Mr. Zartman Continued

After I wrote about Mr. Zartman and my binders earlier this month I had the urge to find him. Easy enough with Google - especially, because there are few Wendall Zartmans in Houston, TX. He is now teaching across the street from my old high school, Lamar. He spent 21 years at my high school before he went to St. John's where he is in his 10th year.

I emailed him wondering if he would remember me. He responded back quickly saying "of course I remember you!". He went on to tell me that he had just attended a lecture on how the adolescent brain works. The lecturer talked about how teachers do not realize how powerful their words are and that the impressions they make have a huge impact. A couple of days after he attended this lecture, he received my email. I guess his lecturer was right. Mr. Zartman did make an impact on my life (the fact that I am writing about him for the third time proves this point).

Today I received another email from him. He used my essay in class to motivate his students. I am truly touched. Funny how life works given the time. I started in his class being a terrible student (not listening, not doing the work, talking to friends and having a messy binder - I am sure), but I turned that around with a challenge and reward from my mother (see Mr. Zartman and the Gucci Purse). Now Mr. Zartman has used me to motivate his students. My mother will be proud. I wonder if there is another purse in it for me? Only joking.

I want Kelan and Lauren to have amazing teachers in their lives. In fact, Dan and I are already working to make sure this happens. We are actively supporting school board candidates (i.e. money and volunteer time). Additionally, we belong to the organization - Communities and Parents for Public Schools - Dan serves on the board as well. This is an organization whose mission is to ensure quality public schools for all Seattle children. It is so important because teachers have such an impact on our children's lives. They are not just there to teach the material - they are mentors, coaches and friends.

Thank you Mr. Zartman.

Is it Me?

I am the common denominator. But aren't we all in our own lives? I keep wondering if it is me that is doing something wrong or do people just not care anymore. I am constantly stunned with common courtesy/customer service I receive.

My doctor's office is no exception - let me be more specific - my doctor's office staff (my doctor is great) is no exception. I went yesterday to get a tetanus shot and blood drawn (no food or beverage beforehand - read: no caffeine in the morning after a long night with sick kids and husband out of town). Sounds simple. Clearly too hard for the staff. I had made my appointment for 10am. On purpose. Kelan is in school and Lauren is in good form. The day before I received a recorded reminder call about my 10:30am appointment. Not right. I have to call them back and confirm that I have a 10am appointment. They concur.

Friday morning, I arrive at my scheduled appointment. Blood is drawn quickly and am directed back to the reception area to wait for them to call me for my shot. It is 10:15am. It is 10:30am. It is 10:35am. I ask the receptionist about the delay. Meanwhile Lauren is now running around the reception area dropping food all over the floor. They tell me that I have a 10:30am appointment. Ugh. I try to explain - again. No use. It is 10:45am. I am paying for downtown parking. Can they validate ($2 off parking)? No. Validation is only for doctor's appointments, not lab work. What seems to be the hold up? I ask again. There is another man there who is having the exact same problem I am. He's been here 5 minutes longer that me. It is 10:50am. Lauren has pooped but I am concerned that I will miss my call if I go and change her diaper. I ask again if they can validate my parking since my appointment is way delayed. They say they are out of validation stickers, but the next time I'm here they will pay for the whole parking (like they are going to remember this months from now). I am staring at the sign that reads, if you have been waiting longer than 15 minutes for your appointment please notify the receptionist. And what will she do? I have had it. I have low blood sugar level (no food) and a caffeine headache (no coffee). Not to mention that I have to go and pick up Kelan at school.

It is 11am. I open the door that leads back to the exam rooms and nurses station and let Lauren run free. Seriously. I start chasing her down the hall and everyone is looking at me. I run into my doctor's nurse. I ask what seems to be the hold up with my shot appointment. She looks at me like I am a stranger - lovely (I do learn that I was not on her schedule for my shot, but another nurse). She asks who my doctor is. Are you kidding me (I saw her 2-3 weeks ago)? I'm done. I pick Lauren up, announce that this is ridiculous and I am out of here. As I walk by the reception desk I tell them to let whoever know, I have left.

My doctor is great, so I will have to explain what happened. Thank goodness I did not yell and scream at anyone, but still I am not proud. Although I do believe I was justified in leaving. God help me if I get a serious cut in the near future.

Is it me?

Lauren's Sense of Style

It is happening. Lauren is starting to choose things to wear. It started with her selecting a pair of shoes (she has two pair: one is a practical - but cute - pair of Mary Jane Stride Rites and one is a fancy hot pink pair of Mary Janes with gold designs from my mother). Which pair do you think she gravitates towards?

