21st Century Digital Stag

Lucas sometimes uses some terminology that is either computer- or game-related. Even a few years back, Lucas could recognize, and even read, certain gaming words like "quit" or "save" or "continue."

When Lucas received his first ribbon in swim class, the first thing he said was, "Look, Mommy, I leveled-up!"

When Lucas draws, he calls the little people in the scenery "characters." And usually the scenes in his drawings are depictions of scenes from his games.

Last time we were at Great America theme park, Lucas won a Sonic the Hedgehog stuffed toy. He was so excited, but soon after that, he told me, "Mommy, we have to unlock Tails (Sonic's friend and the other prize he wanted to win) next time."

When Lucas and I play "Connect Four" he calls himself "player one" and me "player two."

Lucas knows the word "calibrate" because the Play Station Move adjusts the player's body to the dimensions of the game.

I have to admit that if I did not live with these techie stags, I would probably still require a typewriter and carbon paper to write letters. Now I can publish documents as pdf's ( I know!), I can check my facebook updates on my smartphone (really!) and know how to manage a blog like this one! I wonder what these stags are learning from me?

No Stags Allowed

I have spent the last six weeks working in an all-girl high school. I have never taught at a single-sex school before. I have taught all different levels of school from 4th grade to 11th grade... never just girls. I did not realize the difference the absence of boys would make in the school day.

My first week, the young ladies (and yes, most of them behave like ladies) came in to my room while I was setting up and welcomed me. I was wondering what they wanted from me or what questions needed answered, but they were there simply to say "Welcome to Our Lady of Chastity School." By the way, I made up that school to protect the guilty and the innocent... he he he.

My second week, school was moving along smoothly. The young ladies were starting to wonder how long I was staying, and if I was married, had kids, and if I lived in the city. Even the way they asked their questions were delicate, respectful, and considerate. They were careful not to be too intrusive or prying into the substitute teacher's business. Most of them patiently raised their hands to ask questions, made eye contact while I spoke, and treated my classroom like a place of learning. Of course, these are teenage girls, and there are a handful of them who are loud, boisteous, and disruptive. But the percentage of them are way lower than in a mixed gender class.

I am taking over for their Biology teacher for a few weeks while she is on maternity leave. We are getting along very well, and we have the most interesting discussions... the kind of conversations only girls can discuss comfortably. Today, we discussed the 4 major organic compounds: proteins, lipids (fats), carbohydrates, & nucleic acids--- and that inevitably gave rise to the topic of weight loss. We discussed why (when going a diet) we lose weight in places we don't want to (like our boobs) instead of places we want to (like our thighs).

Another time last week, we were working with chemical model kits that resemble tinker toys. To build a molecule, you insert a wooden stick into a wooden ball. I was giving them instructions on how to properly insert the sticks into the black balls when I realized that I probably said the word "balls" about 17 times and NO ONE snickered or laughed yet. This would have happened in a mixed class of boys and girls.

The decompression chamber

Today, after work, I picked up Lucas from school and went home. John was working from home today so he was already there... in front of the computer... when we got home. Ian arrived a couple of hours later from his summer job.

The end of the day is usually time for, as John calls it, decompression. He was the first person I ever met to use that term and I thought he was being overly dramatic about needing to be left alone after coming home from work. Decompression, to me, sounds like the thing you do after fighting a battle or training a tiger or a really deep sea diving experience... really scary and difficult stuff!

The definition of decompress: to relieve of pressure (ok, that sounds like something you probably need to do after work)

Another definition: to return to a condition of normal pressure (yup, definitely necessary after a long work day)

So how do the stags in this household return to normal pressure? Tonight was a perfect example. John was already decompressing when Lucas and I walked in the door. John's typical decompression activities involve killing monsters on the computer, looking for bargains on slickdeals.com, or chuckling at random posts on reddit.com.

Lucas, upon walking in the door, kicked off his shoes, took off his jacket, sat at the computer and logged onto youtube.com to watch cartoons of Super Mario, Sonic the Hedgehog, or Lego Batman. I really have to keep an eye on that boy. Some youtube stuff is just inappropriate!


Ian's routine involves checking on the dailybunny.com. No, no, this is not a website with beautiful scantily-clad women of the Playboy magazines (you have a dirty mind!) It is a website dedicated to bunnies of the animal kind...one cute and fuzzy photo after another. Sometimes he video-conferences with other students from his Computer Science department at school.

