Someday Is Here

"Maybe someday, when I look back I'll be able to say: You didn't mean to be cruel. Somebody hurt you, too."

My writing has always gotten me into trouble. Before that, it was my mouth. When someone writes or talks nonstop about politics and parenting (doesn't that cover everything?), then holding them accountable is easy. Which is fine, I suppose. I'm up fer it. A subject often discussed with friends and family has been estranged relatives. One of my mantras: Unless abuse is involved, when a family member reaches out, you are obliged to reach back.

Hell, I even follow this advice with old friends. Cause, why not? Life is too short and I'd rather have positive vibes out there than bad blood. This is just my opinion, feel free to disagree. However, I stand by it and must now act according to my words.

Bio Dad reached out and I am reaching back. Simple as that.

A few reactions...

Brother: "The man has been clean and sober for nineteen years now; five minutes with you and he'll be begging for a bottle. Go easy, Kate. Don't send him back to the abyss."

Sister: "Must you include a picture on your site? Someone might think, 'Is this...?' and then, as the pics download, 'Yes, there's that smile...there's that hair...Katie!' I mean, come on, is a picture necessary?"

Some agree with my philosophy on prodigal loved ones while others do not. Sure, re-connecting is uncomfortable and a bit awkward; so what? I don't behave a certain way because I feel like it; I behave a certain way because it's the right thing for me to do. No matter how I feel. What's emotion got to do with it?

Disclaimer: I am not having a superior moment. I wish I applied this "Do Right" philosophy to every aspect of my life, but I don't. Newsflash: I'm not perfect. And since I'm also not a Christian, I'm not even forgiven. Ain't that a b*tch?

To those who would say, "Don't respond!" I have some concerns:

How do you teach your children to honor their parents, if you are unwilling to do so? "Honoring" is open to interpretation; however, turning your back on someone who is trying to make amends seems cruel and unjust. I want my children to forgive any mistakes I might make; how better to teach forgiveness than by modeling it?

Holding on to bitterness and anger is just plain ugly. Dontcha think? Build a bridge, folks, and get over it. I learned a lot from having a flawed father. I learned about what kind of man not to marry, learned a lot about alcoholics and how to break the cycle, learned about myself in the process. Wonderful lessons I'd never have experienced without a strong mom, heavy dose of faith and iron constitution. Survivors are impressive. Victims? Not so much.

I'm not saying every distant family member deserves a ticket to your annual barbecue. My own fatted calf would go to the dad I've been blessed with for the past sixteen years. I just believe that someone who has paid dearly for past mistakes doesn't deserve a slammed door in the face.

I know. Biological child of the year.

Blast from the Past

Born while my father served in the Army overseas, I became forever attached to my mother. I also experienced a serious amount of attention from her parents, sister, and brother since we all lived in the same house for a while. My grandparents didn’t seem to mind the kids and granddaughter crowding their personal space. God bless them.

I woke up every morning to look over the edge of the crib and find Mom ready to indulge my every emotional whim. Life was good. Until one morning, I awoke to find a man lying next to her.

I imagine, in my toddler brain, thinking, “What the f*ck?” However, lacking sufficient verbal skills, I grabbed the side of the crib with both hands and screamed until every blood vessel broke and squirted through my eyes.

Grandparents, aunt, and uncle came running. Neighbors called, concerned. And I scared the sh*t out of my parents. That’s right, the “man” was my “biological father”. Did you think Catholic Mom would be lying next to just anyone? Jeez, go to church.

Anyhoo, that’s how I met my old man. And it really just went downhill from there.

Fast forward through a fairly happy childhood, interrupted by my own bad attitude and his lack of patience, followed by a miserable adolescence, when his drinking got out of control. I threw a party when my parents finally divorced. For reasons that remain unclear, when I was fifteen the man took off for greater parts unknown (was my hair to blame?), came back to town for a few years toward the end of the 1980s and then disappeared again.

Fast forward fifteen more years. I got home Friday to this GEM of an email:

“Greetings. Read your blog, with interest. Just wanted to say hello, after a long, long time. Peace and love, Your biological father.”

Gotta love Google.

Dan the Man

Funny Story...

I've been overloaded with a ton of issues lately. But like I always say about parties or romantic partners - "There's room for more!"

When I came home Friday to one HELL of a shocker (more on that later), I sent out details to my nearest and dearest, daring them to frame said shocker in a blog entry. Perhaps I wasn't clear because my FAVORITE godson sent me this - which has nothing at all to do with me.

I love that Danny read my (somewouldsay) alarming news and then crafted a post ignoring the news altogether and focusing instead on himself.

