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Kindergarten Selection Part II: Ruling out the Favorites

Dec 5th, 2011 by

When it came time to visit and rank schools, Matt and I began with the magnets. There are tons of them, but only a few interested us. Those were/are:

  1. The Brown School: A district-wide alternative, unstructured school that serves children K-12. Entrance is by lottery, and word on the street is that two children are selected per zip code. You must list this school first to be considered.
  2. Audubon Traditional: I went here for grades 1-3. The traditional program serves up a back-to-basics curriculum with an emphasis on discipline, patriotism, and morality. Like The Brown School above, you must list it first to be considered, and entrance is determined by lottery.
  3. Coleridge Taylor Montessori: This is a magnet/neighborhood school hybrid. Located just west of downtown Louisville, Coleridge Taylor is one of two public Montessori schools in the JCPS system. The school enrolls neighborhood kids from an A-Cluster area and accepts applications from children in roughly half the district.
  4. Brandeis Elementary: a Math/Science, Technology Magnet (MST). Located in Louisville’s west end, Brandeis enrolls children from the entire district. Entrance is by scored application. You don’t have to list this school first to be accepted, but you are unlikely to get in if you don’t.

Now, before I toured any of these, I engaged in a little research project. First, I looked up test scores and online parent reviews. And then, in pure Jessica style, I have asked every adult I have encountered for the last six months or so where their children go and what they think about it. And I do mean everyone: I’ve had this chat with other parents at Kazoing party zone, preschool teachers at KIP and AJ, adults at a church picnic across the street, anyone I know who teaches, other parents at Simon’s swim and basketball classes, and random check-out clerks. It’s amazing how much you can learn by asking questions and then shutting up.

I ended up touring just two of these schools. Brown and Audubon, the two most popular on the entire list, got struck down before we started out of the gate. The reasons why told me a lot about my educational priorities and personal values. Details after the break.

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Posted in Elementary School, Jessica | 2 Comments »

Kindergarten Selection: Part I

Dec 3rd, 2011 by

It’s hard to believe, but next year Simon is off to kindergarten. Among many other things, that means that this year Matt and I have been going through the school selection process. It is a truly nerve-wracking experience that seems to bring out the absolute worst in many of us, me included. In the last month or so, I feel that my educational priorities and personal values have been put to the test. In certain respects, the results have surprised me. In others, I’m following long-established form.

I’m going to take a few posts to describe the schools, my feelings, and where we’ve ended up (Matt and I are on the same page here), but first I have to describe how the system here works and what makes the whole thing so fraught in the first place. If you live here, skip this. If you don’t, follow me along for a digression into public schools, Jefferson County style. It’s all after the break.

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Posted in Elementary School, Jessica, Little Boy | 1 Comment »

Emotional Land Mine

Dec 1st, 2011 by

Today Matt and I went to tour our local elementary school. Simon starts kindergarten next year, and we’ve toured three schools so far with another four or so to go. I’ll be writing about this at length, as the process here in Jefferson County is very complicated and going through it forces you to ask some hard questions that can be quite revealing. But that’s for another day: today I want to discuss a very small moment that packed an emotional whallop.

The story starts about five years ago. Well, I guess the story really starts in 1979, when I met a girl named Kathleen at Goldsmith Elementary School as a fourth grade student. It was my first year there, and we soon became friends. Kathleen and I remained good friends until I switched schools in seventh grade. She was Filipina, the daughter of a doctor (mother) and nurse (father) who had immigrated to the United States as adults. She was friendly, smart, and beautiful, with a wide smile and glossy hair I very much admired. Before I met her, I never knew anyone who grew snow peas in their garden, and I have fond memories of attending mass with her on Sundays (really!) after sleep-overs and teasing her about the fact that her nose was too small to keep her glasses up.

After high school, I lost touch with Kathleen. But shortly after moving back to Louisville, our paths nearly crossed again. Turns out, unsurprisingly, that the brilliant daughter of two medical professionals grew up to be a pediatrician. She worked out of the same office my brother Steve does. As the story goes, they were talking one day, Steve made some casual mention of me, and Kathleen looked at him (we look a lot alike), looked at the “Goldstein” embroidered on his coat, and connected the dots. Steve passed a greeting on to me, and both of us talked about looking each other up and getting together.

