Entry #4

Entry #4

Monday, August 29

What is it about drivers riding up your tail around here? I felt like prey this morning driving my little granny mobile, feeling chased by a bigger car accelerating behind me, and I wasn’t even driving slow. The other day I was almost run down by a middle age lady in a Lincoln Continental. Today it was a delivery van, then a flatbed truck. Now I know why people drive big cars here—it’s survival of the fittest, Texas-style. Ironically, I saw a Smart Car parked in the handicapped zone.

As of this morning, Aidan will be attending the Esprit International School and Noah will be returning to McCullough Middle School. The prospect of returning to that enormous school is quite daunting for him, but Noah surmises that it’s the only way he’ll actually meet kids, learn how to navigate in larger waters, and hopefully stretch his comfort zone. I think it’s mighty brave of him.

We met some nice folks at Beth Shalom, the local synagogue yesterday, where the kids started Sunday school. Beth Shalom is the only synagogue in The Woodlands, and everyone is a transplant from somewhere else. I met a woman named René who just returned from three years away in Jakarta with her family (her husband is a geologist for Exxon). René is the sister-in-law of a woman I know from Berkeley whose daughter went to preschool with Aidan. I also met someone whose aunt and uncle were my next-door-neighbors growing up. Talk about a small world.

The most striking character I met was a matronly woman in her late seventies (I’m guessing) with cherry-red hair, a bright red sweater, large bifocals, and an apron personalized with the name “Grannie.” “My name is Beryl,” she said, “But you can call me Grannie—everyone does.” Living up to her namesake, she told me to eat, kvelled about the congregation, shmoozed with everybody then cleaned up. She also gave me a hug.

Upon returning home from temple, we played with Izzie and discovered some strange bumps on her belly. What could they be? There are so many bugs, critters and poisonous plants here, it was hard to figure out what was wrong with her. I did some research knowing the vets were closed on Sunday and happened upon this:

Venomous animals of Texas include (but are not limited to) the following: Paper Wasps, Red Wasps, Velvet Ants, Blister Beetles, Puss Caterpillars, 18 species of scorpions, centipedes, tarantulas, Spinybacked Orbweavers, Jumping Spiders, several types of Black Widows, ten different types of rattlesnakes, three different kinds of Copperheads, and the Cottonmouth, “the only venomous watersnake in North America.”

Doesn’t this make you want to come and visit?

4:30 p.m.: Noah texted me to come pick him up after school (instead of taking the bus). Not a good sign. This was his first day back at McCullough, and I discovered, to my dismay, that it was anything but a tolerable day for him. "I'm already in a hole,” he said, having missed two days of school (to try out Esprit), with countless math, reading, science, history and language arts assignments. How does one accumulate this much work in the span of two days—during the first week of school, no less? 

Noah said he thought he wanted to go to McCullough so he could meet some friends, but felt like he didn’t click with the kids there. He got so panicked, he felt like he couldn’t breathe and was going to throw up. 

Upon picking him up, Noah asked if he could go to The Esprit International School after all. 

School hasn’t even started yet back at Prospect Sierra, and we’ve already been through the topsy-turvy rollercoaster of exploring two schools, neither of which is ideal, but at least one might be fine for now.

Good thing I don’t drink, or I might be tempted to hide in a closet and guzzle some shnapps about now.

I think I'll go make some tea.

Tuesday, August 30

I will confess I did watch Something Borrowed, a romantic comedy that definitely fits into the category of “brainless drivel.” It helped get my mind off things, though.

While chatting before bed, Noah asked if he’d made the right decision to attend Esprit after all. I asked him to tell me about his day at McCullough, which pretty much answered the question. Here’s what he told me:

At math, first period, there was a quiz on stuff he'd missed. Plus, he was already behind several lengthy assignments. In language arts, he had to stay outside of class for 20 minutes while the rest of the class reviewed an assignment he would have to make up. (Someone walking the halls asked if he was in trouble.)

In science, Noah had missed yet another slew of homework. Same for American History. At lunch, Noah sat by himself. He tried to connect with a boy sitting nearby by offering him a freshly baked chocolate-chip cookie, but the kid said he already had a cookie. (Somehow this brief exchange makes me sadder for Noah than anything else.)

The last hour-and-a-half of the day, Noah had to sit on the bleachers because he was wearing jeans instead of gym shorts. Not exactly time well-spent.

Reminds me of Judith Viorst’s children's book, A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. 

How does one ease into a place like that? Moreso, what if you get sick or need to leave town for a few days? I now understand why this school is so highly rated with regards to test scores. They’re stuffed with information at a grand, rapid pace in preparation for spewing it out again. Conformity, competition and crowd control dominate, and none of these suits my gentle giant of a son.

David dropped the kids off this morning at the Esprit International School. I just hope it’s an okay day. I’m not expecting it to be incredible or excellent or even swell. Just fine will do. Really. As long as the kids aren’t sobbing or maimed, I’ll be happy for now. Strange how one’s aspirations can be lowered in such a brief span of time.

