I Dress For Spaghetti

My boy...

2012-01-01T18:20:00.005-06:00

Dear Son,
I love you more than life itself.
I pray for you.
I pray for your safety.
I pray to be a good mom.
I pray that you are loved.

I watch you when you don't notice.
I know every fleck of blue in your eyes.
The freckle on your cheek.
The birthmark above your ear.
I watch you to see you smile
To see you laugh
To see you cry
And to make sure you feel loved

I listen to you when you talk.
When you sleep.
When you sing.
When you breathe.
I listen to learn who you are
And what is important to you
And to make sure you feel loved

I feel your hand when you allow me to hold it
Your arms when you allow me to hug you
Your tears when they fall on my shoulder
Your soft, uncalloused skin.
I feel you so I can remember you
Before you get big
And to make sure you feel loved

I love the smell of you after you shower
Your freshly washed hair
Your clean pajamas
The lingering mint from your brushed teeth
The Axe you lavishly spray
You tell me I'm crazy
But I smell to remind me of when you were a baby
And I would bury my face into your neck
And smell your babyness
And to feel how much I love you

I pray that others see in you what I see in you
Your goodness
Your justice
Your humor
Your intelligence
Your innocence
Your need to be accepted

And I pray that you feel loved

Even when I'm not there to do it.

Sixteen Again...and again

2012-01-01T18:07:00.003-06:00

SO...
When is it going to happen?
When will the feeling of being 16 go away?

The insecurity
The feelings of inadequacy
The need to be included

I thought I was done feeling this way

The time
The therapy
The wisdom

But here I am
Again
Almost 30 years later

I'm genuine
I'm honest
I'm inclusive

Yet I forget that others don't have to be.
But my optimism just keeps hurting my heart.

I'm not going to quit.
I will continue to be inclusive.
And I will model this for my kids.

Despite our expectations of others
We can't change what we value
So we don't get hurt.
I wish it were easier...

Cookie Cutters?

2011-11-28T23:38:00.006-06:00

Hypocrisy...
I am supposed to accept my students
for who they are,
but the in the very same breath,
I'm not allowed or encouraged to be
who I am.

They want a cookie cutter.
Well, I'm the glass slipper of cookie cutters,
my friends.
Take that.

Helpless

2011-01-27T22:20:00.003-06:00

I am helpless.
A lost soul
Searching for meaning

Wondering why...

Why pessimism creeps in when things are going well...
Why salads always taste better when eating out...
Why pain is more palpable than happiness...
Why my dog is never mad at me...
Why bad things happen to good people...

If I could, I'd get these questions answered
I'd get all my questions answered
I'd make the hurt go away for those I love
I'd get it
I'd have peace.

Until then, I'll just pray.

The Nightlight...

2010-10-04T22:16:00.004-05:00

The nightlight...
scaring away the monsters
once the doors are closed
and you are left alone
with your fears.

The nightlight...
making it possible to read in the dark
so your mom won't catch you
because you are supposed to be
sleeping.

The nightlight...
providing comfort
providing peace
when you wake
in the middle of the night
alone
with the sounds of silence
in your room.

The nightlight...
representing childhood
and the fact that you
a parent
are still needed.

So the day your son says he doesn't need his nightlight anymore,
you realize something.
The monsters are gone.
The reading goes on with or without consent.
The comfort and peace exists within.

Your son's childhood is ending.
Or entering a new phase.

Grief
Excitement
Grief
Pride
Grief
Reality.

They grow up way too fast.

What? I Can't Hear You...

2010-04-14T23:03:00.002-05:00

My most common words these days...

The ringing in my ears
The muffled pressure
Making it sound like
I am talking into a tin can
or a megaphone
or a pillow...
What? I can't hear you...

It makes me think...
We sure do take our hearing for granted.

My ADHD rears its ugly head when I have to actually concentrate to hear something.
I usually can listen to two conversations at once and pick up on both of them.
I'm not saying I get all of the details, but I am an expert at multi-task-listening.
Just ask anyone I know.

We sure do take our hearing for granted.

My son hollers from upstairs about needing help with something;
I thought he said he was peeing without thinking.

My students ask me if they can sharpen their pencils;
I think they are asking if they can harpoon whales.

It's that bad.

I have tried everything.
Heating pads.
Sudafed.
Benadryl.
Advil.
Neti-pots.
Humidifiers.
Saunas.
Steam rooms.
Hot showers.
Anti-biotics.
Homeopathic ear drops.
Spinning on a merry-go-round.
Ear Candling...

Yes.
Ear Candling.
I went to a hypnotist/energy healer/ear candler to get relief from my non-hearing.
Interesting experience.
Needless to say, it didn't work.
It cleaned much of the crud from my ears
But it didn't help to ease the situation.

In fact
When I went to my doctor
He told me he had never seen the coating he had seen on my eardrum.
He had no idea what it was.
"It's probably soot."

What a weird thing to say to your doctor.

Anyway,
then I had to explain
ear candling.

Yeah,
he got the ear-washer-thingy out
sprayed my ear full of water
twice
and then made me get off the table.

Apparently he knew something.
I got "Tilt-a-Whirl" dizzy.
And I didn't even have to ride the ride.
Weird.

This is hell for me.
I communicate for a living.
What would I do without my ability to hear?
or speak?

Of course, my mind assumes the worst.
Either I'm going deaf or I have a brain tumor.
My doctor assured me that neither is happening.
I just need to take this wicked drug called Prednisone
Which makes me hyper
and jittery
and nervous

And wait for my head to drain.

I'm switching to decaf
while I patiently wait
to utter the words
"Wait - I can hear you!"

Biggest Loser

2010-03-02T22:24:00.002-06:00

My kids were distraught during the Olympics.
The Biggest Loser was on hiatus.
There are only so many times you can watch episodes 1 - 6 on demand.
Thank goodness it was back on tonight.
I think I've seen the episode where Miggy has an appendectomy about 50 times.

Julia is still upset that Melissa fell below the yellow line. (That's Biggest Loser jargon in case you don't watch it...) I had to let Julia sleep in my room the night that episode was on, because she couldn't console herself.

Those people on there are seriously amazing. 500 pounds and biking 26.2 miles?

They were doing their "Last Chance Workout" (again - BL jargon...) One of the guys was doing pull ups while lying down on a treadmill. Bob, the trainer, was standing on the guy while he was pulling himself up.

Bob yells, "Come on! Pull yourself up!"
Julia yells, "Well duh. Dude, you are standing on him! Get off him and it will be easier!"

I love our family nights.

NASCAR Observations

2010-02-16T22:45:00.002-06:00

Seriously -
I can appreciate NASCAR fans.
They are as rabid about racing as I am about baseball.

Drivers in cars worth millions of dollars
Driving at speeds that exceed 200 MPH
Drinking milk or Pepsi or Motor Oil, as long as it's what their sponsors want them to drink
It really is an American phenomenon.

I just don't get it.

For three hours (or 20 if there are potholes that they have to fill in. Potholes? Seriously?)
Cars go around a track
Sometimes they pull into their pit to change tires and get gas.
Sometimes they run out of gas.
Sometimes they crash.
People are all trying to go faster than each other.
Some stupid guy sits in the left lane when another guy wants to pass.

I can sit on the shoulder of 94 and 35W and see the same thing.

Julia had some interesting questions as we fondued Sunday night while the Daytona 500 droned on and on and on...

Julia: Dad, how much longer is this going to go on?
Joe: There are 39 laps left.
Julia: Are they going to keep going around in that circle?
Joe: Yes. That's what they do when they race.
Julia: Well how many circles do they have to do? Like 50?
Joe: No, more like 200.
Julia: 200? Why would anyone want to sit and watch them do this 200 times?

Apparently she understands NASCAR like I understand NASCAR.
Like mother, like daughter.

Heartbreak

2009-12-06T21:08:00.002-06:00

Jack had his little heart broken.
First time.
Cute, adorable Alysse.
Who just likes him as a friend.
(She doesn't yet know what she is missing.)

Lots of tears and self-defeating comments from my boy nearly broke my own heart.
As I was hugging him and wiping his tears, he looks at the t.v. President Obama, the First Lady and their two adorable girls were posing for some kind of family picture.
Jack stops.

Jack: Who is that?
Me: That is Malia Obama.
Jack: Wow. She is simply hot.

Tears gone.
Girl forgotten.
That's my boy.
Way to aim high, son.

Harvard or Yale?

2009-12-06T20:47:00.006-06:00

My son Jack has informed us tonight that he refuses to go to Harvard or Yale.

Harvard doesn't have any sports teams and Yale just sounds like a big fish.

Valid way to choose a school of higher education, don't you think?

My Son - The Lord

2009-12-06T20:31:00.002-06:00

My son is the lord.
At least in his own mind.

We were at Jack's first communion class. Many of my teacher friends, including Jack's principal, go to our church and were at the same class.

At one point, Pastor Mark asked if anyone knew Jesus' nickname.
Silence filled the room.
In order to get kids thinking about nicknames, he asked them, "Does anyone here have a nickname?"
Jack was deep in thought.
He must have missed Pastor Mark's second question when he raised his hand and said, "Lord?"

The room burst into laughter.
Jack's face burst into redness.
And we now have a ready punchline anytime we see Jack's principal.

What Every Office Needs

2009-08-05T15:52:00.001-05:00

Dualing Bottles..

2009-05-27T22:40:00.005-05:00

My son and daughter were upstairs.
Showers were finished.
Toothbrushing commenced.
Then the arguing began.

Son: You need to clean it up.
Daughter: No, YOU need to clean it up.
Son: You!
Daughter: No YOU!

Then things got quiet.
And the smell of Windex filled the air.
And I knew there was trouble.

I walked upstairs to find the boy and girl squirting each other with a bottle of Windex.
Apparently I left both bottles upstairs in the cleaning cupboard.

Ammunition, I suppose.

My voice filled the stairway.
The Windex bottles returned to their holsters.

Me: Are you NUTS? You are squirting CHEMICALS at one another?

They stood.
Silently.
Sheepishly.
Windex at their sides.

Me: Do you REALIZE that Windex is NOT for fighting but for cleaning? Not to mention that if you swallowed this, you could die? That if you shot this into each other's eyes you could go blind?

Silence.
Full body pouts.
Then...

Julia's hand rubs her eye. A tear forms.

Julia: I think I got Windex in my eye.

More tears.

Julia: I think I'm going blind.
Jack: You're just saying that so I get into more trouble than you.
Julia: (tears miraculously gone) No I am NOT!
Jack: Yes, you are!
Julia: No, I am NOT!
Jack: Yes, you ARE!

Me: STOP IT! STOP THE MADNESS! You are BOTH grounded and you'd better keep those Windex bottles handy, because you'll be using them to clean my house tomorrow.

Of course, I think I am mother of the year as the boy and girl go their separate ways, into their bedrooms, and into bed.
Problem solved.
No more dualing bottles.

Well that lasted all of one day.
The spray water bottles came out
And all hell broke loose.
Again.

There are no suggestions
anywhere on the internet
that tell me how to deal with children
who fight with fluids.

I think I'll start my book.

Exhaustion

2009-05-18T22:26:00.003-05:00

Exhaustion
seeping from my pores

No one really knows its there
but me

It frames my thoughts
It imposes itself in my sentences
It embeds itself in my patience
It becomes...me.

I am not my exhaustion.
I am not irritable.
I am not intolerant.
I am not insensitive.

I am exhausted.

And in 18 days
I will rejuvenate
my spirit
and my exhaustion
will hibernate

until August,
at least.

Maybe next year
I will have enough energy
to combat it
to make it stay in its cave

Until then
people will have to love me...
and my exhaustion.

Teaching with Scissors

2009-05-18T21:59:00.005-05:00

Kids crack me up.
It's probably why I enjoy sixth graders so much.

Tonight, it was my own kids that made me laugh.

We were sitting at the dinner table at 9:30.
Yes, 9:30.
The life of a traveling baseball family.
Anyway, Jack called me dude.

Me: Dude? Seriously. You just called me dude? That's Mom to you.

Jack and Julia laughed uncontrollably.

Me: You know what I do at school when kids call me dude?
Jack: Throw your shoe at them?
Me: You know, Jack, I really don't throw my shoe at kids. It's just a joke...a class thing. I've never thrown my shoe and never will. I do throw other things at them to get their attention though.
Jack: Like what? Scissors?

Yeah - scissors.
Scissors are my next choice after shoes.

Me: Scissors? Seriously? (Julia is laughing hysterically in the background.)
Jack: Well yeah. They'd stick and then the kids would know you mean business. A shoe would just hit them and bounce away.

The kid does have a point.

Noise

2009-04-15T21:34:00.006-05:00

I hear noise today.
Lots and lots of noise.

The noise of students' pencils coloring in bubbles on an insane test that defines them but doesn't define them.
The noise of children playing Silent Ball.
The noise of students, overwhelmed by the three hour silence in which they are forced to remain.
The noise of bells releasing children to freedom

But even though the children are gone
and the building is silent
the noise continues.

The noise inside my head.

The questions
The statements
The doubts
The ideas
The loss
The joy
The anxiety
The fear
The excitement
The uncertainty
The pain

It is cacophonous.

And not even ear plugs can help...

Just One Request

2009-04-07T22:22:00.002-05:00

I have had one request.

In the past 25 years.
I have had
just
one
stinkin'
request.

I didn't ask to be listed as the only daughter.
I didn't ask to have my kids listed as the grandchildren.
I didn't ask for Peace Is Flowing Like a River to be played.
I didn't ask for my pastor to do the service.
I didn't ask for my favorite biblical passage to be read.
I didn't ask for a funeral separate from the wake.

I never asked for time.
I never asked for money.
I never asked for love.

I asked...
that
the
cards
addressed
to
me
at
my
dad's
funeral
be
left
in
an
envelope
so
that
I
could
open
them
myself.

This was it.
This was
all
I
asked.

When planning to open all of the cards, she didn't ask me what was convenient for me and my family.
She just said
she was opening them
with her kids
on Saturday at noon.

