tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20655102105719343992024-03-13T08:20:29.851-07:00PolleywoodMarla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-16620869174791795492016-06-03T09:12:00.001-07:002016-06-04T13:06:08.751-07:00The Last Day Before The Last DayToday is the last day of school. Coincidently, my last blog post was on the first day of school. (Clearly my "new school year's resolution" to blog every month was not a roaring success.) <br />
<br />
This is Sarah's last day of fourth grade. It's been a great year with great friends, a great teacher, and a great many positive changes. There was much less of the Tweeny Edge than I feared. Sarah cheerfully learned to do long division, learned to play the flute, and learned how to do many other things that added to the growing list of things my child can do that I can't. <br />
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It's easy to celebrate the end of fourth grade -- next year is going to be much harder. Next year's last day will be THE last day of elementary school. Sarah's school is great -- a comfortable, friendly place with fantastic teachers, principal, and staff. I love walking through the halls and feeling the happy buzz of learning. The middle school she'll attend is great too but parents do not walk through the halls on a daily basis. The principal (who everyone raves about) reminds parents that they should figure who their child will walk to school with (AKA -- not you.)<br />
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This is all taking me back to the end of Sarah's preschool days -- the first of many school transitions -- when they told me, among so many other things, not to zip Sarah's coat for her so she would learn to do it herself in time for kindergarten. My friend Margie, mother of four, reminded me there would be no orderly pickup in elementary school. I would have to get used to finding my child in the sea of other kids, some of them as old as 11. I couldn't imagine my tiny child alone to fend for herself all day in the same school as those giant fifth graders.<br />
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Now, she is one of them. And the list of things she has to be able to do by herself is much longer and much more terrifying. For me. As with all of this, she is fine. She is ready. Now I have to get ready.<br />
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But first, we have the summer and all of next year before that big day when she'll head out and I'll stay home. May it go by slowly.<br />
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Happy summer, my big girl.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-56356716616279060302015-08-24T15:46:00.001-07:002015-08-24T15:46:43.622-07:00Go Fourth!Sarah started fourth grade today. It seems impossible to me that she is nine. The other day, Sarah enthusiastically tried on eye shadow for fun, had her nails done, then came home and played with dolls and her Easy Bake Oven. This age has a little of everything which I am enjoying almost 97% of the time. Here's a quick update:<br />
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--When I woke her up this morning she wanted to sleep for "five more minutes." This is a new development. Sarah has been an early riser for her entire life and now she's starting to want to sleep later in the morning. <br />
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--Luckily, she was excited to get up so she could don her new outfit from Justice. Going to stores and trying on clothes is also new. Although we don't buy her a ton of clothes, Sarah has spent approximately 278 hours this summer trying things on and looking at herself in the 3-way mirror. <br />
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--Sarah was excited to pack her own lunch. Until last night. Last night she said "You don't expect me to pack it every day, do you?!" This statement bore the Tweeny Edge that many of her statements have these days. The Tweeny Edge is also new in our house. Many of our conversations end with the word "Fine." Not like "Fine, thanks!" but "Fine!" Like "Fine, have it your way" which currently I still am about most things despite the Tweeny Edge.<br />
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--Her sporty-ness continues to mystify and amaze us. For example, she can climb to the top of our rope swing and ring the cowbell. None of the neighborhood boys (in whom she has a mild new interest) can do this which makes her really happy. It makes them really sad which also makes her pretty happy.<br />
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Afternoon Update -- Sarah came home from school and enthusiastically told me her teacher is "The best teacher ever." (No Tweeny Edge!) She has said on the first day of school every year but that doesn't mean it isn't true. <br />
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Have a great year, my big girl.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-66202143817476513412015-08-23T14:53:00.001-07:002015-08-23T14:53:35.555-07:00Trophy CaseOne of my main rules as a parent has been to try not to judge other parents. This parenting thing is not for the faint of heart and I am of the belief that most people are really doing their best and I should not judge another parent even if they are, for example, letting their toddler eat the foam off their double-shot latte while simultaneously complaining about the fact that her kid has trouble sleeping. (Clearly, that mom was very tired.) I'm now the proud owner of a 9 year old and the fact that she's doing fine is rather shocking given the many, many, many mistakes I make on a daily basis. She just ate Cheetos and gummy bears for lunch. Thanks for not judging.<br />
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So this brings me to the jillions of online blogs, articles and tweets that are super-judgey about those trophies little kids get for participating in sports. Yikes. Some of the posts I've read seem to imply that the kids won't learn to win and lose gracefully if they receive a trophy no matter what. OK, let's calm down people. Have you ever watched five year olds play soccer? The idea that one team will "win" over the other is laughable. If one of the kids makes contact with the ball with their feet, I assure you it is mostly by accident. The only real "winners" of the game are the parents who figure out how to get that soccer chair back in the bag, grab their kid and jump in the car before the line forms at the Steak and Shake. By the end of the soccer season, the kids have played soccer in mud, They have played soccer in the rain. They have played soccer in snowpants. And finally on the last day of the season, they have played soccer in the scorching heat. (Welcome to the midwest.) And maybe one kid has scored in each game, and that kid usually is the only one that ever scores. And that kid is generally not my kid and there's a decent chance it isn't your kid either. <br />
