Vindicated!

(Aide J and Aide S were both out today; fortunately, we had mostly okay subs...the morning went well...the afternoon went to you-know-where in a handbasket, but the subs played Sequence with the kids that were doing well, so that went okay.)

Right on the heels of Elastigirl's triumph yesterday, I got some interesting news today.

(I'm gonna be even more vague than usual in order to preserve anonymity, but I imagine at least Cat will know who I'm talking about.)

There's a student in the class who we'll call...Jane.  Jane has Down syndrome.  Jane has significant cognitive delays and some behavior issues.

My program specialist, as well as the psychologist who did her last tri, insisted that her cognitive level was six to nine months.

Now, this girl has severe cognitive delays -- no one is disupting that.

But six to nine months?

Nu-uh.  No way, no how.

While talking to Speech Person DFT (who, predictably, wants to exit her from speech without a reliable communication system) about her, she mentioned that Jane's cognitive level came out to about 2 years.

THANK you.

Now, I don't put much store by cognitive levels -- especially in kids who may have what people used to call "splinter skills" (but if you don't have disabilities, they're called talents) -- but a ballpark is nice.

Six to nine months is ridiculous.  Two years, I can live with.  That's been my guess all along.

E = MC2

I could easily vent about the happenings at school (again with the, "Why can't you just come to work and do your job like the rest of the grown-ups in the world?" with a dose of "Writing With Symbols, please cooperate just this once), and Aide T has been kindly comisserating with me over email -- a fact that, I fear, would not go over well if other people knew about it...

...whoops...

I got distracted there.

What I wanted to say was that this was all overshadowed by one of those tiny shining moments that make your heart swell with pride and go "Yeeee-haw!"

Elastigirl, as you may have guessed from reading this blog, has some pretty significant delays. She has some challenging behaviors and a lot of obstacles to overcome.

That said, I adore the girl.

Anyway, she spent several years of her education either left to her own devices or forcibly moved to "quiet areas" and left alone. It took my staff -- chiefly Aide T -- and myself about 6 weeks last year just to convince her that we wanted her to sit with us, and that she should sit with the rest of the group.

Today, though....

Today, we were doing a group lesson -- our whole school uses the Second Step program, and I've been doing modified versions of the fourth grade lessons. However, with this group, I've had to mix it up a bit.

First, I have PECs pictures of feelings and we go through them in a sort of game-like format. Every kid gets four "Turn" cards -- four chances to be right, then they can't answer any more -- and I'll hold up a feeling. Anyone who knows can raise their hand, then I pick someone to answer (usually via eenie-meenie-miney-moe).

So, today, I hold up "frustrated."

Seven hands go up.

I start eenie-meenie-miney-moing, intending to...ahem...accidentally land on Superhero, because I know he knows that one, when, lo and behold...

...wait for it...

ELASTIGIRL'S HAND SHOOTS UP WITH THE REST OF THEM.

I stare at her.

She's not really following natural cues and imitating her classmates, is she?

That would be too huge. No way. It was a fluke.

Still, I go over, present "frustrated" and the blank back of a card as a distracter, and say, "Elastigirl, where's 'frustrated'?"

She picks it. The class claps for her. She preens.

We go on, me still thinking it was a happy fluke that I had the chance to reinforce.

A few turns later, I hold up "excited."

Seven hands go up.

THEN, LO AND BEHOLD, UP GOES ONE MORE!

That's twice, in one day.

I go over to Elastigirl, who had since put her hand down, and look at her. I raise my hand. The rest of my monkey-see-monkey-do kiddos follow me.

Elastigirl does not look at me. She looks at Superhero and Angel. She thinks. She looks at Superhero again.

AND HER HAND GOES UP AGAIN!

I realize that for those of you wno do not deal with kids with severe cognitive impairments, the idea of a 10-year-old girl looking at her classmates and copying them is not a big thing.

For Elastigirl, this is like figuring out the Theory of Relativity.

It still may have been a fluke...but it was THREE times...and if she can do it three times today, she'll be able to do it again...on her own timetable, of course.

Oy Vey

I am trying very hard to restrain myself from a prolonged rant about today -- including such titillating topics as Important Things to Tell Your Child's Teacher, Why the Frell Can't You Just Be a Grown-Up and Do Your Job, and even Stupid Reproductive System, Why Now -- but suffice it to say, I'm not a happy camper.

