I've served this to two different book groups, to positive reviews.
Sticky Toffee Pudding (slightly adapted from Bon Appetit)
12 oz. (about 2 c) pitted, chopped dates
1 c boiling water
1 ¾ c flour
2 t baking powder
½ t baking soda
½ t salt
½ c (1 stick) butter
1 ½ c packed brown sugar
2 eggs
1 t vanilla
Toffee sauce or buttermilk syrup (recipes below)
1. Place dates in medium bowl; pour boiling water over, stir, let cool.
2. Preheat oven to 350. Butter and flour 13x9 pan.
3. In another medium bowl, mix flour, baking powder, soda, and salt.
4. Using electric mixer, beat butter in large bowl until light and fluffy. Add brown sugar and beat until blended (mixture will be grainy). Beat in eggs 1 at a time, mixing well. Beat in vanilla. Stir in flour mixture alternately with date mixture, starting and ending with flour.
5. Transfer batter to prepared pan.
6. Bake until tester comes out clean, about 40 minutes. Spoon ½ c warm toffee sauce or buttermilk syrup over cake, spreading evenly. Bake until sauce is thick and bubbling, about 8 minutes. Cool cake in pan until warm. Serve with remaining toffee sauce. (Every time I've made this the center has sunk and the edges were brown.)
Toffee Sauce
2 ½ c cream
1 c sugar
½ c. butter
½ c. light corn syrup
Bring 1 ½ c. cream, sugar, butter, and corn syrup to boil in heavy large saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar dissolves and butter melts. Reduce heat to medium and boil gently until mixture is thick and deep amber, stirring often, about 35 minutes.
Remove sauce from heat. Whisk in remaining 1 c cream (mixture will bubble vigorously). Strain into medium microwavable bowl. Can be made ahead.
A half batch of toffee sauce is enough.
For book group, I substituted buttermilk syrup for the toffee sauce—it’s faster and less fatty. It’s also delicious with pancakes, etc.
Buttermilk syrup
1 1/2 cups white sugar
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup butter
2 tablespoons corn syrup
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
In a large saucepan (3-4 qt), stir together the sugar, buttermilk, butter, corn syrup, and baking soda. Bring to a boil, and cook for 7 minutes. Remove from the heat, and stir in the vanilla.
Note: the mixture grows big while it cooks.
Friday, May 27, 2011
all we need is love
Last night I watched Freakonomics (spoiler alert--and yes, I know I should have read the book first), in which Steven Levitt argues that while many factors contributed to a drop in crime in the 1990s, the biggest contributing factor was Roe v. Wade. Fewer unwanted pregnancies in the 1970s led to fewer crimes in the 1990s.
Another chapter of Freakonomics explores using incentives to raise students' grades. A group of professors and students at the University of Chicago bribe (provide incentives for) 9th graders to improve their grades: $50/month if they maintain a C average and good attendance, with a shot at $500 and a limo ride. The incentives help D students become C students, but don't work for failing students. Passing rates increase by about 6%, which is lower than anticipated. The people running the study conclude they need to reach younger students--their next target population is preschoolers. Levitt asks will they be training the students or the parents? The answer is, both.
Which brings me to the first chapter: parenting. Levitt and coauther Dubner say that fancy preschools and expensive extra-curriculars don't matter. By the time a mother gives birth, she's already pretty well determined that child's future. Dubner doesn't say it exactly, but I think what he implies, if you consider the later chapters, is that what matters most in kids' lives is whether their parents want them and love them.
Reminds me of an interview with David Brooks, heard on NPR. Discussing his new book, he said that when he looked into why kids drop out of high school, he found that you could pretty accurately predict whether a preschooler would drop out of high school based on that child's relationship with his or her mother (I may be oversimplifying). Rather than inciting worry among mothers (Is my relationship with my children strong enough? How can I improve it?), and not having read either of the books I cite, I would echo Dubner in saying that if you're thinking about these questions, you're probably doing fine.
Now, most of us are aiming much higher for our children than high school graduation. But I'm not very worried about your children or my children. If we put together the various examples and arguments above, Freakonomics suggests that preventing unwanted pregnancies not only reduces crime, but similarly increases graduation rates and probably improves a long list of social measures. And educating 8th graders about birth control isn't going to solve the problem--we have to start younger, much younger. We have to start before birth (does that make any sense?). Wherever we start will not be the beginning--we're far past the beginning--but we need to try to ensure that all children are loved and all parents are loving.
