What I've Never Done

Here's a prompt (I haven't done one in a while) from Mama Kat.

I'm 23 years old.
And I've never:

1. Left the United States (sad, I know

2. Eaten a kumquat

3. Gone surfing

4. Read Gone with the Wind

5. Appeared on television 

6. Spoken a foreign language fluently

7. Occupied Wall Street

8. Remained unshowered for longer than a day

I'm pretty sure this is my mother-in-law

9. Permed my hair

10. Seen Forrest Gump

11. Supported the New York Yankees

12. Gotten into a fist fight

13. Been to the top of Mt. Washington

14. Made fudge successfully

15. Been to Disney World or Land

16. Gone clubbing

17. Peed in public (like, in the open--I use public restrooms all the time)

18. Lived on my own

19. Been tattooed 

20. DIY'ed a really cool project

21. Served in a political office

22. Purchased a gigantic chicken 

A Writing Prompt: My Grandmothers' Stories

A Mama Kat writing prompt.
Your Grandma's story.

*NOTE* This post got really long. Feel free to skim. Some of the highlights are illegal 12-year-old immigrants, real, live atheist-commies, and 6-foot-tall grandmas.

I'm one of those people who loves genealogy. Like, paying money to use Ancestry.com and going to Ellis Island to just "have the experience."

I am lucky enough to have had adults in my life who could tell me the stories of what it is like to be an immigrant or a child of an immigrant, to not have your first language be English, to be discriminated against because of your ethnicity. I say "lucky" (even though what happened was awful), because it gives me some sense of perspective and compassion for those are dealing with discrimination and injustice now.

My paternal grandmother, Henrietta, was one of those adults and it's her story and the stories of her mother and mother-in-law, that I want to share now.

I'll start with my great-grandmother, Rosalie Pietraszka (don't ask me to spell her maiden name...it's filled with w's and z's and whatnot). She grew up in Lithuania, and when I say grew up, I mean she lived there until she was about 12, and then she left, stealing another girl's passport and sneaking aboard a ship, leaving for America, because her life, for lack of a better word, sucked, in Lithuania. Both of her parents were dead. She was dirt poor. There was nothing there for her. So, like many immigrants before and after her, she left for the States.

She came here illegally, by the way. Very, very illegally.

Once in the U.S., she made her way to Haverhill, Massachusetts and lived at a boarding house and babysat for a living. She also worked in a textile mill (either in Lowell or Haverhill). She married my great-grandfather when she was fifteen (but lied about her age, saying she was 18). And my great-grandfather, by the way, was another interesting case--he fled Russia because he didn't want to join the Russian army. Hmm. Wonder why...(It was basically a death sentence.)

Rosalie settled in Groveland, MA in the house I grew up in (until I was 10 and moved to Maine) with my great-grandfather and raised several children. Only a few made it to adulthood. One child died of a fever. Another literally burned to death.

When I think of Rosalie, part of me is amazed by her strength. She...I can't even put words to it. The gall and bravery it must have took to do what she did for herself astounds me. Another part of me, however, is so sad for her. She left Lithuania hoping for a better life and sometimes I wonder if her life really was any better here. Of course, if she hadn't come to America, my grandfather would never have been born (tragedy), nor would my father or aunt be here (another sad thing to contemplate), and neither would I (THE HORROR!). I am so thankful for everything Rosalie did, everything she put on the line, and I am proud that a small part of her is within me.

My other great-grandmother, my grandma's mom, is someone I know very little about, but I sense her within me.

I don't even remember her name, but I do remember her, or at least a picture of her that hung in my grandparents' upstairs hallway. She had dark hair and eyes and a pretty face. I had looked at this picture every time I had gone to my grandparents' house and if I close my eyes now I can see her looking at me. There is something of grace and composure and intelligence about her. I might be superimposing all this on her, due to what little I know, but maybe it really is there.

My great-grandma was a Bolshevik. At the turn of the 20th century, she and my great-grandfather (a musician) came to the U.S. I know only a little bit about their first time here and that's that they had two kids, my great-uncle Henry and my great-aunt Vera. Just as the revolution in Russia began, they went back to Russia to "help."