Entry #3

[Entry #3]

I was told to look out for the mosquitos here in Texas, but was pretty confident I hadn’t encountered any, that is, until I noticed a whole bunch of bites on my legs. I now have one under my arm, too, that itches like the dickens.

According to the Houston Chronicle, there are 55 varieties of mosquitoes in Houston. Science Daily notes, “We never run out of mosquitoes in Texas; we just change species with the season.” Gotta get me some bug spray...

1:30 p.m.: Trying to get the kids signed up for basketball. “Cut the Nets” is the recommended recreational league, I’m told. Just looked it up on the web and found the following for grades 4–6: “Inexperienced players are discouraged from participation.” Here’s the description:

PROGRAM OVERVIEW :

Players will be divided by gender, age, & ability for biweekly drill sessions & games.  CUTtheNETS™ goal is to construct programs benefitting aspiring, hard working, and talented players.

Because advanced concepts are taught, CUTtheNETS™ discourages 1st time or unattentive players.  Players with no previous basketball playing experience will not be admitted into the program.  Players who disrupt others are not tolerated.

Reading this, I need to remind myself that this is geared towards little kids!

Sports in Texas are seemingly all-consuming. Several of our neighbors have signs in their front yard in support of their kids’ football/soccer/basketball teams. Sports are serious business here and not for the faint of heart or clumsy of foot. (Frisbee golf anyone?) Teams are divided into those who can play and those who can’t, according to the gym teacher/basketball coach Noah met at school the other day. What about making teams fair? Not a chance.

3:30 p.m. Got in the granny mobile (our lavender-gray ’96 Corolla) to pick up the kids and the steering wheel was so hot, I could barely turn. Good thing the car is somewhat cramped, so driving with my knees was relatively easy. When I got gas, I had to input my zip code onto a metal keypad that directly faced the sun. It didn’t occur to me that the numbers would char my fingertips until I pressed the first mega-hot digit.

When we arrived home, there was a small green lizard climbing up our door. Earlier, I saw a woodpecker jack-hammering atop a tree. Between the turtle, nutria, lizards and birds, it sounds like I must be living in the bayou, but we’re in cookie-cutter suburbia here. Perhaps the area was originally swamplands though. I’ll have to look into that.

5:15 p.m. Looking for some classes for the kids and was told to look online at The Woodlands Recreation Center. So far, no sign of art or Spanish classes, but there are classes in hunter safety, fly fishing, country western dancing, golf and wilderness first aid (not for wildlife, but for people “involved in activities that take them beyond the boundaries of traditional urban emergency medical services.”) A photograph of a woman aiming a rifle the size of a Clydesdale’s leg is the featured image. There is also a class called “Fury Sluggers,” which I initially read as “Furry Sluggers,” wondering altogether what that was. Fuzzy whiffle bats?

Special events include a Family Fun Hoe Down, Daddy-Daughter Dinner Dance, Mother-Son Putt-Putt Tournament and a variety of competitions, including sidewalk drawing and jack-o-lantern carving. Why are these sweet activities turned into competitions? It’s like making a sport of cupcake decorating. Kids get really inhibited very early if they’re always looking right and left to see who’s “the best.” This concerns me.

Friday, August 26

While speaking with a woman named Helen about the local congregation (there’s one synagogue in all of The Woodlands), she mentioned “the best bagel place” around, The Brooklyn Café. It happens to be across the street from the kids’ (potential) school, so I thought I’d go in and buy a dozen after dropping off the kids. I was surprised to see that while there are a variety of offerings, there aren’t the traditional flavors like pumpernickel or egg. What they do have that I’ve never seen before is their strawberry bagel. It’s not just pink; it’s neon pink and practically glows. Why then, aren’t their blueberry bagels neon blue? It would be like having one bagel for girls and another for boys. They do have what they call “doggie bagels,” and they actually look tastier than anything else—a bagel twist with cheese. What makes these especially for dogs? Would it be gross if I bought one and ate it?

After my bagel excursion, I went to a place called Randall’s that looked like a grocery store (i.e., carts outside), but was so darkened with tinted windows that I wasn’t sure if it was open or not. I walked in and smelled a delicious cinammon smell and realized that it’s one of those pre-fab scents conducted through the vents to make you subconsciously hungry. It really worked on me, though the bakery section was kinda drab, so it didn’t really do the trick in the end. As usual, I was curious about what I’d find at this grocery store, and was amused to discover signs indicating sections devoted entirely to “gravies,” and “salsas,” and "incontinence," not necessarily in that order.

Passed a street called “Interfaith.” Guess the woman who named the streets was not feeling subtle that day.

Arrived home to some free newspapers, including one devoted entirely to Montgomery High School Football. An entire paper devoted to high school football! The cover features two boy-men trying to look intimidating, each holding a football and looking down at the photographer, who must be lying on his/her back to make these kids look like they’re ten feet tall. Advertisements inside include “Sic ‘em Tigers!,” “”Go War Eagles! Go Chevy!,” "Visit the Homecoming Supply Superstore," and Ironman Sports Medicine Institute “for overcoming setbacks.”

