I have an Aunt, L.  She is the wife of my mother's brother, J.  He's lovable guy, but spineless in his wife's wake.  They have 3 children, my cousins A, N, and H.  My cousins have 7 kids between them.

L is a control freak.  But beyond being a control freak, she's the Queen.  I swear the song Royals was written with her in mind.  Problem is I don't bow to anyone.  (That kind of luxe just ain't for us, we crave a different kind of buzz.)

My dad and my grandfather passed away 10 years ago.  Since then I have spent nearly every Thanksgiving with my mom, E, and my grandmother, Nanny P.  Nanny's birthday is a few days after Thanksgiving.  5 years ago I had my thanksgiving plans set and started to hear murmurs about L planning something for my grandmother's 95th birthday.  I've seen her do this before, whatever she does becomes law and nothing else (or rather no-one else) matters.  So I beat her to the punch.  I sent out an invitation to a birthday party for my grandmother without having any idea what I would do.  It turned out to be a simple and WONDERFUL party, and despite having planned it for the wrong reason, it was a pleasure and a privilege to have hosted it.  L was pissed, so then there was that.

2 years ago I hosted my daughters' Bat Mitzvah.  It was profoundly stressful, and in hindsight I should have hired a party planner.  Some things worked out beautifully, some things not so great.  One mistake I made was the candle lighting ceremony.  I have not been close to my aunt and uncle in a long time, but as a matter of respect I should have included them.  I also should have included my husband's aunt, who we are close to.  But I didn't.  Shortly thereafter, L (my aunt, remember) told me that she and my uncle were leaving to visit their grandson's college campus.  And when they left, my cousins and their adult children flocked out.  That's 15 people, leaving a party of about 90.  When that many people leave, it signals the others that the party is over.  Thankfully my daughters were having too much fun with their friends to notice.

But I did.  When I was able to calm down a few months later, I wrote my aunt and uncle a letter and explained that I should have included them, as well as my husband's aunt, in the candle lighting ceremony.  But they should have been adult enough to NOT stage a walkout on a day that was about my daughters and no-one else.

I talked back to the Queen, and I must be beheaded.

The queen showed my letter to my cousins to turn them against me.  Did it work?  Probably, except from my vantage point being exiled looks pretty much the same as life before exile.  Well, not entirely.  They no longer ask me to pitch in on group gifts anymore, or pay to airbrush my family into a photo we could have posed for if asked.  Since that was about all the contact my cousins had with me before the letter, it didn't feel like much of a loss.

But that's the rub, it should have.  H is close to my age, and we were close friends until age 14, when she just stopped being my friend without any explanation.  My cousins were welcoming over the years that followed, and I attended every one of their kids' bar/bat mitzvot; that includes the time I missed the plane because I was stuck in traffic so I drove instead, but excludes the lone exception - when my plane was grounded due to ice on the wings.  By then I had young children so driving (especially in a snow storm) was not an option.  I bought every one of their kids thoughtful and personalized gifts for their events.  For my kids' event, my 3 cousins, their spouses, and their 7 kids did what they do - they pitched in for a group gift.  Each of my kids got a necklace.  One gift each from 13 adults.  Classy.  But that's not the rub.  The rub is my cousins disappeared after my brother died 18 years ago.  They have each other and their families are very close.  I became an only child, and lost my cousins as well.  It has been a long, slow hurt that added insult to the injury of losing my brother.

Last week my grandmother passed away, 10 days before her 100th birthday.  While losing her is heart-wrenching, it was not unexpected.  My mom said that my cousins told her they wanted peace.  That's nice, but meaningless as hearsay.  Peace, like exile, looks pretty much the same as it has for the preceding 2 decades.  My mom said she thinks my cousins abandoned me because they are jealous of me; I had my grandfather's pride because I followed his footsteps in becoming an engineer, and I had twins while they only had singletons.  Is my mother right, are they really that shallow?  Well, with a queen for a mother and a jellyfish for a father, maybe they are.  I don't know, I don't know them anymore.  But there is irony in my mother's theory - I was always so deeply jealous of them because they grew up with my grandparents nearby, and their children grew up with my grandparents nearby.  I saw my grandparents several times a year, and have always been jealous that neither myself or my children had my grandparents close enough to see weekly.  And then my grandfather stuck a knife through my heart when he told me he would live to see the Bar/Bat Mitzvot of all 7 of my cousins' kids, but not mine.  He kept his word.

While the loss of my cousins is not new, it is a fresh wound in the wake of my grandmother's death.  She was so loving and open, this is not what she would ever want for her family.  I could kiss ass and apologize for speaking back to the queen, but what would I gain?  The fact is that they are still reasonably welcoming to my mom, and that's about all I think I could ask for.

I heard a story on NPR yesterday about college campuses trying to unambiguously define what constitutes consent for sex.  All I can say is BRAVO!  Some of the definitions of consent they're coming up with include 'mutual participation', and some require explicit verbal consent.  So the question arises, wouldn't verbal consent, or the request for it, "ruin the moment"?  To which I say nothing ruins the moment like the absence of consent, implied, verbal or otherwise.

Two stories.

