The Month in Review

As Thanksgiving is upon us (yay yay yay!) and the month is drawing to a close, thought I'd update you on a few exciting events at work. Things just get more and more exciting.

Report Card Pickup Day was November 13. That is the way CPS handles Parent Teacher conferences. Teachers are at school from 1:00 - 6:00 so that parents can pick up their children's report cards. Out of approximately 130 students (all of whom presumably have parents or guardians), I had visits from 21 parents. Most of the parents were there just to pick up the report card for their child, and not to discuss grades. I have 26 Division students (homeroom), so I had their report cards. I had less than ten parents who wanted to discuss grades. Which meant I spent a lot of time reading online and looking at my watch.

It went ok, considering. One parent cursed me out, because I did not have her daughter's report card. I didn't have it because according to our school, her daughter had not paid all her school fees. I have no control over this, nor do I have any idea of who has paid school fees. I just hand out the report cards. So this mom, who is a CPS teacher, so you think she'd know better, starts yelling and cursing at me. That was fun. I just said, "You'll have to talk to someone else; I'm afraid I cannot help you." She did come by later and apologize.

And one mom (who I have met before, as I was her son's English teacher last year when he was a sophomore) was very upset about the fact that her son had no teacher for seven weeks, then got me, and now I'll be leaving for maternity leave. I don't blame her for being upset -- it's ridiculous the way the situation has been handled. I tried to assure her that my replacement was a certified teacher and hopefully that would be the last English teacher her son will have this year. She was not impressed.

Speaking of my upcoming maternity leave (I'm counting down the days!), I finally realized why my students are so bad. They think I'm a sub. Being a sub in CPS is way worse than being a teacher. The students are horrific to subs. Lots of retired teachers go back and sub, but I've told my husband that should I make it to retirement age in CPS, I will not sub! So he better be making some good investments.

At any rate, the policy at my school (I don't think it's official CPS policy, and I'm pretty sure it's not in writing anywhere, but it's definitely the rule) is that a sub cannot fail a student. Even if the sub is a fully certified teacher. Even if the student doesn't come to class or do any work, ever. If the class is being taught by a sub, the student has to pass. Somehow the students know about this.

They've figured out that my maternity leave starts January 5, 2009 (the first day back from winter break). The second quarter doesn't end until January 23. So I won't be the teacher entering grades for second quarter. They believe that means that I'm basically not their real teacher, so they can just put up with me (and behave as terribly as possible, it seems) and then they'll have a new teacher who can't fail them.

This makes things really fun for me. I've never had classroom management issues like these before. This is my sixth year teaching, and never has it been this bad. I'm so sorry I ever complained about past classes, for I had no idea what I had coming to me. In my third period freshmen class, the students yell and curse and laugh the entire class period. When I talk, it's like I'm not even there. I have to just write the assignment on the board and just stare at them. It's excruciating.

My fifth and sixth period classes are better. Fifth is really quite good -- they are the class that gets me through the day. Sixth period has four thug boys who have been coming lately, which makes that class less pleasant. And that's the class where a girl announced that I wasn't even a real teacher, since I wouldn't be there to give grades at second quarter and semester.

I have lunch seventh period (always a highlight). Then I have to endure eighth and ninth periods. Eighth period is an inclusion class, so I have a special ed teacher who assists me and works with the three special ed kids in the class. The special ed teacher was the teacher subbing for that class the first seven weeks of school. She doesn't seem to mind the students screaming and yelling the whole period. The students all consider her the real teacher and completely ignore me. So again, I have to just write the assignment on the board and stare at them. And take many, many deep breaths. One of the students asked why I kept making that noise. I said, "I'm taking deep breaths so I can get through your class."

Ninth period (last period of the day!) is no picnic, either. In that class, 28 students are enrolled. About seven show up each day. And no one comes on time. They trickle in from ten minutes past the start of class, and keep coming until the end. They pay me no attention whatsoever. They don't scream or yell, for the most part -- they are pretty quiet. But it's really as if I'm not there.