Which is why I love this kid and the woman he's about to marry.



Read it and enjoy.

One for the West

Okay, this could be cool.

Let's Bring it Back

I know I’m beginning to sound like a broken record, but indulge me for a moment. After all, this is my site.

The powers that be, use dubious methods to retain such power. Redistricting, fear and smear tactics, and selling out ideals for campaign contributions have all been working to keep incumbents in office and the voting public in the dark. Still. There's no excuse for not paying attention.

What’s it gonna take for you to put down that ding-dong and dial up some empathy and action?

Doctors are now in danger of being arrested for performing abortions. There. That ought to do it.

No? Okay, so the backwoods of South Dakota doesn’t work for you. What about illegal wiretapping? Oh, right. That takes place on the federal level and jeez, you’re wiped out just trying to get through the day-to-day bullsh*t. You can’t be bothered with Dubya and his shenanigans.

Fine.

How about this? Our dear governor is all into anti-redistricting measures in California (where Dems are in the majority) but calling names at those who support such efforts here in Florida (where, surprise surprise, Republicans enjoy the power).

Still not local enough for you?

What about this – your county commissioners are allowing more developments but won’t raise impact fees for more schools to accommodate such growth. Doesn’t that hit you where it hurts?

Then, for the love of sanity, work with me.

Are We There Yet?

I’m not a fan of fairs, festivals, or theme parks. Carnivals are out, too. There are several reasons: hygiene issues, safety concerns, and desire to only take part in interesting endeavors. Besides, I do not consort with the corn-dog crowd.

No offense.

DISCLAIMER: Not all revelers are repellant. My own, personal, life-long best friend has a soft-spot in her heart for Renaissance festivals. She goes every year and I try to refrain from teasing. However, as we head toward a reunion of sorts, I can’t help but worry she’ll only attend future political functions with me if I attend certain trips-back-through-time with her. This is a cause for concern.

Anyway, I’ll admit to embarrassment when acknowledging that my current employer, while worrying about certain religious holidays, has no problem allowing students a day off every February to attend the Florida State Fair. Why is this necessary in life? I have no idea. My own children are simply thrilled that, for once, they get a day off from school without having to attend a memorial service, rally, or urban renewal project. Fair Day in our house translates to Annual Sleep-In-Late Day.

Good times.

Living so close to Mouse Man, friends and family members enjoy when I get roped into family weekends in Orlando. My discomfort creates giddy joy in the hearts of so many people.

This weekend will be one of those times.

Actually, we're going to Universal Studios and I'm sort of psyched. First of all, it was my idea. Shocker! Husband is about to begin his City Slickers routine out west and, although he’ll be back and forth, this might be our last Florida Family Weekend. Why not spend it together somewhere without dishes to wash, beds to make, or rooms to clean? Yes, it’s still a tourist trap meant to turn free-thinkers into tools of the consumer industry.

Still. This weekend we’ll be trapped together. My favorite men and me.

"Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?"

That's my proposition for the Democratic Party's new slogan. Where is our outrage?

• Alito.
• Roberts.
• Tom Delay.
• Karl Rove.
• Jack Abramoff.
• Valerie Plame.
• Abu Ghraib.
• Iraq War.
• Illegal Wiretapping.
• Hurricane Katrina.

Now, the selling of our security to the United Arab Emirates. And the hits just keep on coming.

Read All About It

The Tampa Tribune published my op-ed piece about FCAT issues today. Is anyone listening?

The Last Supper

"I am a bar fly."

Last night, Husband and I had our final date-night before he leaves me for fresh mountain air and country girls who laugh at everything he says. Ahh, the exciting life of a traveling businessman. His fact-finding mission includes determining if life exists in Colorado Springs.

And is it intelligent life or the kind that votes Republican and yells, "I never seen a Jew before" at dinner parties?

I am planning many outings in his absence and look forward to semi-permanent third wheel status on future date-nights with friends. One potentially uncomfortable evening is the premiere of Why We Fight. I've posted about this subject before and will continue to do so in case anyone wants to join me.

Dateless and soliciting for company... high school all over again.

Get Off Me

As my students say: Quit ridin’ me.

--“You’ve been complaining about this area your entire life. Now all of a sudden, Tampa’s great. Now all of a sudden, you don't want to leave!”

Come on, now. I enjoy teasing Tampa with a wink and a poke. I tease because I love. What do I love about Tampa? I love that my children are thriving. I love that I’ve made a connection to my community. I love that my parents are minutes away for baseball games, school shows and free babysitting gigs. I love that my neighbors genuinely care about our well-being. I love my good friends and fellow teachers.