By all accounts, the trip back home was not good. While ideologically in line with what the Communists wanted to do, things weren't going quite the way my great-grandparents had planned (read Animal Farm, it was nuts over there). For one, they had been seperated from their two children (who had been shipped off to school, were forebidden from speaking English--and remember, they were American citizens--and had to have their heads shaved, due to lice), and for two, they were basically spending their time sleeping in barns, just trying to survive.

Eventually, they were able to get back to the States, but only because my aunt and uncle were citizens (anchor babies!).

My great-grandmother's experience, while very different from her counter-part, has me equally fascinated. To hear my grandma speak of her mother, you often heard a tone of admiration. She was well-read and seemed intelligent. She was very clear about her atheism, but made my grandmother go to the congregational church in their town, calling it "one of the lesser of the evils." That part always made me laugh.

I guess I have a very specific idea of her in my head, and though I have no idea if it actually fits her truly, but from the bits and pieces I know, I feel like she's very much like me--political, thoughtful, a bibliophile. Of all the relatives I've never had a chance to meet, I'd say she's tops on my list of "Dead People I'd Have Lunch With." She just seems so cool.

Lastly, there is my grandmother. I lost her about two years ago, and the loss still feels raw. She was such an amazing and interesting person, and such an incredibly strong prescence in our lives that it still feels strange to not have her here.

She led such an interesting life. She played basketball in college (Boston University), travelled the country and the world, could grow anything, sew anything, told the best stories, and, as she got older, was so open to anything. More than all that, she pushed me very hard to be good at what I did, to be a good student, writer, mother, person. She expected me to be the best, and I wanted to be that for her as well as for myself. Though she could be incredibly critical, I never doubted that she knew how high my worth was.

One of the defining moments of our relationship came at the very end of her life. I was in the midst of practicum, an intense 12 credit course that all education majors go through. It's like boot camp. A major portion of that class is the completion of our portfolios (yeah, we do a lot of portfolios). I had just finished mine and was so proud. I hadn't turned it yet, by my professor allowed me the chance to hang on to it for a few days to show to my grandma.

She had uterine cancer. And while she'd faced other cancers before and won (in addition to other ailments), this one was defeating her...though I hadn't realized how much.

She could barely move, hardly speak, barely a shadow of the strong, towering woman I so admired. I knew I wasn't going to be able to show her my portfolio, nevermind even have a conversation about it. But I did have it out...just in case.

And then, one day, mere days before she would pass, she asked me, barely audible, "Kirsten, what's that?" She was looking at the massive binder on one of the end tables in the living room, where she'd been sleeping. I told her it was my portfolio for practicum. "Let me see it," she said.

I gently held it in her lap, turned the pages, talked about the process, the lessons I'd planned, what was hard, what was easy. We went through all of it. At the end she told me she was proud of me and I said thanks.

My getting through college was a huge deal for my grandma. It was something she had really, really wanted for me, probably even more than I had wanted it. It kills me to think that she wasn't here for that moment last May (like, this is something that keeps me awake at night), but I am so, so glad she got to see my practicum portfolio and say those words to me.

Wow, this has turned into a hugely long post, far longer than it should have been, but it has been cathartic. I hope that those who read this have been equally blessed with amazing women in their families and cherish them with all their hearts.

My grandma in the middle, my dad to the left (as if you couldn't tell he's her son) and my mom's dad to the right (now there's a blog post--he's led a wicked amazing life).

P.S. This is not to say my maternal grandma is not the most incredible person in the world, but I don't know as many great stories about her as I do my paternal grandma. This is something I'll have to remedy.

Writing Prompt: School's Out!

Top ten reasons why you're glad you're done with school.

For the first time in my living memory, I'm NOT going to school this year. At least not as a student (I am going back to school as the educator rather than the educatee). As much as I love school, love being a student, and, honestly, am a little sad that I'm not heading back to campus this Fall, there are lots of reasons for me to be happy that I'm done with school. Here are the top ten:

1. I don't have to buy books! My last semester of actual classes (last Fall), my book bill was around $600 for four courses.



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2. Snotty professors/teachers. "I don't give As in this class." "I don't care what other courses you're taking, this is the most important course you'll take!" "A weekend is more than sufficient to read this book and write a ten page paper." "You're not very good at this, are you?" (From my 9th grade English teacher!)



