(This rant is not about teaching or poverty or anything serious like that. But it is still something I consider important.)
At this point in my life, I really don't think I ask for that much. I have a wonderful husband and little girl. Another baby on the way. Life is good. All I really require these days is a good book, lots of sleep, and being around as many nice people as possible.
But when I take Emiko out to eat, I do expect that the bathroom will have a changing table. I don't think that's a huge demand. Especially when the restaurant takes the time to make a child's menu and has high chairs. Adding a changing table is easy and goes right along with those other things.
So why is it so hard to find places that offer them??? I assume that places that don't offer changing tables must not want my business. But I wish they would just put a notice on their front door, so I won't waste my time.
Yesterday Emiko and I had lunch at Baha Fresh. I was craving cheese dip, and there are not that many places in Chicago that have cheese dip. I don't know why cheese dip is a Southern thing, but it seems as though it is.
Baha Fresh has good cheese dip. I'm not a huge fan of their food otherwise, but the cheese dip is enough for me. Baha Fresh has a kids meal. They also have really nice high chairs. They even take the time to clean and shrink wrap the trays on the high chairs so you'll know that they are clean and ready for the next baby or toddler.
That attention to detail should be a good sign. But is it? NO! After Emiko and I finished our lunch, and I finished cleaning up the food she had thrown on the floor, we went to the ladies room. It's a huge one person facility. Was there a changing table? NO! There was a ton of room in there. They could have had an actual changing table, instead of just a folding one. But no changing table.
Thank God Emiko wasn't wet. I have changed her on bathroom floors, but I refuse to do that anymore. I have a friend who says I should just change her on top of the table, which is tempting. Serves the business right, I say.
If I'm in doubt, I change her in the car, but I shouldn't have to. I also try not to go places where I know there will be no changing table. I have a list of places I cannot go to any longer. For examples, Sweet Occasions in Andersonville. They have delicious red velvet cake, but that's too bad for me. I can't go there again. They have several individual facilities, all of which are big enough to accommodate a changing table. But they don't have one. That's one of the places where I had to change Emiko on the floor.
The other place was Jerry's Sandwiches, in Wicker Park. They have an amazing fried chicken sandwich. But last time I was there I had to change Emiko on the floor of the bathroom. It had been snowing, so the floor was not especially clean. I did email the owner of the restaurant to tell him why I would not go back, and he said they were working on installing one, so I may have to take them off my list. I have to look into that.
Rockwell Grill doesn't have a changing table, either. Again, they have a huge bathroom. I don't even like using public restrooms, but if I'm going to have to use one, please don't make me get on the floor of it with my baby.
Everyone's atwitter about Bennigans filing for Chapter 7 bankruptcy and closing. I'm not a fan of that restaurant -- I would rather patronize an independently owned business if I can. However, I will say this for Bennigans and other chains. At least when I'm in a chain restaurant I know they'll have a high chair, a kids menu, and a changing table in the bathroom. That often can make up for mediocre food. It helps anyway.
I know that not everyone likes children or wants to dine near them. So fair enough. If you don't want children in your restaurant, just put a little sign on the door. Perhaps a smiley face with a slash through it -- it could be secret code for "no children welcome." I won't be offended; it'll save me the trouble of even entering. Then we'll all be happy.
So that's my rant for today. I can understand if the changing table were prohibitively expensive or if it took up too much room in a bathroom. But it is not expensive and does not take up too much room. It easily fits in a handicapped stall. I know in this economy restaurants need all the help they can get. Here is just one way to get me in the door.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
First Pic of Baby Fuji 2!
It kind of looks like he or she is waving at us! We'll find out at the end of August if we've got a baby boy or baby girl on the way. I'm very excited about that.
And we had a nurse midwife appointment on Saturday, and my midwife and I felt the baby kick! Elyse (midwife) was looking for Baby's heartbeat, and she was having a hard time. So she was pressing around pretty hard on my belly. All of a sudden -- Baby Fuji kicked! It was awesome -- I have read that you can usually feel the baby move earlier in your second pregnancy. It's true! Then the baby kicked again! Yay!!!
So things are good! I'm still craving Arby's. I'm now also craving movie theatre popcorn. I had Hot Doug's with my friend Anne Friday -- so that satisfied my chili dog craving, for a little while, anyway!
Otherwise, we've been planning Emiko's new bedroom. We're pretty sure she's going to figure out how to climb out of her crib soon. So we will probably make a drive to Ikea soon to get her a twin bed. Not sure the theme for her new room. All I know so far is that at least part of one wall will be painted with chalkboard paint -- won't that be fun?
