night like Carrie Underwood in Last Name.

Yes car, I see you and hear you honking, even with Pump It (Black Eyed Peas) in the background.  If three cars can fit on this street, I'm pretty sure there's room for you and me, especially since I am now running on the grass next to the actual road.

Not Afraid (Eminem) might have to become an opening song if it's going to stay on my iPod.  I love Eminem, and he pumps me up mentally, but my legs just aren't feeling it.  Running in the morning without eating is a whole different animal than running after a full day's worth of fueling and pent-up frustrations.

Why hello there legs!  Footloose (Kenny Loggins) does it every time.

Having Like a G6 (Far East Movement) play immediately after Footloose either shows that I'm not quite as old as I feel some days or that I am exactly that old and need to stop watching Gossip Girl.

Unlike the last two songs, Gold Digger (Kanye West, featuring Jaime Foxx) slows me down, which isn't a good thing when facing that annoying hill three-quarters into my run.

Thank goodness I'm Shipping Up to Boston (Dropkick Murphys) -  is short.  I'm getting tired.

When I mentally tell myself I have one more song to get home, is it cheating when that song is a behemouth like The Rockafeller Skank (Fatboy Slim)?  Thankfully, it only took about a quarter of the song to make it back to my house or it would have been the slowest three blocks ever recorded.

I had a planned post in my head, and this wasn't it.  But last night, Ryan and I celebrated my birthday by lazing on the couch and watching Valentine's Day instead of studying (him) or writing (me).  There's nothing like a movie with Jennifer Garner, Jessica Biel, Anne Hathaway, and Jessica Alba to motivate me to get out of bed to run.  (No offense intended to Shirley MacLaine).

he was sleeping when I got home 

she was not

(though she did go back to sleep for about fifteen minutes)

Not Too Shabby

Elena, at C. Mom, has a fabulous challenge going on right now to celebrate the things we like about ourselves.  I've truly enjoyed reading the posts that have been written all week, but I had a difficult time writing one of my own. 

A post about the things I'd change?  I could write one every Saturday and two on Sundays, but writing one about things that I would keep exactly as they are?  Let's just say this one didn't exactly flow like water from my fingertips.

I kept working at it, though, and I came up with a few things that make me smile. 

1. I'm stubborn.  While this may not seem like an admirable quality if you're arguing with me about the merits of Dirty Dancing as one of the best movies of all time, it comes in handy around mile eleven of painful half marathons.

2. Building muscle comes fairly easily to me.  I used to wish for the willowy limbs of a Calvin Klein model, circa 1994, but muscles come in handy when my almost thirty pound little Dylan still wants to be carried around.

3. I'm a bookworm.  I can devour a book like Kobayashi on a hot dog.  I'll read almost anything and retain strange tidbits of information that make me a welcome addition to both book clubs and trivia teams.

4. Change doesn't bother me, and I'm fairly spontaneous.  I adapt easily to new situations, which is helpful with a moody preschooler and a toddler who doesn't like having his diaper changed on public changing tables.

5.  Optimism is my middle name.  (Not really.  My parents aren't crazy; it's actually Danielle.)  I try to find something positive to appreciate about every situation.  Sometimes I even sing "These are a Few of My Favorite Things," which makes Abbey smile and Dylan laugh, and that is sometimes all we need to get back on track.

6.  I can't hold a grudge.  I'm a little thin-skinned, so my feelings get hurt when they probably shouldn't, but I get over it easily and without any lasting resentment.  I hope I still feel like this when my teenagers are sneaking out of the house and cursing me for ruining their lives when I punish them for it.

7.  I like my sense of humor.  It's a little dry and a little sarcastic and a lot silly, which means I can find the funny in episodes of The Office and impromptu dance parties in my living room, with or without the kids.

8.  I'm a girlie girl.  When my optimism fails me, I'm easily bribed back to my happy place with a copy of In Style or a new lipgloss, even something cheap that wears off in thirty-two seconds.

