Diapers and Dragons

Great Tidings of ... Change. Maybe Some Joy. It's In There Somewhere.

2011-12-23T17:19:00.000-05:00

Yes, yes, I know it has been ages (again) and the few holdouts who ever bother to check whether I even have a post up are wondering what has happened to me. The rest of you are apparently just too lazy to remove me from your blogrolls, and bless you for it. My ego gets somewhat soothed by seeing that my number of followers has miraculously remained the same during this inadvertent sabbatical.

Things have been....complicated. In order to protect certain people's privacy and to not stir up more drama in an already overly dramatic situation, I have been keeping silent here, much as I wanted (and still want) to pour things out for you. It would make fascinating reading, I'm sure, in a National Enquirer sort of way. Or perhaps like the script of a Jerry Springer show.

So let me 'splain...No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

A person of our acquaintance and her husband are each in circumstances that render them currently unable to take care of their five-year-old daughter. She (the five-year-old) has been with us for the last week and a half, and will be with us for an undetermined space of time, although we have plans to enroll her in kindergarten here in our district for the rest of the school year. We have been given a form of power of attorney for her that allows us to act as her parental agents for the next six months.

So we now have a Brady Bunch! Truly so this week, as The Dark One is with us over most of Winter Break. And lord help us, this house suddenly feels much smaller.

Despite all the noise and stress, MTL and I keep getting confirmation that we've made the right decision by taking The Hurricane (as we have nicknamed the wild child) into our home. To keep the story short(er), I'll give you the highlights:

We needed $200 in order to pay a lawyer to draw up the Delegation of Parental Powers. We were very short on cash that week, and wouldn't have the money until our payday, one day later than we needed. I was able to contact my parents out in West Africa to ask if we could borrow the money for a day. It turned out that earlier that day my father had become convinced that we were going to need some money for whatever was going on in the situation, and the amount of $200 came into his mind. In addition, they made the decision, before we even Skyped them, to gift us the money rather than loan it. (Have I mentioned that I have wonderful parents?)
Two weeks earlier or so, before we even had a clue we would be taking in The Hurricane, my sister was shopping for Christmas gifts for the children. She saw an extra one that she was drawn to, and decided to just go ahead and buy it, even though she wasn't sure why. Turns out it was perfect for our new addition!
The Widget had a Santa's Workshop at his daycare (to purchase small gifts for family), and I was supposed to turn in the money and list of names by last Tuesday. Since it wasn't my custody week, I forgot and didn't get it in until Thursday. The Hurricane joined us very suddenly Tuesday night. I was therefore able to include her name on the list and add a bit to the money I turned in, and The Widget was able to buy a gift for her as well!
My brother, the wonderful DorkMaster B, was able to rearrange his one morning shift at work so that he could come stay with us last week and be with The Hurricane during the work day. Without his graciousness, we would have struggled to care for her during my last week of work before break.
I had been attempting to make an appointment with the kids' elementary school's social worker in order to clue her in on some issues going on with KlutzGirl, and had been frustrated by the lack of response. However, because of the delay, when we did meet we were able to discuss The Hurricane's situation as well. She is now filled in and better prepared should anything come up at school with either girl and she is needed in a support situation.

There are other incidents as well, but those are some of the ones I can share.

It's been an exhausting week. Well, realistically, it's been an exhausting few months. Our stress levels are high, we aren't getting much sleep, and privacy is a rare commodity around here. But I know we're doing the right thing.

And the kids are awfully cute, amidst all the commotion. It's going to be a ~~crazy~~ awesome Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Solstice, or whatever other holiday you may be celebrating this time of year! May the next year be a wonderful one--and far less dramatic than this one.

Hugs and Kisses,
The Crazy Woman Running This Crazy Household

Adventures in Domestic Divinity: The Widget's Apple-Oatmeal Muffins

2011-12-02T14:59:00.001-05:00

One of the most difficult challenges in dealing with The Widget's dietary restrictions is baking breads, muffins, cookies, and the like. While I can at least use yeast, which allows me to actually make real bread (something I was never able to successfully accomplish back when I was doing this for DramaBoy), having to avoid gluten AND rice, soy, corn, and buckwheat makes the task....interesting. There are many fabulous food-sensitivity recipes out there these days, thanks primarily to the other bloggers who have similar issues in their households (check out the links down on the right hand margin), so I don't have to do everything from scratch. However, as I've become more familiar and comfortable with the different Funky Flours I use, I've been able to play around with conventional recipes as well.

I've been wanting to get more fiber into The Widget's diet, because he inherited certain, um, issues from a grandparent that make visits to the toilet another challenge. (Thank God the child likes prune juice. Just sayin'.) I also recently discovered that there IS such a thing as gluten-free oats! Therefore, I am not limited to using quinoa flakes in the place of oats. They generally are a good alternative, but they have a distinctive taste that doesn't work with everything, they are very fine in texture, and I don't like overloading The Widget's system with any one ingredient (which can trigger new sensitivities).

So today I checked some options on the Intarwebz and, praise be to the Google gods, found a simple recipe that I could easily adapt. With no further ado, I present you with:

The Widget's Apple-Oatmeal Muffins*

1 cup dry gluten-free rolled oats (Bob's Red Mill makes some that should be readily available at Whole Foods or the like)
1 cup almond milk mixed with 1 Tbsp white vinegar (replacing sour milk or buttermilk)
1 medium egg
1/2 cup brown or white sugar
1/3 cup canola oil
1/4 cup tapioca starch
1/2 cup sorghum flour
1/2 cup almond flour/meal (Avoid Bob's Red Mill's almond flour, as it seems to be too heavy for baking. I order mine from nutsonline.com)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon safe baking powder (Be careful if you need to avoid corn and gluten! Hain Pure Foods makes a cornstarch- and gluten-free baking powder)
1 cup peeled, finely chopped apples

In a large bowl, combine the oats and almond milk/vinegar and let stand for a few minutes so that the oats absorb some of the liquid. In a separate small bowl, beat the egg and oil together. Add to the oats/milk mixture along with the sugar. Beat well with a wire whisk. Mix together the flour, baking soda, salt and baking powder in a separate bowl, then add to the oat mixture. Mix until all of the dry particles are moistened, using about 20 or 30 strokes by hand--do not over beat! Add the apples and mix in quickly.

Spoon the batter into a dozen lined muffin cups. Bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Allow to cool for a few minutes, then remove to a wire rack. Fabulous for a healthy snack or breakfast-on-the-go!

*adapted from Hillbilly Housewife's recipe for Oatmeal Muffins

Twinkle, Twinkle

2011-11-30T11:51:00.000-05:00

Do you find that blogging helps you work through your emotions? asked my sister the other day, as I was venting to her in a long-overdue phone conversation.