First, since I've recently started reading again I got a book for my kindle called Awakenings (by Brenda K. Davies, since there are more books with the same name) basically because it was free.  It was described as "Twilight with hot sex".  I almost stopped reading it after chapter two because it starts out as terribly written misogyny.   But I kept going out of curiosity - ok, for the hot sex part.  Well, what others call hot sex came across more like porn, but the book works on that level.  Surprisingly, the misogyny was replaced by it's polar opposite.  The sex was blatantly consensual as well as shockingly sensual.  While there was an unmistakable verbal implication of consent, the participatory kind of consent was clearly evident, and there were still several non-verbal inquiries.  Didn't ruin a thing.

So what's the need for verbal consent?  For one thing, communication is NOT a turn-off!  It can be at least as intimate as touch.  But the need for verbal consent is a very real one for some people who cannot, or will not, read body language.  My second story is not from a book.  I had a few dates with a guy I liked, a lot.  After one such date he took me back to his apartment.  I stood by the door with my coat on - body language for I don't intend to stay.  Was that unclear?  I couldn't just leave, I needed a ride to the train.  When he took my coat from me, I stayed by the door.  Still not clear enough apparently.  He kissed me, took my clothes off, and had sex with me.  My body language didn't change through all of this, my consent was neither verbal nor participatory.  But I was young, and honestly, afraid.  I didn't speak the word "no" because if he wasn't reading my body language he might not listen to my verbal language either.  And if I said it and he still didn't stop, then it would be rape.  I suspect this kind of thing happens way too often.  So I applaud the college campuses to holding young adults to a standard of respect and communication.

I find myself lately reliving my teens vicariously trough my teenage daughters.  Which is a good thing, because I didn't do a good job the first time.  I desperately hope my daughters will have a safer and easier teenage journey than I did.  In any case, the revisit brought on a flood of unexpected memories and emotions this morning.

I read voraciously as a kid, but for reasons I never understood I stopped reading for pleasure after college. I would have majored in comparative literature if I could have fulfilled the  bi-lingual requirements, and yet I stopped reading.  Decades later I've started reading again, and it seems to be the books my daughters are reading that have recaptured my literary attention.  I guess my taste in books just never grew up.

So here it is, on an anonymous and unread blog - I'll deny it anywhere else - I'm a closet Divergent fan.  I enjoyed the movie, and loved the book.  It's not a great book, there are too many inconsistencies and plot holes.  But I adore the emotional intimacy between Tris and Tobias.  That aspect of their relationship is sorely stunted in the movie imo.  But the movie has Theo James (almost making up for the absence of Uriah's much needed eye candy), who I overlooked when I first saw him on Downton Abbey.  Looks like Theo James has been typecast into boy-toy roles.  I suppose if you have to be typecast that's the way to go, but it would be nice to see him outside of that.  Like in his band, for example, which I'm also impressed with.

So I'm imagining myself in this story and find an almost perfect match in the role of Evelyn in Insurgent.  If I had a thespian bone in my body, I would audition for that part.  I'm about the right age and appearance, and I can imagine myself in her character in all ways…except one.  I can't imagine a mother leaving her child in an unsafe home.  As I try to understand it I'm flooded instead with all the reasons I can't.   I was adopted, which is not the same as abandoned.  I don't remember not knowing I was adopted, and I don't remember ever feeling unloved or unwanted.  Or unsafe.  I always knew I was loved, and I just understood that whatever the reason was that I was put up for adoption, it was a careful and thoughtful one.

I also always understood that it was a decision I never wanted to make.  I knew that an unplanned pregnancy was not experience I needed, or wanted, to have.  I never had unprotected sex, I always used birth control.  Where I failed was trusting that all methods of birth control are equally effective.  I found out years later that the birth control I had used was not recommended by doctors because it was known to fail, and it had failed me.  About a year after I met my birthparents I was pregnant, and I had to make the choice I never wanted.  Without a college degree I had no means of reliable income, and a life on welfare is not what I wanted for myself or my family.  So I considered adoption.  I visited with an adoption agency (possibly the same one I was adopted through) and tried to imagine how this choice would play out.  I couldn't do it.  I would spend the rest of my life looking for my child in every stroller, on every playground, in every headline and every obituary.  I spent my entire youth looking for my biological parents in every rock star and on every subway train, I couldn't spend the rest of my life looking for my child.  I was not as strong as my birthmother.

I had a friend take me to an evaluation appointment at the abortion clinic and scheduled another appointment for the procedure.  The day of the procedure came, and I cried so hard they refused to do it.  They sent me home to think it over, and I came to the same conclusion as before.  I rescheduled, and a second time I cried and they sent me home.  Finally I reached the end of the time it could be done safely, so I scheduled a third appointment - this time I bit my lip and swallowed my tears.  It was done.

I named her Natalia.  I spent the next decade or more looking at every child in every stroller and every playground and wondering if that's what she would have been like.  Ironic, that was what I hoped to avoid.  I completed my education with a vengeance, it was what I had given up a piece of myself for so it had to be 'worth it'.  Although I think the real drive was the intellectual escape from an emotional prison.  I graduated cum laude and have built a solid career built on that education, a career that supports my family well.  I have the best husband in the world and daughters who are growing into delightful young women, and obsessed Divergent fangirls.  It's been a while since I visited that painful part of my life.

