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Study Tech and Humanities with me
6 years ago
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Summer Days
One of the major perks of teaching is (obviously) the summers off. Lydia is done with daycare, so she has been at home since June 1st. We were incredibly lucky to score an awesome sitter two mornings a week, and the rest of the time, I have been home with Lydia (other than a long weekend to New York to visit a good friend--man, I have a lot of catch-up blogging to do!) Lydia is loving being at home, and it's been (mostly) nice to have so much time with her.
During the first two weeks of summer (has it only been two weeks?), Lydia has...
played in the sprinkler...
spent time with her BFFs...
developed her sense of humor...
and her stubborn side...
enjoyed hanging with Patty (who sends us photos through the mornings)...
and enjoyed spending time at home.
We are so lucky.
During the first two weeks of summer (has it only been two weeks?), Lydia has...
played in the sprinkler...
spent time with her BFFs...
developed her sense of humor...
and her stubborn side...
enjoyed hanging with Patty (who sends us photos through the mornings)...
and enjoyed spending time at home.
We are so lucky.
The Great Migration: Installment One
As I'm sure is expected, this whole moving-across-the-country thing is no piece of cake. I searched for jobs for over two months before I got a nibble from the school that ultimately hired me, and now we are on to housing and childcare. Typically, I am the panicker and Robin is more laid-back, preferring to let things organically unfold. Sometimes, I am proved to have the more appropriate reaction, other times, Robin wins out. When it comes to child care, I have been panicking. Because we don't have a house yet (more on that later), I had no idea how to even begin our child care search. Since we're going to be staying with my parents this summer, should I look in Forest Lake in case we need to live there when school starts? Should I look in Brooklyn Park, near my workplace? Until recently, we weren't sure if we were going to live in St. Paul or Minneapolis, so the parameters were huge. I was totally overwhelmed.
Note the past tense. After lots of discussions and research, Robin and I have settled on living in south Minneapolis. Not the best location in regards to my school, but when we combined all the pieces and compared neighborhoods that we were excited about, south Minneapolis seemed to be the one that fit best what we were looking for, so I got going on daycare searches.
I contacted a future coworker, and she hooked me up with some suggestions, and I also began a search through a source given to me by a college friend. Then, on a whim, I checked the school that my cousin sends her daughter, Ella. For some reason, I thought it was in a different location than it actually is, and lo and behold, it isn't too far from the neighborhood where we're looking. Within ten minutes, I called the school and left a message, and contacted my cousin, Melissa, who also put in a call for us. Long story short, we have a daycare, and we are super, super excited. We are excited about the center and their mission (more on that in a future post), excited about the location and that Robin and I will be able to share pick-up and drop-off responsibilities, excited that they have hours that will allow us to have Lydia at home two afternoons a week, one with Robin and one with my parents, excited that we have such strong recommendations from family members, excited that Lydia will be able to see Ella on a regular basis and form a relationship--all of that. I am elated, and a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Yes! Also, let the record show that in this situation, Robin proved to be right. It took all of forty-eight hours to get in touch with the school, talk with them, and secure a spot. I know that several readers are rolling their eyes at our luck, but I wanted to put out there that sometimes, things DO work out.
On the home search front, we are not so sure of anything, but we have some idea of what we're going to do. Our house in Austin has yet to sell, so it's quite probable that we'll rent something in the neighborhood where we're hoping to buy once we get an offer on our Austin home, and I'm feeling more at peace and less anxious. I've even let myself start dreaming of the things that we will be able to do come late summer and fall. While the logistics of moving cross-country are nightmarish, they are necessary to get back to where we want to be, so that helps temper frustration.
And now, scroll up for a Lydia-centric cheery post about our summer days. :)
Note the past tense. After lots of discussions and research, Robin and I have settled on living in south Minneapolis. Not the best location in regards to my school, but when we combined all the pieces and compared neighborhoods that we were excited about, south Minneapolis seemed to be the one that fit best what we were looking for, so I got going on daycare searches.