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When the kids get those trophies and are rewarded for working hard, they are genuinely thrilled. It is a simple pleasure. A trophy is shiny and sometimes has your name on it. A trophy looks awesome on your dresser until you move it to make room for a cool Lego you just made. I just don't think most kids are equating trophies with winning or being the best unless we tell them that's what the trophy means. But <i>doing</i> their best? That's actually really valuable. Maybe (gasp) more valuable in the long run than winning. <br />
<br />
Last year, Sarah played soccer with a great group of girls. It was a lucky mix. They had a lot of natural ability and they were scrappy. They liked each other and laughed. And (although we are not yet technically keeping score) they never, ever lost. The other teams worked extremely hard when they played our team. I daresay they worked even harder than our team did. Sometimes when you work really hard, you win. Sometime when you work really hard, you lose anyway. <br />
<br />
So, when my kid looks at her trophies she doesn't think she won. She doesn't think she lost. She thinks she tried really hard and she was a member of the team. She cheered for her team. She cheered for the other team. She stood there in that much-too-big goalie shirt and let that ball come right at her. She played in the rain. And she put that trophy on her dresser and we looked at it and said she did a great job.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-26564651955659601112011-06-08T13:35:00.000-07:002011-06-08T13:35:35.834-07:00The Last Straw(berry)OK - so this has not been the best few weeks for the Polley family. <br />
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We are in the process of saying goodbye to Eric's dad. He's lived a long, full life. We'd like it to be a little longer and he would too. We're going to miss him very, very much. His death is taking longer than he would like which is heartbreaking. In healthier times, he would usually be the last to leave a party. It seems his body is just used to those types of departures. <br />
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There have been all kinds of bittersweet (with a heavy emphasis on the sweet) ending and beginnings for Sarah. The end of preschool and the start of kindergarten in a few months is thrilling for her. Even the idea of choosing a snack to bring to day camp and packing it herself in her little lunch bag is very exciting. These changes are exciting for me too, but I am a little emotionally worn out from the happy-sad tears on top of everything else.<br />
<br />
Last night Eric was heading off to the hospital to be with his dad and I was attempting to put Sarah to bed. She was coughing like crazy and needed to have an extra dose of her asthma inhaler (Full disclosure, I suspect that first dose might have been from an empty inhaler. Oops.) By this morning, she was coughing non-stop and I needed to take her over to the doctor to get her on some better medicine. Obviously, it isn't the same thing but the constant cough was also a recent symptom of my father-in-law's so my nerves were a little jangled.<br />
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At this point I need to add this -- we are all actually surprisingly fine despite everything. <br />
<br />
But. When checking out at the Jewel after picking up the medicine, we opted for the self-checkout because Sarah loves pretending to be a cashier. (She asks if you want paper or plastic after every item which I think is quite thorough.) We got down to the last item -- a container of strawberries. I used the "look up item" button and there were no strawberries listed. I looked again and again until finally an actual cashier came over and said "just scan it!" I came as close to losing it with this woman as I ever have (other than when I was in labor.) I had to stand there and take deep breaths while swiping my debit card. Hey, that Lamaze was actually useful!<br />
<br />
So I think the end of this post is this: We are sad but basically fine and a little more crabby than usual. We're very grateful for our friends, family and our sense of humor.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-57776530861747086872011-05-09T17:43:00.000-07:002011-05-09T17:43:13.984-07:00It Didn't Exactly WorkI have to admit it. My goal of 31 blog posts in May may not be possible.<br />
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I <i>could</i> post every day but I feel like I'm taking the fun out of blogging. I couldn't think of a thing to write about today except possibly another post about our caterpillars (They're getting so big!)<br />
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This was supposed to be fun so I'm going to let it be fun again. See you in a day or so.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-51630604297327973052011-05-08T19:25:00.000-07:002011-05-09T08:39:09.133-07:00Mother's Day - Two StoriesI've been looking forward to blogging today. But this is the third try because somehow I can't seem to capture the essence of Mother's Day. I've decided to tell two stories that seem to capture it pretty well. <br />
<br />
Both of these stories took place at "our park" which is our nickname for the park in our neighborhood. It's a great park. The equipment is just OK, but Sarah always seems to make a friend there, and I do too.<br />
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-Story #1 - A family had brought some bubbles to the park and the dad was making big bubble storms for all the kids to run through. (Another perk of "our park" is that everyone in the neighborhood has an unwritten rule that everyone should share everything. Most people just leave their sand toys there all the time for everyone to use. The bubble storm was for everyone.) Another mom and I started chatting and, within about two minutes, we were in a deep conversation about what would be the ideal schedule for working vs. raising kids as we pondered the possibility of a life without mom guilt. We both shared that our husbands were probably better suited to being the "mostly stay-home" parent but that isn't how it worked out. <br />
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This woman was a total stranger, but also sort of not after a minute or two. One of the absolute best and unexpected joys of motherhood are these new instant friendships, and most especially the new instant friendships that have become lifelong friendships.<br />