I think I’m entitled to some concern when considering a move so far away.

(Notice my list of loves does not include: heat, bugs, or co-workers who contact me late at night.)

--More headaches occur when trying to get people involved in politics. Why do they resist so? And why do they begrudge me my idealism?

I belong to a women's group and have sent out emails inviting them to events of interest. Some of the bitties respond as if I’m asking them to smoke weed at Livestock.

“Don’t use this list for such socializing!” or “Not all of us are liberal!” or “This is why women shouldn’t be allowed to vote!”

Okay, the last response was from my dad who got linked to that distibution-list accidentally. From now on, if anyone gets an email from me that offends, just hit delete and go back to really important sh*t like Martha’s gastric bypass surgery. Jeebus.

--My favorite response from people I solicit for possible involvement, “I’m not interested in politics.”

Really? You complain about traffic, overcrowded schools and have raised the art of b*tching to a new level when discussing property taxes. Yet you’d rather get lost in Lost than off your tuchis and involved? Explain again why you like me?

I must be a glutton for punishment because thinking, discussing and engaging will continue even with those who’d rather I not. Gotta be me and all.

And I will continue to handle the negative responses. Cause you’ve gotta be you, too.

Why Some Men Vote Republican?

I Heart...Not So Much

Never been a big fan of the Valentine's Day. Probably something to do with years of watching friends get every heart-shaped card and candy known to man while me... I got a rock.

This is the first year I've had to deal with VD as a parent. Loving public school! So we purchased "boy" (Batman) valentines with temporary tattoos as an added bonus. Who knew ink was all the rage with the under-eight crowd?

My children painstakingly filled out each one for every student in both classes. Good times. Especially fun? Offspring trying to convince me that those who eat mucus and call names don't deserve a valentine. I NEVER thought I'd say this, but I'm all argued out. Eventually, though, I won and we included everyone. Even the bullies.

On Tuesday, the boys came home with their valentine boxes ready to overflow. I felt relieved going through heartfelt "Love always, Ashley" and "Your bestest frend (sic) forever, Justin" without a single "My mom made me write this - you've got big hair, Kevin".

Then I noticed the crap that came along with these lovely letters and good wishes.



To all the parents out there who believe my active six year-old boys need the aid of sugar to stay up late, talk nonstop and drive me to drink - thank you for helping this holiday continue its longstanding tradition.

Clothes That Could Kill

A few years ago, my neighbor warned me about the dangers of Teflon. I did some research and immediately threw out pots, pans, cleaning supplies, etc.

Imagine my shock and horror when shopping for back-to-school clothes and noticing all the "stain-resistant" items. What makes them stain-resistant? They're coated with Teflon. This cancer-causing chemical does not belong on children's clothes. At the very least, manufacturers should attach a label warning parents about the dangers of this awful carcinogen.

Please contact stores like Target or The Children's Place and tell them to stop such practices. Wouldn't you rather deal with stains than cancer?

I would.

Funny, You Don't Look Jewish

As a convert, I get that a lot. Especially in an area overrun with Baptists. After a good ten seconds (the Irish temper really throws them) I then get overrun with questions.

Here's the answer.

Make sure you set aside fifteen minutes and call in the kids. We did. This short film tells the unorthodox, unauthorized history of the Jewish people and the Barbie doll.

By the way? I think I'm a JewBu.

Ha Ha Ha America

I've been trying to boycott products Made In China for years now (Tibet? Big fan!), but it's become near-impossible.

If you can follow it and have about fifteen minutes to spare - here are some reasons why we should rethink some of our foreign/economic policies. You'll laugh and feel sick all at the same time!

And you all thought I was crazy for enrolling my boys in Chinese classes? Crazy like a fox!

Guess Who Plays Eisenhower?

"When war becomes that profitable, you will see more of it."

I'm a girl in search of a posse.

On March 11th, Tampa Theatre will show the most thought-provoking movie of the year.



Anyone care to join me? If we make a good showing, Sony will open the picture in more cities and towns nationwide. Then maybe my brother can see it in Kansas City.

I don't mind going solo - fond memories of a night back in '88 when my friends scoffed as I waited in line by myself amidst aging hippies to see another important documentary. But this time I don't want to learn a thing or two about hydroponics. I'd rather be with people who could actually articulate an argument afterwards over a pint. Can you honestly think of a better way to spend a Saturday evening?

Don't answer that. Just go. Besides - who knows how much longer I'll be around. (Gonna milk this for all it's worth.)

Who's in?

