The STAARs at Night

There is a big debate going on right now about the validity and fairness of standardized testing. I don't have a high school student (yet) so I admit I am ignorant on the debate about making the test's scores part of a student's final grade. I do, however, have a fifth grade student and her final score could impede her progress of going on to enjoy middle school with her friends.

All of my kids are different when it comes to their strengths and weaknesses. My fifth grade daughter has always struggled in academics but she shines in her artistic pursuits. She was a late reader and it takes her longer to catch on to mathematical concepts than it does my other children. She has no learning disabilities, it's just how she is. And we accept her for that. That doesn't mean that we don't expect her to work hard or that we give up on her or that we don't do everything we can to help her succeed. She is 100% capable of learning and she will do it, she just does it at her own pace. In fact her little mind is like a steel trap; once she latches on to a concept it stays there forever. We encourage her to ask questions in class, she goes to tutoring, we work with her on her homework, her teachers send extra practice home, we print out our own workbook pages on weekends and on long breaks. My daughter will be prepared for life. 

So what's the problem, you ask? Testing. Not just the STAAR (State of Texas Assessments of Academic Readiness), but the benchmarks and the district assessments and the teacher's exams. Is there a week or a day that goes by that these kids don't have a test? Is there a time that these teachers can actually teach and not administer an exam? Is there a time that these kids can relax and not worry about when their next assessment is coming up? 

As I said before, each of my children are very different. My son is in seventh grade. He could care less if there a test coming up. He barely has to study for his exams and he makes an 'A'. He breezes through his assessments, comes home, does his homework, practices his trumpet and then reads his comic books without a second thought. My fifth grade daughter was completely stressed about the STAAR test. She knew that she was struggling in math and she knew that if she didn't pass the STAAR she may not pass the fifth grade. That was a lot of pressure for an eleven year old. The only thing that made it easier on her was the knowledge that she could work her math problems out her way. No one was going to be coming up behind her telling her that she wasn't working her problems out the way that the district required. My youngest, my third grader daughter, cries every time she has to take any kind of test. But then she goes to school and usually does very well. I have never been able to pinpoint why she gets so anxious, considering she generally gets good grades. The only thing I can think of is that it seems that nearly every week she is taking a test of some sort and she gets burned out taking them.

I honestly don't know what to do about this conundrum. I have seen example questions of what my district feels their standards ought to be. I have seen example questions the STAAR test feels the nation's standards ought to be. They are in line with each other and neither feels that out of line to me. If yours aren't, SPEAK UP! It's you're right as a parent, as an educator, as a board member, as a tax payer! Demand better!

Here is my (ideal) proposed solution to the too much testing problem. IF the district is doing their job and hiring quality educators, THEN the exams that the quality educator comes up with should be a fair assessment of a student's understanding of the material learned in the classroom. A teacher's exams should replace a district's benchmark tests, which I don't see a need for to begin with considering my district insists on districts exams as well. Getting rid of just one test frees up much more time for actual classroom instruction. As for state mandated or national mandated tests, I can't help you with that. You reap what you sow. If you want change, you have to make change. Educate yourself before going to the polls. We've gotten ourselves into this mess, we can get ourselves out of it.

By the way, my daughter passed the STAAR and I am one proud mama. 

My Snowflakes

Each of my children have their own distinct personalities. They're like snowflakes. No two are alike. Sure, they all have similarities. They all have brown hair and brown eyes. But Timothy is musical mathematical.  Rebecca is artistic and poetic. Diana is my athletic writer. Along with their strengths, come their weaknesses. And as much as I love their strengths and encourage them to pursue their interests, I have to help them work through their weaknesses so that they don't hinder them when they leave the safety of my nest.