I contacted a future coworker, and she hooked me up with some suggestions, and I also began a search through a source given to me by a college friend. Then, on a whim, I checked the school that my cousin sends her daughter, Ella. For some reason, I thought it was in a different location than it actually is, and lo and behold, it isn't too far from the neighborhood where we're looking. Within ten minutes, I called the school and left a message, and contacted my cousin, Melissa, who also put in a call for us. Long story short, we have a daycare, and we are super, super excited. We are excited about the center and their mission (more on that in a future post), excited about the location and that Robin and I will be able to share pick-up and drop-off responsibilities, excited that they have hours that will allow us to have Lydia at home two afternoons a week, one with Robin and one with my parents, excited that we have such strong recommendations from family members, excited that Lydia will be able to see Ella on a regular basis and form a relationship--all of that. I am elated, and a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. Yes! Also, let the record show that in this situation, Robin proved to be right. It took all of forty-eight hours to get in touch with the school, talk with them, and secure a spot. I know that several readers are rolling their eyes at our luck, but I wanted to put out there that sometimes, things DO work out.
On the home search front, we are not so sure of anything, but we have some idea of what we're going to do. Our house in Austin has yet to sell, so it's quite probable that we'll rent something in the neighborhood where we're hoping to buy once we get an offer on our Austin home, and I'm feeling more at peace and less anxious. I've even let myself start dreaming of the things that we will be able to do come late summer and fall. While the logistics of moving cross-country are nightmarish, they are necessary to get back to where we want to be, so that helps temper frustration.
And now, scroll up for a Lydia-centric cheery post about our summer days. :)
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Bittersweet
In spring of 2004, Robin and I were boyfriend and girlfriend, living in the Twin Cities. Looking for an adventure and a new place to live after graduation, we headed to Austin, TX--I to attend graduate school and Robin to begin his career. Knowing that we would most likely spend our lives together and wanted to raise a family in the midwest with childhoods very much like our own, we planned to return north in five years. We felt that five years would allow us to give a new place a good run, and we wanted to feel like we were really making the choice to settle down so close to both of our hometowns rather than live there by default.
Seven years later, Austin has become so much more than a place to have fun before we grew roots--it is the place where we got engaged, lived as newlyweds, bought our first home and built our second, where we developed our professional identities, learned that we were pregnant and welcomed our first child. Austin is where we really become "us" and learned how to be a family. For those of you who read Robin's very sweet Mother's Day post, this will not come as a tremendous surprise, but it is with very bittersweet emotions that I announce our plans to relocate to Minnesota this summer.
Minnesota has always felt like home, and each time I've left over the past seven years, I have felt an almost desperate need for the reassurance that one day, Robin and I and now Lydia would return for good. Each fall when the leaves in Minesota are turning colors and we are still enduring ridiculous heat, each winter when Christmas is coming and I'm pumping gas in short sleeves, I have felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Robin and I both have missed the culture, the Twin Cities, our friends and family, and even the weather, and this year, we knew a move was right. I began my job search in February, and during a time when so many people are looking for work, I was very fortunate to be offered a teaching position at a school in Brooklyn Park.
While there is so much to look forward to and be happy about, I have found myself overcome with lots of sadness during the past couple weeks as this move becomes more real. We will be leaving behind a lot. Friends that have come to feel like family, family members in Austin that have come to be good friends, coworkers who have been a daily source of laughter, love, and support, and all of Lydia's friends--children that we love dearly and have been privileged to see on a regular basis--kids that we would gladly raise as our own. We have spent the past seven years maintaining long distance friendships, so we know that the relationships we have built here will not vanish, but still, the emotional weight of saying goodbye to an entire community is very real.
Logistically, our house is on the market, we're searching for daycares in Brooklyn Park, and are in the beginning stages of our house search in the Twin Cities. Moving dates are not yet set, especially since it is looking like Robin will have to remain in Austin a bit longer than Lydia and I, and I am currently performing acrobatics as I jump through the hoops of the Minnesota Department of Education. It is a good thing that we intend to stay in Minnesota permanently, because the bureaucracy of becoming certified in a new state is enough to send me over the edge. Along with all of this, we are trying to process the idea of life in an old/new place and dream of what our new life will look like while attempting to relish every last moment in Austin and spend as much time with friends as possible.
There will be lots of updates to come, but for now, I wanted everything to be out in the open--so much is on the horizon.