We never had the chance before tragedy struck. Kathleen collapsed from a heart attack while running the Derby Festival mini-marathon in 2006. She coded and was revived at least twice, possibly three times, at the side of the race and on the ambulance rushing her to the hospital. The doctors got her heart back up and running, but during one or more of her crashes her brain was deprived of oxygen, resulting in long-term physical and mental impairments.

For a while there was talk of rehabilitation that would at least allow her to be home with her two young children, the youngest of whom was a baby of 18 months named Linus. Last I heard, her rehabilitation has reached a plateau short of what would make that possible. In fact, and I sincerely hope this has changed, the most recent news was that her recovery was not sufficient to allow lengthy visits with her children. She lives in full-time care while her husband, who had been a stay-at-home dad, went back to work and became a single parent.

It’s a terrible tragedy for all.

So there I was today, chatting away with other parents and ducking into classrooms when I came across a second grade classroom. Looking up at a wall with name plaques on it, my eye stopped at one you don’t hear very much: Linus.

Now, Kathleen and her husband lived about a mile from me, maybe even less. As I ran the geography and the math through my head, I began to wonder if the boy in this class was her boy. So my eyes scanned the rows of desks until it came across a young boy in a red sweat-shirt. He had black, glossy hair, and when he turned around I took one look at his face and knew he had to be hers.

Then I gulped hard, trying not to cry. Then I asked the principal leading the tour if the boy in red was Linus. Once she confirmed it, the water-works really started and Dr. Bobo kindly directed me to the girls’ bathroom, where I could find a tissue and collect myself. When I re-emerged, I told the principal that I had been friends with his mother and assured her that I was not emotionally unstable.

If she knows the story, she’ll understand. If she doesn’t, I just blew Simon’s chances of getting into that school. Either way, I’ll be thinking about Kathleen and her lovely boy tonight.

Posted in Jessica | 1 Comment »

Un-amusing Family Amusements

Nov 30th, 2011 by

If you have ever been to Vegas, you will no doubt remember the sight of people sitting at slot machines, putting in their tokens and pulling the arm, or more likely pushing a button, over and over again. What’s most remarkable about many people sitting at casino slot machines is how little fun they appear to be having. So many look so serious or detached over it. From an outside perspective, the whole thing resembles nothing so much as a publicly sanctioned compulsion. Sometimes I think that after losing a fair bit to the slots, those sitting at them keep spending their money in a desperate attempt to break even and forget that the original goal was entertainment.

If you can picture this, you can get a pretty good insight into how the game Cars Monopoly has devolved at our house. Simon got the game for his birthday, and it was/is his favorite board game at present and was a brilliant choice for him. Unfortunately, we’ve reached the point where his “favorite” board game is bringing out some obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

The game is a simplified version of Monopoly with cars as properties and a track with a car that replaces the dice. It’s cute; the makers knew how to distill the game down to its essence and make it kid appealing, no doubt about it. However, Simon is leeching all the fun out of it. He spends most of his turns worrying about who will land on Nigel Gearsley or Lightning McQueen, the Park Place and Boardwalk of this iteration. He’s begun to memorize the number of spaces between spots on the board, so sometimes he will groan over a turn (his or mine) before a car is ever moved on the real board. And he’s so eager to get to his turn that he will often move my car for me so he can get down the business of obsessing over whether he’ll spin the number he needs to land on Nigel or Lightning.

I have explained and demonstrated to him that owning Nigel and Lightning do not assure victory. I’ve lost while owning that monopoly. He’s lost while owning that monopoly. We’ve both won without owning either property. And yet, no matter how many times I review this information, the next game will inevitably begin with “I sure hope I spin a X so I can buy Nigel Gearsley.” It’s exhausting.

