This week brought us one of the most ridiculous stories of the year. Front page news in the paper: one of our elementary school principals has been suspended for 1) not allowing a father to personally deliver birthday cupcakes to his daughter's 4th grade classroom and 2) realizing that since a verbal and generally understood policy probably needs a published side also, putting the information about the policy online on the school website after the parent had left.
Cupcakegate.
Meanwhile, Betty Boop the superintendent apparently has nothing better to do than listen to this disgruntled parent whine. And now the principal has a lawyer, the unions are involved, the district lawyers are involved, the papers are selling like hotcakes, and tax dollars are evaporating. I'm wondering what exactly it is that the superintendent would like to distract us all so much from.
Hmmmm.
Let's see. The district had to go to the town and request additional money so that they could finish the several-million-dollars-over-budget new elementary school which is 18 months months behind schedule, and also get money to clean up the mold in the modular classrooms those kids have been housed in for 3 years during construction. Oh, and let's not forget finding money to move all those kids and teachers around the district so they could finish the school year when the modulars had to be closed due to contamination.
This summer there are millions of dollars worth of renovation projects going on across the district. Using what has occurred over the last four weeks at my school as a sample, I can say definitively that there will also be significant cost overruns on those projects. Why? Here's our situation:
The projects approved for our school include removing the carpet in the media center and large meeting room, and replacing it with a combination of carpet and tile. The gym foundation has sunk past the point of no return, so they will be removing the foundation in about 4/5 of the gym (everything except the girls' locker room, where is title IX when we need it?), and replacing the foundation with one which has supports driven to bedrock, replacing the gym floor, remodeling the boys' locker room, and creating a fitness center space where the old "gang showers" used to be. Unforgiveably, they are leaving the girls' locker room, smelly, mildewy and dilapidated as it is -- ALONE. Beyond that, they are painting approximately 1/3 of the building.
Sounds good, right? Sounds like they are tackling some major issues, yes? Yes, but not well planned.
They allotted $30K to replace the carpet. Given the age and condition of the facility, they are required to test for asbestos. They did this not long ago, and the results came back predictably positive. So now we are looking at major asbestos abatement which will cost upwards of $50-60K. That doesn't include the cost of packing and moving everything out of the media center -- all shelves, 18,000 books, equipment, computers, furniture... which we are now faced with. Add to this the fact that we have ancient shelving which is not only ugly as hell, but heavy, bolted together yet falling apart, and only through direct divine intervention will all of it survive being moved out and back in. Shelving is pretty expensive -- just replacing the five wall sections in the reference area will cost at least $4K. The freestanding sections are even more expensive. All in all, we've gone from a basic $30K replacement to over $100K of costs because no one considered advance planning other than "gee the rug hasn't been replaced in over 30 years, guess we better do that because the principal's pushing for it."
That's not even starting with the gym project. They've been drilling holes to try to determine what's under the foundation (and in it) and figure out what the story is with the walls, but the reality is that they are very likely going to find some more expensive surprises once they open that all up. That happened when they built the addition to the school several years ago -- they discovered that the major outside wall supports of the original building which were supposed to be filled with concrete were hollow, rusting, and in danger of collapsing -- so if we wanted to attach the new building to the old we had to fix the original rusting supports so that the buildings wouldn't pull each other down. What's SUPPOSED to be there according to the plans ain't necessarily so. And this is what you get when you go with the low bidder on a job.
All in all, I think Betty Boop downtown has better things to do that deal with Cupcakegate. Either that, or if she really does think that bullshit is important enough for her phenomenally expensive time, then the board needs to tell her "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."
I think quelling the mass exodus of talented people from the district, turning around the despicably toxic atmosphere of mistrust and mismanagement, and being responsible about the major projects being undertaken all far outstrip the needs of somebody who's pissed off about 9 year olds and cupcakes.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Thursday, May 08, 2008
The Mama's Lament
I am still damnably tired. It's Thursday, for heaven's sake, and I am still TIRED! I think I'm getting old. This sucks.