Kelan never cared what I put on him (he only now seems to care about one particular fleece - but I believe he thinks it is too small, so he does not like it). Kelan is like his dad - could care less about what he wears as long as it is comfortable and practical (also sounds like Kelan and Lauren's Aunt Queta...).

This morning while I was getting the kids dressed, Lauren went to the toy box and grabbed her pink and orange tutu (made by her Aunt Caroline) and my Danskin Triathlon Finishers medal (now a dress up toy for the kids). She was insistent upon it. Additionally, she chose her shoes (yes, the hot pink ones) and her hat. Who am I to say no? Let me explain.

I remember (and my mother tells me about it all the time) that I wore a particular ensemble for weeks at a time (not every week mind you, but every day for weeks). It was a dark green Poe Elementary School t-shirt (it had our mascot on it, a raven - what else), a brown flowered circle skirt (i.e. full skirt), white knee high socks and a pair of black Chinese shoes (black canvas Mary Jane type shoes). And with me doing my own hair (my mother cannot do hair, much less, she hates to touch other people's hair), I was a sight to see I am sure. But I was happy and I am sure my mom did not care as long as I dressed myself (or I just wore her down so she stopped caring). My mother used to secretly wash the threadbare outfit (which it became) at night so I was at least wearing clean clothes.

So today it came as no surprise that Lauren was choosing an ensemble herself. Granted I do keep an array of clothing options that when put together are quite funny, but even I would not have thought to include a tutu and a medal.

I Can't Think

It happened again today. I could not think this afternoon. I went shopping at Fred Meyer (like a Target with food) and Ballard Market (grocery store) and all I came away with was some jeans for Lauren, 3 pumpkins, bananas and some Swiffer Wet Jet floor cleaning solution refill. Huh? Two stores and only a limited number of items purchased? I blame the children.

Both kids are at an age where you cannot do ANYTHING but focus on them - so unless you have a list at the store, you will not be able to make a decision - about anything. This afternoon was NO exception. I thought I would first try to get some jeans for Lauren (the hardest task because I have to try them on her). Since my attention was on Lauren, Kelan took off running through the aisles grabbing all the clothes off the racks within reach and dumping them on the floor. I go to grab him and Lauren takes off running (clearly excited in the new jeans). Both children are running through the tightly packed aisles (read: hard to see) screaming with utter delight. I am screaming (well, speaking loudly), but I am NOT delighted. I wrangle the kids, buckle Kelan in the front part of the cart and put Lauren in the basket. I throw the jeans in the cart (Lauren throws them on the floor), I try to put on one of Lauren's shoes (she throws the other one on the floor), I start pushing the cart, Lauren starts throwing the contents of my diaper bag on the floor. I need to get the hell out of Fred Meyer - I can't think.

This week I was responsible for snack at Kelan's school and for our evening parent meeting. When shopping for the food, I made the mistake of bringing Kelan, Lauren and Dan with me. I was so crazed that I bought too much food and now I have tons of leftover snacks.

I have mom friend who feels like I do (don't we all?). Her guilty pleasure is to go to Fred Meyer on Friday nights after the kids go to sleep. Most times she does not buy anything. She walks the store and processes things. What a wonderful treat.

Today is done - kids are asleep. I get a do over each day so I hope tomorrow I will be able to think. It would be nice, because I could not think of what to have for dinner tonight, so I didn't.

Mr. Zartman and My Binders

This is the second time in my adult life I have written about my high school freshman year World History teacher, Mr. Zartman (you can read my first Mr. Zartman essay on Pursestories.com). I guess our teachers really do have an impact on our the rest of our lives.

I was reminded of Mr. Zartman the other day, because I made another binder (this is a very systematized folder with many tabs) . This particular one is for Kelan's cooperative preschool. I serve as the class treasurer in addition to working in the classroom, thus the need to be coordinated. There is a lot of paper associated with Co Op (and actually life now that I think about it), and I can be a little obsessive about organization.

Plain and simple: Mr. Zartman taught me how to make an organized folder (including all the tabs for separate sections). He even graded us on it. I remember thinking back then, what on earth does a binder have to do with World History and who the hell cares what my personal folder looks like. Now I get it. He was helping us help ourselves to be organized so we could learn the material (and of course probably helping himself by eliminating the I can't find it excuse). Additionally, he cared about us being organized - and now I care, because it helps me so much with keeping my kids/life coordinated.