Yes, yes I do. In fact, it was a crucial part of working through my depression and anguish and slow healing when my first marriage imploded, not to mention dealing (at long last) with a number of other issues that bubbled to the surface when I finally got help. Read my archives from 2009 and see what I mean.

Writing is a release for me, but I have discovered that I need an audience in order to write effectively. Private journals are worthless. Emails to a handful of people feel...insufficient. Blogging is a perfect solution, right?

Except that the anger and stress and anxiety with which I am dealing right now aren't mine to share with the world. Well, I mean, they're my emotions and whatnot, but they're about people and situations that leave me voiceless here. To write about what's going on would violate people's privacy and, quite possibly, make the situation worse.

So I'm usually silent. On here, at any rate. And Facebook.

(Because I'm not going to be one of Those People, that's why.)

***********************

Christmas is a shining light in the midst of this swirling darkness, let me tell you. Or, more aptly, an array of twinkling lights. We have pledged not to go so overboard financially this year (I got a little carried away last year), but there are ways (other than the obvious wallet-related one) in which that's better anyway. I am thinking more carefully about what to get for each person, and I'm making a few as well. I'm also working with the kids to choose gifts for MTL and each other, because I believe strongly that children should give and not just receive.

I love making gifts for Christmas. It takes me back to my own childhood, when my sister and I rarely had any money of our own to spend on gifts for our parents or each other. We would make a sign for our bedroom door declaring it official Santa's Workshop territory and denying entrance to everyone else. Then we'd take odds and ends of this and that, raiding our mother's extensive craft cupboard for much of what we needed, and we'd make all sorts of amazing gifts. Looking back, I'm rather astonished by our creativity. Two different years we created panoramas for our mother. The one I remember most was this extraordinarily detailed rendition of a market stall, with "bolts" of fabric on the walls, little drawers made from matchboxes containing bric a brac, and people made from twigs and clothes pegs and beads. There was a woman with braided hair trying on a shoe (a singleton from a Barbie pair), a male merchant displaying cloth, and a woman unmistakably meant to be our mother examining the fabric.

This, my friends, is what happens when kids have lots of free time and no real access to electronics of any kind. IMAGINATION. CREATIVITY. FUN. <insert cantankerous grumbling about "kids these days">

I'm fairly certain the month leading up to Christmas was the one time of year my sister and I actually worked or played together in Peace and Harmony.

So this year I'm making a few gifts, and I'm helping my little KlutzGirl, who is never so happy as when making or drawing something, to make a few as well. In those moments, looking at the work of my hands and knowing that I'm demonstrating my love for the recipients in a very tangible way--that's when those lights twinkle brightly enough to drive the shadows aside for a breath of time.

***********************

Part of the challenge of blending families is blending holiday traditions. MTL and I have been fairly fortunate. We aren't in direct opposition with any of it, especially since his traditions are more general and mine more specific. Last year I introduced a number of Christmas traditions to my new family, including putting an angel on the top of the tree, making Christmas Eggs for breakfast, and forbidding the children to leave their bedrooms on Christmas morning until they hear Christmas music start playing. When they emerged at last, impatient and excited, they found the Christmas tree piled 'round with presents, candles lit, and hot chocolate waiting for them.

They seemed to enjoy it, but one never knows how kids will react to New Ideas. On Sunday as we were waiting in the car for MTL to join us, The Padawan asked if we were going to do Christmas morning the same way this year.

What do you mean? I asked.

Like the music, he replied. I liked waiting until I heard the music and then coming down. Oh, and are you going to make those egg things again?

You mean the Christmas Eggs? I asked.

Yeah! Those were awesome.

Yeah! I liked all that too! chimed in KlutzGirl. And the hot chocolate and the candles and stuff. Are we doing that again?

As if I'd miss the chance to see those smiles on their faces!

***********************

This morning I proctored the first half of the PLAN test, since it's being administered to all the sophomores today and my first class of the day was a sophomore class. As I wandered up and down the aisles in the gym, I felt a sudden surge of warmth wash over me. These kids, these teens...they're annoying and frustrating and obnoxious as hell on a daily basis, but I love working with them. It's hard to remember sometimes these days, surrounded as we are by such negativity and derision directed toward my profession. I'm even looking into a new career path, because realistically I may not be allowed to remain in my career for sheer financial and political reasons. It's an ugly time to be a public school teacher, people.

But this morning, as I looked at row after row of faces, many of which I know, I felt the warmth and worth of what I do (yes, even when proctoring a damn standardized test), of working with these children caught on the cusp of adulthood. They are worth the sweat and tears and stress and time we pour into them every day, every week, every year.

I don't know how much longer I'll be a teacher, and I won't feel those warm fuzzies every day, but no one can make me regret the years I spend here.

***********************

It's a rough road I travel, at times. As my dear friend Amy said a couple of weeks ago, we are not women destined for smooth and easy lives. It would be lovely to win the lottery and not have to worry about money or debt any more. It would be lovely for the politicians to all have epiphanies and start working for the regular people instead of the corporations. It would be lovely for certain individuals to either undergo miraculous personality transformations or just....disappear.

I don't think any of those are likely to happen, alas. Life is not that neat and tidy.

But there are compensations. There are rewards for the pain. Sometimes the twinkling lights and silver linings are dimmed by the shadows and mist, but they exist.

They shine in the moments when my students understand a new concept, get excited by a piece of literature, and find safe harbor in my classroom.

They shine in the smiles on my children and stepchildren's faces, can be heard in their laughter as they rough and tumble with each other each afternoon after school, siblings in action and deed rather than just name.

They shine in the touch and looks and words of my beloved husband, who laid his head against me last night and told me he had never dreamed he would ever find his Home.

Twinkle on, Life. Twinkle on.

...laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

--e. e. cummings

Counting in Tongues

2011-11-11T10:51:00.000-05:00

--Uno--

Yesterday was Parent Teacher Conferences, which means that today my brain has the approximate operating power of your average pudding cup. Unlike previous years, when I examined the schedule, observed the impending doom, and wisely arranged for my students to be involved in quizzes or independent projects or the like (therefore validating the wonderful people who consider me to be an overpaid babysitter, of course), my planning this week lacked forethought. One half of my brain noted that I needed to make sure my husband and The Ex and various and sundry other persons were filling in that day, since I would not be home until after bedtime for the Littles. The other half merrily planned away, somehow under the impression that I would be capable of such teacherly feats as grammar instruction the day after conferences.

That part of my brain was wrong.

--Deux--

My seniors are instead reading a Challenging and Opinionated Article on personal conscience vs. social conscience, inspired by the classic play Antigone. Somehow my brain was able to get involved in a rather interesting debate on whether or not medical practitioners should be able to refuse to perform medical services due to moral objections, such as surgery for ectopic pregnancies. I find it endlessly fascinating that the moral and philosophical debates that existed thousands of years B.C.E. are still so relevant today.

