Yesterday, I sat and listened to a montage of women talking. I sat and listening intently to word phrases, and expressions. within their lexis of speech, i was able to conclude a variety of traits about myself. I have since expanded upon this list, but this is the running method of transpired reflection:
What I Don’t Do
I don’t bake. I don’t scrapbook. I don’t sew. I don’t do winter outside things. I don’t “shop”. I don’t craft. I don’t iron. I don’t decoupage. I don’t have dinner parties. I don’t send out bday cards. I don’t take on spot light volunteer roles. I don’t match. I don’t have an MP3 player (well, I do, but I never use it). I don’t talk on the phone. I don’t play a musical instrument proficiently. I don’t work outside of the home. I don’t have a husband who complains a lot. I don’t have patience as my friend. I don’t ‘socialize’. I don’t french braid.
What I Do
I cook. I invent as i cook. I read to my kids. I have cool discussions with my kids. I write. I organize. I teach. I paint. I garden. I putz on the computer way too much. I take on a lot of ‘backdoor’ volunteer roles. I dance. I goof around. I laugh. I drink coffee. I do sarcasm well. I am artful. I do learn (or try). I’m eclectic. I email. I tink around on our piano and make up songs. I do keep up on my International Spy training whenever possible. I do find a nice pleasure in a good beer. I do parent to four kids. I do single parent quite frequently as I DO have a husband who works way too much for my liking. I DO get my patience tested because of this. I do blog.
I do photograph. I do cheer. i do support a great deal.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
when you are not in control
I have to type fast for i am on the clock.
today, when i awakened; i had an agenda in mind....my agenda. items that needed to be addressed and completed in the fashion for which i had arranged. many moments, i am at peace being a mother of 4. I am grateful. I am content.
Today, however, i simply want to be me. i want to get my list done and i don't want to have any interference. I don't want to have to stop typing to tell two of my children to stop bouncing the ball in the sunroom. I shouldn't need to look across my shoulder and tersely remark, "He had the ball first, give it to him and leave him alone and get off eachother!"
I want to get my house clean, i want to get food in my cupboard, i want to brush my teeth over a clean sink - but instead, i am putting up a christmas tree and taking down decorations that kids have already put up being that they have investigated the *christmas box*. I want the phone to stop ringing. I want to listen to my shows on MPR. I want playdates to not interfere with "my" time. and yet...."HEY! Stop slapping your brother!" and yet, i need to stop typing because my infant is about to put a fake pine in his mouth.
today, when i awakened; i had an agenda in mind....my agenda. items that needed to be addressed and completed in the fashion for which i had arranged. many moments, i am at peace being a mother of 4. I am grateful. I am content.
Today, however, i simply want to be me. i want to get my list done and i don't want to have any interference. I don't want to have to stop typing to tell two of my children to stop bouncing the ball in the sunroom. I shouldn't need to look across my shoulder and tersely remark, "He had the ball first, give it to him and leave him alone and get off eachother!"
I want to get my house clean, i want to get food in my cupboard, i want to brush my teeth over a clean sink - but instead, i am putting up a christmas tree and taking down decorations that kids have already put up being that they have investigated the *christmas box*. I want the phone to stop ringing. I want to listen to my shows on MPR. I want playdates to not interfere with "my" time. and yet...."HEY! Stop slapping your brother!" and yet, i need to stop typing because my infant is about to put a fake pine in his mouth.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
TIme to Write
Time etched out just to write. All is well in the world. I have two children who struggle with writing and as I sit here typing out words in quick rhymic motion - i look over to my 10 year old son who is working within the same motion. Moving his body to the beat of Motorcycle Diaries (his favorite soundtrack) and typing in his blog (simonscoolthoughts.blogspot.com).
My vision is forever and always seeing as a writer. We go out to dinner and I peruse the surrounding tables; not taking in the cariety of people, but listening to the dialogue of characters. All are characters and all acts are potential for elaborated scenes.
Th
e last time i was in California, I visited a favorite spot in Laguna and there sat two older women. As they sat and talked, I snapped a picture of the two and wrote a story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~Upon crossing the parking lot, you would expect to hear the distant hum of the Twin Peaks theme song; the slow and new age melody that eventually lures you into a building speckled with questionable and intriguing characters.