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3. Having a class that ends at 1:00 and another that begins at 1:05...across campus.



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4. Cafeteria food. Bleck.



Our troop of "mannies" (male nannies). Actually, they're DOH's friends, but they've all pulled babysitting duty at least once.

5. Needing to have three different people to watch Lizzie so I could go to class at really random times.



The school bus I wish I took to school. Source.

6. Riding the bus. I even rode it my senior year of high school! Embarrassing!



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7. The DRAMA. Katie's not speaking to Zoe, because Zoe might have maybe kissed Rachel's boyfriend, Adam, and Rachel is Katie's best since first grade, except for that year in fifth grade when Rachel was a Jock and Katie doesn't hang out with Jocks, she's into the Emo group and...How on earth am I supposed to keep all this straight?! And it's all very important when you're in high school.



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8. Homework. Sometimes it was okay, but other times all it did was completely tear apart my confidence on a subject. Take physics and pre-calc, for example. I should take this time to thank my good friend Catherine for letting me copy her homework.



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9. Romeo and Juliet. I love Shakespeare and I actually really love this play, but I've had to read it about four times, starting at the beginning of high school all the way to the end of college. I get it now. And I'm done.



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10. The pressures of being a student and being a kid. Maybe I'm turning into one of those old people who glorifies their childhood, but I feel like I was not faced with the same complex and honestly frightening issues pre-teens/teens and young adults face now (and it's not like I'm that much older). I'm so glad I grew up in the times I did, with the parents I had, and made the friends I keep now.

Writing Prompt: Sigh No More

1.) Write a short story prompted by your favorite song.
One of my favorite bands in the whole wide world is Mumford and Sons. This short story is inspired by their song "Sigh No More". (Links to the lyrics and the music video.)

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            The letter was in a crisp envelop, scented lightly with musk. She held it to her lips, her mouth searching for the warmth of his hands. The paper felt unnaturally cool. Gently, she slipped a finger under the sealed flap and broke the wax “B.” As if the single sheet of parchment contained inside might burst into flame at any moment, she pulled the letter out.

            The words scratched in haste on the paper showed bold and dark, like the man who wrote them. She was afraid to read it, knowing what it must say, since he was gone now, though no one had expected him to leave. A sigh fled from her mouth, equally heavy and light, all together resigned, as her eyes were drawn down to the letter’s opening salutation.

Lorelei,

           

I find this hard to write. I want so badly to throw this pen across the room, dash the ink across the wall, toss the paper into the grate. But I owe you. You deserve a good-bye, an explanation. I am going to try to give you one as best I can, though I doubt anything I can say will truly give you want you want.

We have known each other for many years. We have listened to our mothers cluck over us, reminding us of summer swims in the river, naked as newborns, battles with rotten apples in your father’s orchards, and sledding parties over school breaks. They would tell us that we had, “Always been together. And wouldn’t it be nice if it stayed that way?”

Though I care for you a great deal, I want more than “nice” for my life. This is something you have always known, and I think it has frightened you, because “nice” was always part of your plan. I am not ready to settle, and I were, I’m not entirely sure it would be with you. That looks so cruel on paper, but know it is meant with the most sincere and caring intentions (I feel like such a cad for writing this—it makes me feel and look vile, but there is no help for it; you deserve honesty above all else, Lorelei).

Love is something that, perhaps, we have for one another, but it is not the kind of love, if fulfilled, that will lead to beauty and freedom between two people, but enslavement. Me, enslaved to your notions of what our lives ought to be (and I know you have notions on all that), and you, enslaved to the fact that I will never quite mold to what you expect me to be.

We are young. Too young for this sort of permanency. My spirit is far too flighty. I am leaving everything. I know this will break your heart, my parents, yours even, too, but I think it is the best arrangement for all. I have not seen much of this world, though I have spent nearly twenty years in it. I think, maybe, you could do the same, in your own way. We could, someday, find each other again, and maybe then things will be right between us, and if you can find love for me in your heart still, we can have one another (though, I suppose after this letter, you’d just as soon have me drowned in the sea than have to see me again—and I couldn’t blame you).