There is one kid in that class who comes in and stands with his head out of the window the whole class period. He asked me one day how he could pass my class. I said he'd have to come and actually do some work (he's never turned in an assignment). I then assigned that class their Beowulf books. He refused to take a book, since he said he wouldn't use it. I told him that would not assist in his efforts to pass my class. He then left the room. But he knows that when the sub takes over for me, he'll pass. That is crazy and so unfair!

OK, one more update. My Division students got their PLAN test scores back today. The PLAN test is made by the College Board -- it's a mini-ACT test, and the scores are a predictor of a student's future ACT score. The average ACT score at my high school is a 15. My students received the following scores: one 19, one 18, two 17s, one 16, two 15s, six 14s, six 13s, and four 11s. 11s! CPS has a goal of every student achieving a 20 on the ACT. But until the elementary schools in Chicago can figure out how to teach basic literacy and math to struggling students, I don't see how that can happen. If you make it to ninth grade and still don't have basic math and literacy skills, what are you supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? We need to completely restructure the schools in this city.

I'm sure there are more things I wanted to share, but that's all I can think of right now.

Seriously?

Eureka Springs, Arkansas, is one of my favorite places on the planet. Whatever these so-called "gay activists" have done there has made it even better. It's one of the most diverse and inclusive places I can think of. It's pretty magical, really. So seeing this video blurb on feministing.com made me laugh and want to scream at the same time. I'm really sick of evangelical Christian activists. Alannah, have you seen this???

Adventures in Ridiculousness

OK, seriously, I can't make this stuff up. My job is so ridiculous. Let me share with you my latest adventure.

I forgot to pack a snack for myself this morning. I don't know what I was thinking -- so I will blame Emiko for distracting me. On the way to work I realized that I had forgotten to pack anything, and as I hadn't eaten much for breakfast, I knew this would be an issue.

At school, we have vending machines. A few years ago CPS got rid of soda and salty snacks (I really miss being able to get a Coke at work), but the machines still have "healthy" fare like PopTarts and Rice Krispies Treats, and some kind of salty non-chip snacks. And they offer juice drinks and whatnot. I decided that I would get a Rice Krispies Treat to tide me over until lunch. Not the healthiest thing in the world, but I was OK with that.

My planning period is 4th period, which is the first lunch period. The vending machines are only turned on 4th period. The bell rings after 3rd and I go down to the first floor to get my snack. As I'm putting my quarters in the machine, the security guard who we'll call Eugene starts yelling at me that the machine is not on and to get my money. I said why isn't the machine on? He yells at me that the machine is not to be turned on yet, that our principal doesn't want the kids using that machine. Which apparently means I can't use it, either.

So I'm walking away and thinking -- that's crazy. I see another security guard who I really like -- we'll call him Anthony. I ask Anthony if I'm allowed to use the vending machine. He looks at me like I'm crazy. He says of course I can use the machine -- just to plug it in and get my snack and then unplug it. I said that Eugene had yelled at me. He said, "Eugene is an asshole. You know that. Everyone knows that. If he yells at you, yell back. Don't be scared of him."

That made a lot of sense. I'm a grown woman, after all. So I march back over to the machine and plug it in and get my damn Rice Krispies Treat. Eugene starts yelling at me. "You better unplug that machine! You are not supposed to use that machine! The students are not to use that machine! Please tell me you are not using that machine!"

I said, "I'm not a student. I am eight months pregnant. I need a snack. I will unplug the machine as soon as I am done and no one else will use it!"

He said, "You aren't supposed to be eating that spicy stuff anyway! You should get something from the cafeteria!" (I've never set foot in our cafeteria, but from what I understand, they serve pizza and french fries everyday. Not especially healthy options, and I only had four quarters.)

"I'm getting a Rice Krispies Treat. It's cereal!" I'm thinking -- why am I explaining this to you? It's none of your business what I eat!

Then he yells to unplug the machine when I'm done and don't let anyone else use it. Of course, right then a couple of kids want to use it. I yell, "Get away from the machine! You are on your own!" One of my students asks me to buy her something. I tell her that I had to put up with a lot to get this dang snack and I'm done -- I can't help her.