Maybe Evelyn's character will be developed more when the Four book comes out this summer.  I would like to understand her better.  And I'm curious who they cast to play her in the movie.

My daughters lost a classmate, fellow girl scout, and good friend yesterday. A mother and father lost their child, a brother lost his sister, and our community lost a thoughtful, brave, and infectiously sweet young person. Our hearts are broken. 

Rachel Anne Reynolds

A little over 2 years ago, Rachel was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL).  My first thought was - it will be a tough battle, but most cancers are treatable by now.  Indeed, the Wikipedia entry for ALL states an impressive statistic: "≥94% of children have continuous disease-free survival for 5 years and appear cured.".  But Rachel had a different kind of ALL that involved a chromosomal abnormality called Philadelphia Chromosome Positive (Ph+), which affects 2% - 10% of pediatric ALL cases.  This changed her prognosis from 'great' to 'dismal'.  Like Rachel's mother, I'm an engineer.  I'm not as good (nor as interested) as many people are at comforting, I want to fix.  So I researched and contacted a doctor who specializes in this area.  This was his reply:

"At this point, my recommendation is that chemotherapy be given as per the AALL0031 cohort 5.  This therapy has given results as good as allo BMT with a 4 year EFS of 75% when analyzed with the  fall 2010 data set.

The AALL0622 trial is a good one that will probably give a better response and is open at National Children's.

The salvage rate is good if there is relapse after chemotherapy and then BMT can be considered as a second line of therapy."

This made me feel useful, and I passed the information on to Rachel's parents.  They had been given similar advice, and they pursued one of these treatment options, not that I would understand the difference, but 75% is a hell of a lot better than "dismal".  We watched Rachel go through a year of grueling, aggressive chemo treatments, never losing her high spirits or amazing smile.  The girl scout troop had a walkathon to raise money and collect DNA swabs for Be The Match; if the chemo didn't work, Rachel would need a bone marrow transplant (BMT).  Most of the girl scouts sold knick-knacks, I collected DNA swabs.  I wish I could have given her my own bone marrow, it's served me pretty well.  I wanted so badly to fix this.  Just about a year ago, Rachel disobeyed her doctors to attend her, and our daughters', elementary school graduation.  She lit up the room.  We knew there would not likely be another for her.

A few months ago, the researcher I had contacted celebrated approval of these previously experimental treatments by the FDA.  But Rachel was in the 25%.  It didn't work for her.  Last summer she received a bone marrow transplant.  Not mine.  All I could do to be helpful was put Rachel's family in contact with my sister-in-law, who is on the board of the (world renowned) hospital where the transplant was done.  That was actually helpful, my sister-in-law and her family helped them settle in and navigate the experience - with a friendly face.  But it wasn't the fix I so deeply wanted to find.  Rachel's mom haunted my heart, how can a mother possibly live through this?  If it could happen to her, couldn't it also happen to me?  I can't even think about it, it's a nightmare.  It's Mrs. Weasley's boggart in real life.

Rachel attended a few girl scout events this year, I last saw her when we went ice skating.  I emailed her mom before my husband and daughters went to the father/daughter dinner, my girls were recovering from colds so I wanted to make sure it was ok for them to go if Rachel was also there.  She said I should ask my daughters not to hug Rachel, as she had had a relapse.  My heart sank.

I had to check out at that point.  When my brother died at age 29, people would try to express their condolences but get choked up because they couldn't figure out what to say.  I ended up comforting them.  Rachel's mom has enough to take care of, I need not add myself to that list.  So I stayed away, let her take care of her family and herself instead of my mind-spinning nauseous getmeoffthisrollercoaster self.  I can't fix shit.

The girl scouts had a ceremony one week ago today to bridge from junior to cadet.  Rachel wasn't there.  That was when we heard what we already knew.  She was dying.  We told our daughters on Sunday.  Rachel passed away on Wednesday.

There are researchers out there trying to fix the other 25%.  I hope they succeed.  It's too late for Rachel, but somebody should find a way to fix this.

Looking for new targets to enhance the therapy for childhood Ph+ acute lymphoblastic leukemia

Charter School Education

I entered my kids in a lottery for a charter school.  66 spots, half of them reserved for siblings of existing students, and over 500 applicants.  S was pulled in the late 100's, H was pulled 8.  I was ecstatic!   Siblings are automatically accepted, so we're in.

This is a STEM focused charter school with an exceptional academic record.  They are, however, under a lot of scrutiny for non-academic issues, but there is a lot of animosity toward charter schools no matter what.  So I take it in stride.  There are a lot of Turkish teachers and administrators; I had a bunch of Turkish colleagues in grad school, two of whom were good friends back then.  So I'm guessing Turkey must be doing something right with their education system and spreading the wealth.