Me? Well, if you are reading this, then you know that there is a 4th computer (yes, we have at least 4) being occupied by me. If I'm not typing something on stagnation, I am surfing QVC.com for jewelry, shoes, or handbags. Or I am reading other blogs by minimalists like Leo Babauta (mnmlist.com) or Jeff Yeager (UltimateCheapskate.com). Oh, oh, and don't forget the fabulous episodes of The Rachel Maddow Show on msnbc.com.

So after all this decompressing, the 4 of us should be relaxed and rejuvenated! Right? I'll get back to you on that one!

Stag Speech -part 2

Lucas saw Diane, his speech therapist for two years. By this time Lucas also had surgery, a myringotomy (insertion of ear tubes).

The surgery, called a myringotomy, is a tiny incision in the eardrum. Any fluid, usually thickened secretions will be removed. In most situations, a small plastic tube (a tympanostomy tube) is inserted into the eardrum to keep the middle ear aerated for a prolonged period of time. These ventilating tubes remain in place for six months to several years. (medicinenet.com)

Lucas' progress in speech suddenly took off after this surgery. One speech therapist said that when the middle ear is clogged like that, the child might be hearing sounds as if he is under water. I believe her. Especially when Lucas' pronunciation became so much clearer after the surgery.

After that, we noticed how much more talkative Lucas has become. He can talk about something non-stop for several minutes...even if no one is paying attention. I can honestly say that, some days, the only way he keeps me focused on his chatter is when he uses the phrase "hey Mommy" or "watch this".

Fast-forward to this summer: I was spending the day at home with Lucas and I noticed how much he was saying in such a short period of time. So I decided to write down everything he was saying as fast as I can. Here is some of it:

When Daddy get home, he can try the chicken with sticks. If he doesn't like it, he can use his fingers.

Want to try my chicken? (no response from me)

What to be my battle partner on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle game?

Mommy, watch this!... Heee Yaaaa!

Want to taste my french fry? Want to dip it? (no response from me)

I am getting fuller.

I can do this like this. (dipping fries in ketchup)

If Daddy doesn't like to eat with sticks, he can play DC Universe.

Mommy, watch this.

Want to come closer to me? This is whacking. (he whacks his fries onto ketchup)

I don't like fire. In camping, we'll just sit on a log, not the fire.

Watch this.

Look, Mom, it got two cracks (referring to his fries)

I'm full.

Wanna be my battle partner?

Want to watch a movie theater? I'm going to "Cars 2" on June 24.

Donatello's weapon is a staff. He only has one.

Leonardo has the long swords. He's blue (that's for Dad). He likes it.

Watch this. Watch this.

I wonder what his speech therapist will say when she sees him again at school.

Stag Speech

It all started when Lucas was at the doctor for a checkup. The pediatrician asked me how many words he was saying. I had to really think. Lucas was only two and a half. Why does she want to know? "Twenty. Or maybe twenty five?" I responded. "Hmm," she said. "He should be saying 200 words at this age." That's when our speech journey began.

His first speech therapist was a pretty lady named Karen. She spoke to him softly and blew bubbles during their sessions trying to get him to say the word "Pop"... or at least the "P" sound at the beginning and end of the word. He loved that. It was play-based speech therapy and the focus was sound production. Lucas was still pointing and grunting at this point. His appointments were twice weekly for 45 minute sessions. Now that I think back, Lucas worked pretty hard during his sessions mimicking Karen making "Ga, Ga, Ga" and "Da, Da, Da" sounds. And I worked pretty hard at driving him 45 minutes to his appointments in the middle of the day.

When Lucas turned 3, his case was transferred to the SF Unified School District. He had to go through one of the district's preschools to receive speech therapy. That's when we met Diane. She was an older lady with a "get-down-to-business" attitude. Along with speech therapy, Diane also taught Lucas the beginnings of letter formation and phonics.

Transferring to the Unified School district was also the start of Lucas' IEP (Individualized Education Program). It is a legal document drawn up by the special education department after an assessment of the child has been made. Lucas was tested verbally, visually, and using his motor skills.

The IEP should describe how the student learns, how the student best demonstrates that learning and what teachers and service providers will do to help the student learn more effectively. The wording on this document is enough to make a parent wonder if her child will be ok.