The other paper that came included restaurant reviews and some interesting food descriptions. Food reviewer, Tanji Patton, recommended “visiting a place where jalapeno-stuffed quail wrapped in prosciutto is on the menu, or wild antelope with a honey-mustard glaze—or even a chicken-fried pecan pie!” She also mentions another personal favorite, “chicken-fried rib-eye with lobster and cream gravy...Yes, it’s that good!”

After living near the Northern California Wine Country, it was pretty fun to read her other piece about wine: “Way understand! Everything is bigger and better in Texas, including our wines, perfect for sipping in this Texas heat!” Her descriptions include, “fruity fresh and ready to start a conversation with you,” “a fruit bomb of peach and green apples,” and “endowed with sweet peach and apricots.”

1:30 p.m.: Listened to the local talk radio program on the ten-minute drive to pick up the kids. The host put out the question: “Should Governor Perry tone down his creationist stance?” He also talked about “defeating Darwin in four easy steps,” and about brainwashing “in what we call schools.” This guy is fo’ real. And quite serious, apparently.

1:45 p.m. Took the kids for a smoothie, then walked past the bagel place, where we could see the very pink bagels from afar. I bought one after all, just out of curiosity. “It’s just like a plain bagel, only pink, so it tastes better,” was Noah’s assessment. So much for today’s culinary adventure.

4:00 p.m.: Went to the post office to mail some stuff and get stamps. I read about the Pixar stamps coming out and was looking forward to getting some, but all that was available were Ronald Reagan, American flag, Liberty Bell and some other “pride of America”-type options. Where’s the fun in that?

6:30 p.m. Our new neighbor, Justin, a seventh grader across the street, told us that Ted is actually a female and that she’s a box turtle. Does that mean we should call her Tedwina from now on? Tedette? David suggested TedEx, since we’ll need to deliver her to a pond soon.

Saturday, August 27

David woke up earlier than the rest of us this morning, took Izzie and Ted to George Mitchell park and spent an hour walking around, trying to find the best spot to deposit Ted. While searching around the mud pits, bogs and lake, he spotted an armadillo. Ted/Tedwina is now safely in the comfort of her natural habitat, or so we hope...

Mid-morning: Noah asked if he could have a NutriGrain bar, then thought about the nutria in our yard and had second thoughts... Makes me wonder why this orange-toothed rodent’s name essentially means “nourishment.” For whom?

Okay, I just looked it up and evidently the only animal that finds nutrias tasty are alligators, but since their population has dwindled, the population of these orange-toothed varmints has boomed.

Noon: Our friend and former nanny, Kristin, arrived for a weekend visit, to our great delight. She now lives back in her hometown, Lake Charles, Louisiana, just a two and a half hour trip from here. When Kristin first took care of the kids, Aidan was two and Noah was five. Aidan is now only a couple inches shorter than her and Noah, at nearly 6’2”, towers over her. Pretty funny to see him bending down to give her a hug.

The kids wanted to take Kristin to Chuy’s, so after showing her around our new digs, taking a dip in the pool, and unpacking as much as we could for the day, we headed over to dinner. One thing I noticed this time around was the writing on the paper silverware wrappers. One side is printed with a message about them being sanitized (rather reassuring); the other is printed with three prayers for saying grace, one for Catholics, one for Protestants, and one for Jews.

Another thing I noticed was how dressed up women get to go out, even to Chuy’s, a seemingly casual, though bustling family restaurant. (Men, however, remained casually attired for the most part.) I saw several ladies dressed in form-squeezing mini-dresses with high, high heels, lots of makeup and swooped-up hair. I stood next to one of them, in fact, while washing my hands in the restroom and realized how shlumpy I looked in my t-shirt, capris and gray Converse slip-ons. I don't think I've seen a single person wear clogs here, come to think of it. I'd better gussy up.

Entry #2

[ENTRY #2]

Faux Real: Entry Two

Tuesday, August 23

 To describe the kids’ experiences on their first day of school is to envision a herd of cattle being reluctantly rounded up, then told to find their way amidst a maze (and haze) of hallways, rooms and lockers.

 David drove Noah to school, because his office is close by. Seeing the absurd car line waiting to turn into the school parking lot, he decided to park across the street at a church. Noah got out, walked across the street, and apparently entered the school from the “wrong” doorway. He got in trouble within five minutes of his very first day. Not an excellent start.

 Noah’s school has more than 2000 kids in just two grades (7^th and 8^th). It’s supposedly the largest of its kind in Texas, which means it’s probably the largest of anywhere in the U.S. Kids are not allowed to wear their backpacks at school, because it’s just too crowded, nor are they allowed to bring water bottles due to the fact that they could fill them with booze. Both the Texas and American pledge are said each morning, followed by a moment of silence.

 Noah said he has classes with some 300 kids throughout the day, with little consistency as to which kids he might see. One teacher, Mrs. McGary (known among Noah’s peers as “Scary McGary,” he was told), admitted that she very well might not know the names of her students, even by year’s end, because she has nearly 200 kids to teach.

