Thursday, May 11, 2006
And here's to you...
My husband's AP students have taken the dreaded exam and can now rest on their laurels a bit. In celebration, he's going to show them a couple of classic films, and last night he previewed The Graduate.
Both of us had last seen the movie while we were in graduate school, and we were surprised at how different our perceptions of it are now than when we were at such a different stage in our lives. It's interesting how much more I identify with the adults in the movie. When we last saw it, they seemed so ludicrous, and the Dustin Hoffman character's ennui seemed so understandable. Last night I found myself wanting to tell him to get out of the damn pool and DO something. What's more, Anne Bancroft looked GOOD! I think I may be older than she was at the time, and I kept finding myself thinking how cute her skirt was and if she'd just change the highlights in her hair a bit...
Anyways, it makes me want to go back and watch other movies that we enjoyed in college and early in our marriage. Some of my favorites, like Harold and Maude I fear, may not stand the test of time. Others, I'm hoping, like A Private Function, might even get better with age.
In the end, Jeff decided to shelve The Graduate and is showing Citizen Cane instead. Hmmm... That's a class I'd like to take!
Both of us had last seen the movie while we were in graduate school, and we were surprised at how different our perceptions of it are now than when we were at such a different stage in our lives. It's interesting how much more I identify with the adults in the movie. When we last saw it, they seemed so ludicrous, and the Dustin Hoffman character's ennui seemed so understandable. Last night I found myself wanting to tell him to get out of the damn pool and DO something. What's more, Anne Bancroft looked GOOD! I think I may be older than she was at the time, and I kept finding myself thinking how cute her skirt was and if she'd just change the highlights in her hair a bit...
Anyways, it makes me want to go back and watch other movies that we enjoyed in college and early in our marriage. Some of my favorites, like Harold and Maude I fear, may not stand the test of time. Others, I'm hoping, like A Private Function, might even get better with age.
In the end, Jeff decided to shelve The Graduate and is showing Citizen Cane instead. Hmmm... That's a class I'd like to take!
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Springtime visit
The boys and I had a moment today. Lately, our moments have been made up of kindly (and not-so-kindly) reminders that we've still got three more weeks of school, exams loom, it's too early to throw in the towel, etc., and we were headed in that direction today. But we had an unexpected visit that completely changed our focus.
I'm not sure how he found us, but somehow a frantic little yellow bird made it into the school, down the hallway and into my classroom. He flitted under my projector, which I was warming up to show an installment of Julio y su Ángel, a Mexican film that I use as an authentic text at the end of each year. He then proceeded to fly over the lights and toward the back of the room, hitting the windows repeatedly in an attempt, I'm sure, to reach the familiar green and blue that seemed oh, so close.
A not-so-distant memory came to mind. Years ago, during my first week teaching at this all-boys' school, the headmaster walked in and sat down. I felt confident: I had the boys' attention, they were learning, I was teaching, just the things you want your boss to see. With the chirp of a cricket, though, my fortune changed. The cricket called just loudly enough for the boys to notice. It jumped out into the middle of the room, and in a fraction of a second my classroom was bedlam as every boy tried to be the first to stomp the poor creature. After I'd quieted the boys and gotten them back in their desks, I looked around to see that my headmaster had quietly left the room.
This time, however, the boys were great. One ran to open the windows, which unfortunately wouldn't budge, and another tried to protect the little fellow by steering him away from the glass. Finally, one boy was able to trap him against the blinds, cupping him in his hands. My worries of avian flu aside, all of us quietly followed the boy and the bird outside, where my student, whose favorite pastime is shooting quail, gently set the bird in the grass.
There were a few moments of silence (which is a rare event among a group of 8th grade boys) as the bird remained perfectly still. Two boys bent down and softly stroked the bird's feathers, and I felt a lump start to form in my throat. A couple speculated as to whether he was in shock or perhaps suffered from a broken wing. Then, as if scripted, the bird sailed into the air and disappeared into some tall bushes lining the basketball court.
The boys filed back into the classroom, and sat down. I felt euphoric, and I could tell that the bird's visit had touched the boys as well, as they sat quietly discussing the bird's coloring and speculating as to whether it was a goldfinch or a warbler.
I shelved my lecture. Somehow it didn't seem necessary anymore.
I'm not sure how he found us, but somehow a frantic little yellow bird made it into the school, down the hallway and into my classroom. He flitted under my projector, which I was warming up to show an installment of Julio y su Ángel, a Mexican film that I use as an authentic text at the end of each year. He then proceeded to fly over the lights and toward the back of the room, hitting the windows repeatedly in an attempt, I'm sure, to reach the familiar green and blue that seemed oh, so close.
