The good news? Emmeline got accepted into the new magnet school for advanced studies in Jefferson Parish. The bad news? It's in Airline Park.
I don't think there's really any way in hell I'm going to be happy driving E out to Airline Park every day and then picking her up again in the afternoons. That is just way. Too. Far.
Kenny and I had a long talk about it tonight. Even though we're about 99.99% sure that we do NOT want to deal with getting E there and back every day, at the same time, it's very hard to just walk away from free tuition. That would be a savings of $700 per month. $700 a month we could definitely put to good use. I think Kenny is more for the idea than I am. I also think a big part of that has to do with the fact that he knows that I'd be the one responsible for getting E there and back the large majority of the time.
But as I told Kenny, I don't want to move to Airline Park. I don't want to move to Metairie. If we could have gotten E into the magnet school in Old Metairie, I would've considered that, because that would've meant we could stay in Old Jefferson. But she didn't get in there, not surprisingly.
Did I mention that I don't want to move to Airline Park? Or to Metairie? No offense to the people who live there--it's just not for me.
To be quite honest, I have my heart set on moving back into the city. To Lakeview, specifically, as I've recently discovered that there are still houses to be had at a somewhat affordable price there. (It might have something to do with all of the flooded and gutted houses that remain there.) And if we moved back into the city to Lakeview, E could go to Hynes. Or, since I'm an employee of a certain university that has priority at Lusher, she could probably go there.
But do we give up the sure thing of free tuition in Airline Park, even if I can't see myself being happy living out there? I don't want to enroll her in a school out there for a couple of years and then decide that we're moving back into the city limits and move her to yet another school. I'd rather just keep on paying tuition at her current school, even though, once again, we could really use that money. So if we move her to Airline Park, I feel like we have to be willing to move to that area. But if we don't move her there and take a gamble that we'll be able to get a house back in the city again and get her in one of the good public schools there and that falls through, then what?
Shit.
3.31.2010
3.26.2010
Vive le Reform!
Doc from First Draft sums up my feelings about the Republican reaction to the passage of health care reform just right:
However, of all the things we could argue that the Washington Senators shouldn't be spending money on, keeping us alive and preventing people from screwing us in the process is one that we should all agree on. Had President Potato-Head done this, Glenn Beck would be masturbating on TV about how great it is that we're in the Great American Century and how the world is now safe to children-to-be in the wombs of all good mothers who are growing Republican Children for Christ. Instead, a black Democrat did it, so it's got to be a conspiracy to give welfare cheats a chance to get better Schedule 1 narcotics.
I could write a long diatribe about how frustrating and disturbing I find the whole state of the conservative movement to be right now--but I'm restraining myself, because I don't want to spend the next three hours at my computer. Suffice it to say, I'm a life-long liberal. Whenever anyone asks me what that means to me to label myself as a liberal, and what that means I believe in, my answer is always the same three things--that education is a right, not a privelege; that health care is a right, not a privilege; and that you should be allowed equal rights under the law--including marriage--no matter who you love. We can agree to disagree on anything but those three things. You're for the war in Iraq? Okay, tell me why. I'll at least listen to and try to understand your reasons. If you abhor big government and want to give me your 30-minute-long Libertarian spiel, I'll listen to you. I'll point out what's wrong with your argument as often as possible, but I'll enjoy debating with you about it and I'll let you get your points across.
But if you want to see me absolutely lose it, then engage me in a conversation about how capitalism and the free market should rule everything, including determining whether children are allowed to get a good education or whether poor people should be allowed access to health care other than what they'll get when they finally have to get treated at the emergency room. And then throw in a couple of Bible verses about how it's a sin for a man to lie down with another man.
So, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm for health care reform and happy we've taken these first steps.
However, of all the things we could argue that the Washington Senators shouldn't be spending money on, keeping us alive and preventing people from screwing us in the process is one that we should all agree on. Had President Potato-Head done this, Glenn Beck would be masturbating on TV about how great it is that we're in the Great American Century and how the world is now safe to children-to-be in the wombs of all good mothers who are growing Republican Children for Christ. Instead, a black Democrat did it, so it's got to be a conspiracy to give welfare cheats a chance to get better Schedule 1 narcotics.