My kids' lives had been on hold
for weeks.
I needed to be there
for them and for me.
That is my job
as
a
parent.

She couldn't wait until Sunday
so that I could be there with my kids.

I decided my kids were more important
than her schedule.

So I asked her to please save the cards addressed to me
so that I could open them.

I called the following weekend.
That was when she told me.

Oh, by the way.
I opened all of those cards
addressed to you.
I put them in a separate envelope
because I don't know
who to send the thank you cards to.

She ignored my
one
request.

I had envisioned
a time with MY family
opening the cards
talking about Grandpa
shedding tears
honoring his memory
writing thank yous
in
the
way
I
wanted.

I barely got a seat at my own dad's funeral.
I think my request to leave the cards addressed to me by MY family should have been honored.

My heart just seems to break
every time
I have
just
one
simple
request
further proving that my real family consists of the amazing people
who always seem to have the glue to put my heart back together.

God bless my real family.

My Favorite Jack Story Ever

2009-04-07T22:02:00.004-05:00

So...
We're in the car.
Just Jack, my 10 year old,
and me.
He started talking about something
he heard on the bus.
The dreaded bus
whose riders are known to teach
each other about things
their parents haven't
taught yet.

I decided it was time to open that door.
You know the one.
After all, he is going to see "the movie" this year
in health class.
I'd like him to be a little prepared for what's coming.
Especially because it's Jack...
the boy who doesn't really pay attention to details
unless they are related to sports statistics.
These are details that I'd actually like him to pay attention.
So I dived in on the ten minute car ride to basketball practice.

Me: You know, honey, you can talk to me about anything. If you have any questions about anything, you can ask me and I won't judge you or lie to you or anything.

Pause.
Pause.
Pause.

Jack: Ok. I have one.
What is sex?

Hmmmm. I thought I was ready for this question.
I guess I wasn't.
I needed a few moments to collect myself
and to wipe the smile off of my face.

Me: Well. I'm going to be completely honest with you, because I think you are ready for it. Pause. Sex is when a man puts his penis into a woman's vagina.

Pause.
Pause.
Pause.

Jack: Ohhh. Have you and dad done that?
Me: Well, yeah. It is how you make babies.
Jack: Have you done it a lot?
Me: Well, when you get married, it is something that is normal and natural.

Pause.
Pause.
Pause.

Jack: I am SO never doing that.

So there I am, holding in laughter, realizing I have to say something. Knowing Jack, he'd be scared of sex forever unless I further explain.

Me: Well, when you get older and go through puberty, your body will change and you'll probably want to do it with someone you love someday.
Jack: You mean puberty like Patrick? Like him and his girlfriend?

Jeez - this is a slippery slope.

Me: No. Patrick is in 8th grade. He is not having sex in eighth grade and you definitely are NOT to have sex while you are in middle or high school. Or before you are married. (Yes, I'm a hypocrite. You all can say it. Just wait until you have a boy of your own.)

Pause.
Pause.
Pause.

Jack: Vagina is a weird word.
Me: Yes, I agree. So I'll share with you what one of my students shared with me. Pennsylvania and Virginia.

Pause.
Pause.
(Only two this time.)

Jack: Oh. I get it. Pennsylvania is like Penis and Virginia is like Vagina.
Me: Exactly.

Thankfully, we pull into the parking lot for basketball practice.

Me: Jack, this is a conversation that WE share. You and me. You are not to go and tell all of your friends the things you learned today. They will have this conversation with their own parents in the way their parents want to have it.

Jack: Well, this conversation is SO staying in this car.

Despite working with adolescents all day, I don't think I'm ready for my son to be one.

Teeth

2009-03-04T11:10:00.002-06:00

In the middle of one of the saddest moments of my life
my sense of humor kicked in
again

It shows up at the most inopportune moments
I sometimes wish that it wouldn't
But it always does

Like yesterday...

I was standing by my dad's bedside
Tears streaming down my face
When the nurse came in
The sweet, young nursing student
placed in charge of finding
my dad's belongings

Nurse: Mrs. Guimont, is there anything other than his glasses that we need to account for?
Stepmom: Well, I can't seem to find his teeth anywhere.
Nurse: I suppose they are on the ninth floor. I will find them. Sorry to bother you.

My dad's teeth are missing.
The hospital is on alert for my dead dad's teeth.
It was all I could do to not start laughing.

The sweet, young nurse returned.
Nurse: We can't seem to find the teeth, but we'll keep looking.

The tooth sleuth continued trying to solve "The Case of the Missing Teeth."

The sweet, young nurse returned once again.
Nurse: What room was he in?

Here is where I couldn't help myself...

Me: O.k. I know he had his teeth when he was in room 9114. I watched him eat his roast beef lunch and he didn't gum the food, so I know he had them there. He moved to room 9119, but I'm not sure if his teeth followed. He was then moved to 9101 where he went on a liquid diet, so I am pretty sure the teeth are somewhere between 9114, 9119, and 9101.

A few minutes later, the sweet, young nurse returned with a pink container labeled "Teeth."

Nurse: Would you like the teeth to go with your dad to the funeral home?
Me: Definitely no. We'll take care of the teeth ourselves. Thanks.

The Case of the Missing Teeth was solved. Crisis averted.
And to top it all off, I found a moment of humor in the midst of dire sadness.
Maybe that is not such a bad thing after all...

How is it that...

2009-03-01T23:34:00.003-06:00

How is it that hot dogs can taste so good
and be full of such crap
all at the same time?

How is it that the same eyes
that laugh with exuberance
can weep with despair
minutes later?

How is it that cigarettes can be
so addicting yet so repulsive?

How is it that the human heart
can claim to hold both love and hate
at the same time?

How is it that I can love shoes
and love to be barefoot?

How is it that great pain
can bring about
great joy?

How is it that a hug be
so comforting
yet
so excruciating?

How is it that emotional exhaustion
can be more palpable
than physical exhaustion?

How can questions that are answered
always lead to more questions?

Sometimes....

2009-03-01T21:00:00.002-06:00

sometimes I sing in the shower
because I like the sound of my voice
as the water runs over my ears

sometimes I go barefoot
because the feel of the earth
directly under my feet
reminds me that I will someday again
be one with the earth

sometimes I eat the chocolate
around the outside of a Reese's Peanut Butter cup
because the peanut butter is the best part
and I like to save the best for last

sometimes I pray on stars
believing that the spirit can hear me
because with the stars there is
no judgment
no response
no expectation

sometimes I dry my hair
on the cool setting
and let the dryer just sit and blow
directly on my face
because it makes me feel like a supermodel
just for a moment

sometimes I have to hold my chest
because it feels like my love-filled heart
is about to beat through my skin
and burst through my chest

sometimes I sit and stare at the toaster
waiting for the toast to pop
because I want so see if
just once
I won't flinch like I always do

sometimes I just sit
and listen to the quiet
and the noise
and the silliness
and the sadness
because I am fortunate enough to still be able to do so

sometimes I write
and write
and write
and write...

Death

2009-03-01T20:49:00.004-06:00

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone,
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was,
let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was;
there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just round the corner.

And all is well.

Henry Scott Holland ~ 1847-1918
Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral ~ London. UK

A Hospital Waiting Room

2009-02-27T21:45:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm sitting in the waiting room, because my dad's room is a bit crowded right now. I thought it was Deliverance in there until I got in here.

The smell of stale smoke, bad coffee, and ignorance is permeating this room. There haven't been so many black NASCAR jackets in one place since Dale Earnhardt's funeral.

A grandmother is sitting across from me with her legs spread and one tooth showing up every now and then as she talks about playin' cards with Sharon and taking the number 2 back to Proctor. Her name is Elsie. It just fits.

The granddaughter is talking about her "f---in' bus route and how she ain't workin today." She's mad cuz she has to tell her boss how to do his damn job.

Apparently the other granddaughter works in the school lunchroom. She is talking about how the lunch ladies should put all the taco salad stuff on the tables instead of in the line. It'd be easier. Let the kids have a hey day with the lettuce. They won't run out, you know. They got a whole case of lettuce in the cooler. The same granddaughter is pissed because her sons made her late for cribbage the other night.

It has been especially fun to listen to their conversations about education and how "them teachers just pass kids on even when they don't know nothing."
(Apparently they benefitted from this philosophy we supposedly employ.)

Oh - and the doctor for their family member is named Dr. Beaver.

Wish you were here.

Walking a Tightrope

2009-02-27T21:44:00.000-06:00

We’re on a tightrope.
Balancing
Vicariously.

Looking ahead
Rather than down
But not able to see
The end of the rope

It goes on
and on
and on

Watching someone you love
in the end stages of COPD
feels a lot like being on
a tightrope.

They tell us he could die
in a day
in a week
in a month
some even last a year.

No matter
We will be walking
a tightrope
until he dies.

Holding our breath
sometimes teetering
almost falling
but then regaining our balance
and moving forward
again.

Fright
Pain
Relief
Fright
Pain
Relief

The cycle will continue
until he dies.

It is strange
wanting both to get off of the tightrope
yet so badly wanting to stay on it.

Let me just keep my balance.

Smokin'

2009-02-27T21:43:00.001-06:00

The respiratory therapist just came in to give my dad his nebulizer treatment. He needs it in order to open the bronchial tubes. This allows him to breathe better.

I’ve learned a lot about lungs this week.
The lungs are quite remarkable.

At the age of 28 or so, everyone’s lung capacity begins to decrease gradually.

A smoker who quits will gain about seven years of his lung capacity back, but they will never again be at the same level as they were before a person smoked.
Smoking damages the cilia, which are what help with the secretions produced in the lungs. Non-smokers don’t have to deal with as much mucus, because the cilia are healthy and can handle the secretions.
Smokers get a smoker’s cough in order to get rid of the secretions, because the smoking kills the cilia. This is also why second hand smoke is so bad for a person. It can kill a person’s cilia and cause him/her to get a smoker’s cough, just as if the person was a smoker.
The alveoli are where the oxygen and carbon dioxide exchange takes place in the lungs. When a person has emphysema, the oxygen still goes in but the carbon dioxide can’t get out. This poisonous waste product remains in the body. The alveoli act like rubber bands. When the air goes in, they stretch out. When the air goes out, they return to their original size. This happens each time we breathe. For a person with COPD, when the air goes in, they stretch out, but when the air goes out, they only return to a percentage of their normal size.
A person with COPD tends to get a distended belly. The diaphragm, a muscle that helps you to breathe, has to work so hard to make up for the inefficiency of the lungs, that it gets bigger and causes the stomach to distend. The diaphragm then takes up too much room, which makes it even more difficult to breathe.

My Dad’s alveoli are at about 25% instead of 100%.
My dad smoked Camels. No filters. For 55 years.

So…when the respiratory therapist came in and asked if my dad was ready for a smoke, I thought He started this mess by smoking cigarettes and is ending it by smoking albuterol and ventolin.

How Ironic.

I've Learned

2009-02-22T12:40:00.002-06:00

This is too good not to post.
I wish I could say that I wrote it myself, but I found it as I was Stumbling on the internet. It has been quite a week. Illness and death have surrounded me this week. Sadly, it often takes events such as these to give me perspective.
What good timing on this poem...

I've Learned
by Omer B. Washington

I've learned that you cannot make someone love you.
All you can do is be someone who can be loved.
The rest is up to them.
I've learned that no matter how much I care,
some people just don't care back.
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust
and only seconds to destroy it.
I've learned that it's not what you have in your life
but who you have in your life that counts.
I've learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes.
After that, you'd better know something.

I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself
to the best others can do,
but to the best you can do.
I've learned that it's not what happens to people,
It's what they do about it.
I've learned that no matter how thin you slide it,
there are always two sides.
I've learned that you should always have loved ones with loving words.
It may be the last time you'll see them.
I've learned that you can keep going
long after you think you can't.

I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done
When it needs to be done,
regardless of the consequences.
I've learned that there are people who love you dearly,
but just don't know how to show it.
I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry,
but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.
I've learned that true friendship continues to grow even over the longest distance.
Same goes for true love.
I've learned that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to
doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.

I've learned that no matter how good a friend is,
they're going to hurt you every once in a while
and you must forgive them for that.
I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others.
Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken,
the world doesn't stop for your grief.
I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are,
but we are responsible for who we become.
I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other.
And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.

I've learned that sometimes you have to put the individual
ahead of their actions.
I've learned that two people can look at the exact same thing
and see something totally different.
I've learned that no matter the consequences,
those who are honest with themselves go farther in life.
I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of hours
by people who don't even know you.
I've learned that even when you think you have no more to give,
when a friend cries out to you,
you will find the strength to help.

I've learned that writing,
as well as talking,
can ease emotional pains.
I've learned that the people you care most about in life
are taken from you too soon.
I've learned that it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice
and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe.
I've learned to love
and be loved.
I've learned...

Coping Strategies While in Hell

2009-02-17T16:24:00.004-06:00

Step 1 - Bring Advil and Xanax. Lots of it. Don't share under any circumstances. In hell, sharing is considered a weakness.

Step 2 - Sleep a lot. Getting a Select Comfort bed will really help with this. Our sleep numbers are both 35. Go figure.

Step 3 - Using modern technology, create extra body organs. Or steal them from Satan. A cold heart will really help you while you are hanging out in hell.

Step 4 - Bring a good book. Harry Potter is always a good choice.

Step 5 - Bring a fan. In fact, bring two. (Double entendre: one that creates a cool atmosphere and is electric; one that is a part of your entourage and worships you. Everyone in hell needs a cheerleader. A hot one. You know what they say, save the cheerleader, save the world.)

Step 666 - A fine set of kabob skewers will be handy. Lots of fire around, you know.

Step 7 - Bring chess. Or Monopoly. Or Scrabble. You can make those games last forever.

Step 8 - Bring your summer trousseau. Duh. It's hot. (Double entendre: you AND the weather.)

