Georgetown

Highlights from our weekend with MotherCheer and TheBoss

• familiar faces and family finally
  
• Georgetown Inn (and watching MotherCheer run the customer service people around and around to make us happy. It was inspiring.)
• the C&O Canal Tour
• Georgetown Cupcake
• Michael's new shoes (to replace the old ones which he has hand since, get this, 8TH GRADE. After I poked my finger through the bottom of the sole I felt guilty for eating out once a week and buying the occasional "luxury items," as Mikey deemed them, at Safeway like string cheese).
  
• Anthropologie (even though it makes me want to spend a lot of money and possibly stow away in the store for a few days)
• Ben's Chili Bowl. The chili, the dogs, the fries, were all excellent. Obama ate there once. We ordered the same thing he did.
  
• The monuments at night. It doesn't matter how many times I see them lit up, I am moved everytime. There is a certain patriotic magesty on The National Mall at night.
• Sleeping in. And sleeping in a King-sized bed. We did snow angels, well, sheet angels. Simultaneously.
• Riding bikes all over DC. It was such a great way to get out, get moving, and cover nearly the entire district.
• The grand opening of the old building in Eastern Market (it burned down last summer). I've never seen the market so crowded. And full of balloons!
  
• Nick's Riverside Grille. We ate right on the harbor and watched the sun set. The night was perfect.
• Showing off our cool ward out here.
• Mount Vernon. It was one of the first times Mikey has really wanted to live out here. The view over the Potomac really was breath-taking.
• Perfect weather. For four days straight. (Minus the 15 minute MONSOON that MotherCheer so courageously wanted to run through. We did. And we got soaked to the bone).
  

Bugs

One leg. 23 mosquito bites. Welcome to summer in the DC swamp. It wouldn't be so bad, the average person probably only sustains a few bites here and there. But A) mosquitoes love me and B) I spend my days at the park or building forts (which Mikey started and it is quite impressive). My first stop on the way to work this morning was to get some Cortisone Cream and some bug spray to try and fight back.

Fireflies! They are so magical. I remember the first time I saw them. I was out here two years ago and walking around the monuments at night with Lil'Lou. I literally thought I was suddenly dizzy and seeing stars. I asked her if I was dizzy and she looked at me like, "What? How should I know?" But then we were both convinced that we were dizzy until Marmo called us on our stupidity and pointed out that they were fireflies. Duh. I have become obsessed. Mikey got a good laugh last night when he came into the kitchen and I was reading up on how they make themselves light up. I was curious and this is the BLESSING OF MODERN TECHNOLOGY. Worlds of information are at your finger tips.

This morning Mikey yelled from the shower (aka the other side of the room) "Paige, do you know where my glasses are?!" He sounded panicked. I was still laying in bed at this point and so I fumbled around with my hands before drowsily answering, "Uh, no." "There's a big bug in the shower and I have to see it so I can get it out." I got out of bed and handed him my glasses. "No. I'm not wearing those." "Why? It's just to kill a bug. We basically have the same prescription." He slapped them on his face and next thing I know is whacking at the bug in the shower--WHICH WAS ON--with the ENTIRE PAPER TOWEL ROLL. Now I ask, why didn't he just grab a single paper towel and grab it? Who knows. All I know is that it looked like a light brown feather. It was big. And fluttery. And centipedey.

Safe

I was at work yesterday when I got a phone call from Mikey, "Hey love, we're stuck underground--the train is moving really slo--" and then he cut out. I wasn't too worried. I had my own 2 hour commute a few weeks ago when a train in front of us with technical problems kept stalling. But after PapaBear sent me a text asking if we were on the Red Line and if were alright, I got a little panicky. Mikey was coming to meet me on the Red Line.

Luckily, I heard a knock moments after that text and Mikey came in and pulled me close. I called PapaBear and he was the first to tell me about the crash on the Metro that, up to that point, was reported to have killed just one person. I hadn't had a clue. I spend my day with little boys talking about space, drawing pictures of rockets, and racing to the next street corner. Current events seem worlds away.

