Schoolduggery

My daughter is upset with her new school because she has a problem with her math assignments. I guess in a small way I can't blame her, but at the same time I'm thinking to myself, "Maybe you should hold on to your hat there Turbo, and cut the teacher a little slack. Maybe the teacher is just getting a feel for the class and maybe in another month when the real assignments start coming out you'll have something to whine about. Maybe how about that, huh?"
I think it's probably something else though. I think now that she has finally moved on from elementary school and is in the 7th grade, she wants real 7th grade homework.

"Oh, you'll get your math, darling little daughter. I can already see it spewing out of your tiny little head."

Last year Jeni struggled with math. I think her problem is she tries too hard. I also think that the word problems are her hardest problems to solve. They are the ones that always set me back when I was in school. Problems like: A freight train leaves a station traveling at 30 mph. A passenger train leaves 1 hour later traveling at 50 mph. At what time will the passenger train overtake the freight train?

You may as well ask me something like this, "If I was walking through the forest with a canoe on my head and the wheels fell off, how many pancakes will it take to cover the dog house?" I. DON'T. KNOW!

Anyhow, her first assignment was to draw someone who was a mathematician. After giving this some thought she decided that she would draw an accountant. This is the picture that she drew.
The teacher informed her that she had done a nice job on her drawing, but then told her that she was taking points away because it didn't fit into her idea of what a mathematician should look like.
I looked at my wife and I asked her, "What does a mathematician look like?"
"Beats me," Lois said, "Nothing like an accountant, I guess."
I asked Jeni, "Did you tell her it was an accountant?"
"Uh, huh." Jeni said.
"Hmm?" I thought. "Well, you'll get your new math soon enough."

********************

The following day there was another home work assignment. Jeni was asked to draw herself doing math. "Really? More drawing? I already have an art class." Jenifer told us. And so this is her complaint: she is upset that she is having to draw in her algebra class.

********************

One Day Later.

There was no drawing. However, Jeni got in trouble because she neglected to follow her assignment rules. She was supposed to show her work and the teacher was mad because she didn't.
I have a feeling this is going to be a very long year. Personally I think she should draw every chance she gets because in another month I have a feeling that she's going to be having some real problems when she starts working on her algebra.

This is my drawing of a mathematician.

Photo's

New Photos from Alyson. I saw a few pictures the other day that were quite good but I can't find them. There are two shots here that were taken with the zoom lens fully extended. I think she did a good job on holding the camera steady. They are the Bald Eagle and the Wolf.

Oriole

Red Finch

Another Red Finch

Wolf in Yellowstone. We were a long ways away.

Caterpillars

Bald Eagle in Yellowstone.

I have no idea how she got this shot.

Déjà vu

Remember that time I had my adoption records opened? Chirping birds flew in my window and they started singing that Tra-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la song. Outside the heavens opened up and bright sun beams shined down all over the planet. I remained composed of course, because I was somewhat busy being shell-shocked by an event that took some 43 years to transpire. But I took some comfort in it all because my waiting on this information was also consequential to the fact that my very life depended on it. I was hoping -- praying -- that I would be able to use this information to help me enroll in my Indian tribe. Because, you see, that's what it was all about to begin with -- getting enrolled.
That first week while Lois and the girls and I took time to process this all, we realized that we still didn't have my original birth certificate and so we set about to take care of this. I should actually say that Lois did, and through much effort, frustrating phone calls and a lot of determination, the bridge was hurdled. On Monday last, Lois Fed Exed the certified court order the judge issued and they sent us a copy of my original birth certificate back by the end of the week.
On Friday morning Lois called me at work and said, "I got it!" For the second time within a couple of months the heavens parted and the birds sang. I held my breath as Lois spoke to me. The first thing she said was that there was something weird about it all.
"What's that mean?" I thought to myself.
And before I could ask her she said, "The name's on your birth certificate don't match the names on your adoption records."
"What names?" I asked.
"All of them!" she said. "They're all different except for yours. Your name is the only one that is the same."