Then there’s the money. On the one hand, I’m grateful to the game for teaching Simon how to add and subtract in his head. Whenever he passes go or collects rent, he tells me his new bank balance without counting the bills. Similarly, when he has to pay rent or buy a property, he can quickly tell me how much money is left in his coffers. He’s even learned the basic principle of savings:

“I only have five dollars. So I don’t want to land on Nigel Gearsley now, because then I’d have zero dollars. I really need you to land on some of my properties first. I think I should have 10 dollars before I buy Nigel. Maybe 15. 20 would be best.”

Isn’t that awesome? The first time I heard it, I was entranced. Now, however, I get a bank balance as it relates to Nigel or Lightning after every single turn. And that’s after he’s already spent time analyzing what he has to spin to land on Nigel or Lightning, what I have to spin to land on them, or what either one of us would have to spin to avoid Nigel or Lightning.

And then! Yes, an exclamation point already because it’s going to get worse, after a full trip around the board or more than two transactions, Simon stops play to count his money. So here I sit, trying to play a cute little kids’ game with my son, and here he sits amid a pile of money awash in math and stress. This isn’t fun!

In fact, it’s gotten so out of hand that I’ve taken to cheating when we play. I “forget” to pay myself when I pass go. (Lately he’s caught me and has begun to run the bank since “Mommy is silly and forgets.”) When he’s not looking, I put a few of my bills back in the bank. I have, heaven help me, shoved bills up my sleeve or in a pocket. And if my spinner lands on a line, I choose the number of places that will cost me the most money. Anything, anything, to end the game.

A week or so ago, I thought it was important to win with regularity to reinforce earlier lessons about sportsmanship. At this point, I don’t care about any of that. I’ve begun rationing the game. If that doesn’t help, we might “lose” it for a week or so. Really, I’ll do whatever it takes to break the current cycle and get us back to having fun with it again.

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy | 1 Comment »

Choice Quotes

Nov 28th, 2011 by

We’ve got another batch lined up that didn’t fit into specific stories:

On his birthday and turning five:

“I could just sit here and look at my presents all day…”

“I’ve waited all my life to be five.”

Sportsmanship upon winning Cars Monopoly:

“I”m the king! I’m the king!” [accompanied by dance moves]

Song lyrics commentary:

“I’m sending all my loving to Caroline and Ruby.”

On career plans:

“I was just joking about being a fire fighter. When I grow up, my job is going to be to help you and Daddy. Like with new sheets, when you need help putting them on. Cause if I don’t do it, who will?”

On the mystery of ontogeny:

“How did my body know to make two eyes and put them where the eyes go?”

And finally, a clever justification for ice cream:

“I need some ice cream. My tongue is getting kind of warm.”

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy, Simon says... | 1 Comment »

Drama Queen

Nov 24th, 2011 by

Not Simon, but rather his friend Caroline. Simon has a lot of adorable friends in his life, but I have to confess that little Caroline has a special place in my heart. In a way, it’s projected narcissism; she’s the child who is most like Simon in many ways. She’s sweet, she’s gentle, she’s bright, and she’s pretty easy going. She’s even skinny like Simon! Which is not to say that they are identical: Caroline is also a natural climber and dancer who loves to color and draw and is obsessed with Rapunzel and other princessy stuff.

When the two of them play, the adults can pretty much disappear. I have witnessed multi-hour play-dates in which I never once had to intervene to negotiate sharing or choosing activities. I even like her parents, two interesting, bright, and open people I now count as friends and feel lucky to have met. So Caroline: I dig her. We’ve established that.

Now let me tell you about the two cutest things I’ve ever seen her do. After complaining about other people’s kids and exposing my uncharitable reaction a few posts ago, it seems only right to swing in the other direction and prove that I don’t find all children besides my own to be wanting.

The first incident is hearsay, as Matt is the one who saw it and relayed the story to me. Simon and Caroline were playing Hansel and Gretel in our house, a game that mostly consisted of them chasing each other around the house and calling out “Hansel!” or “Gretel!” at intervals. After a time, the action moved to our basement. Whereupon Caroline laid down on our floor, closed her eyes, and played dead.

