And Another - The Result of Meditating in the Shower

As If A Life Depends On It

If you can recognize yourself in these lines,
then this was written for you.

It doesn’t matter, you say.
It doesn’t count, you say.
They can’t do it anyway, you say.

We tell a child that
can’t and don’t are forbidden words,
that life requires a CAN DO attitude.

So are you still a child yourself,
surrounded by your peers,
indulging in a power-trip while standing
in front of a class pretending to be a teacher?

You must teach as if a life depends on it.
This is not negotiable.

The difference between answering
5 or 6
is the difference between
a bullet in the head
or a fist bump.

Choosing the right word
means winning a scholarship
or staying in the hood
in perpetuity.

Picking the right answer to that final question
on a national exam
determines whether or not
a student gets to pick a major in the fall.

You must teach as if a life depends on it.
You wouldn’t let someone
kill your child, would you?

This is not a rhetorical question.
This is not negotiable.

I've decided to write a poem every day. Day 2:

The Foundations of Generosity

She needed my assistance
to open the picture frame,
A mere plastic rectangle from the dollar store,
An after-thought bought while finishing
my Christmas shopping –
What grandma doesn’t want
A framed photo of a child?

She needed to open the picture frame.
She is five.
Her friends are five.
She wants to frame pictures for them.
We’ve moved beyond
construction paper and Scotch tape, I see.
These creations are meant to be significant.

The gifts for her tiny peers
Were not my idea.
She has formed her own concept
Of giving,
Of generosity,
Of kindness.

I know I am a blessed and fortunate mommy.
I know those dollar store frames
Were meant for a higher purpose.

My First Poem In About Five Years - For Real (Thank You, Inspiration)

Write-Time Wishes

I close my eyes and wish for
A mind that never ceases,
Thoughts that whirl in perpetuity,
An eyelash on my thumb to blow into oblivion.

I close my eyes and pray for
The return of the words I could not hold back
When I was 18 and full of ego,
A mere wisp of a woman with nothing to lose.

I close my eyes and plead for
My voice,
My voice,
My voice,
And yours.

I close my eyes and dream for
The future of my child,
A collection of thoughts to share with her,
The reason I opted for life
Instead of a drunken duel
With self-induced hypothermia
On my apartment balcony
In the middle of January.

Another Waste of a Lawsuit

So an 8th grade girl in PA decides she is going to post a fakie MySpace profile of her principal. The profile includes words and actions that I am not even comfortable enough as an adult to retype here (but that can be read here). In short, "I'm a pedophile and sexual aberrant" will suffice as a summary of the profile.

As kids do, rampant talking about said profile ensued at school, principal found out, kid was busted and received a 10-day suspension. Pretty nice deal, right? She could have been locked up, charged with identity theft and libel, so 10 days at home for being a douchekid is a far sweeter punishment, RIGHT?

No. Her parents don't want her to miss ten days of school, so they sue the school district. Claim: They should have the right to punish their child as they see fit, that it's not up to the school to decide the punishment for them. For real.

WHAT? The girl set up an impostor profile of her principal which contained graphic sexual and illegal activities, set up this profile at her own home (where her parents presumably live and keep an eye on her), and she should not be punished for it by previously offended school authority(because, really, how can you trust these parents to follow through on any kind of punishment)?

This lawsuit is a prime example of why our country is falling apart. When parents defend the illegal actions of their children to degrade the reputations of others, we tell kids it's ok to be a self-abosrbed a**hole without compassion or control.

At least, the courts made the right decision, as if it was a hard one to make.

It's Just You & Me, Blog...

Dear Tabsmom Blog:

It has been too long since you and I had a meaningful conversation about the pursuits of life - career advancement, advocacy, child-rearing, cultural commentary, social commentary, the meaning of life, etc., etc. I apologize for the distance as of late. Blame it on Facebook.

Blog, here it's just you and me, a blank screen awaiting content, wit, insight, photos. If what I compose sucks, oh well. I don't think too many people specifically read this blog. You were created in May 2005 at the onset of my cancer chronicles. You were a bastion of communication and networking, and you saved me many minutes on my phone.

Now, my ADD-rattled psyche is quite at home on Facebook. My urge to entertain, to craft snarky comments, to question and receive answers - all those needs are met by Facebook. To what end are you useful anymore, dear blog? You are the equivalent of an empty journal. The pressure to fill you can be overwhelming.

Ok, not really, dear blog. I'm just busting your stones. I do plan to write a whole lot this summer, now that I have caught up on my rest and shifted my frame of mind. Tabsmom Blog, you are my original on-line home. I could never really leave.

Love, Tabsmom

School Year 2008-2009: By The Numbers

As the school year draws to a close (and that can't come soon enough), I present to you -

Ms. K's Annual Data Report

# of senior students I taught this year: 150

# of senior classes I taught: 5

% of this year's graduating class that I taught: over 50%

# of graduation projects I read: 140

# of pages in an average graduation project: 20

# of teen parents I taught: 7

# of teen parents who failed my class: ZERO

# of days I was out with pink eye (including days that my daughter had it): 5

# of days I was out for cancer treatment: ZERO!

% of my students who will be graduates of the Class of 2009: 93%

# of figurative hats I wore this year: at least 20

# of days till Summer Vacation BEGINS: 9!!

Congrats to the Class of 2009. You've made me proud (and tired).