One of my most memorable post school binders was for my volunteer work with the YWCA Leaders in Progress program in 2000 (the name has changed since I volunteered, it is now: GirlsFirst). I committed to one year of service as mentor to two "teen girls who face economic and social barriers to success". In addition, I attended a once a month full day leadership workshop with all the other girls and mentors. I remember receiving so much information that I couldn't even absorb it all so I made a binder. I did not really think anything of it until I went to my first meeting with the other mentors, and they all gasped at my binder! This was a volunteer gig - we already had jobs with tons of work. Since then, my binder became a joke - in a good humored sort of way. Everyone liked the organization of it - but in no way would anyone make one on their own. In fact they all joked that I would probably make binders for the girls that I was mentoring. What a good idea. I did. Everyone in the program was in on the joke. Uh oh, Jeanne's going to make a binder... (I ended up serving on the committee that oversaw this program for several years after my year of mentoring - yep, I made more binders!).

Through my years of working in office jobs (Paineful Webber and the City of Seattle) I have made countless binders - its my organizational system.

Fast forward to my children and the beginning of cooperative preschool. I made a binder as the Parent Coordinator/Board Member for Kelan's first Co Op last year (which I dutifully passed on to the next person in my position). I now have made another one for this year.

I went to the parent meeting the other night - binder in hand - expecting a similar response as I had received at my mentor meeting with the YWCA. What a wonderful surprise - LOTS of binders (with tabs)! Which just translates to me: a lot of organized people. So not only do I enjoy everyone's company (and their children) - it is an incredibly well run (and organized) preschool.

I am not sure where Mr. Zartman is today - it has been about 23 years since I sat in his class. However, to this day, I credit him for my binder. Thank you, Mr. Zartman.

Kelan Has a Doll

I was dancing with my children today to Marlo Thomas' Free to Be You and Me album this morning when William Wants a Doll came on which sent me into tears. I am not sad by any means - just moved. Let me explain.

Lauren got a baby doll and stroller for her first birthday back in May. She wasn't old enough to really even know what it was, but as a young girl I LOVED my baby dolls and I wanted to share my experience with my daughter. I soon realized that I should have shared it with Kelan too, because the second Lauren received her baby doll, Kelan opened his arms wide and said, "My baby!" hugging the doll so gently. What a wonderful sight. Kelan is all boy (i.e. he's all about tackling his friends, into trucks and trains and is an all around rough and tumble kid) - yet there is a soft and gentle side to him as well, that comes to the surface when he is holding Lauren's baby up on his shoulder singing "Rock-a-bye-Baby".

Several weeks later I was telling a good friend of the family, Jan (a pseudo grandma), about Kelan and Lauren's baby and she immediately said, "that's what I'm going to get Kelan for his third birthday!". Being who I am, and growing up on Free to Be You and Me I was totally supportive of this gift. Our friend started her quest to find the perfect baby doll for Kelan - a boy doll.

At Kelan's birthday party, Jan gave Kelan his gift and he was truly overjoyed. He immediately took his baby into his arms and went off to a secluded bench - we were at a park - where he could have some privacy. What a special moment for Kelan (and for those of us lucky enough to witness it).

Sadly my father-in-law, after seeing the baby doll, announced that he got Kelan a boy's toy - a truck! Obviously he does not know about "William" and Free to Be You and Me. Additionally, he did not understand the company he was in (who were ALL supportive of the gift). I guess this goes back to his generation and the limits and stereotyping put on children. My younger sister Mary spoke up and rightly said, "both are good". Which is true - Kelan loves his truck AND his baby. In my opinion, this antiquated thought process on "gender" biased toys goes beyond toys. It's much more than that. I can't help but think that my father-in-law missed out on so much with his children (he has six) when they were young. I know my father did. But as I watch my husband being "Daddy" to our kids, I know things have changed.

Dan is an amazing father who is with me during the good times and is down in the trenches with me during the other times. He has been known to change diapers AND get me something to drink while I was nursing at 3am. He makes up songs to sing to the kids while they dance. Bath time is his time with them (well, with two kids now, it's started to become our time). On the weekends he gets up and plays with the kids while I get a little extra sleep. He reads story after story to two bright eyed kids who just want one more.

I remember when Dan and I would both read books to Kelan before bed (before Lauren was born). Every time I read the ending of Guess How Much I Love You, Dan cried. True. The book described what he was feeling as a father: "I love you to the moon and back".

Dan is experiencing what is IS to be a father. He is taking it ALL in - the good, the bad and the ugly. I think he understands what mothers have known for some time, it's not about us anymore - it's about the kids. This is life - our future. I believe a lot of our generation's fathers did not quite get this idea. I think this is why my father failed at being a dad. It seemed that he believed it was still about him. He never had a chance to see what it meant to be Daddy.

So when I see Kelan with his doll holding him sweetly, I smile. Kelan will be an amazing father if he chooses to have children. He will be kind and understanding. He will co-parent with his partner. He will love his kids so much, and will know it's about them. After all, he will have learned from the best.

