Laura: Mom, will you tell me what the F word is? Nobody else will.
Chris: Laura, you do NOT want to know what the F word is. When I learned it, it floated around in my head like an airplane in the clouds with no place to land for weeks and weeks and weeks. It just got stuck there. I couldn't get it out.
While my two middle children debate the advantages and disadvantages of knowing the F word, I consider the following:
1. Like Chris, Laura would have the word stuck in her head.
2. Unlike Chris, Laura would have no problem dropping the F bomb from that airplane in the clouds.
3. I personally am ready for that barrage from her.
4. I personally am NOT ready for the counterstrike which would be a barrage of phone calls from other 1st grade parents.
5. And I wonder if they suspend 1st graders for launching the F bomb at teachers?
6. And just how likely is my child to launch the F bomb at her P.E. teacher with whom she is already "having conflict" and to whom she gives "significant attitude" and with whom she "refuses to cooperate"?
Mom: You're gonna have to wait until your older to learn the F word. Sorry honey.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Power of Naan
Mindlessly, I unload my groceries out of my cart onto the checkstand. I'm in a mental zone that blocks out all my immediate surroundings. Though if you were to ask me now, I couldn't tell you what it was I was thinking about so intently there in the checkout line. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the checker--someone I've never seen before here in this grocery store I frequent--pause, holding up one of the items I'm purchasing and studying it. He looks at me eagerly and says in very broken English "You are buying Indian bread. I didn't know it was here." I smile at him and really look at him for the first time. He is probably in his early sixties, and is clearly from India.
"You are from India?" I ask, noticing that his name tag has initials on it instead of a full name.
"Yes, yes. My wife works here too. We just start. We live with my daughter who is a nurse."
"My youngest daughter is from India."
"Oh how wonderful," he says. "What part?"
"Mumbai."
"I am from Mumbai!"
"We were in Mumbai around this time last year to pick her up."
"Where did you go to get her?"
"Shejar Chhaya. Do you know it."
"An orphanage. Oh thanks to you. Many thanks to you. You saved her life."
"I don't know about that. But we are so glad to have her with us."
"A little girl in an orphanage. You save her life. Really. How old is she?"
"She'll be 5 next week."
He looks down at the items he's been scanning. "All this birthday stuff is for her then."
"Yes. We're having a big party."
"It will be her first birthday party, no doubt. See my wife down there on number 6. You must bring your daughter in for us to meet her."
"I will. I will."
I take out my cell phone and scroll through the pictures, showing him every picture of my kids. "Her name is Ovi. I'll bring her in. Do you speak Marathi or Hindi?"
"Oh, I speak Marathi, Hindi, and Gujarat."
"You'll be able to talk to her then, when I bring her in. She speaks Marathi. She still uses it some."
He says something to me in Marathi, which I recognize as a friendly greeting from the several months I spent studying the language a year or so ago.
I repeat the phrase back to him, and we proceed to have a refreshher lesson in Marathi.
Our conversation continues. Sometimes I have to lean in closer and ask him to repeat what he has said. We talk about Mumbai. He tells me about his daughter. He asks about my children. He tells me his days off are Monday and Friday and that he hopes I will bring Ovi in to meet him. I ask him to remind me how to say "I'm happy to meet you" in Marathi. It takes 3 repetitions before I say it correctly. By now, we both have tears in our eyes. I extend my hand; he shakes it firmly. In broken Marathi I say "Hello. How are you. I'm happy to meet you." He replies with Marathi words I don't recognize, but his face, his eyes, and the way he grips my hand speak clearly enough.
"You are from India?" I ask, noticing that his name tag has initials on it instead of a full name.
"Yes, yes. My wife works here too. We just start. We live with my daughter who is a nurse."
"My youngest daughter is from India."
"Oh how wonderful," he says. "What part?"
"Mumbai."
"I am from Mumbai!"
"We were in Mumbai around this time last year to pick her up."
"Where did you go to get her?"