However, my aching left wrist (I don't even remember what I did to it, but it's more than Baby Carpal Tunnel Aggravated By Wacky Weather) is forcing me to just say:

AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.

Yay

Barring book report projects and the Bingo game, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is done. Questions and all. Yippee!

Oh, and Swiss Family Robinson is all typed; I just need to make questions and such.

Meh

I think that sums up the last two days: Meh. Things haven't been great, nor have they been awful. Bulldozer had one medium-sized meltdown in the morning today and one incidence of hitting and such but he was redirectable...but, man, the kid must've had a gallon of Mountain Dew for breakfast, 'cause he was running at thirty-five thousand miles an hour all day.

We had to send Superhero home sick yesterday 'cause he coughed up phlegm. Yuck. He was out today and has a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Angel was also out today, and Sleeping Beauty (formerly known as Princess) was asking to go home (!?!) so she must not have been feeling well.

I realized today when I looked at our Charlie schedule that I actually make a big mistake this week...this was the week we were supposed to go to one chapter per day in order to finish on time (we were scheduled to be done reading next Thursday and to spend the next few days doing catch-up work, book reports, bingo, etc.)...but we were still trundling along at two chapters per day!

However, if I nix our weekly poem both this week and next week, we'll make it. Just.

Thank goodness I was avoiding giving M eye contact at that one point today!

Just...No

"Haltingly familiar."

...

Haltingly familiar?

HALTingly familiar?

Good grief.  You meant, perhaps, hauntingly familiar?

Bulldozer was better today, despite the principal telling him he had to stay behind from the field trip...poor Aide T missed former-student-C (of the 3 hour long screamfests) again.  A minor meltdown in the afternoon (a few swings but mostly wailing like a stuck pig).

Personally, I think it was just a couple of bad days.  But I think at this point, even the principal doesn't believe me that he's doing better -- because all she's seen is him being a brat.  I should pull all my Bulldozer comments out of here and make them like pretty (as in, a data-type spreadsheet or something) to prove it.

Our sub for Aide J, who we've had before -- though granted not during the Drama Fest that is this year -- was muttering all afternoon about how it was "ridiculous" that Bulldozer could "do whatever he wants."  Perhaps she missed the part where he missed the field trip, had to work before he earned a break, and then wailed for half an hour because he had to work again?

(Boy, it's tempting, though.  Imagine how happy Bulldozer would be if he could do whatever he wanted?)

Meanwhile, I'm still sick.  Walking to Target about did me in today, so I'm hopeful that just a...ahem...regular school day tomorrow will be more manageable.  (I must have looked bad today; I was in the office after the kids got on the bus, and the principal sent me home!)

Edited to add:  this is so sad....

The Plot Thickens

Turns out it wasn't a Countrywide Mortgage Building -- it was Country Wide Building Supplies or something like that in Fresno.

And, it turns out, whoever bought $1200 of building supplies in Fresno used an actual card.  If I can't get them to stop the payment themselves, then I have to call B of A back and file another type of claim.

Of course, it should be fairly easy to figure out that it wasn't me, based on the time stamps between my Borders transaction and my Target transaction...Google Maps says it takes 2 hours to get from Santa Clarita to Fresno, and to get FROM Borders to the hardware store and BACK to Target is impossible.

Let's just hope B of A understands that.

Meanwhile, I have to wait for my new ATM card to arrive.

Oh, and I guess today was just INSANE at school...I took my first sick day of the year in an attempt to recover from my cold enough to manage the field trip tomorrow.

What a Difference a Pan Makes

B of A update:  Their offices were not open when I called, so I'm just going to stop by a branch tomorrow.  Hopefully, it will be a relatively simple matter of checking with Countrywide to verify that I don't have a mortgage with them, in Fresno or otherwise.

Anyhow, my immune system has finally given up the ghost.  The culprit was a fairly mild (for me) allergy attack last night that I couldn't stop with drugs in time.  So I'm dragging today, trying to sleep it off before going back into the lion's den.

(I should have known yesterday when I stood fully dressed, literally shuddering from cold while Patrick was sitting on the couch in a flimsy undershirt without a problem.)