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-Story #2 - There was a man at the park hitting golf balls. This is not a usual activity for our park because the park is rather small if it seems highly likely that you could bonk a small child on the head. The mom from Story #1 and I theorized that the man had been sent to the park with his kid and brought his golf stuff along thinking it would be boring at the park (which it sort of is but suck it up, dude.) This theory was confirmed by the bubble-dad who went over and asked after he had to stop blowing bubbles because he was getting lightheaded. <br />
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After a while, golf dad's kid got bored and started to run after the golf balls. Sarah joined right in and ran over to get a sand bucket to help gather up the balls. As the kids ran around with the bucket collecting the balls, I thought to myself "I hope this dad doesn't decide it would be a fun idea to try to chip the balls into the bucket while the kids are holding it" which is exactly what happened as I'm sure you predicted right along with me. <br />
<br />
So - I went over and got Sarah and said "Come on honey, this is not a good idea." I think she must have agreed because she followed me right away. At this point, golf dad walked over and wanted to demonstrate that the golf balls were made of plastic and would not hurt. He emphasized this point by throwing a golf ball at me and saying "See? No problem." In what felt like an out-of-body experience, I let him know that if he hit my daughter with a golf ball, we were actually going to have a very, very big problem. <br />
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Nobody messes with my child on Mother's Day. Or any other day for that matter. It wasn't until hours later did it occur to me that he had actually hit <u>me</u> with a golf ball but somehow that seemed OK in comparison to him hitting Sarah with a golf ball. <br />
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We had a great day, Sarah and I. Even thought I did think it would be nice to have a day to myself, I am very glad I got to spend the whole day with my wonderful daughter instead. <br />
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Happy Mother's Day.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-53160246280325462512011-05-07T18:29:00.000-07:002011-05-07T18:29:41.369-07:00How about taking a brisk walk?I have writer's block today. I tried to think of something to blog about and I have come up empty. I still want to achieve my goal of 31 blog posts for May so here I go anyway.<br />
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I'm thinking about the many conversations I've had with students about their writing. I feel somewhat guilty that, just like lots of them, I am unwilling to really do anything to break out of this block. I'm don't want to make a list, look through other things I've written, or take a brisk walk. (Actually, I would love to take a brisk walk but I'm home alone with Sarah who is upstairs asleep so this isn't really an option according to DCFS.)<br />
<br />
Sorry former (and current) students -- those suggestions are rather annoying after all. <br />
<br />
But I suspect one of the reasons I can't think of anything to write about has something to do with this -- everything is just fine. I'm glad for that. It's boring, but I'll take it.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-71640784660289189692011-05-06T12:50:00.000-07:002011-05-06T12:50:39.435-07:00They're Here!I bought a butterfly garden a few weeks ago. It is a glorified mesh laundry hamper with a handle so you can hang it up or carry it someplace to release the butterflies. I suppose you could also walk around the mall with your butterflies but I'm guessing they would not like it much. <br />
<br />
The best part of the butterfly garden is the coupon which allows you to send away for live caterpillars. The caterpillars arrive in the mail with instructions that tell you, in a variety of different ways, "Don't worry, they're probably not dead." <br />
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Our caterpillars arrived today during one of the two sunny hours of the day. Yay!! This was without a doubt the most fun thing to arrive in our mailbox ever. And boy, those caterpillars sure did look like they were dead. Now, a few hours later, 4 of the 5 are perking up and crawling around the little jar. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5GpA8ZYEe01wEJEMgi1Ie8Zgw9k0a4e70HEVd2qZYBcyRJiiFmqIhomlON4RmTJIBp0vvt_ptZJKyAhZY28sCEbrSkCN7_KUAs_dkpxPUNXkPfdGRomQMjjXsczl1saRucAWXm7Rlx2M/s1600/P1030739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5GpA8ZYEe01wEJEMgi1Ie8Zgw9k0a4e70HEVd2qZYBcyRJiiFmqIhomlON4RmTJIBp0vvt_ptZJKyAhZY28sCEbrSkCN7_KUAs_dkpxPUNXkPfdGRomQMjjXsczl1saRucAWXm7Rlx2M/s320/P1030739.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Oh yeah - I forgot to mention I bought this for my child. She likes it too. Stay tuned for caterpillar updates...Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-31738724870214892192011-05-05T17:48:00.000-07:002011-05-05T17:48:17.075-07:00Mother's Day - Part II<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm really struggling with the Mother's Day ads this year and I'm sad that I still feel sad. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When she was alive my mother was not a fan of Mother's Day which she referred to as a Hallmark Holiday. She liked getting cards though, and she liked it when we all came over. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sarah does not remember her but she misses her anyway and sometimes mentions that she really wishes she could have a grandma. I remind her of all the people in her life who love her but I know this sounds insincere, even to a five year-old. I wish she could have a grandma too.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Yesterday I noticed that a lot of people on Facebook have changed their profile pictures to a picture of their moms. This is a nice idea I suppose but I'm not doing it because my mother wouldn't like it. She was very private. She was also not big on technology -- she didn't pump her own gas or even use the ATM very often.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So, the ads. The ads remind me that Mother's Day is a Hallmark Holiday after all and, although I believe she is in a better place, I know mom would rather be here this Mother's Day, and I miss her every day.</div><div><br />
</div>Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-34529543711886741922011-05-04T15:10:00.000-07:002011-05-04T15:10:52.677-07:00The Recipe our Whole Family AteThis is a secret about the Polley family. OK - Maybe is isn't a secret but I tried to make it seem more mysterious or something. Here goes: The three people in our little family generally don't eat the same things for dinner. It has a lot to do with me trying to eat healthier foods and not eating much meat, Eric working strange hours and preferring a diet of pot pies, and Sarah being having a bit of a narrow palate. (I stole that narrow palate thing from another mom - don't you love it?! Sounds so much fancier than picky eater.)<br />