Seven years later, Austin has become so much more than a place to have fun before we grew roots--it is the place where we got engaged, lived as newlyweds, bought our first home and built our second, where we developed our professional identities, learned that we were pregnant and welcomed our first child. Austin is where we really become "us" and learned how to be a family. For those of you who read Robin's very sweet Mother's Day post, this will not come as a tremendous surprise, but it is with very bittersweet emotions that I announce our plans to relocate to Minnesota this summer.
Minnesota has always felt like home, and each time I've left over the past seven years, I have felt an almost desperate need for the reassurance that one day, Robin and I and now Lydia would return for good. Each fall when the leaves in Minesota are turning colors and we are still enduring ridiculous heat, each winter when Christmas is coming and I'm pumping gas in short sleeves, I have felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Robin and I both have missed the culture, the Twin Cities, our friends and family, and even the weather, and this year, we knew a move was right. I began my job search in February, and during a time when so many people are looking for work, I was very fortunate to be offered a teaching position at a school in Brooklyn Park.
While there is so much to look forward to and be happy about, I have found myself overcome with lots of sadness during the past couple weeks as this move becomes more real. We will be leaving behind a lot. Friends that have come to feel like family, family members in Austin that have come to be good friends, coworkers who have been a daily source of laughter, love, and support, and all of Lydia's friends--children that we love dearly and have been privileged to see on a regular basis--kids that we would gladly raise as our own. We have spent the past seven years maintaining long distance friendships, so we know that the relationships we have built here will not vanish, but still, the emotional weight of saying goodbye to an entire community is very real.
Logistically, our house is on the market, we're searching for daycares in Brooklyn Park, and are in the beginning stages of our house search in the Twin Cities. Moving dates are not yet set, especially since it is looking like Robin will have to remain in Austin a bit longer than Lydia and I, and I am currently performing acrobatics as I jump through the hoops of the Minnesota Department of Education. It is a good thing that we intend to stay in Minnesota permanently, because the bureaucracy of becoming certified in a new state is enough to send me over the edge. Along with all of this, we are trying to process the idea of life in an old/new place and dream of what our new life will look like while attempting to relish every last moment in Austin and spend as much time with friends as possible.
There will be lots of updates to come, but for now, I wanted everything to be out in the open--so much is on the horizon.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Mothers' Month
That's right, this post is actually not late because I am officially calling May 2011 'Mothers' Month' and I'll tell you why: because Laurie is -- and has always been -- a quiet sort of rock star. She's the kind of rock star you don't always recognize when you're sitting next to them at the coffee shop, but you kind of feel like it must be someone important.
Mothers' Day -- now 3 weeks ago -- was great. We made our second annual trip out to Pedernales Falls State Park. It's about an hour out of town, west into the Hill country. It was one of the first real sticky days of summer (of course, barely into May). The kind when beads of sweat can't find anywhere to go and just linger on your forehead all day. We hiked down to a perfectly Texas setting; shallow water loafing along between huge Cypress roots and shaded rock outcroppings. We sat, got warm, cooled off in the water and sat some more. On the way home Lydia showed us that she could hold up "2" fingers, indicating her age. She was very proud.
Laurie is excellent at capturing the parts of Lydia's childhood that she knows Lydia will herself one day want to see and remember. She so diligently documents the obscure and seemingly unimportant moments from day to day. I make fun of her for it and I know Lydia will make fun of her for it, at first. But the opportunity to look back and see one's childhood in a way that didn't even exist when we were growing up -- in almost flip-book completeness -- will be treasured.
Laurie is great at all the stand-by motherly instinct sort of things -- like knowing that Lydia is in fact sick and needs to go to the doctor even though she's not showing any unique symptoms (ear infection -- Laurie just knew; I argued and was wrong); like never leaving the house without sunscreen, bug repellent, toys and snacks, and a camera bag (see above); like instilling in Lydia a nighttime routine of saying prayers and expressing gratitude for the people in her life (as opposed to my desire to jump on the bed and tell scary stories).
Laurie is also an excellent teacher. I have always told her this and she always believed me somewhere deep down inside. Thanks to Texas test standards, she can no longer argue with me. She has built herself an enviable resume that (and there will be a great deal more on this) has landed her a position in a highly competitive Twin Cities teaching market. She is passionate about her work, successful in her execution, and everyone around her can see it. She is equally loyal and committed to her co-workers and her students as to her best friends. This is not lost on a two-year old. Lydia's perception of emotion -- and even the intensity of those emotions -- is fantastic. Lydia will grow up knowing that her mother is not only passionate about her career, but that her desire to succeed results in tangible, positive change in people's lives; that her mother's career is an important -- even indispensable -- part of civic life. This makes me incredibly proud of her. It will make Lydia proud of her, and it makes her a wonderful and unique role model of a mother.