Timothy is very logical and ordered. Science, math and music make a lot of sense to him. Writing, not so much. In writing there are too many rules that can be fudged. I can write this sentence without any commas and it would still make sense. But, in this sentence, I need multiple commas in order for it to make sense because, should I leave them out, it would be incorrect. He made good enough grades last year to get into the highest level classes available. He is doing really well in all of them except language arts. The concepts that he is not grasping deal with the rules of the English language. I can't say that I blame him. You try explaining to a child how to form compound and complex sentences without Googling it. I dare you. But if you ask him to solve a math problem in his head, he can do it. And he made the top band right out of Beginner's Band. He loves playing his trumpet and recently expressed an interest in learning to play multiple instruments. 

Rebecca's kryptonite is math. Always has been. I swear she has arithmaphobia. As soon as you ask her a math question, no matter how simple, she balks. And I am out of solutions as to how to help her. I have screamed, yelled, drawn diagrams, played charades, done it for her, bought workbooks, sat her down with computer programs, sent her to tutoring, taught her different ways, cried, prayed, gotten extra work from her teachers, ignored the problem, and gotten a drink. And, no, she does not have ADD, ADHD, dyslexia or anything else. She's just plain bad at math. That magic moment of comprehension just hasn't happened for her yet. Her teachers have all been really great about letting her sit up front so she can whisper the problems out loud (which seems to work for her) and give her some extra time on her tests. But if you ask her to write a story or a poem, she's your girl. And she is developing a really good singing voice. She gets that from Daddy.

Diana is my little spitfire. I'm not surprised that she wanted to get involved in student council. If anyone can convince anyone to do anything, it's Diana. She loves to write in her spare time. She makes up stories and keeps them in a little notebook. She is my outdoors girl. I think she would live in the backyard if I would let her. What I need her to do is work on her reading. As good a writer as she is, you'd think she'd be a really good reader. It's not the reading we have to work on, per se, it's the comprehension. She loves to read. In fact, she reads on a level a few grades higher than she is, but her comprehension is lagging. I am pretty familiar with the books that she is reading so I am able to make up some good questions to test her comprehension. If I lead her the right way, she can get to the right answer but she should be able to answer my questions without me having to lead her. I think she understands what she is reading, but she either isn't paying attention to the details or to she is too busy making up her own stories that are inspired by what she is reading to care.

My three little snowflakes. I love that they all have their own unique interests, even if it means more work for me in the run long. I think it's fascinating watching them grow and turn into these real little people. They're no longer these helpless little babies. They are tiny little people with their own personalities and now it's up to me to help guide them into adulthood. This is so exciting. I hope I don't screw it up.

School Ties

I have a confession to make. I haven't been the best example for my children. I quit high school at the end of my junior year and home schooled my senior year. I never felt that I fit in anywhere in school. But I also never made the effort to fit in. I had a handful of friends in all of the high school cliques but I never made any long lasting friendships the way my husband did. That is something I have always been jealous of.

I could have breakfast with the Misfits, lunch with the Thespians, hang out after school with the Musicians and the Stoners, get on the bus with the Nerds and then spend my weekends with kids that didn't even go to my school. It only took one bad relationship to teach me to never date boys that went to the same school I did. The reasons I left school are much too complicated to explain in black and white, and I don't regret the decision, but it has led to some lonely times as an adult.

I don't have any high school reunions to look forward to. In fact, I look forward to my husband's high school reunions. What can I say? I live vicariously through his time tested friendships. I did recently get invited to my Thespian Troupe's reunion. We were the first Thespian Troupe in our school because we went to a new high school. We set a lot of the ground rules. I guess it was kind of a big deal now that I think of it. But I was actually surprised to get the invite.

It was the only society I ever joined, until college anyway. At that time, theater was all I ever wanted to do. It was all any of us ever wanted to do. It was the common bond that joined us all together. Actors, costumers, stage managers, directors, lighting technicians, sound artists... But I didn't participate very much on my high school stage. When I was younger, before high school, I had gotten involved in local community theaters and had formed deep bonds with the people there. That was where my friends were. That was where my heart was. That was where my passion was. That was where I wanted to be. And that was where I stayed for nearly 20 years. I'd still be there today had it not been for my stroke in 2010.