Then a friend mentioned a TV show about a high quality Turkish education movement led by a man named Gulen.  Turns out to be very controversial - very high quality math/science based education, but a lot of people feel it is a cover for the spread of religious dogma with a world domination agenda.  So I asked my old Turkish friends to debunk this myth - only they didn't.  One says the Gulen movement is backed by the CIA, the other says it's based in Sharia law.  Not the response I had expected.  And I have to admit I have a hard time believing the CIA backs Sharia law.  I also don't know for sure this is a Gulen school, although it does seem to fit the description (Turkish run, STEM based, high quality education) - except for the religious aspect.  I don't see it, and I'm very sensitive to religious dogma!  Still, I will keep my eyes open and proceed with caution.

I have been involved in the past in an organization (hardly that, not sure what the right word would be) that many considered to be a cult.  I was aware of that when I was doing it, and I never felt pressured to be more involved than I was comfortable with.  If I had, I would have left.  I ended up leaving for lack of time rather than lack of interest or anything else.

But here's the bottom line.  Math and science are about logic based on observation.  Religion, especially zealous religion, is about blind faith.  How can training in logic, measurement, and observation be a cover for a blind faith agenda?  It simply makes no sense to me.  Indeed, I do believe the opposite; the best way to perpetuate the blind faith of a religious dogma is to ensure that kids learn regurgitation rather than observation, and obedience rather than critical/logical thought.  And that's what I see in the vast majority of American schools.

My daughters' school friend R who I wrote about last year has been on an aggressive experimental chemo treatment for the last year.  About 2 months ago we heard that the chemo either hasn't worked, or induced a different kind of leukemia; R now needs a bone marrow transplant.  I was in the process of having a breakdown at my nephew's Bar Mitzvah, but I grabbled my face to make it stop - it was my nephew's day to be the center of attention, not mine.  Two days ago my daughters and R graduated elementary school, I thank God she was able to be there - and I hope to God they'll all have other graduations.

I just re-read last year's post on this topic, I was worried for my daughters, but I'm having a hard time with this myself.  I'm reminded of Molly Weasley's boggart from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (no spoilers here, read the chapter titled The Woes of Mrs. Weasley).  R's mom C is living every parents' boggart, and she has to keep it together for her children.  I wish there was something I could do, and I don't ever want to be in her shoes.

When I was a teenager I began to question my religious faith.  Not in a rebellious way, just in a way that is appropriate for a teenager transitioning into a thoughtful adult.  I was confident that in time I would find the answers I sought and come back to my religious roots.

After a decade or so it began to concern me that I was not able to resolve my religious inquiry.  I took solace in the fact that questioning and learning are integral aspects of my base religion, that I would never be ostracized for my rejection of blind faith.  I considered whether I might be an agnostic or an atheist.  I have to admit, as prevalent as religion is, atheism struck me as downright lonely.  I am still so effected by this that I find it hard to publicly acknowledge the main target of my inquiry, the central tenet of religion: G-d.  But I knew I could not 'settle' without the answers I sought.

After another decade I came to accept that whether by evolution or intelligent design, I have a brain, a healthy dose of curiosity, and a stubborn streak; to refuse to use them in this or any other context would be to deny my humanity - and a slap in the face of the force(s), whatever they may be, that created me.

Three decades after my initial religious journey, and today is Rosh Hashanah.  At service this morning, the Rabbi talked about today's Torah reading - the story about Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac.  The Rabbi offered two interpretations, one of which was obedience - that sacrificing his son was God's test of Abraham's obedience.  And Abraham passed.  I simply cannot accept that.  Blind obedience breeds Nazis.  The Rabbi presented another interpretation, which was Abraham's refusal to question the command, and on that front Abraham failed.  Although I prefer this interpretation, it doesn't match the text in our prayer book.

Between my own religious journey, my experience as a parent, and my work with students, one thing has become profoundly clear in my mind.  Humans possess an innate and burning need to make sense of our world.  The drive is so strong that we WILL find reason even if we have to make it up.  I find this is true with math and science, but I also believe it is true with religion.  The Rabbi also spoke about how events that don't seem to make sense (usually because they are in some way unjust) have a divine purpose.  The implication is that we are unable to comprehend the hidden purpose, which I take issue with.  Again, humans have brains.  Unless you believe that the brain is analogous to the metaphoric apple, we must use them.  I simply don't believe that God would give us the greatest gift of all, and forbid us from using it.

Boo hoo.  Life has been dragging me down. 

My husband has been having a problem with recurring fevers for a year and a half.  The fevers go up for a week or two, then back to normal for a week or two, up, down, up down, for several months.  Then they disappear.  The fevers come with night sweats and weight loss.  He's seen a dozen doctors including all kinds of specialists, most dismiss him after the first round of tests.  But he found one doctor, thank God, who is paying close attention in more ways than one.  Dr. K was the only one who noticed that, although J's iron was back to normal after a bout with anemia, it was normal for most people.  Turns out what's normal for most people is not normal for J, and his iron had not returned to his own normal level.  After prescribing an iron supplement which didn't work, Dr. K realized that J's anemia is not due to iron deficiency; J has chronic disease anemia which is very different.

