Yea, I stole it from Amazon

A while back I wrote about some of my son’s favorite books and was looking for pictures of them on the interwebs. I came across a review of one of our all-time classics, Harry and the Terrible Whatzit.

It’s a story that Younger Son always loved. He went through a very fearful phase and we had a whole stack of books specifically about dealing with fears (and he loved each and every one of them, and still gets excited when he comes across them). I loved Harry because it’s an old-fashioned book from the ’70s with quaint pictures and no marketing involved.

It’s about a little boy who’s afraid to go in the basement to look for his missing mother. But he needs to find her! So Harry plucks up his courage and goes in the basement, and of course there’s a Terrible Whatzit down there. He starts beating it with a broom.

Here’s what the review said:

“I almost hesitate to recommend this book to other parents and teachers because it shows a little boy hitting someone (or something) else. And hitting isn’t a message I want to send to the little boys out there.”

OK, let’s not panic here.

The story is about empowerment! It’s about defeating the boogie men who live in the closet!! It’s not saying that you should literally carry around a broom for beating people!

Kids know the difference between reality and books. Would there really be a two-headed warty troll in the basement? No. So you wouldn’t need to beat it with a broom. But when Harry hits it, the troll shrinks and eventually runs away. It’s an ingenious way to show kids metaphorically that if they face their fears, they can overcome them.

Who wasn’t afraid to go in the basement? I still remember the fear that would rise in my chest from just looking into that dark, brick-lined pit. The value of a book like this is in being able to pinpoint that feeling and teach a child how to overcome it without lecturing. And to show that maybe the thing you’re afraid of isn’t so big and bad, and you’re smart and tough enough to handle it. Like my friend Natalie told me the other day, “You’re so much stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for.” We all need to hear that every now and then.

There is violence throughout literature because there is violence throughout life. I understand that there is a point in trying to shield our kids from it (such as the WWE, God help me my sons idolize mulleted insane muscle freaks). But we can’t totally. Violence is part of human nature.

Teaching kids not to be violent is a daily, ongoing process, during which we show them that all kinds of behavior aren’t acceptable. Instead we teach them how to treat people in a respectful way.

You know, probably by explaining about not going around hitting them with brooms, and stuff like that.

The best way to teach non-violence is to live it. Most kids would never see you beating anything with a broom unless you had a raccoon in your garage. We teach by how we live. If they see you being courteous, treating people with respect, and apologizing when you’re wrong, then they’ll know how to do these things too. And hopefully we can show them how to protect themselves from violence a little bit, too (but that’s another post).

For example, Older Son was worried that he’d hurt someone during a basketball game and didn’t know what to do. I told him next time something like that happens, just pat the guy on the shoulder and say, “Sorry about that, are you ok?” Easy. But until I gave him the simple steps, he didn’t know what to do.

I have another old ‘70s book in my collection of classics called Sunday Morning by Judith Viorst. We discovered it when my kids were about 7 and 5. In it a parent threatens the kids with a spanking if they’re not quiet. The first time we read it Younger Son turned to me and asked, “What’s a spanking?”

Can I say that was one of my proudest moments as a mother without looking like a self-satisfied jerk? But kids will come across a lot of things in books that they’ve never actually seen happen in real life.

So people, be not afraid. Read “Harry and the Terrible Whatzit” and fight monsters and slay dragons. Your kids will feel powerful and strong and maybe next time (or, a year from now) you won’t have to go in the basement with them.

Anyway. Every year my mother buys either a Lego or Playmobil advent calendar for the kids. The Playmobil ones are fun because they’re re-usable, and they all have a holiday theme. We have several now and sometimes we set them all up so the boys are opening four or five calendars every day.

The Lego ones are fun because they get to build a little something every day and get lots of Lego people for their collection. While they have a little bit of a holiday theme (you always get a Santa!), they’re mostly just little pieces, sets, and people that can be mixed in with the giant box of Legos.

This year, we had a very hard time figuring out what the theme was. Well, not so much what it was, but WHY.

Day one: this guy.

OK, he’s missing a tooth, he’s scruffy, he has an I’m-up-to-no-good look. That’s weird. But he’s got a snowball, so maybe it’s just fun and games time.

Day two: this catapult.

Yes, see, I reassured the kids, it’s just a snowball fight. You always bring your catapult to a snowball fight!