 Unlike the kids’ previous school, where lunch and recess were simultaneous, kids are not allowed to play or go anywhere when it’s lunch period. They can only sit, eat, and stay put until the bell rings. During lunch, four girls came to chat with Noah and asked to “Facebook” him (now a verb). One of the girls he spoke with had just moved from Egypt and she said the weather was more tolerable even there because it was a "dry hot." Makes me imagine Lawrence of Arabia riding to town on his camel and turning back around to return to the “dry heat” of the Arabian desert for some welcome relief.

 Aidan’s teacher advised him to get “Gogurt” for a snack rather than bring a cup of yogurt because snack time is so brief. How much longer does it take to open a lid than it does to rip the plastic strip off with your teeth? Between the plastic bags, plastic water bottles and plastic yogurt tubes (not to mention plastic building materials), The Woodlands is single-handedly supporting the plastics industry. Plastic bags are actually outlawed in San Francisco, and “landfill” waste is frowned upon. Talk about two very different worlds...

 Knowing how bustling the drop-off traffic was, I thought I’d leave at 3:00 to pick up Aidan to ensure that I would be there for him when he finished his first day of school at 3:45. When I got into the car, the temperature registered 175 and once again, the air conditioning blasted out hot air. After about five minutes, it finally got down to 109. As I neared the school, I realized I was about eight cars back but couldn’t turn into the school. I was stuck breathing in hot air, sweating like a beast, and going nowhere. Some stealth cars  pulled over to the right lane, make a wide left turn and drive in, but there were two police cars there and my van only has one headlight (and isn’t registered in Texas, nor am I), so I had to wait. Finally, around 4:00 p.m., I was given the signal to turn. Aidan found me, got in, and soon after broke down in tears. “This school isn’t for me,” he said.

 While the kids had little or no homework, I got to fill out yet another bevy of forms that I’ve already filled out both on paper and online. One new one asked me to fill out the following: “Male Guardian” and “Female Guardian.” What if a child has two female guardians? Two male guardians? I thought about the kids I know who have two moms or two dads and that their parents would not be pleased about this presumptuous form. Then again, they would probably not be living in The Woodlands. I was tempted to add a drag queen name in parenthesis next to David’s just for the fun of it ( David “Chantelle” Gabriel?).

 The kids are now identified as a string of six assigned numerals (“My cattle number,” as Noah calls it) rather than by name. I’ve never felt so anonymous or lost in a sea of people as I do at the kids’ schools. I sure miss the warmth and accessibility we’d become accustomed to these past years.

 Earlier this morning:

 Drop-off this morning went much more smoothly than yesterday. For one thing, I didn’t get lost, and another, the line was infinitely shorter and I could actually park, walk in, and speak with a human.

 On the way there, I noticed a woman in a huge red truck flossing her teeth with both hands while stopped at a red light. I’ve seen plenty of folks picking their nose, applying lipstick (and yesterday, nail polish, too), but this was a first. To my right was another large SUV with the bumper sticker, “Impeach Obama.” In Berkeley, many cars have stickers celebrating Obama’s win, even if they’re now curling around the edges.

 Upon turning on the radio, I happened upon a station that in San Francisco was NPR. Here, it’s a right wing, somewhat evangelical station (from what I’ve gleaned). The radio host said, “The New York Times should be ashamed of itself (regarding its abortion stance),” and talked about our “once in a lifetime great president, Ronald Reagan.” An advertisement discussed a feature about the Holy Land, with a reference to its web site, pronounced “Dubya, dubya, dubya, holy land dot com.”

 After dropping David off at work, I took Izzie to the George Mitchell Nature Reserve, a great discovery. The reserve is named after George Mitchell because he essentially built The Woodlands after striking it rich in the North Texas gas fields.

 David had pointed out the nature reserve to me on the way to his office, and I was excited to explore it. It’s one place in the area that feels more like “natural nature.” While there are plenty of trees around here (hence, the name The Woodlands), the placement of everything is calculated even if it’s not entirely fabricated (everything seems to be placed “just so”). So, to wander around “the woods” was great.

 Izzie decided to release her bowels about .2 miles after we began our 1.5 mile hike, which meant I had to carry around a revolting bag for the remainder of the time (no garbage cans, alas), but otherwise, the walk was relaxing (still morning, so not too, too hot, just mildly sweaty). Izzie had obviously remembered going on this walk with David, because at one point she disappeared and I found her swimming in a large pond. At home, she’ll just sit on the top two steps of the pool with a rounded back like an old grandpa, but she swam around the pond. While it was fun to watch her, she was really mangy looking after getting out. Ah, well.

 1:45 p.m.: Greeted by a friendly guy with a gold front tooth, who delivered our new washer and dryer. Told me he is actually originally from Ohio (Dayton), though has lived here for 31 years. The family across the street is from Ohio, too. Small world. No matter where I’ve moved, I always happen upon folks from my home state. Rather comforting.

 Took a video with Izzie chasing and chomping bubbles. I think this is as aggressive as she gets. She’ll chase butterflies (mostly their shadows) and wants to play with cats, though is pretty scared of them, having been swatted by one when we were staying with my parents. Windswept leaves, butterflies and bubbles. That’s about Izzie’s speed. Don’t think guard dog training is in her future...

