Above the Arctic Circle

Talked to my sister tonight. She is here in Kaktovik, AK, otherwise known as the end of the earth.

I was telling a neighbor about her adventures up there, about how she is working with the Inupiat/Eskimo/Inuit children (Not sure which word is correct...) and about how she is about to embark on a 2 week solo bike ride across the wild northern lands of Alaska to Fairbanks.

He looked at me with great puzzlement. "You two are related?" He asked. "Are you sure about that?" (Me, who thinks that a trip to Banana Republic without my credit card is roughing it.)

It's funny how two people can grow up with the same parents, in the same house, go to the same schools, have the same pets, be the same gender and practically the same age and turn out so fantastically different. (Although, I did listen with great interest to last weekend's "This American Life Switched At Birth" - I suppose anything is possible.)

I often blame the difference on my own two kids on gender. But I suspect that's just an excuse - an easy thing to pick out.

I'm scouring the map looking for actual roads between Kaktovik and Fairbanks. I don't see any roads - nothing that even resembles a road, really. How exactly, does one bike when there are no roads?

I stuck my fingers in my ears and started singing "la la la" when she was telling me about the cute polar bears. Polar Bears are cute on National Geographic videos. Not live and in person.


The kids, however, are enthralled. Can you imagine anything on earth cooler than an aunt with a life like that?

No child gets ahead, revisited

A teacher at daughter D's school wrote this article for the Progressive.

Teachers like her are what make our school so amazing.

Our standardized test scores are low, so we have a reputation for being a "bad" or "failing" school. The fact that 30% of our school speaks English as a second language skews our test scores low. If I'd taken my 3rd grade language standardized tests in French, I would have gotten a low score.

The test scores are published in the paper each spring. And each spring, I'm amazed by how many parents make school decisions based on the test scores. Of the latest scores that were published, Guess what? Ours were low.

But if you delve into the raw data, you realize that within this particular group of test-takers - a grand total of 8 students - yes EIGHT - were considered "not economically disadvantaged." All it takes is for one of those students to have a bad day and the percentages of "advanced students" go way down.

It's a vicious circle. You need to get the test scores up to get/keep funding and to attract parents to your school. But the minute they start teaching for the test, the teachers become less effective.

I'm not against measuring progress and testing for knowledge. But using the same test at both a school with 100% english-speaking, above-poverty-line students at a school like ours....that doesn't really tell you much. It punishes the schools that are already dealing with huge problems (poverty, immigrants, etc.)

There's got to be a better way.

McCain seems to think that school choice is the answer:
http://www.johnmccain.com/Informing/Issues/19ce50b5-daa8-4795-b92d-92bd0d985bca.htm

For parents like us (over-educated, with easy access to transportation and flexible schedules), school choice is an attractive option. But really, will it solve anything? Our poor schools will just become more poor. Poverty doesn't go away just because you can't see it. I'm not 100% against the concept of school choice. I just haven't seen an option that wouldn't result in a huge segregation between the "haves" and the "have nots." And McCain almost seems to blame the school for the problem. I don't like that. In our case, at least, the school is doing everything it can with a group of fantastic teachers.

Obama seems, to me, to be hitting on the larger issue:
http://www.barackobama.com/issues/education/

We need to get to these kids BEFORE they hit elementary school. And expand before/after school care for those in need. That's the only way we are going to get those test scores up, in my humble opinion. I also like what he says about NCLB - about supporting the schools that need help - not punishing them.

It's August. My first of way-too-many school-related meetings is tomorrow. Let the crazy life of a reluctant PTA president at a "left behind" school begin...

I'm Mr. Heat Miser, I'm Mr. Hundred and One.

Finally, REAL summer has arrived in Wisconsin. Highs are up in the 80s (almost 90s!) and the humidity is sweltering. I love it. I should really be living in the tropics. Everyone else is complaining, but I'm secretly overjoyed.

The problem, however, is air conditioning. I hate air conditioning. Normally, I can keep it off - citing cost savings, energy conservation, etc. But when the high temp is 89 with 80% humidity, and the rest of the city has had their A/C on for weeks, I must compromise and allow my dear husband to turn it on.

So, I walk around the house with my winter fleece on. It's criminal.

And don't get me started on my office. I'm convinced that Mr. Snow Miser is in charge of the corporate thermostat. I leave the house with my parka in hand so I don't get stuck shivering through a meeting.

So far, the kids seem to be immune to any extreme temperature. They love to play outside when it is 20 degrees. They love to play outside when it is 90 degrees. I don't think I've ever heard them complain about the weather.

However, they have become experts at conniving to get decadent snacks at the extreme temperatures. Who can say "no" to a strawberry ice cream cone when it is sweltering? Who can refuse making a cup of hot cocoa topped with whip cream when it is frigid?

One City; Two Worlds

The day started at the neighborhood country club. We don't belong (Don't get me started on my opinion of country clubs....) but they allow all the kids in the neighborhood to swim on the swim team. This is very nice of them. We love the swim team. (Even though the meets start at 7:30 every Saturday morning. Yawn.)

I was a Timer for the swim meet in my favorite lane (Lane 6 - lane of the underdogs) and was able to chat in between races with the lawyers, doctors and their offspring.

