Someone find a dog...to chase the FCAT away!

It begins tomorrow. The dreaded FCAT. For those of you who are not aware, the FCAT is the Florida Comprehensive Assessment Test, otherwise known as the FCAT. This is a test that has been designed to comply with the No Child Left Behind policy that states must have a way to test all students in 3rd -12th grade. In third grade, students who do not pass the FCAT do not pass third grade. Even if they have all A's and B's, from their teacher, even if their teacher, parents and principals believe they should move on to 4th, they don't. Because they did not pass a stupid test. Two years ago I had six kids who failed. Last year, no one. This year, who knows? I have had a 9 year old with ulcers who could not sleep because he was worried about the FCAT. This was my brightest student who ended up passing with no problem, but ulcers?

My kids have already taken the "FCAT Writes" also known as "Florida Writes" which is supposed to prove how well my kids can spit out an essay. I will tell you right now, I have 5 kids who will fail. Three of whom will fail because their first language is not English and another child because he has such difficulty writing that he has special writing help. Another child I have will fail because he wrote 3 sentences in the 40 minute period the test was given. This is a child who can write, but only when he feels like it. That day, he did not feel like it. I have an entire folder of items these children have written. I have pages and pages of documentation showing their progress throughout the year. But none of that will count, because the test of their writing skill is based on whether or not they can write about their "special day" or their "special pet" in 40 minutes.

We use curriculum maps to plan out the pace of the school year. One for each subject area. According to the county, there are many things in math I don't have to teach until April and May. But guess what, folks? THOSE THINGS ARE TESTED ON THE FCAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So my choices become either shove 6 units of math down my kids throats in 3 weeks or keep to the guide and let them feel completely panicked when they come upon a questions they have never seen before! Guess what I pick?

Why do I have to shove in down their throats in 3 weeks you ask? Because according to the guides, I am only supposed to spend 5 days on division. Well you know, my kids did not understand division in 5 days. If they do not understand division, they will not understand fractions, decimals or word problems. So I have to spend extra time teaching them division. Which I should be doing. However, when this time of year rolls around, (and I swear every year that I am not going to do this) there are a bunch of things we have not gotten to. AND THEY ARE ON THE TEST!!!!! So we cram. Today, we learned probability. in 10 minutes.

Now, all I can do is hope that they are relaxed enough to take this thing.

And I did not push him!

Yesterday, my husband jumped out of a plane. On purpose.

I am just going to let that sit for a moment.

Apparently this has been a dream of his. So, for Christmas this year I got him a sky dive. We actually live near the "Skydive Capital" of the world and the place where the tandem jump was invented. In fact, I can see the jumpers all the time when my class is outside because we are across the street from the airport. I never thought I would be looking up and waiting for Michael to land.

So I decided that since we live here now, and he has always wanted to do this, and we do not have kids yet, I will let him leap 14,000 feet and hope for the best. Here is what I learned about skydiving, or, actually, being the one on the ground:

1. It takes a really long time from the time you sign the "Sorry you died, but you can't sue us" papers to the actual jump, about 3 hours.

2. Make sure you know what color suit you beloved has on. That way, you can at least think you see them coming down.

3.Take friends. I would have been a lot more nervous if I had not had some friends there watching with me.

4. Pay for the pictures and the video. They are expensive, but worth it. Because I can tell you this will never happen again. Here is the proof. Plus, when you watch the video, you can hear you spouse say things like " I cannot believe I did that." and then agree.

5. Do not tell your parents you are going to do it until after you are back on the ground safely. When you do tell them, make sure you do not tell them when they are driving.

6. Be happy you did it once and know that you NEVER have to do it again.

I Hate BASKETBALL!

Tonight is one of what seems to be 1,000,000 Duke v. North Carolina games. ( I think there are really, like 4) And as much as I hate football, the sight of a grown, 33 year old man rocking back and forth like an autistic child in front of the t.v. really sticks in my craw. 

He will yell, he will scream, he will moan, and if they lose, he will punch things. He will speak to people who are not there ( I know, I know, we all do it, but I do it maybe once or twice a night. This will be constant for 3 hours) and when I have the nerve or audacity to actually answer him or ask "what?" I will get a very annoyed "I am not talking to you!" 

Losing will involve 2 days of pouting and even more screaming at the next game. I really do wonder, what do women get as worked up about? Maybe it's because women tend to spread emotion out through the whole day and men seem to save it up for these moments that it all seems to alien to me. I thank the universe that there is a sports bar across the street where he can go for football and March Madness. MM is right around the corner and if things don't let up around here, Michael will learn the true meaning of Madness in March.