Step 9 - Make prank calls on your cell phone. Or prank texts. That drives people crazy who pay for each text they receive.

Step 10 - Don't worry about trying to impress anyone. Keep your eye on the ball. And stay away from the flames.

By Serpent and Lucifer

Twelve step program for getting out of hell.

2009-02-17T16:15:00.005-06:00

Step 1 - Admit you have a problem.

Step 2 - Keep your eyes on the ground. Don't look up. Ever.

Step 3 - Don't smile. Ever.

Step 4 - Do not allow sarcasm to permeate your soul.

Step 5 - Limit your hotness. Frigidity is a good thing. Seriously.

Step 666 - Keep your body where it is supposed to be. Your mind, on the other hand, can go wherever it wants. Just as long as nobody knows about it. Refer to step 1 and step 3.

Step 7 - Drink eight glasses of water every day. That's just sound advice. I don't care who you are or where you are.

Step 8 - Don't ever, under any circumstances, disagree with your leader (aka Satan.)

Step 9 - Regarding step 8, if people ask you questions, feign ignorance and take them to your leader immediately.

Step 10 - Get a dog. Everyone should have one. And dogs don't belong in hell. They are too pure.

Step 11 - Wear comfortable shoes. Like they say, if your feet are happy, so are you. Besides, you can outrun the flames better.

Step 12 - Don't speak. Ever.

This pretty much insures a mass exodus out of hell. Get ready, Earth.

Love, Beelzabub and Legion

Turn, Turn, Turn

2009-02-17T16:03:00.002-06:00

There is a season for everything.
And everything has its season.

A time for joy
A time for tears
A time for laughter
A time for peace
A time for frustration
A time for quiet
A time for heaven
A time for hell

Hell happens to be the season I am in today.

It's hot here.
The flames are always at my feet.
And I feel them.
I try to keep a safe distance
But somehow
I can't.

They stalk me
Sneaking upon me
When I least expect it

They burn my flesh
And scorch my soul

Like today, for instance.

I arrived at the plant early.
Punched in.
And began to sip my morning coffee.
To my surprise
I received communication
From above.
What began as a soft whisper
Turned luminous and loud.

Turn
Turn
Turn

I tackled the communication head on
which only stoked the fire.

I wiped beads of sweat from my brow.
"But I just want to have fun!" I bellowed.
"There's no fun to be had!" Satan shouted.

Pitchfork in hand, he shamed me into submission.

So much for getting out of hell.

I tried to get on the Stairway to Heaven
but the damn flames followed.

How do they know?

I guess it's because I'm so hot.

By Me and Pro

Explain...

2009-02-10T21:53:00.003-06:00

I've decided that I need some explanations...

Why does a woman with six kids - one of whom is autistic, one of whom is speech delayed, and one of whom has something else - have EIGHT MORE by CHOICE?

Why are women so competitive in the workplace? What is so threatening about working with another intelligent woman?

Why are people threatened by other people's opinions?

How can people NOT be concerned about the collective well being of our society? When did things become "all about me" in this country?

How do we keep our kids innocent and have a TV at the same time?

Who decided that uncomfortable shoes are worth making and buying?

How does gratitude manifest itself in our youth today?

When will our society start believing that adopted children need psychological healing, no matter how good their adoptive parents are?

Why are siblings genetically predisposed to despising each other?

How do tears help us feel better?

Why am I so tired?

What compels people to take extreme risks?

Why aren't people honest with themselves? This would lead to more honest relationships with others.

When is it time to quit volleyball and softball? How old should I be?

Why do people think that because I have a sense of humor that they can say anything they want to me regardless of how it might hurt me?

Why do others feel like they can judge me when they don't even REALLY know me?

How can I insure my kids' happiness and well being?

Whatever happened to unbridled kindness?

Why don't we give more than we receive?

How do we rid ourselves of the demons of our past?

How can our kids' hugs squeeze the pain right out of us?

The Inspirer

2009-01-15T21:40:00.005-06:00

For the 50th time, I took a version of the Myers-Briggs
and for the 50th time
I came up as an ENFP.
The Inspirer.

The following words are not mine
but while reading the analysis
I experienced one of those amazing moments
when I could see myself in the words....
faults and all...

The Inspirer
As an ENFP, your primary mode of living is focused externally, where you take things in primarily via your intuition. Your secondary mode is internal, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit in with your personal value system.

ENFPs are warm, enthusiastic people, typically very bright and full of potential. They live in the world of possibilities, and can become very passionate and excited about things. Their enthusiasm lends them the ability to inspire and motivate others, more so than we see in other types. They can talk their way in or out of anything. They love life, seeing it as a special gift, and strive to make the most out of it.

ENFPs have an unusually broad range of skills and talents. They are good at most things which interest them. Project-oriented, they may go through several different careers during their lifetime. To onlookers, the ENFP may seem directionless and without purpose, but ENFPs are actually quite consistent, in that they have a strong sense of values which they live with throughout their lives. Everything that they do must be in line with their values. An ENFP needs to feel that they are living their lives as their true Self, walking in step with what they believe is right. They see meaning in everything, and are on a continuous quest to adapt their lives and values to achieve inner peace. They're constantly aware and somewhat fearful of losing touch with themselves. Since emotional excitement is usually an important part of the ENFP's life, and because they are focused on keeping "centered", the ENFP is usually an intense individual, with highly evolved values.

An ENFP needs to focus on following through with their projects. This can be a problem area for some of these individuals. Unlike other Extraverted types, ENFPs need time alone to center themselves, and make sure they are moving in a direction which is in sync with their values. ENFPs who remain centered will usually be quite successful at their endeavors. Others may fall into the habit of dropping a project when they become excited about a new possibility, and thus they never achieve the great accomplishments which they are capable of achieving.

Most ENFPs have great people skills. They are genuinely warm and interested in people, and place great importance on their inter-personal relationships. ENFPs almost always have a strong need to be liked. Sometimes, especially at a younger age, an ENFP will tend to be "gushy" and insincere, and generally "overdo" in an effort to win acceptance. However, once an ENFP has learned to balance their need to be true to themselves with their need for acceptance, they excel at bringing out the best in others, and are typically well-liked. They have an exceptional ability to intuitively understand a person after a very short period of time, and use their intuition and flexibility to relate to others on their own level.

Because ENFPs live in the world of exciting possibilities, the details of everyday life are seen as trivial drudgery. They place no importance on detailed, maintenance-type tasks, and will frequently remain oblivous to these types of concerns. When they do have to perform these tasks, they do not enjoy themselves. This is a challenging area of life for most ENFPs, and can be frustrating for ENFP's family members.

An ENFP who has "gone wrong" may be quite manipulative - and very good it. The gift of gab which they are blessed with makes it naturally easy for them to get what they want. Most ENFPs will not abuse their abilities, because that would not jive with their value systems.

ENFPs sometimes make serious errors in judgment. They have an amazing ability to intuitively perceive the truth about a person or situation, but when they apply judgment to their perception, they may jump to the wrong conclusions.

ENFPs who have not learned to follow through may have a difficult time remaining happy in marital relationships. Always seeing the possibilities of what could be, they may become bored with what actually is. The strong sense of values will keep many ENFPs dedicated to their relationships. However, ENFPs like a little excitement in their lives, and are best matched with individuals who are comfortable with change and new experiences.

Having an ENFP parent can be a fun-filled experience, but may be stressful at times for children with strong Sensing or Judging tendancies. Such children may see the ENFP parent as inconsistent and difficult to understand, as the children are pulled along in the whirlwind life of the ENFP. Sometimes the ENFP will want to be their child's best friend, and at other times they will play the parental authoritarian. But ENFPs are always consistent in their value systems, which they will impress on their children above all else, along with a basic joy of living.

ENFPs are basically happy people. They may become unhappy when they are confined to strict schedules or mundane tasks. Consequently, ENFPs work best in situations where they have a lot of flexibility, and where they can work with people and ideas. Many go into business for themselves. They have the ability to be quite productive with little supervision, as long as they are excited about what they're doing.

Because they are so alert and sensitive, constantly scanning their environments, ENFPs often suffer from muscle tension. They have a strong need to be independent, and resist being controlled or labelled. They need to maintain control over themselves, but they do not believe in controlling others. Their dislike of dependence and suppression extends to others as well as to themselves.

ENFPs are charming, ingenuous, risk-taking, sensitive, people-oriented individuals with capabilities ranging across a broad spectrum. They have many gifts which they will use to fulfill themselves and those near them, if they are able to remain centered and master the ability of following through.

Dominant: Extraverted Intuition
Auxiliary: Introverted Feeling
Tertiary: Extraverted Thinking
Inferior: Introverted Sensing

ENFPs generally have the following traits:

Project-oriented

Bright and capable

Warmly, genuinely interested in people; great people skills

Extremely intuitive and perceptive about people

Able to relate to people on their own level

Service-oriented; likely to put the needs of others above their own

Future-oriented

Dislike performing routine tasks

Need approval and appreciation from others

Cooperative and friendly

Creative and energetic

Well-developed verbal and written communication skills

Natural leaders, but do not like to control people

Resist being controlled by others

Can work logically and rationally - use their intuition to understand the goal and work backwards towards it

Usually able to grasp difficult concepts and theories

ENFPs are lucky in that they're good a quite a lot of different things. An ENFP can generally achieve a good degree of success at anything which has interested them. However, ENFPs get bored rather easily and are not naturally good at following things through to completion. Accordingly, they should avoid jobs which require performing a lot of detailed, routine-oriented tasks. They will do best in professions which allow them to creatively generate new ideas and deal closely with people. They will not be happy in positions which are confining and regimented.

The following list of professions is built on our impressions of careers which would be especially suitable for an ENFP. It is meant to be a starting place, rather than an exhaustive list. There are no guarantees that any or all of the careers listed here would be appropriate for you, or that your best career match is among those listed.

Possible Career Paths for the ENFP:

Consultant

Psychologist

Entrepreneur

Actor

Teacher

Counselor

Politician / Diplomat

Writer / Journalist

Television Reporter

Of the careers on this list, I have thought about doing EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM.
Watch out Sarah Palin -
I'm a pitbull with lipstick
who just happens to be a democrat
and an Inspirer.

Micro-management

2009-01-14T22:02:00.008-06:00

Details...

Yuck...

I'm really a big picture kind of gal.

You know...
I SEE the forest and pretty much ignore the trees.

That's why I DESPISE the fact that I am forced to be a
micromanager in my life.

Parents, you know what I mean by this.
It is our job and God-given duty to pay attention to minutia...

Did you wash your hair? use conditioner? brush your teeth? go to the bathroom?
Is your homework done?
You missed number 5; redo it.
When is your test?
Did you study?
Where are your flash cards?
Did you put your plate in the dishwasher?
Have you made your bed this morning?
Where are your shoes? your jacket? your gloves?
Yes, we have to drive back to school to find the new hat you lost or else you are buying yourself a new one with the money you earned doing chores that I had to keep track of and enforce.
No, you can't watch screens anymore today. I kept track and you used up your two hours.
You can't have your medicine until 9:15 because I last gave it to you at 5:15 and we must wait four hours.
Where is your backpack?
You forgot your math book. Go to the neighbor's and borrow hers. Do it again and you're grounded.
Did you remember deodorant?
When did you last change your underwear?
Are you sure you only want to wear shorts to bed in this cold weather?
How about another blanket?
Put some cream on that dry skin of yours.
Did you clean your room? put your clothes away? make your bed?
Where's my hug?

In isolation, these details don't speak.
You don't even know they have infiltrated your day.
But some days
you listen to yourself
and all you hear
is the micromanager in you...

I personally hear
Charlie Brown's teacher's voice
wah-waaah-wah-wah-wah-wah

So

When I go to school
and encounter the micromanagers
with whom I sometimes work,
don't be surprised to hear the echoes of
wah-waaah-wah-wah-wah-wah
wafting through the hallways...

It is the sound I cry out as I BANG into the trees.
I really do prefer the forest...

Gifts

2008-12-30T23:27:00.004-06:00

For a long time now,
maybe since having children,
I have truly enjoyed giving
much more than I have enjoyed receiving.

(Of course, I love a DSW gift certificate...
a shopping spree at Pier One...
a good massage...
Thanks, family.)

But truly
nothing excites me more than giving.

Despite our wretched economy
I gave.
I gave what I could.
I gave my kids money to drop into the Salvation Army buckets when we went to Festival or WalMart or Rainbow (yeah - I'm still ticked off at Target for getting rid of the bell ringers...)
I gave to our church - food, money, gifts, toys.
I gave to our school - money, blankets, fabric, time.

I gave to my kids - moderately.
Things we could afford.
Things our kids could actually use.
Things that didn't cause us to go into credit-card-debt-from-hell.

I can't tell you how full I feel.

I know that giving is not about me.
But that is precisely what feels so good.

It was
so
not
about
me.

I know it probably seems that way, being that I am writing about it here.
I truly am not trying to pat myself on the back.
I am enamored with the feeling of giving without it feeding my ego.

What a gift!

I gave the most amazing gift to a friend who consistently gives and gives and gives
just for the joy of giving.
She asks for NOTHING in return.

I knew she wanted this gift.
She had talked about it for months.
I had my eye on this gift
hoping I could buy it
before someone else bought it for her.

The BEST part of this Christmas was seeing her open this gift in front of me
knowing she absolutely ADORED it.
The moment was cathartic for me.
It was strangely cumulative.
This season of giving ended with the giving of the most perfect gift.

And it SO wasn't about me.

If we as a society could give without need for a pat on the back
or a write off on our taxes
I truly believe our society would morph into something special
and incredible
and altruistic
and loving.

Oh - and did I mention that my kids
who received so moderately this year
exclaimed on Christmas morning
"This is the best Christmas ever!"?

I couldn't agree more.

Prayer

2008-12-03T19:49:00.002-06:00

I was painting the other night.
Feeling pretty ambitious.
The boys were gone.
It was just Julia and me.