May Happenings
A family reunion in Wisconsin...
...for Lydia's Great-Grandparents' 70th wedding anniversary;
a day at the splash pad;
and Lydia's new obsession with the spice drawer.
...for Lydia's Great-Grandparents' 70th wedding anniversary;
a day at the splash pad;
and Lydia's new obsession with the spice drawer.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Two Kisses for Maddy
In my junior seminar in college, I got into an argument with a guy named Steve Fletcher. He said he hated personal narratives and felt that a major fault of our American culture was that we don't see social problems as important until we have a face to represent the issue--that millions of people can die in the holocaust, but we only really care after we read the diary of Anne Frank. A huge champion of memoirs and personal narratives, I took offense, and we had a civilized, academic disagreement. I understood his point but didn't see this as a reason to criticize personal stories, nor did I see it fair to criticize people that come to represent larger problems.
Fast-forward. Over two years ago, I turned on an episode of Oprah and saw Matt Logelin. (Yes, there will be a connection. Stick with me.) I have followed his blog since then, even quoting an essay he wrote in one of my favorite posts. For those that don't know, Matt writes a famous blog about his family's story; his wife Liz gave birth to their daughter Madeline in March of 2008 and died suddenly 27 hours later. Matt continued to blog through the experience, and has since garnered a huge internet following and founded a foundation in his wife's honor to provide assistance for widows and widowers with children. About a year ago, Matt announced that he was going to be writing a book about his family's story. When he announced his upcoming book tour, I sent Matt an email asking him to come to Austin. I'm pretty sure I made a really audible noise when I got a reply from Matt telling me he would indeed be coming to read at BookPeople.
On Tuesday, Matt Logelin did a book reading and signing at BookPeople. Our good friend Elizabeth, official big deal at Book People (I'm pretty sure that's her job title), introduced Matt (seriously, she's cool) and totally blew my cover when she talked about how obsessed we both have been with his blog, so I will readily admit that when I spotted him the first time I geeked out in a way that may or may not have been similar to when I saw a pop group (read: boy band) my freshman year in college. My moment of no composure was witnessed by at least two people that are a very regular part of my life, and I'm pretty sure I will have a difficult time looking Brian Contine in the face for a long time.
Matt read from Two Kisses for Maddy, his memoir, and then spent a long time willingly answering questions from his audience. I was struck by how authentic and approachable he seemed. Over three years later, the journey Matt has walked with his daughter continues to amaze me, even moreso after I listened to him talk about his wife's death and his experience since then as a father, widow, and writer. New York Times bestselling author and guest of Oprah aside, Matt said some things that struck me as a parent--on how he has managed to maintain his sense of self while becoming a single parent, on how to talk to a three year old about death, and loving your child. As I told Matt in my original email, his story has made me a better parent and serves as a constant reminder that it is a privilege to be a mother. I feel so fortunate that he has continued to be willing to share his daughter and his former wife with me and thousands of other readers.
After Matt read, Jessica and I lined up to get our books signed. The line was long and Matt took the time to talk to everyone as he signed their book covers, posing for pictures, kissing babies, you know, the usual. (So maybe babies weren't actually kissed--but he definitely understood the importance of baby compliments.) Then comes the cool part: he asked everyone to join him for drinks. Now, this was a Tuesday, and I was not feeling well, plus I knew I would spend the next morning faking my way through a four-hour science review with a classroom of sophomores. Regardless, you know Jessica and I were on it. So yes, we headed to the Driskill and met up with a group of fellow blog readers to have drinks with Mr. Logelin.