My second grader, M, asked his friend, J, his greatest wish. J said, that everyone could be friends. M told J that's like asking for world peace only better, because if everyone is friends, we'll have world peace and more. Sounds pretty good.
Another chapter of Freakonomics explores using incentives to raise students' grades. A group of professors and students at the University of Chicago bribe (provide incentives for) 9th graders to improve their grades: $50/month if they maintain a C average and good attendance, with a shot at $500 and a limo ride. The incentives help D students become C students, but don't work for failing students. Passing rates increase by about 6%, which is lower than anticipated. The people running the study conclude they need to reach younger students--their next target population is preschoolers. Levitt asks will they be training the students or the parents? The answer is, both.
Which brings me to the first chapter: parenting. Levitt and coauther Dubner say that fancy preschools and expensive extra-curriculars don't matter. By the time a mother gives birth, she's already pretty well determined that child's future. Dubner doesn't say it exactly, but I think what he implies, if you consider the later chapters, is that what matters most in kids' lives is whether their parents want them and love them.
Reminds me of an interview with David Brooks, heard on NPR. Discussing his new book, he said that when he looked into why kids drop out of high school, he found that you could pretty accurately predict whether a preschooler would drop out of high school based on that child's relationship with his or her mother (I may be oversimplifying). Rather than inciting worry among mothers (Is my relationship with my children strong enough? How can I improve it?), and not having read either of the books I cite, I would echo Dubner in saying that if you're thinking about these questions, you're probably doing fine.
Now, most of us are aiming much higher for our children than high school graduation. But I'm not very worried about your children or my children. If we put together the various examples and arguments above, Freakonomics suggests that preventing unwanted pregnancies not only reduces crime, but similarly increases graduation rates and probably improves a long list of social measures. And educating 8th graders about birth control isn't going to solve the problem--we have to start younger, much younger. We have to start before birth (does that make any sense?). Wherever we start will not be the beginning--we're far past the beginning--but we need to try to ensure that all children are loved and all parents are loving.
My second grader, M, asked his friend, J, his greatest wish. J said, that everyone could be friends. M told J that's like asking for world peace only better, because if everyone is friends, we'll have world peace and more. Sounds pretty good.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
entertain me
I wonder how many hours families collectively spend watching children's performances in the months of December and May. I'm afraid the shows bring out the Scrooge in me (I realize I kvetched in my last entry too--am I a really grumpy person?).
Crazy, I suppose, to complain, since I was an eager performer growing up and encourage my kids to do more extra-curricular activities than they choose to do. Taken individually I don't mind an orchestra concert, school play, or dance recital. My plea here is for all you teachers to please limit performances to an hour. Pretty, pretty please. Not 90 minutes, certainly not 2 hours. Especially not on a school night. And dress rehearsals need to be scheduled on a separate day.
Many teachers abide by these rules, and I thank them for it. Really I should be thanking all the dedicated teachers who teach my children and plan events to share students' talents, but sometimes I'm more annoyed than thankful.
For instance, Saturday we attended a matinee ballroom dance performance. Although all the numbers were good, we were there primarily to see our child perform for 3 minutes, and I'm pretty sure that most audience members were there to see their 7th and 8th graders. Anyone wanting to see the JV and varsity dancers would likely attend an evening performance, since they didn't include junior high groups, yet JV and varsity numbers dominated the matinee.
Worse is my daughter's dance performance next week, the last day of school. She's supposed to be at the auditorium 1:00-4:00 for dress rehearsal, then perform at 5:00 and 7:30, arriving 30 minutes early for each performance. We'll be lucky if we're done by 9:00 (plus we had to pay admission on top of recital and costume fees). Seems a bit much for dancers, teachers, and families.
On the plus side, the elementary school is not having their annual musical performance this year. For the past two years they've put on 2-hour musical shows, performed three times (2 evening, 1 matinee) to a full gymnasium. Two years ago it was a patriotic program, last year an earth-day program. The shows started at 7:00 p.m. on school nights, and the teachers had to babysit their students and keep them quiet during the shows (how unjust). Perhaps after the environmental show my conservative neighbors complained about liberal brainwashing, thus suspending the grand tradition--if so, I thank them.