However, because it's times like this that you want comfort food, so I took a nap to build back my strength (grocery shopping's killer, ya know ;-)) and made Alton Brown's baked macaroni and cheese.  It's very, very good, though of course I've tweaked the recipe a bit.  Instead of 12 ounces of cheese, I use 16 -- a mixture of sharp cheddar and mozzarella.  I top it with the mozzarella and a handful of parmesan (parmiggiano reggiano if I'm feeling particularly indulgent).

I've yet to see what it would do to the texture of the sauce to add some ricotta, but that's on the to-do list of possible tweaks.

In any event, I've tried to make this several times before and was never totally happy with it.  It took almost twice as long as it was supposed to, for one thing, for the sauce to thicken, and I was constantly switching between a whisk and a spoon to get flour out of the corners of the pot when I was cooking the roux.

So I finally bit the bullet and bought an honest to goodness saucier -- a pan dedicated to sauce making (which is really what mac and cheese is -- it's macaroni folded into a bechamel sauce with cheese and then baked).  It's not quite professional quality -- real, truly professional cookware is expensive (cooking, writing, and photography...why are two of my hobbies so expensive?) -- but it's not bargain basement either.  It's decently heavy, with a distinct thickness of the bottom to even out the heat.

This is the second time I've used the pan for this recipe, and it's amazing the difference it makes. Yay.  :-)

Also?  Slightly warmed up leftovers smushed between two pieces of toast makes a yummy sandwich.

Because Life is Never Easy

I did some Hanukkah shopping today, and bought a few books for myself at Borders.  

Stopped for a cookie at the Tollhouse cookie place and *gasp* forgot my purse.  20 minutes later, I went back, and it was behind the counter.

Then I went to Target to buy a really pretty sweater, and Target said there was a problem with my ATM card.

Got home and had an email from B of A saying there was suspicious activity on my account, so I logged in, and lo and behold, there was a $1200 charge to a Countrywide branch in Fresno.  Bwuah?

So, I called the number in the email and went through the identify verification junk, and was reviewing purchases with the guy on the line.  After a few, he said, "Well, that seems like everything's okay, then."

So I pointed out the Countrywide charge.  He was a touch confused, saying it had been "approved."  Well, yeah, I had enough funds to cover it, but there's the slight problem wherein I wasn't in Fresno today and I don't have a mortgage -- with Countrywide or anyone else.

So he turned off my ATM card and gave me another number I have to call tomorrow.  Then they will mail me an affidavit to sign, so that they can put the funds back in my account.

Meanwhile, I have to figure out if I have any other automatic payments due in the interim -- luckily, the cell phone, TiVo, and Netflix all went through yesterday...but I have to check about my car insurance.

Alas, Poor Sparky Junior

Once upon a time, while I was in college, I had a computer named Sparky.  Sparky was a 166 MHz Pentium with something like 32 megabytes of RAM.  (I imagine my iPhone runs faster than 166 MHz).  It was in a monstrously large tower and came with a 17" CRT monitor that weighed as much as Patrick at the time.

During my senior year of college, Sparky, who had been slowly limping along, suddenly panicked and the next thing I knew, I had a mostly empty hard drive.  Strangely enough, there was no apparent rhyme or reason to what, exactly, was sacrificed in the Great Hard Drive Suicide of 1999, but it was certainly traumatic.

So, after the semester I took off to look after Patrick and help to run and then sell my dad's alarm company and monitoring station after he died, I bought Sparky Junior, a 1.7 GHz (10 times faster than Sparky; I was ecstatic) PC with 256 MB of RAM and a 15" LCD monitor.  It ran Windows Me (yeah, I know), which I eventually upgraded to XP.

The sticking point here is the RAM.  It is a random kind of RAM that only existed for a brief time before SDRAM appeared and took over the world, and not even Crucial carries it.

Being a fairly well-informed computer user (translation = uber nerd), I am careful to protect my computer from spyware and viruses and only visit a few trusted sites when using the PC (as opposed to my laptop).  I have virus programs and spyware checkers, and have both a software and hardware firewall.

So I don't think the way my computer randomly slows to a crawl and complains of being out of memory is a virus or spyware issue.

I think Sparky Junior is dying.

Or, rather, I think Sparky Junior's memory is dying, and seeing as how it's virtually impossible to replace, I will soon be in the market for a desktop.  Having become a Mac fan in the interim -- especially now that you can also run Windows for those few applications that require it (Boardmaker and Writing With Symbols being the main suspects) -- it will likely be an iMac.  I wish I could afford the utter powerhouse that is the Mac Pro, but because that would require me to buy a monitor as well, I just won't be able to swing that.  For the price I'd pay on the Mac Pro and the monitor, I could get a very nice iMac as well as Final Cut Studio.