I'm leaving, and Eugene yells, "You aren't supposed to be eating that sugary stuff. That's too much sugar!"

"Thank you!" I respond, completely furious at this point. "I will tell my doctor you said so!"

As I walk back towards the stairs to get to my classroom, I pass a huge mob of students in line to buy donuts. Different groups sell Krispy Kreme donuts to raise money. Somehow that is OK, but our vending machines can't sell candy bars or Coke. And apparently had I chosen to stand in the donut line, Eugene would have had nothing to say about it.

This job is frustrating enough; I should not have to fight with the security guard to buy a snack from the vending machine. Now I'm worried that he might key my car -- it's a good thing I don't park in the school parking lot. He really is an asshole.

But now I'm back in my room. I have eaten said Rice Krispies Treat -- and it was good. Tasted just like victory!

I Heart Keith Olbermann

I don't know why people don't get this. I will never understand it.

Vote for Emiko!

Todd has entered Emiko in a Cutest Baby on the Block contest. You can go here and vote for her. I mean, if you want to. And you could maybe tell your friends. If it's not too much trouble. Thanks!

Am I the Jerk?

I was talking to my dad this morning, and we were discussing the election. He was not a supporter of President-Elect Obama (how I love typing that!), and I told him that all week I was going to call and gloat, but decided that I would be nice and not, because he would probably just say something that made me mad.

He just laughed and we kept talking. He did mention that Obama was his president now, too, and that he would support him. Then he said that our economy was a mess and that he hoped Obama would pick great advisers and not just people to whom he owed a favor, like Bush had done. I couldn't believe he was actually acknowledging that Bush was not a perfect president. That's amazing.

At any rate, here's when things went south in our conversation. I mentioned to Dad that Uncle James (who was my mom's brother, and has to be close to 90 by now) had sent me a racist joke email about our new president.

Dad said I should just ignore messages like that. I said that no, I decided to politely ask Uncle James to please not send me emails like that, because I do not support his political views, and I found that particular email offensive. He had already sent me a couple of emails from his preacher about how the only moral choice was to vote McCain/Palin, but this last email was more than I could bear.

My uncle wrote back that he didn't mean to offend me and was sorry, and that he believed that God chooses our country's leaders, so he will support Obama any way that he can. I thought that sounded pretty good, and surprisingly gracious.

Dad did not think I did the right thing. He said, "Didn't you send Shari an email like that awhile back?" Shari is my cousin Jeff's wife, and I had no idea Dad knew I had emailed her, so this is a bad sign. I said that yes, I had made the same request of her. She had sent me this long email about how Obama was not only a radical Muslim, but the Antichrist. I felt I needed to respond. I, again, was really polite about it. I just said that I didn't agree with her, and to please not send me emails of that nature. She wrote back that she didn't mean to offend me, and that I had the right to vote for Obama if I wanted to. Which I thought was kind of her.

But apparently I hurt her feelings. Dad said that she was offended by my email. And that if I ever sent him an email like that, he would probably never speak to me again. I said, "Well fine, I don't want to hear from racists." Dad said that wasn't very nice, and that I should just let things go. That was some fatherly advice from him. He then mentioned that I am a grown woman and can do whatever I want, but that would be how he handled such matters.

So if someone sends me an offensive email, I'm just supposed to ignore it? And attempting to gently inform someone that his or her email is offensive will hurt his or her feelings? That is ridiculous.

I believe in internet etiquette. If I have an email that I know is super liberal and that my family members (other than my sister, who is a bleeding heart like me, thank God) won't agree with, I don't send it to them. I try to be courteous.

I have one friend from back home who sends me lots of annoying emails about illegal immigrants and whatnot, but she does it just to bug me, and we've talked about it, so that's ok. I just ignore them. And occasionally I'll send her a super liberal one, and we get a laugh out of it.

I can handle when my family members send me super evangelical emails -- I can ignore those. I don't think of them as mean-spirited, just annoying and a little insulting, as my religious beliefs are really none of their business and they should stop concerning themselves with my salvation. But they don't make me mad.