It was awesome on so many levels. Obviously, a night out on a weekday with a new group of people is always appreciated for this mom/teacher. Also obviously, I pretty much idolize this guy. I know way more about him (from the blog of course) than makes me comfortable--I feel a bit creepy. Anyway, I adore his daughter, and I smiled every time he mentioned Maddy from the realization that it was the same Maddy I have grown to love through stories, pictures, and videos. Most importantly, though, Matt is incredibly real. He is kind, interested, and easy to talk to. He is exactly the person that comes through in his blog and book, and while he is incredibly self-deprecating and compares his writing to a third grader, I have spent five years attempting to get my students to convey themselves in writing the way that on Tuesday, I confirmed Matt does. (Matt, if you ever read this, I give As for authenticity. You get an A.)
Since Tuesday, I have been thinking a lot about Matt's story. I have revisited the early entries to his blog and started reading his book again. I have brought it to school and shared it with my students, telling them about my exciting moment as a reader when I was able to not only meet but share a drink with a writer that I have followed for years. (I told them food which isn't a lie. I shared a lamb slider at the Driskill.) As I have watched some of them embrace the story in the same way that I did two years ago, I have noticed my own reading change. Initially when we hear tragic, shocking stories, I think the normal thing for most of us to do is think, "What if that happened to me?" and two years ago, that's what I did.
I've realized that while I came to love Matt, Liz, and Maddy and cried for them over the past two years, I was thinking about myself a lot. What if I hadn't been able to mother Lydia over these past two years? What if Robin and Lydia were alone? I won't lie, the "What If"s are still there when I read, but now there is a person attached to the story that is not me. If only for an hour or so, I hung out with the guy that wrote about his wife collapsing in his arms, the guy who carried his daughter out of the hospital without her mother, the guy who, instead of laying down, allowed his love for his daughter to propel him forward and make him into a great father and an advocate for so many people in need. I won't lie, the story feels so different now and so much more important (and those that know me know it was really important to me before), and yes, there have been many more tears as I have revisited Two Kisses for Maddy, now for the guy across from me drinking a beer and all of the other people who find themselves in similar shoes--suddenly alone with children.
So back to Steve Fletcher and my argument years ago, I still feel like it would be ideal for people to understand a problem is a serious just by hearing about it in terms of statistics or in vague, general mention, but personal narratives are often the vehicle to an awareness and understanding of the larger issue. I still don't believe that people only care about the individual they come to know and love via a personal story. The connection between the individual and the larger issue is necessary to make, but as long as it happens, we're all okay. Yet again, Matt and his love for Liz and Maddy have allowed me some personal realizations. If that's not a testament to the power of a story, writing, and a person, I don't know what is. I will never not ask myself "What If" when reading stories--I teach my students that's what good readers do--but in the meantime, I will strive to allow for true, powerful narratives to pave the way to a better understanding of real life issues, and I think Matt, Liz, and their daughter's story, encapsulated in Two Kisses for Maddy, does that.
Thanks Matt, for the visit to Austin, for sharing a drink, for listening to me rant about standardized tests, and allowing us to share your story. It is a privilege.
Fast-forward. Over two years ago, I turned on an episode of Oprah and saw Matt Logelin. (Yes, there will be a connection. Stick with me.) I have followed his blog since then, even quoting an essay he wrote in one of my favorite posts. For those that don't know, Matt writes a famous blog about his family's story; his wife Liz gave birth to their daughter Madeline in March of 2008 and died suddenly 27 hours later. Matt continued to blog through the experience, and has since garnered a huge internet following and founded a foundation in his wife's honor to provide assistance for widows and widowers with children. About a year ago, Matt announced that he was going to be writing a book about his family's story. When he announced his upcoming book tour, I sent Matt an email asking him to come to Austin. I'm pretty sure I made a really audible noise when I got a reply from Matt telling me he would indeed be coming to read at BookPeople.
On Tuesday, Matt Logelin did a book reading and signing at BookPeople. Our good friend Elizabeth, official big deal at Book People (I'm pretty sure that's her job title), introduced Matt (seriously, she's cool) and totally blew my cover when she talked about how obsessed we both have been with his blog, so I will readily admit that when I spotted him the first time I geeked out in a way that may or may not have been similar to when I saw a pop group (read: boy band) my freshman year in college. My moment of no composure was witnessed by at least two people that are a very regular part of my life, and I'm pretty sure I will have a difficult time looking Brian Contine in the face for a long time.