Eight's my favorite number, so I'm going to end here.  I hope you can take a few minutes today to appreciate a few things about yourself, too.

taking self portraits with our very special crowns

Dylan misses so much during his naps

Random Thoughts from a Run

A friend of mine is an ultra-runner.  He just finished his second 100-mile race, in which he ran for 21 hours straight, through snow and two states.  I am in awe, serious awe.

He doesn't run with music, and one time he told me that when he runs, his mind just kind of goes blank.  I imagine it's kind of a Zen state, maybe a lot like yoga.

I wouldn't know.  My mind?  It doesn't get to Zen very often.  Instead, I get randomness of epic proporitions.

If a one way street is wide enough for three cars, it is definitely wide enough to accomodate a runner and a car, even if said runner needs to drop a few pounds.  There's no need to give me a dirty look and swerve at me so I have to jump onto the median.

Riding bikes with my friends was so fun when I was younger; look how cute they are!

Wow, there's ANOTHER empty pint of Mohawk vodka.  Ew.

Why do I do this again?

It seems wrong to listen to Big Pimpin' while running past a church.

Ok, Telephone is a little better.  Wasn't that on Glee this season?  Musical shows make me happy.  Oh! I can use that idea for The Red Dress Club TV prompt. 

5K or 10K in August?

When did I get to the point where I get irritated with people smoking while walking down the street?  I don't own the air, right?

Maybe tacos for dinner tomorrow

Fireflies!  So many fireflies.  It makes running in this humidity worth it.  Almost.

This makes me happy.

running makes me happy

but not quite as happy as watching her run

I Need a Pedicure and Other Confessions

I planned on getting a pedicure and taking a picture of my current favorite wedges for The Summer of Sole Sisters. 

And I don't mean an expensive pedicure where I get to sit in a massaging chair and flip through US Weekly while sipping iced tea; I mean taking off my toenail polish, doing a quick pumice of my feet in the shower, slathering on some peppermint lotion, and slapping on some red polish in honor of the 4th of July.

Instead?  I grabbed the red polish and painted over the chipped coral, smudging it a little, ending up with some of it on my toes in addition to my toenails. 

The flip flops are from Old Navy and are constantly next to our door for when I'm running late, which is a lot of the time.  The turquoise is supposed to help me feel like I'm using a little summer color, to help me feel less self-conscious about slipping on a pair of plastic thongs.  It doesn't.

So many of my days are like that, carefully planned and falling just a little short.

My eyelashes are always curled, mascara applied in two motions I could do in a pitch black room.  Yet, many days my hair is in a ponytail or bun in an attempt to camoflauge that I didn't have time to blowdry it.  Again.

I slide on my trusted Clinique Black Honey as I walk down the stairs.  But I forget to put the slender silver tube back into my purse to retouch when it wears off.

My coffee's in my travel mug, I've got snacks and drinks for the kids, and we're leaving the house on time.  Until I remember that the double stroller's in the garage from our walk yesterday and still needs to be folded into the back of my car.  We're ten minutes late by the time I chase the kids off the swing in the backyard.  Again.

I checked off ten things on my to-do list.  Too bad there were fourteen things on it, and I added five more by the end of the day.

One day, I'll fix my toenail polish and show you my real favorite summer shoes.

But until then, these are the ones I wore today.

And some days, that's ok.

Join Kir and I anytime between now and August 19th with your own favorite shoes!



Climb into the Delorean...

...we're headed back to 1995!

Liz, who needs to be voted Most Spirited for her dedication to the Seniors of Blogville High, set up a hilarious link-up for us to share our senior photos.  Formally called "I Was a Senior Hottie", you can find the virtual senior class here.

I don't know about hottie, but I could definitely wield a curling iron and rock some acrylic nails!

holy dark lipstick!

holy half inch curling iron!

you can't really see my hot pink (what was I thinking?) talons acrylic nails, but they're there

I hope my posture has improved since then

our serious competition uniform

back before fun skimpy cheerleading uniforms

I'm from Michigan - football games got pretty cold! 

face blurred to protect the innocent

Prom night

Reading is Cool

Like so many parents, I've asserted that what I want most for my kids is for them to be happy and healthy.  I say I try not to look at them and say doctor! lawyer! nuclear physicist! actor!  I say that I hope that I can be a constant source of love and support as they find their own paths.