But if you send me an email that is clearly racist and offensive, I should not have to just ignore that. You should know that the email is racist and offensive.

For far too long people have just politely ignored (and silently fumed) over comments and jokes that are racist or sexist or simply inappropriate. I've done this at work, at parties, on the bus, and at many, many family gatherings. But when I do that, I'm giving tacit approval to this sort of hatred. I'm not going to do that anymore.

I mean, I'm not going to be a jerk about it. I think I'm super nice about it. And I actually did feel kind of bad sending out those emails, like I was the one doing something wrong and should apologize. But I'm not going to worry about it anymore. And if my Uncle James or my cousin Shari feel like they should never speak to me again, well that's fine, too. I'll get over it. I have plenty of non-racists in my life I'd much rather talk to. Plus, Shari sends all those annoying hoax emails about horrible things that happen to you at gas stations and whatnot. I don't know why the woman can't look stuff up on Snopes.com before she hits the forward key. But that's a separate email.

So I guess I'm wondering how other people handle this sort of situation. Do you just ignore it? Or do you say or email something to the other person? I'm looking for some support here, because I'm starting to feel kind of guilty. I hate feeling guilty. (Southern mothers perfected the art of making their children feel guilty -- my mom gave it to me in spades. And my dad knows how to do it to me, too. It's very annoying.)

Not Sure How to Explain This. . .

Some of you have heard stories about the bathrooms at my school. They are disgusting and unpleasant. Often we don't have toilet paper or soap or paper towels, although this year people have taken it upon themselves to donate soap.

The main teacher bathroom is on the second floor. The women's room has four stalls, but two of the stalls have toilets that are not working at all. There are about 100 female teachers at my school.

Monday I went to the bathroom and discovered that of the two working stalls, neither toilet would flush. I informed another teacher who then informed the main office. This was around 11:00 am. It was not until after 1:00 pm that the bathroom was declared closed.

This leaves one faculty women's restroom on the first floor, that is always really dirty and disgusting. There is also one single occupancy women's restroom inside the main office. There is a men's restroom there, too.

This sign is now posted in the women's restroom in the main office. I guess more people are now using that restroom, due to the lack of available toilets. I don't know who is doing unpleasant things in there, but this is the third sign that has been posted. The first two versions of the sign just asked for consideration. It's true that there is no ventilation. This sign (there are about 10 copies of it hanging in the stall) is the most graphic thus far. I felt it needed to be shared with others.

People just can't imagine how fun my job is!

Yes We Can, Indeed!

I'm really excited to be at school this morning, and I rarely feel that way. But the exuberance of the students inside and outside the building is incredible. From outside my window I'm hearing chants of "Obama! Obama!" as kids slowly make their way into the building.

In the hallways kids are chanting more. Several have stuck their heads into my room to talk about it. One kid yelled, "President Obama has made history!"

Yesterday I made my students write their thoughts on how an Obama presidency would impact their lives. Some of the kids took it super seriously. One of my favorite students actually has his head shaved with Obama's name and campaign logo. I wanted to take a picture, but was afraid that might get my in trouble. Trust me; it's awesome.

Several of the kids wrote poems about Obama. One kid wrote that a win by Obama would mean that when his parents tell him he can be anything he wants to be, that it's actually true. Even for black people. That got me choked up a little.

A few students wanted to spout off some conspiracy theories that I won't share, because I don't want to even think about stuff like that. But one girl did insist that the whole Grant Park rally was a set up. She kept asking me which party Mayor Daley belonged to. I said he was a Democrat, just like Obama. She said, "I don't care what you say, Mrs. Fuji. Daley is a snake and this rally is a setup to get Obama!" I told her that I thought she was wrong -- that I was fairly sure the rally was Obama's idea. And she should be thinking happy thoughts regardless. (Oh, and one student said he was going to riot no matter what happened, but I think he was kidding.)