Now I am invited to this reunion. I feel a little hypocritical going because I didn't contribute anything to my Thespian Troupe. I thought about not going at all. I don't have anything to show to anyone. I don't feel that I made anything of myself. I didn't form any long lasting friendships with anyone. But I want to see these people. They still mean something to me. The best part about theater is that they welcome everyone and for the most part, they welcomed me.

Who cares if we didn't all become famous? Who cares if we all gained some weight (well I did)? I'm sure none of us are where we thought we would be when we left high school. It'll be fun to see what happened to everyone. Where we all went and how we all got there. Who knows? Maybe I'll get some ideas for a new script. After all these years, I still can't stay away from theater, even though now I'm a struggling (very struggling) playwright.

Maybe I am capable of committing to something. Script writing may be slow going, but I have been making progress. So maybe I'm not such a bad example after all. All I know is, I made the right decision at the right time. But I will do everything I can to keep my kids in school. There were things that made life unbearable at 17, but I often wonder how life would have been different if I had stuck it out just one more year. I'm going to go to that reunion. And I am going to have a great time. And I'm going to come home and tell my kids all about it. (Well, the PG parts of it, anyway.) Because it's the only part of high school I can still be proud to be a part of.

Bra Envy Leads to Breast Envy

When I was ten, I had the worst case of Bra Envy. That's the precursor to Breast Envy. It ate me up. I don't know if all little girls go through Bra Envy or just us late bloomers, but I remember it very clearly.

When I was in fifth grade I thought all of my friends were starting to develop and it drove me crazy. There they all were. All wearing bras. Messing with their bra straps. Having to adjust themselves. I was going mad with jealously! I begged my mom to buy me a bra. But for what? What would a bra possibly be holding in? I was lucky I had fat enough on my body to keep me warm, let alone try form boobies. So I thought I was real smart. I thought that if I just stood up real straight and stuck my little chest out, it would look like I was getting bigger on top. It didn't stop there. I would wear an undershirt or something under my clothes. You know, to give the appearance of bra straps. I didn't care if they were big and bulky. And I would fiddle with an imaginary strap in the middle of my back, just like all my real bra wearing friends did. It worked until a boy in class went to snap my bra and discovered there was nothing there. I was mortified. So I did the next best thing. I hiked my underwear up as high as it could go. Until it almost reached the middle of my back if I arched my spine. This was a long time time ago. All we kids had back then were Granny Panties. Then I would fiddle with my undies as if they were my bra strap. I was desperate.

Don't judge me.

I don't think I got my first training bra until the end of fifth grade. And I never actually needed a bra until maybe seventh grade. I'll even let you in on a little secret. I wore the Wonder Bra when I got married because I wanted a little something on top. Do you remember those? Of course you do. Now I have the best in Victoria's Secret bras, but I want better boobs. I had kids. Enough said. Bra Envy leads to Breast Envy.

So, what do I tell my ten year old daughter? In her mind's eye, all her little friends are starting to wear bras and little undershirts because, let's face it, they need them. My daughter, my precious little girl, does not. She is built like I was at ten years old. Scrawny. But lucky for her, she has me to help guide her through this sensitive time. I went out and bought her the damn bra.