But those are lies.

Because, really, there is something I want my kids to be.

I want them to be readers.  Bookworms.  Gluttons for the written word.

Some of my earliest memories involve books and reading and falling into worlds crafted by others, and I desperately want Abbey and Dylan to experience those moments of wonder and imagination.  Maybe they'll be curled up with an e-reader instead of a worn, library copy of The Boxcar Children, and I am absolutely fine with that, as long as they're reading.

I've been told that I know an obsene amount of utterly useless facts and information, and I fully credit that to all of the reading I do.  Books have opened doors to times and places and people I never could have imagined.

So, even though I can honestly say I hope they choose careers and life paths that lead to a contented life, I also have to mention that I hope, hope, hope that they'll walk down that path with good books under their arms.

Or a good Kindle.

Abbey's reading Tails to Dylan

it's a favorite, because there are tails you can touch

"seriously, put the camera away!

Dylan's not even dressed yet!"

the morning after Easter

I love that they're reading their new books

Stalled Style

Being three might be frustrating, but it has its advantages.

She dresses herself, and I try to invoke the mommy veto very, very sparingly.

If there’s going to be a battle each morning in our house, I’d rather it be about the merits of eggs versus candy for breakfast instead of the striped or the heart socks with the flowered pants.

Even with all of the crazy combinations she manages to put together, by throwing her hair into some pigtails or a cute little braid (her favorite), she ends up looking cute and quirky and like she’s having fun getting dressed each day.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of being three, and getting dressed each day poses some challenges for me. I’ve spent the last four years being pregnant or nursing or losing baby weight or some combination of those things, and my wardrobe reflects that.

Now I’m facing the sometimes overwhelming task of trying to find some sort of clothing combination that makes sense for both my lifestyle and my appreciation of fashion.

I’ve spent the last few summers in skirts and sundresses, but this summer shorts are back with a vengeance on the pages of fashion magazines. I’ve spent a great part of my adult life refusing to wear shorts, but I have to admit there’s some appealing about throwing on a pair for a day at the park instead of worrying about flashing the playground while following Dylan up the slide for the fiftieth time.

It’s time to get rid of my diaper bag, and several friends have recommended cute backpacks for the transition. I just can’t bring myself to do that with all of the fabulous satchels and totes out there right now, but I’m having a tough time making a decision about that, too!

Don’t forget shoes; a girl can never have too many shoes, except when she’s relying on actual money to pay for them and not a fairy godmother.

Oh, and a great pair of jeans that can somehow make the pancake at the top of my legs look more like a tush without costing hundreds of dollars.

 Sigh…where are Stacy and Clinton with their style advice (and their $5000 bank card) when you need them?

she explained to me that the shirt matched, because the dress has green and so does the shirt

the capris have pink and so does the bunny's skirt

pink shoes, because she only has one non-pink pair

black socks?

even she couldn't explain that one

Now I Get It

I used to be confused about why certain families started doing reality shows.

I understand why fame-hungry, attractive, twenty-something people do reality shows.  It seems that the best way to score an US Weekly cover and demand lots of money for public appearances at clubs is to do some extremely embarrassing things on TV, so that the rest of us can't drag our eyes and ears away from the trainwreck.

But people with kids?  And real houses?  I didn't get it.  Was it only for the money?

I had an ephiphany about their real reasons this Friday, when we spent the morning with some of our besties, Colleen, Brendan, and Lainey.

Those people with lots of kids that do reality shows?  They just want the professional photographers around to get decent pictures of their families.

This was the first time Colleen and I really tried to get a picture of the four kids together, and it was a comedy of outtakes.  Thank goodness for digital cameras, because there's definitely a lot of non-keepers!