Love, Ms. K

Dear Dunkin Donuts on City Line & Haverford Avenues:

Our encounters are on a near-daily basis, and yet every so often, you decide to mess with my morning and screw me over.

On occasion, you will yell at me, because I don't have my money ready. Being as though I am not a mind-reader, I can't give you money if you don't tell me what the total is! Duh! Plus, you seem to forget the fact that you are NOT a necessary service. I am GIVING you MY money - you should be grateful. Don't take me for granted. There are plenty of other places to get my breakfast in the morning, particularly from my own house.

Other times you will deceive me unknowingly... like this morning. When you handed me my coffee this morning, the napkin around the cup was wet. This could only be because you didn't put the lid on properly, right? Isn't that what I pay you to do, to put the lid on my coffee cup correctly? I adjusted the lid, and yet my cup continued to leak. Why would this be? There was no obvious explanation - until I took off the lid. My cup was broken!!! Even the smallest of cracks or breaks in a cup ruins the whole coffee experience. See evidence below.

DD, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. You are not that smart, for otherwise you would not be in business shlepping donuts and coffee. You would be doing something to help society, like create sustainable transportation or save the chinchillas or educate our youth. HOWEVER, next time my coffee cup has even one drip on it, I will block up the drive-thru line until the issue is resolved. And I don't care how much you yell. My daughter is 4 - I can withstand your whining.

kluvyacya2morrow - Tabsmom

Because I have worked too much and not had enough fun...

Being a responsible and together grown-up sucks sometimes. Not on payday, of course, when my bank account reflects my strong work ethic and successes - and not after I have paid the bills and still have a good chunkachange left over.

Being a grown-up sucks when I want to spontaneously take a drive to Atlantic City, stroll the boardwalk, and watch the sun go down... and I can't, because there is a child to be picked up from daycare, dinner to be cooked, dishes and laundry, and several hours of work to be done in order to maintain my reputation.

Being a grown-up sucks when the alarm starts going off at 5 a.m., and I still need another 5 hours of sleep to feel fully rested.

Being a grown-up sucks when you have to deal with varied unsavory and uncouth grown-ups who squash every morsel of joy and happiness out of everyone and everything they encounter.

Call me disillusioned. I am. I am eagerly anticipating my summer vacation when my time will be my own, not dictated by an alarm clock (Tabby is technically NOT an alarm clock, although the argument could be made otherwise), not bound by the mandates of work (any work I do will be of my own volition). This all sounds horribly self-indulgent. You could make the case.

Frankly, it's been so long since I've written that I'm slightly constipated with emotional word sludge (ew, disgusting image!). I think I might need to start writing poetry again. Yeah, I should do that.

PS. I need to reclaim my inner happy.

My Entry for the Google Photo Contest

My Entry for the Google Photo Contest

A Tourist's Eye - From the Edge

Picasso's Southern France Studio - Open to the public at last!

As always, I'm loving the artwork @ Postcard From Provence: Dark & Delicious!

Beautiful Brazilian Cuisine (courtesy of the NY Times Travel Section)

100,000 Strong - Race for the Cure - Philly Style

The club you join when you become a breast cancer survivor is hardly exclusive. You got it, you are admitted, no class is denied, no race is turned away, age plays no part.

You find a lump, you get to jump - into the Survivors' Club.

The inclusivity of breast cancer was made explicitly clear to me at 7:00 a.m. this morning at the Philadelphia Art Museum circle as thousands assembled for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. The chaos was loosely organized; the swag was flowing; snacks were tossed out to the crowds.

Groups small and large gathered with banners, memoria, pink from head to toe, pinned racing numbers. Survivors and those lost to the fight were honored in glitter, spray paint, airbrush, ink. Donned in t-shirts, sweatpants, jackets, and sneakers, the crowd was ready to walk, walk, walk - 3 miles - 5 kilometers.

At 8:15 a.m., the masses moved to the start line. My walking partner, the ever-lovely and supportive Leslie Carlis stood side-by-side with me in sisterly solidarity. The crowd strolled down the Parkway to City Hall, hooked a right and around to JFK Boulevard, another turn up Market to West Philly, and back. A puddle of puke reminded me of the frailty of the human body; baby strollers championed the next generation of fighters; preteen cheerleaders shouted, "Race for the Tatas!" at every mile marker.

The crash from the endorphine high was solid. When I got back home, my pillow winked and invited me to lie my head upon it. I did; four hours later, I awoke.

I'm all over the web!

I occasionally Google myself - who doesn't? This is what I have found recently:

~ I reviewed a book on SIOP (teaching English to second-language learners). You can see me here, here, and here.

~ My profile for UPENN's Distributed Leadership initiative is here.

~ I reviewed a teacher book called What Really Matters. My name is credited here.

~ I got mentioned in the Philadelphia School District employee newsletter for my mini-grant here.