 Wednesday, August 24

 I’m scrambling. Both kids reported that their school day yesterday was even worse than the day before. Noah’s overwhelmed by the sea of kids, not knowing how to navigate the web site to find his homework assignments, and will "get a zero" even if he hands them in a day late because he couldn't access them. Aidan has been switched from one class to another (evidently he’s not the only one), in an attempt to find the right “learning communities” for everyone. “Just when I meet some nice kids, I’m switched again,” he said. Hope today is better. I can only hope.

 I waited at the bus stop with Aidan today, which was actually a nice little social opportunity. Aidan met some nice kids; Izzie met some nice dogs; I met some nice moms. Can’t get much deeper than “nice,” but it is, um, nice.

 While waiting for the bus, a boy asked Aidan if he played “air soft.” I imagined it to be some kind of touch football, perhaps with a Nerf ball (the operational words being “soft” and “air”). Apparently it’s a gun game “in which participants shoot round, non-metallic pellets via firearms” and is all the rage here. Joys. So far I haven’t seen any kids with missing eyes, so I gather they wear protective gear. Still...

 Ended up going on a walk with a woman who just moved here a year ago who has a dog named Sammy. A mini Aussie, she seemed to growl at most other dogs but was okay with Izzie—phew. Met another woman who’s a pilot for Continental, but mostly stays at home with her three kids and zany dog, Jeronimo (a big yellow lab) while her husband, also a pilot, flies all over the globe. Another woman I met has five kids (one boy, four girls, all with names beginning with “A”), and another who’s a pediatrician. (I happened upon all these women simply by walking Aidan to the bus stop two blocks away...haven’t really seen people hanging out otherwise.)

 Lots of smart folks around here—many of whom work for one of the big oil companies or in medicine. Our next door-neighbor’s also a pediatrician. Good to know lots of kiddie doctors are around.

 Everyone is a transplant from somewhere. A surprising amount of people I’ve met are from or have lived in Ohio. BP (British Petroleum) used to be in Cleveland, so perhaps it’s not completely coincidental, but there are lots of people also from Illinois, Wisconsin...everyone escaping the snow, or simply transferred here. Perhaps that’s what makes people open to meeting others.

 Walking around the neighborhood, I couldn’t help but notice the array of saccharine-sounding street names: Indigo Sky, Misty Morning, Racing Cloud, Amber Glow, Mellow Leaf (huh?) and my personal favorite, Scented Path (scented with what, I wonder? There are a lot of dogs around here. I don’t imagine the scent would be exactly fragrant.). Turns out just one person had the task of naming all the streets in The Woodlands and used Harlequin Romance novels as a source of inspiration.

“We use a lot of words that are just appealing, pretty images, like Peaceful Canyon. That neighborhood sold really well and I think it’s because of the name... We even have ones from Star Wars. That day I was really desperate. Nothing was popping into my head.”

 –Susan Vreeland-Wendt.

 

 I was invited to a Newcomers Club social on Sunday. Since I don’t really know anyone, I’ll give it a whirl. Don’t think I’ll be signing up for bunko, canasta, bridge or golf, though. Should offer plenty of opportunity for further observations, however. Here’s the official invite:

 The Newcomers Club of The Woodlands cordially invites you to attend our annual Welcome Social, Sunday, August 28, 2011, 4:30–6:30p.m. at The Woodlands Country Club, Palmer Clubhouse. Come make new friends, join our club and sign up for any of the 30 activity groups which include Bridge, Canasta, Golf, Tennis, Breakfast Club, Dining Out, Day Trekkers, Biker Riders.........just to name a few!

 Other forthcoming events include: Kids’ Fishing Tournament and the iGoPink Stilleto Sprint and the Stilleto Sprint for Men. (Do they really run in stilletos? I’m really way out of my element here. I can’t even walk in stilettos, let alone run. Can men here run in stilettos too? That I would like to see...).

 Thursday, August 25

 Noah said, “School was definitely more fun today” after returning home on Wednesday. “What’s on your hand?” I asked, seeing the words “California girls” written in curly girl writing across it. Noah told me that two girls took his hand and began writing Katy Perry’s “California Girls are unforgettable,” but only got so far as to write the first two words before he moved his hand away. More girls chatted with him on the bus home. One asked Noah for his number and wrote it down on her leg. Another has been texting him incessantly. Guess these Texan gals are anything but shy. Hopefully lassos are not permitted at school.

 I just let Izzie out and heard her barking at something. A lizard? Ginormous cockroach? A windswept leaf? I saw her looking directly at something and found a turtle! Actually, it seemed like it was only a shell, but I looked more closely and could see the creature latched safely inside. I didn’t know if it was alive or not, but I took it inside. Turns out it is definitely alive, though it hasn’t come out of its shell yet. I put it in a shallow plastic box (after dumping out a box o’ memorabilia—still lots to unpack), filled it up with a little water, some rocks, lettuce, cucumber, apple...Okay, so I’m a sucker, but I will let it back out into the wild, just as soon as the kids get home. I’ve got to show them my backyard discovery.

