The Lydster, Part 136: Award-winning photography

Stormy.20150530This spring, the local Hannaford supermarket had a contest to determine the best pet photos in a variety of categories. The Daughter decided to submit a couple of our felines, taken on The Wife’s iPad, then emailed to me so that I could print them out.

Frankly, I have no idea how many other participants, if any, there were, but the Daughter won with the picture of Stormy, shown above. She received various pet treats, food, cat litter and the like.

BTW, Stormy, who just turned two, has become much more affectionate to me, sitting on my lap – only when she wants to, because she IS a cat, after all – and rubbing her head on my feet.

midnight.20150530I’ll admit I prefer this photo, if only because it’s SO goofy, rather like Midnight, who’s about a half a year older than Stormy. He has always been affectionate to me, but, for a time, it got to be too much.

Quite often, at 4 a.m., he’d come into our bedroom and start licking my arms, and chewing on the hair on the top of my head and even on my mustache. I would get up and usually write. Then I had to get him down from the file cabinet next to the office desk, lest he jump down on the laptop and accidentally screw up some settings; he’s done it before.

But then he started his routine at 3 a.m., and I can’t function on that little sleep. So I would get up, put him in the basement and go back to bed. This seems to have (mostly) broken him of this annoying habit.

For a time, we thought Midnight was becoming too aggressive towards some strangers – he utterly freaked out at the vet’s office – and wondered how we could even go on vacation for more than a day or two.

We got a new child watcher (FKA babysitter) named Maxine and he was very affectionate towards her. Now, SHE can come in, feed the cats, change the litter box, and give them some love.

The Lydster, Part 135: Percussion

He arrived at the afterschool, with a couple wagons filled with castanets, tambourines, cowbwells, and a variety of drums.

Drum-StickThe Wife and The Daughter were in a store a few months ago, when The Daughter found someone’s phone on the floor. The Daughter returned it to the help desk.

A minute later, a guy ran to the desk, hoping against hope that someone had found his device. He thanked the clerk, but she pointed to my family, and The Wife to the Daughter.

In appreciation for her good deed, the guy offered to give The Daughter a free musical performance, for a party or some other occasion of her choosing. He is a percussionist, and does programs for kids and adults in the area and beyond. The Daughter decided to share her gift with her afterschool mates.

The day before her last birthday, he arrived at the afterschool, with a couple of wagons filled with castanets, tambourines, cowbwells, and a variety of drums. We played a bunch of sonic games – yes, The Wife and I attended, too.

You know the game where someone hides an object and you say HOT or COLD, depending on how close the searcher is to the object? You can do the same thing with percussion instruments, playing them louder or more softly, depending on the searcher’s success.

It was all great fun.

How has being a parent changed me?

When I say to her, “I love you,” she replies, “Of course you do.”

fathers-day-multiple-languagesA few weeks ago, a single mom I knew was trying to get her daughter to wear a coat, lest she be cold. The daughter balked. One could see them both digging in their heels. I told the mom – not at all thinking of Frozen – “let it go.” An hour later, the mom thanked me, realizing it wasn’t a fight worth engaging in.

Before I was a dad, I wouldn’t have interjected my opinion. Not only would I have thought my observations have been perceived as uninformed, but that would also have been a correct take. It is annoyingly true, at least for me, that you just don’t know what it’s like to be a parent until you’re a parent.

This was actually an issue even before The Daughter was born. I guess The Wife wanted some verbal assurances from me that I was ready to be a father. Heck, I STILL don’t know THAT, but I knew I was willing to try my best. It appears that I continue to fake it reasonably well.

I like that there are things The Daughter and I tend to do alone together, such as bicycle riding, spelling, and math homework. I’m the one to wake her up, though I wish she’d go to bed earlier and do it herself.

Speaking of bicycling, sometimes my offspring can be stubborn. She balked at doing soccer this season, I suspect because her parents thought that she needed to go to the weekly practice as well as the game, that she could use the practice, would more likely get more playing time, and get better. Yet, on the bicycle, we had this particular circuit, which involved a short, but steep, incline. She came back to it every day until she could master that little hill.

When I say to her, “I love you,” she replies, “Of course you do.” At least she’s not yet at the totally-embarrassed-to-be-around-me stage.

Like many kids, she’s much more polite outside the home. Her teachers adore her, especially the current one. She gets very good grades, 4s in everything the last marking period except for music, where she got 3s. Her participation in the play at church this year leads to her participating in the Mother’s Day service.

Being a dad has made me more optimistic, by necessity. Despite abundant information to the contrary, I HAVE to believe the world will be better for her, and, to that end, try to find ways to facilitate that.

I write this every year, but every year it’s true: I wish MY dad had had a chance to meet her, and she, him.

The Lydster, Part 134: Opting out

Neither my wife or I want to have our daughter become a tool to our own sense of activism, ESPECIALLY when it affects her directly.

opt-out5There has been a great deal of controversy in the state of New York about the school tests tied to something called Common Core. It is more complicated than I wish to get into here, but I wrote about it a bit in my Times Union blog.

There was a statewide movement to get students in grades 3 to 8 to opt-out of the test, which was somewhat successful in many districts, including in my area.

The movement has been around a few years, but I had not paid a great deal of attention. The Daughter took the tests the last couple of years.