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Anyway, I made this recipe a few weeks ago and everyone liked it. I love making things in the crock pot because it gives me a feeling of accomplishment when I walk into the kitchen and something is cooking. I realize that posting a recipe makes this even more of a mom blog. Oh well. Here it is! <br />
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Peanut Butter Pork Tenderloin<br />
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1 1/2 - 2 pounds pork tenderloin or pork chops (you can also use boneless, skinless chicken breasts)<br />
1 onion, sliced in rings<br />
1/3 cup soy sauce (you could use the low sodium)<br />
1/4 cup brown sugar<br />
3 tbl. white whine vinegar<br />
3 tbl. water<br />
2 garlic cloves chopped<br />
1/2 cup smooth peanut butter (The original recipe calls for the natural kind but I used the cheap store brand. I think you could use soy nut butter if peanuts are an issue.)<br />
2 tbl chopped peanuts for garnish (I'm skipping these next time because the can of nuts was too tempting.)<br />
1 lime cut in wedges for garnish (kids love squeezing lime wedges)<br />
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How to make it:<br />
Place the onion in the bottom of the crockpot. Put the pork or chicken on top. Add the brown sugar, soy sauce, vinegar, water, garlic and then put the peanut butter on top in dollops. Don't worry about stirring or anything (although you will feel nervous because it looks pretty awful at this point.) Cook it on low for 8 hours or high for 4 - 6 hours. An hour before you want to eat, open the crock pot, flip the meat over and stir everything around. <br />
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An hour later, you're done. Now I've also made it into sort of a "pulled pork" or "pulled chicken" by taking the meat out and shredding it with two forks and then sticking it back in the sauce for a few more minutes. I also plan to put in some shredded carrot next time because the Meal Makeover Moms always do that. Serve it with rice and squeeze some lime juice on top of each serving. Yummy!<br />
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And this is the 4th blog post in a row for May - Whoo-hoo!!Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-5896006861095530032011-05-03T18:46:00.000-07:002011-05-04T15:17:43.915-07:00Fine Thanks!I had an appointment today with my allergist. I go to her office monthly to get shots which are given by some nice chatty nurses but I only have to see the doctor about once a year. <br />
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I had a busy morning of teaching and talking to various students (including one who seemed genuinely excited that he still might be able to squeak by with a D-.) Even though the morning was fine, I had a headache when I headed over to my appointment. The nurse who takes my blood pressure asks the same screening questions every month, including one about whether or not I am in any pain. I was stupidly excited because I realized this month I could mention my headache and I also stupidly (and incorrectly) thought they would offer me some Tylenol or something. Apparently the nice chatty nurses just ask about your pain to make conversation.<br />
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On the way over to get my shots, I mentioned in an equally chatty fashion that I had an asthma attack while I was teaching and my students seemed quite relieved we could take a break from discussing The Aeneid so I could have a little shot from my inhaler. Funny! Or not. The nurse stopped walking and said "Oh my God! Are you OK?" Clearly I was OK since after the asthma thing I taught for 3 1/2 hours and then drove 45 miles.<br />
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After the remaining nurses took turns asking me if I was OK, they zipped me in to see the doctor who asked me if I was OK. (Apparently this question is a powerful diagnostic tool.) After the doctor actually examined me she determined that I was OK and she started asking me why I had the asthma attack. I answered that I must have been allergic to something. She smiled and said "Hmmmm!" which I took to mean that that was not the right answer. She asked a ton of other questions and I answered those wrong too. She seemed to get increasingly irritated when I kept mentioning my allergies despite the fact that she is, in fact, an allergist.<br />
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I tried changing the subject a few times and finally mentioned that Sarah was playing t-ball. Bingo!! And I was outta there with the usual collection of samples including (score!) a fancy new neti pot. (You have to have allergies to fully understand why a neti pot is exciting.)<br />
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I feel very fortunate that I don't get sick very much. I also feel fortunate (or something) that I can't spend very much time thinking about it if I do get sick. The allergist was annoyed that I didn't have better personal health insights but I actually felt fine and she eventually did begrudgingly admit that maybe just maybe it was some allergy thing after all.<br />
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The main lesson was, when they ask those screening questions, I should just keep my mouth shut or I'll have to come back next week for the shots they refused to give me this week and I'll have to pay another three bucks for parking.<br />
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I'm OK. You?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDsyi6_nPMcRJwfhA8tkAawKXQgsvPIV6maIcPFzyICzOp5PzmSZnl4msEZdT-Qi8RYWmP7IzQWllQx1eM__nepCVaeaOvMkeMU38MbW8DIY9C0N6vPSXtAcr1FCnEuwEERdWCmP_BmEY/s1600/are_you_ok.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDsyi6_nPMcRJwfhA8tkAawKXQgsvPIV6maIcPFzyICzOp5PzmSZnl4msEZdT-Qi8RYWmP7IzQWllQx1eM__nepCVaeaOvMkeMU38MbW8DIY9C0N6vPSXtAcr1FCnEuwEERdWCmP_BmEY/s320/are_you_ok.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-64396663538640334082011-05-01T20:10:00.000-07:002011-05-03T19:27:14.373-07:00Mother's Day - Part IIn an scientific survey I conducted while standing around the playground with a bunch of moms the other day, I was able to determine the following:<br />
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For Mother's Day, 9 out of 10 mothers would appreciate a day off from being a mother. <br />