I wish for you everything. I hope that if I could not give you the life you had hoped for, that another man will (and do a much better job at it).

Do not think on me any longer.

And please, do not hate me too much.

            Ben

It seemed before the letter could even finish it words it fluttered to the dusty ground, clouds of bronzy dirt puffing up around the quick steps of Lorelei as she rushed to the river.

Four Letter Words

Opinion post:Write about how you feel about cussing in blog land? Acceptable? Unacceptable? Do you keep reading?
Fuuuuuuuuuuuu......chsia...? Okay, as a general rule, I do not have a problem with well chosen and appropriately used swear words. What's well chosen and appropriate? That's contextual, but I go by this rule of thumb that I first heard when I was doing my Practicum:
A girl screwed up on something on Farmville (why she was playing Farmville at school still confuses me) and says, very loudly, "Fuchsia*!" The teacher in the room looks at her and says, "You know what, that's not okay. There are times when that word is totally and completely necessary. Like, when you've just been diagnosed with cancer and you're standing on the shore by the ocean and you and a girlfriend just yell FUCHSIA!!! at the top of your lungs. But your crops dying on Farmville? Yeah, not a fuchsia moment."

*"Fuschia" is my stand in for the "F" word--I am looking for a job in a school district, after all.

Sometimes we blog about fuchsia moments. Sometimes a little cussin' adds just the right dash of emotion and voice to a blog post that the reader really senses what the writer is saying. And isn't that the major point behind blogging? To communicate ourselves and lives to one another?

I mean, another example, I guess, of the time and place for profanity is when my mom and I listened to this song by Mumford and Sons and they say they really "fuchsia-ed it up this time." We agree it's totally appropriate, because, considering the context of the song, it's what you would say (and my mom does not swear. Really.). It's true to life and appropriately descriptive.

That said, though I've never seen it on a blog before, the curse words can be over done. Sure, Eminem, I get you're angry at your mom, but do you really need to use the "F" word in every part of speech possible to get that point across? Or, another example, Mr. George R.R. Martin, whom I'm currently reading, why is it necessary to have your characters describe female genetalia as C U next Tuesday (thank you Jill Zarrin of RHNYC for teaching me that version) on such a frequent basis? I get it. Your male characters are a-holes. Or, a little note to myself--we all know you're upset, Kirsten, and swearing like a bleeping sailor isn't going to bleeping change a bleeping thing (we all have our vices, right?).

If I come across a blog that uses profanity in a reasonable way, I'm not turned off. I actually feel a bit more comfortable. Because, while I love the mommy blogs that are sweet and nice and have that comforting Mid-Western-y, feel-good sense about them, I feel slightly alienated by the sugary-ness of it all. A bit of grit is good to  me, and if that grit comes in the form of an F-bomb, then bring it on. (But I do try to avoid profanity in my own blog because my mom reads it. Seriously.)

Should I Feel Bad?

Here's my answer for a prompt from Mama Kat:
Amy Winehouse died. Another name amidst a growing list of talented celebrities lost to addiction. Your reaction.
Yeah, that sucks.

But do you know what else sucks?

At least 76 people, many children, were slaughtered in Norway the day before Amy Winehouse was found dead.

To date, more than 7,000 men and women from all over the world have died fighting in Afgahnistan and Iraq.

In America, our government can't get a thing done. Supposedly some sort of financial apocolypse will occur next week if we don't get our crap in order.

In England, a man who owns more media outlets than I do pairs of underwear is being questioned about gross abuse of power, including tapping the phones of private citizens to get a better news story.

All over the world incredible amounts of hardship are being dealt to people who simply can't take any more.

And yet, here we are, talking about a young woman who died from a drug overdose. Yes, it's very sad and I completely agree it's an incredibly huge waste of musical talent. But people fight addiction every day. Some succeed, some don't, but because they weren't famous, we don't hear about them and their ups and downs any more than we hear about the other things I mentioned above. And I don't mean the casual news report, because, chances are, you know about all the things I mentioned above. I mean looking at and examining every inch of those issues, doing real reporting, not just glossy two minute bits. I know Amy Winehouse's life and addiction with be examined with great thoroughness. The E! channel, TLC, Discovery, and maybe one or two of the cable news channels will do about a dozen different shows about her life or related to her addictions.