“Gretel!” Simon yelled to no avail. Matt, sensing that the game had shifted to a Sleeping Beauty meme, helped Simon along.

“I think she’s being Sleeping Beauty, Simon. Why don’t you give her a little kiss?”

Dutifully, Simon took Caroline’s hand in his and placed a delicate kiss on it. To which Caroline responded with eyes still closed:

“Nope. It has to be on the lips.”

I am pleased to report that Simon didn’t balk. He manned up, puckered up, and broke the spell that caused her to collapse on our floor.

In case that wasn’t cute enough, the drama really ramped up a few weeks later. This time we were gathered at Caroline’s house for dinner the night of my half marathon. The guys were out picking up our dinner while Carrie, the kids and I waited for them. As usual, I was mostly ignoring the kids in favor of chatting with Carrie. Then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I realized that there was some drama going down. Not drama of the “she hit me” or “he won’t share” variety, but real drama, Shakespearean to be precise.

It’s unfortunate that I’m never going to be able to do this justice. Picture the two kids standing face to face, just a few inches apart. Caroline reaches up and clasps Simon’s face in her hands. Simon mirrors her.

“Promise me you’ll never forget me,” she says earnestly.

“I’ll never forget you,” Simon responds.

“Promise me you’ll always love me,” she entreats.

“I’ll always love you,” he reassures.

“Can I have a lock of your hair?” she asks, stroking his hair.

“You can have a lock of my hair,” he offers, and leans closer to her.

She mimes clipping his hair and putting it in a locket.

“I’ll never forget you,” she promises.

“I’ll never forget you,” he promises back.

“I’ll love you forever,” she goes on.

“I’ll love you forever, too,” he replies.

And then, after this rather amazing display of romantic love, Caroline throws herself on the ground and calls out,

“I die!”

At which point Simon collapses next to her.

“I die, too.”

Over in the adults’ corner, Carrie is looking horrified, and I am losing it. Carrie is worried that her daughter is turning 15 overnight, and I’m absolutely amazed at Caroline’s direction and Simon’s gameness to go along.

The next day I double-checked the recent KIP school schedule and discovered that, lo and behold, a Shakespeare company came to the school earlier in the week and performed a preschool version of Romeo and Juliet, which obviously made its mark on the young Caroline, who in turn made quite an impression on me.

That girl, I tell you, is the second cutest kid on the planet.

Posted in Friends, Jessica, Little Boy | 3 Comments »

Budding Composer

Nov 22nd, 2011 by

No longer content to just strum his ukulele or bang on Mr. Butch’s drums, Simon has begun writing songs. We have no idea what they sound like, as he won’t play or sing them for us. But we do have a list, and if you are familiar with the Beatles albums A Hard Day’s Night or Help!, these will sound familiar. We’ve put our best guesses as the the, er, inspiration, and one awesome commentary in parentheses next to the song.

  • “We Should Have Known Better.” (“Not ‘I Should Have Known Better’, ‘We Should Have Known Better.’ It’s hard to play of course.”)
  • “She Wants to Get on the Train” (“Ticket to Ride”)
  • “She Wants You” (“She Loves You”)
  • “Mommy and Daddy, I Need You” (“Help!” or “I Need You”)

You know what they say about imitation, right?

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy, Simon says... | No Comments »

Kid Rock

Nov 18th, 2011 by

For this year’s KIP spring fundraiser, the school is having a big eighties-themed dinner and silent auction, and various KIP dads who play/have played in bands will be assembling into the KIP All-Dad Band to provide at least some of the night’s entertainment. The first meeting and mini-rehearsal was in our basement last night, and just as with band practices four and a half years ago, Simon complicates things.

It’s how he complicates them that has changed. In the winter and spring of 2007, I was packing up an infant and clearing out of the house for several hours because the noise would upset him, keep him from sleeping, and potentially hurt his ears. The issue this time around?