We then strayed into the delicate arena of The Great Abortion Debate. I was a bit nervous, but it went rather well. We didn't even get shouty, despite widely varying perspectives and beliefs. How sad that a bunch of high school seniors are more capable of polite debate than our politicians.

--Drei--

We aren't supposed to have the kids this weekend, yet somehow it has become filled with Kid-Related Activities. The Padawan will be staying with us, since he has hunter's safety classes on Saturday and Sunday. KlutzGirl has a birthday party to attend on Sunday that will require us to get her from her mother's rather earlier than usual.

I'm hoping we may manage to grab an hour to ourselves somewhere in there. My hopes are not high.

--Четыре--

Children are exhausting. How is it that I wound up with so many, again? And how is it that somehow I realized the other day that if disaster occurred and one of our children had a baby as a teen, I would want to raise the baby?

I question my sanity on a regular basis.

--A Cúig--

DramaBoy turns six on the 25th. His first birthday wish list included an XBox, a Wii, and a variety of games for both systems.

We laughed and told him to try again.

Have I mentioned that he already plays Portal, DragonBall Z, and Minecraft like a pro, all games which make me throw up my hands and despair? I'm so proud.

Sigh.

--Έξι--

We have kittens. I don't think I've mentioned this. I caved to family pressure and the ridiculous cuteness of photos posted by a friend, and agreed we could adopt another kitten. When I went to pick up said kitten, the aforementioned friend tricked me into playing with her siblings. Her little sister kept hiding under my pant leg and peeking out at me.

I brought home two kittens instead of one.

So now we have adolescent Halo (who moodily varies between freaking out over the invaders and trying to play with them), shy and sweet Oreo (the original intended adoptee), and outgoing/cuddly/extremely loud-and-squeaky Shadow (who purrs instantly when touched and has a monotone meow stuck on Loud and Demanding). Both of the kittens are Lap Kitties, so we are now guaranteed lapfuls of furs and purrs whenever we sit down.

Sometimes insanity pays off.

--Seven--

I love my husband.

That is all.

My Mind is Smushy. Much Like Pumpkin Puree.

2011-10-28T13:21:00.001-04:00

I haven't done one of these in ages, but it sounds about right today. Quick takes are about the only kind I have energy or time for, and hang the dangling preposition too.

-1-

My brother, DorkMaster B, turns 25 today. This is impossible, as he is still 8 years old. At most, 9. Of course, there are compensations for his annual flaunting of my increasing decrepitude. He's much more useful than he was--erm, is?--at 8. Not to mention much more fun with which to play games (take that, preposition!). Still. A quarter century? Next thing you know I'll be turning 40 or some such sh*t.

-2-

My Daddy will be spending the weekend with us. The children are all in transports of joy--well, at least the three younger ones. The Padawan is being very cool about it. He is thirteen, after all. I am quite happy about it, and hope that his puns and gentle humor will help shake both me and MTL out of our funks.

-3-

You know what it's like when you know you're partially at fault for something but don't really want to admit it because dammit you also have a bit of your own point, but at the same time if you keep being stubborn about it you'll never come to peace with the person you love most, but at the same time you are miffed that he's being a stubborn--um, something--himself, and mostly you just want to curl up in his arms and forgive and be forgiven but stupid responsibilities like work make it impossible and you know that it's a conversation that needs to be made in person rather than over gchat or email?

Please tell me you do. Because it sucks. Par for the course for October this year, though.

-4-

I am not good at admitting to faults and hypocrisy. I do not like being Wrong about something, dammit.

-5-

I made pumpkin muffins last night, and they were delicious. The Padawan was delighted. The Widget was delighted. I was delighted. I don't know if anyone else is delighted or not, since I have not witnessed them eating any as yet. Here's the recipe (as I made it, properly modified for a Food Sensitive Household, adapted from Allrecipes.com):

1 1/2 cups canned pumpkin puree
3/4 cup vegetable oil
2 cups raw sugar
3 eggs
1 cup almond flour
1 cup sorghum flour
1/3 cup tapioca flour/starch
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg or allspice
3/4 teaspoon ground cloves

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Line muffin tin with muffin papers.
In a large bowl, mix together the pumpkin, oil, sugar, and eggs. Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves; stir into the pumpkin mixture until well blended. Fill muffin tins.
Bake in preheated oven for 30-35 minutes.

OR double the recipe above, grease and flour three 9x5 inch loaf pans, and bake for 45 minutes to 1 hour. The top of the loaves should spring back when lightly pressed.

-6-

We keep saying that we're going to save money towards a minivan, and each month somehow there's no money to save. We need to figure this out. I suspect the children. It's always the children.

-7-

I have so much grading to accomplish this next week that I feel like my head is likely to explode and my hands be worn to stubs. My students keep pointing out that if I wouldn't assign work, I wouldn't have grading to do. They have a point.

And if you want to read something more interesting than my fatigued babble, go check out Jen!

Weak and Weepy

2011-10-21T08:27:00.000-04:00

I've never been particularly good at admitting my weaknesses. The sorts that can be deprecatingly laughed about, like my lack of self-control when it comes to shoes or dark chocolate with raspberries, my obsession with the numbers on radio volume control, my tendency to twitch when I see apostrophes used for plurality...fine. Those are the sorts of weaknesses we fondly call "foibles," those little quirks of personality that transform us into special little snowflakes, possibly just a touch flakier than the next one over.

But real weaknesses? The sort that require trips to therapists, medication, incredible patience on the part of those who live with us?

Not so much.

I spent at least three years mired in high-functioning postpartum depression because I couldn't bring myself to ask for help. I was so good at hiding the despair poisoning my soul that most people made all sorts of admiring comments on how Together I was, what a SuperWoman I was...Ha. It didn't help that the one time I did tell The Ex that I thought I was depressed and in trouble, he told me to suck it up. I kept my mouth shut for another six months after that, and by then I had fallen so much further that I almost didn't make it back out.

I've come a long way since then, but I still struggle to admit that I'm, well, struggling. I have the few individuals who are "safe": DraftQueen, Heidi, Amy, and of course MTL. I don't fear judgment from them, in part because they have all Been There in one way or another, and because they love me for who I really am rather than who I would like people to think I am.

And...I just realized I'm doing a very good job of avoiding what I came here to say. You see what I mean?

Enough stalling.

I struggle with anxiety and depression. It's nothing like what I once experienced, especially the depression aspect, but I deal with anxiety on a daily basis. I'm even (gasp) medicated for it (shh, don't tell anyone) (because we all know that people who have to take medication for that mental crap are nutjobs and shouldn't be trusted), because panic attacks have a nasty way of interfering with one's ability to get through the day.