And thank goodness they warned us not to launch it into anyone’s eye. Because the last thing you want to do the week before Christmas is shoot your eye out.

Day three: a cop.

With handcuffs. And extra handcuffs. And an incredibly smug look on his face. (Occupy Lego City?)

Where are we going with this theme?

Day four: this.

Immediately Older Son said it was a jail. I said no, it’s just a warming station. Or a snack shack. It’s Christmas in the city after all, and we’re having a snowball fight so we need some hot chocolate when we’re done.

Why do I even try to be positive? I’m sure they think I’m already senile. Or just really pathetically naive. I’m surprised they don’t pat my head.

So by the end of two weeks, here’s what the warming station became:

Older Son, with some resignation, declared, ”Yep. I was right. It’s a jail.”

And by this time we had another guy:

And notice how his shirt matches the first guy! They’re freakin convicts!!! (The good thing is, he has a skateboard for a quick getaway. And his helmet so he can be VERY responsible. Because a convict on the lam’s first concern is safety.)

The scene, as my boys predicted, was a JAIL BREAK. With more cops, a safe, cars and snowmobiles in pursuit, and don’t forget the K9 unit.

Release the hounds!

And now, into the middle of all this chaos, here comes Santa. And he’s pissed.

Ooo, nothing but coal for you, bad guys.

And then you’ve just got this random dude out ice fishing. Does he even know what’s happening right behind him?

Seriously Lego people. It’s CHRISTMAS! I’m all for madness and mayhem, I have boys. We have guns and swords and good guys and bad guys and wrestling matches and tae kwon do and WWE. But for Christmas?

The boys were puzzled by it and honestly, a little disappointed. But that didn’t stop them from having some fun. Look how happy this guy is that he’s about to take a crowbar to poor old Santa.

Look out Santa! Behind you!

You’ve gotta be a hard, hard dude to want to beat up Kris Kringle.

He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake
He knows you’re creeping up on him with a big red Lego stake

Maybe it’s Lego’s anti-crime campaign. “Be good kids, because if you grow up and become a felon you won’t get ANY presents! And have a Merry Christmas.” People of Lego: I’m not complaining. We’re over it. Our season was not ruined by the jailbreak advent calendar. But my sons respectfully request a little more holiday cheer next year. Mm-kay?

I remember expecting my Younger Son. I was thrilled and excited and so much more confident than I had been the first time around.

But I was also consumed with the thought that I was ruining his older brother’s life. Towards the end of the pregnancy my belly was so big that I could barely even hold him in my lap, and it killed me that I couldn’t give him the attention that he craved. That child who had been the center of my universe was going to have to adjust – big-time – and I thought he would hate me for it.

It was probably mother nature preparing us all for the baby who would be in my lap nursing for hours. And Older would have to cuddle next to me, instead of right on my lap. I knew the transition would be hard for him, but it was hard for everybody.

Well, when is having a baby NOT hard?

And when the baby was done nursing and tucked away in his bouncy seat, Older could have me all he wanted. Life would go on, and we would find new ways to enjoy each other’s company.

The best thing I heard while expecting Younger was that when you have your second child, “the hardest part is giving yourself over to parenting.” I thought, what have I been doing for the past three years of spending 24/7 at the beck and call of this child? Was that not giving myself over? Was that not going to be ENOUGH?

But if you have two babies, you might as well have ten, because that’s how big the difference is (I’m sorry to put that so bluntly – don’t be afraid). There is never a time when you are not needed by someone. The laundry and dishes multiply tenfold. It’s much harder to enjoy a quiet naptime (because even if your first is young enough to still nap, they’ll never do it at the same time). Even sneaking away for a few hours gets more difficult. Plenty of friends are willing to hang out with your one child. But a toddler and a baby? Not so much.

There’s the fear – as long as the baby was in my belly I knew he was safe. But as soon as he was out, and I was saddled with him in a car seat or stroller or nursing, and my toddler went running off into the woods, what would I do? How would I keep both of them safe? Just keeping one alive was hard and stressful enough.