Lainey wants a Cheerio

Abbey looks nervous 

Lainey looking cute

Brendan and Dylan chatting it up 

Lainey starting to look uncomfortable

Abbey and Brendan are spitting

who knows why three-year-olds do things? 

Abbey smiling

Brendan's cheese face

Lainey practically on her back

Dylan with a mouthful of Cheerios

Mommy gives up

Runner. I'm a Runner.

I started running back in college, my sophomore year when I lived in the dorms.  I ran with a friend, and what I remember most is singing while running (either Oasis's Wonderwall or Mariah Carey's Always Be My Baby)

Since then, I've become more disciplined.  I know about pace and footstrikes and what kind of music makes me run faster and how gratifying and addicting it can be to build and track a training plan.

I've run numerous 5Ks and a 10K and three half-marathons.

Yet, when I talk about my runs and my running, I always, always qualify my words: I'm not at all fast, I just do it for fun, I've never done a full marathon.

As I typed out last week's post about my latest half-marathon, I thought about these little asides and wondered why I always feel the need to add them.

Is it because I look more like an uncoordinated labrador puppy than a gazelle when I run?

Is it because I build rounded, sturdy muscles instead of the lean sinews I envy in some of the runners around me?

Is it because my brother is "the athletic one"?

Is it because I have to use all of my innate stubbornness and maximum physical effort to build up to times that "better" runners would consider failed races?

I need to leave these negative thoughts behind if I want to be a role model for Abbey.

What matters is that four or five times a week, I lace up my shoes, turn up my running music, put one foot in front of the other.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Repeat.

Four or five times a week, I run.

I am a runner.

Abbey reading with Aunt Carolyn in Nashville

Aunt Carolyn is my running inspiration

I remember her running back when it was cool to wear matching short shorts and tank tops

she's still running, despite injuries and changes in running fashions!

this is an old post, but I'm linking it in honor of Elaine's big decision to train for her first half!

Me: Pulling Out My Hair

I am having issues with photos and issues with disqus and issues with losing my mind, so thanks for bearing with me while I figure out my problems!

(I'm not really losing my mind, just my patience.)

Also, check out The Red Dress Club for some lovely kindergarten memories.  I didn't have a chance to finish my piece, but there are some great ones this week.

Old Habits

I've spent the majority of my adult life telling myself that my body wasn't meant to get below a certain number on the scale. 

Earlier this year, the scale slipped below that number.  Seeing that number should have been motivation to stay on track with my healthy eating and running goals, especially since I have a race to run this week (eek!)

Instead, I've found myself slipping, nibbling a little extra here and there, skipping a run or two.  Not surprisingly, that elusive number hasn't been seen again.

Honestly, I try not to focus on "weight", because like so many women, I see some crazy flucuations over the course of a month.  I don't want my body image to be found in those little digital numbers.  I'm not upset about the weight gain itself but the way I let myself react to hitting that lower number. 

At some point, I need to break those old habits, because I don't like how I feel when I'm treating my body that way.  Maybe I'll get down to the lower weight and maybe I won't, but I want to know I'm doing what I can to stay healthy and energized.

Because spring is on the way, and Dylan and Abbey are ready to hit the ground running.  In opposite directions, I'm sure.

Abbey saw this picture and said, "Mommy, you need lipstick."

I should be offended, but she's kind of right

time to get some new spring make-up!

Quick Note

Greetings from lovely Nashville, where the weather is warmer, and the kids and I are visiting (with Grandma & Grandpa) some of our favorite family members!

I meant to schedule posts for the week, but packing and some mouse issues (computer variety, not creepy household pest variety) got in the way, so I have an empty blog queue for the week.

In the spirit of vacation, I will likely post a few times but that all just depends on how early the kids go to sleep and how much I end up running and how droolworthy I find my new copy of In Style.

So we're going to savor flip flops and tight-free legs and shopping for some warm-weather clothes for the little man.

Back to regularly scheduled rambling next week!