I have a feeling I always will. For one, it runs in my family, on both sides. For another, studies have shown that highly intelligent women are also highly prone to anxiety, because we overthink EVERYTHING. Mother Nature giveth and she taketh away with the other hand, the stingy bitch.

Oh, and I do kind of have a stressful life, despite the many delightful compensations.

I've been struggling this week. I've been a good girl and taken my little pill every morning, and I still find myself short of breath, my arms burning, my heart racing. I haven't had a full-fledged panic attack (thank you, pharmaceuticals), but I've come close. I keep telling myself and others that I don't really have a good reason for it, but I suspect I'm lying.

I've dealt fairly well with my grandfather's death. After all, he was old and in pain and he passed so peacefully. It's the way to go, you know? BUT. He was the first of my grandparents to die. And watching my grandmother face life without her beloved...I think that struck too close to home. I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to have to keep going without MTL.

I struggled with that reality last year, when something made me realize that I had allowed MTL to get closer than anyone else in my entire life. This meant that I also had opened myself up to incredible pain, because losing him would be like losing a part of myself. I remember weeping one night and finally confessing to him that I was terrified of letting him in that much, because it meant that one day he would die and I would have to deal with that pain.

He didn't tell me I was being silly (though he would have been fully justified in doing so), rather telling me that he understood my fear, but that we couldn't allow our fear of death and losing each other prevent us from living life and loving fully.

He was right.

So I'm not falling apart over the thought now, but that fear and anxiety are finding other ways to make themselves known. And let's face it, I'm not good at dealing with this.

What do you do about your anxiety? What works? Because I'm asking for help.

Au Revoir, Grandpere

2011-10-17T07:54:00.000-04:00

To the seeing again...

That's the literal translation of the French farewell, and it is what I say to my grandfather. He passed away quietly, peacefully on Saturday evening, traveling from this world to the next between one breath and....

The day before, my father had purchased some summer sausage and cheddar cheese, two of my grandfather's favorite foods, long since forbidden due to dietary restrictions. But what of a diet so near the end? He had barely been able to swallow anything for days due to the edema. On Friday, he ate sausage and cheese for three meals, delighting in the rich tastes he loved. He woke Saturday and had his bowl of Cream of Wheat. After changing clothing, his last traces of energy drained away and he closed his eyes and began slipping away.

I got the call from my father during breakfast. MTL came home early from work and he drove me up to Saginaw, where we joined other family members gathering to say their au revoirs. We spent the day talking and laughing over memories, watching my alma mater Michigan State University trounce their rival University of Michigan for the fourth year in a row, and comforting one another. We held vigil in a sense, gathered together in mutual love for the once-hearty, now-frail man lying under blankets in his armchair, not quite in a coma but not fully with us either. We touched him, spoke to him, assured him of our love.

Finally, knowing he could linger for another hour or a couple more days, MTL and I took our leave. I kissed my grandfather one more time, told him that I loved him, and we drove away. As we left, one of my aunts was putting on some of his favorite music.

Fifteen minutes later my father called to tell me that Grandpa had passed.

When my time comes, I want a similar passing: peaceful, quiet, surrounded by the love and laughter of those I love most. I want my ashes scattered in a beautiful place where they may join the earth from which I was formed. And I'll see my grandfather again, along with my aunt and others who have gone before.

Au revoir, Grandpere. Je t'aime.

Until we meet again.

Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

2011-10-12T11:24:00.000-04:00

My paternal grandfather, who is 93, is in the last days of his life. We have no real idea how many days this may be, but his edema and congestive heart failure have transformed into a vicious cycle feeding each other, and the medication that was supposed to help the edema instead shut down his kidneys, so now he is on hospice care.

It's the long, dark tea-time of his life. Only less dark and more light, because if there's anything his decline proves, it's that he is wealthy beyond imagining in what matters: family and love.

His five surviving children have gathered from hither and yon, including my father, who flew back from West Africa on Sunday evening. I took the day off on Monday and drove him up to Saginaw, where he joined his siblings in caring for their parents. I spent several hours there as well, more so to comfort my grandmother, who is too frail to care for him physically but is still emotionally tied as ever to her beloved husband of seventy-one years.

I know it seems morbid, she confided, but even though I don't want him to go, at the same time I don't want it to last too long...

I understand. It's incredibly difficult to witness the painful decay in my grandfather, the more so because he has always been such a strong man. He is a fighter: he will not go gentle into that good night.

I come from sturdy farmer stock, German Mennonites on both sides who traveled from land to land fleeing persecution for their pacifist beliefs. All four of my grandparents are still alive, still independent, still in compos mentis, though age is taking its toll on them all. This grandfather is the oldest. Five years ago, at age eighty-eight, he re-sided their house and put in new windows. Up until a year ago, he could still be found in his basement workroom, crafting the gorgeous woodwork that graces all our houses. Picture frames, clocks, jewelry boxes, bookshelves, rocking horses, detailed classic automobile models...all his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren own beautiful pieces that will be handed down from generation to generation. That was his hobby, the work of his hands and heart at the end of his days working the land or overseeing factories and warehouses or doing Master electrical work. The delicate curves of the clock on my mantel, the enormous bookshelf against my wall, the jewelry box on my dresser, and the incredible wooden rocking horse in my children's room: they each declare all the love that my reticent grandfather struggled to put into words.

I'll admit that witnessing this final fight has struck me to the heart; even more so, witnessing my grandmother's grief and my grandfather's determination not to leave her side, this woman he has loved for longer than most people have been alive.

I don't even know how to put into words the fear that is triggered by this. I just found My True Love recently. I know the chance of getting seventy-one years with him is somewhat slim, since we met in our thirties rather than our teens, but I want as many years as I can get. And the reality is that my family is longer-lived than his. How horrible a person am I to want to go first, when my time comes? I don't want to be in my grandmother's place, facing the loss of her life companion, the one she loves best in the world.

I have hope and faith in a life hereafter, but I am a creature of this world. Each loss leaves it a dimmer place, caught in the shadows of sorrow and death.

(Mis)Adventures in Domestic Divinity (Part One)

2011-10-09T16:40:00.001-04:00

(Because the likelihood of there being more than one part is VERY high.)

So I mentioned that I made chicken stock this week, right? It's a fairly simple thing to do, provided one plans ahead to a certain extent. I save the peels and ends of any vegetables and greens I use in my cooking. The outer layers of onion, celery tops, carrot peels, leek greens--even apple peelings, actually--all go into gallon-size Ziploc bags and get stashed away in the freezer. Then when I have a couple of chicken carcasses, I throw it all in the largest heavy pot I have. I add a bay leaf or two, any odds and ends of fresh herbs that might need using--whatever I have on hand. I pour water over the lot, enough to just cover all the bones and scraps, and bring it to a boil. Finally, I turn the heat down to low, pop a lid on the pot, and let it simmer all night.