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
How to Hire Better Teachers
This was originally published on my Open Salon blog -- www.open.salon.com. I blog there as AmyFuji. Hopefully no one from CPS will read it and get me fired. It was first posted on Saturday, July 12.
I just read this really interesting article in Slate about the problem of hiring better teachers. The author suggests an apprenticeship program for teachers -- if you can make it in two years of on-the-job training, then you can get your union card and employment for life (as opposed to just getting it at the beginning of your career).
I think that's a pretty good idea. When I started teaching, I truly believed I was well-trained. I had a bachelor's degree in English and a master's degree in teaching. I had a high GPA. I knew all the pedigogical buzzwords. Did any of this prepare me to be a teacher?
Not even a little bit. I went to college at the University of Arkansas. Which I think is a fine school -- I loved going there. But nothing in Fayetteville, Arkansas, could prepare me for teaching in the inner city of Chicago. I had very nice and sincere professors in graduate school, but most of them had not been in a classroom in decades, and none had taught in an inner city.
My first job in Chicago was teaching in the Achievement Academy in a high school on the far South Side. I got hired on the spot, which should have been my first clue that this might not be an ideal position. But it was already late in July, and I had moved to Chicago at the end of May. I didn't have a job yet and was getting a little panicky.
The Achievement Academy was a new initiative to get below grade level students caught up to their peers. Our students were kids who had failed seventh or eighth grade at least twice. They didn't have the credits to be freshmen, but they were too old to keep in grammar school. So they came to the Achievement Academy. I had fifteen and sixteen year old non-freshmen, and they were not happy.
School had never been successful for them, and now they were in high school, but all the other kids made fun of them for not being actual freshmen, and they were accused of being stupid.
Most of my students came from one huge public housing project, and they had gone to grammar school inside that project. So most had never left the projects, and many had never had a white teacher.
I had never taught African American students. My student teaching was done in a small town in Northwest Arkansas (my hometown, no less) that was primarily white, Latino, and Asian. We had a lot to learn together.
My first year was tough. I had heard your first year teaching is the hardest, and they weren't kidding. I came home and cried pretty much every day that year. I never cried at school, though -- that would have been the kiss of death.
My kids were testing me, and I was failing miserably. I thought I would go in there, do my job, and live happily ever after. I had no idea that I would have to prove myself to these kids. White kids just accept that you are the teacher. Black kids don't care what your credentials are -- you still have to prove yourself to them.
I was called a motherfucker everyday. The first time someone called me that, I was completely stunned. I looked at the kid, and I stammered, "But I don't even know your mother." Which is a ridiculous thing to say, but that's what came out. Turned out that confused the kid, which diffused the situation.
I had a desk thrown at me. I had lots of books thrown at me. When I would report these things to my administrator, I was told, "Handle your class." To this day, I still don't know that that means.
When I called the father of the child who threw the desk at me, the father came to school to meet with me and his son. We were standing in the hallway, and the father punched his son in the eye. An assistant principal was walking by, and told the father that if he was going to do that here, he needed to do it in an empty classroom. I then knew to never call that father again.
The problem is -- my experience isn't that unusual. They give the toughest teaching assignments to the least qualifed teachers. They do that because the better prepared teachers won't take those jobs. I didn't have any idea that would be my job; I didn't know any better.
I did survive that year -- I left that school at the end of the year, when one of my students was raped on campus by a senior and the administration covered it up. That did it for me. I didn't quit teaching, though, so that must count for something.
But I do believe I would have been a more effective teacher with more support and training. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to get through the lessons with such resistant students. And teaching discipline -- that's not easy, either. I felt like I was alone on an island of angry children most of the time, hoping they wouldn't eat me alive.
Most teachers quit the profession within three years. I am sometimes amazed I've made it five already. It is easier than it was that first year, but it's still not easy. I've seen a lot of bad stuff. My kids go through things that no one should have to go through, much less ill-equipped teenagers. And lots of perfectly nice people, including a large number of clueless white people, go into this profession and are charged with dealing with all these factors they have no idea about. Gangs, drugs, violence, teen pregnancy, absentee or abusive or neglectful parents, and a system that seems designed to fail.
So anything that will better prepare teachers for these obstacles could only help improve things. Can't hurt, anyway.
I just read this really interesting article in Slate about the problem of hiring better teachers. The author suggests an apprenticeship program for teachers -- if you can make it in two years of on-the-job training, then you can get your union card and employment for life (as opposed to just getting it at the beginning of your career).
