1,000 people to thank before I die – #5 (Dan, my unflappable husband)

He didn’t even flinch. That’s the amazing thing. When I came home that day, I told my husband what had transpired during what should have been an absolutely routine photo shoot. I told him about meeting Keri deGuzman, her husband Brian and their two adorable children, Jesmina and Musse. I told him how Keri and Brian had traveled to Ethiopia to adopt their children, and how they were planning to return to adopt two more. And then I told him they’d invited me to go with them.

He didn’t even flinch. Not then, when I told him I wanted to go to Ethiopia, and not later, when I started dropping hints about how much this was going to cost us. And not this morning, when I woke up to an email from Keri saying, “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS!!!! Here we go………..!!!!!”

All he said, with typical calm, was, “I’m very excited for you.”

I first met Dan when I was 25 — a year older than our son Andrew is now. I had just moved back to Arizona after a four-year stint on the island of Guam, where I had finished my senior year of college and worked as a journalist for the Pacific Daily News. I had just broken up with a Guamanian man who had once asked me to marry him. So when I started my new job at The Arizona Republic, I wasn’t particularly interested in starting a new relationship.

I was still living with my parents after returning from Guam, so I was eager to get my own place. A friend at work was living in an apartment complex near Seventh Street and Bethany Home Road. She liked her apartment well enough, so I decided to move into that same building. Little did I know how momentous that simple decision would prove to be.

The day I moved in, my friend introduced me to Dan Barr, who also worked at the Republic and lived in the same complex. I was happy to make a new friend — especially one who was willing to help me move my boxes up the stairs to my second-floor apartment. We had the same odd days off (Sunday and Monday) so we’d often run into each other at the pool or in the laundry room. Eventually we started going on bike rides, hikes or walks around the neighborhood. Then movies. Then dinner and movies. A year later we were married.

On our way to the wedding reception: April 17, 1982.

How do you recognize the “right” one? I find myself pondering that question as our sons rapidly approach the time in life when they will choose life partners. My marriage did not get off to a particularly dramatic or romantic start. It started quietly, with friendship and shared interests and long conversations. It was comfortable, reassuring, reliable. From the moment we first started “hanging out” together, I knew Dan was a good man — a solid, grounded man who’d grown up in privilege but emerged with humility and great depth of perspective. A man secure enough in himself to allow me to be whatever I wanted to be.

I’m not sure how I knew all of that when I decided to marry Dan; I just did. And though we’ve experienced the ups and downs any honest couple married for almost 28 years would admit to, I have never wavered in my certainty that he was the right choice.

Twenty years ago this month, I was preparing to send my first issue of Raising Arizona Kids magazine to the printer. Though our young family had to absorb the cost of that first printing bill (and many others to follow), my husband never flinched. He believed in me, so he believed in my reasons for starting a magazine. Since that time, he has been a source of steadfast support, my biggest fan in any undertaking — no matter how great the cost to our family finances or my emotional reserves.

During a family trip: July 2009.

This morning, as he quietly shares my excitement in the adventures that lie ahead — adventures that I will experience without him — I am overwhelmed with gratitude for this man who so selflessly encourages me to face my fears and follow my dreams. — Karen

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On Jan. 2, I launched a project called “1,000 People to Thank Before I Die.” It is my version of a “bucket list” — an attempt to acknowledge the people who have guided and influenced my life before I lose the opportunity to do so — and was inspired by the book 1,000 Places to See Before I Die. Here’s where I started.

1,000 people to thank before I die – #4 (Keri) and the next great adventure

I stumbled into the first great adventure of my life and it looks like I’ve stumbled into the next one.

About a year ago, we ran a contest to choose a cover mom for the May edition of Raising Arizona Kids magazine. More than 130 moms submitted photos and essays about motherhood. We read many heartfelt stories; choosing just one mom for the cover was tough. But once we’d narrowed the field to 20, I sent around a memo asking everyone on my team and everyone at Vestar (which provided prizes for the contest through Desert Ridge Marketplace and Tempe Marketplace) to pick their favorite. By then, the winner was obvious.

Keri deGuzman waited a long time to be a mom. So long, she wrote, that whenever she heard the word “mamma” from her 14-month-old son or “I love you mommy” from her 26-month-old daughter, it brought a profound sense of joy.