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We -- I mean THEY mean no disrespect to our children who we love more than anything on this planet. They hold no grudges about the permanent damage they have endured from stepping on a Lego in bare feet. They can hardly think of a more enjoyable way to spend an hour than the hour they spent digging through the contents of the vacuum cleaner bag searching for a Polly Pocket shoe. They really don't mind cutting off crust from sandwiches or even picking through an order of rice from Chipotle with a tweezer to remove all the green stuff. It is their pleasure to do just one more load of laundry because the very important Star Wars t-shirt was found stuck under the hamper at 10:15 pm.<br />
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Having said that, they would accept a day off from those things and instead spend time getting dressed alone and drinking a whole cup of coffee while it is still hot and then maybe reading a book. <br />
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Realistically, they know this is not likely to happen, and even if it did, the person entrusted with the kids for the day would eventually bring them back totally exhausted and all of the benefits of the relaxing day off would fade away faster then you can say "Mommy, I left my favorite doll at the museum and I can't go to sleep without her and the museum is closed until Tuesday and daddy gave me three brownies and I feel like I might throw up."<br />
<br />
My research further indicated that the people who market Mother's Day gifts know they are not selling what mothers would really appreciate but they're hoping the moms will agree to settle. And the moms would not trade being a mom for anything else, and by the way, thanks for the flowers. They sure made our day.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-69660378265465906802011-05-01T10:20:00.000-07:002011-05-01T10:20:45.032-07:00Play Ball!<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">(Side Note - I am planning to blog every day in May.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sarah is playing t-ball this spring. I was never involved in organized sports (or any other sports for that matter) so signing her up for something like this took a while. Sarah ended up on a team with only two other kids she knows. Initially, this caused me great anxiety but she was totally fine with it so there you go.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">There are only two girls on the team. This seemed like a disadvantage but boy, it sure is not. The brave, patient, kind coaches have got to find it nearly impossible to tell the boys apart. As a result, when they need anybody to do anything, they just say "Hey Sarah, you want to practice batting?" "Sarah, do you want to practice throwing with, um, that kid?" "Nice hit, Sarah!" </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And she eats it up. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The other girl on the team is a born athlete. When the team was practicing throwing, the other kids would cower and duck when she fired the ball in their general direction. When playing first base, she made damn sure to tag each batter when the ball eventually made its way to her, despite the fact that there are no outs in t-ball. She slid into home plate when she was up to bat. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Girl Power!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKPe7AnCYdcNSepuvMPymZKB_zKR6Sb_tcTdqKMED4DpBsgAReGM1aoadMpY9K7qLuzkck4mX-q6uuGEIsr0fkAulpZI9nBfImX6gbBMgaVBrXfdstlh2xRBHpsSkQrJvtHUvw5iWrZ9z/s1600/baseball1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKPe7AnCYdcNSepuvMPymZKB_zKR6Sb_tcTdqKMED4DpBsgAReGM1aoadMpY9K7qLuzkck4mX-q6uuGEIsr0fkAulpZI9nBfImX6gbBMgaVBrXfdstlh2xRBHpsSkQrJvtHUvw5iWrZ9z/s320/baseball1.JPG" width="279" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The game itself was fun and the kids really seemed to try very hard. It is very cute to watch. The batting helmets look enormous on their heads. The coaches seem to be working very hard to teach the kids baseball skills and Sarah can already throw a ball much better that I ever have. The "high fives" and "good games" the teams passed to each other at the end of the morning are very sincere. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX7co4rhmtebrrCpnuD3mCA0WYvTgdwJ0idvw0WeGH7JMuQf5ViSHww0si229Y_m8PPf_toxF2pOkeEEMjHBDbwl_WSzL766G66rZKexrZaEYtEQlTTmt3je62s3YWUva2epO77Quim9Yv/s1600/baseball2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX7co4rhmtebrrCpnuD3mCA0WYvTgdwJ0idvw0WeGH7JMuQf5ViSHww0si229Y_m8PPf_toxF2pOkeEEMjHBDbwl_WSzL766G66rZKexrZaEYtEQlTTmt3je62s3YWUva2epO77Quim9Yv/s320/baseball2.JPG" width="315" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Stay tuned....</div>Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-54690536062154740482011-04-15T08:43:00.000-07:002011-04-15T08:43:01.396-07:00Sorry for the Late Post - We've Been Tied Up(Not literally.)<br />
<br />
Sarah is learning to tie her shoes. (This has nothing to do with my late blog post but I thought it made for a catchy title.) <br />
<br />
Tying her shoes makes Sarah very proud of herself. On a warm day a few days ago, she tied up her shoes and we headed to the park. The thing is, she was putting some loop in some wrong spot and her shoelaces were constantly in need of being retied and I was not allowed to help. At all. After an hour of this, I was practically begging "Just let me show you really quick where to put that loop. Please." <br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
But a few hours later she was ready for me to show her how to get those shoes to stay tied. I showed her and now she can get them to stay tied a little longer. It is very exciting.<br />
<br />
This little experience has me thinking about the many, many mistakes she will make in life and how she's not going to want my help. I'm just going to have to sit there and watch her trip and fall. Yipes.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-3656770300135635862011-03-09T13:47:00.000-08:002011-03-09T13:48:51.126-08:00Goody BegI'm torn on the whole goody bag thing. <br />
<br />
Before I weigh in on that, here's an important side note. In general, one of the unwritten rules among my mom friends is that we don't judge each other's parenting choices and occasional goofs. We understand that we're all just doing the best we can as we let our kids eat some pretzels that just fell on the ground. And those other so-called "perfect moms" are probably drinking martinis out of their travel mugs at the playground in the afternoons (not that we're judging them.)<br />
<br />