I know my parents, siblings, and friends sat through marathon choir concerts (and piano recitals) each December and May when I was in high school, and I never heard them complain. I'm not so generous. I say, leave us wanting more.
Thank you for your time.
Crazy, I suppose, to complain, since I was an eager performer growing up and encourage my kids to do more extra-curricular activities than they choose to do. Taken individually I don't mind an orchestra concert, school play, or dance recital. My plea here is for all you teachers to please limit performances to an hour. Pretty, pretty please. Not 90 minutes, certainly not 2 hours. Especially not on a school night. And dress rehearsals need to be scheduled on a separate day.
Many teachers abide by these rules, and I thank them for it. Really I should be thanking all the dedicated teachers who teach my children and plan events to share students' talents, but sometimes I'm more annoyed than thankful.
For instance, Saturday we attended a matinee ballroom dance performance. Although all the numbers were good, we were there primarily to see our child perform for 3 minutes, and I'm pretty sure that most audience members were there to see their 7th and 8th graders. Anyone wanting to see the JV and varsity dancers would likely attend an evening performance, since they didn't include junior high groups, yet JV and varsity numbers dominated the matinee.
Worse is my daughter's dance performance next week, the last day of school. She's supposed to be at the auditorium 1:00-4:00 for dress rehearsal, then perform at 5:00 and 7:30, arriving 30 minutes early for each performance. We'll be lucky if we're done by 9:00 (plus we had to pay admission on top of recital and costume fees). Seems a bit much for dancers, teachers, and families.
On the plus side, the elementary school is not having their annual musical performance this year. For the past two years they've put on 2-hour musical shows, performed three times (2 evening, 1 matinee) to a full gymnasium. Two years ago it was a patriotic program, last year an earth-day program. The shows started at 7:00 p.m. on school nights, and the teachers had to babysit their students and keep them quiet during the shows (how unjust). Perhaps after the environmental show my conservative neighbors complained about liberal brainwashing, thus suspending the grand tradition--if so, I thank them.
I know my parents, siblings, and friends sat through marathon choir concerts (and piano recitals) each December and May when I was in high school, and I never heard them complain. I'm not so generous. I say, leave us wanting more.
Thank you for your time.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
competitive dance
As I sat in the bleachers watching six-year-olds swing their hips and audience members whoop in appreciation, I asked myself a question Nick would later echo: What are we teaching our daughters? I also thought as I sat that the competitive dance scene must be similar to the beauty pageant circuit: stage moms, girls in expensive costumes, painted faces, curled and heavily sprayed up-do’s. Not my scene.
When we signed up for the dance class in October, we weren’t aware that it was a competing team, and by the time we knew, daughter A wanted to continue. So, here we were, having woken early, driven two hours to a 90 minute practice followed by 2 hours for hair make-up (I kid not). I wasn’t thrilled that my 11-year-old daughter wore more make-up than I ever have in my life, but I realized that stage make-up shouldn’t bother me too much—after all, I wouldn’t mind if she wore full make-up to perform in a Shakespeare play. But what put us (N & I) over the edge was that the teacher insisted the girls apply fake-tan make-up, and removed my daughter’s glasses before she performed. Apparently looking a certain way is more important than seeing correctly.
In answer to my above question, then, we’re teaching our daughters that appearance is important. I’m not one to disagree. We constantly judge books by their covers, houses by curb appeal, people by appearance. And how we look, or our perception of how we look, affects the way we act and interact with others. In competitive dance it’s not about finding your perfect individual look, but about everyone achieving “the look.” One group of dancers all wore white boots, flashy green flapper dresses, and long blond wigs. Their look was uniform and striking.
Another small group—only six dancers—was striking in other ways. The first group of the afternoon, they set a high bar for subsequent dancers. Their moves were right on, they all did center splits and standing splits, they were all a similar height and shape (thin), and appeared to be about nine years old. They were so professional that I wondered, Where do they go from here? and How did they get to this point? As I looked around I could glimpse the answers to the questions—from here, they could have long careers competing and winning awards. These girls were on track to be professional dancers, teachers, and judges. And these girls may have started competing at three or four years old.