Both of Keri’s children were adopted from Ethiopia. She and her husband, Brian, a cardiac surgeon at St. Joseph’s Hospital & Medical Center, traveled 8,935 miles to become parents — not once, but twice.

The deGuzman family one year ago: Musse, Brian, Jesmina and Keri. Photo courtesy of the deGuzmans.

Jesmina was born on Nov. 22, 2006 and placed in their arms on July 2, 2007. Musse was born on Nov. 22, 2007 and placed in their arms on April 26, 2008. “Yes, you read it correctly,” she wrote. “Both were born on the same day, one year apart to the day. Truly a miracle and what a blessing!”

I rarely accompany my creative team when they are out on a photo shoot. I trust them implicitly and figure they don’t need the boss lurking about while they do their work. But this time I asked to go along. I justified it by saying I could pick up some “color” — the word we in the print media use to describe interesting details for a story. Honestly, I was just curious.

What compels a couple to make that kind of journey to build a family? What kinds of challenges did they face along the way? What is involved — legally, logistically, emotionally and spiritually — in the process of international adoption?

Jesmina, Brian, Musse and Keri deGuzman the day of our photo shoot at McCormick Stillman Railroad Park. Photo by Daniel Friedman.

When we first arrived at McCormick Stillman Railroad Park for an early morning photo shoot, photographer Daniel Friedman and Art Director Michelle-Renee Adams were busy setting up the shot, so I took advantage of the moment to strike up a conversation with Keri and ask some of my questions. I found her captivating — spilling over with happiness, boundlessly enthusiastic about being a mom, completely open about her experience and passionately articulate about the plight of orphaned children in Ethiopia.

After the photos were taken, Jesmina and Musse needed to burn off some energy on the play equipment so Brian supervised the kids while I resumed my conversation with Keri. I learned that she and Brian had become involved in raising money to build Acacia Village, an ambitious project situated on 10,000 square meters of land west of Addis Ababa. The biggest undertaking yet by Christian World Foundation (a non-profit organization established to support humanitarian projects around the world and, in part, Christian World Adoption, through which the deGuzmans adopted their children) Acacia Village will encompass a variety of buildings, including housing for orphans, classrooms and a healthcare clinic for women and children.

Keri, Jesmina and Musse in a photo taken (on a different day, in studio) for our May 2009 cover. Photo by Daniel Friedman.

When they adopted Jesmina, “we truly thought we would go get our baby, make a donation [to the foundation] and walk away,” Keri confided. But witnessing the hardships faced by children in this desperately poor and underdeveloped nation rocked their world. So much so that Keri now spends nearly every spare moment volunteering her time, her energy and her family’s resources to make sure Acacia Village becomes a reality.

Before we left the park, Keri told me that she and Brian had decided to adopt two more children from Ethiopia. My recollection of what followed is murky. I must have said something about wishing I could visit Africa some day or what an amazing experience it would be to see them welcome these two new children into their family.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Keri said. I could tell she really meant it.

And I really meant it when I said I would. So now I wait, as they are waiting, for word that it is time to travel to Ethiopia. — Karen

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On Jan. 2 of this new decade, I launched a project called “1,000 People to Thank Before I Die.” It is my version of a “bucket list” — an attempt to acknowledge the people who have guided and influenced my life before I lose the opportunity to do so — and was inspired by the book 1,000 Places to See Before I Die. Here’s where I started.

Time for climbing trees

This morning, after I checked my email, looked at my personal Facebook page, looked at the Raising Arizona Kids Magazine Facebook page, perused the latest postings on the RAKmagazine Twitter account and logged some tweets in my personal Twitter account, I sat down on the couch to read the morning papers. My husband and I get both the Arizona Republic and the New York Times. (We used to get the East Valley Tribune before they stopped delivering to our area. Now, sadly, they’re not publishing at all.)

I don’t always make it through both papers but I try to at least scan the headlines. Today I was struck by the irony on the two front pages.

If your kids are awake, they’re probably online, warned a headline in the center of the Times. Thanks to remarkable multitasking abilities, children ages 8 to 18 are packing up to 11 hours a day of media activity into their daily routines, according to the story. “The average young American now spends practically every waking minute — except for the time in school — using a smart phone, computer, television or other electronic device, according to a new study from the Kaiser Family Foundation.”