Planning a party is one of those choices. It's nice to know you won't be judged no matter how much of a raging disaster your child's party turns out to be, especially since the children always have a great time no matter what. Parents spend hours trying to plan the ideal party -- the kids would have fun if you took them to an abandoned warehouse and handed each of them a super ball (Damn - wish I thought of that idea a little sooner.) <br />
<br />
But back to the goody bags -- you know, those little bags of useless plastic crap and stale candy that get handed out at kids parties? Should you or shouldn't you? There doesn't seem to be any kind of choice that anyone can make about those that really feels right. Here are a few thoughts on this pressing issue:<br />
<br />
Pros:<br />
-The kids love them. You could literally pick up little pieces of trash from the ground and put them in a cute bag with a few Starbursts and the children would be totally thrilled. <br />
-Nothing says "Time to go home" quite like that goody bag. The kids might be having the time of their lives destroying your house, but once they see those little sacks of loot, they are outta there.<br />
-They are a simple pleasure of childhood. The days when they will not satisfied with a little bag of cheap trinkets are fast approaching, and when our kids are begging for cell phones in I'm guessing second grade, we'll be wishing for these days when they were perfectly happy with a spiderman ring and some pixie sticks. <br />
<br />
Con: <br />
-The contents of those bags end up everywhere. I feel I should include a note in the bag apologizing in advance to the parents who will find that half-eaten lollypop permanently fused to the floor mats of their car in a few months. <br />
-Those little imported plastic toys are probably made from some deadly secret combination of kerosene and lead.<br />
-Goody bags bring out the worst possible manners in children. The shyest kid in the world has no trouble whatsoever screaming "Where's my goody bag?!" And if there is no goody bag, the nasty looks those little cherubs toss over their shoulders on the way out are truly chilling.<br />
<br />
One year I attempted to make a little homemade item to hand out instead of a goody bag. As a result of this, my daughter reminded me 8 months in advance that she wanted a Halloween costume "from the store." <br />
<br />
So - there are no good choices. And there are no bad choices. Hope you enjoy that spiderman ring.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-25121277730504325002011-03-06T08:39:00.000-08:002011-03-06T19:59:44.731-08:00It's OfficialSarah is registered for kindergarten. I thought this day would be more, I don't know, more something. On some level, I appreciated the total lack of emotion exhibited by the school district employees. As you may recall if you are one of my three loyal blog followers, I like our preschool director very much because she loves the kids and tolerates the parents. But we have been looking forward to this day since our children were born and...<br />
<br />
<u>Here's What I Imagined Would Happen</u>: After a short wait, I would turn in my carefully photocopied paperwork. A district employee would gratefully take it from me and compliment my organizational skills. This person would say "You have raised a human being for five years! That is wonderful!" This person would validate my decision to send my child to our neighborhood school and not try for one of the magnet schools. She would ask to see a picture of my daughter and tell me how sweet she is. She would remind me that we're starting an amazing journey together and public school would be fantastic and would prepare my child for a bright future. This is the beauty of a free, public education. The whole process would take about 15 minutes, leaving ample time for my friend Beth and I to go out for coffee.<br />
<br />
<u>Here is What Actually Happened</u>: After a long, long, long wait, I turned in my carefully photocopied paperwork, including a registration form that looked similar to something you might have to complete when being released from prison. The person who took it checked it, looking exhausted. She eyed me suspiciously when I said "Thanks so much!" After that first line, we were given a bakery-style number and told to take a seat and fill out some more paperwork. One of my good friends had forgotten to bring her child's birth certificate and was given a piece of paper which implied, among other things, that she is a terrible mother. When they called one of the numbers, a district employee actually checked that number to make sure this person was not trying to sneak in ahead of the other moms. (She needn't have worried because at this point the other moms would have stoned any line jumpers to death like Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery") When my number was called, I raced to the first of the three "stations" which was manned by a person who everyone described as crabby. I was happy to find that she actually did appreciate it when I said "Thanks so much" and asked briefly about my child. I suspect she did this to make the line move even more slowly, but it was nice anyway. The lady in change of health forms must have been totally worn out because almost nobody had these forms ready yet and she had to explain the same things over and over and over. I asked it I should drop the forms off when I had them and she cheerfully handed me three envelopes and said "Or, you could MAIL them!" (Implying "If you are stupid enough to want to come back to this hellish district office, go ahead, but it seems to me you might want to cough up for a stamp and avoid this little nightmare.") The person working the last station had the best job, She was in charge of collecting the fees . According to my careful calculations, this was .03% of the amount we paid for preschool. Sweet!<br />
2 hours after we started, we were on our way!<br />
<br />
And the public school journey begins.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-83057018262949596302011-03-04T13:38:00.000-08:002011-03-04T13:38:57.322-08:00A Book Called: Things I Will Never Ever Do When I Have a ChildOK. See the title of my post today? If I wrote that book before Sarah was born it would be a big, thick book. A big thick book of lots and lots of things I would never ever do -- all of which I have done.<br />
<br />
Today at lunch I was chatting with another mom about the relatively poor food options available for our kids when they go to school next fall. We discussed that the things they are feeding the children really do not seem very nutritious. Would you like to know where we were having this conversation? McDonalds. And to make it even better, the kids were eating Happy Meals, and the Happy Meal toy was a Barbie. <br />
<br />
This was the lunch of my child who was exclusively breastfed for 8 months and then ate only organic baby food. My child who now likes to eat those fruit snacks that don't contain any fruit. My child who only eats white bread. <br />
