I Built My Son a Secret Lab

My family loves Christmas.  Ridiculously loves Christmas. I’ve blogged many times about our traditions, and all of that fa la la. This year, the kids got a little high tech with their wish lists.

At first I laughed.  That was after telling Dylan that there was no way in hell that we were getting more pets (the kittens hadn’t discovered the Christmas tree at this point), and we really had nowhere to store a go-cart.  But I laughed at the note to Santa about the secret lab, portal, etc.

Then I thought about it.

It might just work.

Then I would be Mom of the year and rule the world.

Our entire house is full of vaulted ceilings.  Except in Dylan’s room where the ceiling is flat.  The attic is above his room, and the entrance to the attic is a trap door in the ceiling of his closet that you access by climbing a bookcase that has been built into the wall, complete with handrails.  The only thing up there is Christmas storage.

Would it work?

The plan started to come together.  However, not a whole lot pops up when you Google “Secret Lab.” So, I started to sketch.

This might actually work. 

I asked Thomas for a budget and started ordering things from Amazon.  I got paint from school, and Thomas and I took a quick trip to IKEA.

We could only work while the kids were at rehearsal, so we had to be efficient.  It also me realize that I am NEVER home alone, but that’s the topic for another blog post.

We swept, painted, taped a border around the area he would have, and put down that interlocking foam flooring stuff.

I bought this cool roll of white board that’s like a giant sticker, and put that up, framing it with the same tape.  On the wall, I put up a light-up remote-controlled moon that shows the  phases of the moon, a periodic table of elements, bolted two IKEA lamps, and put up two pieces of art that I made after the kids went to bed: Dylan’s name spelled out in elements, and a line drawing of “Science.”

On the desk, I taped blue battery-operated string lights, so it looks like the desk is glowing.  I bought a Newton’s cradle, made a pencil cup out of the caution tape and filled it with white board markers, white board eraser, pencils, and test tubes.  Also on the desk are a pair of safety goggles, a light-up magnifying glass with clip things (not sure what it’s for, but it’s freakin’ cool), another lamp, a build your own robot, and a book about Chemistry.  Add a chair, a hook on the wall that holds his lab coat, and the secret lab was ready!

Now, how to get him up there?  I made an ID badge online and had it laminated.  I typed out a note from Santa saying that his lab awaits, and put them into a drawstring bag.  It’s going in the bottom of the stocking.  We’re not good with stockings, so I’m thinking it’ll be pretty freaking cool.

The plan its this: open presents, then take a break to refill coffee, go to the bathroom, etc.  During that time, I will distract the kids downstairs, and Thomas will go up the lab and turn on all of the lights, so it’s bright when he gets up there.  Then, we begin stockings.

I’m so excited about his reaction that I could pee my pants.  You can bet that I’ll be posting the reaction video on Christmas morning, so check back on Facebook for the grand unveiling!

Seriously.  I built my kid a secret lab.

Behave Yourself

My husband and my two children were driving through our town the other day, and came across a peculiar sight.  A car (sedan) with the stickers touting the local high school, a personalized license plate and five teenage girls was driving down a main road.  As they drove down the street, one of them popped up through the sunroof (while the car was moving), at least two were leaning out of the windows, and all of them, including the driver were raising their middle fingers, screaming “Fuck You!” to the people they passed, many of those people being children walking home from school.

Now, my husband and I are both teachers, and believe me when I say that we spend more than a fair share of our day listening to language of teenagers.  I believe that many people would be shocked and appalled by the language and actions that teenagers display on a high-school campus.  For those of you who are now saying, “I can only imagine!”, there must be a fair number of you who are saying, “My child would never talk/do/act/strut/throw themselves at the opposite sex like that!”  I know this because over the course of my career, I have received many a letter from a parent appalled that I would allow students onstage to use the word “asshole” (in the award winning play Proof, by the way, after the duo had placed with that scene at a state festival) or even say the word “gay” or refer to a gay character.  But, I digress.

So, my husband, still with his teacher hat on, and my two children in the car who are watching this display of teenage-girl peacock-like behavior, takes a picture of the little darlings on his phone, and posts it on Facebook, to see if anyone knew who it was.

Friends on Facebook suggested posting it on a page dedicated to the goings-on in our town, so the husband did.  It was approved and posted, and a shitstorm erupted.  Our friends, and many of the people who responded to the post had the same mind-set as we did, “That kid needs to be dealt with.  There are consequences for your actions, I hope they find her.” However, like the letter writers saying that I’m destroying today’s youth by exposing them to curse words, there were people who were incensed that Thomas had put that up.