Then I turned to the Republic, where I saw that More K-12 classes [have been] approved for online instruction. So now, in addition to “every waking minute” outside of school, children can spend even more of their day staring at a screen?

I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that I love the efficiencies of today’s electronic devices. I can get a lot more done in the same eight-hour work day than I used to be able to do. But every time I’ve upgraded my personal technology arsenal — from pager to cell phone, from cell phone to iPhone, from one email account to several, from no social media to Twitter and Facebook — I pay a price. These tools allow me to do more in a day, so I feel compelled to do more. And my internal expectations, instead of shrinking, are growing exponentially.

Online learning serves a great need in today’s society and Arizona has many fine schools that specialize in it. Many of these “virtual” schools (which we list in our 2010 Schools, etc. guide to education) are already free, public charter schools.

Increasing access to online learning within our regular public school districts has me feeling a bit uncomfortable. What is the effect to a child’s imagination and inherent need for contact with the natural world when even school time is spent online?

I am reminded of a recent conversation with a career educator. Piya Jacob is the founder and director of Desert View Learning Center in Paradise Valley, a small private school my own two sons attended during grades K-3.

Piya described a conversation she’d had with two parents who were debating whether they should enroll their child as a kindergarten or first-grade student. The mom was leaning toward a kindergarten start; the dad insisted the child was academically ready for first grade.

“What is the goal?” Piya gently prodded. “Is the goal to get this child to into the work world that much more quickly? Because we all have plenty of time to work. We have such precious little time to be children.”

In another story, she described a parent a who was watching students during independent reading time. One child (perhaps her own? I don’t remember) finished reading a book, then ran outside to climb a tree. “Why do you allow them to climb trees during reading time?” this parent asked Piya. “Why don’t you make them read more books?”

“Because,” Piya replied. “They need to climb trees.”

No greater love

Among the many wrenching images I will remember from the disastrous earthquake in Haiti is that of an American father whose daughter is still among the missing.

I watched Leonard Gengel on television yesterday, making his plea to President Obama to increase search and rescue efforts in Port-au-Prince. The fear and grief on his face was chilling as he shook, sobbed and struggled to breathe through his short statement. His daughter, 19-year-old Britney Gengel of Rutland, Mass. is one of four Lynn University students who are still unaccounted for in Haiti. On a semester-long program to feed the poor, they are believed trapped in the rubble of the Hotel Montana, near the Haitian capital.

Initial reports that his daughter was rescued were inaccurate. And a family once overjoyed by the prospect of a miracle is now wondering if they will ever see their daughter again.

Until you’ve done it yourself, you can’t comprehend the magnitude of love and the enormity of faith required to send a young adult child overseas. Each time I watched one of my sons board a plane destined for a city across the ocean, I gasped inwardly, overwhelmed by the certainty that they were headed to places beyond my ability to support or intervene.

And yet I’ve always had the reassurance, typically within a 24-hour period, of a cheerful response to an email. We parents of today have grown complacent about the ease of access we have to our children — even when they are traveling or studying abroad. In all but the most remote areas, they typically have access to the Internet and its many seemingly magical (and free) methods of communication. To be without that access, especially during a natural disaster the scale of what’s happened in Haiti, must be unbearable.

When I was 21, my mother watched me board a plane bound for Guam — a place so far away that it is a day ahead of us on the clock. It was 1977, just months after Super Typhoon Pamela centered its eye on this tiny island and wreaked havoc on homes and lives there. I wasn’t traveling with an organized program. I didn’t know anyone on the island. I didn’t know where I was going to live when I got there and I only had $800 in my bank account.

So I can hardly imagine my mother’s distress when I first announced my plans to go. And yet, in the weeks leading up to my departure, when I received an unexpected job offer and a perfect opportunity to bow out of my crazy plan gracefully, it was my mother who issued the ultimatum that changed my life.

“If you do not do this,” she said, “You will always wish you had.”

I wonder how many times she thought about that as she waited, not 24 hours, but more than two full weeks, for the letter confirming that I’d safely arrived.