Julia was my helper.
An awesome one, as a matter of fact.
She was trimming around the electrical boxes.
She was rolling paint.
She was cleaning up after herself.
She was being very careful.

I wish I would have followed in her footsteps.
In my haste, I laid the drop cloth down on the wrong side.
The side that didn't absorb the paint.
So I had to roll up the drop cloth and drag the other drop cloths around the room behind me.

I missed a spot of carpet.

I stepped on the tray of paint and catapulted paint up and onto the bare spot of carpet.

A quarter of a gallon of navy blue paint.

Let's just say that my language got colorful.
I mean quite colorful.
Julia's little ears heard things come out of my mouth that she hadn't heard come out of my mouth before.

I finished my rant and self-abuse in tears.
Recognizing my immaturity, I apologized to Julia
for being so mean to myself
for getting so mad
for saying bad words.

Julia thought for a moment - a pregnant pause - perfectly timed and said,
"Wow, Mom. You are going to have to pray to Jesus A LOT 'cause of all those bad words you said."
"You're right," I replied.

Prayer was just what I needed at that moment.
Leave it to a child to teach an adult to slow down,
pause,
and get in touch with God.

Oh - by the way - the room looks fantastic.
The carpet? Not so much.

Butt Darts Anyone?

2008-11-23T22:53:00.012-06:00

Yup - look at me concentrate. I hit that cup perfectly.
I love this woman...

A fourth grade teacher at my son's school. I love fun people.
A former student of mine. Age 29. Fourth grade teacher at my son's school. Some may say, "Wow, you must feel old." I say, "Wow, I'm STILL fun."
This woman is hilarious - honestly - one of the brightest I've ever met. I can't keep up with her.
You have got to love the strut...we sang with him at the bar.

Schoolhouse Rocks

2008-11-23T22:48:00.010-06:00

Seriously -
This was one of the most fun nights I've had in a LONG time....

Just Sing!

2008-11-19T23:18:00.002-06:00

Is there anything that brings more joy to the soul than singing?

During this week of hell, I sang.
In the shower.
In the car.
To my daughter.
In my classroom.
To my teammates.
To strangers...
On stage.
With my friend.
With our band.

My voice carries the tune, but it is my heart that sings the songs.

Random Pictures and Quotes....

2008-11-18T22:44:00.012-06:00

Feed My Soul

2008-11-18T21:50:00.002-06:00

I spent the weekend feeding my soul.

How different that looks these days...

It used to be that getting away with the girls meant
eating
drinking
dancing
staying up late
sleeping in
getting up and doing it all over again

I'd go home on Sunday
feeling exhausted
overwhelmed
spent

despite the fun and frivolity

How different my girls' weekends have become...

This weekend was spent
sitting around an oven
waiting for the cabin the heat up
feet up on the oven door
wine glass in hand
potato chips and dip for lunch

This weekend was spent
going out for dinner
having a couple of drinks
coming back to the cabin
and talking
and feeling
and honoring
and admiring
and crying

This weekend was spent
watching movies
drinking coffee
going out for lunch
watching more movies
fondueing
drinking wine
and talking
and feeling
and honoring
and admiring
and crying

We set the alarm for 6:30 a.m.
left at 7:00
arrived home at 9:00
went to church
and fed my soul.

As I did the entire weekend.

My how things have changed...

The Things You Don't Say to Your Wife

2008-10-13T23:01:00.002-05:00

Land Mines

2008-10-08T21:52:00.004-05:00

My life has been filling with land mines lately.

My dad's prognosis
My new family relationships
My old family relationships
My job's intensity
My administrator's distance
My team that isn't
My self-perceptions
My battle with depression
My co-dependency
My kids' neediness
My dog's puppiness
My dwindling 403B
Joe's lack of a job
My exhaustion

I've been carefully acknowledging the land mines
Yet have avoided stepping on them
For fear of defeat.

Tonight
I stepped on a landmine.
Literally.

I was barefoot and stepped in a pile of
soft, squishy dog poop...

while taking out my dog
after bathing my kids
after breaking up their fights
after serving them snacks
after helping with homework
after driving to Hinckley
after leaving school early
after meeting with teammates
after getting up early
after sleeping seven hours
after putting my kids to bed
after bathing my children
after conferencing with parents
after teaching children all day long.

I started crying.
Not just crying.
Wailing.
Bawling.
Weeping.
Sobbing.

My foot full of poop...
Proving that I can't always
sidestep the land mines.

I survived the explosion.

Metaphorical.

Burying My Goldfish

2008-10-08T20:37:00.000-05:00

This is one of the best ever...

Reconciliation

2008-10-02T22:19:00.003-05:00

As a young Catholic, this was a sacrament for me.

A necessary evil.

Sitting in front of a priest
confessing how bad of a person I am
in order to get into the kingdom of Heaven.

What a difference three decades (and a religion) make.

My recent reconciliation was three decades in the making.

It was with my dad.
Who is dying.

For so many years,
I have held on to resentment
misunderstanding
impatience
disappointment
anger.

This week,
I let it go.

And I forgave him.

For all the things he didn't know
he needed to be forgiven for.

For all the things he didn't know
how to do as a dad.

And I told him I forgave him.

What an important step.

And now he is dying.
And I have limited time to reconcile.

But I am committed.

I want my children to love him
without all of the baggage I had to sort through
in order to do so.

I want him to know I love him
no matter the events of the past.

Instead of sitting in front of a priest
reconciling
I am going to sit in front of my dad
loving him.

And if it doesn't get me into heaven...
so what.

All Aboard...

2008-09-16T21:41:00.009-05:00

If a leader wants people to ride his train,
one of the rails must be
about developing relationships
and the other must be grace.

Audrey Hepburn had it right....

2008-09-15T22:23:00.002-05:00

For attractive lips,
speak words of kindness..

For lovely eyes,
seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure,
share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair,
let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.

For poise,
walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

People,
even more than things,
have to be
restored,
renewed,
revived,
reclaimed,
and redeemed.

Never throw out anyone.

Remember, if you ever need a helping hand,
you will find one at the end of each of your arms.

As you grow older,
you will discover that you have two hands;
one for helping yourself,
and the other for helping others.

Chicks Rule

2008-09-15T22:18:00.001-05:00

This is all I've got to say...

Joy

2008-09-15T21:23:00.010-05:00

I decided I needed one entire blog devoted only to Joy...

Joyful thoughts
Joyful experiences
Joyful pictures

So here goes...

JOY
Watching your children live out your dream for them

Inspiring others to see the best in themselves

Seeing the eyes of your children light up in delight

Praising and singing to God
to each other
to the showerhead

Feeling the warmth of your home after
a rainy football game
a snowy commute
a difficult day

Smelling a homecooked meal
that you didn't cook

Being greeted by the unconditional love
of your dog

Watching your boy play football
and your girl play soccer
and your boy play baseball
and your girl play baseball
and your boy play soccer
and your girl play basketball

Hearing your kids
singing their favorite songs
while listening to their iPods

Shopping

Drinking coffee

Having your best friend call you
JUST when you absolutely
NEED to hear her voice

Sitting by a waterfall
in a hot tub
next to a pool
overlooking the ocean,
the mountains,
and a golf course

Hitting a perfectly straight, long drive off the tee

Owning comfortable shoes

Owning a washing machine that actually cleans your clothes

Celebrating a hard-earned college degree
24 years after the dream began

So much Joy
in so many places

I just need to focus my attention on it.

Bohemian Hourglass

2008-09-02T21:51:00.003-05:00

This is pretty much how I am feeling these days.
Like a chick growing out of an hourglass.

Time...
Its imposed importance
has infiltrated our souls
and skewed our values
as human beings.

We have become more concerned about
being on time
than spending time
mending the wounded knees
and hearts of our children...
than taking care of our friends...
than tending to our mental health...

It is no wonder that I feel like a bohemian in an hourglass.

What should REALLY matter?
The mixed messages given to us by our leaders
are confusing and inauthentic.

If you really believe that my family is first,
won't you understand when I need to hug my daughter for an extra ten minutes in the morning
thus causing me to be late?

If you really believe that it is important to take care of each other,
won't you understand when I need to meet my friend for breakfast so she can use my shoulder as a Kleenex
thus causing me to be late?

If you really believe that I need to take care of myself,
won't you understand when I need to spend fifteen minutes meditating to reduce my stress
thus causing me to be late?

Of course I don't mean that I would
shirk my responsibilities as an employee
or dental patient
or haircut victim.

I believe that it is possible to both honor the bohemian
AND
the hourglass.

Life does not have to be EITHER/OR.
It can be AND.

Unfortunately, we have been so conditioned to believe that
punctuality = respect.
It is time to change the paradigm.
It is TIME.

Stanley

2008-08-07T00:08:00.002-05:00

Well -
we did it.
A bit quicker than I had thought we would
But nonetheless...

We got a new puppy.
His name is Stanley.
He's freakin' adorable....
And is wearing me out.

This puppy was meant to be ours.
We weren't going to get one so soon...
We were going to wait until after we returned from our vacation
OR
Until next spring.

And then Jack's football coach had a litter of golden retriever puppies right here in Andover.
We had to check them out.
Out of the eight or nine puppies in the litter (I lost track)
Both Jack and I were drawn to the puppy-with-the-green-collar...
He was mellow but spunky
And he let us hold him on his back and pet his tummy.

After meeting him, we knew he was our Stanley.
We decided to get him
And because Dawn and Kyle offered to watch him while we were in San Diego,
We got him two days later.

I don't remember puppies being this much work.
Apparently I was younger and more able to handle the responsibility.
Or maybe it is just that I have more responsibility now
So it just feels like more.

Whatever is the case,
this puppy is amazing.
Damn dog won't sleep in his new state-of-the-art-kennel
So I had to get Bailey's old kennel out of the rafters.

Apparently this did the trick.
Perhaps it is because Stanley feels Bailey's spirit in the kennel.
Or maybe I do.

All I know is that a new puppy doesn't make me miss my old dog any less.
Having a new puppy is a wonderful diversion...
But I still wish Bailey was here so he could meet Stanley
And so Stanley could meet him.

They would have loved each other.

I sometimes feel disloyal to Bailey by bringing Stanley into our family.
But then I think about life...
And how Stanley somehow carries Bailey's spirit with him.

I know we made the right decision.
But
Damn...
I need to get some sleep.

To the women in my circle...

2008-08-01T23:46:00.002-05:00

I stole this entry from an email I received from a very special friend of mine.
It truly applies to the amazing women I have been so fortunate to have in my life.
To you, my friends...
I love you...
And thank you for being my family.

When I was little, I used to believe in the concept of one best friend,
and then I started to become a woman.
And then I found out that if you allow your heart to open up,
You will be shown the best, in many friends.
One friend is needed when you're going through things with your
partner.

Another friend is needed when you're going through things with your
parents.

Another will sit beside you in the bleachers as you delight in your
children and their activities.

Another when you want to shop, share, heal, hurt, joke, or just be.
One friend will say, 'Let's cry together,'
another, 'Let's walk away together.'

One friend will meet your spiritual need,
another your shoe fetish, another your love for movies,
another will be with you in your season of confusion,
another will be your clarifier, another the wind beneath your wings.

But whatever their assignment in your life,
on whatever the occasion, on whatever the day,
or wherever you need them to meet you with their gym shoes on and hair
pulled back, or to hold you back from making a complete fool of yourself ...
those are your best friends.

It may all be wrapped up in one woman,
but for many, it's wrapped up in several...
one from 6th grade,
one from high school,
some from the college years,
a couple from old jobs, (don't foget friends from your ex's)
on some days your mother,
on some days your neighbor,
on others, your sisters, cousins,
and on some days, your daughters.

God determines who walks into your life...it's up to you to decide who
You let walk away, who you let stay, and who you refuse to let go -
I'm so glad you are here.

Life's Lessons

2008-08-01T23:35:00.002-05:00

Tonight, I was talking through a situation with my kids that occurred as we were playing kickball in the front yard with the neighborhood kids.

I was trying to get my kids to determine what is more important in life- winning or taking care of another person's heart. (Of course, I was shooting for the heart thing...)

I was on my game.
The words were flowing as if I had written them down.
The vocabulary was appropriate for my audience.
Even my "pauses for effect" were especially dramatic.
It was my "I have a dream" speech for kids.
It was that good...

Of course,
the simple dream I was trying to communicate to my kids consisted of important life lessons
such as...
sportsmanship
kindness
respect
teamwork.

Did I for one minute expect they would act as sponges,
absorbing every ounce of wisdom
able to wring out the correct behaviors
when necessary?

Heck no...

Until, at the end of a particularly impassioned part of my speech,
Julia looked at me
Gave me two thumbs up
And said,
Wow, Mom. You are really talking good tonight.

I'm not exactly sure what my kids learned tonight.
Except that I am not particularly good at holding in my laughter....

I sure hope they at least learned a little bit about life's important lessons.

Our broken hearts...

2008-07-28T23:00:00.006-05:00

Well, we put Bailey down six days ago.

My heart is still broken.
I so love that dog/human.
(So do my kids....
The looks on their faces in this picture, the night before we put Bailey down, say it all.)

To know him is to understand...
You'd have thought he was human....

He KNEW me.
I can't explain it.
It was as if he knew my soul somehow.

I would walk into the house
My sadness in my heart
But not on my sleeve
Or so I thought

Bailey would come to me
Instinctively
Knowing I needed unconditional love
Without questions
Without judgment
Without reservation

I can't even explain how much I miss him.
He really hadn't been himself for the past few months.
It was as if his soul and spirit left his body
Sometime in May

I think I began missing him then.

It doesn't make it any easier.

I miss taking him out right away in the morning.
I miss taking him out before bed at night.
I miss putting my finger into his peanut butter jar and feeding him his medication.
I miss filling his water dish.
I miss tripping over him as I get out of bed.
I miss snuggling with him on the floor.
I miss hearing his panting and his jingly collar.
I miss his smell and his spirit.

I know we'll get a new puppy soon
But I also know I'll never have him again.