I think that's a pretty good idea. When I started teaching, I truly believed I was well-trained. I had a bachelor's degree in English and a master's degree in teaching. I had a high GPA. I knew all the pedigogical buzzwords. Did any of this prepare me to be a teacher?
Not even a little bit. I went to college at the University of Arkansas. Which I think is a fine school -- I loved going there. But nothing in Fayetteville, Arkansas, could prepare me for teaching in the inner city of Chicago. I had very nice and sincere professors in graduate school, but most of them had not been in a classroom in decades, and none had taught in an inner city.
My first job in Chicago was teaching in the Achievement Academy in a high school on the far South Side. I got hired on the spot, which should have been my first clue that this might not be an ideal position. But it was already late in July, and I had moved to Chicago at the end of May. I didn't have a job yet and was getting a little panicky.
The Achievement Academy was a new initiative to get below grade level students caught up to their peers. Our students were kids who had failed seventh or eighth grade at least twice. They didn't have the credits to be freshmen, but they were too old to keep in grammar school. So they came to the Achievement Academy. I had fifteen and sixteen year old non-freshmen, and they were not happy.
School had never been successful for them, and now they were in high school, but all the other kids made fun of them for not being actual freshmen, and they were accused of being stupid.
Most of my students came from one huge public housing project, and they had gone to grammar school inside that project. So most had never left the projects, and many had never had a white teacher.
I had never taught African American students. My student teaching was done in a small town in Northwest Arkansas (my hometown, no less) that was primarily white, Latino, and Asian. We had a lot to learn together.
My first year was tough. I had heard your first year teaching is the hardest, and they weren't kidding. I came home and cried pretty much every day that year. I never cried at school, though -- that would have been the kiss of death.
My kids were testing me, and I was failing miserably. I thought I would go in there, do my job, and live happily ever after. I had no idea that I would have to prove myself to these kids. White kids just accept that you are the teacher. Black kids don't care what your credentials are -- you still have to prove yourself to them.
I was called a motherfucker everyday. The first time someone called me that, I was completely stunned. I looked at the kid, and I stammered, "But I don't even know your mother." Which is a ridiculous thing to say, but that's what came out. Turned out that confused the kid, which diffused the situation.
I had a desk thrown at me. I had lots of books thrown at me. When I would report these things to my administrator, I was told, "Handle your class." To this day, I still don't know that that means.
When I called the father of the child who threw the desk at me, the father came to school to meet with me and his son. We were standing in the hallway, and the father punched his son in the eye. An assistant principal was walking by, and told the father that if he was going to do that here, he needed to do it in an empty classroom. I then knew to never call that father again.
The problem is -- my experience isn't that unusual. They give the toughest teaching assignments to the least qualifed teachers. They do that because the better prepared teachers won't take those jobs. I didn't have any idea that would be my job; I didn't know any better.
I did survive that year -- I left that school at the end of the year, when one of my students was raped on campus by a senior and the administration covered it up. That did it for me. I didn't quit teaching, though, so that must count for something.
But I do believe I would have been a more effective teacher with more support and training. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to get through the lessons with such resistant students. And teaching discipline -- that's not easy, either. I felt like I was alone on an island of angry children most of the time, hoping they wouldn't eat me alive.
Most teachers quit the profession within three years. I am sometimes amazed I've made it five already. It is easier than it was that first year, but it's still not easy. I've seen a lot of bad stuff. My kids go through things that no one should have to go through, much less ill-equipped teenagers. And lots of perfectly nice people, including a large number of clueless white people, go into this profession and are charged with dealing with all these factors they have no idea about. Gangs, drugs, violence, teen pregnancy, absentee or abusive or neglectful parents, and a system that seems designed to fail.
So anything that will better prepare teachers for these obstacles could only help improve things. Can't hurt, anyway.
So Much Going On
There really isn't that much going on. I've been enjoying my summer of rest quite a bit. Emiko is still going to Alma's three days a week. Only because we are paying for it, and Emiko loves going there and playing with her friends. So I get up in the morning, get her ready, get her to Alma's, and go back to bed. Which is superfantastic.
I've been bad about blogging, though. I have done lots of stuff. Heather (my awesome sister) came to visit in June for five days. Then we went to New Orleans for four days. It was really hot. We got home on Tuesday, and on Saturday, I was in Northwest Arkansas all by my lonesome. I decided not to take Emiko with me, although I felt bad denying her grandparents a chance to visit with her. I'll take her next time. Honestly, it was the first time I've been all by myself since Emiko was born. So it was pretty nice. Weird at first. But nice. And Heather was still on maternity leave, so I got to spend a lot of time with her and her new baby girl Addie. I have to get my pics downloaded.