Family Memories (not my own)

My couisin Claudia wrote this on her blog (see Italian cook-right) about my Grandfather. I never knew this stuff before, and I am grateful to her for doing it.

Everybody Needs an Uncle Rocky - Food e Famiglia
It is Sunday. And in my family, Sunday meant pasta. While the rest of America was sitting down to the aroma of a good roast, my family was sitting down to pasta (or macaroni as we called it - even if it was spaghettini, linguine, penne - it was all macaroni). Bones had been sauteed Sunday morning (with a little olive oil garlic, onion,maybe some basil, maybe a little fennel) - each according to their mother's recipe or their current whims. Meatballs were fashioned with a drop of milk - or water (t0 make them light). Each Gresio sister, brother and sister-in-law developed their own recipe. Each was the lightest, most flavorful and each would query from time to time as to which meatball/sauce/lasagna was the best - if you were smart you remained mum. ("I couldn't possibly choose!")

Sunday was for visiting. The gas stations were closed. Stores were closed. The hours loomed ahead with nothing on the agenda but hope that you might go for a drive or someone would do the drive to visit you. There would often be a congregation at Aunt Rose's(true to Italian family style - all of four blocks away). There was nothing to celebrate - just people coming and going because they had to get home for dinner preparations. And dinner preparations meant "pasta." As Uncle Rocky said his good-byes (very noisily and very, very quickly) he would inquire as to what they were preparing dinner. With each family announcing their plans for a Sunday pasta dinner - he would approve and exclaim loudly, "Aren't we the luckiest people in the world! Some people are having a roast. But we are sitting around a table having macaroni. Everyone should be Italian! Everyone should have macaroni for Sunday diner!" And with a flash he was gone. Or rather - he would be sitting in his car for fifteen minutes waiting for his wife. Aunt Annette did not make her round of good-byes as quickly as her husband."Everyone should have macaroni for Sunday dinner" was a rule I agreed with - heartily. I must also add that "Everyone should have an Uncle Rocky."

Unflailingly positive, he would show up at my performances unexpectedly. He would make the drive from Long Island to Staten Island (not the easiest commute) to see me in a play. I would quickly know he was there. Nobody laughed more heartily or more loudly. Even in a drama. Afterwards, he would greet me. I was always by far "the best thing in the play." The others were fine but it was his niece who stood out. The fact that this was proclaimed rather loudly would sometimes affect my seventeen year old sensibilites. But later that night, I slept the sleep of someone who had been given unwavering approval. Something a seventeen-year-old also needs.In my early twenties I was a spectacularly unsuccessful actress in New York. I had artsy jobs that paid nothing and two waitress jobs that paid the bills. Uncle Rocky was ill and hospitalized "in the city." Not far from my apartment (using the term "apartment" loosely). I took to visiting him at odd times. We discussed the world, family, pasta, wine, family, pasta, wine, my career, family, wine. In my twenties I was just getting to know the person that was my uncle. I suddenly appreciated his fierceness and loyalty to his family and heritage. The way he embraced it all and never looked back. On the morning that he was being released to go home, I called to say I would try to see him on Long Island. What I really was calling to say, "I appreciate our talks." There was no answer and the phone was passed from nurse to doctor and to another doctor. I knew there would be no more conversations. I had had them just in time.

Bereft, I called a friend. A friend who patiently listened to every story I had to tell about my relatives. Over and over. A friend who had truly listened to them. Because she said, We're going out. I'll meet you at the Trattoria. We're going to have pasta tonight. For Uncle Rocky."

The Boy I'm Gonna Marry

This is my favorite picture of Michael. He's 13. It's his Bar Mitzvah. He has a pocket square as big as his head. And until 3 weeks ago, it was the last time he bought a suit.

WELCOME!

I figure it's time for me and the blog to get close. As my mother-in-law says,I am turning into "one of those blog people." I have been a lurker for a long time, reading the hilarious and touching adventures and mis-adventures of friends and, in turn, their friends. I have discovered some amazing people along the way, and been put in touch with some great resources. Now I am not, repeat NOT, going to do this every day (sure...I say that now!) but this is as good a place as any for me to rant, rave, and generally remain in high dugeon. I picked the title because I felt it was a good theme for living, although I am famous for my high decible level. So....welcome, enjoy. And don't forget the ear plugs.