Matt read from Two Kisses for Maddy, his memoir, and then spent a long time willingly answering questions from his audience. I was struck by how authentic and approachable he seemed. Over three years later, the journey Matt has walked with his daughter continues to amaze me, even moreso after I listened to him talk about his wife's death and his experience since then as a father, widow, and writer. New York Times bestselling author and guest of Oprah aside, Matt said some things that struck me as a parent--on how he has managed to maintain his sense of self while becoming a single parent, on how to talk to a three year old about death, and loving your child. As I told Matt in my original email, his story has made me a better parent and serves as a constant reminder that it is a privilege to be a mother. I feel so fortunate that he has continued to be willing to share his daughter and his former wife with me and thousands of other readers.
After Matt read, Jessica and I lined up to get our books signed. The line was long and Matt took the time to talk to everyone as he signed their book covers, posing for pictures, kissing babies, you know, the usual. (So maybe babies weren't actually kissed--but he definitely understood the importance of baby compliments.) Then comes the cool part: he asked everyone to join him for drinks. Now, this was a Tuesday, and I was not feeling well, plus I knew I would spend the next morning faking my way through a four-hour science review with a classroom of sophomores. Regardless, you know Jessica and I were on it. So yes, we headed to the Driskill and met up with a group of fellow blog readers to have drinks with Mr. Logelin.
It was awesome on so many levels. Obviously, a night out on a weekday with a new group of people is always appreciated for this mom/teacher. Also obviously, I pretty much idolize this guy. I know way more about him (from the blog of course) than makes me comfortable--I feel a bit creepy. Anyway, I adore his daughter, and I smiled every time he mentioned Maddy from the realization that it was the same Maddy I have grown to love through stories, pictures, and videos. Most importantly, though, Matt is incredibly real. He is kind, interested, and easy to talk to. He is exactly the person that comes through in his blog and book, and while he is incredibly self-deprecating and compares his writing to a third grader, I have spent five years attempting to get my students to convey themselves in writing the way that on Tuesday, I confirmed Matt does. (Matt, if you ever read this, I give As for authenticity. You get an A.)
Since Tuesday, I have been thinking a lot about Matt's story. I have revisited the early entries to his blog and started reading his book again. I have brought it to school and shared it with my students, telling them about my exciting moment as a reader when I was able to not only meet but share a drink with a writer that I have followed for years. (I told them food which isn't a lie. I shared a lamb slider at the Driskill.) As I have watched some of them embrace the story in the same way that I did two years ago, I have noticed my own reading change. Initially when we hear tragic, shocking stories, I think the normal thing for most of us to do is think, "What if that happened to me?" and two years ago, that's what I did.
I've realized that while I came to love Matt, Liz, and Maddy and cried for them over the past two years, I was thinking about myself a lot. What if I hadn't been able to mother Lydia over these past two years? What if Robin and Lydia were alone? I won't lie, the "What If"s are still there when I read, but now there is a person attached to the story that is not me. If only for an hour or so, I hung out with the guy that wrote about his wife collapsing in his arms, the guy who carried his daughter out of the hospital without her mother, the guy who, instead of laying down, allowed his love for his daughter to propel him forward and make him into a great father and an advocate for so many people in need. I won't lie, the story feels so different now and so much more important (and those that know me know it was really important to me before), and yes, there have been many more tears as I have revisited Two Kisses for Maddy, now for the guy across from me drinking a beer and all of the other people who find themselves in similar shoes--suddenly alone with children.
So back to Steve Fletcher and my argument years ago, I still feel like it would be ideal for people to understand a problem is a serious just by hearing about it in terms of statistics or in vague, general mention, but personal narratives are often the vehicle to an awareness and understanding of the larger issue. I still don't believe that people only care about the individual they come to know and love via a personal story. The connection between the individual and the larger issue is necessary to make, but as long as it happens, we're all okay. Yet again, Matt and his love for Liz and Maddy have allowed me some personal realizations. If that's not a testament to the power of a story, writing, and a person, I don't know what is. I will never not ask myself "What If" when reading stories--I teach my students that's what good readers do--but in the meantime, I will strive to allow for true, powerful narratives to pave the way to a better understanding of real life issues, and I think Matt, Liz, and their daughter's story, encapsulated in Two Kisses for Maddy, does that.
Thanks Matt, for the visit to Austin, for sharing a drink, for listening to me rant about standardized tests, and allowing us to share your story. It is a privilege.
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