Parking for Kindergarten

Most nights the parking lot sits empty, teachers, administrators and staff gone hours before. But one night last week the lot was full and we were over $300 closer to full day kindergarten.

CPS budgets for next year allot for only half day kindergarten, two and a half hours, as compared to the almost six hours that my girls now enjoy. And so parents, when threatened with a mini class day, have come together to raise the missing $125,000 needed to provide the necessary classroom time for their incoming kindergartners. There is a direct appeal to parents for a per child contribution, there are in home fund raising events, there will be a rummage sale and there was parking.

The empty parking lot sits just blocks from Wrigley Field. With several home games on the calendar before the July deadline, parents organized to sell parking spaces to wandering fans fool enough to drive to the game. Energetic teachers with hand written signs recruited cars and space by space the lot filled, while the budget gap narrowed.

Assuming similar success for the remaining games the parking effort was expected to bring us over $3,000 dollars closer to the goal. But the gas station across the street also sells space and they didn't like the competition. A phone call to the school district immediately shut down the parking aspirations, for reasons entirely logical and legal I am certain.

The school district, who will not pay for full day kindergarten, is now halting the efforts of the parents to raise funds independently, aided by the gas station across the street. Good schools bring good neighbors and good neighbors support neighborhood businesses. But not this gas station, as if being owned by the Venezuelan government wasn't enough, I'll be driving by Citgo even when the tank is empty.

Life's Illusions

North Avenue Beach, May 2009

The Final Boom

As one loathe to admit that I watch television, preferring rather to complain about the truly horrid programming now available, I am not taking the loss of Law & Order well. We've been together for twenty years, this quick and hasty departure is leaving me lonely.

Twenty years ago things looked a bit different; recently out of college and living on my own, Law & Order was the thing I came home to on Wednesday nights. The phone would ring after the final boom, my father eager to discuss the crime, the twists, the prosecution. When the phone stopped ringing, now almost eight years ago, Law & Order remained constant, but a sad reminder that my dad was no longer available on the other end of the line.

Law & Order has always been my sick day companion, the thing I like most when relegated to the sofa, box of tissues nearby, kerchoo. It's my rainy day treat, my exhausted at the end of the day respite and my old shoe. Logan, Lenny, Ed, L.T., and Lupo, I have loved them all.

Boom boom.

How Many More Days?

Twice this past week I forgot to make lunches. Wednesday morning, at 7:30, as I stood in robe and towel wrapped head, Jack, valedictorian of the Boy Scout preparedness school, looked at me and said, "lunches?".

Our out the door on time departure is 7:45; 7:50 if we race, drive with wild abandon and accept that the dash into school will happen as the second bell sounds. At 7:30 the lunch boxes sat empty and I, still dripping, was lost as to how they got that way.

At 6:00 last night, elbow deep into a flower pot, the little girls covered in dirt, the second layer firmly adhered by the sticky remains of a strawberry fruit pop, I suddenly realized that no homework had been done, not one page. No dinner prepared, no baths taken, no simple addition completed, we were one hour away from bed time, a time far too early but dictated by the horrific hour we awake each day to begin the race to school, and still completely engaged in the work of summer. As with the weather, our priorities had shifted overnight, from sight words and fractions to sunflowers and popsicles.

It's warm and sunny. It was 91 degrees in Chicago yesterday, only beaten in the mercury by the consistently tropical Minneapolis. An aberration I know but one we embrace. The girls are wearing shorts and sundresses, the dog is panting, Jack is griping about the heat and we are ready for summer. After nine months, wonderful months of paper and paint, letters and numbers, music and dance, it's time for sand and sunblock.

The race to the end of the hall is as clear to me now as it was thirty years ago. Bag stuffed with every precious work I spent the year creating, I ran at the final bell to sunshine and swimming pools, the last few weeks of being trapped in a classroom absolute torture. The long windows on the side of the building opened to allow in a stifling warm breeze, and with it, the sound of the custodian mowing and the smell of freshly cut grass. From the inside looking out summer seemed like years away, and then it magically appeared and my days were spent not at a desk but immersed in whatever water I could find.Summer, when I was five, went on forever, in fact almost all my days were summer, with just a few weeks of cold thrown in to celebrate Christmas. Lemonade stands with Stephanie, gymnastic shows with Mary and Josie, hours spent in the church parking lot learning to ride my new bike, afternoons saddled behind Dad on his horse, and days upon days of doing nothing, my summer lasted forever. As it should, because you only have one summer to spend being five, best to make the most of it.

Life's Illusions

Kate, August 2005

Image courtesy of Cynthia Hutcheson Photography

Ahoy Cubbies!