Lazy Muncie

Can't wait to hear Canada's take. This is Part Three in the Lazy Sunday series. First East Coast, then West Coast, and now the Mid-West...Coast? Listen for samples from the best group ever and further proof that anyone named Jim Davis has got to be cool.

Thanks, Matt!

Heart v. Head

(Due to increasing amounts of anonymous hate mail, I find it necessary to issue the following decree: My sh*t is to be read in a direct tone of voice with no sympathy for myself or anyone else. There. Now please enjoy the following dissertation from yours truly.)

As I get older, I've come to realize most decisions involve choices that are never 100% perfect. Sometimes the choices that feel best are the ones to avoid. It's easy to say, "Put family and children first!" Quite another to actually do it.

Putting a priority on loved ones requires an enormous amount of self-sacrifice. Pride fills us up inside when first we announce: "I am putting my career on indefinite hold!" or "Every mother is a working mother!" or even, "Zip up, I'm a married woman!"

After years of tending to children who can't quite get the wiping-thing down, idealism can give way to frustration and resentment. That's why I'm grateful for an above-average support system so instead - idealism simply shares the stage with frustration. The best thing you can ask for, unless Oprah and bon-bons satisfy forever, is that the two co-exist peacefully and resentment never rears its ugly head. Hopefully, with a good team on your side, good outweighs bad - depending on the day. Ahh, such is life.

However, what happens when several decision-making events occur simultaneously? Every issue presents a tug-of-war between what you want to do and what you should do. Yes, it's hard to choose when defenses are down and your heart plays tricks. Try as you might to stay right, you can almost feel the "giving in" side grow stronger. I suppose this is when weaker women turn to alcohol or the Lord.

Wait. Those are my only options?

Getting Worser

***UPDATE***
On a related note, what she said.

As I've noted already, FCAT weighs too much. Now, Florida lawmakers want to give teachers with the highest gains, on a single test, a 5% bonus. This test measures a student's ability at the time of the test - it doesn't measure schools and teachers and everything under the sun as well!

Highlights:

• The bonus rewards "outstanding teachers" with a minimum bonus of 5 percent of their base salary and requires that a portion of all teachers' pay be based on a set of "objective performance measures." The bonus would be required for at least 10 percent of the teachers whose students make the highest FCAT score gains, but districts could give the bonus to more teachers. (How is the district going to explain who gets what if they go above these guidelines and give the bonus to more teachers?)

• Teachers making the state average salary of $41,578 would receive a $2,078 bonus if they qualified.

• For teachers who do not teach FCAT-tested subjects, districts must use "an assessment external to classroom measures." The state has not defined what that external measure would be. (Yes, please explain how we compensate PE coaches and driver's ed teachers - a special FCAT for them alone? Can't wait to see what lawmakers come up with next.)

Here are other reasons why this idea won't work to help all teachers - especially those in underserved areas with special needs students.

This is just another joke to distract from real ways to benefit educators. Let's see who falls for it.

Best News I've Heard All Year

No, not this - although pretty damn close.

This morning at 8am, Jury Duty is on!

I will try my best to look non-judgmental and bored. Oh and to uphold the law and sh*t. Should be a shoo-in. Sometimes jurors get sequestered for months inside a decent hotel with work-out facilities and room service...

Fingers crossed this gig lasts until May and I come out of it with a new boyfriend and six-figure book deal. A girl's gotta dream.

Home is Where the Heart Is?

I wrote this a while back and almost forgot about it until now.

Home Sweet Home

Less than a year into our marriage, my husband and I desperately needed a change. Our hometown suddenly seemed old and inadequate. We wanted to escape suburbia and live somewhere exciting. We packed up everything we owned and never looked back, saying goodbye to Tampa without a single tear.

Goodbye unbearable heat! Goodbye bikini bars, strip malls, and bugs! Leaving family was hard, but liberating at the same time. Pushy relatives lived too close, came over too often, and told too many embarrassing stories. We had to break away in order to make it on our own.

We arrived in Boston, Massachusetts with little money, but endless optimism. An apartment overlooking the Old North Church planted us in the center of a thriving community. My husband sold his car. Navigating busy streets on foot, we felt the city’s heartbeat underneath and contributed to it. Lifelong friends were found along with promising careers; weekends spent at shows, trendy restaurants, and renowned museums. Everything agreed with us: politics, history, excitement. We fell hopelessly in love with Boston.

One night, I boiled corn on the cob for dinner, listening through open windows to breezes and surrounding conversations. After pouring corn into the colander, I ran across the street for some milk. Delicious smells proved too tempting. When I returned, a hungry squirrel had gnawed its way through the window screen to feast on my dinner. City life presented new challenges indeed! I sighed and picked up the phone, calling rural relatives for advice on how to get rid of a rodent.