What is the take-away for parents when we hear about young people like Britney Gengel? To live in fear of risk is suffocating. We can’t keep our children completely safe, even when they are living at home. We must allow and encourage them to explore the larger world around them or we restrict their curiosity, their creativity, their sense of adventure, their empathy and their innate need as human beings to make a difference. Britney and her friends were on a mission — one they’d embraced with every bit of their idealism and youthful exuberance. Their families loved and supported them in that effort, and now they worry and wait.

Even under the best of circumstances, sending a child to an under-developed country, where resources are limited and communication sketchy, must take an extraordinary amount of courage. Despite the mind-boggling specter of destruction and death in Haiti, I cling to hope that Leonard Gengel’s courage will not go unrewarded.

Haiti tragedy hits close to home

If you read our December story about the Juntunen family of Scottsdale, you are following the news from Haiti with special concern.

I got an email this morning from Sue Breding, who wrote our story about Craig and Kathi Juntunen, who adopted three children from Haiti. The couple’s ties to the island remain strong and their support (financial and otherwise) for the orphanage Crèche de l’Enfant has become a lifetime commitment.

Sue got an update from the Juntunens yesterday that I wanted to share with all of you:

“Due to the recent developments with the earthquake in Haiti today we wanted to update you on what we know. First of all, thanks to all of you for your thoughts and concerns during this tragedy — the number of people who have reached out to us is overwhelming and we are very grateful for the compassionate support of the extended Chances for Children family.

“When events like this occur in highly developed countries, early on there are many inaccuracies in the reporting, and with the lack of significant infrastructure in Haiti, we can not rely on 100 percent of what is currently being reported. What we do know and can report is that all of the staff and all of the children are safe and uninjured from the quake and aftershocks…the transit house ( which is in downtown Port au Prince ) has experienced some significant structural damage. The creche (our main building in Lamardelle ) also had damage but to a lesser extent. We wanted to release this preliminary information to our network of families and supporters as soon as we could confirm the information.

“While we are grateful that our operation, our children and our partners at FEJ have survived this massive quake – we are truly saddened by what this means for Haiti. This has been a devastating day for the people in Haiti. Many, many wonderful people will now be dealing with yet another catastrophe that will make day to day life in Haiti nearly impossible.

“If what is being reported is halfway accurate it is very difficult to imagine how this region is going to cope with the devastation. After the dust settles (literally), we will get back to you with an update and a ‘how we can help’ guidleline of potential activities . Please put the people of Haiti in your prayers…they already have plenty of challenges in their daily life………they did not need or deserve another sucker punch, which is exactly what they got today.”

1,000 people to thank before I die – #3 (Marilee)

We were roommates during junior year at the University of Arizona — two young women from very different backgrounds thrust together by the whims of a college admissions office. For at least one of us, that random assignment set the course for everything that would follow.

Marilee was pretty, petite and seemed very sophisticated to me. Her long, blonde hair hung straight and shiny to the middle of her back. She had wide blue eyes and thick lashes that curled up toward her brow. Her skin was flawless.

The daughter of a successful car dealer, she’d grown up in a large house in the town of Brighton, Mich., west of Detroit. Her childhood experiences included travel, expensive dinners at the country club and a motor home her family drove to the lakeside cottage where they spent much of the summer. As soon as she could drive, she had her own car (a new one, of course). Her parents were paying her tuition and living expenses. Her life seemed easy, stable and enviably secure.

Next to her, I felt like the gawky, unattractive poor relative. I was a head taller, heavier and uncomfortable in my own (often blemished) skin. I was on scholarship, work/study and student loans. My only mode of transportation was a bicycle. I didn’t take my first plane trip until the age of 19. My childhood was spent in six different cities in four different states. My family had recently moved to Phoenix, which meant I’d lost the security of a comfortable community to which I could someday return.

Even temperamentally, Marilee and I were very different. I was serious, studious, prone to keeping to myself. She was restless, social, someone who enjoyed parties and going out. I’m not sure why we became good friends, but we did. Maybe because I wanted to be more like her; I saw her as brave and daring in ways I was not. (Now that I am older I recognize that some of her ways — smoking, for example, and eating habits that veered perilously close to an eating disorder — were not examples to admire.)

Perhaps most exotic about Marilee was the fact that she had a boyfriend who was traveling somewhere in South America. Though I don’t remember how she met him (I think he may have been a friend from home), the fact that she had this long-distance romance in her life — with a guy who seemed to be quite an adventurer — intrigued me.