"Lucas will repond to commands containing regular past tense verbs... using simple sequencing cards with an 80% target achievement. Lucas will follow two-part related and unrelated directions that use concepts with 35% achievement."

How these people know whether Lucas has reached "target achievement" is lost on me. Being his Mom, I couldn't even tell you with certainty that Lucas can "answer who, what, when, and where questions in context during structured activity."

Nevertheless, I plugged ahead, diligently driving him to his speech sessions. John worked on his comprehension with Brain Quest books and activities. Our hopes and dreams for a college scholarship were fading fast. Oh well, better start saving money now...

(to be continued)

Martial Art Stag

Not a day passes when I find myself defending myself or dodging a punch or kick from the little Stag. This sounds worse than what actually happens. Lucas seem to think playtime must involve throwing a roundhouse or a hook at either Mom, Dad, Ian, or an imaginary opponent.

It starts before school begins in the morning. He rolls into bed with me for a few more minutes of snoozing (plus I think the body heat generated by John alone is very comforting and soothing). I will wrap my arms and my blanket around Lucas ready to smell his head and give him a kiss when i find a fist under my chin. What is that? He doesn't throw the fist. He just kind of forms it and places it gently under my chin as if to say "Good Morning! Watch your back!"

At morning assembly at school, while the Principal is talking, Lucas is crouched like a tiger (kung fu style) eyes focused on an invisible enemy while he throws a punch. The kid in front of him and behind him just glance at him and turn back toward the Prinicipal. Ironically, I have never received notes from his teacher for fighting, bullying, or punching actual kids at school.

When I pick up Lucas from school, he is happy to see me and gives me a sweet (and sweaty) hug and kiss as soon as he walks out of his classroom. But immediately after that, we pass by 2 sign posts and a fire hydrant that Lucas must kick on our way to the car. Again, they are not strong enough to cause any kind of damage, they seem to represent practice dummies or something...

During dinner, it's not unusual for Lucas to randomly kick under the table. He will throw a punch at my butt on his way to the fridge to get a popsicle or some juice. At tickle fight between us will usually involve a front kick or axe kick to fend off my artfully placed tickles (right below the armpits where the ribs protrude the most). I do remind him whenever he makes contact with my body or anyone else's that he need to be gentle so that he does not hurt anyone. I believe he understands that because his nature is so gentle and sweet. But when he does land a kick square in the middle of my tibia (shin bone), I wonder...

I can't help but think that we have a martial artist in our midst... John is sooo excited at that idea. Maybe we will find a training facility next to a therapist's office... just in case =)

Cheapskate Stags

With discussion on "the budget" all over the news lately, it made me think about our budget as well. Around the same time, I just finished a great book called "The Cheapskate Next Door" by Jeff Yeager. The book talks about different people's points of view on how to spend and save money. There are extreme cases in the book as well. Jeff Yeager mentioned a guy who would go on his business trips carrying burned out light bulbs and swap them with good light bulbs in his hotel room....REALLY! This same guy stole pool towels and toilet paper rolls too. Other cheapskates mentioned were dumpster divers (aka "Freegans"). Finally, some cheapskates consider underwear a luxury--- I'm not making this up.

As I was reading it I realized that I live with a cheapskate. Some common characteristics among non-extreme cheapskates sound very familiar: They HATE HATE HATE debt. This doesn't necessarily mean they don't have any. They hate the idea of it and try to get rid of it as soon as possible. They are not interested in keeping up with the Joneses, the Smiths, the Leungs, the Papadopulouses, or anyone else for that matter. Their homes are modest (small according to modern standards). They drive their cars until the cars cry out in pain asking to be put down (1992 Saturn)... or they use bikes and public transportation. They wear out their clothes before they buy new ones (from Costco!). And they do incessant research and price comparisons before a big-ticket purchase. ("Amazon vs. Best Buy... Ohhhh but I have coupon from Slick Deals...")

I think the most striking thing I learned about cheapskates is that they are not insulted by being called cheapskates. It's a badge of honor. They live well below their means and speed up their retirements, or they donate their extra cash to charities, or they find that they don't need to work so much to live simply and comfortably that they can spend more time with their friends and families... There might be a lesson here for all of us.

Is a dozen purses to much?