Current reports on the accident say the death toll is up to 9. We got an email last night from our Bishopric, asking us to check on our home and visiting teachees, especially those who live alone, and make sure that our numerous ward members who travel that stretch of track every day were alright.

We feel so blessed to have our prayers answered everyday. When events like this take place I so quickly remember all of the ways that our prayers for safety each morning are answered. Mikey and I have felt the hand of the Lord in our lives so frequently as we have begun our lives together, and we are continually finding that by relying on him, our lives are more rich, and full, and safe!

This morning the Metro was reverent. I traveled on the red line on the second leg of my commute and the tone of the passenger's voices were hushed. It was like we were collectively remembering and thanking. A woman behind me was telling the woman next to her that she had a sister on the train just ahead of the one that was hit. Another man said that he had a co-worker on board one of the trains in the accident but miraculously walked away completely unscathed. 

As we zoomed down the dark tunnels beneath the hustling life above ground it felt, in a small way, like we were close to those who would soon be buried there. There was an unspoken understanding that we need to remember them and remember also, how we are blessed.

NYC

Here's a little vid. We loved the city. I'm sold. Ready to settle there. Mikey's not as sure . . . yet.

We got a lot of great footage, had such a fun time with Muncle Cat, and came back thinking that DC is so, so tiny!

Luckylove

Today after an hour commute to work, 9+ hours at work, and nearly an hour commute back home, I found a bouquet of flowers, a clean kitchen, and a very proud and smiling husband. I love him.

He also took my film to get developed and bought me two new rolls for New York City this weekend. Could I have lucked out any more? Doubt it.

I'm a lucky girl.

Thanks Mikey.

Carry a big stick...and then speak softly

I remember my high school days watching President Bush saying: "Freedom is the Almighty's gift to the world." While I believed in that general principle then, after growing up, going on a mission and studying world cultures, I began to think that Bush was stretching the principle a bit too far in order to justify the Iraq War's imposition of democracy. This is what most smart people thought. The sophisticated world of the past five years criticized Bush for his unyielding conviction--which yes, sometimes seemed nothing more than his "gut" feeling--of believing that all people would embrace democracy if they had the chance.

"Yeah, right," the academics said, arguing that democracy is virtually insoluble with some cultures. In 2004, Fareed Zakaria wrote a prominent work about the massive cultural and political roadblocks that would have to be removed in order for democracy to take root in the Islamic world: Surely, much more than just tearing down the statue of Sadam Hussein.

Five years later, everything has changed. Zakaria is whistling a different tune. Democracy is all of the sudden within reach not only in Iraq but also Lebanon and Iran.

Of Iraqi and Lebanese democracy, Tom Friedman writes:

"For real politics to happen you need space. There are a million things to hate about President Bush’s costly and wrenching wars. But the fact is, in ousting Saddam in Iraq in 2003 and mobilizing the U.N. to push Syria out of Lebanon in 2005, he opened space for real democratic politics that had not existed in Iraq or Lebanon for decades. “Bush had a simple idea, that the Arabs could be democratic, and at that particular moment simple ideas were what was needed, even if he was disingenuous,” said Michael Young, the opinion editor of The Beirut Daily Star. “It was bolstered by the presence of a U.S. Army in the center of the Middle East. It created a sense that change was possible, that things did not always have to be as they were.”


I almost cheered when I read this, not because I worship Bush or loved the Iraq war, however. It was simply refreshing to hear from the NY Times that Iraq War does not equal Vietnam 2.0 and, even more than that, that Bush's idea, as unsophisticated as it was, is maybe true. Love him or hate him, there is something hopeful about believing in people's desire for democracy.

Bush, undoubetly, lacked tact. However, his successor has picked up where Bush left off. Make no mistake about it, Obama is thanking GW Bush right now. Bush created the opportunity for democracy and Obama is making the opportunity for democracy attractive with such overtures as his speech in Cairo. Had Barack Hussein Obama not been elected, the opporunity would have likely collasped. His image has helped make democracy seem more Muslim friendly.