So, a second message we might be sending our daughters is to train hard and specialize from a young age. I resist the idea that young children should be specialists. I don’t like the idea of 8 year olds having to audition for a dance team. But then I think, why not? Our two oldest children attend schools they had to apply for. Some kids who applied didn’t get in. We’ve never done competitive sports because my kids didn’t want to and because no one ever encouraged them to try out. But some children from a young age show great talent and commitment for a particular sport—shouldn’t they have opportunities to go beyond community sports? I believe in academic gifted and talented programs—shouldn’t there also be gifted and talented programs for dancers?
I guess what bothers me is that it may not be the girls’ dream to be competitive dancers. I don’t like pushy parents and teachers, and I don’t like that we’re teaching our girls to compete. Even if dancers love it, dancing shouldn’t primarily be about competition. Dancing is meant to be seen, yes, but by appreciative audiences; competition is about doing what will please the judges. It’s not necessarily about having fun, developing talents, bringing joy to others, giving everyone equal opportunities to shine. The teachers are aware of what judges are looking for, so they make sure the group has a variety of formations and give solos to top dancers. For one of our group’s routines, the teacher had her young son perform a run of back-flips. The team took first place in their division, and most positive comments were about the boy. One judge commented that the teacher should put him in more, so for the next competition she will. Never mind that he’s not in the class.
Competition can also mean sacrificing oneself for the team. I remember being in a dance line competition in high school. I’d pulled my right hamstring at the competition, but for the final performance the choreographers and advisors suggested I do the splits anyway and heal later (instead, I faked it). Competitive dance certainly isn’t the only place where coaches advise children and teens to work through the pain—football, track, swimming, basketball, baseball, cycling—in every sport you can find coaches who give bad advice (and other coaches who care more about their players than about winning) and players who have suffered serious injury or become addicted to pain killers.
This entry is long and I haven’t even gotten into hip swaying. Frankly, I think it’s cute when my 3-year-old wiggles her hips, so I understand how an audience would think the same about 6-year-olds. Dance is about bodies in motion—dance is sensual. I’m not sure at what point shimmying becomes suggestive. The standing splits show strength and flexibility, as well as the girl’s crotch. I don’t recall any of the dances I saw being overtly sexual, but most were flirtatious. We’re teaching our daughters to pop their chests and wiggle their hips—to flirt with their audience—to what end?
I’m not sure about the answers to my questions. Competitive dance is not my scene, and I hope my daughters decide it’s not theirs. Why? I don’t love the emphasis on appearance, conformity, judging, and competition. On the other hand, I love to dance and think my daughters are good dancers. If they choose to compete, I hope that they can enjoy being part of a team and recognize that eye shadow need not be an everyday thing, life isn’t primarily about pleasing other people, sexy isn’t the same as beautiful, and flirtation should be selectively practiced.
When we signed up for the dance class in October, we weren’t aware that it was a competing team, and by the time we knew, daughter A wanted to continue. So, here we were, having woken early, driven two hours to a 90 minute practice followed by 2 hours for hair make-up (I kid not). I wasn’t thrilled that my 11-year-old daughter wore more make-up than I ever have in my life, but I realized that stage make-up shouldn’t bother me too much—after all, I wouldn’t mind if she wore full make-up to perform in a Shakespeare play. But what put us (N & I) over the edge was that the teacher insisted the girls apply fake-tan make-up, and removed my daughter’s glasses before she performed. Apparently looking a certain way is more important than seeing correctly.
In answer to my above question, then, we’re teaching our daughters that appearance is important. I’m not one to disagree. We constantly judge books by their covers, houses by curb appeal, people by appearance. And how we look, or our perception of how we look, affects the way we act and interact with others. In competitive dance it’s not about finding your perfect individual look, but about everyone achieving “the look.” One group of dancers all wore white boots, flashy green flapper dresses, and long blond wigs. Their look was uniform and striking.
Another small group—only six dancers—was striking in other ways. The first group of the afternoon, they set a high bar for subsequent dancers. Their moves were right on, they all did center splits and standing splits, they were all a similar height and shape (thin), and appeared to be about nine years old. They were so professional that I wondered, Where do they go from here? and How did they get to this point? As I looked around I could glimpse the answers to the questions—from here, they could have long careers competing and winning awards. These girls were on track to be professional dancers, teachers, and judges. And these girls may have started competing at three or four years old.