Alas, Poor Sparky Junior; I knew him, Horatio....

Wake Me Up When December Ends

So, I have this song stuck in my head, as it was playing just as I got home today...and it ocurred to me that if I just tweaked

There's a lot of chaos on the school front. Speech Aide A is refusing to work with Bulldozer because he hit her on Tuesday. I got a lovely email from Speech Person DFT when I asked if Speech Aide A was all right -- she'd come into the speech session with guns blazing ("Okay, Bulldozer, it's time for speech...NOW, NO HITTING, OKAY?") and a bad attitude.

The response I got began with something along the lines of, "I'd have to say that no she is not okay" and went on to passively aggressively chastise me for not being at her beck and call at all times ("she came to see you after school and so did I, but you were not available" -- which she knew, because she knew I was translating conferences all afternoon) and then proceeded to explain to me that, OMG, SPEECH AIDE A FILLED OUT AN ACCIDENT REPORT AND IT IS NOW ON PRINCIPAL S's DESK!

(Yeeeah, that's where they all go. Also? They're so not a big deal. My first year of teaching, I did like three a week because I had a fourth grader with some very difficult behavior.)

What bugged me the most is that she assumed his behavior was like that all the time. Long term readers of this blog know that Bulldozer can have his moments, and had many of them at the beginning of the year. However, they will also recall that as the year has gone by, his meltdowns have gotten less frequent and less intense.

(Of course, articulating that to Principal S was the dumbest thing I have ever done, as you would have thought it was a Monday in early September today...it wasn't until 5 minutes before lunch that I got him through a transition from a break back to work without triggering another meltdown.)

In any event, my reply wasn't -- I admit -- a stalwart example of courtesy, though of course you never know how something will appear in email. I won't get into it here, but I pointed out that Bulldozer's behavior has never been wonderful, and that part of the current behavior regarding speech as opposed to just about anything else is that it worked at the beginning of the year when we were fighting battles about just about everything.

Meanwhile, the teachers are up in arms about a mysterious comment or twelve in this week's bulletin that I hope wasn't prompted at least in part by this drama.

The only reasons we survived today is that Student M was out and that it was a Thursday, so Aide Mrs. B came at 11:30, because Aide S left sick at 9:30.

Oh!

Yeah, duh, the reason for the post.

We determined why the existence of November is such a problem for Bulldozer. He wants Christmas, but bad. He wants it now, now, now, now, now, now, NOW.

Now.

So I'd just as soon have it be the end of December, thanks.

Oh, and I finally decided on Swiss Family Robinson for our next book. It's available pre-adapted to a first grade reading level and the version I bought includes a professionally narrated CD for the kids to listen to for the "listening comprehension" day for each chapter, so all I have to do is retype it verbatim with Writing with Symbols and make comprehension questions. Yippee. I'm hoping to have the whole book done before Christmas so that I have a few weeks to breathe before I have to worry about adapting Matilda.

Of Lee Press-On Nails

I forgot to add below that I -- really, truly -- forgot to write the "please clip Elastigirl's fingernails" note today. Of course, I had a kid melting down today before he even got on the bus, so hopefully I'm forgiven.

However, that brought up an excellent point.

Elastigirl has been fairly regularly melting down at about 11:30 each day. I suspect it has to do with Aide J getting tired and stressed, and Elastigirl reacting to that, but I'm too smart to say that.

So, today, I pulled her, along with her News-2-You work, some different work, and just me, with the express intention of doing a few scientific experiments to determine if it's (1) the time, (2) the work, (3) Aide J (didn't say that one aloud), or (4) some combination of the three.

I was all set up, when the psychologist called and reminded us that she wanted to do a few more tests on Elastigirl.

Dang.

A Voice is Crying, "Your Doom is Near at Hand"

(Can ya tell I'm a quote person?)

Anyhow, remember a while back when I said I felt disaster lurking around the bend?

Disaster, thy name is December 18.

Why December 18th, do you ask?

On December 18th, of the total four staff that I have (one morning, one PM, two all day), three -- three -- will be out.

All three morning folks -- Aides S, T, and J -- will be out.