(You can do the same thing with a turkey carcass or any pork/lamb/beef bones you might have after a large meal. You can even blend them together. That's the lovely thing about the "recipe": it'll work for whatever you have!)

In the morning, I take the pot off the heat, let it cool a bit, and then put it in the fridge to chill. Later I take off the fat, an easy process when it has solidified on top of the liquid, and voila! I have lovely stock which can be canned or used right away.

At least, that's what usually happens.

Here's what you SHOULDN'T do, if you ever decide to try it out:

1. Underestimate the quantity of bones and scraps you have in the pot and overestimate the amount of water you need to pour over it all.

2. Realize you're going to get into trouble when it starts boiling, so pull out another smaller pot and transfer some of the makings into it, adding water to both pots to compensate.

3. Grab the first lid you can find that fits the smaller pot, rejoicing because the pots and pans cupboard has become a chaotic mess ever since KlutzGirl took over putting away dishes.

4. Go to bed believing catastrophe has been averted.

5. Wake up around 3 a.m. from a dream in which something strange is burning. Realize that the smell has not vanished with the dream. Lie in bed for a while trying to get your sleep-addled brain to process what might be going on.

6. Wonder suddenly if the stock might have overflowed or something of the sort.

7. Grab a robe and rush downstairs to check.

8. Walk into a kitchen filled with smoke streaming from the smaller pot. Realize that the lid you grabbed had a steam vent, and as a result all the liquid has boiled away. Open the lid to discover a disgusting mass of charred, reeking remnants of bone, cartilage, and vegetable scraps thisclose to bursting into flames.

9. Spend the next half an hour cleaning up the mess, salvaging the pot, and trying to air out the house. (This will not happen, and the house--and all its inhabitants--will reek for the next 36 hours or so.)

10. Crawl back into bed next to your husband, who has amazingly enough slept through the entire ordeal despite a freakishly sensitive sense of smell. Thank your lucky stars, because he will mock you enough when you tell him in the morning, without adding the extra delight of being woken by the marvelous stench of burning bone in the wee hours of the morning.

NOT THAT I WOULD DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

I think my halo is slipping.

Of Food and Family and Fabulousness

2011-10-06T09:21:00.001-04:00

I seem to have drifted away from the world of blogging in recent months. I swear to you that it doesn't even enter my mind most days.

This could be, in part, due to the rather alarming number of things for which I am responsible during the course of a day now. I keep looking at my life in astonishment, wondering when I became the SuperWoman that I used to pretend to be back in the Bad Old Days of post-partum depression. The sheer level of logistical planning alone explains why the idea of sitting down and chatting with all my virtual friends doesn't have a chance of occurring.

Today, for example, there is a full day of teaching, after which I shall rush home and cook meat for chili and then rush off for my bi-weekly hour-long tutoring gig, and then I shall battle the horrendous afternoon traffic that turns two-and-a-half miles of driving on one road into a fifteen-minute ordeal so that I can pick up The Widget from daycare. We shall then battle our way home, where he will be shoved off to change clothes while I hurriedly put together the rest of the chili and plop it on the stove to simmer. We shall then rush off to The Widget's new dance class (5:30-6 pm on Thursdays) so that he can learn to shake his booty even more adorably than he did at our wedding (though there may never be anything so adorable as a tux-clad Widget doing the Chicken Dance). Then we can finally return home and collapse in the bosom of my rather large family.

I should confess that when I was planning the menu for this week, I completely forgot that I had tutoring today and would be so rushed. My True Love and I were therefore kerflummoxed about how to feed The Ravening Horde tonight until I realized that I could most likely manage the chili in stages. When I announced my realization to MTL, he (bless him) simply said, Just do what you can without killing yourself.

I think that may become my daily mantra.

Oh! But tonight I also need to pressure can the homemade stock that is chilling in the refrigerator after a long night of simmering into golden glory, and I should probably make some bread or something, since I have nothing to feed The Widget this weekend other than the fabulous and oh-so-simple roast chicken that was our meal last night.

I didn't mention that I've transformed into a Domestic Demi-goddess, did I? I know. I'm as astonished as you are. My only real online interaction with the outer world is on Facebook these days, and I keep posting statuses about all the amazing things I have baked/cooked/canned, partly out of a craving for jealous adulation and partly because seeing it in print makes it suddenly real and explains why I'm so exhausted All The Time.

You see, The Widget has inconveniently developed a host of food sensitivities, much like his older brother DramaBoy did at the young age of one. The Widget's are simultaneously less and more inconvenient than DramaBoy's were: on the one hand, he can have eggs and yeast and tomatoes and citrus fruits and canola; on the other, he cannot have corn or millet or buckwheat or legumes. The rest of the inconvenient items on the (long) list is rather similar. No bovine dairy, no soy, no garlic, no rice, among other things. Oddly enough, watermelon and cantaloupe are high on the reactive side, which makes us feel rather guilty about the enormous quantities of watermelon that disappeared down his throat over the course of the hot summer.

The big No-No, however, is gluten, and unlike the other items (which we should be able to reintroduce to his diet after a period of cleansing and rebooting his system), this will likely remain permanent. One of the tests indicated that if he continues to have gluten in his diet, he is likely to develop Celiac Disease and/or another nasty anti-gluten syndrome.

So. Our new reality. Since we have the boys every other week now, I spend every other weekend baking interesting breads and muffins and cookies, all with Funky Flours like sorghum, tapioca, quinoa, almond, and arrowroot. At least I can MAKE real bread: DramaBoy could not have eggs or yeast, so it was impossible to create anything other than fruit breads for him.

We also are making and canning all sorts of things like spaghetti sauce and stock and apple butter and various delicious jams (though to be fair we had started making our own jam before we had The Widget tested).

And the entire family has begun drinking almond and coconut milk rather than dairy, since MTL and The Padawan are lactose-sensitive anyway, and we discovered (to our surprise) that the Silk brand of both is cheaper than Lactaid, and contains less fat, more calcium, and the same or more vitamins than dairy milk. We're also doing much more gluten-free and homemade food in general, since it's simpler to cook for everyone rather than making two separate meals, and we want to start eating more healthily anyway.

So, much to my surprise, we are becoming alarmingly Crunchy, and I am discovering that I actually rather enjoy being domestic. Mind you, it makes all the difference that MTL does some of the work too, and that I have a horde of children who are all assigned chores and responsibilities. Who would have thought that having four children at home would actually be easier than having only two?

Also, we have a wonderful lady who comes and does all the deep cleaning every other week. I may have transformed quite a bit, but I'm perfectly content to leave the toilet-scrubbing and floor-mopping to someone else, thankyouverymuch.