So Bush and Obama have done some sort of reversal of a "good cop, bad cop" routine. Between the two of them, America has followed the policy of "carry a big stick... and then speak softly."

And suddenly, the combo is working...

Sticky

Sticky things I loved today:

Peach juice running down my arm
Peanut butter and honey sandwiches
Berries on the sidewalks
93% Humidity

Souvenirs

I walked into a gift shop of F street, you know, the kind I swore I would never set foot in while I was here because the last thing I want to do is get pegged as a tourist. I live here. But we needed to get a few postcards, and one who buys postcards is one who is most definitely a tourist. At least it's not too often that I send my friends, "Wish you were here" greetings from Provo . . .

The sight inside the gift shop was truly hilarious. There were two tour groups in there. One, a young group of Jewish school boys topped with yarmulkes and the second, a group of fairly severely handicapped adults. The commentary the groups made about the various objects stuffed in the shelves were so comical when juxtaposed.

But my favorite comment wasn't regarding the merchandise at all. Rather, it was spurred from the the music playing in the store. Britney Spears' Stronger came on the speakers and one of the boys started singing in his prepubescent soprano voice with his eyes closed and his body swaying. Another boy turned to his friend and said, "He must think he's the Britney Spears of Israel or something."

Patkalatulip

We were listing words that start with P at dinner on Thursday and Paddy (the 3-year-old) asserted that "patkalatulip" is a great word because it starts with P and ends with P. After inquiring about what "patkalatulip" means, we concluded that it might be a flower, but he forgot. But I can't get over how darling his little voice is.



We've also been working on a solar system to hang in the basement. Paddy and I worked on the sun for a few hours while GABBIN', the self-appointed, "expert on space" painted all of the planets with watercolors and cut them out. He informed me that the sun I was making had to be 900 times the size of jupiter (which took up just about the entire sheet of 8 1/2" x 11" paper he was painting it on). I assured him that the sun would definitely end up being that big. I have learned more about space during my time in DC this summer than I think I have in my whole life combined. I get factoids everyday, the trick is sorting out the made-up ones with the real ones.

The supplies.

GABBIN' and Paddy at work. We brought the collection of space books downstairs to use as references and ideas for what we need in our solar system. They also dressed in their space pajamas. We had a plethora of sources for inspiration.

The sun. Paddy ripped up the papers while I taped them all back together.

A solar flare. GABBIN' took the picture and informed me that "this is exactly what a solar flare looks like. I'm positive!"

Submit

I can't believe OlderAndWiserToo actually submitted her papers. I was positive she'd get swept up by some dashing engineer first, but alas it's true. They're in.

Submit your guess as to where in the world she's going here.

I couldn't be more proud. I look up to her and love her much much much. SO MUCH in fact, that while I guessed elsewhere, I really hope the she get's called to the Provo, Utah mission and hangs out with me.

Genius

It was my last day babysitting Mimic, the child prodigy. I didn't realize she was so smart until after numerous outings to the park and the bookstore and other kids her age would answer her nearly-complete-sentences with grunts and drool. (Which lead me to wonder what her IQ is. We've been reading Outliers by Malcom Gladwell and just finished the chapters on geniuses, all of whom could say something like a thousand words at age two. Mimic totally spouts off that many).

She also, at barely nineteen-months mind you, has decided to potty train herself. Sometimes I think she just likes the novelty of dangling her little legs of the edge of her tiny green potty, but other times she really goes (in which case I have been instructed to promptly thrust both of my arms straight into the air and do the Victory Baby Potty Dance). Today we did the dance eight times. EIGHT. But they were all within minutes of each other.

