Motherhood: A Lawn chair Rollercoaster

Hello everyone,

Today is Mother's Day.  And so, in honor of this day, I thought I'd write a bit about being a mom.

I tried to come up with a witty analogy for motherhood.

It wasn't easy because (a) most of the good ones were already snapped up by Erma Bombeck (b) I haven't consumed nearly enough coffee yet to be witty and (c) to be honest, motherhood is largely only truly witty in retrospect.

But, if I aspire to be nothing else, I aspire to be witty in the face of insanity.
And by and large, from my experience, being a mother involves a good deal of insanity.

So the best analogy I could come up with is that motherhood is like a lawn chair roller coaster.

And I'm not talking one of those sturdy redwood chairs, or even one of those cheapo molded plastic chairs.

I'm talking about the old-time lawn chairs, made out of hollow aluminum tubes and woven plastic straps.  The ones that tended to collapse or fall over without warning.

No safety straps.  No lap bar.  No stop button.
A lawn chair rollercoaster.

Perfect.

So here I am on this lawn chair roller coaster that is mother hood.

This rollercoaster has taken me to very strange places.  This rollercoster has made me say very strange things.

Motherhood means trying to be brave in the face of the realization that your highly lactose intolerant 1 year old daughter was just (quickly and stealthfully)  fed 2 tubes of gogurt by her adoring brother.


Motherhood means leaving an entire shopping cart of food in the produce aisle at Safeway and bolting out of the store, child clamped under your arm,  because your 2 year old son just decided to have a massive "I-want-that-candy-bar-right-now" tantrum.

Motherhood means trying for the 5th time in a year to find a way to style your  4 year old daughter's hair because she managed to shear off one entire side with the play dough scissors that couldn't cut through soft tofu.

Motherhood means walking your 6 year old son up to the apartment of a neighbor and making him apologize  for covering her outside wall with the mud balls he couldn't resist making and throwing after a particularly massive California rainstorm.  (Motherhood also means standing in the rain and making said son scrub the mud off the wall--at least, all the mud he can reach.  Which isn't much)

Motherhood means alternating between refereeing and ignoring the bickering, bickering, bickering, bickering, bickering, bickering......

Motherhood means finding pee in your son's upside down bongo drums, and sleuthing out that your daughter, in a fit of brother-induced annoyance, did the deed.  Motherhood means finding yourself saying "Don't pee in your brother's bongos", while in your head chanting to yourself "I am a college graduate.  I am a college graduate.  I am a college graduate".  Just to soothe your ego, you know.

Motherhood means  sitting in a steam filled bathroom  in the middle of the night with your congested baby, administering pop sicles and wet washcloths for fevers and making stressful hospital emergency room trips to get head gashes stitched up.

Motherhood means trying to soothe your husband after your daughter played a connect the dots game on the computer--using  a ballpoint pen on the screen.

Motherhood means peanut butter.  And mac and cheese.  And peanut butter.  And mac and cheese.  (repeat ad infinitum).


Motherhood means doing insane things in the name of international good will, like pressing adhesive blue plastic  dots to your children's anuses so that their Japanese public school will declare them parasite-free enough to join in the school swimming lessons.  Or begging your 6 year old daughter to please poop so that you can send a fecal sample to the school for the yearly health check. (note:  She was unable to produce on command.  The school, grudgingly, agreed to give us a pass on this requirement.)

Motherhood means making unpopular and often bizarre decisions.  New girlfriends visit in the living room only.  No tinting your hair pink with the leftover egg dye.  I will not buy the 2 inch long fake eyelashes.  You may eat 2 doughnuts only.  NOT the whole box.  If you leave partially eaten food in your room and it grows into a fuzzy green and black blob, I'm making you either live with it or clean it up yourself.

Motherhood means watching your eternally grubby, mischievous baby girl turn into a beautiful young adult who is constantly mistaken for being at least 2 years older than she actually is. (Note:  She is still highly mischievous.  Don't let the polished exterior fool you.)

Motherhood means watching your gangly, shy little boy turn into a 6 foot tall young man full of self assurance. (Note:  Still a bit gangly, in spite of the 3000 pounds of food he seems to eat each day).

In short, it's a lawn chair roller coaster ride.
Wobbly and dangerous and highly questionable.

But, if, against all odds, you manage to stay in the chair and stay alive, it's worth it.

