Origin of a Specious Argument Testing my Certifiability

Three hours and forty-seven minutes later, I have an answer.

Not one to act impulsively, I didn't come to this decision over night. Originally, I wanted a teaching certificate. My original teaching license expired in the year 2000. However, I thought having a bachelor's degree in English, a master's in Special Education and an additional 33 hours of doctoral work might make it possible to get certified again at a later date.

I won't mention the state I live in, except to say it was until recently, the state of the unbearably naive. Presuming past credentials held any merit, and past experience counted for squat, I presented my materials and received notice, I'd be tested. A year and a half, four tests and 300 plus dollars later, I still require additional proof I'm not the human equivalent of a pet rock.

I called the state. The conversation when something like this:
"We can't certify you."
"I'm already certified in Texas in Special Education."
"Yes. And you did your student teaching in Special Education."
"So I'd have to do student teaching in English to be certified in English?"
"That's one way."
"But I have a degree, a double major in English literature and writing, so shouldn't my certification in teaching apply?"
"If you were certified in Texas in English." I hung up to call my home state.

I called back.
"Hello, it's me again. If I take the test in English in the Lone Star state, they'll certify me to teach English there."
"That might work but it would take longer. You'd have to be certified there before you could be certified here."
"So my options are take the English for Texas, wait for their certification which would then make me eligible for certification here, but my Special Education certification there doesn't make me eligible for the Special Education certification here because I haven't taken the test here?"

"Correct."
"But the website says there is state reciprocity for teaching licenses."
"There is...after you take the test."

I squelched the idea of asking the person, "Do you even want people to teach English anymore or is this some sort of put on?"

Going to the standard test website which could smell my money before I typed in the three initials of the site, I spent twenty minutes convincing it I was who I said I was, before it let me get to the final "Shut up and take my money" button. I pushed. The site told me, "I'm sorry, there seems to be some technical problem." I called and the woman told me to use a different browser and she'd walk me through it, but after the first two hours of hassle, my people skills having eroded to something below civil. I concluded the universe in all its wisdom didn't want me in the classroom. It wanted something different.

I vowed to become a one woman vigilante against bureaucracy, Yes. I'm going to turn to a life of crime. It's simpler. There's no paperwork. I don't mind late nights if I can sleep late and I won't have to deal with becoming certified if I'm certifiable, and thus was born a new rogue superhero; Cert Denied.

*Editor's note:  Signed up for the test...taking it in January.  

The Apple Doesn't Fall

Our five month old said “Mom” today. It was my daughter that heard it. I’d heard the sound and ascribed it to random chance but today, he looked at me and said it again.

No doubt. None.

She then asked, “Why do you think that was his first word?”

“Oh,” I replied as I stripped a toddler for bath time, “He probably picked it up because it’s said so often around here.” And as if to underscore the point, from somewhere, the siren call “Mom, mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom…” which translates to “I’ve got a juicy tattle just waiting to be told and oh boy is my brother gonna get it once you hear I hope I hope I hope.”

“Hmmm.” My daughter looked at me skeptically. “So you’re saying kids are like parrots when they learn speech?”

“Not exactly, no.” I started the bath and started stripping the second toddler who was trying to get into the tub, shoes and all. “But kids learn what they hear.”

“If that’s the case then why wasn’t his first word, “Pick up your shoes!” “Turn off that TV!” “Get in the car!” “Stop that right now!”

“Nice.”

The tattler Mom cry now came in breathless and certain that this sort of breaking news couldn’t wait. Mom, mom, mom, somebody started eating the pie that’s for dessert and I thought we couldn’t so I think he might be in trouble but if he’s not can I have a piece?” I mollified the tattler, explaining that I had actually taken my piece of pie first. I started soaping the girls' hair.

Being an adolescent, my first daughter wasn't finished with me. Once the tattler left, she couldn’t resist adding on, “Am I the only one who sees the trash around here? Would it kill you to put your shoes in the closet?”

“I might remind you that I cleaned your room today.” It was time for the rinse.

She smiled and offered to help, getting out the towels, still shouting choice imitations of me, “This room is a mess! I’m going to count to five…or three if you make me mad. Did you do your homework? This is a benevolent dictatorship. The benevolence is my option.”

“Don’t you have saxophone to practice or something?”

“Oh, good one Mom.” She smiled as she got the first girl out and began drying her off.

I got the second toddler out and another cry came out, “MOMMMMMMMM. MOMMMMMMMM. MOMMMMMMM?” Each with higher and louder intonations. This tattle was about a mess. My older daughter finished dressing her sister and they left to allow the tattle to continue in relative privacy.

“What’s up?” I diapered up my little girl and she ran away while I was fumbling with her pajamas.

“We spilt some of the pie when we were serving it but it’s okay because we gave it to the little ones who don’t care if their pie has been on the floor or not and so they’re eating…and we wiped up the mess with towels.”

“Paper or cloth?”

“Cloth.”

Running to the kitchen, I find the first once and future clean toddler with pie on her face and in her clean hair. On the floor was a terry cloth towel that had been used to dutifully blot the mess of apple pie and ice cream.

The Diaper toddler had also found an abandoned paper bowl of ice cream and was wearing it as a hat.

I don’t mind parenting.
It’s the Lather, Rinse, Repeat.