Playing Catch-Up

I won a parenting award a couple of weeks ago.  Of course, I had to bestow the award on myself, but it was one of those weeks where everything went right: we got out of the house on time, ran our errands without meltdowns, played with friends at playdates, and threw a minimal amount of food on the floor.  So I won an award!  Yet, because I've been on this parenting rollercoaster for at least a few hills now, I refrained from patting myself on the back just yet.

Because the last week has been the kind where parenting awards sit dusty on the shelf, perhaps rudely snatched away by the Academy.

A week of catch-up, where nothing seems to happen exactly the way I planned, where my to-do list explodes exponentially although I am happy to finish one or two things by the end of the day, where molars threaten to rob me of all sanity (and Dylan of his lunch if he keeps shoving his little fists into the far reaches of his mouth in an attempt to soothe the teething pain).

It's easy to get bogged down in these kind of weeks, to let frustration take over, especially for people (like me) who forgot to pick up their extra box of patience at the store.  I'm trying to remember that the to-do list will never truly be cleared, that the tantrums of today will fade into the teenage rants of tomorrow, and that a little pen on a princess costume just means that maybe the princess will write a novel instead of idly waiting for her prince to arrive.

So this week we coast along, knowing that another upswing is on the horizon.  We have one chance to live our lives, so I might as well throw up my hands and ride.

proof that we're a little behind right now

this was purchased in December

we made it this week

perhaps more disturbing is that the expiration date is June 2011

I think we'll pass on the eating and just admire our handiwork

"Sometimes Little Boys Get Mad"

I stole a moment this morning to upload some pictures to our PC, because our laptop is in dire condition.

But I'll think about that tomorrow.

Abbey saw this picture and immediately said, "Sometimes little boys get mad!"

She's absolutely right and summed up the last few days with one little statement, because if one of my kids is smiling this week, the other seems to be in or near tears.  To paraphrase Dickens: It was a happy day; it was a sad day.  We've had some exceptionally fun times this week, but they've been interspersed with tears and tantrums and a lot of "life" that is beautiful in its own way but makes for an exhausted mom by the end of the day!

Throw in extra errands and obligations (hello taxes) and training for the half marathon and I feel like I'm the Energizer bunny from 6:00 - midnight, until we hit the night shift, where someone needs water or someone is coughing or someone just needs a hug.

Where's the pause button on this remote??

Monkey See, Monkey Do?

A Facebook conversation today left me thinking about girls and body image and acceptance and how all of those things are tangled together with images and attitudes and expectations. Our (albeit brief) conversation concerned a celebrity who may or may not be a little too thin and how seeing that affects our girls.

I’m not denying there are unrealistic portrayals of women in our celebrity-obsessed culture. I also think it’s one of our most important jobs as parents to raise our kids to be true to themselves, in spite of the pressure that is going to bombard them from all sides.

Maybe it’s a devil’s advocate reaction, but I have a problem condemning every tiny body staring at us from a magazine cover, “She’s too thin!” I have friends who are super thin but still healthy, so I don’t think skinny automatically equals unhealthy. Are some of the ultra-skinny women out there unhealthy? Sure. But I also think that some of them parlay a combination of good genes and hard work into that body shape.

Of course, that means that I somehow have to teach Abbey to accept her body and other people’s bodies in ALL shapes and sizes. Despite my own body issues, I’m trying to set a healthy example by eating relatively well and running and staying active. I monitor what I say about my own body. I plan on having honest conversations about it as she gets older.

Will that be enough? I don’t know. Images are powerful motivators and so is peer pressure. Will my efforts fail in the face of emulating the “it girls” of 2023? If I’m still blogging ten years from now, will I be packing mayo-laden sandwiches and sending them off to Hollywood stylists?

a new game at our house

Abbey and I call it "giant Dylan"

he lurks in the back of the dollhouse, laughing

then a little (giant) hand sneaks around the corner

and grabs something from the side where we're playing 

of course, she needs to get in on the action, too

Pardon My Dust

During this past year, I've discovered so many truly amazing blogs (see my sidebar if you're interested in some of the people I find to be so wonderful!)  One of the things that draws me into a blog is its visual impact.  With limited time in the day, the only thing that keeps me reading is excellent content, but I can't lie and pretend that the first impression doesn't matter.