The Cubs can't beat the Pirates? Or at least they have a very difficult time trying? 5-1 this year, the only win thus far coming yesterday, a one run salvation. Interesting, overall they lead the series; from 2000 through 2009 the record stood at 95-66, Cubs in front. But now, they just can't win.

Clearly I'm no expert, having managed very few major league baseball teams over the years, but really, maybe putting a statue of a pirate in front of the stadium was just not a great idea.

Harry, The Pirate and Ernie, sounds like a Sesame Street segment, not the lineup outside one of the most revered ball parks in the country. Even my children know, Mary suggested yesterday that we sneak down and steal the pirate, late at night when no one would see us. My five year old understands, there are no pirates in baseball, or at least there shouldn't be, not at Wrigley Field.

Life's Illusions

Butterfly Ball, 2010

On a Smaller Scale

As it stands, in the proposed budget for the next year, the state of Illinois plans cut $1.3 billion dollars in funding for education. In Chicago, that means a $368 million dollar cut to the Chicago Public School system. Statewide the jobs of 30,000 teachers will be eliminated, in Chicago 2,700 teachers will be without jobs this September. As proposed by Governor Quinn and itemized by Ron Huberman, CEO of the Chicago Public Schools, the proposed budget is scary and full of big sweeping numbers that sound intimidating and wholly detrimental to the ability of our state to educate our children.

But in the practical sense, what does all this mean? For us, a grim setback to what had promised to be a running start at creating a really great school. Specifically, the loss of 3 teachers with an enrollment increase of 85 children. Principals are left to make decisions as to how best to allocate resources, weighting the lower, and more populated grades, with more teachers, and crowding the older classrooms, at a time when a good educational experience can make a difference in the lifetime learning of the student. Dance with the numbers a bit, separate the Pre-K, add the special education teachers and you are left with more than 30 children per class, including kindergarten.Kindergartens are reduced to half day, two and a half hours to learn and play and grow accustomed to school, a time frame I find impossible to imagine having spent the past year watching two girls blossom in their full day kindergarten class. And my children take this wonderful kindergarten experience and head into a first grade class with more than 35 students.

And the focus shifts, administrators become fund raisers. Parents are asked to contribute, beyond bake sales and walk-a-thons, we are being asked to donate $2,000 per child, for a public education. Our school is a relative bargain, a larger and more established school nearby is considering a $5,000 per child donation. We'll pay, although in principle I find it alarming, but I can't stand on principle when my children's education is being threatened. What becomes then of the roughly 60% of the children at our school who are categorized as low income? And what becomes of the schools in neighborhoods where that number is higher; who contributes at a school where the low income student number hovers near 94%?

Fund raising is difficult to sustain, and only a superficial response to a systemic problem. A knee jerk reaction to some alarming numbers, in essence a loan to keep a school afloat, for one more year.

The Chicago Public School system is currently responsible for the education of 409,972 students, two of which are mine. The numbers do matter, to me, to our family and to the other 409, 970 students and their families. The children matter, and they should matter to to you and to Governor Quinn and to Ron Huberman, but do they?

Birthdays

My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could ever give another person. He believed in me.
-Jim Valvano

Finding Two Reasons to Celebrate

Six years ago Mother's Day fell on my father's birthday, as it does occasionally. But my father had died six months earlier, which had not happened before, and I was dreading the day. I was not a mother but I was ready to be, and then I miscarried, two days before Mother's Day. But that wasn't enough, our dear friends had asked Jack and I to be the Godparents to their wonderful son, we were honored and overwhelmed, and the baptism was to be on Mother's Day. So on my father's 62nd birthday, which he was not with us to celebrate, two days after miscarrying in my first pregnancy, I was to hold the infant son of one of my best friend's in a church and pledge to help raise him as a good Catholic, on Mother's Day.

Surprisingly being with people I love and holding a new baby proved to be exactly what I needed on what had promised to be a truly horrible day, and it wasn't.

The next year I spent Mother's Day at a Cubs game, five months pregnant, feet up and happy. Things had improved, as often they do. And each year I rejoice just a little bit more, ever grateful to have not one but two wonderful reasons to celebrate. While I'm thankful for the little people who made me a mom I also remember the many who have mothered me, the list is long, and I appreciate each and every person who taught me bits and pieces of all that I need to know: removing band aids quickly is really best, singing "I Eat My Peas With Honey" while eating peas really does make them taste better, written correspondence does matter, bodily functions are funny, laughing is important, loving is best, and singing is a great way to start the day.

Happy mother's day to all who mother, and to those who listen to us sing.