Today's Self-Discovery: I Only LOOK Like an Adult

Hello all,

This morning I was eating my over easy eggs and toast.  Without thinking, I poked one tine of my fork into the yolk of my egg and felt a sort of insane creative interest in the way the yellow meandered around my plate.

Then I realized that actual grown ups probably don't do this.  Kids do this.

And I thought "It's probably a really good thing that the world doesn't require us to take standardized tests to prove we are, indeed, grown ups.

With this alarming, sci-fi, 'Big Brotherish' thought in mind, I dug out some paper and began jotting down all the ways I'd probably fail said test.

I made the egg number 1.

1. Plays with over easy egg yolk.
2. Eats marshmallow surprises first out of "Lucky Charms"
3. Likes chocolate pudding.  Has been known to lick pudding cup.
4. Prefers to color with crayons whenever possible.
5. Enjoys playdough.  Even likes the smell.
6. Eats apple slices in a watermelon-esque style, then takes perverse pleasure in eating the "rind"
7. Eats Kraft Mac and Cheese.  Happily.
8. Reads comics first in a newspaper
9. Likes bugs.  Except for roaches.  ugh.
10. Oreos:  Takes apart cookie. Gnaws off creme center.  Dips each half in milk.
11. Still giggles when packages of hot dogs are labeled "weenies"
12. Appreciates a good couch cushion fort
13. Can't resist playing in streams and rivers when  encountered
14. Regularly puts stupid things on head
15. Prone to wearing stained shirts.
16. Frequently makes 'hand bubbles' with dish soap when dishes are done
17. Snarfs down Reeses Peanut Butter cups.  Eats zigzag edges first.  Works way to peanut butter center
18. Thinks tadpoles are amazing
19. Enjoys that goop in the bottom of the dish that gathers as an ice cream sundae melts
20. Fascinated by "Sing a ma jigs" singing toys.  Sorely tempted to start buying them all.
21. Needs a hard hat and elbow pads whenever wearing high heels.
22.  Prefers Sneakers.
23. With cartoon shoelaces.
24. Believes all bandaids should have cartoon faces printed on them.
25. Enjoys bubble gum way too much
26. Has been known to put a tiny roll of tape on bottom of cats foot just to giggle while it walks funny and shoots her dirty looks
27. Trips over own feet.  Frequently.
28. Chews ice.  Doesn't stop even when whole head is frozen
29. Enjoys marbles.
30. Absent mindedly folds any piece of paper into an elementary school fortune teller
31. Actually knows how to fold an elementary school fortune teller
32. Dunks peanut butter and jelly sandwich in milk.
33. Eats pieces of candy corn in layers.
34.  Puts candy corn on teeth as fangs.
35. When faced with Pringles potato chips,  feels compelling need to make a duck beak.
36. Has been known to sculpt mashed potatoes
37. Eats jelly or creme filled donuts by first sucking out filling
38. Secretly squirts whipped cream directly into mouth. (careful not to actually touch spout with lips.  Gross)
39. Has been known to peel Rubik's Cube stickers off and place in new spots due to utter inability to solve the thing honestly
40. When making campfire s'mores, must always set a few marshmallows on fire.
41. Enjoys Mr. Potato Head
42. Can still get caught up in building something with Legos
43. Still enjoys Sesame Street. Especially the one where Ernie tries to go to sleep by imagining "quiet" things to count, and then scares Bert out of his wits by exploding an imaginary balloon.  Heh heh.

I'm pretty sure that this list disqualifies me for the title "Adult".  Perhaps I can be a "Quasi-Adult" or "Exo-Adult"  wherein I look like an Adult on the outside, but am actually around 8 years old on the inside.

The good news is that these very things that probably make you wonder about my sanity are exactly the kinds of things that feed into my joy for teaching.  Because when I take off my grown up, curriculum planning, assessment making, organized disguise, I'm right in there with the kids, getting just as messy and excited as they are.

After all, I like bugs.

Until next time.

Google Auto Fill-The Status Quo Spigot

Hello all--

Wow! You not only witnessed my triumphant return to my blog, but I am actually doing two blogs in one week!

Astounding.

So several months ago I was bumbling around Youtube and discovered CGPGrey, who does these highly amusing mish mash descriptions of various topics like Coffee and Pennies. CGPGrey led me to Crash Course, which is an amusing/frantic/informative/teen-oriented series of history and science mini-lessons done by two brothers: John Green (the history guy) and Hank Green (the science guy).