Months later, on my way home from work, I noticed a large group forming. People held placards and angry shouts were heard for miles. A political gathering! I pushed myself through the crowd and absorbed their energy. Could it be a Revolutionary War re-enactment or a Kennedy speaking about our duty as citizens? I got to the front of the line, ready to sign a petition. Instead, I looked up and saw one word in bright orange light: Hooter’s. The protestors surrounded by hundreds more people waiting to get inside. Florida’s wings-and-beer franchise found its way into my Boston neighborhood. I walked home, shaking my head.

As winter approached, I remembered my dad’s hopeful words.

“You’ll be back in Florida before the first snowfall.”

Winters, however, weren’t so bad. We were not burdened with dangerous commutes or shoveling driveways at dawn. Soft snowflakes muted the city, blessing pedestrians with rosy cheeks and smiles.

Dad should have warned us about summers.

In the middle of July, a walk around the block ruined a good blouse as quickly as public transportation ruined a good mood. Northern buildings retain heat and central air conditioning is rare, so my husband and I had to buy four window units just to keep the apartment comfortable. Our electric bills went through the roof, bugs came inside for relief and we blew at least one fuse a week.

The summer I became pregnant was unusually hot. My morning walk to work quickly became impossible with extra pounds in front.

“Why don’t we own a car?” I asked.

Even in a diverse and progressive city, courtesy on a crowded subway train is rare. I missed southern hospitality. Then autumn arrived with a fresh breeze and news we were having twins. We shared the excitement with family over the phone and heard their cries of joy and delight. Hugs and kisses would have felt much better.

After the boys were born, elated relatives descended on Boston’s North End neighborhood. I welcomed their help and advice with open arms. Our newborn sons soaked up the love and after everyone left, I felt a void and wondered how to fill it.

Our friends! Our chosen family! However, those friends were busy making families of their own, exchanging city for suburbia, leaving us with two screaming infants and no support system. Nursing my sons at night, I’d often pause at the window and gaze at city lights around me. Lights that held such promise and pride, yet no one in those busy windows loved me. That was becoming more important than I’d ever dreamed imaginable.

One evening over dinner, I looked at my husband and asked,

“Are Boston and Tampa so different?”

He put down his fork and smiled.

“Both cities get hot and bugs here are just as frightening,” I continued.

“Every city has positives and negatives,” he said. “Each resident trades one for another.”

“What are we going to trade?” I asked. “Are we going to teach our children that a theatre district and liberal neighbors are more important than family?”

At that moment, four years into our adventure, I looked back at Tampa and tears finally came. My husband wiped them away and said,

“Sometimes seeing from a distance is the only clear way to see anything at all.”

Home isn’t always where the heart is. My heart will forever belong to Boston, that remarkable city we conquered and learned the more things are different, the more they are the same. We won’t ever be fans of bikini bars, strip malls, or bugs. But that doesn’t matter much anymore. While our children play with family members they know so well, in an air-conditioned house, in a Tampa suburb, we laugh at embarrassing stories and regret nothing.

Home at last.

A Moment for Judaism

MTV's idea of a religious spokesperson can be summed up in one word: Madonna. I have no problem with her ideas about Kabbalah, but it rings hollow when held up as a standard. Chasidic women don't expose hair, much less their belly buttons. Then there's that whole tongue-kissing Britney Spears incident.

But, whatever. We don't really go to MTV for a spiritual song. Until now!

Matisyahu (Yiddish pronounciation for Matthew) is a Chasidic Jew from Crown Heights who sounds like an Israeli from Jamaica. I get off on lyrics and his are pretty amazing. Matisyahu is also spotlighted as talent to watch on the aforementioned music television network.

And what's all this - my Beastie Boys are coming out with a movie?




I am so there. Damn right, it was a good shabbat.

What's New? Don't Ask.

Last week, I registered my children for a different elementary school starting next year. This new one is closer to my Dream Job. Okay, Dream Job is a bit of an exaggeration - better to call it my Dream Teaching Job.

Felt a tad guilty. See, I moved around a lot as a kid and the result is this winning personality. However, I've always wanted to stay put when raising children and give them one house, one elementary school, etc. Still, I rationalized that my boys would start over next year and that would be it. Promise. Besides, across town isn't so bad. In many ways, the schools over there are superior.

Then, within days, 'across town' became 'across country'.

My husband might have an opportunity that will lead him (and the rest of us) to Colorado Springs, Colorado. Yes, the same town that houses Focus on the Family. Yes, the same area that boasts more wild animals than people. As my children sometimes say, "I'm ascared."