Then came the blow.  Fever, of course, is a symptom of just about everything.  I could not for the life of me find anything about recurring fever, or fever combined with night sweats.  Then last week one of J's blood tests showed enlarged lymphocytes.  This led me to read about leukemia, and something called "B symptoms".  What the heck are "B symptoms"?  Well, turns out they are fever, night sweats, and weight loss, and they are classic symptoms of lymphoma.  The article further described something called "Pel-Ebstein" fever, which - yup - goes up and down in 1-2 week cycles.  I nearly shit a brick.  On one hand, oh my God, cancer.  On the other hand, a potential diagnosis, and a highly treatable cancer with a very high survival rate. Dr. K is also unbelievably good at returning phone calls and answering questions. He pointed out that half the doctors in Maryland have been looking at J's blood, and none have seen evidence of lymphoma.  He won't rule it out, but it's not high on his list.

We had another event last week.  My daughters' friend at school was diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia (ALL).  My first reaction was fear for my daughters, they are unbelievably sensitive.  They still cry over the loss of our old dogs, I hope to God they won't have to experience the death of a friend at this age.  Luckily, ALL has a good prognosis.  Until...last weekend we found out that she has a rare kind of ALL, called Philadelphia Positive (Ph+).  The Ph+ ALL prognosis has been described as very poor to dismal.  One option is bone marrow transplant, but it's very hard to find a donor, and even with a match the risks are very high.  Now I find it's not just my daughters I fear for.  I like this family.  My motto is "I don't like other peoples' kids", but the first time I met R she impressed me because she was kind to my kids.  I found her mother C and told her so, and I like C too.  Does that matter?  It's not like I would wish something like this on anyone else's family.  But it just seems too close to home.  Maybe because it's my kids' friend, maybe because this is going down at the same time I learned about the B symptoms and I've just reached an emotional overload. 

I heard that R's parents had to choose among experimental treatments.  I found a doctor in Canada who authored a paper about Ph+ ALL treatment options, and wrote him to ask for advice.  It blew me away, but he actually wrote back, and quickly!  It looked like gibberish at first, but I looked some of the things up.  Basically he recommends a newer tyrosine kinase inhibitor called Dasatinib.  I say that like I know what the hell it means!  I'm learning.  But the important thing is that there has been significant progress in just the last 5 years.  I'm not much of a prayer, but I pray R will be ok.

And my J.

Note that D in my previous post is one of the Girl Scout troop leaders, and M is the "Mesch of the Month" at Hebrew school.  And don't miss the sequel to the post in the comments.

I will not miss today when it is over.

My daughters go to private school.  We are not rich - we are driving old, used cars, live in a modest but comfortable house, and we receive financial aid from the school as well as financial help from relatives.  This means the world to us, our daughters' education - which at this age is intimately tied with their happiness - is more important than anything.  But we've seen their friends' houses, and they are rich.  Most if them are filthy rich.

They used to be good friends with their classmate M, and they still like M a lot.  They invite M to all of their birthday parties, but it's been several years since they've been invited to one of M's birthday parties.  Luckily they haven't noticed this yet.  M's mother D is very outgoing - the life of every party, doctor to the stars, and always in the news for something wonderful that she or her children done.  Now I should warn you that I'm an armchair psychologist.  Although I am well aware that my theories may have no bearing whatsoever in reality, I have a theory about D.  We met D's mother (and hence M's grandmother), who used to work in a school cafeteria.  So I think D grew up poor.  So poor that she's making up for lost time by living the high life now. 

This year my daughters had 2 birthday parties - one for all the girl scouts in their troop, and a slumber party a week later for close friends.  M was invited to both, and accepted both invitations.  At the first party, she had a bag of clothes because she had come from a sleepover with another girl scout.  The next week, we picked up our daughters and the friends who were coming to our slumber party after the girl scouts meeting - but D pulled me aside and told me that M couldn't go because she wasn't feeling well.  I didn't believe D, in large part because M was standing right there having attended the girl scouts meeting.  I believed her even less after the girls who did come to the party played a round of "what did you invite her for?", and I heard a week later that M had taken her turn at that game at school.  So apparently my daughters have friends who don't all get along with each other.  It happens at all ages!  But D taught her daughter that lying is an acceptable way to treat people by doing it right in front of her.  I lost whatever respect I had for D that day.

Fast forward to today, 2 months later.  D called, going on about how uncomfortable this call is.  And then told me that M can't find her silver peace pendant, and my daughter is wearing a silver peace pendant.  If the pendant my daughter is wearing belongs to M, it will say Tiffany's on the back.  So I called my daughter over, explained the situation, and she said she got it for her birthday.  I should mention two things here - I do remember this pendant being among her birthday presents, and my daughter shares my inability to lie.  She is the child who will admit to doing something she isn't supposed to do because lying about it will not even cross her mind, it simply is not in her soul.  But to put the matter to final rest, I turned the pendant over.  It does not say Tiffany's or anything remotely like it - it says 925.  D was relieved, she told me how much she hated the time when her son's friend had stolen his video game.

Perhaps if we were rich I would have known better.  Out of curiosity, I went to the Tiffany's website and clicked the link for silver jewelry.  Then I clicked the link for pendants - a split second before the page changed, I saw it - 925.  The symbol for Tiffany's silver.  My heart sank.