As i crossed over the black top, i assumed that Mr. David Lynch would soon be shouting, "Cut, cut, cut - will someone get that suburban mom off the set, please." but there was no such voice.
The older lady with hunched shoulders walked slowly with cigarette in hand. Her head turned slightly towards me as she circled back. She glided slowly about her small piece of claimed territory. Methodically back and forth, almost with a sense of anticipation of something better to come her way during this last phase of life.
I walked under the wooded archway of the Thunderbird Lodge and pulled open the heavy glass door; the clerk welcomed me. Everything fits in the scene but him. The dull yellow light casts an almost gray haze over the tiny glass enclosed room. Three seedy layered women look up from the 'free internet' computer to catch a glimpse of the I Love Lucy show playing in the corner. Long stringy hair mimics their gaunt appearance. I feel the theme song getting louder and expect FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper to make his appearance.
The clerk points me in the direction of my room - "It's right there, number 43" and yep, there it was, right in front of me, less than 20 steps away from the front desk. The hotel key he hands me is authentic - it hangs from a green plastic oval. I pass by the three women, and notice the small mircrowave oven with coffee pot - this will be for the guests in the morning- i conclude.
My vision is forever and always seeing as a writer. We go out to dinner and I peruse the surrounding tables; not taking in the cariety of people, but listening to the dialogue of characters. All are characters and all acts are potential for elaborated scenes.
Th
e last time i was in California, I visited a favorite spot in Laguna and there sat two older women. As they sat and talked, I snapped a picture of the two and wrote a story.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two seniored ladies sit across from me. Their polite conversation reveals a newness to their relationship. I am guessing the two are participants on some senior type tour offered by the airline industry; or they share placement within the same 'retired community' . I am thinking the first. They discuss husbands, youth, innocent times in the water, friends of yester-year, and days gone by. Flash back 30 years ago when the two women were close to my present age. Lively families, crying children, marital spats and optimistic futures.
One lady sits, legs crossed, white sensible, low heeled shoes and stark white cotton capris. Baubled rings, thick dark Jackie-O glasses and styled hair that is no longer soft to the touch, only coarse and stiff from the morning's aqua net regime. Her hair has aged well and is naturally blond/gray. Her older companion, sitting by, trying to defy her age. Rich copper colored hair absent of gray and mortician colored cheeks, vibrant pink.
Their discussion flows from youthful times to doctor's appointments, surgeries, numbness in the legs and arms and who can beat whom with prescription drug costs. I reach into my backpack, take out the small digital and if attemtping to take a picture of the Laguna Movie Theater, directly behind them, i focus in on the two, hand motions in the air and eyes intently looking at one another, i click my camera, close the shutter and put it back in it's dark home.
Their discussion flows from youthful times to doctor's appointments, surgeries, numbness in the legs and arms and who can beat whom with prescription drug costs. I reach into my backpack, take out the small digital and if attemtping to take a picture of the Laguna Movie Theater, directly behind them, i focus in on the two, hand motions in the air and eyes intently looking at one another, i click my camera, close the shutter and put it back in it's dark home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This next one is from a time we stayed in a very shady motel on our long drive home from South Dakota. All were tired and we simply pulled over to the closest place.
~~Upon crossing the parking lot, you would expect to hear the distant hum of the Twin Peaks theme song; the slow and new age melody that eventually lures you into a building speckled with questionable and intriguing characters.
As i crossed over the black top, i assumed that Mr. David Lynch would soon be shouting, "Cut, cut, cut - will someone get that suburban mom off the set, please." but there was no such voice.
The older lady with hunched shoulders walked slowly with cigarette in hand. Her head turned slightly towards me as she circled back. She glided slowly about her small piece of claimed territory. Methodically back and forth, almost with a sense of anticipation of something better to come her way during this last phase of life.
I walked under the wooded archway of the Thunderbird Lodge and pulled open the heavy glass door; the clerk welcomed me. Everything fits in the scene but him. The dull yellow light casts an almost gray haze over the tiny glass enclosed room. Three seedy layered women look up from the 'free internet' computer to catch a glimpse of the I Love Lucy show playing in the corner. Long stringy hair mimics their gaunt appearance. I feel the theme song getting louder and expect FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper to make his appearance.