Simon would like to join the band, or at least practice with them. Mr. Butch (Gabrielle’s dad) graciously let Simon bang on his drums for a bit and even offered to leave behind drum sticks so Simon could play between practices. From about 6:30 last night, when we headed upstairs to let the guys talk and play, until 8:00, when Simon went to bed, I fielded the question “When can I play Mr. Butch’s drums again?” about a hundred times. Maybe more.

At about 7:30, having realized that he would not be replacing Mr. Butch on drums during practice, Simon developed another idea: He grabbed his ukelele and started to head downstairs. I couldn’t figure out a good way to incorporate a ukelele into REM’s oeuvre, so poor Simon had to play upstairs on the couch.

Butch offered that Gabrielle has her own drum set, guitar, and ukelele, so I’m wondering if for the next practice I shouldn’t arrange a concurrent KIP All-Kid Band practice. Not that they could play or anything, but I’m guessing much fun—and less frustration—would be had.

Posted in Jessica, KIP (Preschool), Little Boy | No Comments »

Compassion Fatigue

Nov 16th, 2011 by

Twice lately I’ve found myself in situations in which I think I should be able to muster up sympathy, only to find that that my reserves of compassion are spent. I’m not proud of it, but I’m having a hard time talking my way out of it. Maybe writing will help.

The first instance occurred during swim lessons last week. Simon was paired with a 5-year-old, and I had hoped that having a peer in his new class would be beneficial. Unfortunately, it worked out the opposite. Bethany* appeared to be a child with a short attention span on a good day, and according to her father, the day of the class had been a very bad one. She didn’t stay on the platform when she was supposed to, she didn’t wait her turn for exercises, and she resisted instruction mightily. More than once, when the teacher tried to redirect Bethany in the pool, Bethany threw a fit, thrashed in the water, and lashed out with hands and feet at the teacher.

I was horrified. Bethany’s father looked more exhausted than horrified. Once he pulled her out of the pool to talk to her, during which time Bethany took a swipe at him, too. That father seemed unsurprised by that. One other time, the father took Bethany to an area behind the pool deck for a private conversation, after which she returned to her earlier poor form. When the lesson was over, Bethany jumped back into the pool at least twice, a strict no-no as other classes are in session, while her father observed—seemingly impassively—from the sidelines.

I kind of think that my better self should recognize that this child has issues, and that this parent is outgunned by them. A kinder person might think “This could be me” and muster up some sympathy. In actual fact, I was steamed. Mad that the parent let the lesson continue after such a display, mad that my son’s lesson was continuously disrupted, and borderline contemptuous that a parent would allow a five-year-old to strike him in public. The minute the child hit or kicked anyone, she should have gone home.

But then I think, have I walked in his shoes? Do I have any idea what this person’s life is like? Shouldn’t I give this kid the benefit of the doubt a bit more before making up my mind or lodging a complaint? (I already alerted key personnel to be on deck the next time to assess and observe; the teacher and two life-guards also filed reports.)

I don’t know. Nor did I have an immediate answer yesterday, when Simon went to his basketball class. There’s a boy in that class, Emmett*, that had seemed lost in a class once before. Then I missed a game or two and quit paying close attention. Yesterday I was present and focused, and quickly realized that Emmett is out of his league. He couldn’t hold still or follow directions. He ran when he wasn’t supposed to, picked up and/or stepped on cones the kids were supposed to be dribbling around, cut in line, and held the ball when he was supposed to pass it.

Again, there was a flash of sympathy, a momentary realization that I am lucky not to have a child with developmental delays. Except… and “except” is the tip-off that I’m about to sound uncharitable, Emmett’s parents had their backs to the game the entire time. At least a quarter, and maybe a third, of class-time was consumed by the coach redirecting and/or correcting Emmett. All the while Mom and Dad chatted away with their buddies on the sidelines, letting Emmett eat up a disproportionate amount of time.

Then I think, well, Emmett wasn’t hurting anyone. And his poor parents are probably tired from dealing with a special-needs child all the time. Maybe basketball is no big deal and this an hour or so a week that they get a break from it all.

