tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37763953251425265352024-02-18T19:55:40.395-08:00Sponge WorthyI'm taking in all the happenings in Kansas City and saving you all the trouble . . .
I'll let you know whether to soak it up or squeeze it out!!KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.comBlogger134125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-81249876271966642302013-10-31T08:33:00.000-07:002013-10-31T08:33:59.676-07:00Dorothy Jean <br />
My Aunt Dorothy was the last Kersten of her generation. My dad was the only one in his. Leaving my 3 sisters and my brother to carry on the name. My son is a Rosenblatt. My sister finally had a boy after 3 girls and so the Kersten name will carry on.<br />
<br />
It seems like such an archaic idea to worry about. But our names are one of 3 things that we leave behind for people years into the future to know about us. Our name. When we were born. When we died.<br />
<br />
When we walk along the names of those who walked before us, we don’t know how they liked their burgers cooked, which team they rooted for during the Super Bowl, how many friends they had on Facebook, which tax bracket they fell into, or what car they drove. We don’t know if they were kind, or stingy, or funny, or stinky. We know their name, when they were born and when they died.<br />
<br />
Looking at etchings in stone, matching years with names and dedications to similar names and years, we can come up with a reasonable frame for a family tree. We can sense the sorrow that was felt when burying a young child, or see the heartache that took the husband 2 weeks after his wife of 50 years passed. We can see how much a sister was loved, and imagine a lot of hand holding across the plots.<br />
<br />
What we don’t know - beyond our own imaginations - are the stories that filled the dash between the two dates. We don’t get the dirt. We don’t get the grace.<br />
<br />
For all that stuff, I turned to my Great Aunt Dorthy.<br />
<br />
Man, did that lady have stories. And each story had many versions, depending on her mood, the time of day, who was within earshot...Some people have a mind like a steel trap - hers could tame a grizzly bear.<br />
<br />
There were so many nights as a young adult I would sit by her on the patio at her hotel watching the stars and listen to her telling stories of my dad when he was growing up, or of family back home. People she would talk about as if I knew them, stories I grew to believe I had lived through because I heard them so often. I’d be tired or cold and want to go inside, but she could talk for hours and I wouldn’t want to miss what she had to say, or get in trouble for interrupting.<br />
<br />
She never forgot a thing. Well, she would forget who I was every now and then....but I’m pretty sure that was just a guilt trip for taking too long between visits. She NEVER forgot a thing. And for those of us that loved her, this proved to be a blessing and a curse.<br />
<br />
She always remembered that Elle my oldest was due on her own birthday...but was born 6 days early. But then, she also always remembered the trip to the Janesville Mall with 3 year old Elle at Christmas....let’s just say Aunt Dorothy didn’t have a lot of patience for toddler temper tantrums.<br />
<br />
She always remembered that Demi loved to color...and so she always remembered to hide her coloring books when we came to visit. But she always brought out the poker chips that my kids loved so much.<br />
<br />
She could never remember my son Atticus’ name, but I’m pretty sure she just wanted me to know she thought it was weird. But watching her recall my dad as a baby as my son who he would never meet sat on her lap will always be one of my favorite moments in life.<br />
<br />
My siblings would say she had a selective memory - and only remembered when I was good, and when they were naughty. I’d like to think she was spot on! But we had a special bond I can remember all the way back to my 3rd birthday party. We had a pony ride, I got a huge coloring book, my boyfriend Keith sharing our cake...it was also the first day I remember knowing who my Aunt Dorothy was and holding on to her neck and crying as she tried to leave. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.<br />
<br />
I’ll never forget scraping my nose on the bottom of her pool, or playing rummy with her residents, or watching fireworks on the Fourth of July at the beach, or the Easter Egg hunts on the Lauderdale-by-the-Sea Chamber lawn, walking to get ice cream at the HoJo, her mauve and brass luxury apartment, the way she spread margarine on my toast. Watching baseball with her, or watching her feed her finches.<br />
<br />
When she moved back up here to her little “shack by the railroad track”, I finally got to meet a different side of Dorothy. She was back with family and had even more stories to share. I finally got to meet a lot of the people I had heard about through the years. She loved her family so much.<br />
<br />
My dad and Dorothy also shared a very special bond. She was never easy on him, and he never stopped picking on her. He would have done anything for his Aunt Dorothy. So when she went into surgery a few months after he died, I came up because he would have wanted to. I channelled my dad as I apologized to the nurses she cursed when she had to drink her barium, as I held her hand as she slept when they were done, as I lied to her over and over again and told her the nurses were coming when all she wanted to do was sit up, as I played along as she wanted to stage a coups to sneak out of the joint. They were both born on the 26th of the Month - him in March, her in August. He died on October 28th in 2010, she left us on the 27th. I imagine them causing quite a ruckus, and can’t wait to hear the stories when I join them.<br />
<br />
I thought Aunt Dorothy would live forever. To know that she didn’t is hard, and to not have gotten to say goodbye is even harder. But my kids will always know who she was, I have stories to share about her and even people I never met that will keep her around in spirit, I have today that I am sharing with you all. She helped instill in me a charge to keep family at the forefront and to live the life we are given. Thank you for coming today to celebrate her life and for keeping her dash far from flat.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-55553402586908322442013-10-27T22:45:00.000-07:002013-10-27T22:45:40.221-07:00My RockWhen I first realized the rock was mine, it seemed so darn big. And rough. And heavy.<br />
<br />
But I loved it so.<br />
<br />
Loved to climb on it and play with it and tried not to stub my toe. Sometimes I would see other people's rocks and I would think theirs was better, or maybe funkier, and sometimes even thought I'd like to trade. But I was stuck with this one.<br />
<br />
So I learned how to dance with it. And we had some great moves.<br />
<br />
As I got older, my rock started growing on me and I couldn't imagine a prettier thing. When it was time to share my rock with my kids, all the rough spots had worn and the soft spots that were always there became easier to find.<br />
<br />
The day I lost my rock I knew my life would never be the same. There were days my tears had nowhere to splash, or I could really use a nice bump on the head. There were jokes with noone to laugh, and stories that were never told. Those days were hard.<br />
<br />
One day I felt the rock in my pocket. Way down deep inside where I couldn't reach it with my hand, but where I could feel it next to my leg. From that day on, I walked with a little pep in my step, some pride in my stride. Except the frustrating days I would try so hard to find it because feeling it wasn't enough, or days when it weighed me down and I just needed to run.<br />
<br />
I am lucky to have had my rock as long as I did. Lucky to have had it at all. Super lucky mine rocked.<br />
<br />
I woke up this morning and pulled on my pants. There was nothing in my pocket. It reminded of that day I lost my rock, that sad day, years ago now. It's funny how the rock would have been the perfect thing to get me through a day like this. (Funny is a funny word sometimes.) Today was easier in some ways than that day, harder in others.<br />
<br />
<br />
I got through today as I do all others. Rocking my baby to sleep, singing softly and drifting off into thought. Through the window, I noticed a star twinkle in the dark night, reminding me that rocks don't die, they simply move on.<br />
<br />
<br />KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-85096281544687016032012-10-28T11:35:00.000-07:002012-10-28T12:06:51.610-07:00Vivian and Morty's Dinner PartyVivian came first. Like always.<br />
<br />
She walked through the door and chimes of recognition wafted through the room. You could smell her perfume, mingled with the finger foods and spilled wine. Her giggles carried her from one huddle to the next, bringing color to our cheeks and a certain rhythm to the night. Everyone enjoyed her so much. Her beauty made you feel beautiful, her volume made you happy to be loud, her grace made you feel like dancing.<br />
<br />
Except for Mr. Sullivan. His usual grimace darkened when Vivian walked in. When she made his way over to him to sing hello, he took a swig of his dark beer. "Where's Morty?" he asked as his eyes darted around the room.<br />
<br />
"Oh, he'll be here in a little bit. You know him, always working."<br />
<br />
"Busy man," Sullivan muttered as he walked away.<br />
<br />
Vivian glanced across the room and looked at the whole party. She was glad to see everyone enjoying themselves, took one last sip of her drink and ran to the door to greet the next guest coming in.<br />
<br />
"Oh darling, I thought you'd never come," Vivian embraced Morty as he blew in with the cold wind.<br />
<br />
A young man slipped through behind Morty, who released Vivian to watch the exiting lad with a smirk.
"Leaving so soon?" he quipped with a glance and turned to shut the door.<br />
<br />
The wind helped the door slam shut, the lights flickered, the music skipped, everyone looked to the front of the room to see Morty standing there with Vivian. "Hello everyone! Time to have some fun!"<br />
<br />
Vivian was so happy to have her love by her side. She floated on a cloud of completeness, and traveled around the room like a storm.<br />
<br />
One group of ladies huddled closer as Vivian and Morty lumbered by. Maisie Mixon whispered loudly, "You know, I knew he was coming, but I thought we'd have a little more time." Another, more bold, guest loudly exclaimed, "Way to ruin a good party." You could hear the sniffles of a couple people's soft sobs.<br />
<br />
It's not that people didn't like Morty. Most of them had known him for pretty much their whole lives. Some people thought he was pretty cocky, others thought he was deceptive, some flirted with him, others feared him....but they all accepted his presence. Because of Vivian. And when he was around, everything that was wonderful about her, just shone that much brighter - some believed it was in spite of Morty, others believed it was because of him.<br />
<br />
The night continued, the joviality returned. Morty made his rounds, and Vivian made her own. As Vivian looked through a young couple's brag book of baby pictures, Morty escorted old Mrs. Hawthorne to her waiting coach. As Vivian shared stories and laughed at Sam and Taylor's anecdotes of their trip across the mountains, Morty boxed in the kitchen with Mary's husband, Tom, while Mary shouted pointers and dared Morty to take the final shot. Morty walked out of the kitchen hearing Tom's labored breath, knowing next time wouldn't be such a battle, and heard Vivian squealing at an engagement announcement. He saw Sylvia hunched over in the corner, her shoulders frowning and her eyes in her hands. He tried to sneak by, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the nearby closet. As he walked into the living room, the music got louder and he could see everyone circling around Vivian on the dance floor. Mr. Cotter was on the outer edge of the floor, and when Morty tapped him on the shoulder, it surprised him, but he didn't put up much of a stink. He just got his jacket and walked out, leaving Mrs. Cotter to sit alone and watch the rest of the party.<br />
<br />
The music slowed down, a couple more people left, everyone settled into their own corners, talking about the night, wondering why their feet hurt so much, and how they got tired so quickly. Morty seemed to be everywhere, but most were relieved to see he was gathering his things and saying his goodbyes.<br />
<br />
He found Vivian, smiling and dancing, and told her it was time to go. And like always, Vivian and Morty walked out, hand in hand. KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-7544436017041621962011-03-25T22:01:00.001-07:002011-03-25T22:01:55.573-07:00Happy Birthday, Pops!Papa wasn’t gone long when his birthday rolled around. He always knew how to make everyone’s day special, and his day always kinda came and went without much ado. But this year, the whole family came together and put together a great care package to send off for him to let him know they were still thinking of him, no matter how far away he was.<br />
His little bird gave him continuity. She flew closest among the other birds that he forever changed with his training and care, and she made sure to keep his spirit among them as they transitioned to other leaders of the sky. <br />
His monkey gave him production. She worked hard to keep up with the many tasks he always handled so well, to make sure nothing fell through the cracks that his absence would leave. She also gave him revelry, to ensure him that people would not let life bring them down.<br />
His worm sent him a little sorrow, to let him know how sorely he was missed. She also sent news of another little creature that would join the others in the brood who would lengthen his legacy and tell his stories for generations to come.<br />
Papa’s turtle couldn’t think of anything to send, so he recorded a song for him. Returning the gift of rhythm his father had given him long ago, a promise to keep the beat alive was the greatest Indian gift.<br />
The little ones sent their own treasures - the beautiful fox sent some grace, the tiger sent a story, the koala bear sent a hug, and the mouse shared some cheese. They snuck in a big, scary monster, too - just in case he missed playing their favorite game.<br />