My heart did not sink because there was any chance my daughter stole the necklace, I know her better than that.  If anything, it fell out of M's clothes bag and I swept it up into the box of presents thinking that's what it was.  My heart sank for two reasons - first, my daughter who loves this pendent will have to give it back to it's rightful owner.  Second, my heart sank because this rich party girl who lies for her daughter might think that my daughter is a thief.  But I guess that's life.

I saw some information about an old friend today. We worked together for several years, and we had an unspoken, informal competition to see which of us would get a PhD before the other. Well, ok, that competition may have been in my head. But she won. I had kids first, she got her PhD first. Her career has followed a "meteoric" rise - she was on the cover of the IEEE Spectrum, has led scientific departments and conferences, and now has a faculty position at Stanford.

I suddenly feel not so successful. I am reasonably successful, but I know quite well that I'm not nearly as successful as I could be. I have a wonderful, loving family and a good career. I feel happy, loved, contented, proud, and comfortable, but not successful. I've had periods of great success, generally when I've experienced a deep loss and need to escape into the world of work. Can't I be both happy and successful? My friend is. But then my friend studies space, which is her passion, her childhood dream. I enjoy solving problems, especially really hard ones. But radar has quite simply never been, and never will be, my passion.

Last week I helped a seventh-grader with a third grade ability learn something. She mumbled three little words, and I felt successful. "I get it" she said (and she sounded a little stunned). When I was teaching 9th grade remedial classes, my chattiest student snapped at her classmates to "Shut up - I'm learning!", and I felt successful. I could feel successful everyday, I could be both successful and happy. All I have to do is decimate my salary.

About 10 months ago I wrote this:
"My sweet H doesn't always do what she's told when she's told... Her [second-grade] teacher seems disinterested in her intelligence and her ability, only her obedience. Mrs. P is working hard to enlist my husband and I in breaking our daughter's spirit."

Interesting follow up on that. We saw one of H's classmates at the beach with her mother, and I had a chance to talk briefly with the mom, C. C didn't want to badmouth Mrs. P, but she wasn't crazy about her. I told her we had the same experience. She said Mrs. P told her her daughter was having difficulty getting her work done - that blew me away. After H had been in Mrs. P's class for less than a week, she asked me if H's 1st grade teacher had said anything about her not finishing her work. I told her yes, but I heard the same stories from every other 1st grade parent in H's class. Mrs. P told me I was the only parent she was saying that to this year.

Apparently not. C said Mrs. P told her that her daughter had trouble FOCUSING. I told C that Mrs. P said the exact same thing to me, but I know what that's code for and it's never gonna happen. Well, it's never gonna happen for my kid, but it did happen for C's kid. Mrs. P succeeded in making C think there was something wrong with her daughter, so she took her to the doctor and got her medicated. She behaves better for Mrs. P now and finishes her work when she's told. No matter whether she's learning, or engaged, so long as she's medicated and obedient. That's what really matters in our schools.

After a few months with Mrs. P, my husband and I started to see fear in H's eyes when it was time to do homework. When it turned to consistent terror, we decided we'd had enough of the public school. (Our other daughter was spending her days crying, which as anyone who knows her knows, is NOT our daughter!) So we put H and S back into private school. After a few weeks, we had our first meeting with H's new second grade teacher, Mrs. R. Mrs. R told us that H was doing well, learning the material, on target for her grade, and fitting right in. I asked Mrs. R if H was finishing her work, and she said yes, but she's more interested in the quality of her students' learning than the quantity of worksheets they finish. In less than one month, H went from the worst teacher for her learning style to the best, and she did it without drugs.

The icing on the cake - H will have Mrs. R again for third grade!

And then there was this:

Me: S, what do you want for breakfast?
S: a book.
Me: I mean to eat.
S: a book.
Me: A book is food for your brain, but your body needs food too.
S: But my brain is hungry.
:-) May your brain always be hungry my love.

We had 2 plots left at the family burial site, for my mother and my father. Then my brother was killed in a tragic accident. He was buried there, leaving one plot. A few years later, I bought 2 more plots together in the same section of the cemetery because it was important to ME that my family be together. I never thought it would be only 8 years until we needed to bury my father there.

Within one year my mother started dating. I told her I wasn't ready to hear about it, but she kept telling me anyway. A year after that she was engaged. He's a great guy, he takes good care of her and they're happy. But I was told - not asked - that I would approve of him and give them my blessing. That was before I even met him.

A year later they got married. That was one year ago. Less than 4 years after my father died, my mother changed her name. I'm not stupid, I can do the math. She's not going to be buried next to my father with a different name. Last night she made me listen to her say it. One year of marriage trumps 40 years and 2 children.