Like I said at the beginning, I don’t have clear answers as to what a reasonable or compassionate response to these kids is. But I might have some direction now. I’m thinking that Bethany is the bigger issue because a violent outburst in the pool could hurt Simon or their teacher, and that if disruptive behavior continues I should ask to be placed in a different group and/or that Bethany should be pulled from group lessons.

As for Emmett, well, little Emmett is probably doing the best he can and not hurting anyone. I think the folks that run the basketball class should put an additional coach on the floor to accommodate his needs and/or recruit a parent volunteer. Ideally, that parent might even be Emmett’s. But I’m going to work harder to summon up compassion where they are concerned at next week’s lesson.

Does that sound about right? I’m still not sure.

*names changed for privacy sake

Posted in Jessica, Little Boy | 2 Comments »

My First Half

Nov 14th, 2011 by

[Insert mental image here; digital rights of race photos cost $40, and I haven’t decided if I care enough yet. I looked FABULOUS in my purple chevron striped jersey and steel gray capris, I assure you, and ran with the grace and speed of a gazelle.]

Almost exactly eight months to the day after my first no boundaries workout, which included walking and running for a total of 12 minutes, I finished my first ever half marathon on Saturday the 12th. It was an absolute blast! The thing I didn’t understand during my 18 weeks of training is that a race is not just a work-out where you push yourself harder; it’s a workout where you celebrate as you go.

As I think back on this experience, I have a few takeaways:

  1. The taper is more nerve-wracking than the race. As mileage drops in the final two weeks pre-race to give your body a rest, your mind starts to worry that endurance is being lost and at the same time you begin to fidget from a surplus of unspent energy. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I heard the signal to start.
  2. You have to run your race, not anyone else’s. During those first few miles, when everyone was passing me, it was very tempting to speed up. But my pace is 11-minute miles for the first few miles, and I need that slow warm-up to feel good. I was totally vindicated by mile 8, when I sped up a full minute and began to pass folks left and right. In fact, my last two miles were my fastest.
  3. No matter how much you read, you still don’t know what the race will be like until you run it. When I crossed the finish line I had NO IDEA why someone wrapped me in what looked like a large sheet of aluminum foil. It was a space blanket designed to help me hold in heat once the race finished, and it felt great. I had just never heard of it.
  4. You need a posse, or at least a buddy. I was a bit distraught when I couldn’t nag my marathon running brother into entering this race, as I wanted an on-site coach to help me or at least a buddy to keep my company. Once I got to the race, I immediately ran into many friends from Fleet Feet, the store my training is based out of. I chatted with many before the race, ran miles 6-8 with friend Lauren, and had friend Gwen join me as an unofficial runner at mile 8 and push me to speed up for the final 5 miles. Gwen made the end a heck of a lot more fun for me, and I know she shaved a good 3-5 minutes off my time. I have made a lot of new friends in the last 8 months, and I value that as much as getting into shape.
  5. It’s all relative. My chip time 2:20:25 was a bit of a let-down, as I thought I had come in at more like 2:19 and really wanted to beat the 2:20 marker. But then I checked out my division results, and among women my age I placed dead center: 75 of 150 entrants. For a first timer, that seemed pretty cool. What strikes me as strange is that  my results would have put me in the top third of women aged 24-29. I guess those of us raging against middle age stick to our training schedule better than naturally fit twenty-somethings. That or many of the youngins arrive hung-over!

Three hours after my race finished, I headed off to a board meeting for the Sudanese Refugee Education Fund. That night, Matt, Simon and I had dinner with friends. And the next day, Simon had a play-date and I got to meet his best friend Baron’s new baby sister. I did all of this with minimally sore/stiff hips and everything else feeling normal, which pretty much seals what my next goal is. I’m being pushed by some to train for a full marathon, but I think I prefer a race that I enjoy start to finish and that leaves me feeling great.

So my next goal is another half in the spring. More of the same, but faster. And this Wednesday I look forward to re-joining my Fleet Feet friends for an off-season training run. Time to give all my brand new, expensive gear a work-out.

 

Posted in Jessica, No Boundaries | No Comments »

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