Nanny collected all these gifts and placed them in a big box. With all these presents, all she wedged in between the tissue paper and the ribbon was a small, little promise. A promise to keep on living the life that they lived together - a life of love, a life of joy, a life of let-downs, a life of laughter - a life big enough for the both of them - a life lived so high that its worth the pain of the fall. She sent a kiss and some fallen tears, but kept what remained of her heart - he already took some of that with him when he left. She closed up the box, put it out on the stoop, and knew it would get there, even if she didn’t know how.<br />
They sang together, like the family often did, and wished their dad, their great Popopotomous, a Happy Birthday and knew he would love all of his gifts, as they loved and cherished each one he had ever shared with them.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-10399695911162186552011-03-09T23:11:00.000-08:002011-03-09T23:11:08.509-08:00I wish the OP on my ticket meant Other People'sNever get a ticket in Overland Park. Really, just don't do it. Especially if you're not white. Or, if you have a job. Or, a child. But, if you really MUST get a ticket, I mean if you just can't help it, or really can't resist the challenge - I have the fool-proof way to get out of it. If you're willing to drive to the courthouse 7 times. And if you have a baby to bring with you (those things are great in an IRS audit situation, too!) And, definitely make sure that the cop that gives you a ticket is a nincompoop.<br />
<br />
I did it a couple years ago. Got the ticket, that is. My court date wasn't until a whole 11 months later - but that's a whole other story. After 6 trips to the courthouse where I found someone to watch my baby, or scheduled it during her rare naptime - I headed to what I thought was going to be another rescheduling. But, it didn't turn out that way.<br />
<br />
Walked in with baby around 8:30am. Sat through the first session of trials - (please, please, please remember what I say about being white when you go to court, I swear it helps!) Was first told by the prosecutor that I was an idiot for going to trial for a speeding ticket. Was then told by the judge that my baby would distract me from representing myself and getting a fair trial. I asked if I had another option, she said not really, but if it had been her child she would have found a babysitter. "Oh, like I did for the first 6 times I came up here, your honor?" is what I wanted to say, but I just noted the advice she gave me in my notebook to prepare for the appeal to this trial that I was sure I was going to lose. I sat around for another 2 hours until I was next on the docket. <br />
<br />
I sat patiently in the defendant's table listening to the officer that pulled me over talk about his ray gun and how he calibrated it. I scribbled interestedly like it meant something to me. The prosecutor smirked at who she thought was a girl who got bad advice from the internet. Then she had the officer identify me as the person he pulled over. She asked how he identified me when he pulled me over. He said he did with my Missouri license. (Scribbled real notes now.) She asked if he was given a reason that I was speeding. He said that I told him I was rushing to get back to work. (Scribbling with fervor.) I'm not quite sure what else he was asked, but I was ready to take my first witness down.<br />
<br />
"Hello, Officer."<br />
"Hello."<br />
"How do you remember I was going 48 miles an hour 11 months ago?"<br />
"I have it here in my notes."<br />
"And it says that my speed was 48 miles?"<br />
"Yes."<br />
"Do you remember how fast you told me I was going when you first pulled me over?"<br />
"No."<br />
"You don't remember telling me I was going 38 miles an hour? Then when I asked what the posted speed limit was, and you said 35 and I repeated that I was going 38, you replied oh, I meant you were going 43.?"<br />
"No, I don't recall that."<br />
"Is it possible that you said that?"<br />
"I don't think so. But yes, it is possible."<br />
"What would cause you to make a mistake like that?"<br />
"It wouldn't be a mistake. I just would have misspoke."<br />
"Well, what would make you misspeak?"<br />
"I'm not sure. I am human, I guess."<br />
"And in your notes, you have written that I presented my Missouri license to identify myself?"<br />
"Yes," pretends to look at his notes, "your Missouri license."<br />
"So, if I told you that I presented my Florida Driver's License, that would surprise you because you usually write good notes?"<br />
"Yes, that would surprise me."<br />
"What would make you miswrite that in your notes?"<br />
"I'm not sure."<br />
"And in those same notes, you wrote down that I told you I was in a hurry to get back to work?"<br />
"Yes."<br />
"So, again, you would be surprised to know that I was not working at this time, and actually told you I was on my way to the doctor's office when you pulled me over? Do you normally make this many mistakes in your notes?"<br />
"No, not often, or ever if I remember correctly."<br />
"So, when you captured my speed on the radar gun, does it automatically feed the information onto the ticket?"<br />
"No. I write the speed in."<br />
"So, could you have written it in incorrectly?"<br />
"No, not really."<br />
"There is no way that that could happen? No time between when you clocked the speed, and when you told me I was going 38 miles an hour, then - no, my bad - 43 miles an hour, and wrote down the wrong state drivers license and mixing up work and doctors appointment, that you could have seen the wrong speed on the gun or written a different speed on the ticket?"<br />
"No, I just copy it from the machine."<br />
And feeling a bit of a rush . . . I asked, "but, you ARE human, right?"<br />
"Yes. Yes, ma'am, I am."<br />
<br />
No further questions. The prosecution rested and I got to call my first and only witness. Myself. Well, and Demi.<br />
<br />
I got to go on the stand and testify that I was not speeding that day, that I was not a speeder, that there were other cars on the road with me, that there was ABsolutely no way I was going 48 miles an hour in a 35 zone (grandma driver, people!). The extremely bitchy prosecutor who still thought she was dealing with an amateur (Hello - I've seen Legally Blond!) stood up to cross examine me. She smugly asked me:<br />
"Okay, Ms. Rosenblatt, if you weren't going 48, how fast were you going?"<br />
"It was quite some time ago, but if the speed limit was 35 miles an hour, I was going 35 miles an hour or less."<br />
"How do you know that if it was such a long time ago?"<br />
"Because I'm not a speeder."<br />
"So, you're saying you've never speeded?" (Yes, she said speeded. It made me smile.)<br />
"I'm not a speeder." (any real fan of Elle Woods would have jumped in with an objection. Answer the question, dammit.)<br />
No further questions.<br />
Her closing argument was snarky and smug and full of NEVER, EVER, EVER SPEEDED loveliness that I was kinda sad to have it end. And because I was nervous to stand up and give mine.<br />
<br />
But I did. I told the judge that despite his human intention of writing the right things down that day, he made too many mistakes in this incident to make him a credible witness. And as the prosecutions sole witness, they did not satisfactorily prove their case, and so her only choice would be to find me not guilty. Then Demi - who had been silent and lovely this entire time finally spoke up with like 20 seconds of dribble. The judge laughed at Demi, scribbled behind her bench for a few seconds and said, "The prosecution has not proven its case. It's dismissed."<br />
<br />
I didn't know where to go. I did know I couldn't look at that prosecutor. I don't like to gloat. In public. I just got my things together and walked out into the hallway. I wasn't sure if I had to sign anything or go somewhere to tape a commercial for Disney World . . . but the officer came out soon after I did.<br />
"Do I need to sign anything?"<br />
"Nope - you're free to go."<br />
"Sorry." I didn't know what else to say.<br />
"It's okay. It's all just a game."<br />
<br />
Which kinda pissed me off, but then I realized, who gives a shit? <br />
I won.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-9447721831660869462010-11-09T19:12:00.000-08:002010-11-09T19:28:35.565-08:00He is HereI lost my first copy of this story and had to re-write (and record it) at like 3 in the morning, so its due for some major rewrites . . . but my niece, Kayla, danced to it on Sunday for my dad's memorial - so I think it was pretty perfect. Thanks, everyone, who came out - it was a fitting service for a pretty awesome dude!<br />
<br />
"He is Here"<br />
<br />
When they reached the point they could no longer follow, and Papa courageously and graciously went on on his own, Nanny and the rest of the family watched him go, their tears and each other being the only things to sustain them. When they could no longer see him on the horizon, they just stood there, staring blankly, not quite sure what to do. When they looked around and saw each other, they realized how tightly they were gripping onto each other’s hands. Then they realized they didn’t know where to go. They were lost. Without papa there, they weren’t sure where the marsh was, how far their trip would be, or even if it was worth going back. They wanted to run as fast as they could to get back, where they felt warm, where they felt loved, where they felt whole. But buckets of tears are heavy, and a dark path is hard to navigate.<br />
<br />
They wandered in the dark wood and thought they’d never find the way home. Little lights started to twinkle in the night - the little ones thought maybe they were stars coming down from the sky - but slowly the twinkle started to grow into a warm glow, and they realized that the light came from the eyes of their many forest friends. With their help, the dark path was brightened enough to know which direction to choose. <br />
<br />
Then there were times when they just couldn’t go on, when they missed Papa so much it hurt. These days they didn’t get very far - and sometimes they’d lose their way again. But they knew that Papa wanted them to get back to the good times, back to the jokes, and the stories and the games and the songs - so they pushed on. And Nanny led them with a brave smile on her face and the little ones reminded everyone that laughter really is the best medicine.<br />
<br />
One day, a particularly hot day, the pricks from the branches and the muddy patches in the road and the wrong turns and the crying babies just got to be too much for Nanny to bear. She sat down on a big rock, closed her eyes, and turned her face to the sky. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her arms fell by her side while the sobs took over her body. She raised her head to the sky in exasperation and her mouth opened as she prepared to yell out, “Why?”, when she heard the leaves rustle under her feet. As her tear-soaked eyes opened, she thought she awakened from a dream . . . she knew where she was - she knew how to get home! And as if the wind was pushing them all, the whole family ran as fast as they could to follow her there.<br />
<br />
As they turned the final corner on their long voyage home, the littlest one cried out, “Papa, Papa!” Nanny was instantly sad as she turned to tell the little mouse that papa would not be there. But as she came to the tree limb that he prepared for her those many years ago, and as she smelled him in the leaves that lined their happy little marsh, as she heard the kids’ laughter as they told stories they heard first from their dad, and looked up to the sky to see the birds flying in the formations he created, and felt the cool breeze that always brought a smile to her face. . . she realized he was there. And there he will always be.<br />
<br />
<br />
Part 1: <a href="http://imgonnasueyou.blogspot.com/2010/09/popopotomous.html">The Popopotomous </a><br />
<br />
Part 2: <a href="http://imgonnasueyou.blogspot.com/2010/09/forever.html">Forever</a><br />
<br />
Maybe one day, I'll revisit these and fix inconsistencies and work on a story book . . . my dad, the ultimate storyteller, would expect nothing less. Right now, I'll just continue to fight through all the crap that comes with losing your dad - and watching your mom hurt - and holding your kids as they cry.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-59715314905225902852010-09-26T14:07:00.000-07:002010-09-26T14:07:27.200-07:00The PopopotomousI wrote this story in my dad's birthday card this year.<br />
<br />
The dedication: To my favorite story tell and the hippest Po I know . . . my dad, on his 57th birthday:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Deep in the heart of the Kruger National Park, south of the Sahara Desert in East Africa, is a large swampy area known to locals (which there aren't very many you can find, you know) as the Big Mashed Potato. Now, Africans aren't very familiar with potatoes, so having something named after one makes the place seem very exotic, and VERY expensive. So with sub-Saharan Africa and all of its poverty and nakedness, too many people and creatures think it waaaaaay out of their price range (they usually vacation at the Hairy Leaf, or the all-inclusive Ebony Tusk, the Purple Nurple even gets a good Spring Break crowd.) But anyways, The Bigh Mashed Potato just sits around being marshy and empty - just the way it ONE resident likes it.<br />
<br />
A rather large, stocky Hippo, Popopotomous likes to sit alone at the deep end of the marsh, flicking mosquitoes off his hide and watching the jungle around him like it was a prime time television series. He got his name from the sound he makes when he walks on dry land - his knees pop, his ears pop, his teeth pop and sometimes he makes the sound of microwave popcorn as the air comes out of his tush. Popopotomous is a legend in the jungle. So few people have seen him, but he is known all over the land. He has a keen sixth sense and a loud booming voice, and he uses them both to talk to the birds flying above.<br />
<br />
One day, while watching them fly through the sky between the clearing in the trees, he had a great idea.<br />
<br />
"Hey birds," he boomed in a language I don't know, "why do you fly just this way and that? IT doesn't seem safe and doesn't make much sense and, truthfully, it's kinda boring to watch."<br />
