Doing Better, Part 2

Last year I wrote about the inspiration I get from my kids to be better and try harder.  Lately I have been unusually overwhelmed by the amount of self-improvement I want to accomplish, and I've been really exhausted by the questions that won't stop asking themselves over and over again in my head.  Perhaps this is part of growing up, this constant nagging of oneself.  Perhaps this is one of the markers of adulthood - like having your own washer and dryer or hosting a big holiday at your house.

In the recent insomnia and chaos that wants to take over me, I've been thinking a lot more about improvements I want to make in my personal life.  Here are the top five things that I'm desperately interested in getting better at: {help!}

1. Letting go.  When things go wrong I grin and bear it and say things like "That's ok," or "No worries," or "I'm over it." Spoiler alert: I'm not over it.  I try to fool people that I am in order to decrease friction, maintain good relationships, and keep things moving along.  I even try to fool myself but it doesn't often work.  When some idiot driver nearly slams into me or a pedestrian walks right in front of my car in the middle of the street, for example, I get extremely angry.  I may not always scream and holler, and I may keep driving as if nothing's wrong, but I am fuming.  These commuter annoyances, like many of the things I struggle to let go of, are a daily occurrence.  So shouldn't I be able to just honk and move on with my life like every other New Yorker? (Ha!) My blood boils for several minutes as I fake being cool.  The "fake it till you make it" thing is not working, or at the very least the "make it" part is taking forever.  How do I learn how to chill out and let go for real? 
2. Organization.  At times my stuff seems to be everywhere.  Doesn't everyone need to be better at this?  
3. Sleeping.  I've always been a bad sleeper, but lately it's gotten progressively worse.  It seems to take me eons to fall asleep and/or go back to sleep.  How the heck do you get better Zs without medicating?  
4. Running.  I am the worst runner, possibly ever.  You know those ads and pictures you see of girls running?  Their hair is bouncing in a pretty ponytail, they look tall, determined,  and strong of mind and body?  Yeah, I don't look like that.  {I look like this.} What I do outside on the pavement cannot actually be considered running, so I don't know why I call it that.  Also, I hate running so I don't even know why I want to be better at it, but I do, and I think that relates directly to....
5. Being bad.  I don't mean coloring outside the lines or breaking the rules once in a while.  I mean genuinely sucking at something and doing it anyway.  For most of my life I have had an intuitively good sense of where my talents lie and where I am essentially useless.  Like most people (?), I don't generally relish doing something I'm awful at.  I don't mind trying, but if it's not going my way I'd rather move on and try something else.  Being a teacher has helped.  I tell my kids to persevere, to strive for growth instead of perfection, and that there is value in the struggle, value in old-fashioned elbow grease and hard work.  I have no choice but to model these philosophies in my professional life.  My kids have to learn, and if I'm no good at what they need me to do, I have to try to get better, and keep trying. But just doing it in my teacher life is no longer enough; I want to be the kind of person who is ok with failing every once in a while.  How do you aim for better while being ok with the fact that sometimes you're bad? 

Our school recently had a class competition where the grand prize was a fun field trip to do an indoor sports arena.  Earlier this week the kids from one of my classes were gathered around looking at the tally sheet for their class, pointing and smiling at their score.

"Look, Ms. Haskell, we're doing better!"
Another child shrugged and added, "We're not going to win, but we've gone up a lot lately." 

They were right - they didn't win.  Not even close.  But they were happy with improvement. They were happy to try.  So that afternoon when I got home, I begrudgingly laced up my sneakers and went outside for a "run."  Maybe this self-improvement game is part of growing up.  But people, it comes with some serious growing pains.  {And some minor shin splints.}  

Veggie Tales: Spicy Tomato Soup

It must be fall because today I had the inexorable urge to cook a big pot of soup.  I was intrigued by the scrumptious looking Trader Joe's roasted red pepper and tomato soup but deterred from buying it due to the high sodium content and amount of unnecessary additives including added sugar.  So I made this incredibly delicious September starter that's low in salt and high in yums.  