We Came Back

We just got back from our last vacation for this summer. We went to Whistler, BC and it was pure heaven! I almost thought we would not make it, because Kelan was just getting over his month long stomach illness (which was never fully diagnosed). Kelan had not thrown up in 2 days and his diarrhea seemed to subside so we decided to go for it and embark on the 5-6 hour drive to Canada.

I had the brilliant idea of leaving after dinner so that the kids would sleep during the car ride. This idea is good in theory, but in practice it was quite possibly the worst idea I have EVER had. Lauren and Kelan fell asleep right on schedule, but after an hour they both woke up with no signs of going back to sleep. In fact Lauren became hysterical because she was so tired and could not sleep in the car. So here we were on a two lane road headed up to Canada (hours still to go) in the dark, on a road that is under construction (they are doing MAJOR road work in preparation for the 2010 Winter Olympics) and not many places to stop. Kelan had given up by this point. He sat in his car seat with his tired glazed eyes focusing on nothing in particular while Lauren SCREAMED. In fact, she cried so hard that she threw up. I have heard of this happening but I have never witnessed it firsthand. It's not pretty. I eventually had to squeeze into the back seat between the car seats and sing/hum our nighttime lullaby while rubbing her face and arms and legs for about a half hour until she crashed. Dan managed to drive stoically through the chaos. He is my hero.

Set between snow capped mountains, Whistler is a ski resort village that caters to mountain bikers during the summer. The village and surrounding trails are perfectly groomed (you are definitely not roughing it) that all you have to do is take in the beauty around you. Dan had found a deal online at the Tantalus Resort which included: two rooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, dining area and living room (not to mention the balcony that overlooked the pool and mountains). After Vegas, we learned that we need the space with kids and the kitchen helps cut down on food costs.

We soon fell into a routine. Mornings were spent as a family, then we would would head back to the room for lunch. Dan would then leave for his mountain bike adventure while the rest of us would explore Whistler, go swimming in the pool or play on the jungle gym at the hotel.

I love seeing the kids outside and experiencing new things. It's very important to me and Dan and we will continue to take our kids outside. We walked along tree lined trails with slugs, snakes and chipmunks crossing our path - thankfully no black bears (although Dan did see one while biking one afternoon. Whistler is black bear country and everywhere you go there are signs about getting "Bear Smart" - i.e. what to do if your paths cross). One of my favorite walks was to the Lost Lake - which we did twice. It was stunning and the kids loved playing on the beach and in the water. There was also a family of ducks that would come close to the kids and dart away as soon as the kids tried to grab them.

One morning I made banana pancakes and Lauren decided she wanted to use a fork. With her daddy's help (and Kelan's) she ate her breakfast like a big kid. It was a sweet family morning that I remember.

We spent time swimming in the pool (and the Lost Lake) looking up at the mountains, walking through Whistler Village, climbing the jungle gyms, playing in the sand (and eating it...Lauren!), watching the mountain bikers come down the slopes, eating Indian food (our favorite dinner!), climbing rocks and just getting really dirty. It was wonderful.

On our last day it rained. Down poured is more like it. Dan would not be able to get one more ride in before we left (but he might not have been able to anyway because he crashed the day before and jammed his left wrist). Just as well - we were leaving and had learned we should drive in the day rather than the night.

The kids napped for the first hour of the ride back - which was what we expected. Now what to do to get home without a meltdown? We must make some stops along the way. We managed the perfect stop: a sweet little town - Horseshoe Bay - where we could eat and play in a park by the water's edge. We found a cafe and as Kelan entered he announced, "this is perfect!" - and it was. Afterwards we walked over to a park where we let the kids play and we could see the ferries come and go. The kids loved the park and did NOT want to leave (or maybe they just didn't want to get back on the road).

We managed to get everyone back into the car and headed out of Horseshoe Bay. Or so we thought. We kept going around in circles due to one way signs and lack of signs leading us to the highway. Every time we circled back around the park Kelan would announce, "we came back!" This sent me into hysterical crying fits of laughter every time he said it, but Dan only became more and more frustrated (he was driving). At last we made it out - whew! - and headed home without incident.

We will come back to Whistler - it was a great trip.

Epilogue

It's 5am the morning after our return. Kelan has wet (soaked) the bed that we are sleeping in so I'm up getting him changed and finding towels (freshly washed after all the vomit and diarrhea Kelan had before the trip) to line the bed. It's 6am and Lauren is screaming. Dan goes into her room to find her sitting in diarrhea (leaked out of her diaper all over her crib). He brings her downstairs just in time for her to throw up. It's the same "symptoms" we were dealing with before our trip, just a different kid. Welcome home. We came back.