<br />
The birds just looked at each other and kept flying on . . . you see, birds flock together and don't really have a leader so they weren't really sure who would decide where to go or how they would choose what to do.<br />
<br />
Seeing their confusion, and sensing their dilemma (remember, I told you he had a keen sixth sense), he offered his guidance.<br />
<br />
"If I told you what to do and showed you where to go, would you do it?" They agreed unanimously (as any group without a leader would have to do) and started working together to create one of the most beautiful things you can see in the sky.<br />
<br />
As he sat in that swampy marsh, swatting flies with his stubby tail and watching the birds fly overhead in formations he created, carving the sky like brushstrokes on a canvas and making the birds into more than they started out to be, he knew he was doing what he was meant to do.<br />
<br />
Word spread all around the jungle and soon all birds flew together to create art in the sky. Popopotomous had job security, fulfillment of his place in life, but still felt he was missing something.<br />
<br />
Because he was a famous flocking plotter, birds far and wide knew of him and could find his swamp if they looked hard enough. A couple flighty flamingoes would sneak over every once in a while and sure, they were fun and all (and boy, were they pretty!) but none had the Stick Around Stuff that he looked for - you know, like the cougars have.<br />
<br />
Yeah, he sure did like the cougars . . . their fur was always taken care of, sometimes out of whack - but perfectly out of whack, nice legs and a great but . . . and there was always this ONE cougar who always "accidentally" mistook his swamp for her designated watering hole. A little, "Oops, my bad, hope I'm not disturbing you," every once in a while, made him wish it happened more often in a while.<br />
<br />
But, she did always bring friends with here - yippy, yappy friends - and those damned giraffes she always hung out with . . . sticking their necks in everyone's business!<br />
<br />
Eventually, he found himself primping and waiting for her more often than he was comfortable with. He would scope out shaded limbs that overlooked the water that would be the perfect spot for her to lounge on as they talked about the future and what dreams would come. <br />
<br />
One day, she stopped by to bring him his favorite Pinwheel flowers to eat. She perched on that limb and never left. They talked and talked and talked until day turned into night and night turned into forever . . . </blockquote><br />
I signed it, <i>Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you more and more each year - stick around as long as you can, you old coot</i>!!!<br />
<br />
It was the day he would have received it, his birthday, that they found the mass in his colon that turned out to be cancer. I wake up every morning and get to say "Hi, Pops," and hear, "Goodnight, baby" as I pop my head in before going to sleep. As sad as I have been the last month (it's been exactly that long since my mom called to tell me the cancer returned and they were sending him home) . . . I at least have that. <br />
<br />
Life is so uncertain - make every word count.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-59020613314045223172010-09-22T06:06:00.000-07:002010-09-22T06:06:23.775-07:00MagnoliaA little seedling sits in the middle of a beautiful garden, waiting for her turn to grow. She is scared to come out too bright. What if the sunflowers get jealous? Will the daisy’s still want to be her friend? She is not sure if she knows how to grow straight. What if her stem is not sturdy enough? Will she just wither and droop? She thinks she can never be as stunning as the blooms that open so near. What if she makes the garden look plain? Will even the bees come to say “Good morning”?<br />
<br />
A grand Magnolia tree hangs over the seedling’s spot in the grass, giving shade to the poor soul’s pondering. As the wind picks up and spreads the leaves on her branches like the billowing hair of a pony’s mane, she bends just a little to whisper over the soft soil’s spread.<br />
<br />
“Hello, precious. Welcome to the world.”<br />
<br />
As surprised as she is that she is even noticed, the voice of the towering tree does not startle her. It intrigues her and she glances into the sun’s glare to get a closer look. My, it is a beautiful sight. Long limbs and a mighty trunk are softened by the perfect, taut and shiny leaves - reflecting the blue sky above her and the clouds all around, with the sun playing peek-a-boo between these deciduous digits. From the concave cup of one of the leaves, a drop of shining water splashes to the ground, quenching and feeding a thirst the little seedling never knew she had. Before she even knew what it was, the seedling now knew she was loved.<br />
<br />
She was still just a small little thing, but she longed to be magnificent. She saw how the other flowers grew under the tall tree’s shade. She saw how the proud Magnolia nurtured her personal garden, and wondered if she would ever stand out from the crowd. She treasured every tending touch and grasped the glittering giggles they shared. Her fears as a withering seedling faded and she soon sprouted blooms so colorful and soft, happy to see how happy it made her wonderful tree. <br />
<br />
Then one day, she thought it might be nice to be out in the open - out away from the safe, warm spot snuggled upon the trusted roots of the magnolia, and into the sunlight that made the grass seem so much brighter and under the open sky which made the other gardens seem so much closer. And the tree, sad to see her go but wanting to make sure she was there to help pick up any petals the flower would lose on the way, reached higher into the sky and stretched out her limbs as far as they would go. And she was never alone.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-59562327772041151042010-09-22T06:05:00.000-07:002010-09-22T06:05:03.830-07:00ForeverThe Popopotomous lived forever with Nanny, his beautiful Puma. Their little family grew until there were not only the two of them, but a collection of different animals who changed the group as they came along - they had a little bird who had q huge heart, a crazy monkey with four hands to hold, a fuzzy earthworm who always spoke of joy, and a turtle whose soft underbelly was protected by his beautiful shell. There were days when the forest would sound off with their scuffles, or light up with their fireworks, or explode with their laughter - but they always seemed to cause <br />
a commotion that others wished they could join. Over the yearsl they opened their home to four more little creatures - a sly, beautiful fox, a brave, tender tiger, a goofy, lovable koala bear, and a teeny, hungry mouse. Each nuzzled their own place into the warm, happy home, and made it glow brighter and laugh louder and made the puma and the Popopotomous prouder and happier than they ever could imagine.<br />
<br />
Popopotomous was a great builder of dreams - he made his own a reality and helped others see what theirs were. He told stories with lessons and made teaching an art. He grew a flock of followers, but didn't let too many back to his marsh - it was full enough with ones he loved and they were all that he needed. He lived many years like this and helped the others grow and fly away, but always saved a place for them to come back. And he made that place beautiful - a fitting sanctuary for him and his love.<br />
<br />
One day, a man called from a faraway land. He needed popopotomous to come share his stories with him and his people. Popa (as the little ones called him) did not want to go. He was happy where he was and had so much more he wanted to do, and he knew once he went to this man's land, he could never go back to his marsh, he could never see his family again. But the man was an old friend, and popa knew he wouldn't call if it wasnt the time. So, Popa rounded up his family and told them he would go soon. Everyone was angry and confused and sad, but He would show them how to be strong and how to love like there's no tomorrow. He grew tired and wary of his long journey ahead, but made time to share more stories, more laughter with his brood. When the time came for him to leave, he lifted his head up high and kissed everyone goodbye, holding on tight to nanny and promising to meet them all in their dreams. He turned to take his first step and fell onto his knees. He felt Nanny raise his chin for a kiss and she held his head in her hands, then each leg was carefully lifted by his kids. The little ones danced under his belly, and they all carried him on as far as they could go.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-56242635746077805602010-08-26T21:10:00.001-07:002010-08-26T21:14:18.462-07:00blah.Ten years ago, I got a call from my sister. I was in my basement apartment in Merriam, KS. She told me to sit down.<br />
<br />
“Dad was in an accident…”<br />
<br />
In the seconds before she breathed the next words, and before I could fathom taking another breath in, life took a pause – you know, one of those pauses that turns minutes into seconds and a blink into a dream – a pause that helps you contemplate the right answer for Jeopardy, or strategize the correct angle to hit the car that just pulled out in front of you, or the one you ignore when you jump in to finish someone’s sentence and it turns out you’re not so good at that after all. I thought in that nano-moment that I was getting that call. That call that they capture so well in the romantic comedies, or the war movies – that call that is going to change your life. I thought that I had lost my dad.<br />
<br />
In that brief amount of time, I thought about all the awful things I had said to my father, and the even more awful things I had thought. I thought about the dinners at Krystal after dance class and the couple times he forgot to pick me up. I thought about the night he surprised me and picked me up from work my senior year of high school to take me to dinner and a movie – a night that was his way to say sorry, even though he didn’t know how to say those words. I thought of his stories he would tell – the ones of his long-ago past, and also the concocted tales of characters he made up just for us. I thought about the many pieces of wisdom he served to too-cool a set of ears. I thought about trips to the haunted house where he held my hand as I cried, and scared away the actors more than they could ever scare me. I thought of the many shopping trips with my fashion-forward dad and his unfortunate love of the color brown. I thought of my life spent trying to make my dad proud.<br />
<br />
In this stretched-out set of seconds, I pleaded with my dad. I prayed that he give me one last gift. Just one last present that he always picked so well. Please, oh please, give me one more day. One more moment to say thank you. One more story to share. One more hug. Heck – one more lecture.<br />
<br />
As my sister continued and time gained back its meter, I found my gift in her words. Dad was not dead – but he was broken. Completely. He ended up being in traction for 8 weeks and his burly body gained some pins and screws and his knees now froze in the winter. <br />
<br />
But I got my gift. Every day, I opened a new one, sometimes forgetting they were there, but always happy to get them. Well, there were some days I would have liked to take back for a refund – or at least an exchange – but I am grateful for every one. Especially the ones that brought him to my wedding day, days that featured him in his best role EVER – as a grandpa, watching my favorite television shows with him on the other end of the telephone, my first time coming into the house that he worked so hard to build, having him tell me how proud he was of me, holding his hand as he fell asleep, getting to be the one to tell him that it was all going to be okay.<br />
<br />
And now, like a greedy child watching the dwindling piles under the Christmas tree, I am totally wishing I had taken more time to cherish the ribbons, been careful to slip my finger under the tape just right as not to tear the paper, opened each present slowly to hold it in my hands and inspect it and try it out and taken a picture and wrote down how I felt to own every single one. <br />
<br />
But life doesn’t let you do that. The tree sits there for a while and the presents still surround you like they just were opened. But soon, the needles lead a path to the curb and the gifts will be just a memory. <br />
<br />
There are still packages to open. I’m not sure how many, and they may not shine the brightest, but I am thankful for every single one. Thank you, daddy – you always showed us your love in the gifts that you would give, I’ve never felt it more than today. I love you.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-66181216986953284972010-03-24T10:32:00.000-07:002010-03-24T11:47:19.422-07:00Gimme a K, Gimme a C, Gimme an MSD!!Elections are games. They have winners, they have losers. They have brutal plays that leave players injured and the better-trained and naturally-talented are usually the victors. With only the press and community as the referees, some really dirty games get played. Depending on which team you are cheering for, you are either dejected or elated as victory is declared. But in the upcoming April 6th election for the Kansas City Missouri School Board, because the kids in the stands deserve the best, because this game has a few more viewers as a result of some <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/03/11/kansas-city-school-board-_n_494670.html">busted brackets</a> of its own, and because the future of my city and the future of my own kids' education depends on it, I want to make absolutely sure that I am rooting for the right team.<br />
<br />
Like all games, some players are playing for the love of the sport, some are playing because it gets them through school, some are playing because they want to go pro, and some are playing for the endorsements and fame. They all get fans in their own way. Elections are different than regular games in that their fan base determines their success. So, I'm going to cheer from the sidelines and hope like hell I can get the stands to call back . . . <br />
<br />