The 5th lesson of John Taylor Gatto's "The Seven Lesson Schoolteacher":
"Good people wait for a teacher to tell them what to do. It is the most important lesson, that we must wait for other people, better trained than ourselves, to make the meanings of our lives. The expert makes all the important choices; only I, the teacher, can determine what you must study, or rather, only the people who pay me can make those decisions which I then enforce. If I'm told that evolution is a fact instead of a theory, I transmit that as ordered, punishing deviants who resist what I have been told to tell them to think. This power to control what children will think lets me separate successful students from failures very easily. Successful children do the thinking I appoint them with a minimum of resistance and a decent show of enthusiasm. Of the millions of things of value to study, I decide what few we have time for, or actually it is decided by my faceless employers. The choices are theirs, why should I argue? Curiosity has no important place in my work, only conformity.
Bad kids fight this, of course, even though they lack the concepts to know what they are fighting, struggling to make decisions for themselves about what they will learn and when they will learn it. How can we allow that and survive as schoolteachers? Fortunately there are procedures to break the will of those who resist...Good people wait for an expert to tell them what to do...Don't be too quick to vote for radical school reform if you want to continue getting a paycheck. We've built a way of life that depends on people doing what they are told because they don't know how to tell themselves what to do. It's one of the biggest lessons I teach."

My sweet H doesn't always do what she's told when she's told. It can be frustrating, but it's who she is. It is NOT a reflection of her intelligence or her ability. Her teacher seems disinterested in her intelligence and her ability, only her obedience. Mrs. P is working hard to enlist my husband and I in breaking our daughter's spirit. What will the cost of this be?

From Stanley Milgrams "The Perils Of Obedience":
"This is, perhaps, the most fundamental lesson of our study: ordinary people, simply doing their jobs, and without any particular hostility on their part, can become agents in a terrible destructive process. Moreover, even when the destructive effects of their work become patently clear, and they are asked to carry out actions incompatible with fundamental standards of morality, relatively few people have the resources needed to resist authority...The essence of obedience is that a person comes to view himself as the instrument for carrying out another person's wishes, and he therefore no longer regards himself as responsible for his actions. Once this critical shift of viewpoint has occurred, all of the essential features of obedience follow. The most far-reaching consequence is that the person feels responsible to the authority directing him but feels no responsibility for the content of the actions that the authority prescribes. Morality does not disappear -- it acquires a radically different focus: the subordinate person feels shame or pride depending on how adequately he has performed the actions called for by authority...Even Eichmann was sickened when he toured the concentration camps, but he had only to sit at a desk and shuffle papers. At the same time the man in the camp who actually dropped Cyclon-b into the gas chambers was able to justify his behavior on the ground that he was only following orders from above. Thus there is a fragmentation of the total human act; no one is confronted with the consequences of his decision to carry out the evil act. The person who assumes responsibility has evaporated. Perhaps this is the most common characteristic of socially organized evil in modern society."

Two supreme court rulings against children in one week. First, the supreme court has determined that the death penalty may not be used for convicted child rapists - in short, no death for any criminal whose victim did not die.

How many ways is this wrong?
1) It only applies to criminals whose crime was against individual citizens. Traitors and spys can still be put to death even if they did not kill anyone. A ballistic missile is more highly valued than a child.
2) In saying 'death only for death', the supreme court is narrowing the definition of "proportionate" by effectively replacing it with "equivalent". The punishment for rape will never be equivalent to the crime, and I don't believe the supreme court even considered what a truly proportionate punishment would be. The majority justices in this case cannot consider a proportionate punishment unless they understand the severity of the crime, and it seems clear to me that they don't.
3) Has "cruel and unusual" been usurped by proportionate and/or equivalent? Unless the supreme court has their own private dictionary, these are not the same thing. I am not all that clear on my own position on this one, perhaps that's why I'm an engineer and not a judge or a lawyer. But these words have very different meanings, and the people who set the standards for the law in our country SHOULD be clear on what that standard is!
4) The last sentence in the second bullett deserves it's own bullett: The majority justices in this case cannot consider a proportionate punishment unless they understand the severity of the crime, and it seems clear to me that they don't. When a victim of rape commits suicide after a decade of mental anguish, then the punishment for the rape must also be adjusted.
5) The day after reducing the maximum sentence for one violent crime, the same supreme court ensured increased proliferation of primary tool of violent crime in our society - guns.

The last bullett is the second court ruling against children - no blanket bans on guns.

How many ways is this wrong?
1) The first 4 words of the second amendment are "A well regulated militia". The 'big question' is whether this amendment pertains to an indiviual's right to bear arms or the collective right to bear arms - it seems to me the 'big question' is answered in the first noun: MILITIA. But the supreme court has determined that an individual can constitute a militia.
2) This is why my children are not allowed to play with toy guns, ever - if their friends play with toy guns, they are likely to mistake the real thing for a toy when they find it in a closet or a drawer. I don't want my children in the room when that happens. I found my father's gun once, luckily I was old enough to know that it wasn't a toy.
3) The intention of the second amendment is "the security of a free State" - "self defense" is NEVER mentioned. Indeed, "self defense" is low on the totem pole in terms of ACTUAL gun use, regardless of the owners' intentions. My father took his gun out of hiding for self defense when there was an intruder one night. He got rid of the gun the next day - the intruder was me.
4) The supreme court has supplanted the definitions of "militia" with "individual" and "security of a free state" with "self defense". They have not yet redefined "well regulated", they've simply ignored it. WE HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY TO REGULATE GUN-OWNERSHIP AT LEAST AS MUCH AS CAR-OWNERSHIP. HOW MANY MORE VIGINIA TECH'S WILL IT TAKE FOR US TO LIVE UP TO THAT RESONSIBILITY???