But my newest diversion is Open Salon. I've been subscribing to Salon.com for at least five years now -- I find it to be a really great online news magazine. I was renewing my subscription last week. Since they make you pay for your subscription, they usually have premium offers that help make the price seem more worth it. You can get discounts from other web merchants, or free books. You always get a little extra with your subscription. Well, another premium they were offering was a chance to start a blog with Open Salon. You can create content and people can read it and at some point you can apparently get paid for your submissions.
I thought -- why not? So I signed up. It's still in the beta testing stages, but I think it's going to be open to the public in the next week or so, and you don't have to be a Salon subscriber to join. I think my friend Foxxy Diva should sign up -- the readership seems to be very white and I think they'd benefit from another perspective.
At any rate, I decided to use my "Poverty Sucks" post from this blog as my first submission. Wow, it was quite a debut! It was named an "Editor's Pick" and was on the front page of the site for a couple of days. I had lots of readers, and lots of responses, most of which were positive. I was told that it was a very un-p.c. piece. Joan Walsh, Salon's editor, told me it was great. It was pretty amazing to write something to a larger audience and have it well-received.
My next post was also well received. I'm going to post it here in a minute. In that one, Joan Walsh told me I was a great writer. That is just incredible.
So that's the other thing I've been up to. Oh, and we saw Lyle Lovett at Ravinia on Saturday. It was our first time to go to Ravinia. I had a good time, but I don't really get it. We had lawn seats, and I think most of the seats at Ravinia are lawn seats. There are some reserved seats, but that section is small.
I was imagining that there were screens around the lawn, so you could see the performer, but there aren't. So you can't actually see Lyle Lovett. There are speakers, so we could hear him. And we did walk over to the stage and caught a glimpse of him, so we knew he was really there.
But you can't see him. And people pay 20 bucks for these lawn seats. They go all out and have camp chairs and little tables and tablecloths and picnic baskets with food and wine and nice glassware. And candles. And everyone sits really close together.
So it was kinda weird to me. You basically pay quite a bit (parking is 20 bucks per car) to have a fancy picnic. But I'd probably go again -- now that I know what to expect.
I've been bad about blogging, though. I have done lots of stuff. Heather (my awesome sister) came to visit in June for five days. Then we went to New Orleans for four days. It was really hot. We got home on Tuesday, and on Saturday, I was in Northwest Arkansas all by my lonesome. I decided not to take Emiko with me, although I felt bad denying her grandparents a chance to visit with her. I'll take her next time. Honestly, it was the first time I've been all by myself since Emiko was born. So it was pretty nice. Weird at first. But nice. And Heather was still on maternity leave, so I got to spend a lot of time with her and her new baby girl Addie. I have to get my pics downloaded.
But my newest diversion is Open Salon. I've been subscribing to Salon.com for at least five years now -- I find it to be a really great online news magazine. I was renewing my subscription last week. Since they make you pay for your subscription, they usually have premium offers that help make the price seem more worth it. You can get discounts from other web merchants, or free books. You always get a little extra with your subscription. Well, another premium they were offering was a chance to start a blog with Open Salon. You can create content and people can read it and at some point you can apparently get paid for your submissions.
I thought -- why not? So I signed up. It's still in the beta testing stages, but I think it's going to be open to the public in the next week or so, and you don't have to be a Salon subscriber to join. I think my friend Foxxy Diva should sign up -- the readership seems to be very white and I think they'd benefit from another perspective.
At any rate, I decided to use my "Poverty Sucks" post from this blog as my first submission. Wow, it was quite a debut! It was named an "Editor's Pick" and was on the front page of the site for a couple of days. I had lots of readers, and lots of responses, most of which were positive. I was told that it was a very un-p.c. piece. Joan Walsh, Salon's editor, told me it was great. It was pretty amazing to write something to a larger audience and have it well-received.
My next post was also well received. I'm going to post it here in a minute. In that one, Joan Walsh told me I was a great writer. That is just incredible.
So that's the other thing I've been up to. Oh, and we saw Lyle Lovett at Ravinia on Saturday. It was our first time to go to Ravinia. I had a good time, but I don't really get it. We had lawn seats, and I think most of the seats at Ravinia are lawn seats. There are some reserved seats, but that section is small.
I was imagining that there were screens around the lawn, so you could see the performer, but there aren't. So you can't actually see Lyle Lovett. There are speakers, so we could hear him. And we did walk over to the stage and caught a glimpse of him, so we knew he was really there.
