Why I Love Grading Papers

Okay, there are lots of reasons to not love grading papers (it's tedious, time-consuming, frustrating, etc.).

And a lot of the time, I'd rather be doing other stuff (going on a walk, doing yoga, playing "10 Days in Europe" with my kids).

But there are some things about grading I really do love (beyond the obvious: the excuse to drink fancy coffee, and seeing my students improve).

I like that when I have papers to grade over a weekend, I pack in a bunch of other things around it(this weekend: hiking Mount Ashland, and taking my boys fishing, and having the kids' friends over, and going to breakfast with my good man).

I structure my time, when, usually, I'd be all over the place. Going nowhere. Getting nothing done.

Also, I get to practice what I'm teaching. I get to use the techniques I'm talking about in my own writing. I have to ask myself, Is all of this relevant? Is the story as tight and clean as humanly possible? Are my sentence beginnings different?

And, while I am firing up my neurons, so are my kids. They're doing their homework and playing guitar and building amazing things with Legos. Even The Husband will at least scan Sports Illustrated.

And, the biggest plus: I don't have to cook! I can sit on the sofa or at the table or in bed, and read incredible essays about other people's fascinating lives.

50 papers about "The Most Significant Time of Your Life"?

I'd take that any day over having to fry up a bunch of chicken.

Christmas Is Over...And Just Beginning

Our Christmas was teeny. There was an advent calendar, some stockings, and the "tree" was a five-inch-tall manzanita twig stuck in a vase and draped with ribbons. I spent around $30 on each kid: an owl wallet stuffed with local coffee cards for Daney, a duffel bag with fishing lures in it for Dominic, and a fire fighter Lego bin with a Star Wars action figure for Rees.

My aunt Mary had sent the kids lovely things: books, music, Legoes, hiking boots.

After everything was all opened, we went on a walk and played games.

That was Tuesday. So Christmas is over.

But.

Tonight we'll be at my dad's near Sacramento. And the family party there, well, it's hard to describe.

All I can say is that I spent more on the feathers for it than on the gifts I bought for my babies.

Stay tuned.

And have yourself the most joyful holiday!

A Really Remarkable Read

Every so often, I find a book that's so interesting, so unique, so compelling, I can't put it down. I read when I'm supposed to be grading. Or writing. Or making dinner. And when I'm not reading it, I'm thinking about it.

Room is one of these books.

Emma Donoghue crafts a journey that five-year-old Jack narrates from a lifelong captivity in an 11-by-11-foot shed into the Outside.

After Jack's birthday in Room, Ma feels an urgent need to escape, with Jack as the pivotal piece of the Plan.

The book is divided into five parts (Jack's favorite number)--Presents, Unlying, Dying, After, Living--the essence of which is the adjustments moms make for their children, the subconscious selflessness beyond sacrifice physically, mentally, emotionally.

Ma is real. She tries to be strong, and she is, mostly. But the burden she carries of doing what's best for her son sometimes overcomes her.

Jack is intuitive, bright, and curious. Readers will love and admire his courage and clarity, his sensible names for common things: "persons," "littles," "switching off."

An unexpected vessel to Jack's healing in the Outside is Legos, with "so many tiny pieces all colors, it's like a soup," which he discovers and builds with Steppa, his step-grandpa.

Room is the place where certain moms live: the un-boundaries where the health, happiness, and safety of their children comes at a high but never counted cost. A place where these moms do the best they can with what they have, even if it's a Plant, a Lamp, and a Snake made of eggshells.

Halo Update

Halo

is unplugged.

Too much fighting during it.

Before it.

After it.

Fighting over the game.

The controllers.

The characters.

Fighting with Nerf.

Fighting with Legoes, even?

One week.

No Halo.

No fighting.

The August Question

It came today, that thought I always have around this time of year: "How much longer until the kids go back to school?"

Don't get me wrong.

It's been a great summer of swimming, visiting, reading and math. We've had good talks and good times together.

But there's this craving I get--and it usually comes sooner than now--for quiet. For the freedom to take a walk, hit the yoga mat, bake honey bread. For writing time.

The lavender is blooming. It will begin to dry out just as the Hibiscus pops. The last reminders that summer is short, that fall is coming.

In many ways, I want to tell autumn to wait. I have so much still to do with the kids. So many places to go, things to teach, stories to read.

But there's a pile of stuff on the front lawn that the kids are "saving" to sell at a garage sale in a couple weeks. Whittled sticks and sanded manzanita branches litter my doorstep.

Inside, there are Legos on the floor of every room. And today I confiscated the sixth pair of scissors from which GI Joe dangled on purple floss.