We'd love for something to open up right here in Tampa, but it's not looking that way, folks. Upside: we have family and lifelong friends out there. Downside: we have family and lifelong friends right here. The kicker? I've ragged on Tampa my whole life and can't quite believe the tears in my eyes when thinking about a departure.

I won't get too worked up, though. If I've learned anything - it's that, within days, everything can change.

Sticks and Stones

My youngest son came home from school yesterday and said,

"Robbie called me 'Buttchews'."

I sort of laughed because - what the hell is a buttchew? (Of course, it could have been "Buttshoes". I didn't ask him to spell it.)

He looked sad and said, "I don't think it's very nice to laugh, Mommy. I wouldn't laugh if someone called you a bad name."

My eyes filled up with tears immediately. My son. He rocks with the guilt.

"I'm not laughing at you, sweetie," I said. "I just can't believe someone would use such a word. It's a ridiculous word, don't you think?"

He smiled a little and we discussed how Robbie has probably been called a buttchew and felt sad about it and wants everyone else to feel sad, too. My oldest added that we should just feel sorry for Robbie and ignore bad names from now on. Psychology for Kindergartners 101.

F'in Robbie....

What names did you throw about as a kid? I remember fellow classmates tossing one or two "stupidheads" my way. Personally, I liked the classics. Thanks to cable, I was the only elementary school student in Buffalo who regularly referred to other children as '*ssholes' and 'f*ckups'.

Charmed, I'm sure.

Needs Improvement

FCAT time is here, folks, so stock up on the antacids. Make sure you have plenty – because your third-grader is going to need something when those tummy aches kick in.

If you live in the Sunshine State, you’ve probably heard of the Florida Comprehensive Assessment Test, but what do you really know about it? Parents worry over the stress it induces in children. Teachers have had enough of overanxious administrators. Administrators complain the scores don't accurately reflect learning. Kids loathe tests in general. However, can anyone recall the real reasons this standardized test is hated and feared throughout the state?

First of all, FCAT isn’t all bad. You heard me.

This test with the awful name is a valuable tool to measure a student’s knowledge and ability. As one educator put it, “If we are going to have standards, then we should have some measure of whether or not our students are meeting the standards.” Makes sense, right? Another told me that FCAT is a way to evaluate a student’s skills at the time of the test.

Florida's standardized test is also a way to ensure certain subjects are taught and learned. Several teachers mentioned that without checks and balances, some teachers wouldn't keep to the curriculum. Others would buckle under pressure from parents to pass students who have not yet mastered such benchmarks.

However, certain improvements would create a more productive process. Here's how:

Just about every educator can talk about biases in standardized tests. Therefore, such a test should not be the only method used for high-stakes assessment. FCAT should be a tool, not the tool. If we combined FCAT with other forms of measurement, one teacher suggested portfolios like those used in higher education, we’d finally have a true understanding of our students and what they are learning.

Another error is using this test to grade schools and determine funding. Higher FCAT scores result in higher grades and more money for our schools. With so much at stake, how can we fault administrators for putting pressure on teachers and students? How can we blame teachers for wrapping curriculum around this one event? The system is set and everyone plays along because few people want to attend or teach in a D or F school. If we used many different measurements and applied the data differently, we’d truly know successful from struggling schools.

Another educator brought up this excellent point: “With so much emphasis placed upon the scores that students achieve on the FCAT, why are we holding students accountable for everything they need to know by the end of the year in February?” In other words, move the test back a few months for more instruction time. An April or May test would more accurately reflect the year of learning that has or has not taken place.

Also, FCAT does not even come close to addressing special needs students. These kids have average to above-average intelligence and do quite well in school. However, they do not test well and stand the chance of being held back. Their grades prove they have learned and yet they are failing at the same time. FCAT does not address individual learning styles. Rarely does one size fit all – why then force our kids to live by this ridiculous rule?

Teachers teach to the test. Period. This is the most common complaint and no way around it unless we use other measures when grading schools and determining where extra funds will go. Even textbooks refer to FCAT and test-taking strategies while true learning is abandoned because too much is at stake.

Do not misunderstand me – we should not cancel yearly FCAT exams or standardized tests in general. These tests should simply be combined with other assessments that prove quite valuable. To hold entire schools accountable for one test, taken in a few stress-filled days, with so many flaws attached, defies all reason and logic.

Our kids deserve better.

Grilled Cheese

Yesterday, Senators questioned Attorney General Alberto "Torture? Big Fan!" Gonzales. He continued to defend the President's policy of illegal eavesdropping. (For a recap, go here, along with a sad-but-probably-true conclusion.)