Well, there you are. MTL is thinking of getting a second Xbox at some point so that he can have his own and play games online with his friends and The Padawan (who monopolizes and technically owns the one we have now), and if that happens, I may find myself with time in the evenings to chat with you all in this space while keeping him company.

All my snarky love in the meantime,
Mrs. MTL

Alive and Married

2011-09-02T11:22:00.001-04:00

I'm giving up on having some lovely, perfect post about the wedding, at least for now, because I simply do not have the time or energy for it. We just got back from the (awesome!) honeymoon in Mexico last Monday, and had to dive straight back into Harsh Reality, including the school year starting back up and the lovely new diet restrictions The Widget has due to food sensitivities.

Yes, I know. THERE IS SO MUCH TO TELL YOU!

And I really do hope to get back to blogging, if and as time permits (HA).

I don't have the official wedding photos back yet, but I do have some others to share, because I promised. So here's the wedding!

My handsome father escorting my lovely mother to her place in the front

Our little "ring berries" (according to The Widget)

DramaBoy and The Widget, as handsome and adorable as can be in their little tuxes!

Our adorable KlutzGirl as the flower girl

DorkMaster B escorts my wonderful friends Heidi and Amy down the aisle

My father-in-law (one of the groomsmen) escorts my lovely SoccerSister and stepdaughter The Dark One down the aisle

A very handsome Padawan escorts my marvelous Mistress of Honor DraftQueen (yes! live and in Michigan!) down the aisle

My handsome father escorts me, beaming from ear to ear, down the aisle

The ceremony begins

We say our vows. MTL was tearing up the whole time..

We did a sand ceremony rather than a unity candle. Each of us in the new blended family had a container of colored sand (each person picked his/her color) and took turns pouring it into a large, heart-shaped container. The result is a rainbow of sand symbolizing our new family unity.

Closeup of the sand ceremony

Family Hug!

Final blessing

Introducing the new Mr. and Mrs. MTL!

The wedding party

The wedding party, squinting between official pics

Our New Family

SoccerSister with her son, my adorable nephew K

My handsome father with his youngest grandson

Waiting to enter the reception

Our entrance into the lovely Victorian-style B&B where we held the reception

DorkMaster B looking dapper in his tux

The Dark One wrote a poem for us and read it at dinner. Both MTL and I had tears in our eyes. Sometimes there is some light in that one.

My True Love was kind and did not smash the (delicious) cake in my face, showing great restraint

A first dance with my handsome husband, to "God Blessed the Broken Road"

A dance with my daddy to "It's a Wonderful World"

SoccerSister and her MuttonChopsHubby show off their swing skills

Uncle MuttonChops gives KlutzGirl a whirl

My lovely mother with her youngest grandson

A dance with The Widget

Me and My True Love

The Exasperating Case of the Insomniac in the Night Time

2011-06-06T13:42:00.002-04:00

I am crawling through my day on approximately zero-point-four hours of sleep last night which, last time I checked, doesn't come even close to the amount of sleep I need to babble even semi-coherently at the Raving Rabble that still insists on inhabiting my classroom periodically throughout my day. I mean, the seniors are gone--other than the occasional ones who pop in unexpectedly to bring me senior pictures and tell me that I am awesome and they will miss me horribly and YAY! I CAN ADD YOU ON FACEBOOK NOW! and all that, which, hey, practically makes me miss the Mangy Maggots--

(can maggots get mange? somehow I doubt this, but I rather like the nastiness of the alliteration and will leave it be.)

(hey, it's my blog and I can even stop using capital letters OR WRITE ALL IN CAPS if I want to--so there)

(I really need some sleep)

(Where was I? Oh yes.) --but the juniors and sophomores persist. On top of expecting me to rehash every piece of text they've ~~SparkNoted~~ read all semester, little glints of hope sparkling in their eyes that I will give up and just tell them the answers for the test, they expect me to actually read and comment on and grade the massive term papers that I sado-masochistically assign every year. WHY DO I DO THIS???? I ask myself every single f***ing year at this time as I gaze in doomy gloom--or gloomy doom, whichever is dominant at the time--at the massive pile of seven-to-ten- (sophomores) and ten-to-twelve- (juniors) page papers that threaten to smother me in a paperlanche. Of course, this year I had them all submit their papers electronically to the wonderful electronic plagiarism catcher slash online grading service we use, so it's all threatening me VIRTUALLY, which is interesting. At least this way there's less chance of Death By Papercut.

On top of that, I have gradually gained a sense that I am Not At All Well over the course of the day, including feeling rather feverish, developing a sore throat, and (since that wasn't enough) becoming increasingly nauseated.

(NOT NAUSEOUS, which is the error everybody makes these days that drives me absolutely batshit insane, because being NAUSEOUS means that it/one/you CAUSE[S] NAUSEA, not that you HAVE it. People feel NAUSEATED, dammit, and while some people may in fact be nauseous, like the nasty-piece-of-work senior who burned his last bridge with me two weeks ago and will NOT be getting friended on Facebook thankyouverymuch, that is not what most people are attempting to indicate. THAT WORD DOES NOT MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS.)

Ahem.

To add just a little more spice to our day, we went into a level one lockdown a short time ago, which means they aren't allowing people in or out of the building because there's a perceived threat somewhere in the area. It's the lowest level lockdown, but I have no idea why it's happening or when it will end. Because, you know, today wasn't enough of a Mondayish sort of Monday already.

The silver lining in it all is that my fourth hour sophomores cheered me up with their depictions of starfish of varying ethnicity and religion on the dry erase board, something that originated with a perky Jewish Starfish in a markered mural that gradually developed over the course of last week. The mural started with a cartoon turtle (a rather adorable one, much like the turtle on our class t-shirt with the joke word "intelligous" we had made last semester) with a speech bubble declaring I'm a turtle!, and it developed from there. The Jewish Starfish (a six-pointed starfish, naturally) showed up toward the end, along with a School of Attici--the plural form of "Atticus" (from To Kill a Mockingbird), obviously.

It's an....interesting class.

Okay, fine, maybe I'll miss those pesky students a little bit after all.

But right now? Right now I just want some french bread, a snuggle with MTL, and my bed. Preferably in that order.

Crumbs are so uncomfortable when they get in the sheets.

Blog? What Blog?

2011-06-03T08:14:00.000-04:00

Holy crapola. Really? It's been that long since I posted anything? I feel like I'm failing you all.

Life. Is. Crazy. Which is why I'm back on crazy pills, because when I started having mild panic attacks I figured I should get some help before they developed into not-so-mild panic attacks and I end up rocking back and forth in a corner somewhere. God bless modern pharmaceuticals.

My therapist and friends all agree this was actually an indication of how far I've come in the last few years, considering I asked for help BEFORE the crazy became The Crazy. Just sayin'. Also: I love my people. There's nothing like a time of high anxiety to bring home just how awesome a support structure I have these days. Not the least of which is a very, very beloved and supportive MTL. The hurricane winds may be blowing, but the foundation is holding firm.