Upon further delving I discovered that these two brothers--who live way far apart from each other in the U.S.-- have been doing a video blog together for the past three years.

And upon watching some of these hyper-frantic stream of consciousness vlogs (which are slowly inspiring me to want to do the same but I'm pretty sure I'm not nearly as frantic or entertaining as John and Hank), I discovered that John Green is an author of young adult novels. So I ordered his newest novel "The Fault in Our Stars" and plopped it into our kindle icloud reader (I adore Kindle. Ebooks are saving my sanity. Living in Japan no longer means reading the same 6 books 2000 times).

And I must say the book rocked. I read it twice.

At any rate, I was eating potatoes and eggs this morning and watching one of John and Hank's many video blogs wherein John plugged the question "Why does my" into the "Google Auto Fill" window and then tried to answer the questions that came up.

So I was inspired to fire up Google and try it for myself. Now, I am fully aware that Google just spits out the top searches. And I know that this means less than nothing in the real world.

Yet knowing this, I admit to being rather flummoxed upon typing in the line

"Teachers are"

wherein Google spat this list back out at me :

Teachers are overpaid

Teachers are stupid

Teachers are underpaid

Teachers are lazy

Teachers are heroes

Teachers are important

Teachers are babysitters

Aha. Seven descriptions of teachers. (there were three more nonsensical sentence fragments in this list, but I elected to omit those because, quite obviously teachers are not quotes. )

Two of them positive. Teachers are heroes and teachers are important.

One a statement of general fact: Teachers are underpaid.

Which leaves four negatives. The big four that periodically get fluttered into the faces of teachers, along with the accusations of short work hours and long carefree summers.

So I plugged in "Education is" and got this:

Education is freedom

Education is the key to success

Education is the great equalizer

Education is not the filling a pail

Education is the most powerful weapon

Education is important

Education is what remains

Education is a right

Allrighty then. Education is recognized by the Googling masses as a good thing.

I continued my quest:

"School is"

School is bad for children

School is boring

School is a waste of time

School is pointless

School is fun

School is for fools

School is cool

School is stupid

"Okay" I said to myself, "So the Googling masses seem to have the opinion that while education is an incredibly important, very desirable thing, teachers and schools...not so much.

How about Homeschooling?

"Homeschooling is"

Homeschooling is bad

Homeschooling is good

Homeschooling is wrong

Homeschooling is a bad idea

Homeschooling is better

Homeschooling is a joke

Homeschooling is child abuse

Homeschooling is stupid

Homeschooling is legal

I could have done this all day.

But I didn't. I stopped because (a) Google is in no way an accurate indicator of anything. It is the quintessential proof of the phrase "Garbage in, garbage out" and (b) I'm getting hungry and want to eat lunch after I finish this posting.

But I did have a thought.

And the thought is this.

While most folks see education as an important, vital, future-altering concept, when it comes down to the actual DOING of it, all the consensus falls away into insults, stereotypes and pouty disagreement. And while I'm using the "garbage in, garbage out" example of Google to illustrate this point, I have found that the real world more or less supports this as well.

And now, as I slide into my twenty first year of being a teacher (gasp), I find myself reflecting upon some personal teaching truths:

To teach, you've got to love the kids and be willing to dedicate as much time and out-of-pocket money as you've got to nurture each kid and light that fire of learning in each child's eyes. This means doing everything from keeping granola bars and juice boxes in a cupboard to feed a hungry child to clearing a store's shelves of marshmallows and toothpicks in order to create a scale model of the Golden Gate Bridge.

You have to think outside the box--and under the box, inside the box, over the box, around the box. Heck, sometimes you have to throw out the box completely and find another container.

You've got to see yourself not as the epitome of your field, but as another learner, just like your students, only a bit farther along on the continuum.

I've found that by sticking to these truths, no matter who I teach, no matter what subject, no matter the country or continent, I have something that no number of Googling minions can touch: my love for what I do, and my self-respect.

Until next time.

Spring: Boing, Boing, Boing

Hello all,

Spring is sneaking back into our lives here in Kyoto. It's a little like being able to stretch hugely after being crammed into a tiny car, or into a crowded train seat.

In our house, the first signs of Spring are the slow removal of the wrappings of Winter. We are peeling off the adhesive sponge tape that absorbed liters and liters of winter window condensation. We are unhooking and rolling up the "insulated curtains" (aka: glorified shower curtains that were supposed to insulate our windows). We've folded up the styrofoam sheets that blocked the coldest windows and peeled the bubble wrap from other windows.