Jack has missed Bailey the most....
His tears evoke tears from me...
Everyday.
Even though I know we made the right decision.

I ache.
I want him back.
I miss him.
I will never forget him
And he will forever be a part of me....

My Heart....

2008-07-21T23:47:00.007-05:00

My Bailey...
The old Golden Retriever/Chesapeake that is as much a part of our family as I am...
The member of our family who was so important that he got his picture taken with Joe and me at our wedding...
The member of our family who was so loved that I asked this question when I found out I was pregnant with Jack: "How can I possibly love anyone else as much as I love this dog?"
My friend Mary assured me that I would be overtaken by the sight of my baby.
She was right, of course.

Nonetheless, Bailey continued to be a loved constant in our home for the past 15 years.
The jingle of his collar...
The whine to go outside...
The selective hearing when leaving the yard...
The constant begging to play ball...

It's been a hard few months.
Watching him deteriorate at such an incredibly fast pace.
He has lost his will
to play
to run
to eat
to stand
to hear
to love.

It is time for him to go.
I know this...
Each time I have to lift him so he can stand...
Each time I have to carry him down our front steps...
Each time I say his name and he doesn't answer...
Each time I hear him whine and wince as he tries to stand....

Rationally, I know letting him go is the right thing to do.

But the tears, the angst, the pain.
My heart is heavy.
Jack explained it well through his tears...
"My heart is going to blow up inside me."

We are going to have many tears tomorrow...
My Bailey - the love of my life - will be put to sleep.
To heaven he will go.
His pain will be gone.

Ours will go on.
But our memories of Bailey will comfort us
and remind us how lucky we were to have him with us for 15 wonderful years.

God bless our wonderful companion.

Let the games begin....

2008-07-02T22:59:00.002-05:00

Katie and her friend have called my house eleven times in the past week.
Who is Katie, you ask?
A girl in Jack's third grade class
who giggles
and squeals
and apparently has a crush on my boy.

I saved all of the messages Katie and her friend have left.
I torture Jack with them each time they call.
I wish I could save them until graduation
so I would have fodder for the party.

Of course a conversation ensued....

Me: Jack, Katie really wants to talk to you. You need to call her back.

Jack: You call her back.

Me: She's not my friend, Jack. YOU need to call her.

Jack: I'm not calling her. But I want to know what she wants. You call her.

Me: This is where I draw the line, Jack. I am NOT calling a 9 year old girl for YOU. Along with picking up after yourself, making your own breakfast, and putting away your own laundry, you will be the one calling the girl back.

Jack: Well. (he pauses) I guess I'll have to live without knowing what she wants.

Crud. I really wanted him to call.
It would have made for another great blog entry, I'm sure.

It's funny how things work out...

2008-06-30T23:28:00.010-05:00

The end of the school year was a whirlwind.
Erlandson got a job at McKinley as an assistant principal (yes, now he's one of those types) so...
Bunde decided she wanted his job in social studies on our team.
Which left science open.
Which caused my principal to worry a bit about placing Bunde in social studies
and leaving the science position open to someone who had never taught science on the Math and Science Team.

Long story, but it's complicated.
We do things weirdly on our team
And have this lovefest going on.
We didn't want someone coming on the team
who didn't get it
or
who couldn't buy into it.
So...
because I have taught on this team since the beginning
AND
because I have taught science
I was a comfortable option to take over the science position.

I truly wasn't sure what I wanted to do.
There are SO many things I love about ILA
SO many things I've honed
SO much fun I've had working closely with Terry.
I was comfortable AND still doing a good job.

There are SO many things I love about science, though.
SO much I have wanted to try
SO many kids who LOVE science (they are on the Math and Science Team by choice, after all.)
SO many possibilities.
I have wanted to give science a try for a few years now.
I just wasn't sure I wanted it to happen RIGHT NOW.

Well, I left the decision to the universe.
(Actually, I told my principal to put me wherever he wanted me. At this point, he was the universe.)
The universe/principal wanted me to teach science.
I accepted.
Not gleefully or begrudgingly.
I accepted calmly...
Which kind of freaked me out.

Something kept gnawing at me.
I kept asking myself if I was doing the right thing.
This is odd for me.
Usually I make a decision and I don't really worry about it.
But this was a decision I left to the universe.
I didn't make the decision.
I left it to someone else.

Anyway, I did a lot of self-talk
and remembered that I really am not in control anyway.
Not that this helped at all...

Until I fulfilled an obligation that I had with the ILA department....

Last week, I spent three hours each afternoon writing curriculum for advanced ILA, a subject I have taught for the past few years.
I decided to fulfill the writing obligation, because I have definite ideas about what these kids need and what is not being provided for them.

I'm not sure what I was thinking.

I sat in this windowless, freakin' cold room every day
while the sun was beating down outside
and my children were playing with their paid babysitter
being asked questions like...
What should we do about spelling in advanced ILA?
and
What should we do about independent reading in ILA?
and
How can we extend kids using just the materials we have for sixth graders even though the materials are not written at a level that extends them?

Well, we all shared our thoughts.
Here were their answers to our suggestions.
We have to do spelling lists in advanced ILA. You need to do it just like we tell you to.
and
We really don't care about all the research you've done about independent reading so we won't require independent reading for ILA students even though ALL of the research says that students who read above 40 minutes per day score at the 90% percentile or higher on standardized tests
and
Sorry, we have no money to extend the kids in sixth grade so just use the stories in the textbook that you think are above grade level.

It's official.
I have been intellectually castrated.

And as a result,
I have realized that I really did make the right decision to teach science.
Oh wait.
I didn't make that decision, did I?
Hmmmmm....
Smart universe.

I Love My Life

2008-06-25T21:41:00.008-05:00

I have a simple life.
A life with limited complexity.
A life with limited drama.
A life with limited cash
where I must budget
to buy new towels
or a new rug
or a non-fat latte.
But seriously.
I love my life.

I sit on my patio
in my $25 chair
looking out over the neighborhood.
The kids playing in our yard...
kickball
the color game
kick the can
baseball.
It doesn't get much better than this.
I really love my life.

I sit in the same chair
at the baseball fields
watching our kids
play
and
learn.
I cheer my own kids.
We all cheer each other's kids.
I see the delight in my kids' faces
when they get a hit
field a ball
do their best.
I see the same delight in my kids' faces
when their teammates get a hit
field a ball
do their best.
I realize how, as parents, we are doing something right.
I really, really love my life.

I sit in the same chair
across from my husband
talking
and
laughing.
We speak of our goals
our dreams
our hopes.
We speak of what we want for our kids
and ourselves.
We speak of what we don't want for our kids
and ourselves.
We realize we are right where we are supposed to be.
And how lucky we are.
I really, really, really love my life.

I connect with my incredible friends.
I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have
such an incredible core of people
who love me unconditionally
who support me whole-heartedly
who make me laugh uncontrollably.
Buffie, Carol, Terry, Mary, Dawn, Carolyn,
Amy, Lisa, Dan, Dawna, Kim, Ann, Brian.
I am so blessed.
I really, really, really, really love my life.

I don't have much materially.
But I sure have a lot.
More than I ever thought I'd have.
I really, really, really, really, really love my life.

Tornadoes

2008-06-08T20:53:00.005-05:00

The following is an excerpt from tonight's conversation with my kids (who seem to be taking up a lot of space on this blog...)

Julia: Mom, like, just pretend there was a tornado. You'd be scared and you might lose something important you need.

Jack: Yeah, like your watch.

Julia: Or your daughter.

I love how differently from one another my children think.

Stinky the Skunk

2008-06-02T23:10:00.003-05:00

My sweet boy...
It is 10:10 p.m. and I am watching the news.
Jack tends to come down some evenings right about this time.
He complains of not being tired.
He complains of not being able to sleep.
He cries because he's worried about our dog Bailey dying. (He's a 14 1/2 year old golden retriever. His worries are warranted.)

Tonight, he cries again. Tears are streaming down my sweet boy's face as he snuggles up next to me and releases the day's sadness.

Me: What is wrong, honey?

Jack: Don't laugh.

Me: Of course I won't laugh. What is wrong?

Jack: Today in class, Mrs. McAloon read us a story about Stinky the skunk. He was a little skunk who was crossing the road and his mama didn't want him to get hurt, so she went out into the road and saved him but she got runned over. She died.

At this point, he began sobbing.

It's official.
He is me.

I remember sobbing while reading "Blubber" by Judy Blume.
Hell, I still cry at that Folgers commercial that comes out every Christmas.
You know the one....the little girl exclaims, "Peter!" and runs to hug him.

I spend the next few minutes holding my sweet, sensitive boy who carries the world on his shoulders.

Me: Jack, did you tell your teacher about how you were feeling today?

Jack: No. I told Hunter and he said, "You mean you are still thinking about that story?"

Obviously, his friends don't understand the depth of his soul.
I can't really expect them to.
They are nine.

Me: Talk to me. Why does this make you so sad, honey?

Jack: Because it could be you doing that for me. And then you would die.

Then the tears start streaming from my eyes.
We cry together for a few minutes.
He then asks me to "retell" Stinky's story so that the mama lives.
I do.
He is happy.
He stops crying.
I stop crying.
He goes to bed.

And I write.
Because I can't sleep.
Because I can't believe how amazing my sweet boy is.
And how Stinky the Skunk from Sideways Stories from Wayside School
was able to elicit these kinds of emotions from a nine year old and a 41 year old.

God help my compassionate, sensitive boy.

Third Grade Boys

2008-05-21T22:15:00.003-05:00

Seriously...
Is there anything quite like the thinking of a third grade boy?
Everything has to do with farts, burps, sports and penises.
I can handle all of these things.
It's the conversation I had with Jack tonight that concerns me.

Jack: You know, girls who are tan are hot.

Me: What do you mean? (I was hoping he meant hot in the literal sense.)

Jack: You know. Cute. Hot. Boys who are tan are hot, too. He looks at his arms. I've got to get myself some sun.

Me: Is there a hot girl you are interested in?

Jack: Well, no. But Hunter is interested in Krystalin and she is tan. She is hot.

Me: According to Hunter?

Jack: Yeah. Him and everyone else.

I had to pause here for a few minutes just to catch my breath.

Me: But you don't like her or anyone?

Jack: No. I'm waiting for a girl who wears the right clothes and is nice to me. Oh yeah. And she can't be scared of me. Girls are scared of me, because I'm so funny.

Me: What do the girls do when they are scared of you?

Jack: They roll their eyes at me and walk away.

Me: Honey, that's not fear. That's exasperation.

I kind of liked it better when he talked about natural body functions.

The Julia File...

2008-05-21T22:00:00.004-05:00

Julia was at baseball Monday night. It was a bit cool outside, so she put on her sweatshirt and went back to the bench.

Coach: Julia, are you chilly?

Julia: No...I'm Julia.

-----------------------------------------------------

Tonight, Jack and I were driving home from my softball game. I called home to let the family know we were coming. Julia answered the phone. After a short conversation with her...

Me: Julia, can you please get Dad?

Julia: Just a minute....Pause
(In a "deep" voice) This is Joseph.

Me: Ms. Haben, get your DAD.

Julia: Oh, all right. Pause.
(In an "deep" voice) This is Joe.

Me: JULIA! GET YOUR DAD ON THE PHONE!

Julia: Fine. Pause.
(In a "deep" voice) What?

We both burst out laughing.

She's six and shares my sense of humor.
Either she has quite the sense of humor or I am extremely immature...
(It's probably a little of both...)

Mother's Day and Boxes...

2008-05-12T21:45:00.002-05:00

Jack, my son, made me such a lovely gift at school this week in honor of Mother's Day.
It is a wrapped box with the following poem attached:

This is a very special gift
That you can never see.
The reason it's so special is
It's just for you from me.
Whenever you are lonely
Or even feeling blue,
You only have to hold this gift
And know I think of you!
You never can unwrap it.
Please leave the ribbon tied.
Just hold the box close to your heart.
It's filled with love inside.

Needless to say, I was a bit teary.
As I brought the box close to my heart, I could see that
Julia, my six year old daughter, was obviously quite sad.
She wished she could have given one
just like it to me
for Mother's Day.
I explained to her that she and I could find a box
and wrap up some love.
She could give it to me,
but it would just after Mother's Day,
which is wonderful, because then the love keeps coming.

I had forgotten this conversation until tonight when Julia was sitting on my bed and began this conversation:

Julia: Mom, can you teach me how to make love?
Me: What?
Julia: Can you teach me how to make love?
Me: What exactly do you want to know?
Julia: Hel-looo. Remember this?

She turns and picks up the box that Jack had given me.
It's all about context, isn't it?

Oxymoronic

2008-05-05T22:23:00.004-05:00

I had to volunteer my time
to go to a mandatory meeting today.

This is what
my job is becoming.

We require you to be trained
but you'll have to get
trained on your own time.

Emphasis on the word have.

I used to volunteer extra time willingly.
Back when I felt that the district office
the parents
the media
appreciated what I do.

Now the expectation is
that I shut up
do my job
and listen to my superiors'
almighty wisdom.

Unfortunately for them,
I am over-educated.

I know too much
to sit still
to shut my mouth
to be a puppet.

I grudgingly attended
the mandatory meeting
where I volunteered my time
only to be taught
how to use technology
to further test
my students
who are already
over-tested.

Now the superiors
have decided that we need to
assess students at the end of the year
in addition to
MAP tests in the fall
MTELL tests in late winter
MCAs in the spring
and MAP tests again in the spring.

This testing,
of course,
is in addition to
the assessments
we as teachers
already give our students
in our classrooms
that we use
immediately
to design lessons
that meet our students' needs.

Hmmmm.
That's what I thought
testing was for.

The test data
we get from the state and our district
is reported to teachers
categorically
without specifics...
in an untimely manner....
The data is difficult
to understand
to utilize
to apply
to our individual lessons
and students.

Needless to say,
during the time
I was volunteering
to be trained
to do more testing,
I became a bit,
shall I say,
bitter.