I have already asked the office if I can borrow aide #4 -- Aide Mrs. B -- in the morning and give my sub to her morning position just to have somebody who knows the kids.

And yet, I keep thinking: ALL THREE OF THEM WILL BE GONE.

Whattaya wanna bet that's the morning I wake up to a stolen transmission, four flat tires, and a dead battery?

(Meanwhile, having for the first time spent extensive time with Teacher R, a second grade teacher at our school, and her son L, I have discovered yet someone else with Down syndrome who chews their thumb. I am intrigued. Also? While I'm sure that L can be a royal hell raiser (you should hear his giggle!) he is absolutely utterly adorable, and I have decided that should anything happen to R, I will happily adopt him.)

Sometimes I Amuse Myself Too Much

Must be part of the writing thing.  Sometimes, the phrases that come out of my head just amuse me...especially when they appear on my computer screen without any advance warning.

Right now, I am tickled pink that my brain came up with this:

Tara shook her head in exasperation. “They’re the FBI’s real life Mulder and Scully.” She shrugged defensively at the looks she was getting. “X-Files? If they kissed, the world would stop turning?” She shook her head. “Forget it.”

The joke here, of course, is that the "real life" Mulder and Scully are just as fictional as...

...hey, it was funny to me!  :-)

Of Fingernail Clippers

The good news is that it was a Monday and Bulldozer only had two minor meltdowns -- one of which was semi-provoked. Yay. :-)

The better news is that against all expectations, Aide S's working for a certain psych care services place has only made her better at her job instead of turning her into a discrete trial drone. Yay. :-)

However.

(You knew there was a however, didn't you?)

However, our current drama is that Aide J is just incensed because Elastigirl's parents must clip her fingernails right this second!!!!!

She has asked me to write a note requesting that they do this, but I replied that I was not comfortable doing that because they know that Elastigirl's fingernails should be cut.

(And, also, 'cause you wouldn't get the bejeezus scratched out of you if you only actually did what I told you to for more than 10 minutes at a time, and 'cause the girl could find a way to scratch if all of her fingernails were ripped off in a tragic Velcro accident. Seriously.)

In any event, she has now decided that Elastigirl's scratching is OMG A HEALTH HAZARD because she touches places that shouldn't be touched without washing your hand.

And she is, apparently, telling everybody this...according to our principal.

So I chatted with our principal after school, who grinned knowingly when I said that Aide J had been asked repeatedly to just step away when Elastigirl is scratching ('cause, you know, if you move away, she won't get attention, and -- get this! -- she'll stop scratching) and said that she would tell her the same.

But she did ask me to write the note asking that Elastigirl's fingernails be clipped.

I'm chafing at that (I've worked hard to maintain a good relationship with them, because they had some run-ins with school staff before), but our principal has been very nice and very supportive, so, hey, don't rock the boat, you know?

But this is my blog, and I'll have my say here. (So there.)

1. Elastigirl's parents know her fingernails need to be cut. Her behavior is the same at home as it is at school.

2. Elastigirl's parents have been working very hard to provide for her and do right by her, in the face of enormous challenges and obstacles. She has even done homework sometimes.

3. Elastigirl cringes and flails away from washing her hands. Can you imagine the production that is required to actually clip her fingernails?

4. Seriously. They know her fingernails should be cut. They also know she should have a bath every day, but with a kid with intense needs who has a dad on daily dialysis...sometimes things have to give -- and feeding her dinner is more important than washing her hair.

4a. Don't get all snippy with me. I know kids should have baths. But I have also been the harried sixteen-year-old sister whose dad is in the hospital and who is trying to study for midterms, pick her kid brother up from school, cook dinner, take midterms, hold together a tutoring program while the official tutor's brother is in a hospice dying of cancer, and waiting to see if her dad will wake up from his coma. Guess what? Patrick didn't get a bath that week. So sue me.

4b. Seriously? They know. Get over it and implement her behavior support plan and stop worrying about trivial things like fingernails. If you're worried they're so dirty, wash her hands. Or, you know, your cuts. That you wouldn't have (or, at least, 90% of which you wouldn't have) if you actually absorbed what I tol dyou.

4c. Seriously? They know. They're trying.

4d. While Elastigirl's "mental functioning" is in question, she unquestionably has severe delays. My brother -- my 20-year-old, mostly high-functioning brother -- would, to this day, rather chew off his fingernails than allow fingernail clippers within 50 feet of him. He would rather his toenails rip off in his socks than allow toenail clippers within 100 feet of him. Don't assume it's a matter of, "Oh, c'mere, Elastigirl, let me cut your fingernails, honey."