Movie Review (and Waxing Philosophical): Life After People

I was going through my 12th grade yearbook on Thursday. It made me mourn inside. First, I noticed the glaring absence of well wishes and memories inscribed in my previous yearbooks. Skimming through the book, I find that NO ONE at all wrote in it. Nothing penned, scribbled, signified, just page after page of black and white pictures and type. I mourned for allowing myself to check out of high school so soon and enter the corrupt world of adults. I remember where I was in 12th grade, and mentally, it was not in my high school classrooms nor with my peers.

I came across a photo of myself with the literary magazine staff - sooooo long is my frown in the picture, so straight my hair, so empty my eyes. One of the ugliest portraits I have ever seen. I couldn't even bring myself to scan it and post it on Facebook.

When I got to my senior year profile, complete with smiling portrait (that came out great, to my surprise), I read through my list of memories, friends, activities, and pet peeves. My pet peeve back in 1993? PEOPLE. UGH! How drole was I? How empty and alone? PEOPLE? That's the best I had? The entire population was my pet peeve? Almost as bad as my peers who wrote high school as their pet peeve.

Apparently, however, my peeve of people has not disappeared over the years, just been repressed and sublimated. Ever since seeing the preview for LIFE AFTER PEOPLE, I was anxious to get my hands on it, relish the view of a planet without jerks, misanthropes, idiots, scoundrels, and the like.

Life After People did not disappoint. Breaking down the devolution/evolution of Earth without its humans at certain periods across a timeline (1 day without people, 2 days without people.... 1 year without people, 3 years without people.... 10 years, 50 years, 100 years, 1000 years) - it all made me feel so utterly small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. All traces of human presence will be virtually eliminated after a thousand years. The only thing that would be left as proof that humans ever existed would be styrofoam. Mother Nature would reclaim Her world, vegetation would flourish, animals would again be free to roam. Peace would reign.

Like my yearbook, LIFE AFTER PEOPLE made me mourn.

Sweet-kend!

A sweet weekend it was, my final one as a 33 year old. Kicked it off on Friday with some Chinese take-out and a batch of movies. Wonderland starring Val Kilmer as notorious movie star John Holmes rocked the night - drugs, violence, jarring film techniques, obsession - it was much more than I expected, and it's always nice when something is better than you expect. On the downside, I suffered through The Day The Earth Stood Still remake starring everyone's favorite robot-actor Keanu Reeves. It had potential, it really did, but the end doomed it to the $1 bin. Last time I saw Keanu in a good movie was The Lake House. Poor guy - how long ago was that?

The next morning it was off to UPENN for Distributed Leadership training. The weather on Saturday was GORGEOUS, but alas! I was trapped indoors for 8 hours listening to lectures on decision-making. Ah well! We disbanned at 4 p.m., and I was off to Morimoto for my birthday dinner with Mom and Barry. I have fond (and expensive) memories of my late husband's 30th birthday dinner in 2003 at that place. It was a bittersweet feeling being back there, the interior decoration the same, but feelings of emptiness and resentful nostalgia creeping in... then banished! This was my good time. I bemoaned forgetting my camera to photograph the delicious food, and my cell phone just didn't capture the detailed colors and textures of the food. The wine was sweet (love a good reisling!), the rock shrimp was tangy, the sushi melted in my mouth, and the cappucino capped off a perfect meal. At home that night, RL and I caught up on TV shows through Hulu (seriously House-writers, did Kutner have to end it like THAT?), and I fell into a peaceful slumber.
















Sunday was field trip day down to the Free Library of Philadelphia Book Festival. I met four of my kids from my AP English class, bought them lunch, and took pictures of them fingerpainting, posing with the Target dog, meeting authors, and being accosted by rogue jugglers. I picked up all kinds of free swag and got a few books signed.
















(OMG - saddest Clifford evah!)
















(OMG - me and Target Dog!)

On the way home, I stopped at my beloved vegetable truck at 44th and Walnut Streets. How I miss it! I got about 15 pounds of fruit and vegs for less than $10. With my last dollar, I bought a bag of onions for a woman short of change but full of impulse. Random acts of kindness empower and enrich the soul.

Birthday Monday was a splash! Because of my pervasive Facebook use, and friending nearly all my students, the birthday wishes were overwelming and adorable! Loved it, what can I say? It's nice not to have to point out to others that it's your birthday. Plus, during my last period class, a gift basket from my dad and Tina was delivered to my classroom. Supersweet. Thanks, Daddieo!

Spring Break - A Week in the Life of...

Thursday - night time driving down Baltimore Pike towards West Philly - great graffiti at Baltimore and Lansdowne Avenue - who doesn't love the smile of a cat, even an illegal one?
















Didn't realize how picturesque the liquor store could be till I was sitting outside waiting for the car next to me to pull out so I could leave:
















Tabitha at swimming class - kids sitting on noodles with floatie belts around their waists - my daughter is on the left:
















Front yard work is underway. Bless RL for his hard work digging out those nasty bushes in the front yard:
















Telephone poles and ominous clouds - yes, it's spring!

Chagall @ Sotheby's Auction - Lovin' It!

So gorgeous - what I wouldn't do to hang one in my house!

More delicious painitings from Postcard From Provence