I never thought
I would be a teacher
who would lose my passion.

Good thing I haven't.
The district office
the parents
the media
keep fanning the flames
that keep my passion
for students and teaching
alive.

Just make volunteering
to get rid of excessive testing
mandatory.

You'll have teachers
beating down the door
to be mandatory volunteers.

Emails and Irony

2008-05-05T22:09:00.003-05:00

Four emails.
I received four emails
from a parent within 48 minutes,
each concerning something different
regarding her son.

Yes, this photo is the total word count
of the emails.
I had to cut and paste them
into Word
just to collect this data.

Ironically, I was asked today
to fill out a survey
regarding the amount
of email communication I engage in each day.
It asked how much information I provide to parents
and how long I spend on email each day.

I think the above data answers the question pretty clearly.

Perhaps I'll forward this entry to the powers that be.

Daisies

2008-04-30T18:19:00.003-05:00

Aren't daisies happy?

I love them.

I am going to grow them this year.

All kinds of daisies...
Shasta daisies
Gerbera daisies
Gloriosa daisies

How can you look at a daisy and not smile?

It's almost May in Minnesota....
Hallelujah!

Mrs. Pro is My Hero...

2008-04-30T18:03:00.007-05:00

Today, between classes, the kids were standing in the hallway talking to Mrs. Pro and me. She and I share these students for an integrated language arts class. The kids leave my class and walk into her room and silently read. Every day. The routine has never changed. Our conversation with the kids went something like this...

Billy: What are we going to do in class today?

Mrs. Pro: I give up.

Billy: No. Really. What are we doing in class today?

Mrs. Pro: Hmmmmm. I was thinking that we should go for a nature walk.

Billy: Outside?

Pause.

Billy: Outside?

Pause.

Alec: Are we reading today?

Up until that point, I had kept a straight face, despite the Here's Your Sign questions being asked of Mrs. Pro. When Alec asked if they were reading in reading class, I admit, I had to bury my head around the corner and leave Terry out to dry.

She's incredible. She kept a straight face the whole time.

She's my new hero. Sorry Billy.

Billy is my Hero

2008-04-29T22:22:00.003-05:00

Billy is a student of mine.
He cracks me up.

Today, he was singing the song by Frankie Valli, "Sherry."
He changed the words a bit.

Scaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrry - this song is scary.

Seriously funny.

Dogs

2008-04-29T22:04:00.004-05:00

I sit and listen to my old dog Bailey...
He pants heavily,
licks his leg,
scratches the carpet,
circles
and
lays down
again.

He amazes me.

He is a 14 year old golden retriever - chesapeake mix...a beautiful golden color with wavy hair that needs to be kept short or it looks unkempt.

This old dog continues...
he climbs the stairs
albeit much more slowly

he fetches the softball
although he now loses sight of the ball

he finds his way to the dinner table
although he now lays down
and waits
for the food
to fall

Bailey has been with us since January, 1994.
I can't imagine life without him
so I don't.
Very often.

I think he has the soul of a human.
He knows when my heart hurts.
He protects me when he senses I am fearful.
He nuzzles into me when he knows I need attention.

I sit and listen to my old dog Bailey.
He drinks his water.
He eats his food.
His collar jangles.
He whines to go outside.

It's like he is a puppy.
Again.

Time goes by so fast.
I wish dogs lived as long as humans.

Random Thoughts About Testing

2008-04-22T21:48:00.006-05:00

Just another word for hell.

Testing really just tests my patience.
And my students' patience.
And my son's patience.

Tests are supposed to test students' knowledge.
They really seem to just test how well students test.

An entire week of potential learning was taken up by testing.

Tests that I don't even get to see after the students have completed them.
Tests that I can't use to accurately assess my students.
Tests that I can't use to reteach my students skills they may have missed.

It is asinine to expect teachers to know how to best help their students when they are not given the data to do so.
All because the tests need to be kept "secret" or the test integrity will be compromised.
What is more important? The learning or the testing?

Since I have begun teaching, passion and inspiration have fallen to intimidation and trepidation.

For my students' sake and my own kids' sake, I hope education once again learns that it is as important to take care of a students' heart as well as his/her mind....

Two hours?

2008-04-22T21:24:00.004-05:00

Madness.
A synonym for public education today.

A group of legislators who have been in school but most of whom haven't taught it are making decisions about how best to teach our children. Without being in the classroom.

A two hour visit doesn't count.
That two hour visit can give a general idea about what a teacher does on a daily basis.

Those same two hours miss a hell of a lot...

The student who breaks down in class, because her dad tried to kill her mother last night. Or last year.
The student who can't pay attention, because she is too busy worrying about how her fellow students view her.
The student who didn't do his homework, because he was busy taking care of his brothers and sisters, because his parents were working second shift.
The student who never learned to read, because his single mother worked two jobs just to feed her family.
The student who can't attend to the lessons, because she didn't get to sleep the night before because of the TV in her bedroom.
The student who didn't do his homework, because his parents told him hockey was more important than school.
The student who won't follow the teacher's rules, because his parents have taught him that teachers are out to get him.
The student who stresses out over getting even one wrong on a test, because she has been taught she needs to be perfect.
The student who struggles to learn, because he just moved here from Liberia and has never been educated.
The student who fights, because she just moved here from Liberia also and doesn't get along with the various tribes now attending our school.
The student whose parents have done everything for him, so he has never learned how to be responsible for himself.
The student who has been told that being beautiful and sexy is more important than being smart and determined.
The student who has been told that he needs to read by the time he is nine or he is stupid.
The student who has failed at reading by age nine and believes he is stupid.

No child left behind?
Excellent idea. In theory.
No child left behind?
Sometimes the schools are not the ones who are leaving them behind.

The Significance of Baseball in Minnesota

2008-03-31T22:18:00.005-05:00

When it comes to the Minnesota Twins,
Or Baseball, for that matter,
You could most definitely call me a fan...

In fact, you might call me a rabid fan. Fanatical. Psychotic at times, I suppose.
I donned my Twins Jersey proudly to school today, in fact.
Let the games begin...

Tonight was the Twins Opener at the Dome.
10 inches of snow coming down and the Twins are playing.
I was kind of happy about the Heavy Snow Warning issued by the National Weather Service.
It meant I would stay home and get to watch Baseball instead of driving 30 miles to play volleyball in Monticello.
Somethings happen for a reason...

I must say it was quite odd,
jumping and cheering
as Carlos Gomez stole his second base of the night
as Mike Lamb got his first RBI in a Twins uniform
as Joe Nathan fanned Torii Hunter in the 9th inning

all while I was looking outside at a blizzard.

Blizzards and Baseball (yes, it is a proper noun in our home) don't go together. Dick Bremer and Bert Blyleven's voices are THE sign that spring is coming.

Spring? Baseball? 10 inches of snow? The fact that Baseball has begun, despite the blanket of snow outside, reminds Minnesotans like me that the snow will soon melt.

And we'll be out...
playing Baseball in our front yard...
listening to Twins Baseball on the radio while sitting on the patio enjoying a refreshing cocktail...
enjoying our snowless grass.

There is nothing quite like summer in Minnesota.
Good thing Baseball season sometimes starts during a blizzard so that we can be reminded of it.

Minnesota Weather

2008-03-30T22:02:00.004-05:00

It was 52 degrees today in Minneapolis...
It's the Twins' Home Opener tomorrow in Minneapolis...
There is a Heavy Snow Warning for tonight in Minneapolis...

Good thing we have a dome.

Remind me again...

Why in the hell do I live here?

Confused...

2008-03-27T22:34:00.005-05:00

I don't know what it is about my profession, but my expectations are higher for my colleagues than the rest of society. I guess I feel that because teaching is such a noble profession, people who enter it must be "enlightened." I find that I am sometimes wrong.

I'm not wrong often, mind you. I can think of maybe five people with whom I've worked that were in the profession for the wrong reason. One of those five presented herself within the past week. We'll call her Angela.

In a calculated manner, Angela attacked a colleague in front of our principal....
because of an incident that occurred over three months ago...
which my colleague had already apologized for and tried to rectify.

Now I have to admit that I love this colleague like a sister. I understand this could influence my opinion on the matter. Regardless, I imagine myself in the same situation she was and know with every fiber of my being that I would feel the same way she does...violated, abused, spanked.

I know I am feeling this situation at a deeper level than just love for my friend and colleague. Why? Because I think it speaks to everything that I am having difficulty with in the teaching profession....

Lack of trust.
Lack of respect.
Lack of support.

Here we are in an environment where we should be supporting one another, and what does one of us do?
Attacks.
Criticizes.
Assaults.

How can we expect the public to trust, respect, and support us when we can't even do it for each other?
How can we expect our students to trust, respect, and support each other when we can't even do it for ourselves?

Teachers talk about accepting kids where they are at, yet we are unable to extend that courtesy to one another.

How sad that these few teachers who really don't get it have poisoned our system.

No wonder kids are confused.

The Easter Bunny

2008-03-27T22:23:00.004-05:00

Tonight, I was finishing dinner when our little neighbor boy, Sam Henry, rang the doorbell. I answered, and he proceeded to inform me that a dead rat was in the road.
I quickly got my shoes and shovel and followed Sam Henry to the road where Julia and Samantha were hovering over a furry blob.

Julia: Mom, look at the rat. Yuck!

Mom: Honey, I don't think that is a rat.

Julia: Yes it is! Look at it.

Joe approached with a shovel in tow and added: Honey, it's probably from a bunny or something.

Julia: Oh no! It was probably the Easter Bunny. I hope he isn't hurt!

It's a dangerous job that Easter Bunny has...hiding baskets and eggs and all....

Tonsils and Trauma

2008-03-13T14:32:00.000-05:00

Well, Jack's tonsils are gone and his tongue has been clipped. Many tears and a convincing belief that he was going to die is how we entered the hospital, but all went well, especially after the nurse gave Jack a dose of a calming medication which I now call THE WONDER DRUG. Talk about changing a mood/personality within about 30 minutes. Oh, did I mention that he threw a fit about the oral syringe they used to squirt THE WONDER DRUG into his mouth? Yes, this is where we started :)

Here are a collection of quotes from Jack while under the influence of the WONDER DRUG:

Nurse: Jack, are these two your parents?
Jack: They are my grandparents.
Then he snickered.

Jack: Are they going to have to shock my heart? Can I have that bubble gum gas?

Jack: (slurring begins) This surgery thing is really fine. In fact, I think it will be good.

A few minutes later...
Jack: (slurred) I'm so sorry I didn't trust you. I really feel good. This is going to be great.

A few minutes later...
Jack: (slurred) I need you to be quiet now so I can sleep. All I need is some peace and quiet.

I have got to get myself some of this drug....

Roseau

2008-03-10T22:52:00.003-05:00

I have decided that I love the people from Roseau.

This weekend, Buffie and I went to watch Carolyn's WONDERFUL play, "Orson's Shadow," at the Loading Dock Theater in St. Paul. Coincidentally, the Boys' State Hockey Tournament was being held in St. Paul simultaneously. The nearest bar to the theater was in the Embassy Suites Hotel (you can see where this is going, I imagine...)
Anyway, we went to the bar after the play and it was PACKED with Roseau fans of all ages. It got me to wondering..."Do all of these people know each other?" At about the same time, a woman of about 50 walked by and I decided to ask her. Joanne was her name.

Me: Excuse me. How many people live in Roseau?

Joanne: Well. How many people did you graduate with?

Me: Around 800.

Joanne: Well, our whole school, K-12, has about 800 kids. I'd say we are about 2,500.

Me: Do you know everyone here?

Joanne: Pretty much.

Well, here we are with much of the town of Roseau and we have with us Carolyn...THE Polaris Bride in the commercial. Remember the one? A single snowflake falls as she is on the steps of the church and she cries, "NOOOOOOOOO!" The next shot is of her groom-to-be on his Polaris snowmobile riding in the great wide open. Everyone knows the Polaris bride, especially Roseau natives. We had to share this with Joanne who is from the home of Polaris itself. She proceeded to pretty much introduce Carolyn to everyone walking by. Hilarious...

We decided that we needed to add Roseau as a girls' weekend destination. We love small towns and have done this a number of times. Immediately, Joanne invites us to stay at her cabin. On Lake of the Woods. In the attached apartment. So we didn't have to see her husband walking around in his underwear.

As Joanne was ordering a water with some complimentary whiskey, the husband walked up. She was busy talking with the waitress and someone else. We introduced ourselves, Carrie as the Polaris Bride and the husband as the president of the local bank. (Buffie and I rode Carrie's coattails...) Anyway, we mentioned going to Roseau sometime and the FIRST thing he says is, "You should come up and stay at our cabin? It's on Lake of the Woods."

Honestly. How amazing is THAT? These people were amazing. It got me to thinking about how nice it would be to be a part of something smaller.

It must feel
Connected.
Trusting.
Honest.
Open.
Inviting.
Friendly.

I love stories like these. They seem like small blips on the radar, not even worth mentioning. But I believe that these blips are what create the richness in my life. These small occurrences help me keep my faith in humanity. They remind me how kind and generous most people really are.

The six hour drive to Roseau will be worth it...We are definitely going.

Island

2008-03-05T23:04:00.004-06:00

It is so ironic. There is no place I'd rather vacation than on an island...preferably Jamaica or Hawaii. In fact, I long for being on an island...away from the daily pressures...away from the constant thoughts that permeate my days...away from normalcy.

Yet, being an island IS my state of normalcy. I truly feel like an island. Who I am just doesn't seem to fit with what the world and society expects of its inhabitants. I really am not whining when I say this although I know it may come off as though I am. The reality of it all is that I have never really belonged. I have always felt somewhat alone in my beliefs, my philosophies, my heart. Now don't get me wrong...I spent much of my life trying to get off of my island. I tried to conform. I sacrificed pieces of myself. I behaved in ways that would make some of the people reading this laugh, because it seems ludicrous that I would consider myself alone on my journey. The truth is, I have finally found myself and it just so happens that my true soul resides on an island.