The clerk points me in the direction of my room - "It's right there, number 43" and yep, there it was, right in front of me, less than 20 steps away from the front desk. The hotel key he hands me is authentic - it hangs from a green plastic oval. I pass by the three women, and notice the small mircrowave oven with coffee pot - this will be for the guests in the morning- i conclude.
I pass by the small sauna and jacuzzi room, which is also adjacent to the front desk area. From the jacuzzi, you might be able to make out the dialogue of lucy and ethel, but the two occupance tonight are not intested. They sit close together, bodies touching. I fix my gaze and our eyes meet. I watch them through the almost steamed windows. They take their gaze off me and back onto eachother. To them, i was transparent and added nothing to the scene. I take 2 more steps out of my complete 20 and assess the locked up liquor store on my left;each bottle righteously displayed; almost like rental movies. 5 more steps and i unlock my door and inspect the room. It is as decent as one would expect; the window air conditioner is on to circulate the air. The bathroom is acceptable and the two beds will be fine for the night.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The Gingerbread House
This time of year, I fondly look back upon Christmas times past. This is a story that will never soon be forgotten.
December 20, 2001
This is a story written 8 years ago. Perry was 4 and Simon was 2 (Lucy was just 5 months old). I decided it would be a very loving and motherly moment to build a gingerbread house with my two boys. Here is the transpiration of that experience.
Below, you will observe the written instructions for creating a basic, “Kid-Friendly” gingerbread house. You will also experience my interpretation of such directions.
The Scene: Before all of this took place, I set the scene. I lined the kitchen floor with newspapers, took out all the kid friendly bowls and wooden spoons. Put the boys in their ‘it’s okay to get dirty’ clothes and show off the unopened, very fun gingerbread box to the boys
First: A two and a four year old are not the most desired of participants for this project. Hindsight is 20/20 they say!
Second: As I write this down from simple memory, I retrieve the “DIRECTIONS” to help in the writing process. Upon putting the paper down on the table, I notice the ‘Helpful Hints’ section on the back side. This clearly would have been helpful 2 hours ago.
Okay - let's look.
Direction #1: If you don't have a base for the gingerbread house, you can cut around the lines shown on back of box and cover with foil to use as base.
Katie's Interpretation: Unknowingly, cut around the *top* of box (the part with the pictorial reference), and cover completely with foil.
Direction #2: Beat contents of package in a small mixing bowl
Katie's Interpretation: A fool can mix contents in a bowl. Okay boys, we are on a roll.
Direction #3: Insert icing tip into decorator bag and cut end of bag to let tip come part way through.
Katie's Interpretation: What 'decorator bag?’ It must mean this white plastic bag that the powdered contents came in – that has already been ripped open. I'm supposed to insert the decorating tip into this old bag? Okay, if they say so. “Boys, let’s have mommy do this part. It’s a little tricky” Boys watch, quietly waiting for the okay from me to allow them to be actively involved.
Direction #4: Apply icing along bottom edge of back piece and stand up on base so there is room at the front yard of the house for decorations.
Katie's Interpretation: Okay, I can do this. I can do this. Somewhat of a foreign language, but I can do this. 2 and 4 year old look on as their ‘super-mom’ gets to work.
Direction #5: Apply icing on bottom and sides of walls positioning these pieces on the *Outside* of the back panel.
Katie's Interpretation: Okay, here we go. First of all, these side walls look rather large; but oh well. I professionally apply the frosting. While pushing the frosting through the 'decorator tip' that was positioned delicately within the reused plastic bag, I squeeze too hard and POP - bottom of bag breaks open and frosting goes in every direction. Perry and Simon, who were positioned so quietly as the attentive audience, seize the opportunity to begin scooping up splattered icing with tiny fingers and inserting them into their awaiting mouths.
Direction #6 Hold in place for several minutes until set
Katie's Interpretation: Cool. Quiet time. Things are cleaned up. Now we can sit back and relax and talk about how much we are enjoying ourselves.
Direction #7 Add roof pieces
Katie's Interpretation: Okay boys, here are the roof pieces. Ready? What is this, these pieces look awfully small. Hey, they don't fit. Oh-oh, looks like Mommy put the roof pieces on the side of the house.
"Mommy - nooooo. You did it all wrong!! Take it off!" says my 4 year old.