A not-so-distant memory came to mind. Years ago, during my first week teaching at this all-boys' school, the headmaster walked in and sat down. I felt confident: I had the boys' attention, they were learning, I was teaching, just the things you want your boss to see. With the chirp of a cricket, though, my fortune changed. The cricket called just loudly enough for the boys to notice. It jumped out into the middle of the room, and in a fraction of a second my classroom was bedlam as every boy tried to be the first to stomp the poor creature. After I'd quieted the boys and gotten them back in their desks, I looked around to see that my headmaster had quietly left the room.
This time, however, the boys were great. One ran to open the windows, which unfortunately wouldn't budge, and another tried to protect the little fellow by steering him away from the glass. Finally, one boy was able to trap him against the blinds, cupping him in his hands. My worries of avian flu aside, all of us quietly followed the boy and the bird outside, where my student, whose favorite pastime is shooting quail, gently set the bird in the grass.
There were a few moments of silence (which is a rare event among a group of 8th grade boys) as the bird remained perfectly still. Two boys bent down and softly stroked the bird's feathers, and I felt a lump start to form in my throat. A couple speculated as to whether he was in shock or perhaps suffered from a broken wing. Then, as if scripted, the bird sailed into the air and disappeared into some tall bushes lining the basketball court.
The boys filed back into the classroom, and sat down. I felt euphoric, and I could tell that the bird's visit had touched the boys as well, as they sat quietly discussing the bird's coloring and speculating as to whether it was a goldfinch or a warbler.
I shelved my lecture. Somehow it didn't seem necessary anymore.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Shrimp Enchiladas Verdes
Really, I do prepare other kinds of meals, too, but tex-mex does seem to be calling to me lately. These enchiladas from Eating Well turned out really well. I served them with cold black bean salad and plenty of cilantro and sour cream. Depending on the salsa verde that you use, they can be mild or muy picante.
Enchiladas
1 pound peeled cooked shrimp (21-25 per pound; thawed if frozen), tails removed, diced
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
2 4-ounce cans chopped green chiles (not drained)
2 cups canned green enchilada sauce or green salsa, divided
12 corn tortillas
1 15-ounce can nonfat refried beans
1 cup reduced-fat shredded cheese, such as Mexican-style, Monterey Jack or Cheddar
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 lime, cut into wedges
1. Preheat oven to 425. Coat a 9-by-13-inch glass baking dish with cooking spray.
2. Combine shrimp, corn, chiles and 1/2 cup enchilada sauce (or salsa) in a microwave-safe medium bowl. Cover and microwave on High until heated through, 2 1/2 minutes.
3. Spread 1/4 cup enchilada sauce (or salsa) in the prepared baking dish. Top with an overlapping layer of 6 tortillas. Spread refried beans evenly over the tortillas. Top the beans with the shrimp mixture, followed by the remaining 6 tortillas. Pour the remaining sauce (or salsa) over the tortillas. Cover with foil.
4. Bake the enchiladas until they begin to bubble on the sides, about 20 minutes. Remove the foil; sprinkle cheese on top. Continue baking until heated through and the cheese is melted, about 5 minutes more. Top with cilantro and serve with lime wedges.
Black Bean Salad
4 large Roma tomatoes, cored, seeded and chopped
1 can black beans, rinsed
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
Olive oil
Red wine vinegar
Salt
Pepper
Cilantro, chopped
Spread the corn in a flat baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil and mix. Broil until lightly browned.
Allow corn to cool.
Meanwhile, mix together the tomatoes, beans, and cilantro.
Add corn.
sprinkle with oil and red wine vinegar to taste
Add salt and pepper to taste.
Refrigerate until serving.
*If you plan to make this ahead of time, it keeps pretty well over night, but wait to add the cilantro until just before serving.
Sleep
I'm getting emails from the Sleep Lady.
Perhaps she senses that there's change afoot in our house, or perhaps I somehow got onto her mailing list while perusing various ways to increase the number of hours we get bonafide zs each night. It's also possible that my husband secretly submitted my email address. Hmmm...
For $125 an hour, her website says, the Sleep Lady will consult with me via telephone to sort out my 3-year-old's sleep "issues." Don't worry, it cautions, the Sleep Lady will not, a la Ferber, tell me to let my toddler "scream it out." Instead, the Sleep Lady will train me as a "sleep coach," and her website is full of success stories.
I first became aware of the parental sleep debate after I had daughter #1. From her first night onward, I wanted her in bed with me. I didn't plan it that way -- in fact, that first evening in the hospital I remember worrying that it wasn't safe and trying to stay awake so that one of the nurses wouldn't come in and scold me for not putting her back in the bassinett (actually, one may have). But I wanted to hold her and feel her against me and know she was breathing. It was purely instinctual and the only thing that felt right.