People sometimes come to visit my island. They often get sick of the island - it is pretty intense being surrounded by water with few ways to leave. Some live on the island with me. Although few, they reside on the island and understand what it is like to live on the island. Then there is the rest of the planet. They just don't get why anyone would choose to live on an island. As a result, they really don't even know what to do or say to those of us who do, so they stay away.

I rarely feel like I am on an island when I am teaching, especially sixth graders. They just get it. They are so raw and honest and funny and true. They are not manipulative, not cunning, not bitter. They just want to live life and most of them don't know how to do it in a dishonest manner. Their souls are pure. I guess that is why it hit me like a lead balloon this week when at work I decided it was time to return once again to my island. What I believe about what is best for students seems to be archaic in today's system and it breaks my heart. All I hear about are test scores and curriculum and studying and organizing and grades and test scores and instructing and mandates and NCLB and MAP and MCA and TEAE and AYP. Where is the CHILD in all of this? Where is the FUN? Where is the time for CONNECTING with students at an emotional level? When do I get to INVEST in the relationships with my students so that they INVEST in the learning in my class? The investments of time I give to my students that are related to fun have a high rate of return. I rarely lose time, because the kids I work with know that I love them and care about them and believe in them. Having fun is what hooks the kids and gets them INVESTED in their learning.

So what does this have to do with being an island? Pretty much everything. Being a teacher is WHO I AM. I don't know how to separate it from my other self.

I need to be at peace living on my island. It is where I am destined to reside.

Nakedness and Sex

2008-02-25T22:45:00.003-06:00

Tonight was bath night at my house. Jack, my nine year old, was dressed in his pajamas after his shower. Julia, my six year old, was lollygagging, as usual...putting off the inevitable shower. Finally, she got undressed.
Jack was teasing her about something so she walked up to Jack and stuck her naked butt into his space. That's when the conversation began...

Jack: Julia quit sexing me.

Mom: Jack, did you just say sexing?

Jack: Yeah. Why?

Mom: What exactly do you know about sex?

Jack: I know what it is. It's when two people get naked and rub their butts together.

Let's just say, I got ready for the sex talk pretty fast. Not something I planned on talking about, but I guess I have to stay ahead of the kids on the bus who I am sure shared this lovely tidbit of information with my third grader.

Here's your sign

2008-02-18T22:18:00.004-06:00

The kids and I watched The Gameplan this weekend. Cute movie (Dwayne Johnson isn't bad to look at either...) Anyway, the little girl in the story asks Dwayne Johnson's character these random questions such as, "What is the worst thing to eat?" "What is the best thing that's ever happened to you?" and so on.

Of course, this game became our bedtime activity tonight. We were asking all sorts of questions of each other when Julia asked, "What is the scariest thing that ever happened to you?" The kids responded about storms and dreams, and then I recalled a scary moment moment involving the kids, thinking it would be a teachable moment - stick by Mom when we are shopping.

Me: My scariest moment was when Jack was about four years old and hid in the clothes rack at Target. Right in the middle. I couldn't find him anywhere.

Julia: Mom, did you find him?

Jack: Uh, I'm right here. Duh.

Here's your sign.

Trees

2008-02-17T21:26:00.004-06:00

I walked a prayer labyrinth today. If you've never done it, it is an amazing, prayerful, peaceful time. It's power is indescribable. Labyrinths have been used as a form of spiritual meditation for hundreds of years. They are becoming more and more a part of today's lexicon. I have walked a beautiful labyrinth at the Carondolet Center at the College of St. Catherine as well as a number of labyrinths set up at our church. Try it. Trust me.

One of the things I try to do as I walk toward the center is to release all that is weighing heavy on my heart. As I enter the center, I become one with God and my soul...no ego, no pain, no weight of the world...just God and me. While walking, I pray and chant and pay close attention to images that come into my mind.

Today's experience was incredibly profound. As I walked toward the center, I kept seeing a particular tree. It was tall and wide. An oak, perhaps? I couldn't figure out where I had seen that tree when suddenly the big tree in the Shawshank Redemption popped into my head. Weird. Anyway, the wind was blowing, at times with gusto and at times with gentleness. I couldn't figure out the significance and in fact, was trying not to so that I could remain mindful and silent. As I sat in the center of the labyrinth, I felt amazingly light and free. I spent much time in the center with God before I got up to journey out back into the world taking the same path out as I did in.

As I left, I had an incredible revelation. I am supposed to be flexible like branches and leaves. I am supposed to show beauty. I am supposed to be alive and vibrant. I am supposed to go through periods of growth that people can see and periods of growth that people can't. I am supposed to bare and naked during winter. I am supposed to grow when I look bleakest. I am supposed to produce fruit. I am supposed to go through cycles.

The trunk? The roots? They are God. Always steadfast, unbending, predictable. The center of growth. Without the trunk and the roots, there are no branches. There are no leaves. There is no beauty.

I smiled as I walked out of that labyrinth. I saw myself and my relationship with God so clearly as I left the maze and reentered the world. I vow to be the tree.

Firsts...

2008-02-05T22:43:00.001-06:00

Here we are after Mr. Obama's speech.
This was the picture on the front page of the Minneapolis Star Tribune!
As you can see, I'm giddy with anticipation.

Here are Gabe and I waiting outside the Target Center. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Barack Obama speaking in Minneapolis - we were in the front row!

What an awesome weekend...
After 22 years of being able to vote, I finally officially got involved in the political process. I attended the Barack Obama rally of 22,000 at the
Target Center on Saturday. What an experience. I went with my wonderful cousin Gabe and his cloud-laced-with-a-silver-lining. We were supposed to volunteer, but too many volunteers ended up showing, so we were put on the "volunteer waiting list." We could have gotten into line with the others who had E-tickets, but we waited...patiently...until a campaign worker came out and discreetly gave us "green" tickets. Coveted "green" tickets. Tickets that got us on the main floor. I followed my running 51 year old cousin through the crowd, and we ended up right where the candidates came in in the front row.

R.T. Rybak was taking people's phones and encouraging them to get out to the polls to vote for Barack. Keith Ellison, the first Muslim in the US Congress, took his picture with us. Gabe kidded Betty McCollum and called her "Betty Crocker." She laughed, knowing who Gabe is, of course, and said, "Well, I sure am not Michelle Bachmann." I like her immensely.

Then, Barack came out. It's funny. This experience was like the one I had at age 18, getting a kiss from the lead singer of Alabama (yes, I'm dating myself, aren't I??) I felt like I was meeting a rock star. When he actually came out to address the crowd and shook my hand, I felt like I was in the presence of someone magical. (Did I mention I was in the front row?) I truly can imagine the 40 year olds of 1960 feeling the same way when they shook the hand of JFK. What an amazing experience. It's odd that I am so starstruck. I don't tend to get that way...I have waited on Scott Erickson (the Minnesota Twin I was bound and determined to marry,) Kent Hrbek, Kirby Puckett, Deion Sanders, Mike Modano, and many other "stars" when I worked at Joe Senser's but never felt the awe and magic of shaking Barack Obama's hand...twice.

I think it's because I want to be INSPIRED. Obama inspires me.

Tonight, I went to my first caucus, Barack '08 button proudly displayed on my lapel. It took everything I had not to volunteer for every opportunity presented. I'm a district delegate. I just can't keep my mouth shut. Like I said, I'm too inspired these days! If you haven't been involved in the political process, do it. Life is too short to not be heard. Get an opinion and get involved! Now is the time...

Movin' Out...

2008-01-31T21:50:00.000-06:00

It's official.
Jack is moving out.
The kid is sick of not being able to watch T.V.
Poor guy.
He's living in hell here in Andover.

Here's his goodbye letter, written on first grade manuscript handwriting paper:

Dear Dad and Mom,
I've decided to move away. I can't take it anymore. Don't forget me, because I will not forget you. I will move after Michael's and Jacob's birthday.

Love, Jack

P.S. I will not forget you. I love you.

Conversation held after "the reading" of the letter:
Mom: Jack, I am sad you are leaving. Where are you planning to live?

Jack: I was thinking the garage. Oh, by the way...can you put a T.V. out there for me?

Double Standard

2008-01-30T22:26:00.002-06:00

It is so easy to be the confidant...
the one to distribute advice
the one to observe objectively
the one to provide comfort

It is so easy to be the friend...
the one to listen intently
the one to lean on heavily
the one to love unconditionally

It is so hard to be the confider...
the one to articulate anguish
the one to ask for empathy
the one to empty the soul

It is so hard to be the Weak....
the one to cry
the one to ache
the one to lean

It is so hard to be both. But we are.

Another double standard.

Deal or No Deal?

2008-01-30T21:18:00.000-06:00

A phenomenon at our home...
Our two hours of TV time during the school week are centered around Howie and the Models...

"Dad, come here! Your favorite part is on! And look! There's Anya, number 10. She's got her curly hair style today, just like you like it!"

Jack...Julia...
They are both enamored, as are we, glued to the TV, hoping the contestant will quit at just the right time (which they never do) and make the most money they possibly can (which they never do either.)

On tonight's show, George settled for $197,000 or something like that with four cases left to open. Had he not made the deal, he would have won the million dollars which, for the first time since we've begun watching the show, happened to be in his case.

This sparked a conversation between the kids and me about getting on Deal or No Deal and winning a million dollars.

Jack: Mom, are we poor?
Mom: Hardly, son. Middle class all the way.
Jack: If we won on Deal or No Deal we could be the richest in our neighborhood.
Mom: Why is that so important? We have enough money, honey.
Jack: Just think. If we won a million dollars we could buy whatever we want...

....like a disco ball.

A disco ball.
A million dollars and my kid thinks about buying a disco ball.
I think I got a pretty good deal having this kid as my son....

Sixth Sense

2008-01-28T22:13:00.000-06:00

It is more than just a movie.

It's paying attention to
...what I hear
...what I see
...what I feel

It's the hair standing up on the back of my neck telling me something is wrong.
It's the nagging voice encouraging me to call my best friend because she is hurting.
It's the feeling convincing me that the person with whom I'm connecting is a SOUL connection.
It's the kick in the ass that moves me when I really should be moving.
It's the calming presence that brings me peace because I know there is something bigger than myself.

It is the sense that can not be explained yet powerfully exists.

If only I pay attention...

Being Peace

2008-01-27T22:42:00.001-06:00

My daughter...
whose joy and spirit
need validation
I am being peace.

My son...
whose sometimes tortured soul
needs comfort
I am being peace.

My husband
whose stress and self-expectation
need relief
I am being peace.

My dog
whose old body and tired soul
need affection
I am being peace.

My friends
whose pure hearts and loving souls
need attention
I am being peace.

My self
whose cluttered mind and confused soul
need clarity
I will be peace.

Structure

2008-01-18T19:44:00.000-06:00

I don't know what it is about this word, but it chokes me.

To me, structure has always meant:
thinking inside the box...
sticking with the status quo...
a lack of creativity...
being on time...
sequentialism...
conformity...

My entire life I have tried and failed to follow the rules...
Send birthday cards to the people I love
I'd much rather call
Send thank you notes after receiving a gift
I'd much rather call
Be on time
I'd much rather wipe away my daughter's tears
Wear trendy clothes even though I don't look good in them
I'd much rather be comfortable
Decorate my home according to the pages of a magazine
I'd much rather be surrounded by things that are meaningful to me
Make small talk
I'd much rather get into deep discussions about politics, and God, and relationships, and stupidity
Cultivate new friendships for the sake of being popular
I'd much rather use my limited time to nurture the wonderful friendships I already have
Get my kids overly-involved in activities so they can be the "best"
I'd much rather spend my time playing and talking and allowing my kids to BE kids
Teach content, teach content, teach content
I'd much rather connect, connect, connect
Be sequential
I'd much rather embrace the randomness of life
Keep my opinions to myself
I'd much rather drive the bus than ride it

I often find myself compelled to work within these imposed "ideals."
Instinctively, I resist.
My core
My soul
Consistently work against the structure
That forms the rules of our daily lives
And often compromises my integrity.

That integrity
That voice
comes from...
Authenticity
Connection
Love.

I will listen to it.

I will perform
the Heimlich
on the word
Structure.

Ode to Beavers

2008-01-17T20:13:00.000-06:00

Yes, beavers....

Beavers are considered the sacred center of the land to many Native Americans. They give to all that are part of their habitats.

Beavers reliably maintain the world around them. Because of what they build, they are an integral part of the ecosystem.

Beavers are protective of other beavers. They create an environment where all beavers can feel safe and secure.

Beavers use much of the wood that falls in the forest in order to build their homes.

Beavers.

Beaver pelts.
Beaver dams.
Artists formerly known as beavers.
Beavers who are divas.
Expletive beavers.

These beavers who are in my life could be described exactly the same way...
Sacred
Important
Safe

I am so blessed to be a member of this colony...

Where I am From

2008-01-16T23:08:00.000-06:00

This is a poem I wrote based on George Ella Lyon's "Where I am From."

I am from the hands of a Catholic nun and a foster mother; from Prell shampoo and Avon cologne.

I am from a home full of games, cribbage and Rummy, with hallways and hiding places, with music and footsteps, with TV and Purple Passions.

I am from the Maple Tree with the bounding roots, the burning bush and the bleeding heart; the white roses and daisies, pink carnations and dandelions.

I am from Christmases at Grandma’s and sarcasm, from the Guimonts and the Raekers, Vera and Merle and a 19 year old girl that none of us knows.

I am from the stoicism of the Germans and the passivity of the Swedes, suppressed emotions and exuberant laughter.

From being one who is chosen to a doctor or lawyer or whatever I wanted to become, because my mother instilled those ideals in me.

I am from delivering Avon to swinging on swings, telling secrets to friends and building forts in forbidden places.

I am from tennis balls on Rainbow and glass in my foot, bikes in soft sand and scars on knees.