It's frustrating to me that her life will go so thoroughly examined, yet things that actually matter in real life, that will affect me and you, are going to be left largely ignored. I will have a more comprehensive view of Amy Winehouse's relationship with her pets than I do about how our own economy is going to look this time next week.

And that is my reaction.

The Hockey Game

"BITCHES!"

My ears stung with the heavily accented screaming just behind my head. My boyfriend had decided it would be super great to take me to a hockey game in Lewiston, Maine, when Lewiston, Maine still boasted a hockey team, the Maineiacs.

However, the Maineiacs were really a Quebec junior league hockey team in disguise. Which means lots of French Canadian groupies who only knew one word of English:

"BITCHES!" (Pronounced: BEE-chez)

Amidst the fits of screaming and smattering of what could only be "BITCHES!" in French, my boyfriend and I (coincidentally, boyfriend turned int DOH a couple of years later), started to wonder a few things, like, "Why are we the only Americans sitting over here?" and "Who are these bitches? Is it the other team? Is it the us? Who?"

Eventually we gave up questioning what was going on and realized that it was futile to resist and was best to assimilate. When the opportunity next arose, we joined them in a hearty, "BITCHES!" French accent and all.

A response to a Mama Kat writing prompt.

P.S. Apologies for the gratuitous use of the word "BITCHES!" (Sorry, had to get it in there one more time, hehe.)

T.V. is Bad for You

Okay, so I'm going to cheat a little bit in this writing prompt from Mama Kat. Some of these shows (okay, most of these shows) are probably still on the air, but I don't think I've watched enough T.V. in my life (or I'm too young) for there to be a lot of shows out there that have come and gone and are really bad. But anywho, here are my top ten shows that should be showed the door (or have been, and shouldn't be let back in).

1. Mad TV. This show is...lame. It's a wanna-be Saturday Night Live (and I love me some SNL), but it's not funny. The jokes are juvenile, the comedians who are on the show are second rate, and...it's just dumb. And Stuart? Give me a break...
2. Step by Step. I don't know. There's just something about Suzanne Summers that rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's the unstoppable perkiness?
3. Joey. I'm sorry, Friends was great, Joey was an awesome character, but this just didn't work. I was irritated that they tried, nevermind that the show itself was pretty bad.
4. Gossip Girl. I know this show is still on, but this show is so vapid and shallow and such a poor representation of teen life.
5. 16 and Pregnant/Teen Mom. I feel like these shows should be a PSA for why girls (and I really do mean girls) should not be having children. These chicks are MORONS. But, instead, they've just legitimized getting pregnant at an absurdly young age.
6. A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila and Rock of Love with Brett Michaels, I Love New York, Flavor of Love, etc. These shows GROSSED me out. Any show where you feel you need to be given a stupid nickname to hide your identity should show you that maybe appearing on this "dating" (read: orgy) show isn't the best idea. Also, take note of the picture above--would you risk getting your hair yanked out over this man?
7. Mama's Family. Okay, so I pretty much wasn't alive for most of the time this show was on, BUT I did catch reruns while I was home sick plenty of times. It was enough to make me go to school puking.
8. Cavemen. Loved the commercials, thought I'd love the show (really). Lame.
9. Any vampire show except Buffy and True Blood. Guys, get off the Twilight train.
10. Passions. This was a wicked bizarre soap opera on NBC with a monkey, witches, and all sorts of sideshow weirdness. Okay. I admit it. I loved it. But it was bad.

Here's a Tip :-)

Here's a post in answer to one of Mama Kat's writing prompts:

Maine is a land of many bodies of water. We have lots of rivers and lakes and a beautiful coastline to cool off in, but unless you are blessed (and filthy rich), it's unlikely any of these places are your backyard, just waiting for you to jump in. This is why you invest (and I use this word lightly) in a kiddie pool.

It doens't even actually have to be a pool pool. Just look at what we use:

Yep, it's one of those Fisher-Price turtle sandboxes. Sure, we could have picked up a $10 pool at Wal-Mart, but this was free!