4e. Seriously? They know.

4f. THEY KNOW AND PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME TICK THEM OFF OVER THIS; LET ME SAVE IT FOR WHEN SHE IS BRUISING HER OWN JAW BY HITTING IT BECAUSE ANOTHER TOOTH IS ROTTING OUT OF HER HEAD, OKAY?

Allow me to rephrase that: If I have only so much good will with this family, I'd rather use it on the thing that is causing such severe pain that hitting herself is the only thing that will make it feel better than on something they know should be done anyway.

Hmph.

Amusing bookmark to this story. I, I admit, whined at one point, "Oooh, she's such a thorn in my side sometimes."

The principal looked askance at me. "Aide J, not Elastigirl," I said.

She looked dubious.

"Seriously. I adore Elastigirl (I do). I'd take Elastigirl home with me in a second...though I might have to fight Aide T for the privelege."

She grinned and at that point wondered if perhaps Aide J is angling for a disability leave from us (with pay, of course) so she only has to work the one job but is paid for both.

Welcome to another week!

(However, my writer's block un-blocked. Or, rather, the dam burst. I have about 4 stories almost done and two videos totally vidded in my head. Squee!)

My New Favorite Quote

If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.

Turkey Coma

And to think he only ate the requisite one bite of turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving

Hope everyone had a great one!

...And Smites Him to the Earth

From "Demonbane," a filk song written by Mercedes Lackey.

The wizard shouts in triumph
Too soon he vents his mirth
For Vanyel calls the lightning down
And smites him to the earth

If I could call lightning down, I might have...smote...someone today.

If you'll recall, a few weeks ago I shared the uncharitable thought I'd had about Speech Person DFT, who ignored my repeated requests not to speak with Elastigirl's aide in front of Elastigirl -- both for ethical reasons and because of the simple fact that when she feels ignored, Elastigirl tends to do unfortunate things.

Anyhow, if you'll recall, I had the uncharitable thought that Elastigirl would, you know, get DFT instead of Aide J.  Or me.  Or anyone else DFT managed to get her mad at.

Elastigirl's tri is coming up.  Aside from trying to get the poor girl off services -- again -- the only services she'd done with Elastigirl this whole year is come in and watch.  She should thank her lucky stars Elastigirl's family is not the questioning kind.

Anyhow, she came in today and started peppering Aide J with questions.

Which, okay, don't do that in front of the kid, don't distract Aide J...all the normal stuff.

We were in the middle of a whole-group News-2-You lesson.

Which, as you may have guessed from my school stories here this year, is not an easy task on the best of days.

So, poor The Boss (Girl J) is trying to read.  Several people are talking.  I prompt her to say, "It's my turn!"

She does.  The kids stop talking.

Except for one.  DFT is deep in conversation with New Girl T.

I repeat, loudly, trying to get DFT's attention, "The Boss, say, 'It's my turn' so people will be quiet so you can read.'"

Chatter, chatter, chatter.

At this point, I'm seeing red.

One more time, "The Boss, I'm so sorry that people are being so rude to you.  Say it again, 'It's my turn.'"

New Girl T stopped talking, but DFT kept right on going.

At that point, Aide B comes to collect Third Grade A, who has been reading with us while her teacher is on maternity leave.

I throw up my hands in defeat, read a page or two to them, split the kids up into groups to work, and go about my life.

But not before I overhear DFT making snarky comments about Elastigirl's work during News-2-You.

The thing is, a year ago, Elastigirl couldn't sit through more than 15 minutes or so of a whole group lesson.  So, I made her file folder games based on the content we were working on.  I also started giving her things to do while the class read, including being master of ceremonies (rolling dice to see who reads next), and a few other things.  What really worked was giving her pictures to match while we read.

A year later, she's progressed from matching color coded pictures, to highlighted pictures, to just pictures, to color-coded words, to large not-color-coded words, and now to just words in the text highlighted.

And DFT has the gall to not only question the work itself, but to be snarky about the size of the text?

So, I girded my metaphorical loins, channeled my inner Vanyel, and wrote an email after school asking her to not do that anymore.  I am going to share it with my staff so that they know to redirect her to me.