 Like most yards around in The Woodlands, it’s uber-suburban and doesn’t back up into the woods or even a golf course (which are plentiful around here), which is why finding a turtle in the yard comes as such a surprise. I have seen an assortment of various little lizards out back, which is cool, and there are some beautiful birds, too.

 Texas, I’ve learned, is actually supposed to be a birdwatcher’s paradise. In the Woodlands, however, it’s sometimes confusing knowing which birds are statues and which ones are real (granted, I’m nearsighted).

 Still trying to resolve the school issue: where to go? After researching alternative school options to the overstuffed public schools here, the only viable one I could find is a Montessori-based school called The Esprit International School. The name invites visions of multicultural grandeur and international adventures, but in reality, it’s a sweet little (and I mean  little) place, the closest thing I’ve seen to a one-room schoolhouse. The headmistresses, Rosemary Bigelow (great name, eh?), is actually quite impressive, as are her handful of upper grade teachers, the only reason I ventured to revisit it after our initial excursion to the area last spring.

 When we visited last spring, it was Friday, which is when kids have art a shorter day and, evidently welcome farm animals visit every now and then. A bevy of critters happened to be out on the yard the day we visited, so we dubbed this place, “The Zoo School.”

 We dismissed the possibility of going to Esprit because the public schools were supposed to be great and because it was just so small. But after three days of chaos and confusion in the public schools, coupled with the fact that Esprit starts on Thursday, we were advised to have the kids attend the first two days and then make a decision. “Instead of being on a cattle call now, I get to be with farm animals,” said Noah. We’ll see how it goes.

 I wish there were more options for them. What I really wish is that the kids were still going to Prospect Sierra, but we just moved here and we can't leave David, so we have to find something that'll work, at least for this year. There’s actually a very shmancy private school within walking distance from here, but it’s uber elitist, uber conservative, and uber competitive. Sadly, not a good fit either. 

 The truth is, we're simply not a good fit here. We’re not just square pegs—we’re hexagonal. While fitting into the “round hole” of The Woodlands is not going to happen anytime soon, I have to at least find a way to make my kids feel comfortable. I trust they'll learn something, and certainly expand their awareness of American culture. Noah's already counting down the days until he returns to Berkeley for winter break (114 as of today).

OMG (and I don’t say this lightly): I just walked out to get Izzie again, and while she was busy barking at something else this time, I found in my path what I initially thought was gnarled root, only to realize that it was a dead nutria. It looked like something out of Lord of the Rings, all shrivelled and Smeagol-like. Gives me a queasy feeling thinking about eating at The Hobbit Hole again...

Entry #1

Saturday, August 20, 2011

I’m sitting surrounded by piles of things I should be putting away right now, seated on a kiddie chair at a kiddie table because David can’t find the screws to put my desk together yet...We’ve been in The Woodlands (please note: not Woodlands, but THE Woodlands), Texas for exactly four days now, and while I was going to start this journal on Monday when the kids go back to school, my mind is racing with all too many reminders that I’m not in Kansas anymore (or rather, Berkeley, California).

The first day here we got off the plane, opened the door to the outside, and couldn’t breathe. The air was so hot, it seemed deprived of oxygen. Noah said it felt like he was “stepping into a campfire.” Granted, the official record was reached the week prior to our arrival (110) and it was a mere 103, but we were used to spending our summers in the Bay Area, where Mark Twain famously wrote, “The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco.” A friend of ours donned his down jacket the night before bidding us farewell. Right now, I can’t think of wearing anything more than a t-shirt and shorts, and I never wear shorts. I’m just too hot to care.

A word about The Woodlands, “Texas’s most celebrated master community.” Here’s what the website’s home page states (if you suffer from nausea, please take some Pepto Bismol before reading the following): “Like an artist’s palette, The Woodlands offers a beautiful montage of living at its finest. Magnificent homes, winding nature trails, parks, shops and places of worship are carefully arranged in this lively and colorful panorama...It’s the intangibles like human services, religious diversity (huh?), community spirit, healthcare and lifelong learning that are the cornerstones of community building. Those have been the guiding principles of The Woodlands since its founding more than 36 years ago.” There is one wee synagogue here, and churches galore, though other places of worship are nary to be found. Then again, everything’s hidden by trees that line the roads, so who knows?

Folks who live in Houston (30 miles south of here) call The Woodlands “The Bubble.” I would describe this planned community (the second largest in the nation) as Stepford meets the Dukes of Hazzard, with a dose of Pleasantville thrown in. (Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood also comes to mind, but the architecture’s altogether different and it lacks the 1950s charm and train ride. And it’s way too hot to don a cardigan.) The houses, all built by large corporations, are pretty darn huge and lovely looking, though they’re mass-produced and carbon copies of one another inside. It couldn’t be more different from the uniquely gilded Victorians and Craftsmen bungalows of San Francisco and Berkeley.