I guess the picture, and the car (easily identifiable by the vanity plates) was seen by the parents.  Within a few hours, my husband actually had a friend of ours call him and ask him to take the post down.  They knew this kid, this family, and said “it’s a personal matter.” Oh yeah, and then the step-mom or dad’s girlfriend or whoever she was, messaged my husband asking him to take the post down.

It’s a good thing that this happened to my husband and not to me, because when I heard that, I erupted.

When I was a kid, and I got in trouble at school, I was terrified.  I was terrified because I knew that it was going to be 100000000000 worse when I got home.  Today, when I talk about a kid’s behavior or other infraction, it often becomes MY (the teacher’s) fault.  My son would never have cheated, what proof do you have?  My daughter would never talk to anyone that way….blah, blah, blah.

There are no consequences.

Now granted, sources say that this girl is in big trouble and got her car taken away from her, but we don’t know these people.

I DO know that if I had done that, my ass would be walking everywhere, which would be ok, because I’d be bruised and battered and sitting down would probably be uncomfortable anyway.

I was just surprised at how many people were upset about this girl and her friends being called out on her undeniably crappy behavior and choices while on a public street, during the day, in front of children.  I’m sorry if you are having a bad day, but learn your audience.  You choose to act like an ass in public, then don't get mad at the people who call you out on it.

I am also pretty happy about the fact that we seem to know lots of people who share similar ideologies with us, and that maybe our children won’t behave like this.  But…if they do, I would hope that someone would tell me so that I can make sure that they would be lucky to ever see the light of day again. 

Life is Random and Unfair...Life is Pandemonium

Dear Parents who have artistically-inclined kids,

Common core is coming, whether you agree with it or not.  As far as being a teacher in the arts, it's the pendulum swing that arts teachers have been waiting for.  After years of our programs being cut, and being told that our classes "don't matter" (I actually got that one to my face from a psychotic teacher at my previous school--nut-bag that one) people are realizing that the skills acquired from an art-integrated education are going to help get our kids out of an "A," "B," "C," or "D" mind frame.

But, what arts teachers do is more than that.  We piss our students off.

You may be saying...WTH??? You're a teacher!  You're supposed to want every kid to succeed.

You are right, but I have to break something to you.  They can't succeed all the time.  If my students succeed all the time, I would be doing them a disservice...like soccer trophies.

I am in the most stressful part of my school year.  Spring Play Casting.  It sucks.  I was awake from 1:45-2:45 this morning thinking about it.  I've been out of school for the past two days, since the cast list was posted (because of Dylan's broken arm) and I've already dealt with an upset mom and kids texting me to tattle about the snarky crap that other kids have said in my absence.

Let me use all of my overabundance of sports knowledge to give you an analogy about the arts.  Look at a theatre department like
sports teams. Not all kids are going to get a part.  Sorry.  That's the way it happens.  This isn't U-6 soccer.   Not everyone is going to make Varsity.  Some kids might not ever make Varsity, no matter how hard they want it, or how hard they practice.  Some might make it to Jr. Varsity.  Some might make the Varsity team, and only play for a minute at the end of the game.  It's kind of the same thing.  It's not fair, but guess what?  I'm sorry, but that's life.

I haven't cast kids because of their grades, and then argued with their parents about it.  I've had parents pull race cards on me, I've had parents call the principal, I've had kids refuse to ever look me in the eye or talk to me again, I've had kids say nasty things to my face and behind my back.  Hey people, I'm human.  That stuff sucks.  Plus, I'm an arts-y human who takes things personally.  Stop being assholes to directors!

But guess what?  It's only going to get harder for students.  The real world doesn't know your kids the way I do, and the real world doesn't care.  I do care, but I'm telling you now...your kid is going to deserve the part that they get, not get it because you think they should have it because they're upset that they didn't get the part they wanted.

I've been telling students that I want them to fail.  Then, they look at me like I have grown a tail.  Then I elaborate.  I want them to fall down, get up, dust themselves off, figure out why they fell, then do again and again until they fall, and they're stronger than ever.  I'm sending resilient,  self-sufficient, realistic, idealistic, and determined kids into the world.  I am not sending kids out into the world with a trophy because they showed up and didn't trip over their shoelaces.

So, how bout you do what I tell the kids to do.  After a cast list goes up, they have to follow the 24-hour rule: You are allowed to be angry or upset for 24-hours.  Don't lament to people, don't come to me crying, don't bitch.  After 24 hours, you can put on your big boy/big girl panties and talk to me calmly and rationally.  I promise you that the conversation will go better, and I won't always remember you as "that parent."  When I respond to your email, it's always after I've had a huge glass of wine, and stopped being upset at the things that you've flung at me...then, I re-read it.

I like your kids.  Most of the time, I love your kids.  Trust me.
Sincerely,
A Drama Teacher-who-doesn't-want-to-keep-waking-up-worried-in-the-middle-of-the-night.