“Well, we can lay the roof down flat.” I respond with shaken confidence.
"Noooo. Take off the sides. We need our roof." The oldest says, while wiping away tiny tears.
Inhale – Exhale.
“Boys go downstairs to play and Mommy will fix this and clean up the mess.”
Boys come up when all is seemingly saved and fixed
Direction #8 Apply icing along all top edges of house. Hold both roof pieces in position for several minutes.
Katie's Interpretation: Slather on the icing. I don't care where it goes. Let's get this (filth and foul) project over with.
Direction #9 Use photograph as guide only. Be creative and make your own design.
Katie's Interpretation: “Photograph….photograph? Boys, do you see where there is a photograph of the house?”
This is when I realize that the 'picture' is being used as the base of this project and is all covered up.
**Be creative? ** "Okay boys, here's the candy. Have at it!" Boys translate this to mean, devour the hard candy pieces.
"Oh, I haven't tried the red one yet. I haven't tried the green one too!" Excitedly speaks the two year old in his two year old voice.
Direction #10 Glue decorations on house using icing. Spread base with icing for snow and decorate yard as desired.
Katie's Interpretation: Well, the majority of the icing splattered on the floor. Whatever we had in reserve was used to glue this monster gingerbread thing together. We have no more icing for side walk, door or yard….. Wait a minute. I have some old cake frosting in the cupboard. I'll use that (learns later, it does not do a thing but make a mess)
Direction #11 Clean up
Katie's Interpretation: As I am cleaning, I spot this folded piece of plastic on the kitchen floor. I unfold it and voila, the DECORATING ICING BAG
Katie's Interpretation: Tell boys that this is the most beautiful gingerbread house in the whole wide world.
Merry Christmas.
December 20, 2001
This is a story written 8 years ago. Perry was 4 and Simon was 2 (Lucy was just 5 months old). I decided it would be a very loving and motherly moment to build a gingerbread house with my two boys. Here is the transpiration of that experience.
Below, you will observe the written instructions for creating a basic, “Kid-Friendly” gingerbread house. You will also experience my interpretation of such directions.
The Scene: Before all of this took place, I set the scene. I lined the kitchen floor with newspapers, took out all the kid friendly bowls and wooden spoons. Put the boys in their ‘it’s okay to get dirty’ clothes and show off the unopened, very fun gingerbread box to the boys
First: A two and a four year old are not the most desired of participants for this project. Hindsight is 20/20 they say!
Second: As I write this down from simple memory, I retrieve the “DIRECTIONS” to help in the writing process. Upon putting the paper down on the table, I notice the ‘Helpful Hints’ section on the back side. This clearly would have been helpful 2 hours ago.
Okay - let's look.
Direction #1: If you don't have a base for the gingerbread house, you can cut around the lines shown on back of box and cover with foil to use as base.
Katie's Interpretation: Unknowingly, cut around the *top* of box (the part with the pictorial reference), and cover completely with foil.
Direction #2: Beat contents of package in a small mixing bowl
Katie's Interpretation: A fool can mix contents in a bowl. Okay boys, we are on a roll.
Direction #3: Insert icing tip into decorator bag and cut end of bag to let tip come part way through.
Katie's Interpretation: What 'decorator bag?’ It must mean this white plastic bag that the powdered contents came in – that has already been ripped open. I'm supposed to insert the decorating tip into this old bag? Okay, if they say so. “Boys, let’s have mommy do this part. It’s a little tricky” Boys watch, quietly waiting for the okay from me to allow them to be actively involved.
Direction #4: Apply icing along bottom edge of back piece and stand up on base so there is room at the front yard of the house for decorations.
Katie's Interpretation: Okay, I can do this. I can do this. Somewhat of a foreign language, but I can do this. 2 and 4 year old look on as their ‘super-mom’ gets to work.
Direction #5: Apply icing on bottom and sides of walls positioning these pieces on the *Outside* of the back panel.
Katie's Interpretation: Okay, here we go. First of all, these side walls look rather large; but oh well. I professionally apply the frosting. While pushing the frosting through the 'decorator tip' that was positioned delicately within the reused plastic bag, I squeeze too hard and POP - bottom of bag breaks open and frosting goes in every direction. Perry and Simon, who were positioned so quietly as the attentive audience, seize the opportunity to begin scooping up splattered icing with tiny fingers and inserting them into their awaiting mouths.