You see, when she "peeps" it's a pretty quick undertaking and it all comes in a single delivery. Today I had my first experience with "poop." First off, she insisted on being stripped completely nude. Pantsless wouldn't do, no, no, "Need shirt off. Shirt off. Shirt off . . . " I tried to tell her that her shirt really doesn't get in the way down there, but I didn't want a fight so we took off every last article of clothing she had on her little body. EVEN HER SOCKS had to come off.

Apparently she likes to prolong the process, force multiple flushes and multiple dances, all for what would have been a single diaper change. She sits there, obviously working pretty hard, and then gleefully jumps up and proclaims, "Flush it! FLUSH it! Poop! FLUSH IT!" Meanwhile I'm shouting "Yay! You did it! You went poop in the potty!" while spinning and throwing limbs this way and that. And for what? For a bowel movement ranging in size from a raisin to a baby carrot.

By the end I was pleading with her to just finish up already. My arms were getting tired. But then I reminded myself that this girl is one -- ONE -- and she's potty training herself. Enthusidad told me today that they randomly bought one because it was on sale. They didn't even introduce her to it. I think she just likes to mount up and dangle her legs off the edge of her little green potty to get adults to dance.

Childhood

I had this realization tonight as Mikey and I sat down at dinner that I have childhood beliefs deeply embedded in my head that I realize are way off base when I verbalize them.

Take tonight: We were eating tomato soup with these little spoons and Mikey turns to me and says, "My spoon is as shallow as a teaspoon. It takes four spoonfuls to merit a swallow. I could lap it up faster. "

"No you couldn't because you don't have pockets on your tongues like dogs."

"What?"

"Did I just say that? I remember thinking that as a kid but I didn't realize I never cleared it up in my head. Wow. You know what I just realized? People were probably telling me that dogs make a pocket with their tongue!"

"Wait, you seriously thought that?"

"Yes! Until just barely!"

Mikey made fun of me. Royally. But I deserved it.

Bookshop

After breakfast with another married couple from the Washington Seminar Program at Eastern Market (we ordered "Blue Bucks" - a.k.a. blueberry buckwheat pancakes - topped with pecans and give them an enthusiastic two thumbs up) they showed us a bookshop just paces from the market in a narrow white row home.

Saying that it was cramped is an understatement. I never knew you could fit so many books in one place. But not only did the quantity overwhelm and even entertain us, but the organization and little editorials of the books did as well.




I didn't know if it was some sort of political statement to locate the Latin American and Native American literature in the basement, but I did find it a completely logical place for the Sci-Fi section. It practically begged for Dungeon and Dragon geekazoid fans to complete the picture. I could just see them there, shrouded in thousands of David Eddings and Orson Scott Card novels rolling their dice. Classic.

To top it off, there were so many books that they even had to store some in the bathroom. What section merited the john?


Foreign Language of course. What else?

Tetris

Over Christmas break last year I discovered freetetris.org and as soon as the semester started I wished I hadn't. I was hooked, and when I was feeling restless with a project or I had been staring at the blinking cursor on my screen for a few seconds too long, I would frantically get on a play a few rounds. It spurred an obsession in my family, and my mom and I have been taking screen shots of our high scores and emailing them back and forth, just to rub in each other's faces how good we are.

I currently hold the record . . . I think.


I beat her out today. And the best part is that it is Tetris' birthday. Happy 25th Tetris. Beating my all-time high score felt like a good way of celebrating. Even Google is celebrating with a pretty, festive logo.

Navy

I thought that EnthusiDad's dog died this afternoon.

We went for a walk after Mimic's nap, a ritual we do everyday. He holds her until she's ready to be put down and the silently slips away while she's preoccupied with something and not crying for her daddy. We usually take the decrepit canine with us in hopes to slow the rigor mortis.

We rounded the corner on the way home and EnthusiDad noticed the dog was missing. He turned back to find the "Old girl" and I took the baby back to the house. Minutes later he came in, "I still can't find her," he said while donning a baseball cap and a jacket, "I'll be back."