One day, Marilee told me that her boyfriend was moving to Guam, and that he wanted her to go with him.

She thought he was crazy. I thought it sounded wonderful. I offered to help her do some research so that she had some information to shore up her pitch to her family. I went to the university library and pulled everything I could find about Guam.

There wasn’t much, which worried her — and enthralled me.

I was a journalism major and someone who wanted to spend her life telling stories. A place about which little was documented seemed rich with opportunity for someone like me. So I did what I could to shore up Marilee’s confidence.

Then she asked me to go with her. When she pitched the concept to her parents, she used the fact that I would be with her to win them over.

To be an entrepreneur, I’ve often heard, is to be an inherent risk-taker. I think of myself an inherent risk-follower. Marilee and I did move to Guam, and so did her boyfriend. They didn’t like it as much as they’d expected and they quickly transferred to the University of Hawaii. I had spent every bit of my savings to get out there and had no financial safety net to give me options.

When Marilee and her boyfriend left the island, I was stuck. But it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.

Thanks to Marilee, I took the biggest risk of my life. When it didn’t work out the way I’d expected, I had to make it work. Which I did. And that ended up being the greatest gift of my lifetime: the certainty that, no matter what happens, I can get through it. — Karen

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On Jan. 2 of this new decade, I launched a project called “1,000 People to Thank Before I Die.” It is my version of a “bucket list” — an attempt to acknowledge the people who have guided and influenced my life before I lose the opportunity to do so — and was inspired by the book 1,000 Places to See Before I Die. Here’s where I started.

1,000 people to thank before I die – #2 (Debbie)

It was the culmination of two years of tiny, incremental steps — of conflicting emotions, of learning to let go, of recognizing my own limitations and finding ways to compensate for them, of doing what I knew in my heart was best for my “baby.”

Isn’t that what mothers do? We spend a couple of decades nurturing, feeding, supporting, losing sleep in worry, loving with an ache that is both exquisite and unbearable. And then, because it’s what is right, we step away.

I took one of those steps yesterday, the first business day of this new decade. And my “baby,” the magazine that grew up with me and my now-adult sons, is taking its first bold steps away from me.

At our staff meeting yesterday, I made an announcement. It wasn’t a great surprise to anyone who has seen me laying the groundwork. But I felt it was time for the demarcation — a formal declaration that we have crossed a line and won’t be going back.

“As of today,” I told my staff, “I am no longer the person running the business side of Raising Arizona Kids.”

My voice was shaking. Though I am confident about this new direction, it’s hard to admit you can’t do it all. Wearing the many hats required of a full-time editor and publisher is exhausting. For 20 years I have been in triage — always making tough decisions about which aspects of my job would get my full attention.

I have loved running my business. For someone who played “office” as a little girl instead of “house,” it has been the culmination of a dream. But I had other dreams when I first got into this — dreams that have gone unfulfilled as I’ve done what mothers do when raising their children: make time for everyone but themselves and their own creative fulfillment.

So I have turned over the business operations to longtime staffer Debbie Davis. And Debbie, who has run our circulation department since the fall of 2000, is turning over her duties to Community Relations Manager Katie Charland. The shift will create more time for me to focus on what I love best: content development for the magazine and raisingarizonakids.com.

It’s been two years since I first brought Debbie into the process of business and financial operations for Raising Arizona Kids. We started out gradually, working together on budgets and tracking. Debbie has a long career history in publishing, a good head for business and better business instincts than mine. I am not sure we would have survived the difficult economic downturn in 2009 were it not for her perspective and foresight.

Bit by bit, I taught Debbie what I’d learned in 20 years of making decisions, making discoveries and making plenty of downright disastrous mistakes. Sometimes it was really painful for me; it is easy to feel vulnerable and defensive about something as laden with emotion as money (or lack thereof). Sometimes I’d find myself feeling territorial as she gently probed for explanations or reasons. When she sensed my back was up, she backed off. We waited for another day.

Ultimately, I had to accept two things in order to make this work: (1) that Debbie was not judging anything I’d done and in fact was full of admiration for self-taught systems I’d created from years of trial-and-error and (2) that you must embrace the fear of letting someone in if you want the relief of letting go.