Then I had the thoughts of, will it be my last baby? My day care provider at the time had two boys, it’s all she wanted, she was done and happy and so sure of herself. I was jealous of her confidence and always torn about making a commitment to another child. Then Younger got to be about three years old and I said yeah – that ship has sailed. But you’ll know when you know, it’s as simple as that. If times were different I’d have five kids, but this is what my lifestyle fits. And I am more than blessed and eternally grateful to have two fabulous, healthy, kind, caring boys who were meant just for me.

In fact just the other night I had a dream that I was nursing a baby and I woke up with a shudder. I told Dave and he said, “That’s disgusting.” (We’re joking, Leche League.)

Oh, and some good practical advice is to try to minimize how much the baby needs you when your older child does too. Of course that sounds impossible but you don’t want to bring home this squirmy, loud, smelly thing who’s getting all the love and attention while your older child mopes, and then to top it off keep reminding them that they can’t have you anymore because now you belong to the baby.

The best trick I found for doing that is saying something like “My hands are busy right now. I’ll help you in just a minute I promise.” Try to avoid “I’m busy with THE BABY.” Your child is going to be so sick of that damn baby – try not to point out that you’re neglecting them to play with the one who they think is replacing them.

Let her come to her own opinion about the baby. Don’t force her to play with it or say how much she loves it or help you change diapers – yet. The time will come when she’s interested (and maybe that will be right away, who knows), but let her set the pace.

And read Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, it will save your life I guarantee. It’s also probably a good idea to stock up on “The new baby is coming!” books from the library so you can talk to her about this in a non-in-your-face way.

I remember the first night in the hospital with Younger. Everyone had gone (remember the first baby, when Daddy’s hovering over you every moment? By the second one he’s home sleeping before the nurses tell you lights out) and it was just me and this beautiful, scrawny, pruney, stunning, perfect baby. I grabbed him out of his cradle and scared him to death – I was used to handling a wild 2-1/2 year old toddler boy.

I held him tight and told him, “We’re going to be great friends.” I felt a warmth I hadn’t had with Older, because for that poor boy I was just in a slightly constant state of panic and confusion. For this one I knew exactly what I was doing and it made the ride all the more precious.

When I look at my boys now, the unit, the inseparable pair, the brothers who have a bond I can’t even fathom, I know any worry I had was a waste of time. They have that sibling relationship that is so vital through life. You may love or hate your sibling, but there is no one else in the world who shares the same experiences and history as you. And as my friend once told me, “Everybody needs a sibling to gang up on your parents with.”

My second child was a gift to my entire family, one that I probably still don’t quite understand the magnitude of. I can’t remember what life was like before he came. I know I wondered how I could love another baby as much as I loved my first, and then I found out that my own heart had depths I couldn’t have imagined.

OK. I’ve done it. I’ve been to the dark side…and come back to tell the story.

I went where I swear I would never have gone, and had no desire to go, in my whole life – if I didn’t have two sons in it.

A real-life WWE cage match.

This is just the latest thing I banned from my kids’ lives and they insisted on having, so eventually I caved. Just like how I said there’d never be war toys in my house and now we have an arsenal – literally. There are so many guns and swords that they had to be moved into their own room (you know, the office/guest room/armory).

BUT, as I learned with the guns, the toys you play with don’t make you who you are. It’s how you treat other people. And teaching my boys how to treat other people has nothing to do with toy guns. So I do my usual daily work of guiding and teaching, and I let the WWE seep in. Or come crashing in, literally and figuratively, as it did for my boys. And we continue to talk about how you don’t resolve your problems by throwing someone through a wall.

Older Son was angry when I told him how I felt about professional wrestling. Here he’d found this awesome, intensely cool thing that spoke to him on a level I can’t understand, and all I could do was say how bad it was. I told him I can’t stand to see people beating on each other.

He put his hand on my arm, looked in my eyes, and in a tone of real concern asked me, “You do know it’s fake, right?”

I had to admit it – he’s a pretty smart kid. So I let it play. In a matter of months they’ve obtained toy wrestling rings, a collection of action figures, and a soundtrack that must be cranked whenever we’re in the car. So Santa decided it would be fun to take them to a real match (against my will). I decided to look at it as a sociological experiment (which I guess is pretty much how I see most of my life these days).