The most important race going on is the one for the 2 at large seats. Its a cage match between the Black United Front School Board Slate with Cokethea Hall and Kenneth Hughlon and <a href="http://www.kansascity.com/2010/03/19/1824763/freedom-inc-issues-endorsements.html">Freedom, Inc - endorsed</a> Kyleen Carroll and Crispin Rea. Carroll and Rea have also been endorsed by <a href="http://www.kcu4ea.org/">KCU4EA</a> (Kansas Citians United for Educational Achievement). The other 2 people running for the seats are Rose Marie Bell and Robert (Bob) Peterson. <br />
<br />
Like the full court press brought out 6 minutes too late in the KU/UNI game, things are getting heated and fouls are a-flying with the election just a couple weeks away.<br />
<br />
I got wind of an email circulating around parents from my daughter's school, Academie Lafayette. AL is a charter school that is busting at the seams and the parents there want to make sure the schools that the district is going to lose because of the Right Sizing plan will be available for purchase by the 'competitor' schools in the district (i.e. charter and private schools). At a forum held in the school's auditorium last month, 4 of the at-large candidates were there (The Black Front was United in its absence). The big question was if elected to the board, would they vote to sell unused school buildings to charter schools . . . I was keeping time for the forum and paying close attention to my stop watch, but I got the gist of what was said, and the impressions that each answer gave.<br />
<br />
The 5 candidates and one board member on the panel that night pretty much agreed - in their own language and bound by their own campaign message - that the school board would have to sell their buildings. Some, out of naivety or maybe keen political sense, were a little more enthusiastic to the crowd of mostly charter parents. But, there was nothing said or implied (that I was aware of) that would have urged someone to send out a message with this quote:<br />
<b><br />
<i>"If you want Académie Lafayette to have a new building (possibly buy one of the unused KCMSD buildings) then it would be advised not to vote for either Kyleen or Crispin. They do not want to sell buildings to charter schools.<br />
At the recent forum that was held at the school, 2 of the at-large candidates in attendance did support selling KCMO school buildings to charter schools.<br />
Those two candidates are Rose Marie Bell and Robert Peterson."</b></i><br />
<br />
So, therefore, there are 3 options for sources of this email:<br />
<br />
1. Strong supporter of either Rose Bell of Bob Peterson. Both are very great candidates and wonderful people that would be great on the board. If I knew either personally, I would believe that they could do great things for the school district. I would send out an email to all of my friends to get them to vote for them, especially when the big endorsements are headed in other directions.<br />
<br />
2. A pro-charter parent who thinks that their child's education is the most important issue when it comes to the school board. A parent that wanted to hear 'yes, duh, of course we'll sell you whatever building you'd like' without thinking about the repercussions on the community or the impact it has on the district as a whole, or even the feasibility of the proposition. A parent to whom 'right now' is not quick enough.<br />
<br />
3. Someone who wants to split the vote. Not being a fan of running the clock, or intentional fouling - just play the game, folks! - I hope this is not the case. But I can not help but suspect that this is a keen political move on the Black United Front's part to take a big, voting constituent - the politically-active Brookside choice-school parents - and split the vote between the 4 opponents to their candidates.<br />
<br />
I personally support Kyleen and Crispin, two totally different candidates, but both strong enough and flexible enough to be great team players. Please spend some time looking into the candidates yourself, because this is one game we can't afford to lose!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.dotherightthingforkids.org/candidates-for-the-kansas-city-missouri-school-board/">Email</a> lists for the candidates and campaign managers.<br />
<br />
Pitch <a href="http://blogs.pitch.com/plog/2010/02/meet_the_school_board_candidates_kyleen_carroll.php">article</a> on Kyleen Carroll<br />
<br />
Pitch <a href="http://blogs.pitch.com/plog/2010/02/crispin_rea_meet_the_school_board_candidates.php">article</a> on Crispin Rea<br />
<br />
Pitch <a href="http://blogs.pitch.com/plog/2010/02/meet_the_school_board_candidates_rose_bell.php">article</a> on Ross Bell... I like Rose Bell. <br />
<br />
Pitch <a href="http://blogs.pitch.com/plog/2010/03/robert_peterson_meet_the_school_board_candidates.php">article</a> on Robert Peterson<br />
<br />
<a href="http://blogs.pitch.com/plog/2010/03/cokethea_hill_and_kenneth_hughlon_meet_the_school_board_candidates.php">Pitch article on Cokethea and Kenneth</a> These two candidates highlight what the Kansas City school district can turn out when they get the job right. They have already accomplished great things in life and will go on to do even better. Their alignment with the Slate and resistance to the superintendent gives me great reluctance to support them in this election.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.tonyskansascity.com/">Tony</a>'s <a href="http://www.tonyskansascity.com/2010/03/kansas-city-political-aftermath-freedom.html">post</a> on Freedom, Inc's endorsements<br />
<br />
Dan Ryan's <a href="http://www.kcfreepress.com/news/2010/mar/23/pop-quiz-who-will-you-vote-kcmsd-board-election/">post</a> at KCFreepress on the 6 at-large candidatesKC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-33477709631756401952010-03-09T07:06:00.000-08:002010-03-09T08:29:29.552-08:00Trust Me.I trust people. A little too much, but I do. I like the freedom it affords me. I like being able to leave my house and not worry that all the windows are locked. I like not having to gather all my belongings when I go to the bathroom at the library. I like being able to look at and listen to people without cynicism. I have been burned a couple of times, and it hurts like hell, but it has honed my Street Smarts and I can be a little more cautious, yet remain steadfast in my carefree, trusting ways.<br /><br />So, this past summer, when I was pulling into the Wendy's to get some late night snacks before a marathon of t-shirt making, and a lady in the parking lot flagged me down - I stopped. It changed my life forever.<br /><br />Her name was Sandy, just like mine but spelled differently. She had three kids and just wanted to get back to them. She didn't want money, she just wanted a ride. <br /><br />It didn't feel right, and anyone else would have just continued to the drive thru with a "Sorry" and a "Good Luck". But her name was Sandy. She was middle-aged and overweight. I was pretty sure I could take her in a fight - I definitely could have won a Indian Leg Wrestling match (I size everybody up for a good ILWM). She had sad eyes and I thought I could give her something that would make that go temporarily away.<br /><br />I should have known when I smelled the alcohol as soon as she took the front seat, but she was homeless and I was taking her back to the shelter, so that would be unfair. I should have known when the look of relief that I was expecting just continued as a look of despair, but who wouldn't be desperate when forced to rely on strangers? I should have known when my stomach lurched as I drove onto the unlit highway, but that would've let fear control me. So, I drove on to a shelter I knew existed with a woman who needed my help - whose kids would go to bed hungry, but they'd at least have their mom to tuck them in.<br /><br />It was about a 15-20 minute drive to The Anthony House. I tried to fill the time with chatty banter that I have never been good with. I was picking Elle up at the airport the next day so I was telling her that I couldn't wait to see my baby. My other baby.<br /><br />"Oh, you have more kids?" Sandy asked.<br /><br />"Yeah, my 3 month old is in the backseat."<br /><br />She started crying. <br /><br />It was the scariest moment of my life. I knew then that I had been scammed. Wasn't sure how, but I needed to take control of this situation. <br /><br />I asked her about her kids. She told me she was a bad mom and didn't know how she was going to go on. I told her that I would give her my 6 dollars that I had so that she could put gas in her car and take them to Orlando the next day. There was a shelter there that would help her. We all have hard times that challenge us, but we humans are strong and us moms are even stronger.<br /><br />She told me she couldn't take my money, then what would I use to eat with. I told her I had friends and family in town and they would take care of me. It was late, I could just go to bed. Didn't I have a debit card, she asked.<br /><br />I started crying. She asked me why I was crying. I told her it was because I couldn't do anything more to help her. But I was crying because I was the bad mom. I put my baby in danger. I was scared as hell. <br /><br />I took my phone out and pretended to look at my map. I wanted to call for help. I wanted to type out a note to Elle and my mom and my sisters and my husband. I wanted to push the Ejector Seat button and get this lady out of my life. We were 2 minutes away.<br /><br />I kept calling her by her name and telling her a story which was far from my reality, but probably much closer to hers. I told her I had come from a bad place and had finally started my ascent from the deepest hole - the one where you don't think you can escape from. But I had done it - and she could, too. I talked about a God I hadn't much thought about in 10 or more years.<br /><br />We got to the shelter. There was a house right before it where her kids were sleeping, and the car she described as being the one that was out of gas. As I was pulling into the open parking lot, I remembered a bag of food that I had left over from our road trip from Kansas City just a few days before. I handed it to her and told her that her kids didn't have to go to bed hungry after all. <br /><br />She thanked me and got out of my car.<br /><br />The wave of relief that started with the slamming of the door was frozen solid as I watched her walk towards, not the house with her supposed kids, but a large man in the middle of the darkened street. She was waving him off, which distracted him enough to allow me to squeal out and back on to the open highway - with just a glance of her hitting him in the chest in my rearview mirror.<br /><br />I sobbed the whole way back. I sobbed because I was stupid. I sobbed because I was sad. I sobbed because I was angry. I sobbed because I was scared. Because I'm not sure if I wouldn't do it again. What if it was all like she said? What if my fear was just born out of other people's insecurities? What would I do if I was truly a mom who couldn't feed her kids? What would I be willing to do? <br /><br />I'm just thankful today that I'm not faced with those decisions. I'm also thankful to have yet another reason to avoid Wendy's.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-20009115562551608992009-09-28T08:45:00.000-07:002009-09-28T10:01:07.411-07:00Take My Kid and Shove It.I take my kids with me everywhere. If you know me, you are well aware of this. I take them to work - Elle was 8 days old at her first Blue Valley rehearsal, she had her own desk at my tax office, and Demi is learning how to dance by being strapped to my chest at class; I take them to lunch - I used to ask if it was okay, now I just show up, Bumbo in hand; I take them to school - my classes always started a week earlier than Elle's . . . plus, she really has a knack for coloring syllabi; I take them to fundraisers, to neighborhood meetings, to First Fridays, to Library events, to karaoke night, to the movie theaters (yep. To see Harry Potter. At the 10 o'clock show.), to blogger meetups, to football parties, to baseball games, to company picnics, to weddings, to the freakin grocery store. And sometimes, I nurse my baby, and sometimes I even - ack! - bring a stroller.<br /><br />I know this annoys people - I know even WHY it annoys people - but I do it and will continue to do it unless I am asked not to.<br /><br />I did choose to have children. I didn't choose WHEN to have them - but I did choose to keep them when it looked inevitable that it was going to happen (you know, when I didn't know if my feet were there unless I looked in a mirror - or saw in the same mirror that my ankles really weren't). So, yes, that was a choice that I made - that Jeff and I made - that we were going to be parents and we were going to raise our hybrid spawn among the beauty and the ugliness of this world. I don't remember in this contract signing a clause that said that my kids have to be raised exclusively in my living room - or on the playground - or in front of the horrible pizza pies at Chuck E Cheese - or at Dora signings - or in the Disney store - or in the disease-peppered, fake-food and plastic-world disPLAY ground at Independence Center.<br /><br />I know I'm different than most people. I love children - not just mine, but kids in general. I love the way they talk, the way they walk, the way they justify stealing fake vomit from their friends's house (oh, haven't I told that story yet?), the way they eat, the way they love. I've loved kids since I barely qualified to be one. So I get that my tolerance began higher and has only soared since I got my own little not-always-perfect-angels. The biggest difference is that now I giggle <span style="font-style:italic;">under my breath</span> when a child is having a tantrum in the middle of a grocery store. It's actually a little less creepy for me now that I have my own kids - tearing up at the playground is a lot more accepted when you have some of your own DNA out there playing on it.