Roasted Pepper and Tomato Soup
{makes approx. 10 medium servings}

1 medium onion, chopped
5 cloves of garlic, minced
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 large can whole plum tomatoes
2 tbsp smoked paprika
1 jar roasted peppers, drained (I like the tri-color ones from Trader Joe's because they don't have added sugar)
3 cups chicken stock
juice from one lemon
1 tbsp dried basil
1/2 tsp each - garlic powder, dried thyme, ancho chili powder, and onion powder
1 or 2 tsp cayenne pepper (or more or less to taste)
1/4 cup whole milk or half & half
salt and pepper

Saute the onion in olive oil for about 5 minutes until translucent, add the garlic and a little salt and pepper and cook for another 2-3  minutes.  Add the tomatoes (with the liquid), paprika, and peppers.  Bring to a boil and simmer for 10 minutes.  Puree the mixture in the food processor in small batches and return to the pot.  Add the chicken stock, lemon and herbs/spices and return to a boil.  Simmer for 10 more minutes.  Remove from heat and add the milk, salt and pepper to taste.  Serve with a spoonful of Greek yogurt and some crushed red pepper flakes (Mike's idea!) to make it even creamier and spicier.

Memoir-palooza

I may have mentioned before that I am not usually an avid reader of fiction.  I usually find myself so bogged down in professional literature and research that just getting through the weekly New Yorker that's delivered to my mailbox seems like an arduous task.  (I skip the fiction issues and the fiction stories in the back unless they are super interesting after the first two paragraphs.  I'm a slow reader and constantly have piles of half-read New Yorkers on the coffee table and night stand.  It's embarrassing.)  I would, generally, just prefer to read things that are real.  

This summer I read a few books: a small stack of amazing memoirs that I've really really enjoyed.  I think you should give me some memoir recommendations, as I am obviously obsessed with the genre.  And I think you should read some or all of these books.  Here's the rundown.  

 

Geography of the Heart by Fenton Johnson

I heard about this story in February when Maureen Corrigan, the NPR book critic, gave it a rave review.  I must say, that lady never ever steers me wrong.  If you catch her making a recommendation, immediately purchase that book and prepare to love it.  Geography of the Heart is a sad but beautiful love story.  The writer falls in love with a teacher named Larry.  Larry has AIDS and we know from the beginning that he will die.  Johnson paints such a lovely and reverent picture not just of their three year long romance but of their individual and collective history.  Maureen said in her review that this book would have a lot to teach its readers about love and for me that was surely true.  I dreaded the end of Larry's life from the very first page, but when it came, I dreaded even more the end of the book, the end of Johnson's eulogy, the end of that permeating sense of love and gratitude that you are left with throughout the entirety of story.  It also didn't hurt that Johnson is a simply brilliant writer - the book is just chock full of elegant and gorgeous prose.  

Wild by Cheryl Strayed

Travelogues are certainly my most favorite of the genres in literature.  Wild was really popular this summer and for good reason.  This book is what would happen if Liz Gilbert's Eat Pray Love and Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods got together and had a baby.  Being that I adored both the aforementioned books, it's no surprise that I became thoroughly enamored their love child as well.  Strayed writes of how she found her sense of self worth and grieved the end of her marriage and the loss of her mother while hiking solo along the Pacific Crest Trail in the summer of 1995.  I had never heard of the PCT, but Strayed describes it as the less traveled Western version of the Appalachian Trail.  This book single-handedly got me re-interested in camping and (mildly interested in) backpacking.  

A Good Man by Mark Shriver

This is a book that every Catholic ought to read.  It would also do well as required reading for any parent and anyone who has parents.  It's just good stuff, people.  "Markie" Shriver, nephew of Jack Kennedy, shares remembrances of his father, Sargent Shriver, with grace and gratitude.  The book's main premise rests on the idea that it's much harder to be a good man (/person) than it is to be a great one.  Great men aspire to new heights and accomplish big things in their professional lives.  According to Mark, Sargent Shriver was much more than your everyday great man.  Mark describes the accomplishments of his father's work (the founding of the Peace Corps, the expansion of the Special Olympics) but insists that Sarge's enduring legacy is that of a loving dad, husband, and grandpa.  Throughout the book, Mark refers to Sarge as Dad and Daddy instead of "my dad" or "my father," and this has a profound impact on how the reader comes to know the Shriver family.  The lessons Mark learned from his dad are laid out in a semi-chronological and slightly repetitive manner that explicitly highlights what Sarge thought of as most important: faith and family.  