I could write a long diatribe about how frustrating and disturbing I find the whole state of the conservative movement to be right now--but I'm restraining myself, because I don't want to spend the next three hours at my computer. Suffice it to say, I'm a life-long liberal. Whenever anyone asks me what that means to me to label myself as a liberal, and what that means I believe in, my answer is always the same three things--that education is a right, not a privelege; that health care is a right, not a privilege; and that you should be allowed equal rights under the law--including marriage--no matter who you love. We can agree to disagree on anything but those three things. You're for the war in Iraq? Okay, tell me why. I'll at least listen to and try to understand your reasons. If you abhor big government and want to give me your 30-minute-long Libertarian spiel, I'll listen to you. I'll point out what's wrong with your argument as often as possible, but I'll enjoy debating with you about it and I'll let you get your points across.
But if you want to see me absolutely lose it, then engage me in a conversation about how capitalism and the free market should rule everything, including determining whether children are allowed to get a good education or whether poor people should be allowed access to health care other than what they'll get when they finally have to get treated at the emergency room. And then throw in a couple of Bible verses about how it's a sin for a man to lie down with another man.
So, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm for health care reform and happy we've taken these first steps.
3.23.2010
Conversations With a Five-Year-Old, Volume One
Me: Emmeline, it's time to put your toys up and get in the bathtub.
E: Aw, Mommy, can't I play for five more minutes?
Me: No, I already gave you five more minutes. Now it's time to get in the bath.
E: You know what? I hate you, Mommy!
And so it begins. I thought I had at least another couple of years before the "I hate you's" started. What fun.
E: Aw, Mommy, can't I play for five more minutes?
Me: No, I already gave you five more minutes. Now it's time to get in the bath.
E: You know what? I hate you, Mommy!
And so it begins. I thought I had at least another couple of years before the "I hate you's" started. What fun.
3.17.2010
Google Search of the Month
Sorry, faithful four readers--life keeps getting in the way of blogging. I keep thinking I have something interesting to say and then my boss throws the guidelines for yet another grant application that's due in two weeks on my desk and that's the end of any cognizant thoughts for the time being.
In order to keep you tuning in, though, I present another journey into the weird, warped minds that is people using the google. This month's totally intriguing entrance into my blog brought to you by everyone's favorite search engine?
"Boob vacuum cleaner."
It's spelled right, and it's lovely in its direct, to-the-point way of wondering what to do when you get your boob caught in a vacuum cleaner and/or what to do if you're contemplating sticking your boob in a vacuum cleaner. Well said, google searcher, well said.
Oh, and there were lots of searches for "gris gone wild" and/or porn (or "pron"). But you already knew that, didn't you?
Okay, back to my grant....
In order to keep you tuning in, though, I present another journey into the weird, warped minds that is people using the google. This month's totally intriguing entrance into my blog brought to you by everyone's favorite search engine?
"Boob vacuum cleaner."
It's spelled right, and it's lovely in its direct, to-the-point way of wondering what to do when you get your boob caught in a vacuum cleaner and/or what to do if you're contemplating sticking your boob in a vacuum cleaner. Well said, google searcher, well said.
Oh, and there were lots of searches for "gris gone wild" and/or porn (or "pron"). But you already knew that, didn't you?
Okay, back to my grant....
3.03.2010
Conversations With A Four-Year-Old, Volume Eight
This conversation took place while Emmeline was playing with one of my old Barbie dolls from the 70's, who is, apparently, an Orca by today's Barbie figure standards and doesn't fit into half of the new Barbie clothes.
E: Mommy, some of my Barbies are really fat.
Me: What?
E: Yeah, some of them are really fat and can't fit into these clothes. See? Her tummy is sticking out of this shirt.
Me: Wow. You're right--those clothes don't fit my old Barbie at all, do they?
E: No. But that's okay. Because having your tummy stick out of your clothes like that makes you look like a rock star!
Okay, now I'm off to write a letter to Mattel about what they're doing to little girls' conceptions of what their bodies should look like....
E: Mommy, some of my Barbies are really fat.
Me: What?
E: Yeah, some of them are really fat and can't fit into these clothes. See? Her tummy is sticking out of this shirt.
Me: Wow. You're right--those clothes don't fit my old Barbie at all, do they?
E: No. But that's okay. Because having your tummy stick out of your clothes like that makes you look like a rock star!