I went to Washington with the 8th grade last week, Tues - Fri. Last year, I loved the trip. We had a busload of fagioles (dipsticks) but we made it work and we had a wonderful time. This year, I was on a bus with different teachers, and that went better than I thought it would. We had the Boss, who organized the whole trip, but relaxed as soon as he got on the bus, my Roomie, who was awesome, and Miss Cruise Director who kept getting on the bus microphone to catch up on all the 8th grade gossip, hookups and breakups. We had a lot of fun the first two days, even with the Midnight Runner who got caught traipsing around the hotel barefoot in her pjs (and we couldn't send her home because her mother is bipolar and her father is a schizoid unmedicated artist). Anyway, Midnight Runner got transferred temporarily to our bus and got summarily velcroed to my right leg for the day, with the Asst Principal's instructions "just make her miserable today." Lovely. You can imagine how long that lasted for me. We spent the day at Arlington and the Capitol and the Archives (lunch at Air and Space which was McDonald's and Rolaids). We got back to the hotel an hour before we had to leave for the dinner cruise, and the kids were berserk. The girls were just in the halls loudly comparing clothes and skipping between rooms. The boys were doing dumbass things upstairs (like ramming skulls into doors). Unfortunately, hotel security got called. Not good. The dinner cruise was fun, got lots of adorable party pics of the kids. Decided the flash on the Nikon needs a boost, though. Thursday was the day the shit literally hit the fan. I got grabbed in the hallway by a couple of girls saying "Mrs. B, O. doesn't feel good." O. had been barfing all night, and hadn't gone out after the first volley or sent anyone out to tell the all-night security guard on our floor. She looked awful. Another one barfed in the hallway outside the breakfast room, and the third one just came down and shook like she'd been in a freezer all night. The AP was hemming and hawing on what to do. Good GRIEF. Put sick kids in front of me, and what's a Mama to do? I stayed at the hotel and took care of sick kids all day. We had barfing, diarrhea, fever, chills, panicky phone calls from faraway mothers, and by 12:30 I was telling the tour management guys in the hotel that I was either going to be making a trip to a hospital or walk-in place. What I didn't know was that they have a contract with a group of ER docs at George Washington University hospital, and they MAKE HOUSE CALLS. Right to the hotel. And they bring all the necessary shit with them. The doc who came was young, single and cute, so Miss Cruise Director and Roomie were wishing later that they had been the ones to stay with the sickies! O. got two bags of IV fluid in her collapsed veins, and everyone got imodium and prescription anti-nausea. The doc said O had gastroenteritis complicated by severe dehydration, and the others were either strictly dehydrated or had mild stomach bugs complicated by the dehydration. They brought me another victim after the play that evening, same shit, different kid. I spent $60 on Gatorade at the hotel gift shop. I had several more with milder symptoms later in the evening, but they were all just somewhat dehydrated and exhausted (and freaked out that they didn't feel well given the rumors flying around the grapevine) more than anything else. I gave them my cell number in case they got worse in the night (and we got some calls). Every time I was on my way back to the room that night the guard would say, what's up, and I'd say "another one just needs her mama to pet her on the head, calm her down and tell her it'll be better if she goes to sleep!" The guard that night told me she had four kids, so she knew just what I was talking about. Just exactly what I do with Sadie when she gets up in the middle of the night with a bad dream or a fall out of bed -- you sit, smooth her hair, talk soft to her and tell her she's just fine, everything's all right, she just needs to close eyes and go on to sleep. Not an entertaining evening by a long shot. Between that and my own personal freakout, I didn't sleep hardly at all that night. That was the result of a grab on the part of one adult who had no idea what reaction that would elicit from me. Don't ever grab my wrist and refuse to let go. I ended up twisting my arm out of his grasp without hollering or causing the scene I both desperately wanted to and also desperately wanted to avoid since I was in a public hotel hallway full of colleagues and students. I needed that emotional baggage resurfacing at that point like I needed a goddamn five-inch hole in my skull. I'm still having issues with control now. I hate finding myself checking for exits when I walk into rooms or discovering that I have once again placed myself where I can see all doors with my back to the wall. I hate feeling like I have to put physical barriers (tables, desks, counters) between me and certain people in the building so they cannot come close to me. I have one friend in the building who knows what this is all about, and I know there is one room where I can go if I absolutely have to, and no questions will be asked as to why I am there or whether it is okay if anyone comes near me. BUT I DON'T WANT TO. I have worked for a lot of years to find happiness in my life, and to feel safe and in control. I hate this irrational terror. I hate having the bottom of my gut drop out when I pull into my usual parking space. I hate finding myself grinding my nails into my left palm -- when I don't realize I've started doing that again. I know damned good and well that nobody in my building would ever hurt me. But I haven't got this back into its cage and locked the door yet. I'm working on it, though. That sumbitch doesn't get to win this war. Can't tell Hubby. He knows the long, ugly version of the past, and we've had a few events in our time together where someone has grabbed me or otherwise set me off. He has a long fuse, but at the end of that fuse are two hefty fists and a lot of bottled-up anger that he doesn't have a problem turning loose on assholes. It won't matter that it was unintentional -- it will only matter that I no longer feel safe and I was grabbed. Period. And I don't want to bail him out of jail.