So, a second message we might be sending our daughters is to train hard and specialize from a young age. I resist the idea that young children should be specialists. I don’t like the idea of 8 year olds having to audition for a dance team. But then I think, why not? Our two oldest children attend schools they had to apply for. Some kids who applied didn’t get in. We’ve never done competitive sports because my kids didn’t want to and because no one ever encouraged them to try out. But some children from a young age show great talent and commitment for a particular sport—shouldn’t they have opportunities to go beyond community sports? I believe in academic gifted and talented programs—shouldn’t there also be gifted and talented programs for dancers?
I guess what bothers me is that it may not be the girls’ dream to be competitive dancers. I don’t like pushy parents and teachers, and I don’t like that we’re teaching our girls to compete. Even if dancers love it, dancing shouldn’t primarily be about competition. Dancing is meant to be seen, yes, but by appreciative audiences; competition is about doing what will please the judges. It’s not necessarily about having fun, developing talents, bringing joy to others, giving everyone equal opportunities to shine. The teachers are aware of what judges are looking for, so they make sure the group has a variety of formations and give solos to top dancers. For one of our group’s routines, the teacher had her young son perform a run of back-flips. The team took first place in their division, and most positive comments were about the boy. One judge commented that the teacher should put him in more, so for the next competition she will. Never mind that he’s not in the class.
Competition can also mean sacrificing oneself for the team. I remember being in a dance line competition in high school. I’d pulled my right hamstring at the competition, but for the final performance the choreographers and advisors suggested I do the splits anyway and heal later (instead, I faked it). Competitive dance certainly isn’t the only place where coaches advise children and teens to work through the pain—football, track, swimming, basketball, baseball, cycling—in every sport you can find coaches who give bad advice (and other coaches who care more about their players than about winning) and players who have suffered serious injury or become addicted to pain killers.
This entry is long and I haven’t even gotten into hip swaying. Frankly, I think it’s cute when my 3-year-old wiggles her hips, so I understand how an audience would think the same about 6-year-olds. Dance is about bodies in motion—dance is sensual. I’m not sure at what point shimmying becomes suggestive. The standing splits show strength and flexibility, as well as the girl’s crotch. I don’t recall any of the dances I saw being overtly sexual, but most were flirtatious. We’re teaching our daughters to pop their chests and wiggle their hips—to flirt with their audience—to what end?
I’m not sure about the answers to my questions. Competitive dance is not my scene, and I hope my daughters decide it’s not theirs. Why? I don’t love the emphasis on appearance, conformity, judging, and competition. On the other hand, I love to dance and think my daughters are good dancers. If they choose to compete, I hope that they can enjoy being part of a team and recognize that eye shadow need not be an everyday thing, life isn’t primarily about pleasing other people, sexy isn’t the same as beautiful, and flirtation should be selectively practiced.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
adult cliques
My ideas here are half-formed--sort of thinking aloud.
Just read the Help. Made me think about race, class, the South, and how it's easier to change laws than attitudes--the 23 year old racists in the book would now be about 70; their racist children approaching 50. I wonder how different things are than they were 50 years ago. But that's another conversation.
Right now I'm more interested in ideas Stockett raises about adult social groups (you may want to skip this paragraph if you haven't read the book). Plenty of movies portray mean high school girls and their awful cliques, but Stockett shows that adults can be just as mean and exclusionary. Poor Celia--white trash who married money--knows where she wants to fit in, but doesn't recognize that she never will. One great thing Stockett does is to make readers think that maybe Celia and Skeeter should be friends (at least, I was thinking they should), only to have Celia reject the idea because Skeeter is socially unacceptable. Delicious, stinging irony. But then, other than being outcasts, what would Celia and Skeeter have in common? They may not belong in the Junior League, but nor do they belong together.
What can be tricky about adult social experience is knowing where we fit in--for, as much as we disparage cliques, most or all of us want to belong to groups. In high school I had 80 extra-curricular activities and 1200 peers from which to choose. As an adult, I have to look farther. Perhaps I should say, as someone who spends most of my time at home, because for many people the work place is a sort of club. Church, book group, PTA are other sorts of adult clubs. Online, you can find any and every sort of group, but it's not the same as being in the same room.