I figured the crowd would be entertaining and boy was I right. There were a few who were really downright scary – you could see the security guards keeping an eye on them (and in real life they’re probably the sweetest people but put them in the right situation and they look terrifying). The 65-year-old lady and her 35-year-old son gesturing wildly to each other when the announcer said the next live match would be in March. The (again, adult) lady behind us yelling and screaming and making the most hilarious comments – to people who don’t take the WWE seriously enough (“Oh yea, he’s dirty like always!” “Look out behind you!! The chair!!! HE’S GOT THE CHAIR!!!”). Full-grown men wearing WWE championship belts.

And I loved how the wrestlers had security guards escorting them down the aisle to the exit. You, John Cena, man of muscle, who just lifted a 275-pound 7-foot tall man on your back and slammed him to the ground AND won the match, need this scrawny dude to protect you from the weaklings in the seats?

The wrestling actually looks more fake in real life than it does on TV (sorry everyone who believes it’s real – and there are SO MANY of you out there). But even I gasped and covered my eyes several times when people were being body slammed or worse. And of course there were moments that got the teacher and protector-of-children in me going, like when they showed the video montage of the WWE’s anti-bullying program.

Really? A sport that is based solely on bullying, and they’re sending the stars out there to tell kids not to do it to each other? They actually had the nerve to say “It’s all about respect.” Because when you kick someone in the face, that’s respect!

And the fact that they kept making a big deal out of their shows being “PG.” What’s PG about people slamming other people’s faces into walls or smashing chairs into their bodies? Michelle told me, “The G is for Guidance, and as a Parent, that’s WHAT YOU DO.”

I told her to shut it.

And then we got in a divas cage match right there in the car on the way home from the show.

This may in fact be the one that got my kids started on their Simpsons obsession. Listening to it while I wrapped presents reminded me of the brilliance of this show. They can take a topic that I would rail on and on about (boringly and shrilly) and boil it down to a hilarious 7-second quip.

For example, the sign on the rest home that says, “Thank you for not discussing the outside world.” Of course it’s just funny, but in fact it’s practical too. There are many times that I’ve wished to say that very thing to the adults coming into my day care.

Then we have Lisa’s speech to her Aunt Patty, who is “just trashing your father:”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t. Because aside from the fact that he has the same frailties as all human beings, he’s the only father I have. Therefore he is my model of manhood, and my estimation of him will govern the prospects of my adult relationships. So I hope you bear in mind that any knock at him is a knock at me, and I am far too young to defend myself against such onslaughts.”

Rock on, Simpsons.

But this is nothing new, really. As a child care provider, mother of two boys who both play three sports, writer, small business owner, and wife, my life is pretty much constant chaos. Go go go go go it never stops. Needless to say, a lot slips through the cracks. And I spend a lot of time being hard on myself because of all the things I’m failing at.

When my mother calls to see how I’m doing I often start listing everything that’s hanging over my head: “Well Older needs new basketball shoes but we can’t get to the store before his next game because I have a meeting Wednesday night, and I had to go to school and pick up Younger because he was sick, so I didn’t get to write my article at naptime because I was entertaining him so I have to write after they go to bed tonight, and I won’t have time to cook dinner because we have to be at tae kwon do at 6:00 so they’ll have to eat grilled cheese again and the insurance agent called me for the fifth time to schedule the inspection but my phone died when I left it in the car overnight and speaking of which, I still haven’t gotten that rusty spot painted over and winter’s coming.”

And my mother will say, “I’m concerned that this surprises you.”

And I’ll say, “It doesn’t surprise me, it’s just my life, I’m used to it. But I still feel like I have to explain to you why everything’s in a shambles all the time.”

And she says, “You have to learn to embrace the chaos.”

Now that is a powerful sentence.

I had a mental picture of giant arms wrapping around a maelstrom of laundry, children, messy beds, lost shoes, spilled food, and undone paperwork whipping around like snowflakes in a blizzard.

I guess I embrace it in a way, because I have no other choice. I always say the most important task rises to the top, and it gets done, though maybe half-assed. I’ve had to learn how to get what I need done while cooking dinner, spelling words and shouting out multiplication answers for homework help, and trying not to trip over the cat who hasn’t been fed all day.

And that’s annoying. I want a block of quiet time to unclutter my brain. It’s frustrating not being able to sit down with a cup of coffee and plan the day in front of me: here’s what I need to get done, let me pay these bills, oh what a nice article in the paper, look at email/facebook/texts, make sure the appointments are on the calendar, check off done done done on the to-do list.