We are even starting to leave doors between rooms open again (during the winter we kept rooms sealed as tightly as possible in order to maximize the efforts of our electric heaters).

As we slide into Spring, I'm starting to inch back into various types of teaching. On Monday nights I tutor a young businesswoman in English for 2 hours in a local coffee shop. On Tuesday mornings I tote myself to a nearby Austrian bakery and cafe to tutor several Japanese women who will be going to Europe in the Fall and who speak virtually no English.

And without a doubt, tiptoeing back into my former life as an English teacher is great fun. But what brings the biggest smile to my face is that starting this coming Wednesday, I'll be the After School Science Club teacher at Kyoto International School.

I've gotta admit, I've been missing the munchkins something fierce. So even an hour a week back with the kiddos is better than nothing.

Spring is one of the most beautiful times in Japan, and in Kyoto in particular. The quintessential sign of Spring in Japan is, of course, the cherry blossoms or "sakura", beneath which people flock to spread out their plastic tarps and have "ohanami" or flower viewing parties, which involve tasty food and plenty of liquid refreshment. Sakura are not taken lightly either. Newspapers, websites and TV news programs track the blooming of the Sakura as Spring moves through each island and city. Everything--from beer cans to mochi to the decorations hanging in department stores--is festooned with the iconic sprays of pink and white cherry blossoms.

As for me, I'm just glad to feel the sun on my face again.

Here's hoping that your Spring is filled with warm sun, new adventures and endless possibilities...

Until next time.

Too Much is Better than Too Little

Hello there everyone.

This week I have been exploring--both intentionally and unintentionally--the notion that "too much is better than too little". An interesting concept to consider here in Japan, which many non-Japan-living folks often consider to be a place that celebrates the beauty of simplicity and minimalism. And to a certain extent, in certain contexts, this is true. Many forms of traditional Japanese art and culture celebrate what isn't there as much as they celebrate what is there. But even here, or perhaps especially here, fine attention to detail takes interesting forms.

For example:

Do It Right, Or Not At All

Ironically enough I seem to be living in a land that follows my father's most favorite saying: "Do a job right, or don't do it at all". He applied this equally to washing dishes, doing homework or fixing a bike. If you're going to do something, stick to it until it is well and truly finished.

The Japanese approach to medical and dental matters certainly are excellent examples of this.

For the past year or so, Patrick has been plagued by a horrific ingrown toenail. In typical teenager fashion, he ignored it, hid it, camouflaged it and generally pretended it didn't exist until about 2 months ago when he finally had to show it to me. Off to the doctor went Bob and Patrick. Now, back in the USA, dealing with this would probably have been the matter of one doctor's appointment, where they would do the trimming, cutting and bandaging, supply us with various medicines, creams and goo, and then send us on our way.

But here in Japan, Patrick has been summoned back to the doctor once a week for two months. Each visit lasts 15 minutes tops. They unwrap his toe, check it out, perhaps provide new goop or creams, and then re-bandage it and send him on his way.

Incredible.

Take also, for example, the newly scraped and cleaned teeth and gums that Bob and I can now show off. Both of us have been summoned back to the dentist several times for them to check up on their handiwork. Each time they clean our teeth and supply us with various oddly shaped toothbrushes.

My teeth have never, ever been so clean.

And this isn't a new thing. 15+ years ago, when I was pregnant with Patrick in Nagoya, I had incredibly frequent doctor's appointments throughout my pregnancy, and was even hospitalized for a week just so they could monitor my blood pressure. When I was pregnant with Aya 2 years later in Walnut Creek, CA and my blood pressure once again rose, Kaiser sent me home with a portable blood pressure machine and had me call in my own readings every morning. And when the happy day finally came for Patrick to be born, the mandatory--MANDATORY--hospital stay was one full week. I was ejected from the hospital in Walnut Creek just two days after Aya was born.

(It should be pointed out that (a) by the seventh day in the hospital I was ready to poke my eyes out with ohashi/chopsticks (b) the length of post-birth hospital stays is, in my mind, a subjective matter, dependent on the health of mother and baby and (c) While the one week hospital stay in Japan was too long, the two day stay in California was just not enough...)