Whoa, it was getting serious. Again he returned empty handed. "I'm not crazy right? She's not in the house is she?" "Nope," I replied. And then my mind started going through books and movies and recalling that, don't dogs go somewhere private when they die? Oh no. I realized that Navy must be dead under a tree somewhere. Didn't that happen in Where the Red Fern Grows? Marley and Me?!

My mind continued racing, envisioning the scene (that I was convinced, at this point, was about to take place) of Enthusidad crossing the threshold of the front door, grieving over Navydog's body in his arms and saying, "Shield the baby!" through a burst of tears before turning softly to the pooch, "She sure loved this old girl."

Then I wondered what he would do with the body when he found it. Would he really bring it inside? Bury it in the dog park? Take it to the vet? I began to look around the house at the pee pads shielding the rugs from the dog's incontinence problems, the dog dishes, the pictures . . . and I wondered, What will the house look like tomorrow with all of it gone?

Well the dog wasn't dead. The blind thing was at the wrong house's doorstep, waiting. But now I'm beginning to fear that I'll vicariously kill someone else's pet because I replayed the scenario in my head so many times.

Pray that it won't die at least until next Wednesday when I'm gone.

Skunks

I got on the Metro this morning and walked past the people standing in the door way and the few in the aisle of the train and sat in the only empty seat. It's odd that there was an empty seat and a dozen people standing. I mean, the man was on the heavy side, but there wasn't too much hang over into the next seat.

I wanted to read. So I sat down.

The man promptly turned and said, "You want to sit here?"
"Yeah, is that alright?"
"Yeah. Cool. Sure. . ."

He was wearing light blue cotton shorts and a over-sized purple tie-dyed t-shirt. His shoes had velcro and his eyes didn't track together. He reminded me slightly of a frog.

"So where do you work?" he asked me rather loudly for Metro conversation acceptability.
"I work out in Arlington" I replied, too quietly I suppose.
"Huh? Where?"
Louder this time, "Arlington."
"Oh. (pause) I work for the Department of Agriculture."
"Very cool. Good for you."

At this point I looked around to see how many people were glaring at us over their newspapers for violating their sacred, silent morning commute. All I wanted to do was read and I seized the brief silence to open my bag and reach for my book but he jumped in again, "I'm currently working on a project to legalize domestic skunks," he said in his slight southern drawl.

"Oh really?" Now I was sort of amused. Skunks? "Who would want a skunk as a pet?"

This launched us into a much-too-long conversation about how skunks make wonderful household pets. They lick your face and like their bellies rubbed. They're alot like dogs. (Sidenote: they're NOT a lot like dogs. They're like ferrets who make your whole house smell like pee). They ". . . come in all sorts of colors, ginger, apricot, peach, lavender, mahogany, and the classic black and white stripe."

Wow. What had I gotten myself into? I again looked around and saw mixed reactions to our COMPLETELY AUDIBLE (TO THE ENTIRE TRAIN) CONVERSATION ABOUT DOMESTICATED SKUNKS. Some people looked on with amusement, and others had the that's-why-I'm-not-sitting-there or I-told-you-so face on. Others seemed to pity me and think this is what happened to the last guy who sat there.

He mentioned to me earlier that his stop was Smithsonian, and with the doors open to the Smithsonian platform and him still talking to me, I quietly said, "Are we at Smithsonian?"

"Oh we are. Thank you ma'am. Mind if I leave you with a brochure?" I didn't mind at all.

Here's the cover:

Inside there was a donation slip he was sure to point out, and the brochure recounted the story of Aspen the Skunk who was euthanized for biting somebody. You can learn more about the Aspen Skunk Rabies Research Inc. at their website, http://www.aspenskunk.org/.

I almost died. It was too funny. What I had just experienced was so bizarre. And it totally beat reading.

Catch-up

Here are just a few pictures to brief you on some happenings (or give you visuals to those you already know about).