This year, however, the framework and the rhetoric changed, with Governor Andrew Cuomo specifically tying education money to teacher performance, based on these tests, and practically ignoring their classroom effectiveness, in the budget passed at the end of March 2015.

Here’s the thing, though: neither my wife or I want to have our daughter become a tool to our own sense of activism, ESPECIALLY when it affects her directly. Moreover, she’s generally a compliant child, eager to please others.

The Sunday before the tests began, on a Tuesday, we FINALLY broached the topic, quite gingerly. I said something like, “You know there are those tests coming up this week. Some people are opting out. Whether you take them or not is entirely up to you.”

She said, rather quickly, “I’m opting out. They’re using the test to grade the teachers, not us.” This is largely correct and astute.

We hadn’t specifically talked about this, certainly not directly to her, although we’ve been watching news reports. Most parents would say they chose their kids to opt-out, but The Daughter made her own decision. I happen to agree with it, but I’m more pleased that she’s become this separate, thinking person.

For the periods of the test, a total of 18 hours over a few weeks (!), she was assigned to help the kindergarten teacher read to the kids, and the like. She liked it.
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Here are some anecdotes about the English language test. There are many out there.

The rambling, largely unfocused, sanity report

mailboxI have noted that this past winter was tough. The cold. Attending four funerals in the first ten weeks of 2015. One of my library buds leaving work at the end of January. Black History Month stuff. Friends of the Library stuff.

Plus the family sickness chain. The last week in February – the Daughter, the week before her church play. By March 1, she was better, but I felt awful. Yet I had an adult education class to teach, scripture to read during the service, and needed to attend that aforementioned play.

I said, OUT LOUD, that day, “If I didn’t have all these things to do, I would have stayed home.”

So you would think I’d have listened to myself and stayed home the next day; I did not. But I felt so miserable, I left as soon as I could, which was two hours later because the buses out of Corporate frickin’ Woods run infrequently in the middle of the day, then I stayed in bed the next couple days.

Why on earth did I go to work? Because we were shorthanded at work. One of the librarians was on maternity leave for December, January, and most of February, which, I rush to note, is a good thing.

The weekend of my birthday, March 7, I was better, but my Wife was definitely becoming ill. Then the next week, the Daughter.

The week after that, my lungs felt as though they were underwater. I went to the doctor’s and got some meds, but the situation was slow to clear.

I went for a massage several days later, and she pressed my back; the noise from my lungs sounded like the special effects sounds of a horror movie. It was actually quite entertaining to listen to – I wish I had recorded it! – aside from the fact that it was emanating from me. I missed choir for three weeks during Lent – my favorite time of the church year – during which both the Wife and the Daughter got sick AGAIN.

I missed seven workdays in March, five of them sick days, two vacation (one of which involved going to the fourth funeral). Plus, in April, some weird thing was wrong with the Daughter’s foot.

But now it’s May. It’s warm (or hot, or occasionally a bit cool.) We can ride our bikes. Everything is both hunk AND dory. Well, almost. There’s the live bat we found in the house, the first in several years. And the noisy neighbors: after telling them to keep it quiet at 11:30 Sunday nights, I called the cops on them a few hours later when their volume returned.

Work still is a slog. Trying to get done with four librarians what we did with five is difficult.

Almost the whole staff statewide attended the annual training meeting in mid-April, where the librarians talk about things we can do for our colleagues. Every year, this has inevitably meant a spike in the number of questions that come into the library, and it was true again, especially the last three days of April. We had traditionally offered a week’s turnaround time, but we didn’t finish the April questions until May 13.

There’s a part of me that says that I oughtn’t to take time off. But a greater part says that I NEED to. I have a couple of weeks of vacation, and close to six months of unused sick time.

Here’s something that is more than a rumor: we may be moving out of Corporate (frickin’) Woods by the end of the year. One unit on our floor, affiliated with SUNY Albany, is moving in September to a building near Stuyvesant Plaza, which is also close to the campus.

A woman from another unit on our floor, affiliated with SUNY Central, as are we, says that her group is moving somewhere downtown, once parking issues are resolved. I assume the same will be true for us as well, though we’ve heard nothing official.

If we were in downtown Albany again, which we left in May 2006, I would be SO thrilled. Access to restaurants, stores, the post office, my bank. I could attend events, such as the weekly talks of the Friends of the APL. Plus, there’s a Farmers Market every Thursday for at least half the year. In other words, there’s a THERE there.

In the winter, I could take one bus to work, and one bus home, rather than two each way. I’d have the flexibility to take one of at least three buses that would get me home, and I’d get there sooner. Plus both my dentist and my eye doctor are downtown, so when I need an appointment, it’d be a quarter day off, rather than a half-day.

In fact, the ONLY downside is that I’d have to go to Corporate (frickin’) Woods every 28 days for my allergy shots, but I could still get to work by 10:15 if I take the usual two buses to CfW that I take now.

Well, there IS one thing I’d miss if we move downtown. There is always a cadre of new folks coming out to CfW , having difficulty navigating the buses. Having the need to be useful, I’ve helped more than a few people out.

Recently, one of these twentysomethings was texting his 10-year-old nephew and was puzzled by a question he received: “When is a door not a door?” Heck, I knew that, straight off. My daughter would know it. I was glad to help.

You do know the answer, right? “What is ajar?”

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