I went to Washington with the 8th grade last week, Tues - Fri. Last year, I loved the trip. We had a busload of fagioles (dipsticks) but we made it work and we had a wonderful time. This year, I was on a bus with different teachers, and that went better than I thought it would. We had the Boss, who organized the whole trip, but relaxed as soon as he got on the bus, my Roomie, who was awesome, and Miss Cruise Director who kept getting on the bus microphone to catch up on all the 8th grade gossip, hookups and breakups. We had a lot of fun the first two days, even with the Midnight Runner who got caught traipsing around the hotel barefoot in her pjs (and we couldn't send her home because her mother is bipolar and her father is a schizoid unmedicated artist). Anyway, Midnight Runner got transferred temporarily to our bus and got summarily velcroed to my right leg for the day, with the Asst Principal's instructions "just make her miserable today." Lovely. You can imagine how long that lasted for me. We spent the day at Arlington and the Capitol and the Archives (lunch at Air and Space which was McDonald's and Rolaids). We got back to the hotel an hour before we had to leave for the dinner cruise, and the kids were berserk. The girls were just in the halls loudly comparing clothes and skipping between rooms. The boys were doing dumbass things upstairs (like ramming skulls into doors). Unfortunately, hotel security got called. Not good. The dinner cruise was fun, got lots of adorable party pics of the kids. Decided the flash on the Nikon needs a boost, though. Thursday was the day the shit literally hit the fan. I got grabbed in the hallway by a couple of girls saying "Mrs. B, O. doesn't feel good." O. had been barfing all night, and hadn't gone out after the first volley or sent anyone out to tell the all-night security guard on our floor. She looked awful. Another one barfed in the hallway outside the breakfast room, and the third one just came down and shook like she'd been in a freezer all night. The AP was hemming and hawing on what to do. Good GRIEF. Put sick kids in front of me, and what's a Mama to do? I stayed at the hotel and took care of sick kids all day. We had barfing, diarrhea, fever, chills, panicky phone calls from faraway mothers, and by 12:30 I was telling the tour management guys in the hotel that I was either going to be making a trip to a hospital or walk-in place. What I didn't know was that they have a contract with a group of ER docs at George Washington University hospital, and they MAKE HOUSE CALLS. Right to the hotel. And they bring all the necessary shit with them. The doc who came was young, single and cute, so Miss Cruise Director and Roomie were wishing later that they had been the ones to stay with the sickies! O. got two bags of IV fluid in her collapsed veins, and everyone got imodium and prescription anti-nausea. The doc said O had gastroenteritis complicated by severe dehydration, and the others were either strictly dehydrated or had mild stomach bugs complicated by the dehydration. They brought me another victim after the play that evening, same shit, different kid. I spent $60 on Gatorade at the hotel gift shop. I had several more with milder symptoms later in the evening, but they were all just somewhat dehydrated and exhausted (and freaked out that they didn't feel well given the rumors flying around the grapevine) more than anything else. I gave them my cell number in case they got worse in the night (and we got some calls). Every time I was on my way back to the room that night the guard would say, what's up, and I'd say "another one just needs her mama to pet her on the head, calm her down and tell her it'll be better if she goes to sleep!" The guard that night told me she had four kids, so she knew just what I was talking about. Just exactly what I do with Sadie when she gets up in the middle of the night with a bad dream or a fall out of bed -- you sit, smooth her hair, talk soft to her and tell her she's just fine, everything's all right, she just needs to close eyes and go on to sleep. Not an entertaining evening by a long shot. Between that and my own personal freakout, I didn't sleep hardly at all that night. That was the result of a grab on the part of one adult who had no idea what reaction that would elicit from me. Don't ever grab my wrist and refuse to let go. I ended up twisting my arm out of his grasp without hollering or causing the scene I both desperately wanted to and also desperately wanted to avoid since I was in a public hotel hallway full of colleagues and students. I needed that emotional baggage resurfacing at that point like I needed a goddamn five-inch hole in my skull. I'm still having issues with control now. I hate finding myself checking for exits when I walk into rooms or discovering that I have once again placed myself where I can see all doors with my back to the wall. I hate feeling like I have to put physical barriers (tables, desks, counters) between me and certain people in the building so they cannot come close to me. I have one friend in the building who knows what this is all about, and I know there is one room where I can go if I absolutely have to, and no questions will be asked as to why I am there or whether it is okay if anyone comes near me. BUT I DON'T WANT TO. I have worked for a lot of years to find happiness in my life, and to feel safe and in control. I hate this irrational terror. I hate having the bottom of my gut drop out when I pull into my usual parking space. I hate finding myself grinding my nails into my left palm -- when I don't realize I've started doing that again. I know damned good and well that nobody in my building would ever hurt me. But I haven't got this back into its cage and locked the door yet. I'm working on it, though. That sumbitch doesn't get to win this war. Can't tell Hubby. He knows the long, ugly version of the past, and we've had a few events in our time together where someone has grabbed me or otherwise set me off. He has a long fuse, but at the end of that fuse are two hefty fists and a lot of bottled-up anger that he doesn't have a problem turning loose on assholes. It won't matter that it was unintentional -- it will only matter that I no longer feel safe and I was grabbed. Period. And I don't want to bail him out of jail.
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