20 Reasons I've Decided NOT to Workout

1. I don't want to make the other moms jealous.

2. I don't like getting hot and sweaty.

3. I don't have any cute workout clothes.

4. If I were a major babe, it would just embarrass my kids.

5. I just used the word 'babe'. Clearly I don't need to be one.

6. I think I may allergic to exercise. It makes my face turn red and I start breathing heavily.

7. Working out makes me hungry. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?

8. Great. Now I want a Snickers.

9. Hold on, I'm chewing...

10. Exercising makes me count. I have to count calories, steps, candy bars... And I hate math.

11. Exercising makes me thirsty.

12. And it's too early for margaritas. Dammit.

13. Gyms smell funny.

14. Sweaty people smell funny.

15. B.O. is the pits! HAHA Get it?

16. I like smelling good.

17. I also dislike pain; i.e. muscle soreness and cramps.

18. Ugh! And it's so boring! You have to do it everyday! Who wants to do that?

19. You can't see changes right away. No instant gratification here!

20. I'm a mom. I do enough already.

Body Image

I recently noticed that my youngest one, a daughter aged seven, has been making comments like, "I need to exercise", "Look how many inches I have lost", and "My tummy looks big today". I was floored to hear these comments coming from sweet seven year old. Especially one as active (and not needing to lose weight) as mine. It didn't take very long for the light bulb to click and realize that she was doing what kids do best. Copying Mommy.

Body image is one of those subjects that doesn't get talked about until there is a problem. A negative body image can have very damaging consequences. Eating disorders, low self esteem, and depression are just a few examples. When someone is suffering from a poor body image, we take it upon ourselves to try to boost them up so they feel better. We reassure and encourage them. After all, we've all been there, haven't we? Then we talk about them as if something were wrong. How could they feel so badly about themselves? Or how did they let themselves get to this point? How come no one noticed sooner? And we act like we don't understand. On the flip side, have you ever noticed that we always describe people in the most negative of terms when they have a healthy body image? Someone who is happy with the way they are is suddenly conceited, vain, pompous, arrogant, cocky, narcissistic, egotistical, stuck-up, or snooty. We can never just be happy for those with a healthy body image. And heaven forbid  that those who are satisfied with themselves be imperfect in society's eyes. But we form society's opinions. We are society's eyes, ears, brains, and mouths. It's a vicious cycle that we stuck ourselves in. It affects us as mothers as we struggle to accept the changes that motherhood has made to our bodies. And it affects our children as they see us struggle.

Fifty years ago, the average woman weighed roughly 120 pounds and wore about a size eight. Today the average woman weighs about 145 pounds and wears a size 12-14. Fifty years ago, we had to be a lot more active to get things done. We forget that convenience wasn't always at our fingertips. Kids didn't have video games and mindless cartoons to entertain them. In fact, television wasn't even broadcast 24 hours a day like it is now. Food had to be prepared because TV dinners were still pretty new. There was no internet so you still had to physically go somewhere to mail a letter or talk to someone. No wonder people were smaller. Sizes have even changed to appease our vanity. A size 8 in the 1950's is roughly a size 2/4 today. Our fashion models have even gotten skinnier. Twenty years they were wearing a size 8. Today they wear a size 0. Our most famous stars are averaging a size 2-4.

It's no wonder that I struggle with my body image. I never bought into the idea that because we are constantly bombarded by images that I would somehow be affected. I thought I was smarter than that. I had a theory that because I had educated myself on the topic, I could avoid the pitfalls of a poor body image. It only took my fat clothes becoming my skinny clothes for me to become obsessed with my body image. And when I became obsessed, so did my daughter.

It didn't matter that I wasn't talking about her. It didn't matter that I wasn't asking her to exercise or eat less or eat better or watch her weight or the millions of other things we tell ourselves to do. She was copying me and I was doing it to myself. What should matter is that she says I'm beautiful and that she loves me and that she says I'm the best mom ever.

So I'll climb down off my soap-box now and be honest with myself. Yeah, I'm not real happy with my pudgy belly or my floppy arms. And maybe my legs aren't as nice as they used to be. But not being proud of who I am is affecting how my kids feel about themselves. I should hold my head a little higher and cut myself some slack. I've been through a lot to get here. My kids like me just the way I am. There's nothing wrong with wanting a little self improvement. I just need to go about it in a way that has a positive effect on my children's lives. The things we do have a lasting effect on our children. Let's make sure they are positive.


If you or someone you know needs help with an eating disorder please contact:
NEDA
NIH
Mayo Clinic

Fifty years ago information link here