The clouds of black have lifted
And there on barren ground
Stands Vanyel, hurt but victor,
The demons tied and bound
He looks down on Lord Nedran
His eyes grow cold and bleak
"Now I shall give you Nedran
all the power that you seek!"

Hmph.

PC Run Amok

You know, I'm all for sensitivity of language and respect for other cultures.  Really.  I've ranted before about the casual use of the "r" word and its derivatives such as "fantard."

But when you have to "warn" that the earlier seasons of Sesame Street, now available on DVD, are for adults only because Alastair Cookie (of Monsterpiece Theater) smokes and then gobbles -- yes, GOBBLES -- a pipe, and because Oscar the Grouch is...well, grouchy, that's just insane.

I mean, for one thing, people should realize that the world was different in the late 60s.  Sesame Street has always very forthright with its audience -- and, I think, its motives.  It's had characters with a variety of disabilities, including physical disabilities, Down syndrome, and, if any Deaf readers will pardon my lumping it in here, Deaf characters.

After the September 11th terrorist attacks, Sesame Street took it upon itself to reassure children by having the characters deal with a fire and then visit a fire station.

That kind of political correctness is fine.  In both cases, they're presenting the world as it is -- there are people in the world with disabilities and the only way to build comfort (let alone mutual respect) is to show people with disabilities participating in society.  In the case of September 11, it happened, and to pretend it didn't is ridiculous.  In fact, to discuss it (or, rather, allude to it) while reassuring children is way better than having them see snatches of news coverage or -- for kids in New York -- to look outside and see smoldering ruins and wonder if they will be next.

Complaining that Oscar the Grouch is too grouchy is just beyond comprehension.  He, like all the other characters, is an exaggeration.

As for Alastair Cookie....  Okay, so he smoked a pipe.

Here's an idea.  Talk about it.  Say, "Boy, that wasn't a good idea.  He ATE the pipe.  You know what's a worse idea?  Smoking it.  Smoking is very bad for you.  I wonder what Alastair Cookie would do if someone asked him to stop?"

Or, you know, talk about the story...all of which I remember fondly.

It may be obvious from this that I was a Sesame Street fan in my formative years.

And I was.  I'm fairly certain I learned phonics from Big Bird's alphabet song.  I loved Kermit's news reports, and I ADORED the sketches where Grover was a waiter.

I watched Sesame Street in the early 80s, when Grover sang with Bernadette Peters, when everybody thought Snuffy was Big Bird's imaginary friend, and -- get this -- before Elmo.

So while some of this rant may be coming from my undeniable nostalgia, I just have to ask: what on Earth are these people thinking?

Kids can tell -- or should be taught, either way -- reality from fantasy.  Alastair Cookie is fantasy.

I never looked at Alastair Cookie and thought, "Oh, good, let's go try EATING a PIPE."

(I mean...really?)

I never thought mummies in Egypt actually walked around, nor did I ever think you could get fish to jump willingly to their doom just by crooning, "Here, fishy fishy fishy."

I grew up with songs like "These are the People in Your Neighborhood," "I Don't Want to Live on the Moon," and "I Love Trash."

And, get this, I never got the idea to collect trash.

Gosh, I must have had parents who told me it was a bad idea.

I betcha they told me not to eat pipes too.  (Well, okay, I like to think I didn't need to be told that.)

Imagine that.

And, in case you're wondering, Patrick grew up on Sesame Street too.  And to prove it, I quote here the first ten pages or so of the masterpiece of early childhood fiction, Ernie's Big Mess.

"Ernie and Bert are best friends.  They live together.  Bert is neat.  Ernie is messy.  Sometimes Ernie is very messy.  Then Bert gets mad.  'Ernie, come here!' Bert shouts.  'Look at the mess you have made!'

'Okay, Bert,' says Ernie.  'I am coming.'  Ernie jumps out of the tub.  Splash!  He splashes water on the floor.  Drip, drip.  He drips water on the rug.

'Ernie!' Bert shouts.  'You are making a bigger mess!'

'But Bert,' Ernie says, 'you told me to look at the mess I made.'"

For the record, he never tired to eat a pipe.  Or smoke one.

Also for the record, my favorite Sesame Street books were There's a Monster at the End of This Book and Gover and the Everything in the Whole Wide World Museum.

Oh, and I like Oscar the Grouch just the way he is, thank you very much.