So is more always better? I cannot say. But when I read the news about the incredibly convoluted, disputed, reviled and in the end failing health care system back at home, I can't help but scratch my head over how different it is here. While back at home Bob and I scrimped and planned and fought repeatedly to keep Patrick and Aya's health insurance, and juggled ways to keep our own, here, thousands of miles away from my own country, I find health care worries to be non-existent.

Yeah, I may be a bit over-coddled, but it absolutely beats the alternative.

Faith In Humanity Alert of the Day

Yesterday I was on the train, coming home from yet another dentist appointment. I was perhaps 4 stops away from my destination (Kitaoji Station). It was about 5pm and the train was mildly full.

I was letting my mind wander off with itself as the train pulled into Marutamachi Station. The train wheezed to a stop, then, as trains so often do, it gave a quick ending lurch so that the doors would match up with the platform marks.

As the train had stopped, an elderly woman rose from her seat, hands full of shopping bags. She was standing and making her way to the train doors when that final lurch hit. It sent her crashing to the floor, face first. Her glasses split in two, one shattered lens scratching her badly from cheek to temple.

As the woman knelt on the floor of the train, blood dripping, the whole train car rose as one, everyone digging into their pockets and bags for packets of tissue (companies in Japan give out millions of packets of free tissue with their company logos on them. As a result, everyone always has plenty of tissue).

It was a sign of how much time I had really spent in Japan that I found myself also moving almost with out conscious thought, towards the woman, outstretched hand proffering tissue.

Immediately five or six other people were on their knees, on the floor with her. Several women of various ages were rubbing her back and encouraging her to move slowly. Two somber faced older men were methodically accepting packets of tissue from people around them, and wiping up the blood that had dripped onto the floor.

As far as I could tell, the woman had been alone on the train. But the reactions of the people around the woman were lightning fast and automatic.

Eventually the woman was able to stand up. Two of the three women with her gathered their own belongings as well as hers, while the third woman kept a tissue pressed against the injured woman's face. At the next stop, two of the women led the injured woman off the train, asking her where she needed to go, and discussing getting a taxi, perhaps to her doctor's office or to the hospital.

And after the train doors closed and the train began moving again, the elderly men were still kneeling on the floor, silently wiping up the drops of blood.

It all happened so quietly, so efficiently and quickly, that neither the other passengers on other cars nor the train conductor ever knew it had happened. It was a single train car tableau of care and sympathy.

Now, both here in Japan and back in the US, I have been witness to, and at times the recipient of, incredible acts of random kindness and help such as this. And both here in Japan and back in the US I have been witness to and at times the recipient of apathy and ignorance. Times when I or someone else needed help, and no one would step up. Sometimes it was because the person needing the help was different--different race, different skin, different clothes. Sometimes it was simply because no one stepped outside themselves long enough to stop and care.

And I wonder, in my foolish, idealistic way, how different our world would be if we could step out our front doors each day, confident in the knowledge that if we were to fall, there would always, always be a helping hand there to lift us up and wipe away our blood and tears.....

A good first step towards this? Go out your door and be that helping hand....

Meanwhile, I'm adding another packet of tissue to my purse...just in case.

Well, that's it for now folks.

Until next time...

Backwards is Forwards With Less Perspective

Hello all...

I know you've just about give up on me and this blog by now. But this is the way I roll with blogs. Life gets crazy, blog takes a rest. Life regains perspective, blog stretches, groans, shakes out the aches and moves ahead.

And in a certain senese, life has picked up a bit of craziness. Such as...

Going Back to Ye Olde Stompin' Grounds

Last week we returned to Nagoya for a vist. For the most part this wasn't totally a vacation. I took the Shinkansen down to Nagoya on Friday, two days ahead of Bob and the kids, in order to offer my dubiously helpful services to my dear friend Sue, who is about 4 weeks away from doing our move in reverse. We moved from the U.S. to Japan; she is moving from Japan to the U.S. To Chicago to be specific. And just as with us, her husband had to leave months ahead in order to start his job. And just as with us, it has been left to her (and her two teenage daughters), to do the packing/sorting/selling/storing/screaming/ranting (I could go on).

It was wonderful to be able to spend time with her minus the inevitable multitasking/split focus that motherhood brings. I had the luxury of focusing on her and only her. Truth be told, it was as much a gift to me as it was (hopefully) a help to her.