The Road of Lost Innocence by Somaly Mam 

I must admit that I am still finishing this searingly matter-of-fact account of a former child prostitute from Cambodia. It's been hard to get through.  Not because it's poorly written or because it's boring but because it's a horrifying picture of how mean-spirited and heartless human beings can be.  Mam was orphaned before she could ever develop memories of her parent, then she was bounced around in make-shift foster care for most of her childhood until she was sold by her supposed grandfather to a brothel in the city.  She talks of the horrors of her early life without a hint of self-pity and says things like "that is just how things were" a lot.  For us privileged barangs (westerners/white people as we're known in Cambodia) this resignation can be incredibly difficult to comprehend.  I am just now getting to the point in the story where things turn around in favor of Somaly.  In her late teens, she becomes a sort of Harriet Tubman and begins to rescue girls from the brothels and help them start a new life.  Today she risks her life regularly to continue this crusade against human trafficking (which she regularly refers to simply as slavery).  In the foreword, New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof says "more women and girls are now trafficking into slavery annually than slaves were transported to the New World at the peak of the transatlantic slave trade." I am astonished on every page as Somaly discusses the scars on her physical and emotional person in the same breath that she talks of how she learned French and English and how, only a few months out of the system herself, she rescued the first of so many girls and paid for her sewing lessons. (Somaly's foundation today has trained and employed hundreds of survivors of sexual slavery.  You can buy beautiful and affordable gifts made by some of these women here.)  Somaly is haunted by her past but refuses to have her life defined by it.  She is fundamentally humble and unassuming, but anyone who reads her account will know instantly that she is a hero if ever there was one.  

Next on my list is this book, which I'll listen to via audible.  

Have Mother, Will Travel by Claire and Mia Fontaine 

I think I like memoirs so much not just because they're real, but because they remind me that no matter what's happening in my life, my own struggles, experiences, and accomplishments have been so beautifully and terribly tiny.  I am very grateful for that reminder.

Sweet

Yesterday colleagues and I took the kids to Lake Compounce, an amusement park sponsored by Pepsi where you can get free, unlimited soda all day with your admission.  Before letting them jump into the wave pool and scream on the roller coasters, I gathered my group and essentially begged them to please stay hydrated by limiting the soda intake and drinking water.  As I laid out my plea, the kids jokingly rolled their eyes at me and started finishing my sentences in chorus.  They have spent the year listening to my occasional tirades on the diabetes inducing "drinks" they sometimes insist on buying and bringing to school, namely those 99 cent Arizona "juices" and "iced teas."  (The quotes are truly necessary because few edible liquids on earth could be father from juice than the crap inside of those brown bottles and tall tin cans.) In some city neighborhoods, you can find even more horrifying substances bottled for kids to consume, called quarter juices. The labels lists no ingredients but water, food coloring, high-fructose corn syrup, and the occasional chemical.  GROSS.  Oh, and they only cost 25 cents, hence the nickname quarter juice.  Thankfully my kids don't drink those nasty things, but they're out there nonetheless, fostering sugar addiction in really young children.

This past week, our Mayor announced that he wants to ban all sugary drinks over 16 ounces within the city limits.  Arms are up.  (I love the way The Young Turks debate the issue here.) A few years ago, New York tried to put a tax on soda and other sugary drinks to create revenue and hopefully discourage the purchasing of such horrifying substances.  No dice, the legislation failed, but it revealed some scary, scary things about people in this country.  There was one commercial that was no doubt sponsored by coke or pepsi or some other drug-dealer posing as food-supplier.  It had a mom who was complaining about how "juice would be taxed too, not just soda."  There was another ad that declared "the pennies add up when you're trying to feed a family." It's clear: we Americans have no idea what we are putting into our bodies.  We don't bother to read labels, we accept advertisements as gospel, and we eat and drink thoughtlessly, with utter disregard to what our bodies need to function and thrive.  Anyone thinking big bottles of soda and other high-sugar drinks should be part of "feeding a family" need a serious and immediate wake-up call.  As a society, we are obsessively seeking convenience.  Our priorities are warped and illogical.  We choose a fancy car and a designer bag over a nice neighborhood and a complete meal.  For most of us, these stupid decisions to focus on material goods over quality of life are not made consciously, but they are made nonetheless and they affect the health of our bodies, minds, children, and economy.  Many people don't consider why things like soda and junk food are so cheap.  It boils down to a simple cliche: you get what you pay for.  If you are more concerned with the cost than the quality of food, you ought to expect to look and feel like crap for most of the hours of most of your days.  Unfortunately, we are so diluted by the pill-popping, convenience paradigm that we don't even realize how truly sick our society is.