<br /><br />Its one of my loftiest goals in life to not judge people. Its natural for us to believe that our actions are the best - the most worthy choice in our personal situation at a critical time - that's why we do them. <br /><br />I CHOSE to have children, just as many other people CHOOSE to not have children. One choice is not more proper than the other, more deserving of praise, more liberating. But I do feel at times that some people that I am less worthy of making my own decisions on what I do with my time, who I take with me, and what I'm allowed to tolerate (yeah, my kid whimpering may be a little annoying - but dude, your discreet headset doesn't make your hemorrhoid conversation any more private, nor your un-regimented hygiene schedule and anti-personal space issues any less irritating). I don't ask you to censor your language around my children, if you are engaging in something I find offensive or dangerous, I will take myself away. If my kid shits his pants on an airplane - I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience, but its not like I'm asking you to change him. Your choice to not have kids does not make mine to have them an affront to your lifestyle, but it is also not an abdication of my right to live the same. <br /><br />As for the obnoxious kids in the restaurants - yeah, they kinda suck. But - news flash - the restaurants want them there. Of course, they'd rather them be behaved, but parents with kids are a huge slice of the population that eat out, and making kids happy make them a lot of fucking money. Unless you're eating out at Lidia's and Pierponts every night, I can guarantee that your $10 dinner is subsidized by a boat load of $2 Kid's Meals.<br /><br />Whether you have kids or you don't, you're most likely going to judge me for everything I do with my own. All I can do is make sure that my kids think I kick ass and that they have the tools and the confidence to do the same one day.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-14609074070308230992009-08-09T11:03:00.000-07:002009-08-09T11:23:34.211-07:00Come away with me . . .Jeff and I went to see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1176740/">“Away We Go”</a> at the <a href="http://www.screenland.com/amenities1.html">Screenland Theater</a> on Armour Road on Friday night. Let me first say that the theater sucks and no one should go there (at least I wish that were the truth so that I could always be guaranteed my recliner in the front row). It is really a beautiful venue and one that deserves far more traffic on a Friday night, even if it was First Friays. Eat before you go, unless you want popcorn, because the bar fare that they do offer takes a little longer than necessary, but it is worth the trip up North for sure – and even though they don’t have crushed ice or a popcorn seasoning bar or <a href="http://www.thebuttkicker.com/">Butt-kicker seats</a>, it is way more charming than the <a href="http://kcjubilee.org/files/2009/03/amc_mainstreet_square.jpg">Main Street AMC.</a> That being said, I would still see an action movie at the AMC – they probably don’t play many blockbusters at Screenland anyway – but it was the perfect place for a long-deserved date alone with my husband. And I don’t think we could have picked a better movie than the amazingly-acted and succinctly-sweet “Away We Go.”<br />Following an expecting couple on a journey to find ‘home’, this movie spoke to many themes of family, life, marriage and loss. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0748973/">Maya Rudolph</a>’s Verona and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1024677/">John Krasinski</a>’s Burt have been ‘abandoned’ by both sets of their parents – hers through death and his (played by Katherine O’Hara and Jeff Daniels) through an untimely chance to move to Belgium a month before their first grandchild is to be born. They travel to Arizona, Wisconsin, Montreal and Miami to meet with family, friends, and prospective bosses trying to find a place where they fit. I’m not going to say too much, because I really think you should see this movie – but it made me think about what marriage is and why the heck it is something that needs to be ‘protected’ so . . . <br /> Okay, so I watched this movie pretty soon after spending an afternoon at the <a href="http://www.civilrightsmuseum.org/home.htm">Civil Rights Museum</a> in Memphis and after a heated debate this summer with a man I’ll just call “Slowpoke” (and I’ll call him that because that’s his nickname. For real.) If you know me (and if you don’t – you shoud – give a girl a ring!), you know that I’m pretty hot in the pants when it comes to gay rights. I truly feel that our reluctance as a nation towards affording people the right to love whomever they choose – and to profess their love in front of a judge, a participating pastor, a notary or a group of copulating robots for all I care –and to recognize that commitment as equal no matter who is at the end of our aisle, is the one thing that keeps us from being a completely liberated people. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73oZ_pe1MZ8">Our president</a> sits at the most influential desk in the free world, as leader of a country that once claimed people of his race as property, treated them like animals and forbid them to own land or vote – he has risen to where he is through the persistent struggles of many men, the deaths of many husbands, fathers, daughters, sisters, brothers, mothers and sons, the audacity of many leaders for whom it would have been easier to just let things slide, through the perseverance of a people, and yet, STILL, finds it uncomfortable to grant federal recognition of equality for those who want to marry someone of their same gender. <br />LOVE is being stigmatized.<br />Marriage does not make love. Love does not make marriage. We agree – (especially after watching “Away We Go”. You haven’t seen that movie yet? Go see it!!). But why is the sanctity of marriage so important that we can’t mess it up by inviting more people in? Hitler was married . . . don’t you think we brightened the pool of married people when we let Ellen Degeneres in? At the party of married people, I would much rather drink a martini with Elton John than <a href="http://www.dreamindemon.com/tag/danial-rinehart/">Danial Rinehart</a>, sing a song at the piano with Tracy Chapman before Mariah f-in Carey (we don’t sing in the same key anyway), break it down on the dance floor with Rachel Maddow than try to slow dance with Limbaugh (my arms aren’t long enough, I’m sure), party with Jolie Justus before have a conversation with the Funk, make out with Bernstein instead of catch an STD from Beethoven. <br />Oh, you’re just concerned that giving these people the same rights, we’re saying to our children that their lifestyle is okay? I see your point – if you are close-minded and frightened of anything you don’t understand. What lifestyle exactly are you speaking of . . . the one where sex is easy and relationships are avoided? The one where drinking and drug use is prevalent? The one where sexuality is flaunted like it’s the only thing that matters? Oh, the one where multiple partners is a goal, and a mistake, and a reinforcement of self worth . . . oh yeah – that one. Well, news flash – that lifestyle is lived out in the <a href="http://thismayconcernyou.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/powerandwhite.jpg">open air entertainment venue</a> at 12th and Main the same as it is in the <a href="http://www.jaunted.com/files/5957/missiebskcmo.JPG">dingy bar</a>/nightclub on Southwest trafficway. <br />True, very true – homosexual relationships can’t organically produce children, so its just not natural. Its not god’s intention. #1 – who’s talking about god? We are talking about the government of the United States of America, so with that whole separation of church and state thing, I won’t even start on that conversation. #2 – masturbation can not produce children, oral sex can not produce children, having protected sex can not produce children . . . I enjoy all of these things – and have done them many times – they were very persuasive in my choice to get married in the first place. Should sterile men not be able to marry – what about women who want to so badly to have children but can not. Is that God telling them that they should not be married? Does adopting and loving children someone else bore make you second class parents – good enough, but not as worthy as the parents who created their children in the womb – many who regret it, can’t handle it, even deny it? (Watching one episode of Maury is reason enough to ban heterosexuals from marrying.) <br />Is marriage really that fragile? Is it even something that people would commit themselves to just to piss you off? Why is your love more real than anyone elses? Why do we cling to this need of feeling more right than other people? More just. More real. The struggle for civil rights was exactly that – a struggle. A struggle hard fought, a struggle hard won. We live in a much better nation because of it, we would never have know such great players in this game we call life had it not been for the hardships of many different groups of people. But that is no reason to perpetuate the hate and prejudice into today’s world, with its own struggles and hardships.<br />“Away We Go” was not a movie about gay marriage or civil rights – not in the least. But it made me think about marriage and how we as a people view this institution . . . Being so intolerant of my intolerance for intolerance – I need to hear the other side so that I can understand.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-79226508727226516852009-04-01T07:32:00.000-07:002009-04-01T10:47:34.114-07:00Waiting . . .Okay, we'll go macro - micro . . . <br /><br />The economy kinda sucks, I guess - I've given up watching any kind of television because I can't stand the news reports on 'how to get through these tough times' dealing with everything from candy to port-a-potties, I don't read any magazines because I can't get away from reading about the Octomom or the Batchelor (and that's just Newsweek and Time!), I've whittled down my blog reading to only local peeps - and only when they're not talking about the economy, octomom, and the Batchelor . . . so pretty much, I've been out of the loop. I bought a new car in this economy - knowing that I was going to be unemployed by the end of this month - but hey, blind optimism seems to work, right? Our mortgage gets paid - thanks to Jeff - and I don't look at portfolio's in the first place - I'm for damn sure not going to right now. So, yeah, besides playground chatter about layoffs and job searches and becoming part-time-paid for full-time-worked, I'm not really much affected. Not that I don't care - but come on, folks, there's more going on in the world and its going to keep going on whether or not you have the perfect job, a house to live in, or even a way to feed your kids. If you haven't struggled with any of these problems before - welcome to the Real World (non-celebrity edition).<br /><br />Obama has risen to prove everyone right - those that thought he'd change the world and those who were waiting for him to fail. I'm enjoying watching the show and hoping to feel and see the positive change he's working on. <br /><br />A little closer to home - Kansas City is a mess. The mayor is trying to salvage his reputation by being pretty scrupulous with the budget - the thing he truly is good at - but he's sacrificed so much in the name of love, devotion and stubborn stupidity - well, maybe not stupidity - more like ignorance - and lost too much of his political and social capital, its becoming quite a disgusting show. But the council members are just so worried about seperating themselves from him and not making sound decisions themselves - I'd much rather have Funkhouser than at least half of them. It's nice to have 'real people' elected onto a council in a pretty big city like our little home town here, but then they get to the politics part, get a makeover, open a Twitter account - and screw it all up. No one is boo-hooing your part-time $55,000 salary job - get your shit together and do something for the city, do something for the people that you're going to be begging for a vote in a couple years, stop acting like teenagers and grow some fucking balls already. We don't have to give Jackson County $2 million a year to back up non-existent economic development that the stadiums supposedly give us. Sales tax and earnings taxes besides, what do these sports teams bring us - besides mounting infrastructure problems on I-70, whiney sports team owners, more beef-cake suburban residents and their sparkly wives, increased opportunity to show off our barbecue-laden body-image on a national stage, and some tired old sports journalists that bicker back and forth like wrinkled old biddies in the nursing home. Hell, if the teams left because - boo-hoo - we didn't give them their $2million - we might have a chance to unsaturate the sports event market in this mid-range, kinda-on-the-cheap-side town and get someone to agree it would be lucrative to bring a basketball team here and stop using us as a jumping off point for negotiations (thought I'd get a Clueless line in there somewhere.) And F-no, we don't want a freakin Hockey team.<br /><br />-breathe- <br /><br />People are still killing each other and we still give sweet deals out to the developers who know all the tricks because they helped create them. We keep killing our authenticity and local businesses to cater to out-of-town scumbags who we are hanging our confidence on as they bounce their balls on our backside. There are too many people who have possible solutions to all the f-ed up stuff, but no one comes together - and no one is really listening. We just gotta get some more consultants in here - yeah, that should do it. <br /><br />Oh, and did I mention, its still freakin cold? Yeah, not happy about that, either.<br /><br />(How come my updates are always complaintative?)<br /><br />My job - well, its becoming quite tedious . . . I have gotten to watch all of Dexter and Weeds - thanks to <a href="http://www.surfthechannel.com">surfthechannel.com </a> - which are two of my favorite series ever - but I am very bored. Doing taxes I love, sitting around waiting to do taxes, I don't love. I mean the occasional crackwhore is always nice, and my stalker does come around every other day or so with new presents, but really, give me something to do, people!