The stories of my father's gun ended well. I was lucky. My husband's cousin - not so much. Our cousin's older son used his gun to kill himself when he couldn't bear the humiliation of being thrown off the football team for getting caught with a beer. Two years later our cousin's younger son killed himself because he couldn't bear his older brother's death. I believe he used the same gun. I've been told that I'm too close to such a tragedy to have an objective opinion, and that our stories are too unusual to be considered typical. Someday I'll write a more reasoned argument to that criticism, but for now, go fuck yourself. Better yet, go shoot yourself - it's your right.

It's a few days later now. Turns out I don't have to write a more reasoned response, someone else beat me to the punch! The full article is at http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/nationworld/nation/wire/sns-ap-gun-deaths-suicide,0,703027.story , but here's an exerpt:

"Suicides accounted for 55 percent of the nation's nearly 31,000 firearm deaths in 2005, the most recent year for which statistics are available from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
There was nothing unique about that year -- gun-related suicides have outnumbered firearm homicides and accidents for 20 of the last 25 years."

When Hillary was on a losing streak, I saw emails, blogs, and articles about how this was just another example of the long history of injustices in this sexist world. These were very detailed and elaborate messages, but I couldn't understand why the authors couldn't see what seemed blatantly obvious to me - exchange race for gender, and the same could be said about Barack Obama. I wanted Hillary, or Barack, or better yet both, to remind their constituencies that yes, of course racism and sexism have existed, do exist, and will continue to exist, but the fact of this presidential race is an enormous leap forward on both fronts! We should be celebrating this, not whining about it.

Then came Reverend Wright. It broke my heart to hear his hateful words, not because I thought that didn't exist, but because I thought it meant the end of our chance for a truly great president. It may still mean that. I wanted to see Barack Obama's heart broken as mine was, but instead I heard him say he hadn't heard the Reverend speak these words - a statement that struck me as utterly ridiculous. When Obama condemned the statements without condemning the man who spoke them, I assumed he had some deep seated reason for standing by him; I needed to know what that reason was.

Three days ago he explained that reason. I didn't hear it in it's entirety until yesterday. The speech in Philadelphia was a demonstration of the kind of greatness I knew Barack Obama was capable of. I didn't expect to see it so soon, but if he does lose this race, he has already shown us what a great leader is.

wow. WOW. I saw "Born without a Face" last night, and it has haunted me all day. When it started I almost turned it off because it was too disturbing, but I kept watching because I wanted to see her "fixed" after the surgery. I'm big on denial. The thoughts that ran through my head were horrible - I wanted her brain to be compromised so she wouldn't be aware of her circumstances, but her brain is perfect. She's a very bright child, and a happy child. I was actually glad that she coudn't hear so she wouldn't have to listen to people gasp and whisper, or worse, tease. But her parents had mechanical ears made for her. I thought about my earlier post, "If God gives according to what you can handle...", and I thought I could never handle that. But I think I was wrong, I would do whatever needed to be done. If I had to handle it, I would, with love. And wow do her parents love her. What an amazing family.

And then there was the image I could not let go. A 2 year old girl in a doctor's office, she can't frown because she has no mouth and she can't cry because she has no tear ducts. But her chest heaving with the mild convulsions of a child afraid of a needle is universal, and at that moment she became mine. And when she reached out for her father's comforting hug, his arms were mine.

I'm a bad mom. Yesterday was my daughters' birthday (and my husband's). We had a party at the children's gym. For whatever reason, my daughters decided to leave the activities in the gym and hang out in the party room. We tried several times to get them to re-join their own birthday party, but they were having fun, and so were their guests. Just not together. Toward the end, after everyone had joined in the party room for cake and it was almost time to leave, my daughter H said she wanted to put on a High School Musical show. A good mother would have told the party guests to shush and listen so her daughter could sing at her own birthday party. But not me. I explained to my sweet H that the party guests had been singing and dancing HSM songs in the gym (we requested a HSM theme) while she and her sister were in the empty party room. Can I go back and do that moment over again?

I started this sentence to my husband last week: "If you subscribe to the theory that God gives to people what they can handle...", and my husband finished exactly what I had begun: "Then God doesn't trust us very much". Our daughters are exceptional children. Of course there are two other possible endings: 1) What was truly difficult was the first 6 months. We handled that - was that handling? it felt like surviving! - and the extended delight and joy of our children since then is reward for that. 2) We need all the peace we can get now because the teenage years will be hell!

If God really did give people what they can handle, then my father would not have buried his son, and they would both still be alive.

Question of the day = torture. I hear the news reports about what judge or politician thinks torture is never tolerable, but won't classify waterboarding as torture. I like to think I'm highminded enough to believe that torture is always wrong, blah blah blah. But the mother of the girl who was videotaped being raped by Chester Stiles wishes he had been found dead. I, on the other hand, am delighted that he was found alive. From what little I know about "prison justice", he deserves what's in store for him.

Wow, I'm joining the blog revlution. The topics I intend to babble on are my family who I am insanely proud of, and my twin journeys of self and spritual discovery.