So. My seniors are gone.

Excuse me a minute while I go do a happy dance.

[Insert holding music here]

Whew. They're gone, they're out of here, I managed to get all but two out the door to graduation, some squeaking through by mere tenths of a percentage point. One huge load is off my shoulders: only several dozen left to carry!

My juniors and sophomores have been very patient the last few weeks as I've neglected grading much of their work in order to focus on the seniors. Now I have time to wade through their essays, including their massive term papers (seven to ten pages for sophomores; ten to twelve pages for juniors: EACH). I have exams to create, quiz and test grades to enter, and a classroom to clean and organize. I can do that in the next eight school days, right?

Right.

Dammit. I left my meds at home.

Probably the biggest source of stress (now that the seniors are--GLORY HALLELUJAH--gone) is the impending shift at home. I can't go into all the details here, but there have been massive changes chez MTL's Ex, and the girls are moving in with us.

And there's an element to the situation that I can't discuss--yet--but suffice it to say: DRAMA WILL ENSUE.

So. Yeah.

Nothing to be anxious about. Nothing at all.

OH! There is one lovely new addition to my life! Are you ready for this?

I. Got. A. Smartphone.

Oh yes. I, the phone-technophobe, have officially Grown Up and gotten a phone that's more like a hand-held computer than a phone. A Droid X, to be exact. And I just may be in love. MTL says that I'm acting like a kid who's had her first ever taste of chocolate.

Angry Birds? Check.

Words With Friends? Check.

Sudden addiction to apps? Check, check, and absolutely check.

Hmm. You think they have a support group for that?

Shadows

2011-05-17T10:16:00.000-04:00

I'm at a point where I'm internalizing so much stress that I'm no longer trusting my reactions or judgment. I feel like a volcano bulging with pent-up magma, ready to explode at the slightest fracture. My neck and shoulders are bunched up, my throat aches, my head throbs, and acid burns down my esophagus. It would only take one wrong word for me to erupt in rage, tears, or both.

It's no one thing. It's everything. It's the buildup of all sorts of stress and fears and worries and hopes and aggravations. It's the fatigue of the year drawing to a close. It's the frustration of senioritis. It's the lack of sleep, the lingering effects of whatever respiratory plague attacked me last week, the sense of dread as wave after wave of bad news and potentially disastrous now-we-wait-and-see news rolls in about loved ones and politics and money and everything else in this seriously fucked-up world.

I don't always deal well with stress. Okay, fine, I rarely deal well with stress.

MTL thinks I need to take a mental health day. I hate to do that. I have few enough sick days left, and I tend to hoard those for truly necessary sick leave (mine or, more likely, kidlets'), as I know all too well the financial impact of unpaid sick leave when those days run out. I do have a couple of personal business days I haven't used that will vanish if they aren't used, but I have to request those at least three days in advance, and anything further out than Thursday just isn't possible. I have senior project presentations, junior speeches, senior exams, and then the rest of final exams filling every available slot.

I'm just so TIRED. Not just physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. I can't even focus much on the wedding, because everything else takes up my attention. I can't look forward too much to the honeymoon, because a part of me dreads the possibility of having to cancel due to financial or other reasons. I don't want to have my heart too set on that in case it's pulled out of reach.

It's as if there's a threatening cloud looming over everything. I'm struggling to find the light through the shadows.

Thankful

2011-05-09T11:39:00.000-04:00

One of my friends and coworkers, the one who met me last night out on the practice field along with a couple of hundred other people for Nate's candlelight vigil, said on her Facebook that students don't realize that impact is not just one way. It's not just us, as teachers, impacting our students' lives. They impact ours as well. Every day we come into contact with dozens of students, and they affect us just as we affect them. She's right. I am not the person I would have been without working with the hundreds of students I have seen in my eleven years of teaching, both as an intern and a certified teacher.

My students know that I struggle with names. My brain has a disconnect between name and face, so very often. There are some that are seared into memory, for good or evil, true, but even if I know a student very well, I often freeze up and completely forget his or her name. They're generally kind about my forgetfulness. In turn, I reassure them that it is nothing personal, and that I do know who they are.

I never forgot Nate's name. I don't know if I ever would have.

Last night I had the opportunity to speak briefly at the vigil, after we had lit our wind-threatened candles and people were able to share stories and memories about this boy who had touched all our lives. I said that his father had asked me which year Nate had been in my class, and I struggled to remember--not because I didn't remember him, but because it felt as though I had known him for much longer. Then some former students reminded me that I had him during his junior year, and it all came back to me.

The year I had Nate in class was most definitely not the easiest year of my life, I said, and laughter broke out around the huge circle from all the other former students who remembered. It hadn't been. That was the year my life had fallen apart, the facade of strength and happiness and a decent marriage crumbling as that marriage imploded and I literally disappeared from work for three weeks. I managed to hold things together once I got back to work, but barely.

Nate was one of the few people who could get me to smile, even on my worst days. He was no Pollyanna--he had a snarkiness and sarcasm that worked better anyway--but his smile lit up the room. He would bring me chocolate and food, because he knew that's what works with Ross. Just a few months ago he came in with a couple other former students to bring me lunch, because he knew I always forget my lunch.

He was one of those people who make others feel better about themselves. He was one of the people who make the world a better place by being in it. I would have always remembered him, even without this tragedy. I will always remember him.

I'm glad I had the chance to share that with his parents, his friends, his Color Guard family.

Today has been a rough day, for various reasons. I'm here at work, and I'm getting things done, and I'm working with the students. But I'm not smiling. And in return, my students are being solicitous and cooperative. Several have checked to make sure I'm okay and not in the throes of deep depression--and I'm not, but I understand why they're wondering. A student who missed class because he slept in brought me donuts and a mocha and a tray of baklava as an apology (they know my weaknesses, these kids). One of the girls who always eats lunch in my room asked if I'd like her to bring in a slice of homemade chocolate cake tomorrow.

They're gentle.

They care.

As I sit here, not eating lunch because I have no appetite, but sipping on a cafe mocha from Tim Hortons, I feel a wave of thankfulness washing over me, pricking my eyes with tears.

They're my kids. They're the reason I stick with this job despite all the thanklessness and political bullshit.

And I hope that they will leave this school with memories of a teacher who made a difference in their lives, just as they made a difference in mine.

Tears

2011-05-06T09:37:00.000-04:00

I'm angry and I'm crying and the only reason I'm still here at work is that if I go home I'll have nothing to keep me busy and occupied. Laundry and cleaning don't count because there's too much time for thinking.

This last weekend one of my former students was in a terrible car accident in West Virginia, on his way to an audition that would hopefully continue to move him along in his amazing gifts for music and dance. He suffered horrendous head trauma and has been in a coma all week.