But in The Help, adult sociality looks pretty similar to high school. I got thinking that perhaps this continuation of high school cliques is primarily prevalent when adults settle where they grew up. Maybe all around me are people who, having essentially never moved, live under similar social pressures to those depicted by Stockett.
As a transplant, I haven't really thought about what it would be like to run into high school friends every time I go to Costco. For better and for worse, whoever I was and whatever I did in high school are largely irrelevant now. My neighbors don't know my parents or siblings, my history. I am my current thoughts, actions, clothes, haircut, husband, children, house. The lack of history can be freeing, but sometimes lonely--even after 12 years in a town. I guess that's what the internet is for.
Just read the Help. Made me think about race, class, the South, and how it's easier to change laws than attitudes--the 23 year old racists in the book would now be about 70; their racist children approaching 50. I wonder how different things are than they were 50 years ago. But that's another conversation.
Right now I'm more interested in ideas Stockett raises about adult social groups (you may want to skip this paragraph if you haven't read the book). Plenty of movies portray mean high school girls and their awful cliques, but Stockett shows that adults can be just as mean and exclusionary. Poor Celia--white trash who married money--knows where she wants to fit in, but doesn't recognize that she never will. One great thing Stockett does is to make readers think that maybe Celia and Skeeter should be friends (at least, I was thinking they should), only to have Celia reject the idea because Skeeter is socially unacceptable. Delicious, stinging irony. But then, other than being outcasts, what would Celia and Skeeter have in common? They may not belong in the Junior League, but nor do they belong together.
What can be tricky about adult social experience is knowing where we fit in--for, as much as we disparage cliques, most or all of us want to belong to groups. In high school I had 80 extra-curricular activities and 1200 peers from which to choose. As an adult, I have to look farther. Perhaps I should say, as someone who spends most of my time at home, because for many people the work place is a sort of club. Church, book group, PTA are other sorts of adult clubs. Online, you can find any and every sort of group, but it's not the same as being in the same room.
But in The Help, adult sociality looks pretty similar to high school. I got thinking that perhaps this continuation of high school cliques is primarily prevalent when adults settle where they grew up. Maybe all around me are people who, having essentially never moved, live under similar social pressures to those depicted by Stockett.
As a transplant, I haven't really thought about what it would be like to run into high school friends every time I go to Costco. For better and for worse, whoever I was and whatever I did in high school are largely irrelevant now. My neighbors don't know my parents or siblings, my history. I am my current thoughts, actions, clothes, haircut, husband, children, house. The lack of history can be freeing, but sometimes lonely--even after 12 years in a town. I guess that's what the internet is for.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
school choice
It's a great thing to go to a school function and see many of your neighbors there and feel like part of a community. It's a wonderful thing to see your child walking to school with neighbors. Neighborhood schools support communities, and strong communities support neighborhood schools.
School choice, on the other hand, fractures communities. A friend who choiced her kids out of the neighborhood says, "It's like moving out to the country." Probably worse--out in the country, I expect the school is still a center of the community and people know each other.
But even worse than the weakening of communities is the effect of school choice on neighborhood schools. Strong schools may not notice the effect of competition--in fact, they tend to benefit. Weak schools, on the other hand, get weaker. Our previous neighborhood school was such a school. About 80% of kids receive free or reduced-price lunch, and about 50% of students are Hispanic, many of whom are learning English as a second language. About half the school population lives near the school; the other half are bused in from a poorer area of town. The school faculty are very good. The principal is a strong leader who knows everyone and responds quickly to concerns. My children always had good--sometimes excellent-- teachers. But when there's a mandate that no child be left behind and half the students are behind, the students that are ahead might not get much attention.
Soon after the school was built 9 years ago, charter schools started popping up. Families of high-achieving students, weary of all that our Title I school had to offer, soon gravitated toward halls filled with happy children, conservative values, and statues of Ronald Reagan. I don't know the numbers of students who fled, but PTA lost many involved parents. We still had a core of hard-working, good-hearted moms who keep the PTA going. But it's hard to be one of the few, year after year. I didn't last long. I was contemplating driving our oldest to a gifted & talented program in a neighboring town when our district finally, amazingly decided to start a program. And because our district leaders believe in equal access, they even provide busing.