What can I say? I like pretty things.

I've know for a while that my own first impression left a lot to be desired. 

Much like my wardrobe, my little corner of the blogosphere needs some overhauling.  Unfortunately, just like a personal stylist with a high credit limit isn't knocking at my door, a custom blog design isn't on our budget's radar right now. 

Other things hindering my renovation are my woefully poor HTML skills and lack of any sort of graphic design talent.  Again, like my wardrobe issues, I know what I like when I see it but don't know exactly how to go about getting there!

So, please pardon my dust while I attempt to make some visual changes around here.  I'll be trying on some different looks and tweaking and tailoring and trashing various things until I find something that is pretty and comfortable and a good fit for Tiaras and Trucks.

I hope you'll keep visiting during my remodeling!

they're learning and growing and finding their own way each day

what wonderful inspiration!

Out with the Old

I am over my diaper bag.

As diaper bags go, I really love(d?) mine.  My dear friend, Kathie, gifted me with a Petunia Picklebottom boxy backpack when I was pregnant with Abbey, and I was so pleased with the design and utility of it that I didn't even buy a new bag when I had Dylan.

Yet, I'm over my diaper bag.  And your diaper bag.  Any diaper bag, really.  I lust after slouchy hobos, satchels with delicate feminine details, shiny patent bags.  I already keep an "emergency bag" in my car with extra dipes and wipes and a change of clothes for both kids, so I'm never completely empty-handed.

As Dylan slides into his second year, I am becoming obsessed with starting to think about making the transition to a lovely, oversized purse* that will comfortably house a sippy cup, a bottle of water, a couple of snacks. 

And a small pack of baby wipes.

*Now I just need to find something I love.  With a practical price tag (that's the hard part, right?)

we visited the Morley Candy Factory with our MOMS Club this week

blissfully unaware of what he was missing, Dylan was just thrilled to roam the store

he chased a gleeful Abbey while I chased him

their laughter made the candy the second sweetest part of the day

What is Value?

Sometimes I need to be reminded that my job doesn’t come with a paycheck. My impulse spending creeps up a little at a time, and suddenly we’re off budget. I try to make smart decisions about what I purchase, but that leads to the question, “what is a good deal?”

Wait, wasn’t I a math teacher? (strictly middle school, but still, I taught math!) I could convert into unit prices with the best of them (see, math nerd talk), but it can still be tough to figure out where to spend my limited spare pennies.

I’m bringing this up, because I’m confronted with a “bad deal” purchase every morning when I perform my miraculous transformation from tired mommy to super-hot-well-rested-mommy. Ok, so that transformation never actually occurs, but I do try to slap on some make-up and blow dry my hair daily, and that very make-up is causing me to regret one of my spending cuts.

For the most part, I’ve been using MAC cosmetics since college, when my friend Kathie introduced me to two little beauties (Vex eyeshadow & a tube of Viva Glam if you care about these things). When trying to cut corners a little this fall, I decided that MAC was an extravagance I wouldn’t miss too terribly.

Slap on the “shallow” badge now, because I was wrong.

I purchased some relatively inexpensive eye shadows, liner, and lip gloss in trendy colors and looked forward to a little change in my daily look. (I won’t mention the brand, because maybe I just don’t know what I’m doing, but it can be purchased at Target and not “department stores everywhere”.)

There’s no change in my daily look, in part because the make-up doesn’t stay on my eyes for very long, no matter what I do to prep my face. Also, despite my attempts to play around with the different colors available on my little palettes, everything looks exactly the same on my eyes. And I’m not talking subtle color differences – the green and purple eye shadows look exactly the same within minutes of application.

And that, in my oh-so-amateur financial opinion, is not a good deal.