A few days ago I stared a list of “1,000 people to thank before I die.” Today, I’m adding Debbie to that list. Thanks to her patience, her perseverance and her sincere desire to improve the quality and stability of both my life and my business, I am looking forward to new adventures. — Karen

1,000 people to thank before I die – #1 (Pat)

On my birthday several years ago, I received a tiny paperback book from my friend Pat. On the first day of this new year, I picked it up, as I have done the first day of every new year since she gave it to me, and turned its pages back to the beginning.

The book is Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much by Anne Wilson Schaef. I have read it almost every day for so long that its pages are crackling and falling out. Some of the entries are highlighted and flagged with sticky notes. Some of the passages I’ve read hundreds of times. But I will keep reading it until I get it right.

It’s a book for workaholic women and its messages often parallel the mantras of a 12-step program for alcoholics. Though I find the comparison unsettling (both my father and grandfather struggled with alcoholism and the scars on each subsequent generation were painfully apparent) I recognize its inherent truthfulness in my life.

I am chronically overwhelmed — a situation that I realize, as I get older, is largely of my own making. I must keep busy. I can’t sit still. From the earliest days of our marriage, my husband has teased me about being “super KB.” My sons and I joke about the epitaph I insist will someday adorn my tombstone: “She got a lot done.”

I am also a self-flagellating perfectionist. No matter how hard I try, I’m never happy with the results of my own efforts. I’m always focused on what I could and should be doing instead of what I’ve done. I often see the glass half empty and blame myself for the void. If only I were more organized, more efficient, smarter, more perceptive, more articulate. If only I had tried harder. If only I had more hours in the day.

Which is why I appreciate this tiny book. Sometimes its inspirational quotes and meditations feel like they were written just for me. Here are some I’ve highlighted:

January 7: Part of the crazy thinking of addictions is that we will be safe if we can just get everything in order, everything in place, and keep it that way.

April 30: We may be surrounded by people all day long but our single-minded dedication to our work isolates us.

May 2: …women who do too much seem to vacillate between exaggerating our competence and feeling that we are worthless and totally incompetent.

May 16: Most women who do too much have great difficulty asking for help.

June 10: Sometimes, when I take stock, I only look at what isn’t done. I also need to look at what I have, what’s been done, and what’s being done.

When I’m really being honest with myself, I recognize that I use my “busy-ness” to justify many undesirable and unhealthy habits. I find myself avoiding free time, friend time, follow-your-dreams time. The perfectionist in me worries that I won’t get those right, either.

So today, on this second day of the year 2010, I am making a very public commitment to myself. I am taking on a “follow-your-dreams time” project that has been brewing in the back of my mind for quite some time.

When my husband and I first received the book 1,000 Places to See Before I Die as a Christmas gift several years ago, it got me thinking about all the things I want to do before I die — and all the people I want to thank for the profound ways they have influenced my life.

So this, my first “thank you,” is to my friend Pat, who knew me well enough to present a tiny book of meditations to me with her love, her empathy and her forgiveness.

Can you spell “winners”…?

The top spellers from each grade were seated at the front of the room, a giant map of the world behind them. They glanced around nervously as parents and guests arrived. In less than an hour, one of them would be the school’s spelling bee champion.

I was there to emcee the event, which took place at San Tan Learning Center in Gilbert yesterday morning. My job was to give a short talk before the bee commenced. The school’s founders, Kristopher and Rita Sippel, thought it was important to have someone in a writing-related field kick off the event by explaining why proper spelling continues to be important throughout life.

Finalists (from left): Maahi Ameer (first grade), Amanda O'Hara (second grade), Matt Joanes (third grade), Matthew Bujor (fourth grade) and Kimball Conover (fifth grade).

This was an historic “first annual” event at the school, which is participating in the Scripps National Spelling Bee — an opportunity available to any private, public or charter school (and even homeschooled students) around the country. The 83-year-old program was created to help students improve their spelling, increase their vocabulary and develop correct English usage that will help them all their lives.

I participated in the program myself as a fifth grader. After placing second in Alamosa County, Colo., I traveled to Denver to participate at the state competition. I didn’t make it past the written exam, but I never forgot the experience. And it added fuel to my already burning desire to follow a career that involved reading, writing — and communicating with words.