<br /><br />Well - now down to my house . . . the bathroom re-do is still not done, my husband has purchased a new comforter set that would make any high school girl woo (and this is one time that I don't feel like a high school girl . . .) for our room which has needed an overhaul for sometime, our roommates are still here and making life fun - even when they lock the doors - who does that shit?, Elle has a DS lite that makes incentive and punishment equally as significant, I still haven't figured out why my cat is so freakin annoying, I have way too much stuff and far too much laundry to ever feel comfortable. I need Clean Sweep to come and solve all my problems . . . well, actually 'cause I just want the new stuff. The floors are going to get redone while we're in Florida for the summer, so I look forward to shiny new boards to skate over in my socks - and rug shopping will be fun, I'm sure.<br /><br />I got to go to Florida for Spring Break and see my friends and family which was really nice. My mom threw a little shower for me, so I have all kinds of fun baby stuff to keep me busy - and remind me how close I am to having a little alien invade my abode. Not that the heartburn and high blood pressure and this whole peeing business will let me forget. <br /><br />But yeah, its just weird sitting around waiting for a lot of things to happen. Many things will change over the next few months, the next year, the next two - and I'm not ready for any of them . . . but I think that's what makes life fun. It's like a surprise party every day - without the annoying decorations. Questions abound . . . but the answers around the corner are what keep us moving forward.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-82992870264039194252009-03-06T10:19:00.000-08:002009-03-06T10:55:42.597-08:00Think I may have lost a friend . . .Received a copy of <a href="http://forums.hannity.com/showthread.php?t=1328881">this</a> in a forwarded email from a friend. We have always disagreed politically, but have kept things pretty friendly. But goodness, gracious, I hate forwarded emails, especially when they're dumb and waste my time - and not from someone that I even know. And she knows I'm a pretty liberal person, and she chose to send it to me - I guess to say, 'ha, ha - look at this . . . ' so I thought it would be in good fun to send a little 'ha, ha' back.<br /><br />My response:<br /><br /><em>I believe this was the agreement before the pilgrims came to America. . . We'll gladly take the shore states - but we'll leave you Texas to fight over with the Mexicans. Sounds like a grand idea, hope that the Independents don't get scarred in the custody battle, and hope your education system is left with some legs to stand on. I sure will miss my dad, a couple of friends and all you good ole' boys . . . but hey, at least we get to keep all the gays, communists and at least half of Joe Lieberman (you can have the top half, he's an ass to us anyway . . .) It was good while it lasted. Hope you find someone else to get together with, you know - to make that whole "United" thing still stand for something. Oh, and enjoy your Nascar and golf . . . <br /><br /><br />--Atheist, Subaru-driving hippie<br /><br /><br />p.s. Does this mean I have to take back my maiden name? I always thought 'France' sounded so much more lovely</em><br /><br />We obviously don't have the same sense of humor.<br /><br />(And for the sake of full disclosure, I am not an Atheist, I drive a Honda now, but have been driving a Ford Explorer for the last four years, and I do shave my armpits . . . all things I'm pretty sure she knows - I mean, heck, I was the maid of honor in her wedding - I just thought it would be a fun way to sign off.)<br /><br />She sent this reply a day later:<br /><strong>Personally I wouldn't mind taking Texas. It has the largest population of Republicans, and we're not afraid of sending the Mexicans back where they belong. Our education system will be just fine. The way I see it now with the way things are going, I would have to put my (future) children in private school anyway...you know to keep them from the liberalist agenda. I don't mind working to pay the $10,000 a year tuition. You still want Joe's ass? Suprised!!! I will enjoy Nascar and golf...not a problem. The way I see it is the one's who really fight to keep this country safe are those who love Nascar, wrestling, and golf. They know what it means to actually fight for something that is meaningful and how we became so free, even if it does cost them their life.<br /> <br />With my country loving military, Rush Limbaugh, and Sean Hannity I think we'll do just fine on the "United" front. When all of your resources run dry, you can ask Obama if he'll let you phone a friend. I don't mind having you over for dinner, but you'll have to pray and thank Jesus Christ before you eat. <br /> <br />Love ya,<br />Your SUV driving, Jesus Christ loving, Conservative</strong><br /><br /><br />Okay, so I hit a nerve, obviously. Or maybe she was just showing off for her friends (Reply All is a choice, you know). So, thought I could play this show-boating game. I mean, it was still a game:<br /><br /><em>Sure, we'll take Joe - we like free thinkers - and where else is he gonna go when you make him thank Jesus Christ before he eats? And while I am very sorry that I left out all of the wrestling fans in your proud base . . . THEY actually do know what its like to fight for something that is meaningful - those belts don't come cheap . . .I'll have to disagree that they are the only ones who have kept us so free . . . I am too proud of my soldiers and the people that fight for this country - across all political, religious, and social spectrums - to limit my respect to only those that represent my ideology. And as much as you'd like to think, we bottom feeders will be okay without you - our resources are limitless - and much easier to tap without your agenda attached. And really, Rush and Hannity? - if they're the ones who are pulling you together, its going to be a shame to watch you fall apart. Because I like having you guys around - you keep things interesting. And by interesting, I mean enlightening. And by enlightening, I mean entertaining. And by entertaining, I mean that we laugh at you. <br /> <br />--Fickle Humanitarian Buddhist</em><br /><br />Or, so I thought:<br /><br /><strong>Really, Well when your Scott Peterson's, Charles Manson's, baby killers, baby rapists, you name it need to be fed too, please Enjoy!! If you would like us to take care of them for you like we do with everything else. We'll take care of them for you EXECUTION style. <br /> <br />Free thinkers, huh. More like free loaders. Please enjoy my hard earning tax dollars while I wake up every morning at 4:30 to go to work. While your I won't get a job because I am too damn lazy, won't get out of bed, government handout, the world owes me everything type of people live off of my money. Free thinkers!!! You helped appoint a man in office that you want to do all the thinking for you. PLEASE. If you would like me to keep going, I'll be here all month. Again, please enjoy my tax dollars....hope it feeds your parties addiction.<br /> <br />Oh and where healthcare is concerned, when the only providers left that you on your side are those that perform abortions and you can only get your diluted prescriptions from Canada. Good Luck with that!! I really pray for you not to get sick.<br /> <br />Well you did say you wanted Joe's ass. We'll take his brains, it seems to be his better half these days. He's coming around. Joe doesn't mind praying. We've seen him do it a time or two. We respect all kinds of religions. Hello!!! Jews are the chosen people!!!<br /> <br />Your too proud of your soldiers, the ones that your party decided to say we did not win the war. The 4,000 plus people that lost their lives, so you could rant and rave in your email. Nice going. Way to pay them back.<br /> <br />You're right, your soldiers. My cousin is your soldier. As her father lay in a casket in KC. She's fighting for your simple freedom in IRAQ to keep you safe. Yeah, she didn't get to go to her fathers funeral because she was fighting for those who lost their lives on 911. I am sure her and the rest of my family that fought for you to keep you on your soap box and say ridiculous things such as you do, would be so proud. Thank you for letting them put their lives on the line for you. <br /> <br />AND, YES WE DID WIN THE WAR!!!! You might want to let your holy leader BARACK OBAMA know that. He's not a free thinker, so you might want to help him with that.<br /> <br />Too bad that your party doesn't realize that the foundations of this country were built on the principles of Jesus. No matter where you go or what you do, he's everywhere. He's on the money that your party cashes every month from my tax dollars, to the pledge of allegence, to the scribes on the capital buildings. Sorry, but if my party has it our way, he'll continue to still be there. And, I will fight for it every step of the way.<br /> <br />I think it is funny you say something about Rush and Hannity. Please let me know what you like to refute and by all means, I will be more than happy to prove where they are not wrong. Sorry we look to people that know what they're actually talking about.<br /> <br />News flash. You live in a country founded on being able to get up in the morning and do things for themselves. Such as think, do well, get a job, have a career, have a family and live happily ever after. What part of that can your party not understand. Oh, they aren't given the resources that's right. Well neither was I, and look at me know. Hmmmm LIVING THE AMERICAN DREAM. What a concept. <br /> <br />You can laugh all you want, but when your annointed one can't save you, please ask Buddha what to do. He's so enlighting, he may have a couple of pointers for ya. Who will be laughing now...hmmmm<br /> <br />Your friend,<br />The bible beating freak, still loving Jesus, life loving CONSERVATIVE</strong><br /><br />She obviously put a lot of time into this response, so I wasn't going to take it apart line by line, but I couldn't just let it go. I thought I'd soften the discourse by giving a one-line response so that she didn't feel like this had to go on and on:<br /><br /><em>I'm sure Jesus would be very proud of your last email - executions and all.<br /> <br />--Hard-working, tax-paying, definition-of-'win'-knowing, non-label-taking, good-English-spelling, can't-stop-laughing, and, whether you like it or not, just-as-American-as-you, American.</em><br /><br />Now she's just confusing me:<br /><br /><strong>You're so right. I should ask Scott Peterson to come over for some tea. Maybe I should invite Dr. Phil too. Just as American ask me...thank you for proving my point!!! <br /> <br />Again, the bible beating freak, Jesus loving, Conservative. </strong><br /><br />Help me, my friends - what is her point? I've been trying to figure that out. Did I vote for Scott Peterson, or do I spout the wisdom of Dr. Phil? <br /><br />It's just such a disappointing way to end this discussion . . .KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-29467902740527427722009-02-20T09:23:00.000-08:002009-02-20T12:03:02.382-08:00Help me name my kid . . .Naming Elle was an ordeal - went through lists and vetoes and more lists and more vetoes - until we had two options left at the end . . . Elle and Ava. I wanted a name that was a palindrome since she was going to be born in 2002 - but I also wanted something with a little more meaning as well. Elle won out in the end - and I love it. My middle name is Mech<strong>elle</strong>, so is her Godmother's, if we called her 'Ellie' (which we never did, thank goodness), it would sound like Kelly - my best friend forever, Jeff's dad's first name is Lewis, so he is L . . . it was just all around a good name. Quinn is my grandmother's maiden name, and also the last name that was first printed on my dad's birth certificate - and I freakin love it, so I sneakily added it to the birth certificate within the week's time frame after leaving the hospital (Jeff doesn't have a middle name, so he didn't think she should either . . . )<br /><br />While I think I should have a little more say in the naming because, A. I care more about it - I think about it every day - by god, I'm blogging about it! and, B. he gets the last name (which for purposes of my seemingly paper-thin attempts at remaining anonymous, along with my need of your help in the complete process, we will just say that it sounds like FrozenFat), and C. I'm the one who is getting fat (and the heartburn alone should get me something, right?!) - I still have to take Jeff's consideration into well, consideration. So, some options that are immediately removed - even though I love them with all of my heart - are Icie (my great-grandmother's name) and Beatrix (Jeff doesn't have a problem with this name, just with the fact that I would insist on calling her Trixie - a strippers name in his opinion, and a wonderfully sweet-sounding and unique one in mine). <br /><br />And please take into consideration that I have been waiting for another baby for the last 4 years, so this list has been compiled and edited many times . . . I just need your opinions - not because I care if you hate the name, or if you knew some wretched person with that same one, or you know a creative way that the kids on the playground will make fun of her . . . please, feel free to share these, but I just really am writing this post so that 15 years from now when Icie Beatrix FrozenFat is sulking in her room, crying because the other Icie's in her class make fun of her because she's the only one who spells her name with an -ie instead of a -y (like any sane mother who thought she was giving her child a sweet name would do) . . . I can at least show her that I put some thought into it - that I may have failed her, but it wasn't because I didn't try to do something good.<br /><br />So, so far . . . my options are:<br /><br /><strong>Matilda</strong> I really love Matilda - its been on the list the longest. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Matilda-Roald-Dahl/dp/0141301066">Matilda</a> is my favorite book by my favorite author - Roald Dahl - and she is portrayed in the movie version by one of the <a href="http://a.media.abcfamily.go.com/abcfamily/Specials/13-Nights/Editions/2007-10-19/Schedule/matilda.jpg">cutest young actresses ever </a>. Possible nicknames are "Millie" and "Tillie" - both of which I adore. It's a German name for "mighty in battle" - maybe she'll grow up to be in roller derby. I could spell it Mathilde - but I think I'd have to teach her how to shot put if I do that to her.