I am from the Land of 10,000 Lakes and Twins and Vikings, lefsa and goulash, creamed tuna on toast and herring.

I am from Catholics and Evangelicals and Lutherans and all who believe in Something bigger than themselves.

From a polyester wearing Avon lady, an unknown nineteen year old with brown wavy hair and green eyes, a grandfather I didn’t know and a grandmother who made Cream of Wheat with as much sugar as I wanted.

I am from places I know and places I don’t, parents I know and parents I don’t. I am from teachers and coaches, aunts and godfathers.

I am from integrity and honesty, perfectionism and self-doubt, compassion and love.

All of which have made me who I am today.

Breathe

2008-01-15T00:09:00.000-06:00

I just love this word.
It makes me want to just stop and...

Breathe.

Deeply.
Slowly.
Intensely.

I love breathing.

Survival

2008-01-08T22:35:00.000-06:00

I am watching the National Geographic Channel's "Tsunami: Day of Destruction." These amazing people who physically survived this incredible disaster had to learn to survive the loss of family, friends, homes, businesses, belongings. How did these people survive the emotional pain of this disaster? I watch them...their tears, their surprise, their angst, their loneliness. These incredible people lost everything and many of them lost everyone.

It made me think of survival on a more personal level. Everyone I know is trying to survive SOMETHING....

the grief of lost loved ones
the dissolution of friendships
the pull of materialism
the deterioration of health
the lack of peace in the world
the lack of peace in our hearts
the lack of money in our wallets
the frustration of missed opportunities
the obstacles on our journey
the souls who just don't seem to understand us...

How do we do it? How do we survive these mini-tsunamis?

I think it begins with slowing down and listening...
to our inner voices...
to our fellow deep souls...
to The Voice that truly guides our way.

Three-dimensions...

2008-01-07T22:22:00.001-06:00

I've been thinking a lot about life lately. This entry has been ruminating in my mind for a week, and suddenly a few questions popped into my head. Why is life so hard? What makes us struggle through so much of our daily lives?
I think it has something to do with uncertainty and randomness, something with which we in this country are REALLY uncomfortable. Probably because we don't know how to believe in a couple of relatively simple concepts:

Life is not linear....
start to finish
beginning to end

Life is not dualistic....
good or bad
right or wrong

Life is multi-dimensional...
what we believe is the finish line is often the start line.
what we think is an ending is usually a beginning.
what we judge as good can sometimes be bad.
what we deem as right can often be wrong.

So. What. Now?

Just BE.
Quit waiting for the end and the new beginning.
Quit judging.

Just BE.

Just BE o.k. with who we are.
Just BE o.k. with what life hands us.

Just BE.

Quit conjugating the verbs "have" "want" "need" "do"
and
just
BE.

Therapy

2008-01-07T16:41:00.000-06:00

One would think that walking into the office of your therapist would be calming. All I do is find myself stressing out about what to talk about and wondering if my problems are big enough to warrant seeing a therapist. All I know is that I'm not as peaceful as I want to be. Hell, I'm not at peace about not being at peace. Is that counterproductive or what?

I know I've grown exponentially, especially in the past year, yet I'm still hindered by some of the little things that logically and rationally should not bother me.

Why do I need closure for everything before I can move on?
Why do I allow other people to dictate how I feel about myself and my life?
Why do I find myself needing to prove that I've grown as a human being?
Why do I allow myself to question my own authenticity when it comes to my own journey?
Why can't I let go of situations and relationships that I know are unhealthy for me?
Why is there still a part of me that expects perfection out of myself?

In eight minutes, I will be in her office. Do you think I'll get all of the answers to a lifetime of questions in the 60 minutes I have to spend with her today? I think I'll make another appointment...

Identity

2008-01-02T22:28:00.000-06:00

As my 41st (UGH! When did I get this old?) birthday approached, I found myself doing what I do most every year...thinking of my birth mother. What must have her day been like? She had just carried a child for nine months and went through an arduous labor knowing that she would not be keeping the child she was working so hard to give life.

I wonder each year if she thinks of me...
if she struggled to make the decision...
if she remembers that day...
if she held me...
if she cried...
if she is she has other children...
if she is even alive...

Until 13 years ago, I knew nothing of her. I had a grandiose idea of who she was, of course, as all adopted kids do. No one wants to think of her birth mother as anything but smart, beautiful, and successful. In my illusionary world, she was a doctor who married my birth father in the end, but could not keep me due to the demands of college, finances, parents. She couldn't possibly keep me and give me the life I deserved, so she named me Rebecca...her last act of parenthood...then selflessly gave me to another family who would love me and take care of me better than she could.

Yeah, right.

She was a 5'8", green-eyed, brown, wavy haired 19 year old with a mild form of cerebral palsy who had bounced from foster home to foster home (19 of them.) At age 12, she finally settled with a family who showed her compassion, affection, and love. She still craved acceptance. Needless to say, the fact that my birth mother had no idea who my birth father was isn't all that surprising.

My birth grandmother was a drunk who didn't know who my birth grandfather was. She married a different guy after she got pregnant with my birth mother, didn't care for herself during her pregnancy, gave birth to my birth-defected mother, and made her a ward of the state in 1947.
My birth great-grandmother gave up my birth grandmother in 1929. There was no great-grandfather lineage documented.

Who was I? Who am I?

To say that I was tortured by these revelations is an understatement. Doctor? Married to my birth father? Hardly. My idealistic picture was erased in the time it took to read the letter from Catholic Charities. In the middle of writing my master's thesis paper, I cried on the shoulder of my husband and my dear friend/master's-thesis-co-writer. My husband's first words after reading the letter through tears, "You broke this cycle. What a gift." But...who was I if I wasn't the daughter of a functional human being? What were my nationalities? Could I celebrate St. Patrick's Day with the rest of the Irish without faking it? Where did I get my height? My love of reading? My blue eyes? My singing voice?

Although there is a lot of baggage that goes along with being adopted (that few people in this country talk about or even acknowledge,) I have been most affected by my identity. Or lack of it. The one thing we adopted children can all agree upon (especially those of us born in the 1960s and 1970s whose records are sealed) is that we long to know who we are. Where did we come from? To whom do we belong?

This question has haunted me my whole life. Until this year, really. I don't remember the day it hit me, but I remember the feeling. Although I will always wonder, I no longer feel lost. I know to whom I belong. I belong to God. I belong to this wonderful family that I have created and that has been created for me. I belong in the amazing friendships I have cultivated. I belong in a classroom with 12 year olds.

I may never know the country from which my ancestors came. I may never know who my birth mother really is. But I do know where I fit on this planet for the first time in 41 years. I know where I am from. For that, I am grateful and blessed.

Oh, and from now on,
I'm going to celebrate St. Patrick's Day...
as a proud adopted-Irish person :)

Friendship

2007-12-27T13:54:00.000-06:00

How easy would it be for friendships to look like those of my six year old?

We'd call each other and ask each other to play.
We'd laugh about farts and burps and nose-picking.
We'd fight and make up right away because playing is so much more fun than being mad.
We'd make friends with everyone and wouldn't limit our friendships.
We wouldn't determine who our friends were by the types of clothing they wear, the shoes they purchase, the type of house they live in.
We would dress up in silly clothes and pretend we were singers in fashion shows.
Our stuffed animals would be true confidants; they would listen to our deep, dark secrets and give us exactly the advice we need and want.
We'd write and tell stories about our friends who were fairies, and princesses, and superheroes, and actresses.
Sleeping in a tent and sleeping bag in the confines of our own basement would be the treat of the year.
We'd color our driveways with chalk and our bodies with markers.
The best movie theater would be in our living room with the lights out, a bowl of microwave popcorn, and a movie we've seen fifteen times.
We'd use our imaginations and talk about our dreams as if they were reality.
We'd dance. We'd sing. We'd laugh. We'd cry.
Finally, we'd sleep.
And then we'd get up
and do it all over again.

Honesty

2007-12-16T23:35:00.001-06:00

One thing I have found is that sixth graders are either brutally honest or brutal liars. Especially when it comes to something that may embarrass them or make them the victims of ridicule.

This is why I found what happened in class on Thursday especially funny. And enlightening.

If you don't know me, I have to preface this story. I am a farter. Yes, it's true. I am gassy. My intestines feel the need to constantly be heard. So, I understand NBFs when it comes to my students (NBF = natural body function...it's not like we choose it.)

Anyway, I hardly notice the sound of farts these days. My daughter can fart on command and my son can clear a room. (Or a country, if given the chance.) Therefore, when a student farted in the middle of a lesson I was giving, I completely missed it. For two seconds or so. I looked at the group from where the sound came, blaming it, of course, on one of the four boys sitting there. They all looked at me innocently and pointed fingers at this beautiful, funny girl in our class who suddenly blurts, "I'm sorry. It was me. I tried to hold it in."

Naturally, I understand her pain. I laughed uncontrollably for a number of minutes, along with the other 31 kids in my class and the fart girl herself.

And then she farts again.

Tears were streaming down my face. Then she asked, "Do you want me to leave the room when I have to do this?"

Through my laughter, I quietly encouraged her to do so...

You have to appreciate her honesty.

Now if only we all could let down our guard...release our egos...and recognize that our behaviors don't define who we are.

I strive to be as honest as this beautiful, funny girl. Because honestly...I still don't claim my farts unless I have to.

Who knew we would all have something to learn from gas?

Blessings...

2007-12-16T23:11:00.000-06:00

I have been contemplating this word quite a bit this year. It is even the focus of my Christmas letter this year. I find that the more I look at my life through the lens of gratitude, the more blessed I feel.

I feel especially blessed in my spiritual walk these days. I was indoctrinated into Catholicism as a child. The pendulum swung and led me to the evangelical side for a few years. And then because nothing seemed to fit, I found myself without a worship home. I should have known I would end up at Grace. Some of the most amazing people in my life attend this church. It should not have surprised me that when I finally walked through the doors of Grace, I found myself at home. An accepting, honest place. It also shouldn't surprise me that today's sermon hit me exactly where it needed to.

It was all about despair. Our pastor talked of how despair can be the catalyst for one's growth spiritually. As I reflect, I realize that so many of my blessings have been the result of some of my darkest days. Financial woes have now made me careful about money. My mom's death connected me to Joe which has led to MANY of the blessings in my life. (Jack and Julia, need I say more??) My mother's death profoundly changed me as a human being. My ethics, my heart, my soul...all of these were positively affected by my mother's death. It is sad that it took this incredibly difficult experience...the loss of the single most important person in my world...to find myself and to begin my true journey with God.

Blessings? Way too numerous to count. All I know is that from this day forward, as I find myself in desperate, intense, difficult situations, I will just sit back. Breathe. And wait. Time tends to teach us that everything that comes our way is truly a blessing. And for that, I am grateful.

A First...

2007-12-05T20:26:00.000-06:00

Jack received a phone call from a girl tonight. I was so proud.

And then she asked for his friend Hunter's phone number.

It starts already?

Negotiator

2007-12-05T13:37:00.001-06:00

I tell people I am a teacher, but really I am a negotiator.

I negotiate the time I'll get out of bed with my alarm clock's snooze button. It eventually wins, and I stumble to the shower.

I negotiate the temperature of the water and the length of time I shower with the hot water heater. It eventually wins and I hurry to the closet.

I negotiate what to wear with the size of my stomach. It eventually wins and I reluctantly hike up my roomy pair of jeans.

I negotiate the style of my hair with it's natural waves and frizz. It eventually wins and I slip on a headband.

I negotiate with my daughter what shirt to wear, which toothpaste to use, how the banana should be peeled, whether or not she wears a jacket, what backpack pocket should be used for which papers, when to leave for the bus stop...

It is then that I go to work...
And continue negotiating...
And negotiating...
And negotiating...

Homework

2007-12-04T19:55:00.000-06:00

Right now, I have no homework. It's quite amazing actually. I really can't remember this feeling of NOT thinking about school. We are currently "Work to Rule," meaning we only work the hours we are paid to work. For me, that's 7:45 - 3:25. I don't know what to do with myself getting home before 4:30. I've actually gone to the gym numerous times, cooked dinners that didn't involve using a microwave and ketchup, and gone to bed before Conan O'Brien shows up on Channel 11. I guess the guilt associated with not doing everything humanly possible to educate other parents' children is less intense than I thought it would be. (Or maybe I released that guilt when a parent called me at home while I was on vacation. But I digress.)

My lucky son. Now I actually have time to preach the benefits and importance of homework to my boy. Just what he wants to hear. My third grader would rather have his toenails pulled off after standing barefoot in the snow for an hour than have to do homework. We are talking writing spelling words and doing four math problems here. Not the five page research paper I recently assigned to my own students (and reason for that parent phone call, by the way.)

Needless to say, my newfound energy is being poured into my boy's education. "Gee, honey. Don't you realize that if you do a good job in school while you are in third grade that it will make a huge difference on your future? You want to be a lawyer someday, right? Well, it's time to get busy. Do your math. Do your spelling. Do your independent reading. Do it without complaining. You'll be so proud of yourself."

Unfortunately, the very thing that will make him a good lawyer is what makes this conversation linger.

"Mom, I am only a kid. I shouldn't have to do all of this. I should be able to relax when I get home. I work hard all day. I need to spend fun time with you and Dad. I need to do things other than school."

Hard to argue with.
Dang kid wins again.

Who knew my kid had the best reason of all for going Work to Rule?

December 4, 2007

2007-12-04T19:46:00.000-06:00

My reason for this blog? I enjoy writing and crave an outlet for my sarcasm. Not everyone enjoys my sarcasm as much as I do. I know...they say sarcasm is just used as a mask for insecurity...blah, blah, blah. We're all insecure. I'm just willing to admit it by way of calling myself sarcastic. It sounds better, doesn't it? As if being a funny, insecure person is somehow better.

Anyway, I plan to share stories, anecdotes, ponderables, and questions here. As a teacher, parent, wife, friend, and woman, I know many of my experiences mimic those of others. Here's to sisterhood.