But you can't see him. And people pay 20 bucks for these lawn seats. They go all out and have camp chairs and little tables and tablecloths and picnic baskets with food and wine and nice glassware. And candles. And everyone sits really close together.
So it was kinda weird to me. You basically pay quite a bit (parking is 20 bucks per car) to have a fancy picnic. But I'd probably go again -- now that I know what to expect.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
There's Really a Baby in There!
I had my first ultrasound this morning. It was so awesome. I was a bit worried, because I had a miscarriage in March, and even though we got pregnant again really quickly, I just wanted reassurance that things were good. At my ten week midwife appointment, we weren't able to hear the heartbeat yet. So I was really anxious to receive further evidence that things were ok.
So things are ok! My revised due date is January 13, and the baby looks great. S/he even seemed to be waving at us. Incredible. The technician asked me if we were having any genetic screening, and I told her no. When you are 35 and pregnant, you get labeled ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE, which I hate. Advanced Maternal Age (AMA) means you are at slightly increased risk of delivering a baby with chromosomal abnormalities, especially Down Syndrome.
I had my first prenatal appointment at my doctor's office (family practice clinic) and the doctor told me I had to have genetic counseling, which made me mad. I had decided that I would decline, and I'm not having an amniocentesis, either. I understand the value, but I think the risk is too high. And it would just serve to make me a wreck throughout the remainder of my pregnancy. We are having this baby no matter what, so I don't think being panicked and worried for six more months would be a good idea.
I switched back to my nurse midwives at Illinois Masonic, and they believe in women making their own choices about their birth experiences, etc. So I didn't have to worry about being pressured for genetic counseling any further. Plus I love my nurse midwives -- they just seem more relaxed and have more time to spend with you. They aren't as rushed as doctors always seem to be.
I need to fix my little baby widget -- it seems to be a few days off. But I can't figure out how to do that without starting over. Too much trouble. So it says I'm 12 weeks pregnant, but I'm actually 13 weeks pregnant. In case you are interested.
Our next ultrasound is August 26 -- then we'll find out if we are having a boy or a girl. I know people like to be surprised, and I completely understand the benefit, but we like to know. It was really fun being able to talk to Emiko and use her name while she was inside me.
We have been working on picking out names. So far we haven't agreed on any. We have gotten most of our names from watching "Ultimate Ninja" or "Unbeatable Banzuke" game shows on cable. "Ultimate Ninja" is on Spike TV, and "Unbeatable Banzuke" is on G4. They are both very entertaining -- that's pretty much all we watch these days. At any rate, once we know the sex, we'll really start working on names.
If you have a favorite Japanese name you wish to share with us, do tell!
So things are ok! My revised due date is January 13, and the baby looks great. S/he even seemed to be waving at us. Incredible. The technician asked me if we were having any genetic screening, and I told her no. When you are 35 and pregnant, you get labeled ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE, which I hate. Advanced Maternal Age (AMA) means you are at slightly increased risk of delivering a baby with chromosomal abnormalities, especially Down Syndrome.
I had my first prenatal appointment at my doctor's office (family practice clinic) and the doctor told me I had to have genetic counseling, which made me mad. I had decided that I would decline, and I'm not having an amniocentesis, either. I understand the value, but I think the risk is too high. And it would just serve to make me a wreck throughout the remainder of my pregnancy. We are having this baby no matter what, so I don't think being panicked and worried for six more months would be a good idea.
I switched back to my nurse midwives at Illinois Masonic, and they believe in women making their own choices about their birth experiences, etc. So I didn't have to worry about being pressured for genetic counseling any further. Plus I love my nurse midwives -- they just seem more relaxed and have more time to spend with you. They aren't as rushed as doctors always seem to be.
I need to fix my little baby widget -- it seems to be a few days off. But I can't figure out how to do that without starting over. Too much trouble. So it says I'm 12 weeks pregnant, but I'm actually 13 weeks pregnant. In case you are interested.
Our next ultrasound is August 26 -- then we'll find out if we are having a boy or a girl. I know people like to be surprised, and I completely understand the benefit, but we like to know. It was really fun being able to talk to Emiko and use her name while she was inside me.
We have been working on picking out names. So far we haven't agreed on any. We have gotten most of our names from watching "Ultimate Ninja" or "Unbeatable Banzuke" game shows on cable. "Ultimate Ninja" is on Spike TV, and "Unbeatable Banzuke" is on G4. They are both very entertaining -- that's pretty much all we watch these days. At any rate, once we know the sex, we'll really start working on names.
If you have a favorite Japanese name you wish to share with us, do tell!
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