In five weeks, the Star Wars action figures and nail polish and cups will be exactly where they're supposed to be. And so will the kids and me, I guess.

Only Gas & Groceries? Day One

So the kids and I added a little twist to our trip from Ashland, Oregon, to Auburn, California. While Dave stays home raking in the overtime, we thought we'd try not to spend any extra money beyond gas and groceries. Could we make a 300 mile drive without spending a dime?

The way out of town was hardest. I knew I wouldn't have access to Noble Coffee for over a week, and I had to really restrain myself from grabbing a creamy caramel latte. So I conjured up my own concoction -- definitely not as yummy -- and we hit the road.

Our first stop two hours in was Redding's Turtle Bay Museum/Aquarium.We're members of the International Association of Science & Technology Centers, so admission was free. So was the Wild Animal Show.After watching monarchs hatch and painted ladies land in the Butterfly Garden, we had our packed picnic at the Paul Bunyan Park.

A few more miles down I-5, we stopped to sample some treats at the Olive PitRees' fave was the smokey garlic.

Before pulling into my dad's driveway, we'd piled ourselves silly with library books (I still have my card from when I was a little girl).

It was a night of laughing with Erika and Ryan, and chasing around the eight ducks that Mac is raising. And of course, there were Legos. Lots and lots of Legos.

Total Cost for Day One: $0.00!!!

Tourettes Meets Jacques Cousteau

Our "baby," almost nine, is a reincarnation of sorts of my brother, Steven, who's 26. They are so the same brain we call them both "Rees-ven." (This is them in Cabo last fall.)

One summer in Tahoe, the two came to dinner dressed head-to-toe in the same digs. They wore camouflaged bandannas, yellow polo shirts, khakis, huarache sandals, with some crazy rag tied around their wrists.

When I'm going under from Rees' getting into stuff, and breaking things, and being hungry, and asking questions (the height of which is August, I've realized), I call Steven, crying, to ask him how our mom made it.

Both of them are brilliantly inquisitive. Steven asked me recently if memory is proof of intelligence, and when I thought about that for a few months and gave him an answer, he asked me another question about art and religion. And the other day when I begged Rees to let me just drive and listen to the "Glee" soundtrack, he said, "Okay. Just one more thing. Where does wind come from?"

Both these boys have good intentions. They are sensitive, creative, funny, and they like skeletons, Legoes, and singing Sublime songs. They make a wicked pirate team.

At Rees' school conference last week, Steven was Number One on his "All About Me" family page. His teacher relayed that Rees has lots and lots of friends, and that he's a good friend who'll keep those people his whole life. Like Steven has.

But nothing proves Rees' likeness to Steven more than last night. I was griping about my flu into Dave's side at the kitchen table, and Rees walked by. "The female cries into the arm of the male," he narrated, without stopping.

Minus One Whole Day

Today I had the flu. Not The Flu (I had that one in the fall). But just enough tummy trauma to keep me in bed all day.

It was a bummer.

Because today was also my kids' first day of spring break.

From my bed, I could hear them giggling over puppet shows, trading Legoes, reading to each other.

I wanted in!

But it was a no-go. My legs and hips wouldn't cooperate. So the fun went on without me.

Hopefully, in a few years, I won't remember this day as lost. But the memory of Reesie jumping on me at 8 AM and shoving a Starbucks Frappachino to "make sure I was alive" is probably unforgettable.

That, and Dominic and Daney offering me a huge helping of hot-off-the stove ground Italian sausage. After I just, well, you know...

At Maximum Capacity, With Room For Some Good News

It's the end of the term, of winter term. There's a stack of 30 analysis papers in my living room. And a pile of 10 billion Legoes on the floor.

Conferences are coming up. For my students. For my kids. Grades are due. Bills are due.

I didn't even realize yesterday (the FOURTH) was March, and forgot to pay the piano teacher.

I left my grading sheet (!) at school.

I left my phone at my friend Wendi's house. So I missed my first ever call FROM AN AGENT!

But!

Things are really really good right now.

My marriage is strong, and will be even better when Dave gets off shift today.

My kids are healthy.

There's enough fruit to throw in the blender for a smoothie.

"Brookyn's Finest" opens tonight, and I'm a sucker for a good bad-cop movie.

We get to go to "Grease." For free.

The daffodils are right outside my door, if I'm in doubt that spring will ever come.

It's my friend Leslie's birthday and she's having a Circus Party.

Christy sold book rights to Russia!

AAAAAnnnnnddddd....