All kidding aside, when it's crazy hot out, but you can't must the strength or energy or organization to get yourself, kid(s) in tow, to the beach, the kiddie pool is a cure all. The kids can splash around, you can dip your feet in, and since you probably aren't dragging out the pool at other times of the year (kind of cold in December, you know?), or maybe not even much during the summer, the novelty alone will keep your little one occupied. Throw in some beach or water toys, a freely running hose, and some popsicles and you've got yourself a little water park that beats Water Country (I doubt anyone outside of New England has any idea as to what Water Country is, but you get the idea--at least it wasn't an Aquaboggan reference).

I'd also say a cheapo sprinkler (we got ours for $3 at one of those discount bargain-y store bankruptcy places) and a tarp for a good, old fashioned slip 'n' slide does wonders, too. Who needs a fancy $30 piece of plastic when you can just a tarp that does the same thing for half the price?

Having these few, inexpensive items (kiddie pool, sprinkler, and a plastic tarp) really do make my life easier in the summer. Instead of having to track down towels, a beach blanket, snacks, toys, sunscreen, blah, blah, blah, all I have to do is pull out the turtle, fill it with water, and sit back. What a life.

Writing Prompt: I Watch Junk T.V.

10 reasons why you could not be a real housewife from any county.

1. The classiest alcoholic beverage I drink is Boonsfarm.
2. Instead of having two rotating nannies for my one child, I, and this may be hard to believe, but I actually spend time with my kid *GASP*. 
3. While I’m extremely busy actually working, raising a child, actually being married (rather than someone’s ex-wife), I don’t seem to need a personal assistant. 
4. I’m not actually a housewife. 
5. I don’t feel the need to tell everyone how insert positive character trait here, because my actions/appearance actually do that for me. 
6. I don’t have any “frienemies.”
7. I’d never be able to be a cougar. Or whatever the opposite of a cougar is (a girl who dates an insanely older man...kitten?). 
8. I stopped partying, getting shitfaced, and acting like a complete ass when I was...Oh, wait, I never did that. 
9. My mom doesn’t look like a woman crossed with a large, unattractive cat (watch the Real Housewives of Miami--you’ll know what I’m talking about). 
10. These boobs? REAL. 

Okay, while all that might seem a bit...harsh...I have to admit, I love the Real Housewives shows--all of them (though NYC is my fave, though it isn’t the same now that Bethenny is gone).

Writing Prompt: A Title

Here's the writing prompt I'm taking on from Mama Kat this week:
Tell us the story behind the title of your blog. What is it? What inspired it? What other options did you consider? Are you happy with it?
I'm a serial blog starter. I usually start (and then get rid of) a blog or two a year. The only blog I've ever kept with some consistency is my book review blog, and that's been fairly silent recently (mostly because I haven't had time to read this year). I always begin with some hope, write with consistancy, and then something happens. I either lose focus, lack the time, or don't have the interest any more.

The last time I started a blog, the goal was to write something under a different topic each day. Very ambitious for someone who sometimes forgets to brush her teeth every day, nevermind finding something to write about under specific heading each morning. It was too restrictive.

With this blog...the focus is very loose, and I attempted to title it that way.

First of all, I LOOOOOOOVE the radio show on NPR "This American Life." I listen to it every weekend, love Ira Glass, and feel so...in tune with different parts of our country afterward. And I like how it tells a story. It isn't reporting, it's skillful and beautiful storytelling. And I enjoy telling stories. I'm not always good at it, and I honestly prefer listening to them, but I like to get my two cents in there, too.

Secondly, I love being at home. I love all things domestic. Just like with telling stories, I'm not exactly a master at all domestic things (or any), but I enjoy it, and with consistent enjoyment comes a certain amount of confidence and then mastery, which would be long term goal, I suppose. I like cooking, organizing, sewing, coming up with systems on how to get things done, and I simply love being at home with my family. While I didn't want to choke myself with "rules" about what I can write about in this blog, because it is for me more than anyone else (though I like that at least a few people read it), I did want some sort of focus, and since one of my strongest interests are all things domestic (and within that being a mother and wife), that settled what I'd write about.

I really didn't consider any other titles. As soon as "This Domestic Life" came to me, it stuck. I knew there wasn't anything better it could be called, and I wouldn't be satisifed with anything. While I'm certainly no Ira glass, and not all my blog entries could be considered stories in the traditional sense, "This Domestic Life" rings the truest when thinking about what my blog is about. I love this title and I love this blog.