<br />
Now when we shop, she hangs from the side of the shopping cart at Target. She uses the playground equipment in all the dangerous ways that used to horrify me back when I was pushing her on the baby swing which I had padded with a cloth diaper to make it more safe. <br />
<br />
Most moms I know have a long list of things they vowed they would never ever do and then they did. At least it gave us a good jumping off point. OK, so my daughter eats those crappy fruit snacks, but she also eats tofu. She leaps off the top of the slide, but also will gladly tell another child that throwing sand is not nice. She plays with Barbie but so far has not copied her outfits. <br />
<br />
My new list of things I would never, ever do as a parent is quite short. Pass the McNuggets.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-6173990490795218212011-03-03T20:20:00.000-08:002011-03-03T20:20:20.001-08:00Call Me CluelessThis was not a great day for me at work. That doesn't happen to me very often. This is sort of understandable because I'm physically at work for less than 4 hours at a time and that doesn't really leave a lot of chances for things to go too wrong. (The rest of the time I'm working I'm planning and grading at home or at one of the Starbucks on Central Street where the baristas let me sit there for 6 hours with my grande vanilla soy latte.)<br />
<br />
But today was a bad day at work and then got a little worse when I got home. <br />
<br />
On a cheerful note, both classes had mostly productive debates on the Odyssey and my students seemed quite proud that we got through this long text. But after class one of my students wanted to talk about how they were struggling in class and I tried to make helpful suggestions. <br />
<br />
That last part is the kind of thing that happens almost every day at work. I really like talking with students who are struggling.<br />
<br />
But then I got home and the struggling student had sent me a scathing e-mail that said, among many, many other things, "You don't know what you're talking about." <br />
<br />
You know what? That may be true. I'm pretty much winging it a lot of the time. I stood with a few moms yesterday and we discussed if we were supposed to check yes or no on some question on the District 65 registration form. (I checked yes. Seemed OK.) I cooked some chicken in the crockpot that had been in the freezer for a long time. Was I supposed to do that? (We didn't eat it but we would have if it would have turned out a little better. The sauce was bland.) Am I supposed to put my daughter's leotard in the dryer? Is the Disney Movie Club a ripoff? Do sprinkles expire? Is that new Yoplait Princess yogurt unhealthy? What the heck should I put in those goody bags?<br />
<br />
I don't know what I'm talking about but I am very willing to figure it out eventually. And if I make a few mistakes, I'm fine with that.<br />
<br />
But you know what, student? I actually did know what I was taking about today with you and I'm sorry you didn't like it. I'm sorry we didn't go someplace private to talk. I'm sorry you thought it was a good idea to send me a pretty rude e-mail when we have 9 more weeks together. And I'm really sorry that you will probably make that mistake a few more times in life before you figure out that it is not a good idea to insult someone who has the ability to give you a bad grade.<br />
<br />
Wait - maybe I do know what I'm talking about sometimes.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-7213390848497566162011-02-28T13:53:00.000-08:002011-02-28T13:53:41.094-08:00More Things I LikeMy blog seemed silly to me lately.<br />
<br />
I am extremely grateful for the general dullness of life at the moment (ever try to type while knocking wood? It isn't easy.) Things are fine and all is well but it doesn't seem to give me a whole lot to write about. <br />
<br />
But I am enjoying keeping this blog so I thought this Oprah-inspired post might get me moving again. <br />
<br />
Here are some things I like:<br />
-I-Pass - I can't even begin to tell you how many fistfulls of change I have unsuccessfully tossed at one of those toll baskets. The State of Illinois must have collected hundreds of dollars in loose coins from the ground during the years when I used to teach a night class and tried to fling my toll money in a state of total exhaustion. And if that little white I-Pass box is stealing my identity I'm just fine with that.<br />
-Magic Bullet - This poorly named little blender is one of the few infomercial items that I have really enjoyed. (You'll note I didn't say it's the only one I've purchased.) It's totally fun to make a little smoothie and then drink it right from the same cup. You can also do that with a regular blender but it would look like you've really sunk to a new low.<br />
-The Amazing Race - Watching people race around the world while performing little stunts (luge!) and tasks (shop for groceries in a remote local market without signs!) is a totally entertaining way to spend an hour. I will freely admit that Eric and I can never, ever, ever go on this show because he is way too slow and I am way too afraid of heights. Also, we enjoy being married and we would like to stay that way. But watching other people melt down is loads of fun. (Hey - they volunteered.)<br />
-Washable Glitter Glue - I'm happy my daughter enjoys art and I'm also happy that I don't have to cringe while she creates.<br />
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That's it for now. Muse, let's get moving.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-26285235216806410482011-02-18T12:38:00.000-08:002011-02-18T12:38:50.411-08:00Dr. Who?!Lots of people have asked Sarah what she wants for her birthday. Her answer? Barbie.<br />
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Now you may recall that Sarah actually received a Barbie for the holidays. Eric went and bought her a Barbie -- oops I mean Santa gave her Barbie. But Santa/Eric got the brunette Barbie thinking it was somehow less egregious than the classic blonde Barbie. Sarah opened the brunette Barbie and smiled weakly. We have actually practiced polite gift opening and she was polite but poor brunette Barbie was sent to live with the other misfit toys. <br />
<br />
That was not Barbie. <br />
<br />
Yesterday, one of Sarah's grandpas gave her "I Can Be a Pediatrician Barbie" and <u>she</u> was the real deal. Don't be fooled by her career...<br />
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</div><div><u>She is totally glamorous!</u> I hope our actual pediatrician doesn't start dressing in this type of outfit (although she could totally pull it off -- you go Dr. Robinson!) </div><div><br />