And then we moved, choosing our location in part due to its proximity to "good" schools. We're just north of the junior high that our oldest would attend if he hadn't chosen the new GT magnet at the high school. Our second attends the magnet for 4-6 graders. Our third child walks to the neighborhood school, where I do not plan to send our fourth. Before we got here I contacted the principal to ask what enrichment and acceleration they offered in math, as our second grader had done second grade math as a first grader (thanks to the responsive principal and accommodating teachers at the Title I school); our new principal responded, "None." My husband wants me to get involved instead of opting out, and part of me thinks I should, but most people seem happy with the school. I just arrived, and change takes time. I'm impatient and tired.
I curse George W (for many things) and his colleagues, who turned public schools into test-prep centers and then cried for options like charter schools that are much less fettered by regulations. I laud the parents who strengthen their neighborhood schools, empathize with parents who don't, and am grateful for district leaders who provide options.
We're happy with the schools we've chosen, but there are trade-offs. With our older children, we've given up something of convenience and community; With our third, we've chosen community over intellectual challenge. With choice, trade-offs are a given, I think.
School choice, on the other hand, fractures communities. A friend who choiced her kids out of the neighborhood says, "It's like moving out to the country." Probably worse--out in the country, I expect the school is still a center of the community and people know each other.
But even worse than the weakening of communities is the effect of school choice on neighborhood schools. Strong schools may not notice the effect of competition--in fact, they tend to benefit. Weak schools, on the other hand, get weaker. Our previous neighborhood school was such a school. About 80% of kids receive free or reduced-price lunch, and about 50% of students are Hispanic, many of whom are learning English as a second language. About half the school population lives near the school; the other half are bused in from a poorer area of town. The school faculty are very good. The principal is a strong leader who knows everyone and responds quickly to concerns. My children always had good--sometimes excellent-- teachers. But when there's a mandate that no child be left behind and half the students are behind, the students that are ahead might not get much attention.
Soon after the school was built 9 years ago, charter schools started popping up. Families of high-achieving students, weary of all that our Title I school had to offer, soon gravitated toward halls filled with happy children, conservative values, and statues of Ronald Reagan. I don't know the numbers of students who fled, but PTA lost many involved parents. We still had a core of hard-working, good-hearted moms who keep the PTA going. But it's hard to be one of the few, year after year. I didn't last long. I was contemplating driving our oldest to a gifted & talented program in a neighboring town when our district finally, amazingly decided to start a program. And because our district leaders believe in equal access, they even provide busing.
And then we moved, choosing our location in part due to its proximity to "good" schools. We're just north of the junior high that our oldest would attend if he hadn't chosen the new GT magnet at the high school. Our second attends the magnet for 4-6 graders. Our third child walks to the neighborhood school, where I do not plan to send our fourth. Before we got here I contacted the principal to ask what enrichment and acceleration they offered in math, as our second grader had done second grade math as a first grader (thanks to the responsive principal and accommodating teachers at the Title I school); our new principal responded, "None." My husband wants me to get involved instead of opting out, and part of me thinks I should, but most people seem happy with the school. I just arrived, and change takes time. I'm impatient and tired.
I curse George W (for many things) and his colleagues, who turned public schools into test-prep centers and then cried for options like charter schools that are much less fettered by regulations. I laud the parents who strengthen their neighborhood schools, empathize with parents who don't, and am grateful for district leaders who provide options.
We're happy with the schools we've chosen, but there are trade-offs. With our older children, we've given up something of convenience and community; With our third, we've chosen community over intellectual challenge. With choice, trade-offs are a given, I think.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
for the record
One point I tried to make in my earlier "having it all" entry is that I don't need my husband to do half the housekeeping--nor do I want him to if it means I'm expected to earn half the household income. Before we married, he proposed we split household duties equally, which was a novel idea that I wasn't about to refuse. At the time it made sense, since we were both working students. We've since become more specialized, more traditional, and that works for us. I don't mind doing laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, cooking dinner--and most days, that's about the extent of my housekeeping. N hates laundry, but doesn't seem to mind yard work and home repair/improvement--and therefore does nearly 100%. Everyone has to figure out what works for them.
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