Maahi realizes he's won the spelling bee.

Yesterday’s competition was a bit of an upset. First grader Maahi Ameer emerged the victor after a hard-fought battle through several rounds with third-grader Matt Joanes after other finalists in the second, fourth and fifth grades were eliminated. Matt got tripped up by the homonym “missile,” spelling it “mistle.” Maahi followed up by spelling both “straightforward” and “octopus” correctly, making him the winner.

Maahi’s mom was there with his baby sister. I watched her as she videotaped the event and noted her reaction when he stumbled on a word early in the final rounds and it looked like Matt might win. She was more nervous than he was.

“Maahi must be a voracious reader!” I said to her after the event.

“Well, not really,” she said.

“He must really practice a lot!” I said.

“Well, not really,” she said. “Yesterday he wanted to ride his bike so I told him he could do that for an hour if he’d also practice his spelling words for an hour.”

What I finally learned about Maahi is that he’s one of those educational sponges who remembers what he sees, reads and hears. So spelling comes somewhat naturally to him, which is fortunate. But he has his work cut out for him. As his school’s representative, he’ll get a whole new list of words to prepare for the regional spelling bee in February. If his luck holds, he’ll go on to the state bee in March. Whoever emerges as Arizona’s top speller will travel to Washington, D.C. for the national competition.

Kristopher Sippel congratulates winner Maahi Ameer.

San Tan Learning Center is a K-6 charter school located at 1475 S. Higley Rd. in Gilbert. Tucked in a quiet corner behind a retail complex at Higley and Ray Roads, it evolved as a natural extension of its sister school, San Tan Montessori Private Prep Academy, a private preschool.

The schools’ founders, Kristofer and Rita Sippel, are an educational dream team. Rita is a certified Montessori instructor with a master’s degree in education and supervision. Kris modestly describes himself as “the guy who keeps the lights on” but he recently completed a Ph.D. in curriculum and instruction. (Rita also is planning to work on a Ph.D.) “We really feel it’s important to have the credentials,” Kris told me. “It gives parents confidence in the program.”

Here’s something that gave me confidence in the program. After the spelling bee concluded, Kris made an announcement to the kids who were eliminated. He encouraged them to check with spelling judge (and parent volunteer) Tammy White so they could learn what tripped them up. I was impressed when I saw runner-up Matt’s concentrated focus as he listened to Tammy explain the difference between “mistle” and “missile.”

Clearly these kids are getting it. Competition is fun but it’s not the end game.

Maahi's mom, Shakila Arshad, captures a tense moment on her video camera.

Bah, humbug!

I got a formal letter recently from a retail company that advertised with us off and on during pre-recession days. When I first opened it, I feared it was a bankruptcy notice (we’ve seen a lot of those lately). It looked very legal and imposing.

But it wasn’t. It was a holiday message of the most “Bah, humbug!” kind. The letter outlined this company’s policy against accepting gifts. If we ignored the warning and sent holiday gifts to any of its employees, the letter explained, we would be responsible for the most dire of consequences. People could lose their jobs.

I guess this isn’t an isolated occurrence. When I went home and told my husband about the letter, he said his law firm has stopped routinely sending holiday gifts to clients because many of them have similar policies.

Raising Arizona Kids has really scaled back in the holiday department this year but our reasons are budget-driven, not trying-to-avoid-getting-people-fired-driven. Typically, we send small edible goodies to our vendors and most consistent advertisers. The last few years we’ve sent tiny, carrot-shaped packages of sugared almonds. One year we all got together in my kitchen and baked holiday cookies that we packaged with Saran Wrap and ribbon and hand-delivered to clients all over the Valley.

Since when is saying “thank you for your business” influence-peddling? It makes me sad.

As I was pondering this trend, I got an email from Community Relations Manager Katie Charland. Part of her job is to monitor other blogs in Arizona and around the country that focus on raising children. She was astonished to find a post on the blog Parent Hacks that encourages parents to Take digital photos at the toy store to create a photographic “Santa list.”

There is nothing magical about requesting gifts — photographic or otherwise. Nor is there anything inherently evil in accepting small ones you weren’t expecting. The whole point of a gift is the element of surprise, the thoughtfulness of the choice and the opportunity it offers to say “I appreciate you” to people who matter in your life — and in your business.