<br /> I like Matilda <strong>Jane</strong> (Jane is my father's biological mother - <a href="http://imgonnasueyou.blogspot.com/2008/04/dry.html">my aunt who died last year</a>) because it sounds good together and there is a <a href="http://customer.matildajanetrunkshow.com/">cute line of children's clothes</a> that would give me an excuse to spend too much money on little girl's fashion - 'Hello! Its already personalized! There is no way to quantify the value of that!)<br /> I also really love Matilda <strong>Bee</strong> - I would get to have a little of Beatrix that I want (Beatrix Potter will always and forever remind me of my maternal grandmother - Granny - and the books she would read to me and the kind of person she was), Jeff's dad has bee hives and harvests honey, it would show a little hint of my <a href="http://www.newscloud.com/image_files/story_31334.jpg">political and humorist</a> sides, and I would be able to credit a <a href="http://casserolecrazy.com/about/">fellow blogger </a>with helping to name my child (and what self-respecting 21st century girl wouldn't love that!) Also, wouldn't have to put too much thought into her first <a href="http://images.celebrateexpress.com/mgen/merchandiser/34987.jpg">Halloween costume</a>. Also, <a href="http://themedianerd.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/the-secret-life-of-bees.jpg"><strong>Secret Life of Bees</strong></a> is one of my favorite recent books - such a great story of womens' strength, vulnerability, sisterhood, and love.<br /><br /><strong>Amelie</strong> is a french name form of Amelia meaning 'industrious and striving, work' - I know, really romantic, eh? But it is a beautiful name, and of course, the name of one of my favorite <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Am%C3%A9lie">movies</a> - and favorite characters ever written for page or screen. It was also the first romantic comedy Jeff and I ever saw together in the theatre (and one of the few since) - all you have to do is make him read subtitles and it instantly gets credit. I could call her 'Millie' here as well - and Elle and her would share French first names. <br /><br /><strong>May</strong> is my first choice for a middle name if her name is Amelie . . . because hopefully, she'll wait until May to be born. But also, May is an important month in my family - my birthday, my sister's, the first granddaughter's, my Granny's, Mother's Day . . . all very important ladies in my life. It means 'the fifth month' in English - I know, all my favorite names have no good literal or translated meaning, that's why its so important to have a personal one attached - but it also is a Sanskrit word for 'illusion' - which I think is pretty cool. But also, Maya has always been a favorite of mine - to be named after <a href="http://www.stacywest.com/PORTRAITS/mayaangelou.jpg">Maya Angelou</a>, author of two very important pieces to my love of the written word - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Know_Why_the_Caged_Bird_Sings">"I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings"</a> and <a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/phenomenal-woman/">"Phenomenal Woman"</a>, civil-rights activist, and Womanist - but the name Maya, or Mia, or Mya, or Maia are way too popular and graze the top 100 lists, which is an automatic veto in my book. And she'll always feel like she's allowed to do things - in the 3rd person, but still - it'll give the girl some confidence to make her own decisions.<br /><br />My newest favorite name is <strong>Demi</strong> - or Demme - haven't decided how I'd spell it. If you don't know much about me, you may not know that I love to dance - love to teach it, to do it, to create it - and 'demi' to a dancer is foundational to her understanding of technique, execution, scale, and universality. It means 'half' in translation, but 'small' or 'little' works, too. I think it's a precious name for a little girl. And for a far-reaching literary connection . . . Demi Moore portrayed Erin Grant in the movie version of Strip Tease, based on Carl Hiaasen's <a href="http://www.carlhiaasen.com/books/books-strip.html">book</a> of the same name. To name my daughter after an actress that played a hard-working stripper with a concious created by a long-time favorite Hiaasen (a babysitting charge of my maternal Granny, btw) . . . how can you pass it up?<br /><br />The last one is <strong>Kersten</strong> - my maiden name. Easy enough.<br /><br />Some runners up - and ones that still have a chance if I can find a good combo with something with a little more meaning . . . <br />Eve <br />Dorothy (to solidify my fag-hag status . . . also my great aunt's name)<br />Eden<br />Fallon<br />Hope<br />Rae<br />Jala (one of my favorite people ever - and a pretty kick ass name to boot)<br /><br />But the big contenders are:<br />Matilda Bee or Matilda Jane<br />Amelie May OR Amelie Maeve<br />Demme May OR Demi Kersten OR Kersten Demi (half Kersten - I dig it) OR Demi Maud <br /><br />I just need help - what do you think?KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-87594818000410761372009-02-13T07:48:00.000-08:002009-02-13T08:00:15.600-08:00A little advice, pleaseSo, when a guy comes in to my office to do his taxes so that he can get some cash to pay his prostitute, and she drives away with his car while he's sitting at my desk and he springs out of his seat to chase her down the road and jumps into the passenger side and kicks the bitch to the curb and drives back and parks just in time to catch her fist in the parking lot and the ensuing tussle attracts 3 more SUV's to the parking lot and so she runs into my office to call 911 and tell them she was trying to pull a trick when this guy beat her up and she wants to press charges and starts yelling to the guys outside that they don't know who her man is and they better go before the police get there and I give him his paperwork back as he leaves and politely tell her that I'm closing up for the day because I have to go pick up my daughter and she's mad because I won't wait for the police to come and tell her to find her at her apartment - right next door - but I still let her use the phone to make one more call - to the guy that just left to see if he would pick her up and give her a ride . . . and then the guy comes back the next day to complete his return and apologize and tell me he's really a nice guy (but when a crack whore steals your ride, what else are you to do but kick her ass) and I give him a refer-a-friend card to give to a friend or family member and the prostitute comes back in the next day with it . . . <br /><br /> should I give her the $15 coupon that the card provides, or just go ahead and give her the 20% off local business discount?<br /><br />(dang, tax season is tough)KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-16623610538524484682009-01-30T07:09:00.000-08:002009-01-30T09:57:56.951-08:00Don't Fake the Funk . . .No, this isn't a post about our mayor. You can read other blogs around town if you want to read of his <a href="http://www.gonemild.com/2009/01/funkhouser-demonstrates-great.html">highs</a> or his <a href="http://www.tonyskansascity.com/">lows</a>.<br /><br />I wanted to let you all in on my blessed connection with a certain 7' basketball player out there. That's right, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shaquille_O'Neal">Shaquille O'Neal </a>and I are cosmically connected, I swear. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_Z1h3dknTWnKvPnWlQ5Ou6NVrGxJDran4Lf0Q8qLyWXZfdrwbQrwALeoS9Z6hqxog8BJMLtuj4cNYZcwX1OHMoesjBndOPOb5CYFp0pg2B5Y_ZdFTJCIfOIYCL_oGi489QA9T_2QT2E/s1600-h/Shaq+Rookie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 371px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_Z1h3dknTWnKvPnWlQ5Ou6NVrGxJDran4Lf0Q8qLyWXZfdrwbQrwALeoS9Z6hqxog8BJMLtuj4cNYZcwX1OHMoesjBndOPOb5CYFp0pg2B5Y_ZdFTJCIfOIYCL_oGi489QA9T_2QT2E/s400/Shaq+Rookie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297111051682920674" /></a><br /><br />From my first time meeting him when I was at my 8th grade dance recital . . . no, unfortunately he was not my <a href="http://www.the-ballet.com/pdd.php">Pas de Deux </a>partner, but he was touring the Bob Carr Auditorium - right next to the O-reana (yeah, you know back in the old days where arenas had names and not branded labels) - and was backstage right before one of my numbers - 'woah' is all you can really say - well all a group of little white girls in tutus can say when meeting this large man with hands the size of a strip mall . . . <br /><br />to the ever expansion of my creative brain when making up poems about Shaq in ninth grade English class:<br /> 'Don't fake the funk on a nasty dunk'<br /> That's what Shaq says when he dunks on a punk<br /> (See - I told you guys I was good)<br />or chants to yell at the Finals games:<br /> Shaquille, Shaquille - you make me squeal!<br /> Hakeem, Hakeem - you make me scream!<br />Yep - all of my creative energy that went into such pairing of words and manipulation of phrasing - could have been harnessed and exploited in the making (and ultimate saving) of Shaq-Fu<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7LUitZ1MAhzOwhSKIDPJdPcWiGPu_djK5bRiEgQboos18lzof2zm5vxKVlRX4oBCfOgEBWOnCHFHI3twPbfopH5R_3Jr9Gx1C7jFVJjFK848gmQg-ZymZ6t2o8KLJu9ZhSyz5tDSvQQ/s1600-h/ShaqFu.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 381px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7LUitZ1MAhzOwhSKIDPJdPcWiGPu_djK5bRiEgQboos18lzof2zm5vxKVlRX4oBCfOgEBWOnCHFHI3twPbfopH5R_3Jr9Gx1C7jFVJjFK848gmQg-ZymZ6t2o8KLJu9ZhSyz5tDSvQQ/s400/ShaqFu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297112653792235250" /></a><br /><br />to my evening at Steak and Shake where I first had an intimate conversation with him - as I watched him manually eject himself out of his little red sports car - one perfectly elongated, muscular limb at a time - come in and order Takhomasak (or however they spell that mess). The words weren't much - but the meaning behind them was sacred. I think it went like this - <br /> "Um, hi, are you Shaquille O'Neal" <br /> "Uh - yeah."<br /> "Ohmygosh,itsreallygoodtomeetyou - ImeanIveseenyoubeforebutIdon'tthinkyouwouldremem<br />bereventhoughIdo - wouldyoumindsigningthisplacematformybrother - hesareallybigfan - likesupergeekyfanandhesonlyninesohehasanexcusetobesooverlyenamoredwithsuchagoodbasketballplayer - buthewouldtotallyfreakOUTifyousignedthisforhim - causehetotallylovesyou - waitletmegetapen - ivegotoneinmylunchbox - itsbluelikethemagic - notBlueMagicbutliketheteamsnameyouknow - thoughBlackMagicmightbecool - actuallywhydontyougobythatnickname?andthenIcouldtell<br />everyonethatImadeitup - wouldntyouwanttodothatforme?Ohokay,yeah,justsignitandI'llleaveyoualone. Ihopeyougotfriesbecausetheyrethebesthere<br />Ivegotextracheesesauceifyouneedsome - ohIguessyouwouldordersomeifyouwantedsome."<br /> "Yeah - I'll sign it."<br /> "Oh,thanks,foreverthanks - thatssocool,Shaq,he'sgoingtopeehispants - butIwonttellanyonebecauseImacoolbigsister.Thatsareallyniceautograph-doyouthinkyoucould...oh,okay.Well,Ihopeyouhaveagoodnight.Bye,Shaq!Ohmygod,guysdidyouseethat?"<br /> (Yeah, have I ever mentioned how utterly cool and non-annoying I was as a teenager, especially hopped up on french fries and milk shakes and soda pop?)<br /> But yeah, later on that night I found out that the Magic had lost a really big game and I'm sure the poor dude was trying to get away from freaks like me and just get a nice juicy burger and a milk shake - why else would he have been in Apopka? - and chill out. But then again, he didn't realize he would be meeting his soul mate, either . . . <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkXz7-gYfherwQnhnG79LMag9yLMd64AlOUKVpJJKcRPWgz83m3D2-XjJOfTF8QgD4ZWTIDtu45LzftCiwUF9O3GmZo0E-PgiFqNCpPFchodtLiWQGrHqhSlJvUGV4L96VeVGyuWqczQ/s1600-h/99394491_9cb6da5f3f.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkXz7-gYfherwQnhnG79LMag9yLMd64AlOUKVpJJKcRPWgz83m3D2-XjJOfTF8QgD4ZWTIDtu45LzftCiwUF9O3GmZo0E-PgiFqNCpPFchodtLiWQGrHqhSlJvUGV4L96VeVGyuWqczQ/s400/99394491_9cb6da5f3f.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297132575059270290" /></a><br /><br /> A couple years later, right as I left Central Florida to pursue my own dreams of something bigger - you know, like a cramped dorm room and alcohol poisoning - Shaq announced he was on to better things himself - like the LA Lakers, and a multi-million dollar contract. Everyone felt deceived, even I felt a tinge of regret that I didn't pursue our burgeoning love before it was too late - until I saw him in his Laker's jersey - #34. That was MY number - you know, the one you put at the end of a page to someone's beeper so that they knew it was you - it had to have been a sign, or a coded love letter waiting to be opened. Oh, Shaq . . . <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75dCkjc8QYWGWmTZKLp3-Y-cvepkNzx3LaGvEK2xnUPN-jR4WiMSvLTReC6ZsKmlDKtyr1ziQylO1HYslpAjIVhyphenhyphen_tMqK-xTqCLhyphenhyphenoVdAINsHhQVerLt-FQ1uAXHA-zue1SGRsbTFLCk/s1600-h/mask_shaq.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg75dCkjc8QYWGWmTZKLp3-Y-cvepkNzx3LaGvEK2xnUPN-jR4WiMSvLTReC6ZsKmlDKtyr1ziQylO1HYslpAjIVhyphenhyphen_tMqK-xTqCLhyphenhyphenoVdAINsHhQVerLt-FQ1uAXHA-zue1SGRsbTFLCk/s400/mask_shaq.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297133259631208290" /></a><br /><br />. . . you shouldn't have. But, I love you, too.<br /><br />Anyway - he went to LA fell in love with Kobe, fell out of love with Kobe, won a few National titles, moved to Miami (bienvenido a Miami), became a cop, you know - moved on - after leaving me. I followed a similar path and it led up to my life as of yesterday. <br /><br />I forgot how much he meant to me until last night after I fell asleep. I was dreaming about bacon (the breakfast kind - not that silly Canadian stuff) and pineapple pizza, and someone whispered in my dreaming ear, <br /><br />"You know, that's Shaquille O'Neal's favorite pizza, too."<br /><br />Ah, nothing like sweet nothings to remind us of our lost loves.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-50720452720172719462009-01-28T09:36:00.001-08:002009-01-28T10:59:59.818-08:00Good thingsI feel I have been complaining lately - even started out writing about how tired I was - but wanted to stop and smell the roses. (Not that there are any roses - or anything close to anything that looks or smells like Spring - or Summer - or Fall. Definitely Winter here - but I will stop.) There are good things going on in my life right now - really good things and I wanted to share with you so that maybe I can start appreciating them myself.