A wonderful weekend

Sprung!

Yesterday my little chunky baby and I were able to enjoy the fabulous weather and explore the neighborhood. While I didn't have any blooming Daffodils like they do in Central Illinois, there were plenty of stalks poking their heads out of the ground. The grass is showing its first signs of true green. (I am also reminded of walking around Charleston last spring with Iain following me saying, "Well, actually, Nora, those are Jonquils not Daffodils.")

My neighborhood is really cool, by the way. Most of the houses are at least seventy years old and every one is different. While many have been restored, there are also a fair number that are faded beauties in need of serious TLC. Often I find these houses to be even more intriguing than the impeccably decorated homes. As I peek in the back yard of some giant craftsman home and see a wooden and brick pergola that has nearly crumbled down I wonder about the prosperity that the owners or former owners enjoyed, and then the hard times that fell on them to allow such decay to take over. Is there some kind of modern-day Miss Havisham living inside allowing the house to fall into ruin? I believe that people in my generation have left only a tenuous connection to the past. In my mind, looking at old houses is a way to reinforce that connection. It is a chance to think about the people who have come before us. I'm sure sixty years ago there were other new mothers pushing a buggy around the neighborhood enjoying the first taste of spring and admiring all the other houses on the block. When I think about that I feel part of something much bigger than myself.

I have slowed down on the picture taking because Joel and I are both back at work and my camera broke. Still, I didn't want to deprive the grandparents of their not-quite-daily dose of Dexter so here are some pictures. He is filling out and becoming the chubby cheeked baby I am used to seeing in my family. He's also walking and reading Tolstoy. Well, not really, but clearly he is very advanced. (tee hee).

Well! Our family had so many adventures yesterday as LaSirena was transformed into Lady Jameson and dyed the Chicago River green. I'll let her tell most of the story. I am just happy to report that after two weeks back at work, Dex doesn't seem to be too mad at me.

Beware the Ides of March...

Math problems

In honor of Pi Day I have a math story for you.

For a long time I was a very lazy student. At that same time I also spent a lot of time obsessing over the fact that I wasn't smart. These issues creeped up on me during my freshman year at St. Ignatius. I was put in an algebra class with a mediocre teacher, I rarely did my homework, spent class time day dreaming about boys, and failed second semester algebra. This stunned me. In my mind I was a good kid and used to being a good student (at least from my grammar school days). I had to go to summer school for math. This turn of events affected my ability to view a math problem objectively for the next several years. Despite eight previous years of math success, I became "bad at math". I let this belief define me until it seeped into my work in other subjects as well. It became a punchline in that always-self-depricating sense of humor of mine. ("I agree with Barbie, 'math is hard.'") In college I didn't trust myself to take a "real" math class so I took Problem Solving. (Which I called math for English majors). I spent six years knowing that I did not possess the ability to find the slope of a line. If there was a graph on a standardized test I just filled in the letter "B" and went on to the next problem. Ironically, I always thought that math should have been my best subject because I am such an organized (anal retentive?) person. What's not to like about a subject where things are often black and white? Where answers can be found with the right amount of hard work.
Then right out of college I got a job that paid very well as a tutor for district 201. Guess what area students struggled with most? I had to start teaching Algebra, Geometry, and even a bit of Trig. I realized that I could retain the knowledge that m = y2-y1 over x2-x1. I could solve quadratic equations and figure out the radius of a circle. Only then did years of self-doubt begin to make way for the realization that I could have been doing well in math all along, but I hadn't really worked at it. I took the easy way out and believed that I was "bad at math" instead of working harder to understand it. I love my career as an English teacher, but I sometimes wonder if I had worked a bit harder and trusted myself more, perhaps I could have not closed so many doors that are open to people who are "good at math".

St. Patrick's Day 2007

What a great day! The weather was perfect; It almost felt like May. As usual it was so generous of Aunt Dawn to let us invade her home and no one makes corn beef and cabbage quite like hers. Mostly I'm in it for the people watching. This year I saw about two minutes of the actual parade.

And of course, all the babies love Mary best.

Light the corners of my mind...

So, as you probably know, Woodland Mama gave us a blog assignment. (I suggested the idea... I thought it'd be fun and now I'm the last to do my homework. Bad teacher.) Since I am a visual learner I chose a memory that had accompanying photos.

When we were younger there were two ice cream parlors on our family's radar. There was Jeromes in Scottsdale shopping center. (I couldn't read yet though so I thought it was dromes) And there was Farrell's in Ford City. The confusion began, at least for me, because Liza called Farrell's "Drums". (They used to bang a loud drum when singing happy birthday and because that was so cool, a lot of people went there for their birthday. Liza did not like those drums though. She would sometimes moan "no drums" and cover her ears. We know she was little, but Jen and I would want to hide her in the closet because of our burning desire to get to go.)

In any case, Farrell's rocked my little world. I loved the "marble" tables and the pleather banquettes. I loved the old timey photos and fonts (I didn't know it was called a font then.). I loved the piles and piles of whipped cream and maraschino cherries in a way that only a little kid CAN love maraschino cherries. I loved the straw hats and striped shirts the employees wore. But most of all, I loved the candy store. I loved that candy store in a way that is sort of difficult to explain.
First of all, let me be clear in telling you that we almost never got anything from the candy store. I am not telling you this in an "I was so deprived" kind of way. Honestly, I don't think I could have handled it if my mom or dad said, "Go pick out one thing." My little brain would have surely short-circuited. I just wanted to look. The Farrell's candy store was a thing to behold. Hundreds of colorful, confectionery masterpieces were suspended together on racks and poles that blew my little five year old mind. I just wanted to sit and stare at it for hours.

We went to Farrell's on my birthday and Jen's birthday. I don't think we went for Liza's. And while, after twenty-five years or so the visits are lumped together in my mind, I vividly remember the sheer thrill that news of a visit to Farrell's brought me and the awe of the wall of lollipops.

In searching for photos for this post I read the rather interesting history of the Farrell's franchise. There is one open again in Santa Clarita, California. If I ever find myself there I would probably feel compelled to stop, but I also fear I would leave disappointed.

Friends

I've gotten a small amount of grief from Joel and my family when I talk about bringing Dexter to playgroup. Yes, they're small. (Especially Dex who is the youngest by three months.) The babies seem to enjoy each others company. They make a lot of noise and smile a lot when we're together, plus it provides new toys to drool on. It is also really nice to have the connection with other mothers. (Also, when it was so cold in January I was glad to have a nearby place to go when I needed to get out of the house.)

I've been back at work for two hours and no tears yet! It isn't so bad to be back. So far most of the students have been very glad to see me and that makes me feel good. (Just wait until they get their first assignments.) Could I BE anymore of a drama queen?

New Tricks...

Dexter learned how to roll over on purpose this weekend. Now it is old news to him. Tomorrow I head back to work. Sad. It will be pretty difficult to leave this face in the morning.