Direction #6 Hold in place for several minutes until set
Katie's Interpretation: Cool. Quiet time. Things are cleaned up. Now we can sit back and relax and talk about how much we are enjoying ourselves.
Direction #7 Add roof pieces
Katie's Interpretation: Okay boys, here are the roof pieces. Ready? What is this, these pieces look awfully small. Hey, they don't fit. Oh-oh, looks like Mommy put the roof pieces on the side of the house.
"Mommy - nooooo. You did it all wrong!! Take it off!" says my 4 year old.
“Well, we can lay the roof down flat.” I respond with shaken confidence.
"Noooo. Take off the sides. We need our roof." The oldest says, while wiping away tiny tears.
Inhale – Exhale.
“Boys go downstairs to play and Mommy will fix this and clean up the mess.”
Boys come up when all is seemingly saved and fixed
Direction #8 Apply icing along all top edges of house. Hold both roof pieces in position for several minutes.
Katie's Interpretation: Slather on the icing. I don't care where it goes. Let's get this (filth and foul) project over with.
Direction #9 Use photograph as guide only. Be creative and make your own design.
Katie's Interpretation: “Photograph….photograph? Boys, do you see where there is a photograph of the house?”
This is when I realize that the 'picture' is being used as the base of this project and is all covered up.
**Be creative? ** "Okay boys, here's the candy. Have at it!" Boys translate this to mean, devour the hard candy pieces.
"Oh, I haven't tried the red one yet. I haven't tried the green one too!" Excitedly speaks the two year old in his two year old voice.
Direction #10 Glue decorations on house using icing. Spread base with icing for snow and decorate yard as desired.
Katie's Interpretation: Well, the majority of the icing splattered on the floor. Whatever we had in reserve was used to glue this monster gingerbread thing together. We have no more icing for side walk, door or yard….. Wait a minute. I have some old cake frosting in the cupboard. I'll use that (learns later, it does not do a thing but make a mess)
Direction #11 Clean up
Katie's Interpretation: As I am cleaning, I spot this folded piece of plastic on the kitchen floor. I unfold it and voila, the DECORATING ICING BAG
Katie's Interpretation: Tell boys that this is the most beautiful gingerbread house in the whole wide world.
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Journal Time
This morning, Lucy and I sit at our dining table. I have some music playing and freely type away, while my daughter sites with tears in her eyes. She doesn't know what to write. I took the liberty of bringing out a couple of my journals for her to see. One from 4th grade, one from 1987 and one that was begun in 2003 (The last entry was February 2008 on an airplane home from San Francisco....a weekend away to celebrate turning 40 with my friends.)I currently have three working journals - and this blog. I am passionate about words and I wish i was able to retain the eloquence of this language. It impresses me. While Lucy hides her words from me with her book upright; hiding within what she assumes to be the judgement of her mother.
I look out to the sunroom and Simon is at it on his own blog. He has the gift of words as well.
I have never planned to do anything with these words that spill out from me as they are just that....spillage from the mind. Hardly significant; just doin' my thing and finding small celebrations within chosen text.
Last night, I played Scrabble with the kids. The 12 year old, who has struggled with words, performed with three letter and four letter words: Bone, Cat, Did. The 10 year old added words such as: Newt, Judge, Simmer, and Wharf.
Daybook time is over. Thanks for listening.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Today is Whatever I Want it to Mean
Step through any brilliant shades....it's fine just as it is. Today is whatever I want it to mean. Everything I took for granted - I want to see it through.
act justly
love mercy
walk humbly
---------------------------
People are walking and talking resumes. Upon impression, selling in short order; living up to inflated potential. i admit, i catch myself walking in that same long line with others, showing off my best assets in thought that it will matter somehow to the other.
Tossing again and again...falling to my knees
Walking in circles, we do - (getting lost in where we start and where we begin). The music drones on and on in the head - louder and louder with each beat - we continue to walk, animate, and perform for the other. Topping out the list each time we step with who has most to offer, who has the most to balance; the most experience, the loudest voice, the biggest heart aches, and the music fills the gaps with excruciating rhythm that we can no longer concentrate - and yet, we continue, because that is what we know. We are fed. we are freed.
the pace quickens at times and there is a rush to succeed but again. The music finds a steady note and keeps its constant; allowing for a second in time for you to think and take notice of you. simply you. not the others around, not the feet you are following, not the circle within the performance. The music trickles and finds you at a stop. a complete stop. you don't notice the fall of the others. you are able to find yourself once again, take yourself out of the circle and BEGIN and START anew.