After the hours spent sorting through boxes and papers and piles, sifting through cupboards and mementos, Sue, one of her daughters, and I fit in some fun: dinner on Friday at one of our old favorite 100 yen sushi restaurants, and a surprise trip to one of our favorite sento which Sue sprang on me Saturday night. (Sento: public bath. This one was quite posh, with an excellent restaurant, TV rooms with giant massage chairs, and a lovely array of pools of hot water in which to soak ourselves).

On Sunday evening, Bob, Patrick and Aya showed up on Sue's doorstep, as planned. Sue, her two daughters, and all of us scooted just around the corner from Sue's house to a tiny izakaya called "Murasaki". (Izakaya: think of a combo tapas bar+casual neighborhood bar+family restaurant). We ordered heaps of semi-healthy food, sipping on sodas (for me and the kids) and beer (for Sue and Bob). It took the kids only a short time to relax back in to their friendship that now spans 7 years.

After eating our fill (and after a brief, humorous scuffle between Sue and I to pay the bill) we collected our things from Sue's house, distributed warm hugs and made our way down the street to the train station, which would tote us towards downtown Nagoya and our hotel.

Sue stayed in her doorway, waving, watching us walk down the street, until we turned the corner. It was a sentimental sight for me, as this was what my grandmother used to do every summer when we visited her from Kwaj. When it was our last night of our visit with her, after the hugs and kisses were done, she would stand in her doorway and watch us pile into our rental car and drive down the street. Every year the last sight I had of her was her tiny form, shivering slightly in the breeze, backlit against the porch light.

We had a quiet, tired train ride to Chikusa Station, where we opted to take a taxi the rest of the way--with four of us plus my luggage, traveling, short distances by taxi are often cheaper than train fare. We arrived at a tidy business hotel not far from the main part of downtown Nagoya. We had two rooms--one for Aya and I, one for Patrick and Bob (One of the side-effects of having teenagers--they can no longer be tucked to sleep on pillows and folded blankets on the floor. On the other hand, they can now carry luggage and be sent on solo errands when needed. A fair trade-off I feel)

On Saturday Bob left early to go visit the elementary school where he had done his research. The kids and I slept in a little later, then walked downtown. We visited the import store, Meidi-Ya, where Aya selected a bin of caramel popcorn and Patrick opted for two Snicker's bars. We went to the bookstore Maruzen, where we toted ourselves to the 3rd floor "Foreign Books" section. Aya and I opted for a book and a magazine each, while Patrick chose to save his brownie points (and share of the money) to continue his quest to buy a leather jacket. After more exploring we returned to the hotel and waited for Bob to return. For dinner we went to a downtown izakaya, and spent a few hours there nibbling on misokatsu on skewers, massive sticks of grilled and breaded chicken katsu, kinoko mushrooms in butter sauce, deep fried mochi balls, and of course, french fries.

Of course, on Sunday we made our way to one of my favorite Nagoya spots: the monthly antique market on the grounds of our old neighborhood temple, Osu Kannon. Patrick and Bob continued the leather jacket quest while Aya alternated between following me around as I picked my way among the antiques, and trailing after Bob and Patrick (Patrick and Aya don't quite understand my love of picking through flea markets, but they've learned to put up with it. Usually). Patrick finally chose a, inexpensive non-leather jacket in one of the many used clothing stores that line the Osu Kannon covered shopping arcade. We regrouped for lunch at some of the sidewalk food stalls to nibble on mitarashi dango, okonomiyaki and chicken karage. Then it was off to the hotel and onward to Nagoya Station where we caught the shinkansen back to Kyoto.

Needless to say, our cats were overjoyed to see us upon our return, and have spent much of this week following us from room to room, their three sets of glowing eyes staying fixed on us, just in case we decide to vanish again.

And now that we are back in Kyoto, I'm busy with a new pastime...

Teaching English...Lah Dee Dah

I have taken up my former occupation as English Teacher once again and am tutoring a business woman in English, helping her prepare for her upcoming TOEIC exam.

TOEIC stands for the "Test of English for International Communication", and is a significant (and employer-required) proof of English skills for business people. It is a lengthy and challenging test with two components: Speaking and Writing, and Listening and Reading. She is preparing for the Listening and Reading Component.

So, two nights a week, for an hour and a half each time, we meet at a quiet coffee shop and go over reading comprehension exercises. I read practice test portions aloud to her so that she can practice her listening comprehension. We analyze samples of business emails, complex advertisements and meeting agendas.