I understand when neocons protect their own - such dishonorable displays are expected. However, when they suggest that the President is above the law, Repubs betray their own values and sink deeper into the mire that will eventually suffocate all of us and no doubt embarrass our children.

This clip sums up the issue perfectly. Of course, first you must sit through a whack-job caller who needs to lay off caffeine and non-stop Fox News. Quote of the day: "The scandal is about whether or not we live under the rule of law and that is not a conservative or a liberal debate. That is an American value and for that reason there are numerous conservatives-and I don't mean wishy-washy conservatives - I mean hardcore doctrinaire conservatives from Grover Norquist and Bob Barr... Nobody is against eavesdropping on the terrorists."

Oh, and what this guy said. Specifically: "What Patrick Henry once called 'the lamp of experience' needs to be brought into the shadowy space in which we have all been living since Sept. 11. My tentative conclusion is that the light it sheds exposes the ghosts and goblins of our traumatized imaginations. It is completely understandable that those who lost loved ones on that date will carry emotional scars for the remainder of their lives. But it defies reason and experience to make Sept. 11 the defining influence on our foreign and domestic policy. History suggests that we have faced greater challenges and triumphed, and that overreaction is a greater danger than complacency."

Through all the spin cycles, I have yet to hear an answer to the most important question: Why was it necessary to avoid the FISA court? Go ahead and tell us all, Gonzo. The President's men aren't the only ones listening.

Adventures in Education

Three teachers and their boss crowd into a conference room to discuss a most important matter.

Administrator: Explain to me again why Alice cannot read.

Teacher #1: Severe dyslexia.

Administrator: Smart girl, though?

Teacher #2: Yes. She can pass any class just by listening to lectures and giving oral answers to tests.

Teacher #1: As long as we read the tests to her.

Teacher #3: That's the dilemma. How can we continue to pass a student who is illiterate?

(Dramatic pause.)

Teacher #1: That might present a problem, especially in Language Arts where she's expected to read and write.

Teacher #3: Yet, she has a disability.

Administrator: Okay, let's clear something up. Alice can't read or write, but that doesn't mean she's illiterate.

(Teachers look dazed.)

Administrator: After all, Abraham Lincoln was illiterate.

(Teachers look confused.)

Administrator: And he wrote the Declaration of Independence.

(Teachers' heads explode.)

The End.

What about Soylent Green?

They made The Shining into family fun, Sleepless in Seattle into a horror film, Back to the Future into something the moral majority would publicly protest then watch in private and enjoy.

Perhaps Repubs can hire these talented editors and one day we'll look back at clips from the Imperial Presidency and see that Bush's buddies weren't corrupt, civil liberties weren't eroded, and global warming really was just a rumor.

May I suggest an American Idol for the soundtrack? Cause one day that will be referred to as quality family entertainment.

And I'll be in the loony bin. I'm looking forward to the rest.

Would you have a cup of tea with these people?

I wrote earlier in the week about Rolling Stone's parody of Jesus and wondered what would happen if Kanye West pretended to be Muhammad instead.

Short answer: extremists would lose their g*ddamn minds. (Okay. That's redundant.)

Freaky fundies are, once again, giving Islam a bad name. I have no problem with Muslim's anger toward a perceived slight. However, causing danger that might hurt or kill innocent people is against the very religion they are claiming to revere.

Will someone besides Bill O'Reilly call them on it?

An Offer I Almost Couldn't Refuse

Recently, a group connected with Emily's List and MoveOn.org interviewed me for a job. They offered to pay for a week-long training seminar in Washington DC before shipping me out to work for different campaigns. Of course, I told them I have two little boys who need me right now and so I couldn't possibly go on a national tour. I also gave many reasons why I could still attend the all-expenses-paid training at least: to improve my teaching, help out the Jim Davis for Governor campaign, etc. Sadly, they needed me full-time or not at all.

While flattered to have made the cut, I'd be lying if I said this didn't hurt a little. I would love to live the campaign life. However, I love my children more. This led to an interesting conversation with my brother, who has been married only a year. After listening to the story, Michael sighed and said,

"Yeah, once you get married, you can't be running all over the country on your own."

I paused for a moment.

"Sure I could," I said. "It's being a devoted mommy that keeps me grounded. Otherwise, I'd take off and come home on weekends."

Long pause.

"I'm not comfortable with that at all," Michael said. "The elections aren't until November. Chelsie and I couldn't take being apart that long."

"Give it ten years," I said.