An agent I enormously admire has completely renewed my faith in YA writing. I absolutely LOVED my conversation with her yesterday, and am hoping whole-heartedly.

Hello...From Legoland!

We had so much fun in Legoland, California.



This sign made me giggle.

And this sign summed up everything.

Mairy Godmother

My mom knew what she was doing when she picked her younger sister, Mary, to be my godmother. Since the beginning, Mary and I hit it off. She had this chest in her room in San Francisco; it was filled with toys, and every time I visited her, I'd choose one.

Each Christmas Eve, when we were allowed to open one gift, I'd find the present with Mary's round writing. Before I could even read.

When I was seven, Mary and I took Muni to Macy's downtown. We rode the escalator to the second floor, where Mary bought me a brown paisley-printed skirt and a Betsy Clark watch. I wore the skirt and the watch down the escalators and out of the store, feeling excited and happy and special.

I stayed with Mary in her flat on Lawson Street, in her red-carpeted apartment on Dolores, and in her house in the Sunset.

Mary made peppermint cake and black-bottom cupcakes. She worked in a hospital and had a son, Greg, for whom she baked tiny treats to go inside his eight-inch Cookie Monster delivery van.

We would take walks, sometimes at Ocean Beach. We went to doll shows and listened to Neil Diamond's "Coming to America" over and over and over.

Today we sang "Sweet Caroline" together into ceramic salad tongs in my kitchen. Our birthdays are this month: I'll be 39, and she'll be 50-something.

It's been almost two generations of singing and laughing and crying, and an almost impossible amount of talking. We talk books, and men, kids and corn. We talk chocolate and coffee and sex. We try to figure out my mom, who's been gone twelve years now. We miss her.

When Dave and I moved to Oregon sixteen years ago, we thought it was accidental. It wasn't. Mary lived a couple of hours up I-5.

Mary is the grandma my babies don't have: she checks in with their math, sends them books, and reminds me to be patient.

This evening, Mary and I took the kids to Toys R Us.

When Rees strutted out with the Lego Battle of Endor tucked under his arm, I knew exactly what he was feeling.

Innovation

"Can you make 100 copies of this?" Dominic asked me. He thrust a paper into my hands on his way to school.

I scanned it. It was an invitation to a new monthly Lego club. At our house.

"Hold on!" I called, as he was halfway down the driveway. "What are you going to do with all these?"

When Dominic said he was planning on posting them around the middle school, I tweaked the plan. I told him I'd make 10 copies, and he could invite that many kids one time.

Ten kids turned into 22 today. The best friends weren't even invited to this one. This one was all about Lego fanatics. If you were a kid, and you spoke Lego, you were in. There were girls and boys, between two and twelve, from eight different schools. And they were all hunched over the World's Biggest Lego pile, constructing castles, inventing airplanes, building bridges.

It was magical.

The kids were teachers. Today was a welcome reminder to be accepting, to be encouraging, to be creative and cooperative, to just get together and have a great time.

Second Best

All the fun people are packing for L.A.

I'm not going, because it's my 20th high school reunion (shout out to all Falcons!).

But when Dave laid out his fire and contracting schedules the other day, I crammed the kids in the car and we headed for Sacramento.

First stop: the Lego exhibit at Turtle Bay aquarium and museum in Redding. I'll tell you, that Nathan Sawaya is a real artist of The Brick!

Since we were the only ones there, (everyone else must've been in the Sue dinosaur exhibit we'd seen in Portland), the guide gave us a personal tour. He showed us the optical illusions: an eye in the middle of some Lego people, and the word "Tomorrow" written sideways into a computer screen.

After that, we hit up the Lego-building classroom. For two hours. Dominic left behind his signature pirate skeleton skull, Daney made a chair, Rees had a space craft going on, and I put together a frog face.

Then we checked out the butterfly room. Instead of celebrating the thousands of winged creatures around us, my two littles were inconsolable over one dying moth.

So we drove to Auburn, where we checked out the limit--50 library books (hee hee, I've kept my card all these years!) And after belting out a few rounds of Rock Band with my brother, Mac, my sister, Amy, and her daughter, we hit the hay, Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" playing for eight straight hours through my dreams...

All this, not quite as fun as mixing with the YA heroes in L.A. But way better than scrambling up eggs for three starving kids all day. For sure.

At the Mercy of the Lego Police

What happens when you're asked to pick up your five billion Legoes ten times a day for eleven years straight?

Yep, unfortunately the Lego Police (a.k.a. "Daddy") takes away the whole thing and leaves you with 112th of what you had.

Oopsie.