(insert Perry Mason music here) "WTH?"

After another month of waiting for a name that would tie me to the tribe, everything changed. The names of both of my birth parents in my adoption records didn't match my parents' name on my birth certificate. The only name that was the same was my father's last name; but not his first. And my mom's name was entirely different, though slightly similar. She wasn't a minor as was reported in the adoption records. She was almost 30.
I cannot imagine how any of this is possible. What happened all those years ago? As I try to wrap my head around the thought that this could be a clerical error, all I see is stars; blinding flashes of light that make me blind. How could any of this have happened? The only thing that makes any sense to me is the fact that my mom signed her name on the birth certificate.
So why doesn't her name match on the adoption records?

(to be continued)

If You Build It, Will They Come?

Now this is flying Stand By

'Hood ornament

Dear Gene,

It bothers me to write this letter because I feel somewhat responsible for what I have to say. You see, the problem is your car has been parked in front of our house for over a month.
Now I know we said that you could park it there until you got things figured out, but I kind of thought you'd come by over that first weekend with one of your buddies and haul it away. I didn't realize you would be leaving it for this long. I didn't realize that when you said it was a piece of junk and you were just going to get rid of it that you would be doing it here.
Because, honestly, I already have enough junk. I don't need any more.
I really don't have a problem with you abandoning your car. It's your car and you can do that if you want, but just not here; in front of our house. So I was thinking that maybe, and this is just me thinking out loud, maybe you should take it home and think about selling it. Perhaps you could get it running long enough and then maybe take advantage of the Cash for Clunkers deal they got going on? What do you think about that, Gene?
The reason I bring this up is because the Cash for Clunkers program is ending very soon, like on Monday I think? And if you act now maybe you can turn this thing around and make a little money or something. That gives you 4 days, Gene. And I know your car runs. We drove it to my house after we got it running when we found you stalled on the freeway off-ramp. I remember because I was sitting right next to you. And I had told you beforehand after you had broken down that we would be happy to let you park it at our house so that you could get it off the street and avoid having it towed away. But that was before I understood that you were just going to leave it here permanently, like some unsightly yard decoration, Gene.
If I knew then what I know now I would have said something like, "Lets drive her down to the supermarket and park it in the parking lot." But for some reason, I didn't think of that.

"Uh, Where Are My Clothes?"

A little while back when we moved the oldest daughter downstairs into her new bedroom the whole house began to change. We decided that while we were moving things around we would take the time to pull out the carpet in the master bedroom so that we could lay down some hardwood floor. The whole second floor has been a mess ever since. Dressers and armoires and chest trunks were pushed into corners of the youngest daughter's bedroom for a brief period of just a little while until we could get things under control. We packed everything into dozens of unlabeled boxes so that we could move stuff around much easier and then shoved them into every available corner we could find.
The youngest has been quite pleased with this. All of this moving around has given her the opportunity to camp out on various couches and air matresses and basically spend her summer time having one big slumber party. And so, for the past two months she has mostly settled in with her sister downstairs in the lower regions of the house, and it has seemed as though this was enough.
But then I caught the tail end of a conversation the other day and my heart sank.
I aaaaammm a lousy parent. My wife had inquired why Aly had been wearing the same shirt for two days straight and how filthy it was. We are used to this from our youngest daughter. It is one of those traits that she was born with and will hopefully outgrow. She can put on clean clothes and a minute later they are dirty. I don't know how. But then I heard my daughter's reason. And I felt absolutely awful. Upstairs, in the room packed with dressers and trunks and boxes and bed frames and mattresses was her dresser, tucked neatly in the furthest corner of the bedroom. With all of her clothes. Our daughter has been keeping herself groomed and in clothes by washing laundry for herself for the past two months. Whenever we ask the girls to run a load of laundry while we're at work, Aly has been clever enough to make sure she had clothes for herself.
Today I unburied her dresser and made it accessible. I'm pretty sure tomorrow I am going to have to figure out a way to get her room back now that school's about to begin.

Gone Fishing...