Last Friday after our day with Mimic we took a walk over to Georgetown and got caught in a downpour. Then we went and saw Up. We both cried. (We highly recommend it and after hearing about it for weeks on NPR and reading about it in the Post, we weren't disappointed. But it was odd to be in a children's movie with a bunch of geezers. I guess they all heard the reports too).

Babysitting, babysitting, babysitting . . . I have become a human napkin. I leave Mimic's house everyday smeared with three meals. Maybe I should be the one wearing the bib.

We walked home from the Smithsonian of American Art Museum and found this secret path behind some row houses just east of the Capitol. It is always so fun to share adventures together. Including . . .

Here is a picture from the flood. Yes that is Michael. Sweeping. Inches and inches of water. This is before Lorenzo arrived and sucked up the water with his Shop-Vac. (Thanks Lou).

Dull

There's never a dull moment 'round these part.

Tonight's excitement? A flood. Literally.

We were Skyping Marmo and Mogli when the storm really broke loose. We kept hearing booming thunder and lightning cracks outside our tiny basement windows. Soon a funny sound started coming from the bathroom and Mikey got up to check it out. It was the toilet. And it was gurgling. (At this point I prayed sewage wasn't about to blow out of the john). Soon we started to hear a leaking sound and when Mikey looked behind him he quickly got my attention and pointed out the steady stream of water that was pouring in from the cracks in our back door.

Needless to say the call ended then and there.

I ran upstairs asking for a little assistance and Mikey ran outside to see if he could fix the problem (When he opened the door to try and get out the back from downstairs, there was water nearly up to his waist kept at bay by the glass of the security door). By the time I got back downstairs the entire kitchen was flooded with nearly two inches of water.

We called the landlord.

His name is Lorenzo and he quickly got here and sprung into action with his Shop-Vac. To be honest, the kitchen floor has never looked so clean. And bonus, it inspired me to vacuum the rest of our place. As in, the ONE ROOM that makes up "our place."

Now all is well. We're clean and dry and happy to have finally met our elusive landlord. I was beginning to think he was some sort of esoteric being . . .

Critical

It's no secret that I'm a Mormon. It has come up a few time while I'm at work. Once when I mentioned that I missed my bike, Mimic's father, EnthusiDad, recalled, "Oh yeah, aren't bikes some big Mormon thing? I see pairs of bikers in ties sometimes . . ." I laughed a bit and then told him a little about the missionaries and explained that more than it is a "Mormon" thing, it's a practical thing. Bikes are cheap, efficient, fast, etc. But Mormons have continued to come up in conversation while I've been here.

I saw a DVD of This American Life, a TV version of my all-time favorite podcast and NPR radio show. When I told Ethusidad that I loved the podcast he said, "Oh you should watch the DVD sometime when Mimic is down for her nap." That was over a week ago, and I never really asked him how to figure it out or anything. But yesterday he mentioned that he and his wife were watching it over the weekend and there was a bit on a Mormon painter. Knowing that I am both a Mormon and a painter he thought it might be of interest to me.



I sat down and began watching it with such a critical eye, trying to extrapolate the different ways that what they were presenting could misrepresent the church and a people. I've found myself becoming increasingly attentive to how we're presented and represented as a church. I scrutinize. Intensely. For the most part I thought the show did a pretty good job of not making us look like lunatics. That's good.

I brought my scriptures with me to work yesterday. I was hoping to use a portion of Mimic's naptime to read and study. But after EnthusiDad had me watch what he termed as "The Mormom Show" I felt a little weird about whipping out my triple combination. I didn't want to come off as pious 20-year-old or anything. OH WAIT. Missionaries anybody? But I got them out anyway, hoping that he wouldn't come downstairs until I was done.

Like clockwork he descended the stairs to get his mid-afternoon Coke. He asked me what I was reading and I said I was studying a passage in the Book of Mormon. He asked if it was some sort of church mandate to read the scriptures. I then explained that no, it wasn't compulsory that we do so, although they do encourage it. But I choose to read mine everyday because I feel myself becoming closer to the person I know I can and want to be. He thought this was admirable, but quickly went upstairs to work.