<br /><br />1. will always be my family. I have Elle - she's fun, funny, smart and still loves to cuddle me. Jeffrey and I still struggle to understand each other, but we're learning to let things go - and it gets easier every day. My parents are still alive and well and I talk to them often and get to see them occasionally. My sisters and brother are doing well in their lives and we share frustrations and joys - there's nothing like a good sibling conversation to make everything feel just a little bit better.<br /><br />2. My president is black. As much wisdom is being spouted about how to recover race relations in this country - about how we should start to un-label people by their physical characteristics but by their accomplishments and policy - it sure feels good to say that. My president is white, too. It keeps the conversation open - it exposes the haters out there, and brings to light a lot of ignorance that most of us have in regards to everything related to race, class, gender, and even just plain physicality. And it doesn't even matter what color he is, Barack Obama would have been saying the same things, and bringing the same strength back to the presidency, and reaching out to us, the citizens of this country, to reign in the control of our democracy. . . to start being responsible for not only our lives, but the lives of people in our community, the future of our businesses and cities, our childrens well-being and the culture of their learning. Its a good day when people in the media every day try to rain on the parade - its been a long time since we've had one to watch.<br /><br />3. I don't sleep a lot. It hurts to walk. I'm getting fat. I don't have any clothes to wear. I get violently kicked about 200 times a day. Yep - still counting my blessings, I swear. You forget how freakin cool it is to have a little alien inside of you when its been so long in the waiting . . . thankfully you forget how much it sucks sometimes, too - or there would be far more only children out there in this world. I can't believe I'm already 6 months in. <br /><br />4. I have a job. I get paid to do something I love - even though I hate sitting around waiting to do it. But when there are so many people out there stuggling and trying to put together resumes and searching websites and networking, networking, networking - I get to be collecting a salary. Jeff has to fire half his staff by the end of this week . . . a lot of them good friends, but he gets to keep his job - and our health benefit, and our sanity. A lot of people in Kansas City will be getting the proverbial pink slip over the next couple months, but for the moment, I'm safe. Good thing, too, I have to pay for all those girl scout cookies I've eaten.<br /><br />5. I don't live in Alaska.<br /><br />6. I have two crazy roommates right now that come with a huge flatscreen tv, the Wii and Wii Fit, PlayStation III, all episodes of every television show I could ever want to watch (hello, Dexter!), top-shelf liquor, conservative perspective, and a flair for fashion. This new kid is going to have some big shoes to fill (and some huge purchases to make) when they leave. <br /><br />That's it for now. Stress levels rising . . . too much to do. =) Talk to ya'll later!!KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-68108004826894605982009-01-27T09:27:00.000-08:002009-01-27T09:50:00.377-08:00My Secret PoemDo you see what I see?<br />When I look in the mirror, I see me.<br />Oh, when you look there, you see you? <br />When I look there, I see eyes of blue.<br /><br />You see eyes of green, I see . . . <br />You have different eyes than me.<br />But at night, I do, too<br />Have different eyes than me and you.<br /><br />I have eyes of brown, you see - <br />but, please, keep this between you and me.<br />Because brown eyes are nice, but I do, too,<br />like my eyes to be the hue of blue.<br /><br />And everyone says, "Oh my, oh me,<br />What beautiful blue eyes I do see!"<br />I like to hear this (especially from you), <br />So, I change my eyes from brown to blue.<br /><br />I used to write ludicrous poetry like this all the time - from middle school up through college. I always thought I would write children's books . . . you know, on the side of my real career - which I still don't know what that is. =) But I miss writing silly stories, miss having fun making stupid poems for every occasion, miss having fun writing. I want to find a Writer's Workshop - any suggestions?KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-12346379681717799302009-01-26T09:40:00.000-08:002009-01-26T09:46:31.831-08:00I really have to peeI am sitting here in my office and I really need to pee. I realized that I don't have toilet paper just a little too late this morning. I have my 32oz water cooler halfway drunk already and this kid must have some sense of humor because she's kicking more than ever right now. <br /><br />It's moments like this that I really wish I had a penis. Actually, this is probably the only moment I would wish for a penis.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-56715887992450694512009-01-26T09:38:00.000-08:002009-01-26T09:40:24.689-08:00Did I mention that I do taxes?Oh yeah, I do. <br /><br />And I'll do them for you.<br /><br />I'll give you a special blogger discount.<br /><br />Just email me:<br /><br />kcsponge at gmail dot comKC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-86763236455755507852009-01-23T07:50:00.001-08:002009-01-23T11:20:37.290-08:00The Blanc BluesMy daughter is in first grade at Academie Lafayette. There are many reasons that I sent her to this school - #1 she has a French word for a name, so she was already one up on the rest of the class - #2 its like 5 blocks away from my house - #3 its a really good school - good free school, even better - #4 she would be going to school with a lot of the little kids I taught at the YMCA - I liked these kids, I knew these kids. <br /><br />A lot of parents like to say that they have no other choice - but there are other choices. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.borderstarpta.com/">Border Star Montessori </a>is just as close to my house as Academy Lafayette. They even have a preschool program that could have saved us $7,000 before Elle started Kindergarten. But my kid is not one you would call a 'self-starter' - she's not even reliably a facilitated starter. Her first progress report this year said, "Elle spends a lot of time getting lost in her own pencils and not focused on the task at hand." So, Montessori is probably not the right choice for her - even though I really love the lessons of nurturing and mentorship you get in a classroom that spans many ages as it progresses at each child's own accomplishment and growth and not solely on age.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.kcmsd.k12.mo.us/troost/">Troost Elementary </a>is even closer to our house then either AL or Border Star. With a Great Schools rating of 1 out of 10, a parents rating of 3 out of 10, 0% of 3rd graders who read at or above proficient levels, 3% who are proficient in math by 5th grade . . . it just didn't make the cut. The white-guilted hipster in me would love to send my child to a school that would put her in the 3% minority, what a social experiment for me!, and the community-minded, public-school educated, urban education sympathizer inside of me would love to support my school district, but the big fat nerd inside of me who took the SAT's twice because a 1280 just wasn't high enough would never find solace with low expectations that would be fostered in a school that loses proficiency in every subject at every grade level each year.<br /><br />Another charter school close by is <a href="http://24.123.101.14/">Brookside Charter </a>by UMKC. Elle went to the dayschool there for a year - faltering under the High Scope curriculum and an administrative staff that was over-worked and, I'm sure, underpaid - and it showed in their attitude. The learn-through-play approach is not carried through Kindergarten and beyond, but the I-don't-care-so-don't-bother-me approach to parents doesn't jive with me. I like to be involved - and I like to be liked. So, continuing at Brookside was not an option either.<br /><br />#2 on my list was <a href="http://www.universityacademy.org/gen/ua/Home_m71.html">University Academy</a>. Jeffrey went to temple at B'nai Juhuda growing up, and I watched the new school being built on that same site as Elle was a little baby, and thought how perfect . . . and it was a K-12 campus, with stringent curriculum, college-prep atmosphere, and started by a family I knew well, the Bloch's. The very visible library made my heart ache as I waited for Elle to be old enough to attend (and navy blue bottoms instead of khaki - much more fashionable uniforms!) But Jeff, in his very bossy way, vetoed the decision after having students from UA visit Science City for a field trip. He thought the students were unruly and the staff disrespectful and lazy. So -poof- no University Academy for Elle (just like -poof- no naming my 2nd daughter Trixie). He's a pretty laid-back guy, but when he makes a decision - man, it is made.<br /><br />So, we were left with <a href="http://www.academielafayette.org/">Academie Lafayette</a>, and I have loved my time there. Elle had a hard time with the French at first, and I had a hard time with the culture of the educational environment at first, but we have thrived as a family in this short journey, and I have made many friends and enjoy a very tight-knit community of parents and students and faculty and staff. I still have some issues, but Elle loves school, can't wait to do homework, is showing such strength in mathematics, and will continue to learn words I will never know in a language I love to listen to, will learn a history of our nation - a history of our world - from a perspective I was never taught, will go from a classroom led by a Haitian man to sing with a teacher from Belgium, will befriend children from every corner of the city and every walk of life, and will, by the end of her 8th grade year, be ready for anything that should come next.<br /><br />But, as was pointed out to me yesterday, I chose the 'white' school. Because it represents the diversity of the overall population, and not the racial makeup of the student population in the Kansas City Missouri School District, my decision to send my child to this school has perpetuated the exclusionary practices of the school's admissions policies. Because this school is successful and has a track record of good test scores, continuing student excellence beyond the 8th grade, stable and growing community involvement, and city and state-wide recognition for accomplishments, there is a demand for admission to a small and already over-stretched campus. They have an established early admissions policy that is open to all students in the KCMS district, with a lottery system that fills the remaining spots after the deadline. They only enroll in Kindergarten because of the immersion education, so this leads to a high attrition rate - which has actually been going down over the last few years, but still causes the upper classes to get smaller and smaller. But they have an over-abundance of interest with incoming Kindergarteners. The admissions policy allowed for only 8 minority students to get admitted in a class of 85 this year.<br /><br />There is a proposal now for the Kindergarten classes to move to 80th and Holmes in the old Benjamin Bannekar campus, increase enrollment for the Kindergarten class and hopefully one day increase the size of the school. It would increase the incoming K class to 135 - with only 30 of these being non-white. So, it separates the community, utilizes a piss-poor site in a fringe-suburban location, and does nothing to solve an over-arching problem for education in Kansas City, and it doesn't even maintain the diversity of student population it thrives on. I don't like it. I don't like it at all.<br /><br />So, my question is, how do we maintain the culture of the school, the needs of the students in the district, and keep the admissions policy fair to guarantee the continuation of the unique character of this mid-town, 'neighborhood' school? I think we should admit so many students from every sub-district - ensuring a wide-range of socio-economic, geographic, racial and ethnic contributions to the student and parent community. Its a hard thing for me to say because I think that community schools are the future of urban education, and having a school down the street encourages parental involvement and community activation - but its what will work right now. <br /><br />The same person that told me that I chose the 'white' school told me that policies are judged by their outcomes and not their intentions. So, I had a choice for my daughter - one that results in her being part of a diverse population with test scores that are envied by suburban schools around the state, or one that perpetuates low-expectations and a quick-sloping funnel for success.<br /><br />I'm not sure if its unconcious racism or an elite sense of entitlement or a fear of judgement by my peers that made me make this 'white' choice . . . I just know I made the right one.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3776395325142526535.post-83429668278213756022009-01-23T07:43:00.001-08:002009-01-23T07:50:17.425-08:00True.So, hi - my name is Sponge. I used to blog, now I spend my time slaving for The Man. Well, I actually never really blogged, but I at least spent time reading others' blogs and commenting and every once in a while spouting off my own little rant here and there. <br /><br />But now I realized, I spend an inordinate amount of time every day in front of a computer and don't take too much time to take a break. So, I'm committed to stopping that. I may not stop to eat lunch - but hey, I can stop to complain a little (I always have something to complain about), or maybe talk about how much I like food, or how life is great, or people are stupid. You know - bi-polar rantage, if you will.<br /><br />So yeah, I'm back . . . and I am working 12 hours on this lovely Friday afternoon, have no appointments, got through an audit yesterday and have nothing better to do . . . so watch out.KC Spongehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10447609824017385796noreply@blogger.com1