Today I am making my kids read Martin Luther King, Jr's "I Have a Dream" speech. It seems appropriate. This moment is the closest we've come to some sort of realization of King's dream. I know that at least two of my classes will get into it and we'll have some great discussions.

President Elect Obama has a tough road ahead of him. The challenges facing this country are enormous. But I just want to enjoy this day with my students. They deserve it.

Yes We Can, and Yes We Did!

Arkansas Will Always Be Home

I wrote this post for Open Salon, because there are two other bloggers there who are also proud Arkansawyers. We thought it would be fun to write about what makes Arkansas so special. I thought people who read this blog might find it interesting as well. And my Arkansas friends will definitely know what I'm talking about!

I'm the slacker in the Arkansas Trifecta on Open Salon. Both Dorinda Fox and Hillbilly Aunt have written wonderful posts about what it is to be from Arkansas. I have been having the ideas swirling in my brain for a few weeks now. I'm just now trying to put these ideas into words.

I should start by confessing that I was born in Louisiana. Which is a pretty amazing place, but I have been always kind of sad that I can't claim "Native Arkansas" status. But if you ask me where I'm from, I will always say Arkansas. Then if we really get into it, I will admit that I was actually born someplace else and moved to Arkansas when I was four.

Both of my parents grew up in Louisiana, but my mom was born in Arkansas. My dad is a pharmacist, and when I was three or so, he got it in his head that we should move to Arkansas. And not just any place in Arkansas -- places people may have heard of, like Little Rock or Hot Springs. He wanted to move us to Gillett. Gillett is in Arkansas County, in the Southeast corner of the state. In the Mississippi River Delta part of the state.

When you get to Gillett (which people hardly ever do) you'll be greeted with these words on the sign: Welcome to Gillett. Home of Friendly People and the Coon Supper. Population 927. (I went back to Gillett a few years ago, and the population is still around 900.)

Gillett is the nearest town to Arkansas Post, which Hillbilly Aunt mentions in her post about the state. Arkansas Post is the oldest settlement in the state (and I think the oldest west of the Mississippi). I love that place. Growing up, my sister and I thought it was our backyard. My parents were friends with the park superintendant and his wife, so we spent a lot of time there. I am determined to take my children there -- perhaps in a couple of years.

My memories of Gillett include Arkansas Post, the Coon Supper -- which deserves its own post, but basically is a celebration for the high school football team. The men in town go on a raccoon hunt and then have a big raccoon barbecue. The whole town (and most state politicians) get together, eat raccoon, and present awards to the football players. Bill Clinton has eaten raccoon plenty of times. For those who are afraid of eating raccoon -- it's kind of gamey -- they offer baked ham, too.

I also have vivid memories of playing outside til it got dark, or until the byplane flew overhead spraying insecticide to kill all the mosquitoes. There are huge mosquitoes in South Arkansas. I'm quite sure I've been exposed to some pretty toxic chemicals, because sometimes I just could not get into the house fast enough.

We used to go to the swimming pool everyday in the summer time. We'd get there at 10 a.m. and not leave til closing time at 5 p.m. I have no idea if I ate lunch on those days. But I still love to swim. It was the best way to be outside while avoiding the oppressive heat and humidity, and those dang mosquitoes.

The people in Gillett were some of the nicest I've ever known. Everyone took care of one another. The town was full of yellow dog Democrats, so I don't remember anyone really talking politics very often. It's in the Bible Belt, but no one seemed all that concerned about religion, either. As long as you went to church someplace, everyone was happy.

When I was fourteen, we moved to the exact opposite side of the state, to Springdale. Springdale is in the Northwest corner of the state, in the Ozark Mountains. It was like a different world. Isn't that funny? That another region in a small state could be so different? It was, though.

For one thing, Springdale was about a billion times bigger than Gillett. I went from twenty kids in my class from kindergarten to eighth grade, to a town with TWO junior highs. I went to Central Junior High, and I was scared to death. I made myself a little map of the building so I wouldn't get lost.

