Thursday, September 23, 2010

"It's Broken!"

This is what Blake was saying and inconsolable with tears. He had just been on his trike riding around the house, when he stopped suddenly in the kitchen and burst into tears. After Kevin held him for a few minutes while we tried to figure out what was broken, since he did not appear to have any physical damage to him or anything that was in the vicinity of where he had been, Kevin asked him to show him what was broken. That's when Blake picked up what had broken off the floor. It was a lock of hair. His hair. We continued interrogating him as to what could have caused it. A run in with the Shelf Reliance? A trike gone awry? No. It was assault and battery at the hands of his older sister, Olivia. Was it hair envy or something more sinister such as an attack on a brunette? She had cut his hair with the kitchen scissors. A little lock off the top. She didn't fess up right away, of course, because she knew that her brother loved his hair. This boy spends minutes brushing, spraying, and cockatooing his hair. I don't think that's an actual term, but that's what he does. The good news for him is that the he will still be able to achieve the peaked look that he is going for.

Monday, September 20, 2010

The Second Biggest Loser

This blog is dedicated to my hero, and kindred spirit in self criticism and abs, Emily. She ran the Top of Utah Marathon. She didn't ask me to run with her because she knew I would be singing "I'm on the Top of the World, looking down on creation....." the whole time, and while she is a good sport, would have gotten annoyed by mile 0.5. Her race didn't go like she had planned and trained for. I will attempt a link here: This is her blog about what happened during the race. Not what she planned like I said. It reminded me of a time in my college years when I faced disappointment after long preparation. I was taking a physiology class at Snow College, which was hard, but I love, love, loved because I was doing well in it, understood everything, and I loved everything science, and I studied like a fiend. I was not accepting anything less than an A. In fact, in my English class my second year there, I protested an A- that I did not feel I deserved. Anyway, I took a test in physiology , thought I aced it, then got my results back. I was crushed. Floored. I had studied! I knew this stuff! I took my test paper home, went in my room, put on some sad music, and laid down on my floor and started crying. Bawling. At this point, my best friend, Julie, walked in my room to find out what was wrong. I told her that I failed my test. I had studied! I knew this stuff! She took the test from my hand, because she couldn't believe that I would have failed. That's when she saw my disappointing score: 89%. B+. Not even an A-! I believe she looked at me incredulously, because unlike my fierce determination to get straight A's during college, her determination was to have a good time. She even went on vacation in our living room for a week during our first quarter. She went on and on about how most people would be happy with this, even ecstatic, and what was wrong with me? I was being too hard on myself! But I knew that it was unacceptable. I didn't get another B the rest of my college career because it stunk so bad that one time. So, Emily, I can empathize. And you are still my hero. In fact, you are probably more my hero now because I get it. And I am sure that you burned that lime green top, or have framed it to remind you NEVER AGAIN. P.S. I love spell check. It reaffirms that I am a great speller when it says "No misspellings found."

Thursday, September 2, 2010

My English Assignment

Dillan started middle school. I thought I might break down and cry right in front of him, but I held it together. So I was happy when he came home with his first honors English assignment and it was for me! Well, technically Kevin and I, but I knew who was going to do this. The same person that arranges all of the appointments, extracurricular activities, knows where every single person is at any given point in the day, and knows all of their measurements. Me. The assignment was in a million words or less describe your student. The teacher gave ideas of what to put in the body of the paper such as My student is best at.....(BTW, they can't put things like son/ daughter because there might be a grandparent, aunt, or witch taking care of the student. I learned this when I was the secretary of the PTG. Must be PC.), what are my student's weaknesses, what do I want my student to learn this year, etc. I knew that the teacher would get a lot of boring responses such as "My son likes listening in class, doing his homework, and going to school. He is wonderful at everything. I can't think of one thing I'd like to change about him. He's a gem." I don't know who this child is and have been beating myself up for years thinking that this child was possible and somehow I was doing it wrong. But my son is wonderful and talented and happily flawed. P.S. So am I. I meant the party about being happily flawed. So I decided that the best way to get my assignment to stand out in a sea of a hundred students, I comprised a poem about my boy, er, young man. Here goes.

A Poem Dedicated to Dillan Partridge, My Sweetheart *

Dillan is the eldest of four
And that means that he has patience galore.
Height has always been something he boasts,
If he had his choice, he would live on the coast
To study the life of ocean and sea
And snorkeling and surfing is where he would be.
A natural athlete is what he’s been blessed
And swimming is the sport he does best.
Violin is the instrument he plays,
But fiddling is what he loves to display.
Give him some free time and reading he’ll choose,
Even if it means sleeping he’ll lose.
Handwriting is something he’s trying to fix,
It used to look like he was writing with sticks.
Turning in homework in the past has been rough.
This summer he learned to do the right stuff,
By organizing, planning, and following through
And turning in assignments when they are due.
The subject of writing he needs to improve,
We hope that this year he can get in the groove.
As a teenage boy he’s growing up faster,
And if he ran out of food it would be a disaster.
My sweet little boy is growing up fast,
Before we know it, middle school will be past.

*Please do not tell Dillan I called him My Sweetheart. I would hate to embarrass him. OK, maybe I do enjoy embarrassing him, but not this time. Also, I apologize for any rules that may have been broken as far as meter, rhyme, syntax or any other English violations I may have made. Kim Partridge

His teacher responded that it made her smile to read the poem and appreciated the format I had chosen. Initially when I was composing the email, I asked if I was going to get graded on it, but then I thought "If I don't get an A, I will revise it over and over until I do, and I'm not sure I have the time for that right now." So, instead, I thanked her for the opportunity to reflect on my boy who I love with my whole heart, warts and all. Not that he has a warty heart, or that I have a warty heart, although I may use that phrase now to describe naughty people. "Oh, he didn't know it was bad to run over the old lady with his bike. He has a warty heart."