"Shejar Chhaya. Do you know it."
"An orphanage. Oh thanks to you. Many thanks to you. You saved her life."
"I don't know about that. But we are so glad to have her with us."
"A little girl in an orphanage. You save her life. Really. How old is she?"
"She'll be 5 next week."
He looks down at the items he's been scanning. "All this birthday stuff is for her then."
"Yes. We're having a big party."
"It will be her first birthday party, no doubt. See my wife down there on number 6. You must bring your daughter in for us to meet her."
"I will. I will."
I take out my cell phone and scroll through the pictures, showing him every picture of my kids. "Her name is Ovi. I'll bring her in. Do you speak Marathi or Hindi?"
"Oh, I speak Marathi, Hindi, and Gujarat."
"You'll be able to talk to her then, when I bring her in. She speaks Marathi. She still uses it some."
He says something to me in Marathi, which I recognize as a friendly greeting from the several months I spent studying the language a year or so ago.
I repeat the phrase back to him, and we proceed to have a refreshher lesson in Marathi.
Our conversation continues. Sometimes I have to lean in closer and ask him to repeat what he has said. We talk about Mumbai. He tells me about his daughter. He asks about my children. He tells me his days off are Monday and Friday and that he hopes I will bring Ovi in to meet him. I ask him to remind me how to say "I'm happy to meet you" in Marathi. It takes 3 repetitions before I say it correctly. By now, we both have tears in our eyes. I extend my hand; he shakes it firmly. In broken Marathi I say "Hello. How are you. I'm happy to meet you." He replies with Marathi words I don't recognize, but his face, his eyes, and the way he grips my hand speak clearly enough.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Legal Documents
Conversation with my social worker—October 2008
“When you buy her plane ticket, be sure to put it under the name Ovi Ovi. The plane ticket must match the passport.”
“Wait. What? Ovi Ovi? I’ve been meaning to ask you for months about her last name, but just keep forgetting.”
“She doesn’t have a last name. She’s just Ovi.”
“That makes me cry.”
“I know.”
Conversation with my lawyer—October 2009
“Make sure to bring the original documents you got in India, including the certificate of abandonment.”
“Right. No problem.”
Conversation with myself—as I sit and stare at the certificate of abandonment
This certifies abandonment. I have a document that certifies abandonment. Abandonment is a legal status. And it needs a certificate. And I have to keep track of this certificate. Bring it to hearings. Use it to get other legal documents.
That makes me cry.
“When you buy her plane ticket, be sure to put it under the name Ovi Ovi. The plane ticket must match the passport.”
“Wait. What? Ovi Ovi? I’ve been meaning to ask you for months about her last name, but just keep forgetting.”
“She doesn’t have a last name. She’s just Ovi.”
“That makes me cry.”
“I know.”
Conversation with my lawyer—October 2009
“Make sure to bring the original documents you got in India, including the certificate of abandonment.”
“Right. No problem.”
Conversation with myself—as I sit and stare at the certificate of abandonment
This certifies abandonment. I have a document that certifies abandonment. Abandonment is a legal status. And it needs a certificate. And I have to keep track of this certificate. Bring it to hearings. Use it to get other legal documents.
That makes me cry.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Grading Lessons
1. Don't leave your bag of chocolate pretzels too close to the "heat exhaust vent" of your laptop.
2. When you get up to get another water bottle, remember to take headphones off FIRST.
3. The MyPage email sent folder does not like mp3 files very much.
4. I say "ummmm" far too often.
5. If you remember something important while grading, let it distract you, then swear about it, you have to start a whole new audio track.
6. Resist the temptation to blog about grading in order to avoid grading.
2. When you get up to get another water bottle, remember to take headphones off FIRST.
3. The MyPage email sent folder does not like mp3 files very much.
4. I say "ummmm" far too often.
5. If you remember something important while grading, let it distract you, then swear about it, you have to start a whole new audio track.
6. Resist the temptation to blog about grading in order to avoid grading.
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