</div><div>Sarah seems quite unaware that Barbie looks a little trashy and is having fun pretending she is a doctor to her one little patient. Please join me in hoping the "you can be a doctor" message overrides the horror of those shoes.</div>Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-67678060892134586512011-02-12T14:36:00.000-08:002011-03-07T06:12:15.516-08:00Lunch of ChampionsOK - My last few posts have been intense. Even the people about whom they were written could probably use a break, so here goes something a little lighter.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about our school lunch program. Jamie Oliver had a great (trashy, mindless, cooking) TV program last summer where he went to the "fattest city in America" and tried to overhaul their school lunch program. People were resistant to his efforts to add healthy ingredients to the "otherwise filled with preservatives and other kinds of awful crap" lunches served to the kids. Once he got people to accept the fresh fruits and vegetables, the residents of the town started packing lunches for the kids which were -- wait for it -- filled with all kinds of awful crap. They tried to spin it with creative editing, but basically things did not end up changing that much. Poor Jamie.<br />
<br />
Eric and I watched the show with great interest and a naive sense of superiority. Surely <i><u>our</u></i> public schools here in Evanston will have great, healthy school lunches. <u><i>Our</i></u> child will happily eat these lunches. I will not have to think of something to pack every single day for the entire 13 years our daughter will be attending public school.<br />
<br />
Can you predict the next paragraph? You can?! <br />
<br />
<u><i>Our </i></u>school lunches are awful too! It is obvious they are trying to make things somewhat healthy. It is also obvious they know that steamed broccoli they offer on mac and cheese day will likely end up in the trash.<br />
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http://www.district65.net/departments/foodservices/Lunch/I00C828DD.0/Elementary%20&%20Rhodes%20Lunch%20Menu%2010-11.pdf<br />
<br />
I'm sad but it seems this problem is pretty darn big and not too easy to solve.<br />
<br />
And guess who's going to be packing lunches?Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-87810914104528381972011-02-11T09:17:00.000-08:002011-02-11T09:17:34.350-08:00DamnI just found out one of my former students has breast cancer. I'm beside myself. Although it seems ridiculous, those former advisees of mine have superstar status in my heart and I can't stand it when something rotten happens to one of them. <br />
<br />
When they were students, there were sometimes problems, even big problems. The thing is, those problems usually were pretty easy to solve. Those two roommates who hated each other? That awful breakup? Flunking a class? Coming out? Changing majors? They got through it. Even some tough trouble at home or something else pretty rough -- seems like time passed and everything was OK.<br />
<br />
Sometimes students would visit me when they were seniors and ask "Remember when I used to cry in your office all the time when I was a freshmen? Did that drive you nuts?" No, it didn't at all. I was sad you were sad but I knew it would pass and here you are. And now you are fabulous.<br />
<br />
So Cancer? Here's the deal. You are messing with one of those fabulous superstars and you had better get the hell out. Quick.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-87452790389855856682011-02-07T13:03:00.000-08:002011-03-04T17:34:23.849-08:00A Diva with a MessageI haven't been blogging much lately but that ends today. Today is National Black HIV/AIDS Awareness Day and it is a day to use social media to get a message across. The message is, Get Tested, Get Educated, Talk to Everyone, Protect Yourself, Repeat. <br />
<br />
If we think HIV/AIDS is over in the US, we're wrong. As an example, in the United States, African Americans comprise 46% of all HIV cases, they only comprise 12% of the total population. We have plenty of work to do here in the US and everyone can and should play a part.<br />
<br />
Now I'm going to turn it over to Rae Lewis-Thornton. She has been living with HIV for a long time and her message is simple, even if it isn't easy. She is a beautiful Diva, and a real hero of mine. She'll spend the day using social medical to get her message across. Check her out. She is awesome. http://www.raelewisthornton.com/Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-21312591285104748722011-02-01T19:49:00.000-08:002011-02-01T19:49:56.848-08:00Re: EntryReentry from any trip is a shock. We just spent 5 days in theme parks with pre-paid meals and princesses around every corner. (More about that in a day or two!) The trip was wonderfully surreal and we had gotten used to seeing Chip and Dale randomly throughout the day. <br />
<br />
Now we're back. We rode back from O'Hare with our insurance agent who thankfully did not try to sell us more life insurance. This shared ride was a coincidence -- we don't usually hang out with our insurance agent but did make us understand that running into Chip and Dale was over and we were back to reality.<br />
<br />
So it's a blizzard and it isn't pretend either. Eric is working at Disney on Ice and he's stranded downtown. Sarah and I have big plans tomorrow which involve eating popcorn (Jiffy Pop, baby!) and watching movies in our Snuggies. <br />
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Stay safe everyone.Marla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065510210571934399.post-6935606075064542772011-01-26T18:31:00.000-08:002011-01-26T18:31:23.459-08:00ThanksA note to Khalida, Sydney, Brandon, Jessica, Frank, Miranda, Ashley G., Carly, Max, Kyle, Kristin, Mike, Jodi, Morgan, Kayla, Kelly, Brandi, Jack, Sarah, Bernard, Ashley S., Chelsea, Abbi, Kevin, Chris, Tony, and Jenna:<br />
<br />
I am lucky. I get to go to work and do something I love. And I get to meet new groups of students on a regular basis. The downside? I get pretty attached to those students and when the class is over I have to say goodbye. I hate that. <br />
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J-Term '11 class? I am really going to miss every single one of you. I wish you all the best and I hope you keep talking about HIV and educating people. I know you all have the courage within you. I hope someday you all are lucky enough to have a job you truly enjoy and I wish you a life filled with fulfillment. Be safe, be well.<br />
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I hope our paths cross again very soon. Take care.<br />
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Love-<br />
MarlaMarla Polleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05862593956519260319noreply@blogger.com1