My husband was supportive, especially when he learned that we wouldn't have to get up at night (or, wake up, even) if she could nurse lying down. So for the short-term, I think we both got more sleep in our Family Bed than friends who made a trip to the nursery every two hours. As the months (OK, years) passed, though, the nursing continued, and as my healthy daughter grew, we seemed to sleep less and less. My sister had the same struggles and tried Ferber (who in all fairness doesn't really advise letting them scream it out), but in the end didn't seem to have any more success than I.
So now that child is nine years old and sleeping through the night in her own bed. But child #2 is following in her sister's footsteps. She's down to just nighttime nursing, but my husband started getting up and sleeping in the toddler's bed because the more she grows, the more she kicks. I, too, find that as much as I love snuggling up to that warm little body, the 4-5 a.m. nursing sessions are getting a bit, well, tiresome. So, we've started putting the 3-year-old to sleep in her very own bed. We've met with a bit of resistance, and she still comes into our room sometime after midnight each night, but we at least get our bed (and my breasts) to ourselves for several hours in the evening. That's on the nights when I don't fall asleep in the toddler's bed with her.
I don't think I'll be calling the Sleep Lady, although I can definitely empathize with those who do. I think I know what she would say. I expect she would tell me that I've got to be more consistent, and that it's my actions and needs that have prolonged my child's sleep "issues." She'd probably remind me that it doesn't hurt the child to sleep alone in her room, and that there are plenty of ways to let her know she is loved and safe. She'd be right, of course.
But somehow, and I know this sounds nuts, somehow that seems like cheating to me. These days are so short -- in the blink of an eye, she'll be sleeping through the night and impossible to wake in the morning like her sister. I'm not sure there is supposed to be a magic cure for this; instead, I think I'm just going to keep listening for those little feet padding in footy pajamas down the hall to my room each night and savor the feeling of that warm little body climbing up to snuggle next to me for a little while longer.
Perhaps she senses that there's change afoot in our house, or perhaps I somehow got onto her mailing list while perusing various ways to increase the number of hours we get bonafide zs each night. It's also possible that my husband secretly submitted my email address. Hmmm...
For $125 an hour, her website says, the Sleep Lady will consult with me via telephone to sort out my 3-year-old's sleep "issues." Don't worry, it cautions, the Sleep Lady will not, a la Ferber, tell me to let my toddler "scream it out." Instead, the Sleep Lady will train me as a "sleep coach," and her website is full of success stories.
I first became aware of the parental sleep debate after I had daughter #1. From her first night onward, I wanted her in bed with me. I didn't plan it that way -- in fact, that first evening in the hospital I remember worrying that it wasn't safe and trying to stay awake so that one of the nurses wouldn't come in and scold me for not putting her back in the bassinett (actually, one may have). But I wanted to hold her and feel her against me and know she was breathing. It was purely instinctual and the only thing that felt right.
My husband was supportive, especially when he learned that we wouldn't have to get up at night (or, wake up, even) if she could nurse lying down. So for the short-term, I think we both got more sleep in our Family Bed than friends who made a trip to the nursery every two hours. As the months (OK, years) passed, though, the nursing continued, and as my healthy daughter grew, we seemed to sleep less and less. My sister had the same struggles and tried Ferber (who in all fairness doesn't really advise letting them scream it out), but in the end didn't seem to have any more success than I.
So now that child is nine years old and sleeping through the night in her own bed. But child #2 is following in her sister's footsteps. She's down to just nighttime nursing, but my husband started getting up and sleeping in the toddler's bed because the more she grows, the more she kicks. I, too, find that as much as I love snuggling up to that warm little body, the 4-5 a.m. nursing sessions are getting a bit, well, tiresome. So, we've started putting the 3-year-old to sleep in her very own bed. We've met with a bit of resistance, and she still comes into our room sometime after midnight each night, but we at least get our bed (and my breasts) to ourselves for several hours in the evening. That's on the nights when I don't fall asleep in the toddler's bed with her.
I don't think I'll be calling the Sleep Lady, although I can definitely empathize with those who do. I think I know what she would say. I expect she would tell me that I've got to be more consistent, and that it's my actions and needs that have prolonged my child's sleep "issues." She'd probably remind me that it doesn't hurt the child to sleep alone in her room, and that there are plenty of ways to let her know she is loved and safe. She'd be right, of course.
But somehow, and I know this sounds nuts, somehow that seems like cheating to me. These days are so short -- in the blink of an eye, she'll be sleeping through the night and impossible to wake in the morning like her sister. I'm not sure there is supposed to be a magic cure for this; instead, I think I'm just going to keep listening for those little feet padding in footy pajamas down the hall to my room each night and savor the feeling of that warm little body climbing up to snuggle next to me for a little while longer.