Since I know many of my few readers (if that makes sense) come here for the eye candy (and not of the eye shadow type), here are some pictures of my best yearly deal - our zoo membership!  I could pay double and still consider it a value (but I'm glad I don't have to, because of that whole budgeting thing.)

The Allure of the Tu-tu

Abbey loves her tu-tus.  We have a couple that I made her, a few that came with pajamas, and one that's an actual skirt, and all of them are beloved and well-worn.  Generally we wear them around the house (except the one that's a real skirt), but the other day she wanted to wear one to a playdate. 

I try not to fight about clothes, since there are so many other things to worry about most of the time (like why it's not ok to "push Dylan with my foot"), so the tu-tu was a-ok with me.  And yes, I want someone to remind me of this statement when Abbey is sixteen and leaving the house in something I hate.  I remember how much my dad hated when I would pierce my ears in college (why I thought approximately fifty holes in each ear looked good, I don't know), but those holes are long gone, and those arguments seem so silly now.

When she pulled out the fairy wings?  Well, at least it was a Halloween themed playdate...

Dylan and the monkey don't get the tu-tu

Education, Capitalism, and Tutus

What, those things don't go together?

When Abbey goes to dance, I wait in the lobby.  I can leave her in the room by herself, but I'm not ready to leave the premises quite yet.  Besides, it's an opportunity for Dylan and me to hang out on our own, and I don't really want to spend it in a car.

The first week, we spent most of the time hanging out with a mom and her youngest son.  I also met her oldest son and saw her daughter.  All three were wearing t-shirts emblazoned with the name of an exclusive private school in our area for gifted students.  And by exclusive I mean crazy expensive.  I realize in some parts of the country, expensive grade schools are a dime a dozen, but where we live, even most of the private schools don't cost the equivalent of a year at Harvard.

Education is something I think about all the time, and those three shirts really made me consider the role money plays in education and the inexorable ties between the two.  The school in question, as I mentioned before, really plays up the fact that it is geared toward "gifted" children.  Don't get me wrong; the mother was lovely, and her youngest son was polite and articulate.  (Plus they couldn't compliment Dylan enough, which never hurts!)

But really?  Three truly "gifted" children in one family?  Yet, their parents are paying for them to be educated as gifted children, and they will never know an educational experience that isn't tailored to help them succeed in every way.  As a former teacher, I can only imagine the education that the teachers are able to provide at a school like that.  Tiny classes, involved parents, and curricular freedom to explore and work with student strengths, weaknesses, and (most importantly) interests.  That's just the beginning, because an education at a school like that can open academic doors all the way up the ladder of success.

Less than fifteen miles away, children are wasting away in classrooms without books, in buildings permeated with violence, in a district so plagued with problems that there are talks about the state taking over control of an entire public school district.  Teachers enter those classrooms with high hopes and dreams of educating those children but find themselves roadblocked by problems too extensive to get into in one blog post.  I know, because I worked in a school similar to those schools.

 

There are gifted kids in those schools, too.  I actually believe that the majority of children have the potential to thrive in the right environment, with the right tools and the right teachers to find their own particular gifts.  Knowing something happens in theory is one thing, but seeing it in practice is another, and it's tough to know that a thirty thousand dollar check, give or take a little, can buy a gifted label.  And though there are pitfalls to every situation, even the privileged ones, it's pretty obvious that a child with a thirty-thousand-dollar education enters the world on a different plane than the child who had to enter his or her classroom through metal detectors.

To lighten the mood, some pictures of my to-be-educated-by-public-schools-unless-I-win-the-lottery kids...

(If I did somehow win the lottery, miraculously since I don't buy tickets, I would buy them the best education I could find for them.  Which may or may not include a gifted label, because I don't know if that is a blessing or a curse, but that's another post, I think.)

ready for week two

the braid went back into a ponytail, but it keeps her hair out of her eyes

hanging out with Mommy

charming the ladies

flirting with the dancers

drooling on his shirt

all in an hour

on the move

because he likes to grab for the camera