When tobacco advertising was phased out we saw a similar uproar that was (unsurprisingly) spurred by and stirred by the tobacco companies themselves.  So is anyone shocked that people are reacting badly to Bloomberg's so-called soda ban?  Any critically thinking human can infer that these responses are fully pressed by the drug-dealers (food producers/providers).  If you're consciously making the straight-up dumb choice to drink soda all day, go forth and be sugared up.  However, as adults we have more to consider than just ourselves and our current state.  We are supposed to be caring for the future as well.  Do we want our children to be part of a productive, competitive, and healthy workforce or do we want them to be riddled with sickness for the rest of their lives?

If you are an adult I really don't care how you abuse your body - smoke, drink in excess, use drugs, eat crap, poison yourself in any way you see fit.  You are sapping our economy, wasting our oxygen, and contributing to raising healthcare costs, but I can let all that go.  What I cannot and will not get down with is exposing kids to any of this abusive behavior.  Our government protects kids from tobacco by disallowing the ads that clearly targeted them; we have a drinking and a smoking age to discourage young people from making stupid choices and discourage companies from turning kids into hosts for their parasitic profits.  Few such regulations exist for protecting our kids from food companies whose moral compass points to the same false North as that of Phillip Morris.

Throughout the day yesterday between asking me to hold their money, glasses, and towels, many of my kiddos ran up to me with big smiles on their faces and clear liquid in their cups. In a tone and inflection clearly designed to gently mock me, they giggled and shouted "look what I have," and "it's water, Ms. Haskell!"  Children should be exposed to information about what they're putting in their bodies and encouraged to make good decisions about eating and drinking.  Since they often are not exposed to such knowledge, someone has to take on the responsibility of keeping them from going into a diabetic coma before they turn eighteen. If that someone turns out to be Bloomberg or "bigger government," then fine, because I could really use the help.

Doing Better

Yesterday my kids took a quiz on integer operations, a topic I have never taught in-depth with sixth graders (it's a seventh grade topic).  The quiz wasn't easy, but the vast majority of the kids in both classes performed to the best of their ability, and many of them did 100% of the work correctly and completely.  When I handed back the quizzes today, the responses I got on both ends of the spectrum were exactly what I love to hear.

Can I come up at lunch and get extra problems? -G scored 70%
I can't believe I missed that negative sign! -T scored 90%
I'm getting better at this. -K scored 65%
Do you need help in after school this week? -B scored 100%

I met my goal.  I want to get an 80 next time. -C scored 75%

But there was one reaction that really got to me, more than all the others.  A student who throughout the year has been a challenge for me behaviorally and academically scoffed and shook his head at the thumbs up sign I gave him when I returned his 80% paper.  I gave him a look of confusion to which he replied, "I can do better."  Not so long ago, this student would be thrilled with a D, and sometimes perfectly content with an F on quizzes, tests, classwork, and homework assignments.  No more.  He examined his quiz meticulously and called me back over.

HERE!  This is mistake I shouldn't have made.  I forgot the rule that a negative divided by a negative is a positive.  I must have rushed through that question.

It's easy to blame everything wrong in our lives on external factors.  It's easy to avoid holding ourselves responsible and just blame something - or someone - else.  Does that mean it's hard to own up and step up?  I told him that since he used the same rule correctly on two other questions, he probably did rush through it, but now he'll remember to take his time, even when the question seems basic. He agreed and went back to work on designing story problems for multiplying a positive by a negative.  

Forty minutes later upon giving back the corrected quiz he repeated, "I can do better, Ms. Haskell.  I'm going to do better."  

Is it harder to solve a problem than it is to complain about it? Is it more difficult to maintain faith and resolve than it is to give up and despair?  My experience tells me that the good and bad options require the same amount of emotional energy, but one side of the coin leaves you inspired and hopeful while the other simply sucks the life out of you.  So is it hard to own up and step up?  No.  My kids can do it, and so will I.  I will be better too. 

To Be a Skeeter

A few months ago I finally read The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  Correction: a few months ago I finally downloaded and listened to The Help on audiobook, and Mike and I recently watched the movie version.  (Those commercials about audible.com being super awesome are dead on, by the way. Cheap audiobooks are the only reason I've "read" any fiction at all in the last year.)  I loved the book and also really enjoyed the movie; the story touches something in me that's hard to describe.  While the ending comes off as a triumph for the protagonists, so much of the plot gnaws at me, disturbs me, and makes me feel very unsettled and self-doubting.