The first place our realtor took us was to the “Homefinder Center,” where you can see an architectural rendering of the entire area. I was looking for the whereabouts of the bird calls I heard, when I found out they were just filtered sounds. Faux stone (cement), faux wood floors, faux marble (cast plastic) and yes, faux bird sounds. I have seen some real birds, though, so that’s heartening. Then again, I’ve also seen a rodent that looks more like a capybara than a rat.

Evidently, this rodent of unusual size is called a Nutria (sounds like a breakfast cereal). The guy who told me what this creature was said they normally have yellow or orange front teeth. Doesn’t that make them all the more appealing? Ergh.

11:40 a.m.: Trying to put towels away and get the kids’ bathroom set up. Took away the creepy black shag rug that was left here and the brown polyester shower curtain, only to have the curtain rod collapse and all the metal curtain holders plunk directly into the toilet. I then attempted to hang up a towel, but the rod completely collapsed. Beige paint was evidently painted over the holder. This place might be large, but well-built it is not.

Back to unpacking...

Dinner: Being in Texas, we thought we should embrace the culture and try a recommended Tex-Mex place. The restaurant everyone seemed to recommend is called Chuy’s (I thought it was spelled Chewy’s, which sounded dubious to me, especially if it specializes in meat dishes. The word “gristle” came to mind.). We arrived there and the place was hoppin’, so much so, that we needed to take one of those light-up/vibrating contraptions that lets you know when your party is called. David and the kids were starving and very glad to be able to help themselves to whoppin’ baskets of greasy tortilla chips and salsa, all housed in a bright green Cadillac convertible (the hood, that is).

The dish recommended by our server was “Elvis’ Green Chile Fried Chicken: A tender chicken breast breaded with Lay’s Potato Chips, deep-fried and smothered in green chile sauce and cheddar cheese, served with green chile rice and refried beans.” Might as well order an artery clogger with a heartburn chaser, eh?

We didn’t order this choice dish, but there were plenty of folks chowing down on their enormous platters and joining the “clean plate club.” I ordered the tortilla soup, described as a “light” dish, despite the globs o’ cheese that greeted me each time I lifted my spoon. Did taste good, though. Aidan wondered if he would be “obese” if he ate like this every day. “Um, yes,” was my answer. Each one of our entrées (including Noah’s 12” burrito) could’ve easily fed a small family.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

9:30 a.m. Leaned against the sink to wash my hands, and the sink moved towards me. What hospitality! Actually, the fact that the sink isn’t attached to the wall makes me concerned, as it’s located in the guest bath next to the kitchen—an oft-used spot. We may very well have an indoor waterfall soon.

I woke up to find sections of the New York Times drying all over our house. Evidently, the delivery person had thrown it in the gutter and it was soaked. I know this area is largely comprised of Republicans and Tea Partiers, but still...

10:45 a.m. Just finished taking Izzie for a walk. I don’t ever recall feeling my back get drenched so quickly, even when I went to boot camp for workouts. Along the way we met a nice woman, Mary Kay, and her poodle mix pup named Dolly. Classic.

A grocery store adventure: Our first foray to the grocery store made me think about a class I took in graduate school called “Cultural Issues in Counseling.” Our professor had us explore various foreign stores to learn more about the given culture. Her theory was brought to light at our local market (more like a superstore—Texas-style).

Our local grocery is called HEB. Locals call it by letters: H-E-B (as in “Here Everything’s Better.”). As a Jewish gal, I find comfort in simply calling it “Heb.” For those who aren’t familiar with this term, it’s a shortened version of “Hebrew,” a reference to a Jew. The fact that we’re now in the Bible Belt and the grocery store is called “HEB” is not an irony lost on me. I even found some Kosher items, though they were mixed up with Indian curries and Japanese rice noodles. Still...

First impressions of this store are as follows: HUGE. Stores around here make the CostCo in El Cerrito look like a five and dime. Noah and I decided to go row by row, simply because we didn’t have anything in the house and we didn’t know our way around. Noah asked if he could just wander around, but the place was simply too big—I didn’t trust I could find him.

Here are some things that caught our eye: A sign section topped with: “No Hunting or Trespassing.” A row devoted entirely to chips; another of soda. Rows of snack foods...dozens and dozens of salsas. The toy section was filled with rifles, guns, some bows and arrows and cowboy paraphernalia.

We overheard a gentleman ask a clerk about a label on a bakery loaf labeled “alternative bread.” Was it not bread? Was it something disguised as bread? Turns out it was just alternative to “white.” Oh.

By the time we reached the produce section (45 minutes later?), Noah was so exhausted from our shopping experience that he asked to go back to the van. Since it was hot outside, I was concerned about him, so I got in line and finished up. A gentleman with large green studs in his ears kindly beckoned me forth, so I didn’t have to wait, and a nice woman actually helped me unload my groceries.

I asked if they had any paper bags, since I’d forgotten my cloth ones and needed paper for recycling. The cashier asked his fellow cashier, and said, “Nope. Just plastic.” So I proceeded to watch the bagger put one or two items in a white plastic bag and load my cart, to the point where I nearly started to hyperventilate.