I asked my husband what he'd do if I was offered such a job sans-children. He said he'd pack my bags.

Are we cold and callous? I don't think so. We love each other very much and ground work has been laid to support time apart in pursuit of individual dreams. I'm secure and so is he. Besides, there's only one thing I can't do as a married woman - everything else is up for grabs.

It's nice to know I have options. Maybe in about twelve years, when my boys head off to college, I just might head off myself.

And my bags will already be packed for me.

Does He Mean Me?

At the end of each month, my children come home with all their important papers from the previous three or four weeks. Yesterday, as I went through January's work, this one stood out:




"I have a dream...that people wil be nicer"

A Sorry State

This year's State of the Union Address was a snooze-fest with plenty of promises and posturing. I didn't buy Dubya's concern or sincerity for a single second. Once or twice I laughed out loud.

In other words, it was the same old crap from an administration far removed from the concerns of regular Americans.

Yesterday, I listened to Morning Edition on NPR. (My boys are a bit young for Howard Stern.) They aired a segment about folks from New Orleans who are living in a FEMA motorhome while trying to put their wind-and-rain soaked lives back together again. These people were surprised that Dubya's speech didn't spend more than a nano-second on Hurricane Katrina's devastation, his inadequate response, and future plans for rebuilding the region.

One such resident was Holly Hubble, a registered Republican. Holly had never been one to believe the government should involve itself in people's lives. Until now. She changed her tune after her house blew away and wants the federal government to makes things right again.

I gripped the wheel and talked myself out of a meltdown.

Would Holly rant and rave against her president if she wasn't living like white trash in a trailer? No way in hell. She'd cluck her tongue and perhaps say a prayer or two for those unfortunate Negroes before lecturing liberals about how it's not the government's responsibility to come in and fix everything. No, no, no. The people need to get up, brush themselves off, and solve their own problems. With Jesus' help. They should have saved instead of spending all that money on shoes! They should rely on family! They should rely on someone other than the government! Can't you hear her southern accent? "God bless!"

When Republicans face real issues they become real people. A gay child can convince an otherwise hateful man to rethink constitutional discrimination. Cancer hits close to home and all of a sudden health care is a right, not a privilege, and let's get us some stem cells but quick! Holly didn't feel anyone else's pain. Only her own. I'm sure there's a whole town full of people who are angry that they've worked hard their whole lives, paid taxes, and prayed at church every Sunday. They're wondering, "Where's God and Dubya when I need them?" They feel no concern for anyone other than themselves and are pissed their government has forsaken them.

Welcome to our world, Holly.

God bless!

I Know Something You Don't Know

My children are into secrets.

They whisper and giggle and feel proud when sharing forbidden fruit. Of course, secrets don't stay "kept" for long. My boys soon sing like canaries and usually we all have a good laugh about it. Examples of recent truths uncovered:

- Every Friday morning is Donuts with Daddy. Who knew?
- When spending the night at my parents' house, dessert sometimes comes first.
- During well-checkup #6, my oldest told his pediatrician, "Mommy has tattoos."
- Dougie at school likes to pick his nose.

A classmate's mom sent home an invitation to her child's surprise party (at six years of age?) and I decided the party should remain a surprise for my children, too. That way everyone enjoys the event and no one remembers "those Robinson boys" in a negative way. As they get older, they might get better at keeping that which is private, private. Then again, maybe not. I am the worst - always have been. While growing up, my mom would say,

"Catherine, stop telling me everything."

In recent years, my husband has varied it a little.

"Jeez, Katie, there are some things I don't need to know."

My brother and sister constantly accuse me of oversharing. Feel their pain? I may blab about myself, but lips are sealed when someone else asks me not to tell. I've kept their secrets and yours, too. Even with a blog.

This particular site is like a confessional with postcards sent in anonymously. Read enough of them and it will creep you out. Too many people out there with heavy duty secrets. Sh*t that would keep me up at night.

I wonder if I have any secrets left to share. About myself and no one else. Hmmm, I don't think so. Chances are, if it's private and has anything to do with me, I've shared it with at least one other person. So it's not really a secret anymore...

Wait! There is one thing I've never told anyone. Not even you. It isn't juicy - my best friend and husband have first dibs on those. Just a bit embarrassing; promise not to hold it against me? Okay, here goes:

When a co-worker says something ridiculous, I glance to the side like a camera is there and make a face. Like Jim in The Office or Eddie Murphy in Coming to America. Except, obviously, there really was a camera on them.

And a camera is on me, too. In my mind's eye.

That's all I got. Wanna share something better than that? Go right ahead. I won't tell a soul.