Okay, now I'm off to write a letter to Mattel about what they're doing to little girls' conceptions of what their bodies should look like....
3.01.2010
We Believed
If you want to know why we believed this season, if you want to know why we knew this team really was something special, this is why:
Poor, sad Tom Brady. I like to think he's saying "we are so f@cked."
If you want to know how we knew we were going to the Super Bowl, knew it deep down in our bones, even though we were still anxious, even though we knew, rationally, that we couldn't really make it come true just by believing it hard enough, this is why:
Poor, sad Kurt Warner. Poor, sad Brett Favre. Poor, sad Peyton Manning.
February 7, 2010, is a day that I'll never forget. I didn't have the opportunity to go to Miami, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world but in New Orleans on that day. The day started off with Mardi Gras parades on St. Charles Avenue; it ended with watching our team win the freaking Super Bowl!!! When the Saints came out of the half and executed that onsides kick, the grown men I watched the game with, including my husband, began crying and spontaneously hugging each other. By the time Tracy Porter got the pick six, we were all levitating off the ground. I had friends and family members who've never cared about football calling me screaming in excitement. Over our Saints.
When the game was over and all of the champagne was gone (most of it ended up on the ground--we were jumping up and down too much to drink it), we walked out of the back yard and into the street. We wanted to watch for fireworks. We watched the game at the house of some friends who live in a college neighborhood, and the street was deathly silent--all of the college kids in the area had gone off to bars to watch the game. So about 15 of us stood on this dark, quiet street and took it all in. We could hear the city erupt around us in joy. And as we turned around, we could hear it from all sides. Fireworks were exploding in the sky and there were just waves of roars and screams rolling in over us. It was amazing.
Do I wish we'd been able to go out to the Quarter and join the party afterwards? Of course. But we had a very sleepy four-year-old to take home, so we did. We stopped at a gas station and joined in on a spontaneous singing of "Halftime" with everyone else pumping gas. And then we went home and watched the game on our DVR. Again. And cried. Again.
New Orleans Saints, you have made our year, our decade, our lives. You have made more people ecstatically happy than you'll probably ever know. That was an amazing year. We believed. Thank you.
And....Win. Again.
Drew Brees at Lucy's Retired Surfers' Bar in New Orleans after the NFC Championship game.
Poor, sad Tom Brady. I like to think he's saying "we are so f@cked."
If you want to know how we knew we were going to the Super Bowl, knew it deep down in our bones, even though we were still anxious, even though we knew, rationally, that we couldn't really make it come true just by believing it hard enough, this is why:
Poor, sad Kurt Warner. Poor, sad Brett Favre. Poor, sad Peyton Manning.
February 7, 2010, is a day that I'll never forget. I didn't have the opportunity to go to Miami, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world but in New Orleans on that day. The day started off with Mardi Gras parades on St. Charles Avenue; it ended with watching our team win the freaking Super Bowl!!! When the Saints came out of the half and executed that onsides kick, the grown men I watched the game with, including my husband, began crying and spontaneously hugging each other. By the time Tracy Porter got the pick six, we were all levitating off the ground. I had friends and family members who've never cared about football calling me screaming in excitement. Over our Saints.
When the game was over and all of the champagne was gone (most of it ended up on the ground--we were jumping up and down too much to drink it), we walked out of the back yard and into the street. We wanted to watch for fireworks. We watched the game at the house of some friends who live in a college neighborhood, and the street was deathly silent--all of the college kids in the area had gone off to bars to watch the game. So about 15 of us stood on this dark, quiet street and took it all in. We could hear the city erupt around us in joy. And as we turned around, we could hear it from all sides. Fireworks were exploding in the sky and there were just waves of roars and screams rolling in over us. It was amazing.
Do I wish we'd been able to go out to the Quarter and join the party afterwards? Of course. But we had a very sleepy four-year-old to take home, so we did. We stopped at a gas station and joined in on a spontaneous singing of "Halftime" with everyone else pumping gas. And then we went home and watched the game on our DVR. Again. And cried. Again.
New Orleans Saints, you have made our year, our decade, our lives. You have made more people ecstatically happy than you'll probably ever know. That was an amazing year. We believed. Thank you.
And....Win. Again.
Drew Brees at Lucy's Retired Surfers' Bar in New Orleans after the NFC Championship game.
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