Ha. I wouldn’t even have a spot to sit down.

And even if I did, I’d hear “Mommy!” within 46 seconds.

But then I remember what Pam said one time when I was running off to a baseball game and had forgotten a plan we’d made. Instead of being mad she just told me, “I miss all that.”

And I knew exactly what she meant. Someday I will be organized and my house will be spotless – because it will be uninhabited by children. So I’m really, honestly going to embrace this chaos and just keep smiling.

One of the things that bothered me the most was my son worrying about being left at basketball practice because of “that coach who molested that kid and no one called the police.”

So I’m trying to take my own advice and give my kids some real power over their bodies. This morning we opened the super fun box of Christmas delights so we could start working on some Christmas crafts.

Miss M and Miss G were fighting over a little baggie full of foam Christmas beads. I was busy cleaning up the remnants of the exploded box, so I told them to walk away, use their words, etc. (You know, all the things you yell at them from across the room when you can’t get there fast enough to break it up.)

But it wasn’t working, and Mr. R decided he was going to get in on the action. He went over and started slapping at the two girls who were already slapping at each other. Miss G just took it as a challenge and started slapping both Miss M and Mr. R. But Miss M started to cry.

I pulled them all apart and looked right in Miss M’s eyes. I said, “I want you to practice this with me. ‘NO!!!’” and I put my hand out like stop-in-the-name-of-love. At first she just looked at me with the tears still coming, like, are you yelling at me? What’s going on here?

I said, “I want you to practice your strong voice. When you cry and scream it only makes him want to hit you more. You have to make him want to stop. So, do this. ‘NO!!!’” The other girls started practicing.

“That’s great! Miss C, let me hear your strong voice!” She did it again, and the other girls took a turn.

I said, “Now try to make your voice really low,” because they still sounded like 3-year-old-girl squeaky toys. I showed them again but just sounded like a bear with indigestion. They knew it. “Ha ha Amy you sound like a bear!”

I said, “You’re right, I do. Now growl and say ‘NO!!!’”

We kept it up for a while and laughed at our silly voices. I told them that it was always OK to do this, and that I wanted to see growling bears instead of crying.

Then it was time to make lunch so I put out their drinks and snuck into the kitchen. Right after I disappeared, I finally heard a very loud “NO!!!” from Miss M. I winked at her but didn’t say anything (she likes to work stuff out on her own – you’re not really supposed to know about it).

The kids will sometimes sit at the table and wait while I make lunch. During this time, Mr. R likes to touch Miss G’s cup and make her cry (for a 2-year-old boy, this is a very interesting cause and effect toy). So after about thirty seconds in the kitchen I heard four girls yell “NO!” I glanced through the doorway and saw four stop-sign hands aimed at Mr. R.

It was lovely to see this, but it’s something I have to keep practicing. I’ve taught kids this from the start and like everything else, I have to teach it over and over. Like yesterday when we had to pull out the old “If you’re angry and you know it” song sheet and review what we should do when we’re angry.

But I do hope this will stick with them. I might start using it myself, in fact, when I’m surrounded by children who are hanging on my body or whining for me to do something for them. And most importantly, I have to work it into the conversation while my own boys are home. They’re getting some damn good fighting skills just from wrestling with each other, but I want them to feel that powerful in case they’re ever in a situation where the person is someone who isn’t just playing around.

Younger kept building a tower just for Tornado, and was trying so hard (and patiently) to get him to focus on his. Still Tornado went for the twins, and Younger sadly informed me, “Mommy he won’t stop.” I said, “If he knocks theirs down again he gets a timeout.”

Then I got distracted by Miss S needing something, so I went off to take care of that, and Tornado knocked all the towers down again.

Younger got up and led him over to the timeout spot. I’m conflicted about letting him be in charge of such things, as it’s not my sons’ job to discipline children, and would normally step in and say so. But because of their strong dynamic lately I let it play. Tornado knew it was coming and went along willingly.

I gave him a couple of minutes and then went to get him out of the timeout spot. He immediately walked over to Younger, gave him a hug, and SAID HE WAS SORRY!!

Then he walked over to Miss C, hugged her, and said sorry!

Then he walked over to Miss D and did it again!