If you haven't read this book, you should.  It's about women living in Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960s, some of whom are rich white ladies, some of whom are black maids that work for the rich white ladies.  One of my main characters, Skeeter, is constantly being shown in increasing juxtaposition with one of the side characters, Hilly.  Hilly is a friend of Skeeter's who seems to be the big kahuna in their particular social circle.  She is head of the local women's league, organizes bridge games, and seems to be every other girl's best friend, all while making the most ignorant, spiteful comments about everyone around her, but especially the maids.  Hilly is an absolutely awful human being who presents no redeeming qualities whatsoever.  The confusion and lies surrounding race that have been thrust on her and her friends by their surroundings and upbringing is exacerbated by Hilly's intense desire for control and superiority, so she comes off not only as racist (because pretty much all the white characters in the book come off as racist to us) but as vengeful, vindictive, and just plain old deplorable.  Skeeter, on the other hand, ends the book looking like something of a hero, having stood up to the status quo despite the isolation it has caused her.  I'd argue the only heroes in this story are the maids; Skeeter faces friendlessness for her defiance but the maids risk their very lives to speak out about the unfairness that comes with being black in the 1960s deep South.  But that's beside the point.  The point is that by the end of the story, the reader (listener) sees Hilly and Skeeter on opposite sides.

It's easy for us to look at Hilly with contempt and anger, wondering how anyone could be so stupid and so mean.  When I think about the story of The Help I find myself praying with all my might that, had I been alive in such a time and such a place, I would be a Skeeter.  This is the root of why the book really sticks with me, the unsettling notion that I am, in any way, like Hilly Holbrook, that I am in with her lot.  I can't be an Aibileen, and much as I'd love it, I can't be a Minnie.  No matter how much I try to understand it, I'll never feel their struggle, and I'll never be as honorable or as strong as they are.  So while I abhor everything Hilly stands for, I have to face up to the fact that I am in with her lot.  I am white, I am privileged, I am lucky.  I face no challenges in life because of how I look or who I love.  I can choose to use my privilege wisely, compassionately, and humbly; I can be a Skeeter.  Upon recognition of my unfair advantages, I feel guilty and uncomfortable and a little ashamed.  So I keep trying to understand the struggle, with no firsthand experience of it whatsoever.  I continue to feel guilty, but that seems a pretty small cross to bear, comparably speaking.

Here's the thing: if you think history won't look at our generation's own malicious forms of bigotry the same way we scowl and cringe at Hilly, you are deluding yourself.  So, you have to stand up for your choice.  Hilly or Skeeter?  Yesterday or tomorrow?

...Which brings me to my final point.  Though none of us can say for certain that we would have been on the right side of history then, it appears that our President has {finally} picked his side now, and I am so whole-heartedly with him.  Obama/Biden(/Skeeter) 2012.

Veggie Tales: Slightly Sweet Sauté

I've already told you about my quest to eat more vegetables and how it has transformed my eating habits.  What I should also mention is that my skin, my attitude towards food, and my energy level have been equally transformed.  I've solved a myriad of minor health problems I never realized I had (swelling of the ankles and knees, non-hormonal acne, occasional indigestion and heartburn) and I'm now all about the green stuff. 

Tonight I marinated a pork tenderloin and Mike grilled it like a boss when he got home.  It needed accompaniment, we needed vegetables, and I needed something other than salad or broccoli.  So I threw together this super easy, super delicious green thing that complimented the pork oh so nicely.  Check it out. 

Spinach and Artichoke Sauté

Makes about 6 servings

5 cloves garlic, minced

1-2 tbsp olive oil

1 lb. frozen spinach

10-12 oz. frozen artichoke hearts

1/3 cup raw pepitas (pumpkin seeds)

1/2 cup golden raisins

1-2 tbsp lemon juice

salt and pepper

Use a cast iron skillet if you've got one, just because those things are awesome and they distribute the heat infinitely better than anything else.  Pour some olive oil into your pan and sauté the garlic for about a minute.  Add the artichoke hearts and let them brown up for a bit. (Next time I'm going to try roasting the artichoke hearts in the oven and then adding them at the end because they are so yummy roasted.) Once they're softened and browned, mix in the spinach little by little, allowing it to cook down.  To your veggies, add the pepitas and raisins.  Heat everything through and add lemon juice, salt, and pepper to your liking.  Basic, beautiful, and nourishing.