Hillbilly Aunt is right -- things are different in those hills. Suddenly where I went to church took on enormous significance. I remember one of the first people I met in 9th grade, a sweet girl named Christy. She introduced herself to me, and then she asked me where I went to church. I told her that we hadn't started going to church in Springdale yet, since we'd just moved, but that I'd grown up in the Episcopal Church, so I figured that's where we' d go. She gave me a look like I'd said the church of Satan. She shook her head and told me she was sorry, but I was going to go to hell.

I heard that a lot in Springdale. But it never offended me too much. It's just something people like to tell you. They'll pray for you, and you know they feel sorry for you. I heard "bless your heart" a lot. But then we move on, and Christy showed me around the school and informed me about which lunch line had the best food.

The autumns in the Arkansas Ozarks are the most beautiful I've ever seen. I still miss autumn in Arkansas. The leaves turn the most vibrant oranges and yellows. One of my favorite drives in the state is the Pig Trail. That's a windy, twisty "shortcut" to Little Rock from Northwest Arkansas. If you want to avoid boring old I-40, the Pig Trail is the way to go.

The trees create a canopy over the road, so that it's hard to see sometimes. It's so amazing. I always said I wanted to close off part of the Pig Trail and get married right in the middle of the road, when the leaves are at the height of their color. But I had to go off and marry a Yankee and live in Chicago, so that plan didn't work out.

Dorinda writes about all the famous people from Arkansas. She's right on it -- everyone from Arkansas can list off all the names of the famous people from our state. Bill Clinton helped put us on the map, but he's just one of many.

In addition to the famous people Dorinda mentions, Glenn Campbell is from Arkansas. Johnny Cash is from Arkansas. The Reverand Al Green is from Arkansas. Not to mention Frank Bonner, who played Herb on WKRP in Cincinnati. And the guy who played Buck Rogers, the one and only Gil Gerard. We can add Darren McFadden to the list, since he was the runner up for the Heisman Trophy the past two years, and is now playing well for the Oakland Raiders.

My husband, the Yankee, is a pretty great guy. But I just look at him sometimes. He is so foreign to me in so many ways. He doesn't talk that much, and when he does, he glosses over so many crucial details. He and I can tell the exact same story, but you'd never know it. His version will take five minutes and will leave out all the colorful details. Mine will take at least twenty minutes, but you'll have a much better understanding of what really happened. It'll be like you were actually there!

When my husband and I had our daughter, we had to figure out what to name her. We decided that we wanted her to have a sense of her Japanese heritage. My husband is fourth generation, so he doesn't have much of a sense of his heritage, but we want our kids to be a part of that. So we decided that our kids would have a Japanese family name for a first name, and a Southern family name for a middle name. Hence, Emiko Mae. Emiko was hubby's grandmother, and Mae was my grandmother's middle name. My grandmother's first name was Eula, which although a strong and pretty incredible Southern name, seemed a bit much.

Our son is going to be Hideo William. Hideo for hubby's great grandfather, and William for my dad. My dad keeps asking how to pronounce Hideo. He says he's just going to call him Willy. That's about right.

I often remind my daughter that she is half Arkansas. I never remind her that she is half Yankee. I kinda hope she won't make the realization. Now, this is not meant to disparage Yankees. But Yankees are different from Southerners. Not bad, just different. I'm just not used to them. I want Emiko to say yes sir and yes'm to grown ups. I want her to soften the truth with "bless her hearts" and"well, aren't you sweets?"

I want her stories to be full of detail. I want her to get excited about fried chicken, football, and calling the Hogs. We've already started practicing calling the Hogs. She loves hollering "Woo Pig Sooie!" It makes Mama very proud. I tell her that she does not have to go to the University of Arkansas, but she has to always cheer for the Razorbacks. If she goes to college in Texas or to a different SEC school, I think that will break my heart.

My husband and I met online. You don't realize how rural you are, until you start a relationship with a Yankee via the internet and the phone. Once we started talking on the phone, I'd tell a story about my past, and then I'd hear this complete and total silence. I'd think, "Dammit Amy, now you've said too much. You're never going to hear from him again." But bless his heart, he kept calling. I don't think he's ever quite understood what he's gotten himself into, but I give him a lot of credit. He won't admit it, but he likes visiting Arkansas almost as much as I do.