I enjoy teaching of all kinds, so I am happy to return to my English teaching . But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss teaching Kindergarten. Teaching adults is enjoyable, but it is missing the minute-by-minute surprises, adventures, mishaps and mind-blowing leaps of learning that can only happen when teaching kids. So while my clothing is now very safe from the mishaps they so often suffered with the kindergarteners (paint/glitter glue/paper mache paste/science experiment splatters/mud/peanut butter....), my mind and heart are working at rekindling the fire I once had for a very different kind of teaching.

Give it time....

And so...off I go again. The week ahead promises to be a full one: Aya's birthday is on Thursday, tucked into my two TOEIC teaching sessions, Patrick and Aya's Japanese lesson, Aya's completion of her first research project and Patrick's PE exam. And behind it all, we have Bob, continually humming songs from Bruce Springsteen's new album. At least we have a soundtrack....

Until next time....

Musical Novocaine

Aha! Caught your attention with that one, didn't I? For this week's blog entry, I shall share with you the wonders of my Valentine's Day trip to the dentist.

Teeth can be such temperamental little things, can't they? We exert hundreds of pounds of jaw pressure upon them throughout our days, forcing them to chomp through a variety of reasonably edible matter. We attempt to care for them by harassing them with plastic-bristled scrub brushes, waxed string and various chemicals ranging from mild to searing.

And they still sometimes pester us.

Really, how dare they.

In my case it wasn't my teeth so much as my gums. And it wasn't all of my gums so much as a specific gum territory in the area of my mouth I lovingly call "Murphy's Law Alley". In that, anything that can go wrong with my teeth will definitely go wrong in that specific section. Namely, in the upper left quadrant.

Crazy canine tooth trapped in the roof of my mouth? Pull it right down into "Murphy's Law Alley". And just to make it more interesting, oh loving Honolulu oral surgeon person, pull the tooth down BACKWARDS....thereby forcing our infamous Kwaj dentist to create modern art out of my braces by stretching a variety of rubber bands all over the place in order to turn the backwards tooth forwards.

Which brings us to....

Root canal number one. Root Canal number one had to be done on crazy backwards roof of mouth tooth around 1990, when I was in the middle of my Teaching Credential program at UC Santa Cruz and had NO DENTAL INSURANCE. Mom and Dad loaned me the $900 needed to secure a root canal.... and voila. Pain gone. Tooth crowned.

Several years later (and this time I did, happily, have dental insurance), I needed a root canal on the tooth next door to the crazy backwards tooth. Of course.

And on it went. Until this week, on Valentine's Day, when I went to see the dentist to have him check a tooth whose enclosure of gums was unhappy.

And where was this unhappy tooth ala gum of mine?

Of course.

Murphy's Law Alley.

So they tilted me back in the magic chair. A state-of-the-art digital portrait of my teeth hovered above me on an elevated computer screen. Shiny magic dental machines surrounded me. Soft classical music played.

The hygienist draped a soft cloth over the upper portion of my face (a common thing here among various dentists and doctors--drape anything that isn't necessary to the task. ).

They explained in Japanese what they were going to do--namely, poke my upper jaw full of novocaine and then scrape the living daylights out of the tooth beneath the gums in question.

And so they smeared their targeted gum spot with a bitter numbing creme and poked the alarming novocaine needle into my mouth.

Not that I felt it. I was numb, after all.

But I could hear it.

The novocaine needle played When You Wish Upon A Star in series of high, tinny computerized notes. I was warned about this by Bob when he had gone in several weeks earlier for a similar issue (they love scraping gums here it seems).

But it was rather off-putting to have a novocaine needle buried in my mouth, only to have Disney music echoing through my skull. And I got to hear the song three times. One time for each poke of novocaine.

After the novocaine took hold, it was simply a matter of enduring various unpleasant, but painless sensations of scraping, pressing, pushing, shoving and grinding...all for the sake of one unfortunate tooth and it's enveloping gums.

I admit I was happy that my issue was restricted to just one tooth. Honestly, how many renditions of When You Wish Upon A Star would I have had to endure if I had needed this done on more teeth? Eww.

I am happy to report that there was no pain after the musical novocaine wore off, and my gums are on the road to recovery. I am back to harassing my teeth and gums with tiny plastic scrub brushes and waxed strings.

All is well.

And now I sense my true mission is done here....

Because the next time you hear Disney music, you're gonna think of...

yeah, my teeth.

Which, you have to admit, is just a little amusing.

Until next time....