My eyes were filling with tears. All these years, all the run-ins we’ve had, all the work we’ve done on sharing and taking turns and understanding other people’s feelings, all the repeating over and over again about how to say you’re sorry – it all came together in one astounding moment. I’m not exaggerating when I say astounding. I couldn’t believe it was happening right before my eyes, and I was so proud to see my kids interacting this way.

And that’s the reward of child care.

I’m not saying he’s got all these beautiful behaviors down pat. In fact I think he only responded so strongly because it was Younger who gave him the timeout. Me, he’s not too concerned about angering. But YOUNGER, his new idol, that’s another story. And he was back to pulling hair two hours later during outdoor play, and that’s not shocking, it’s just to be expected. We’ll keep working on it like we always do, and there will be plenty more timeouts in the future.

But wow, what a great moment this morning.

First, take a look at this excellent and moving blog post by my friend, Jennifer Levi, reflecting on the transgender rights bill that was passed in Massachusetts last week.

Also, I have a new Gazette article taking aim at a pretty easy target: the Penn State debacle. But am I taking a cheap shot, or speaking the truth that no one else can afford to?

And the brandy-new post I just included below, originally featured on OwnaDayCare, which started quite an interesting debate over curriculum standards. I feel they’re too high, and I’m reminded of it every time I attempt a curriculum project (such as the handprint turkeys we made today while one child who doesn’t like projects threw a tantrum, and one really did a good job, and one painted the entire table with glue, and we all got frustrated and/or bored at some point during the course of the activity).

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

It took us about ten seconds to decide that our answer was no. We’re not going to make him feel like he’s failing to help the school boost its scores.

This experience reminded me of how gypped I feel that my kids are going to school in the No Child Left Behind era. While some progress is being made in moving away from the rules of this ridiculous act, my sons are still paying the price for politics. The quality of their education is damaged because schools are required to meet test scores and show progress rather than teach whole children.

I know a lot of people whose children started kindergarten this year, and many of them have real concerns about their kids. They’re hearing from teachers that their kids won’t sit still, won’t stop what they’re doing and participate with the group, and the dreaded “she’s not learning her letters.”

I try to tell them that kids who are five years old and in kindergarten aren’t necessarily supposed to be good at these things. But because the quality of education is based on how well they can do on a test, teachers need to be able to assess growth, and their jobs are at stake if they don’t.

Our fabulous, wonderful, amazing kindergarten teacher once told me, “This isn’t kindergarten. I’m teaching a first-grade curriculum.” At the time I was apologizing for bringing in a really messy plaster handprint project that took up most of the afternoon and that she had to teach around while I pulled kids out of her lesson. But she was thrilled that I was making a giant mess.

She said, “This is what kindergarten should be. Fingerpaints, play-doh, getting dirty, fun stuff.” But the amount that she is required to cram into their little heads doesn’t leave any time for the fun stuff. When she had my older son, she was still doing a few special cooking projects throughout the year. I don’t think my younger son ever got to do one just two years later.

These are the reasons why, for many years, I’ve been fighting against curriculum standards in child care. I didn’t like it when the state changed my title from “care provider” to “educator.” I’m far too busy meeting the basic needs of seven kids to spend hours developing a curriculum plan for five different age groups (especially when whatever I plan will entertain them for ten minutes tops).

In day care I need to hold kids in my lap. I need to roll around on the floor with them. I need to sing songs and play imaginary games and make sure they get some fresh air and exercise. I need to feed, clean, change, and nap them. I need to be able to let them do play-doh for an hour and a half if they want (that really happened here, just last week, I swear).

And in school, kids need to be exposed to a variety of experiences and learning styles. They need gym and recess and downtime. They need to write and act out plays. They need to build mobiles and shoe box dioramas and study different cultures by playing their games. They need to be inspired by music and art; in short, they need all the things that are being systematically squeezed out of their education.

So if your child is being criticized for things kids their age are typically not capable of, remember to follow your instincts and know that the school may be demanding more of them than they are ready for. Know that instead of flourishing in a world of astounding new technology, our schools are becoming more draconian. That under the current model, “adequate yearly progress” means that if your child doesn’t double their skills in a six-month period, they and their school are viewed as failing. Then write to your congressman, senator, and anyone else you can think of to rid our system of the absurdity of standardized testing.