It has been incredible to be in the mission field and I feel myself growing in understanding and courage. The Book of Mormon I ordered came this morning. I've made a goal to give at least one away while I'm here.

It'll be a piece of cake.

Education

Education has been in the news lately. What's new? But some of the articles sparked my interest and made me wonder if some overhauling changes may be coming that could not only refrom the U.S. Education system, but possibly restore it to the former glory days in the 50's when, as Mikey says, "A U.S. education was the envy of the world."

A few weeks ago we heard California Senator Howard "Buck" McKeon came and spoke to us. He's a ranking member in the Committee on Education and Labor and one intern asked him what his take was on the talk to dissolve the Department of Education. (I'm bankning on some Pell Grants so this seemed like a terrible idea to me, but money aside, I think it's unwise).

Talk was spurred after the lecture and Mikey and I quickly joined in on the debate about the Department of Education, public schools, vouchers etc. I had a lot to say, but felt underqualified compared to these interns who were spouting off intiatives and bills currently up for debate. All I could really say was from experience and growing up with a mother devoted to the public school system.

One of the intern's wife is working for a family who pays a whopping 30 grand per student per year to send their 3 kids to some fancy schmancy private school where the 6th-grader is currently learning Mandarin Chinese. Impressive no? But my first reaction was that schools like this will be great for the priviledged few, but what sort of stratification is going to be perpetuated by schools like this? My fear is that a voucher system would create more schools like this, drawing the more capable students to those schools and leaving public schools with students who are unmotivated, of low socioeconomic homes, and all-in-all disinterested in school. Another intern said private schools are the only way to go. I wanted to punch him.

No matter what we think the solution is, it is evident that something needs to be done to save our national school system.

While listening to NPR this afternoon they were interviewing kids and parents who participated in a program called "Capitol Gains" which basically pays students for grades and attendance. Some students vouched for the program, saying it really did motivate them and their friends and they saw changes in the classroom. Some said they put aside the money they got for grades for college. Others said that students should be motivated by the pursuit of knowledge (suck up).

Here's what I think. I think that students just assume they'll pass and it has created a laxidasical attitude. If we bumped up

John Hopkins said that 40% of drop outs can be predicted by 6th grade.

Bottom line is , education should not be recieved, it should be achieved.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/08/opinion/08brooks.html?partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/05/31/AR2009053102339.html?wprss=rss_nation

Doggies

One of the first things that caught me off guard when I started my current job was Mimic's absolute fixation with dogs. I'm convinced that no other kid in the Capitol has a captivation with canines like this one.

She gets it from her father.

On one of my first days here we went on a walk and he was showing me the neighborhood. Soon we met Diva, a Corgi with bat ears and a large stick in its mouth. (Whenever Mimic sees a stick she enthusiastically shouts, "DIVA!") Diva's owner is Alice. Alice asked me, "Have you met Cookie or Teddy?" "No I don't think so are th--" "Well," she butt in, "Cookie is a little tan Spaniel and just a doll. I mean, there are few dogs sweeter. Don't you agree? And Teddy is equally as nice and just absolutely in love with Mimic. He's a ten week old, 30-pound Bernese Mountain Dog. He's quite playful. "

There are a few things strange about this.

A) No one ever talks about the dog's owners, it's all about the pooches. In fact, Alice doesn't even know Teddy's owner's name, which must make for awkward conversations when they run into each other without man's best friend.
B) Ten weeks? THIRTY POUNDS?! And it plays with a baby less than HALF IT'S SIZE? Yeah right. We'll avoid Teddy.

Mimic's family has a dog. It's name is Navy (Mimic lovingly refers to her as "Fuzzy") and she's one of the most geriatric creatures I've never met. Mostly blind, mostly deaf, mostly taste deprived and incontinent, she makes for a great pet. That is, if you like stuffed animals. That pee.