Going undercover
Espionage in the school library.

by Terri Mauro

Friday is my spy day at my kids' school. It's not easy to work my way in there; the principal guards the gates heavily, and doesn't allow parents much access to classrooms. Parent participation in parties is frowned on, parent observation is all but forbidden, parents volunteering as helpers in the classroom is unheard of. It's a tight ship, and there's no room for tourists.

I know that other schools are not this way. I hear of parents working in their children's classrooms, helping with reading or other activities, having plenty of time to observe their child in the context of other children. Some schools apparently require such contributions. Some parents undoubtedly resent that, but how I envy them the opportunity. I've been allowed in my daughter's classroom during school hours exactly once, to read a story as part of her teacher's "Mystery Reader" program. Every parent gets to do it. Once. You read, and then you leave.

Our principal would undoubtedly be horrified to hear me suggesting that she doesn't want parents to volunteer. There are plenty of opportunities--working at the big all-school parties (as opposed to the little in-class parties), being class parent and sending goodies in for little in-class parties (but just leave them by the office, please), helping at Book Fair or other fundraising activities, putting out the newsletter, calling other parents on snow days. But none of these involve actually being in your child's classroom, or observing him or her with classmates except in the most coincidental way. Parents aren't asked to be lunchroom aides or playground aides, as they are in other schools. It's virtually impossible to spy on your kids in their natural habitat.

Except, that is, in the library.

Being a library aide is the one loophole left at our school, and I merrily sneak through it. Using this opportunity for nefarious purposes takes a little planning--you have to be aware enough to know when your child goes, and lucky enough to find that slot untaken--but if you play your cards right, you can have 35 minutes of uninterrupted observation of the way your child behaves in school and how his or her classmates interact. You can also get to know the kids by name, chat them up when they check out their books, and get known as your child's Mama. It's unbelievably open access, and I can't believe the principal hasn't found some way to close it.

Don't tell her about this, okay? Or she'll find a way to switch me to Wednesdays, and I'll have to spy on someone else's kids.

Another one bites the dust
The Oscars come, the Oscars go.

by Terri Mauro

Many years ago, before I had kids, before I had a husband who hates award shows, and before I lived on the East Coast where everything's three hours later, I used to throw big Oscar Night parties. My friends and I would dress up in gowns, sip champagne, and dis the proceedings. We'd all seen all the films and so had actual opinions. The evening was a highlight of my year.

Fast-forward about 12 years. I never see any movies, much less award-nominated ones. I'm in New Jersey, where the ceremony starts at 8:30 p.m. and ends the next day. It's hard to have a party that ends in the wee hours of a work morning, so we've scaled down to having our two closest friends over. We sit around in our sweats, drink red wine out of a box, and dis the proceedings. This year, three out of four of us actually managed to stay awake, which may be a record.

Maybe it's just that everything seems funner when you're younger, but the ceremony seems similarly anticlimactic to me these days. There were some improvements this year--the presenter's banter, while not altogether eliminated, was at least reduced to one limp exchange. Liked the two music montages, dozed through the multiple movie montages, thought Billy Crystal's opening inserted-into-films montage was not as funny as previous ones, nor were his song parodies. Tell Bruce Vilanch to get working on some new schtick.

It's probably impossible to produce an Oscar show that everybody approves of. Last night's seems to be getting generally good morning-after reviews, but I found it somewhat airless. Possibly too well-produced. Even Robin Williams seemed reined-in, which is no mean feat considering he was singing a profanity-laced song from "South Park." There were no spectacularly awful dresses or makeup jobs (possibly because Helen Hunt did not appear to be in attendance), no spectacularly embarrasing acceptance speeches, no spectacularly nonsensical dance numbers, no spectacularly corny Begnini-esque behavior, no spectacle at all, come to think of it. The dry ice around Isaac Hayes was about as over-the-top as it got.

And if it had been a corny, spectacular, over-the-top kind of night, I probably would have complained about that, too. It's bad enough to see how old stars like Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty (and Crystal and Williams, for that matter) are looking. It's worse to feel like an old coot myself because dang it, the Oscars used to be more fun back when I used to watch movies.

Don't give driving a second thought
Keep your eye on the road and your mind in neutral.

by Terri Mauro

Want to be a better driver? Don't think.

Incensed about the Census
Is the government being insensitive about adoption?

by Terri Mauro

When filling out our Census (yes, that's right, I've filled mine out; have you?) I was a little surprised to see that my children's origins were an issue. Along with all the other relationship options--husband, wife, mother, mother-in-law--were "natural-born child" and "adopted child." Among the parents whose e-mails I read on an on-line support group for those who have adopted from Eastern Europe, those would be considered fighting words. First, to ask in the first place. Then, to ask in a way that implies our children are not natural.

Personally, I've always been very forthcoming about the fact that our children are adopted, and probably introduce that tidbit far too early in any conversation about them. I'm proud of how far they've come from that Russian orphanage, and I want people to understand why the journey has been, and continues to be, so hard for them. I've always felt that it's hard to advocate for adoption if you won't cop to it; people aren't going to ask you for information or be inspired by your example if they don't know you're setting one.