Drawing a line....jumping over....looking back at the others dusting off and continuing in their circuitous (i love that word) walk. You. Within your time of solitude, you break away with tensile strength; cognizant of that time to come - the time, without warning, you will be back within the circle, wondering how you got there.
act justly
love mercy
walk humbly
-------------------------------------------
Fly.. .... .... ....
-------------------------------------------
'cause i came here with a load and it feels so much lighter since i met you.
-------------------------------------------
Where do we go? Nobody knows. God give me style and give me grace.....God put a smile upon my face :) (smile)........ya!!!!
act justly
love mercy
walk humbly
---------------------------
People are walking and talking resumes. Upon impression, selling in short order; living up to inflated potential. i admit, i catch myself walking in that same long line with others, showing off my best assets in thought that it will matter somehow to the other.
Tossing again and again...falling to my knees
Walking in circles, we do - (getting lost in where we start and where we begin). The music drones on and on in the head - louder and louder with each beat - we continue to walk, animate, and perform for the other. Topping out the list each time we step with who has most to offer, who has the most to balance; the most experience, the loudest voice, the biggest heart aches, and the music fills the gaps with excruciating rhythm that we can no longer concentrate - and yet, we continue, because that is what we know. We are fed. we are freed.
the pace quickens at times and there is a rush to succeed but again. The music finds a steady note and keeps its constant; allowing for a second in time for you to think and take notice of you. simply you. not the others around, not the feet you are following, not the circle within the performance. The music trickles and finds you at a stop. a complete stop. you don't notice the fall of the others. you are able to find yourself once again, take yourself out of the circle and BEGIN and START anew.
Drawing a line....jumping over....looking back at the others dusting off and continuing in their circuitous (i love that word) walk. You. Within your time of solitude, you break away with tensile strength; cognizant of that time to come - the time, without warning, you will be back within the circle, wondering how you got there.
act justly
love mercy
walk humbly
-------------------------------------------
Fly.. .... .... ....
-------------------------------------------
'cause i came here with a load and it feels so much lighter since i met you.
-------------------------------------------
Where do we go? Nobody knows. God give me style and give me grace.....God put a smile upon my face :) (smile)........ya!!!!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
What Matters
We are currently reading The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo. There is a character named, Hans Ickman. This quote from Hans has struck me. "It is important that you say what you mean to say. Time is too short. You must speak words that matter."
I believe in this. Speak words that matter. Interpretation....interpretation...interpretation.
Life it too short to 
concentrate on one's misery. Life it to short to place fleeting expectations. What matters? What matters is.....
concentrate on one's misery. Life it to short to place fleeting expectations. What matters? What matters is.....In my memory - i wrote about a river...a river that nearly drowned my intention...a river that almost drowned my narrow interpretation of life.
I am still standing. That is what matters. My journey continues......
Sing a Simple Song
Disclaimer: It is daybook time and I will try my best to take thoughts and transpose them onto this blog while a Radio Disney CD plays in the background - picked by Lucy. The lyrics leave little to the imagination.
We all ride waves in our journey. We continuously navigate through raging waters towards a more serene and acceptable scene.
On most days, I plot the course and steer us in a successful fashion; and by days end, our expedition slows with the trickling pace of the water.
In the past few weeks, the river has clashed in buoyant animation. It's waters have been unforgiving - punishing - grueling - demanding all I have to give and it has defeated me.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Quick Report
Perry's report card:
Science ... A (97%)
Phy Ed ... A (96%)
Social Studies ... A- (89%)
English ... A- (93%)
Chorus ... A (98%)
Math ... A (94%)
German ... A (98%)
Mommy's proud meter.... A (100%)
Science ... A (97%)
Phy Ed ... A (96%)
Social Studies ... A- (89%)
English ... A- (93%)
Chorus ... A (98%)
Math ... A (94%)
German ... A (98%)
Mommy's proud meter.... A (100%)
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