It is a happy, shiny place. Everyone is white, rich (relatively), well dressed, clean and happy. (One is not allowed to frown whilst at the country club - I swear it is in their by-laws.)

The parking lot is full of Jaguars, BMWs, Mercedes, Volvos, Lexus....and just for kicks: one slightly scratched up Honda Minivan full of whatever trash my children dragged into it that morning.

When I'm at the country club, I feel like I'm:
a) staring in a Hallmark commercial
b) a Stepford wife
c) on Prozac or some other drug that makes everything sunny and bright and cheerful

That's not multiple choice. I feel all of those at once. It's actually not a bad feeling. For an hour or two, you believe that everyone has enough to eat and a place to live; and that the world is peaceful; and that global climate change has reversed itself. Life is grand. I like that.

We left the idyllic country club to go to a birthday party of one of D's friends from school for the afternoon. Not a neighborhood friend, but a friend who lives over by the school.

The party was at a roller skating rink across town, in one of the scariest parts of the city. The roller rink was run-down and pretty skeevy. (Are there any that aren't?) No one in our neighborhood would *ever* host a party there. trust me on that.

Observations:
1) I was the only adult there without a tattoo
2) Among the mothers I spoke with, I was the only one who is married.
3) I was the oldest person in the limbo contest (Hey - you can't go to a roller skating rink and sit out the limbo contest!) Scratch that, I was the oldest person at the rink, period.
4) I think it was perhaps the dirtiest place I've been all year.
5) At one point, I was seriously afraid part of the fake fabricated ceiling tile would fall on my head.
6) Didn't see any nice cars in the parking lot - but lots of cool bumper stickers and creative uses for duct tape.
7) I couldn't tell you the racial mix - it was so mixed, you didn't even notice one race over another.

Guess where my daughter and I had the most fun?

If you said with the happy shiny rich white people and the fancy pool....BZZZT.

If you said at the scary roller rink with the cheesy limbo contest....Ding, Ding, Ding. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

Sometimes I worry about our decision to send our daughter to a school of such poverty. But when I see her seamlessly weave in and out of different worlds - treating everyone the same whether they are the child of a doctor or of a tattoo artist, I'm not as worried.

But next time, damn it, I 'm going to WIN that limbo contest.

How NOT to train for a marathon

1. Pick a hot, humid day.
2. Run 16 miles.
3. Do not bring enough water.
4. When you get home, notice that your husband and kids are at the pool.
5. Decide to hop on your bike to go meet them up there.
6. Forget that you just ran 16 miles and are completely spent.
7. Forget to drink water or eat anything.
8. Ride to the pool.
9. Find your family...and....
10. Faint.
11. Come to, try to get up, and....
12. Faint again.

My dear, wonderful husband is trying everything in his power not to say "I told you so." See, he is a sensible, smart kind of human being. If he were to go out running for 3 hours, he would bring LOTS of water with him. He'd return from the run and immediately rehydrate, rest and eat. He tells me to do such things all the time. He says recovery is one of the most important aspects of training. (sensible & smart, I tell you.) And he used to ride his bike for 6 hours/day, so he knows of what he speaks.

Me, I'm intelligent, sure. But not the "sensible" kind of intelligence. I had to get married to experience that.

So, he's been forcing me to rest all day with lots of liquids. I'm fine now.

Lesson learned.

But, man. I made it through a full marathon (26.2 miles) last October in temps higher than these. How could a puny little 16 miler do me in like this?????

OK, maybe lesson hasn't completely yet been learned. But Husband D. is keeping a closer eye on me. That should count for something.

My New Yorker arrived today

and really, I don't get the big deal.

Yes, it's a bit of an insulting cover. But aren't they all?

Am I missing something?

The New Yorker is full of satirical cartoons every month. Both inside the magazine and on the cover. Most of them go right over my head. Now that we live in the Midwest, I am much too un-hip to get the inside jokes of the east coast set. Truly.

A friend argued that people will see the cover and think that Obama is a Muslim. I argued back, "There is not a single New Yorker subscriber who could possibly think that."

To me, they are doing what they always do: poking fun at the ignorant people who do NOT get the New Yorker. It's another big inside joke for those of us who do subscribe.

If you think about it, it's not really an effective way to boost their circulation, but it seems to be what they do.

I liken it to the Apple ads. The ones who made fun of people who own PCs. ("I'm a Mac" - hot stylish young guy...."I'm a PC" - stuffy suit-wearing nerdy guy.) Very funny commercials. But a good way to make people buy your product? By mocking them? I think not.

Can't stop watching Matt dance...

I've come (relatively) late to the internet sensation of that guy dancing all over the world. I got no less than a dozen emails from family and friends with the YouTube link, but I ignored them. I saw it mentioned on blog after blog, but I never clicked through. The Times even did a piece on it, but I skipped right over it.

Who has time to watch silly videos on YouTube, anyway?

I do, apparently.

Last night, after the kids went to bed and I was mindlessly trolling the internet, I saw the dancing thing mentioned on my favorite NPR game show host, Peter Sagal's, blog. Not only mentioned - he said he was *in* it.

That, I had to see.

I'd love to say I watched it once and then went back to reading OpEds about world peace and the middle east. But no. I watched it over. and over. and over. And then some more.