Kids These Days

I'm a huge lover writing prompts. While I like choosing my own topics, I also get a kick out of challenging myself to write something different every once in a while. I feel like it's strength training for my brain. Anyhow, I signed up to recieve the weekly writing prompts from Mama Kat (see the button on my side bar if you're interested, too). This week there was one calling people to write about "something students should know these days." This felt particularly poingant considering I'm student teaching this semester. Anyway, here goes.

This is probably going to be more serious than I want it to be, but when I think of things kids should know these days, I get pretty practical. And while you might think I'd be biased towards something like writing a cover letter or being able to read and understand the newspaper (being an English teacher and all), what I think every student should know these days has to do with math.

When I was a senior in high school I was very concerned about getting into my "top tier" school, which was, in my case, Emerson College in Boston (I got in, by the way). I knew I would need good grades, a relatively strong SAT score, and that my transcripts would need to show a student who challenged herself academically. When my senior year rolled around and I had a choice between not taking any math courses, taking something "easy" like senior math or personal finance, or pre-Calculus I did the only logical thing a paranoid kid who was desperate to get into a good college does--I took pre-calc. Even though I had applied to Emerson as a writing and publishing major. Even though, if I had a good average in all my high school math courses, I wouldn't have to take math (and taking pre-calc would likely ruin that chance) if I went to Emerson. Even though I knew it would make what was supposed to be a fun and easy year really, really miserable.

But I went to pre-calc faithfully. It was the only class besides my AP Literature class (which I loved) that I didn't skip on a regular basis. I learned to determine the area of ellipses and how to write a proof and how to graph random shit on a computer. I learned that I could receive extra credit by bringing in whoopie pies to the teacher. I made a lot of whoopie pies. I also learned that pre-calc was a complete, utter, and total waste of my time.

It was getting close to the end of the year and I had been accepted at all the colleges I had applied to, so I was feeling a little...exhausted...when it came to pre-calc. We were working our way through a particularly difficult and monotonous proof when finally I raised my hand and asked:

"Mr. Morgan, when are we ever going to need this?"

Mr. Morgan, bless his heart, stopped writing something on the board, looked at me, confused, and replied, "I just said that you'll need this to do your homework for next class and--"

"No, when will I ever need this in my actual life?"

Mr. Morgan pauses then looks at me, knowing what I'm after. "What are you planning on majoring in at college, Kirsten?"

"Creative writing."

"Yep, you'll never see this again."

I like telling this story, and I have a bunch of times, for a variety of reasons, but this is the first time I'm telling it to make this point: I shouldn't have been in that class. For one, it ended up not mattering. I got in to Emerson, and I don't think they took a second glance at the fact that I was enrolled in pre-calc. The university I ended up going to didn't give a damn that I took some high level math class--they were just glad I could add and I ended up enrolling in a Math 100 course my freshman year to get the math requirement out of the way. (See, after all that, I still had to take math!)

For two, two years after taking that math course, I was a new mom and living off-campus with my fiance (now husband). And we didn't know jack-shit about household finances. Sure, I could solve proofs and graph lines on a computer, but could I make a budget? No. Could I figure out what our mortgage would be if we bought a house? Nada. Could I write up a grocery list, figure out sales tax, and actually add everything together without having to use a calculator? Absolutely not. It has been an uphill battle, these last few years, trying to figure out how to do all that in the thick of the battle. It's like learning to shoot a gun in the middle of a firefight.

Yes, I know a lot of people learn how to do these things before they have children, those so called "responsible adults." Well, I didn't have that chance. Life happens. And life happens to a lot of people, and they are unprepared. Consider the wealth (no pun intended) of financial woes people and this country are facing these days--it's becoming more and more important people, even elementary and middle schoolers, never mind seniors in high school who are about to be thrust into the "real world," to understand the importance of money and how it works.

If there is anything that students should be required to learn about in school or in life, it should be about personal finance. It shouldn't be an option, it should be required, because when you are out on your own, knowing how to appropriately use your money isn't an option, even if some people think otherwise.