I've been really homesick lately. Part of it is due to being pregnant and having a job that drives me crazy. But the biggest part of it is that I just haven't felt that sense of community in Chicago that I feel in Arkansas. I miss knowing my neighbors. I hate all this damn traffic, and it takes so long to get a very short distance. My school is about 9 miles from my house. It takes me about 40 minutes in the morning to get to work. Coming home, it takes 45-50 minutes, if I'm lucky.

And the drivers aren't courteous, either. Back home, if someone cuts you off, they at least have the decency to give you a little wave, as if they are saying, "Hon, I'm so sorry. I'm just in a hurry to get to Walmarts." Is that so hard?

I miss cheese dip. The Mexican food here is authentic Mexican food, not Tex Mex. I love authentic Mexican food, but I sure miss cheese dip. And Delta tamales. And fried catfish with hushpuppies. You can get fried catfish here on the South Side, but they serve it with spaghetti, coleslaw, and white bread. Where's the hushpuppies and french fries? It's just not the same.

There is one barbecue place here that is owned by a really nice man from Helena, AR. So Honey1 Barbecue is my favorite place in Chicago for ribs. Robert Sr and Robert Jr even serve fried okra. I keep telling Robert Jr that he needs to serve fried pie, but he hasn't yet taken my advice.

People in Chicago wear jeans to church. This is a completely foreign notion to me. How can you wear jeans to church? I cannot do it. I can wear pants, but I never feel very good about it. At Emiko's christening, there were people wearing jeans and Birkenstock sandals. And lots of people had brought their own coffee. Even the people at the altar assisting with Communion were wearing jeans and Birkenstocks. That just doesn't seem right.

I manage to get home to Arkansas at least three times a year. I would like to get home more often. Our last trip was the beginning of October. It was such a great trip. I gained seven pounds. It just felt so good to be home. I can relax there like no where else on earth.

Lately I've been hinting to my husband that perhaps we could consider living closer to Arkansas. Like to St. Louis or Kansas City. Or maybe Austin, Texas. It would seem blasphemous to live in Texas, but Austin is the exception. He's not buying it yet. Especially now that we have children, I really am thinking about what it will be like to raise them in a big city. It scares me a little bit. Not knowing who my kids know. The idea of Emiko riding the El without me makes my heart stop. Trying to figure out where she will go to school.

If nothing else, I know I am instilling my Arkansas values into my babies. I make sure to pronounce things correctly -- like saying "greezy." My hubby says that's not how you pronounce it, but he's wrong. And washeteria. That's a South Arkansas word for you. When we moved to Springdale, we had to go to the washeteria a few times. But no one calls it that. Laundramat is far less fun to say. My husband thought I was making that word up. We went to Louisiana last November for my Great Aunt Lucy's 100th birthday party, and saw a washeteria in Monroe. We had to stop and take a picture. I felt vindicated.

Maybe one day I will get to retire to Arkansas. Maybe my husband will come around and get a job at least closer to the Mason Dixon line. My kids might be named Emiko and Hideo, but they'll be little country bumpkins just the same. Bless their hearts.

Happy Halloween!

I made Emiko's Halloween costume. I got the idea from a magazine. I think it turned out really well. She was so cute! The above pic is from Thursday morning on our way to daycare. Since not all of the kids are full time, they had parties Thursday and Friday so no one would get left out. Lucky! She is not wearing her socks or shoes, because she hates socks and shoes. That's the Arkansas in her!



This picture is from a block party we went to this afternoon. She's with Malia, who lives in the neighborhood of the block party. Malia is one of Emiko's daycare friends -- that's how we got invited to the party. We weren't just crashing! They are both very cute together.

Last night we took Emiko to a Halloween party. So she has gotten lots of wear out of that costume. It's pretty dirty at this point. I can't decide if I should try to wash it somehow and save it, or just not worry about it.

Next year we'll actually take her trick or treating. We figured this year she wouldn't really care.