I’d just read an article about the fact that each American uses roughly 500 plastic bags each year, contributing to the billions of plastic bags that are clogging our landfills and essentially destroying the planet.

I started to tell the bagger that I didn’t need my cantaloupe in a bag, nor my laundry detergent, frozen pizza...I could tell by her looks that she thought I was completely bonkers. With more than $200 worth of groceries, I realized I couldn’t carry everything in my arms and had to just suck it up this once and watch my cart become a flurry of white plastic, something that’s actually now outlawed in San Francisco.

When I got to the car and turned it on, the temperature registered 177 degrees. Noah gets freaked out about global warming, and just stared at the thermometer slack-jawed. We tried turning on the air-conditioning, but only hot air came out. Luckily the house was only a few minutes away.

Upon arriving home, I put the groceries away as quickly as possible, tucked the enormous wad of plastic into a bigger bag, and gathered all my cloth bags into a pile. I vowed to take them wherever I go from now on.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Drove behind a car with the following sticker: “Texas Born. Texas Proud.”

The kids had their first experience in Houston, albeit not the most scenic nor upbeat one. We were supposedly going to “The Heights,” which, we’re told is a very nice, hip neighborhood, though where we ended up was hardly that. David was looking at a used car to purchase. The owner apparently used to hand-build Ralley cars and really knows his stuff. David has been driving what we call “the granny mobile,” a grayish-lavender 1996 Corolla, and needs something a wee bit spiffier to drive to work, since most of his fellow executives drive upscale vehicles. In Berkeley, he was used to taking his bike to BART or the “casual carpool.” The granny mobile was used only when it was raining, or to go to the BART and back.

I said I was going to go for a brief walk down the street while David talked to the seller (a nice man named Peter), but he warned me not to (“It’s not really safe for you to walk alone” he said), so I went in the car for a test drive with David, Peter and the boys. On our way back, I saw a dog lying all-too-still in the street meridian and asked if we could turn around to see if it was still breathing. David said he’d spotted it and it was very dead. The kids and I were pretty horrified, and Peter said that folks don’t generally treat their dogs well in Houston, adding that he’s had to call Animal Control on his neighbors several times.

Needless to say, the kids wanted to get the hell out of Houston and never come back after that experience, but I thought that returning immediately to “the Bubble” wouldn’t be such a good plan, so we went out to dinner. The first place we tried was closed, so we ventured out to another recommended spot, The Hobbit Hole, a place that’s as close to Berkeley as we’re bound to find, with brown rice, lots of veggies, and even Bragg’s Amino Acid as a condiment.

A gentleman from Louisiana asked the waitress to point out what was on his plate. He didn’t recognize the various veggies and such apparently, saying that “I’m just used to eating a piece of meat and don’t know what all this stuff is,” picking around like he was wading through a platter of grubs and bugs.

Menu items were named after Hobbit characters, ranging from “The Gandalf (avocado and mushrooms under melted cheese), Withy Windle (chicken salad...), to Fatty Lumpkin (tuna salad) and Bilbo the Magnificent (veggie). The kids got a kick out of this. A smoothie called Baggin’s Banana “just sounds wrong,” said Aidan. The food was good, and we had a few laughs before heading back to The Woodlands, so hopefully the kids will be more open to exploring Houston the next time we go. I’ll be sure to avoid the Dead Dog Zone (now called), with hopes that we can find some more aesthetically appealing neighborhoods.

What we’ve seen thus far of Houston (about a 30-45 minute drive from where we live, depending on the area) looks kind of like an unattractive east L.A. without the beaches...The people seem generally friendly, though, and there’s something very charming about everyone saying “Yes, ma’am and No, ma’am.”

School starts tomorrow.

Monday, August 22, 2011

The kids got up early and were ready to go. Good start.

All of us had butterflies in our stomachs, though.

David drew me a map to Aidan’s new school, but I of course got completely lost anyway, and our GPS (my newfound best friend) lost satellite reception (make that fair-weathered friend). About a mile away, we got stuck in hellish school traffic, making both Aidan and I rather anxious. Finally, I parked the car and walked Aidan into the building. The music from “Welcome Back Kotter” was booming from the loudspeakers, and the air-conditioning was set so low, the windows were foggy.

We found Aidan’s classroom, but the teacher wasn’t there. Very different atmosphere from Prospect Sierra...a world away, in fact. The campus is comprised of just fifth and sixth graders, about 1300 in all. Noah’s 7-8 grade campus has over 2000 kids, a far cry from their K-8 school, with about 250 kids total across two campuses.

On my way out, three people were singing another song and dancing. My glasses fogged up upon walking outside, since it was about 60 degrees inside and 100 outside.

I drove to Starbucks for a soy latte treat (no Peet’s here) and noticed one woman with zebra print leggings and a one-shouldered bronze top. Upon backing out, a woman polishing her nails was driving dangerously close to my already decrepit van.

In about an hour I’ll venture once again to the kids’ schools. With the unbelievable traffic, I think they’ll be taking the school bus beginning tomorrow. I will miss our car conversation and friendly comraderie of fellow parents at drop-off and pickup.