This morning he died.

It's not right. It's never right, but it seems so particularly horrible when it's a bright, brilliant nineteen-year-old like Nate. He was one of the memorable ones. I can't remember a day when he didn't have a smile or funny comment to brighten up the day--and not in an annoying Pollyanna way. He made people feel better about themselves. He had a sweet confidence and joyful soul like few people I've met.

Just a few months ago he came into school with a couple of other former students to bring me lunch, because I always forget lunch, and because gifts of food are always welcome. He was full of hope and laughter over what he was doing in college, where he was going in life.

And now he's gone. And his mother will be facing her first Mother's Day without her son.

I hate this part of my job. It's always tragic when people die, but even more so when they are young and all that life and hope and potential is snuffed out long before time. This isn't the first time it's happened, but it is one of the hardest.

Rest in peace, Nate. You will never be forgotten. Thank you for making all of our lives just that much brighter during the all-too-brief time you were here.

A Day In The Life

2011-05-02T19:20:00.000-04:00

5:45 am--Alarm goes off. Wake blearily, turn it off, and fail to leave bed when MTL pulls me back in for a cuddle.

5:54 am--Nudged out of bed by MTL. Stumble into bathroom and take a very quick hot shower. Thank God that the tummy bug that attacked yesterday seems to have had a 24-hour duration.

6:05 am--Brush teeth and get dressed. Kiss MTL goodbye.

6:10 am--Leave safety of master bedroom to wake the mini monsters. Discover that due to yesterday's illness and failure to do kids' laundry, there are absolutely no jeans for either monster to wear, and no clean 5T shirts. Sigh because all the 5T jeans and/or pants have vanished into the black hole of The Ex's custody anyway. Give DramaBoy a pair of 4T highwater slacks and a shirt that almost qualifies as a three-quarter length sleeve. Instruct both boys to get dressed with NO WHINING OR TEARS thankyouverymuch.

6:13 am--Return to master bedroom and slap on a touch of makeup. Attempt to convince hair not to flip out today. Give up and go downstairs.

6:17 am--Realize that due to yesterday's illness no coffee was prepped for the morning brew. Sigh. Make sure both self and MTL have a bit of cash for coffee on the way. Get a second kiss goodbye.

6:18 am--Do a half-assed job of half the basic physical therapy exercises that should be done every morning. Give up on the remainder when the boylets descend.

6:22 am--Organize getting snacks, breakfast-to-go (a.k.a. dry cereal in baggies), and shoes/outer wear on boylets. Realize that garbage stinks to high heaven, grab the bag, and take it out to the garage. Discover that MTL is charging his car battery, which is dead. Again. Stupid car.

6:27 am--Realize that I never checked DramaBoy's backpack over weekend and do a quick run-through. Write out the RSVP for the Mother's Day Tea at DramaBoy's kindergarten class that I will not be able to attend, but for which my beloved mother will take my place. MTL ducks back in to say goodbye for real this time and give me my third goodbye kiss. Wish the weekend didn't go by so quickly. Resume efforts to get kids out the door.

6:38 am--Finally pull out of the driveway.

6:45 am--Get to daycare, say goodbye to the boylets, and rush back out the door.

6:48 am--Pull through McDonald's drive-through to get fruit & maple oatmeal and a large coffee.

6:54 am--Finally get to work.

7:15-2:19 am--Teach classes. Mix of quizzes, project discussions, and teaching kids how to do MLA formatting and use Microsoft Word. Wish that today's so-called "tech generation" actually knew how to figure out basic technology for academic purposes rather than mere social networking. Also become irritated by students' continuous inability to keep silent until every single quiz has been turned in. Spend lunch reading hilarious entries on Parents Shouldn't Text. Laugh uncontrollably. Decide perhaps I will survive the day without suffering an aneurysm. Resume classes and have this decision challenged.

2:19 pm--School hours officially over. Chat online with Heidi while finishing up a bit of work and reading the remainder of Parents Shouldn't Text archives.

2:46 pm--Head out to accomplish List of Errands. Head to school employee credit union to finish closing out bank accounts and the safety deposit box, since apparently they can't close out safety deposit boxes on weekends.

3:16 pm--Leave former credit union irritated that the exact same people who were there on Saturday were the ones who did everything today, and there was no apparent need to wait two days. Roll eyes over red tape. Call The Ex while driving to remind him to look for the 5T jeans that have vanished in his custody. Mutually agree that we will no longer dress DramaBoy in 4T pants. Period.

3:30 pm--Visit current credit union to deposit money from old accounts and order new checks. Text MTL about new banking status.

3:40 pm--Get phone call on cell. See MTL's last name on the screen and answer, Hi baby! Hear the utterly confused and somewhat mortified voice of The Padawan saying, Uh. Hello? in response. Feel like one of the parents on Parents Shouldn't Text.

3:45 pm--Get home to grab last "coupon" for $50 off rent. Fill out a list of essentials needed so that The Padawan and DMB can be clean (thank God), as well as groceries for the week. Assign them to clean the kitchen and get a load of laundry in the washer. Text MTL about new shopping plans.

3:57 pm--Head out again. Pay rent. Head down to The Children's Place to purchase 5T jeans. Discover they are having a 25% off sale on denim. Gratefully purchase two pairs.

4:38 pm--Receive call from MTL (for real this time) checking on shopping plans. Agree that money should be transferred from wedding savings account to checking in order to cover costs this week. Again. Stupid car. Stupid rent. Stupid children wanting to be clothed and fed.

4:45 pm--Grab necessities and food from Meijer. Indulge in a cold Coke because it looks too good to refuse.

5:15 pm--Get home. Kitchen wonderfully clean, although the extremely stale and possibly sprouting remains of The Widget's birthday cake still glowers balefully from the side counter. Am not amazed that both boys failed to see or discard it. Decide to take care of it later. Get another load of children's clothes going and fold dry laundry.

5:50 pm--MTL arrives home from work.

6:00 pm to present--MTL showers. Leftovers for dinner, which means we all (much to my relief) simply fend for ourselves. MTL and I collapse on the couch and pull out our computers while turning on a DVRed episode of "The Mentalist."

7:20 pm--Post this blog post, amazed that I actually found something to say. Even if it is just another day in my life.

Seven! Seven Things To Count! HA HA HA HA HA! (Insert Crashes of Thunder)

2011-04-29T10:24:00.000-04:00

It's been AGES since I've done something as spontaneous and yet meme-ish as a Seven Quick Takes Friday, as originated over at Conversion Diary, but something bloggish in me woke up and said, Today! Write today! So I am. Except I can't get Count von Count's voice out of my head, for some odd reason, so we'll be doing this his way.

--One! One Quick Take! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

This morning I pulled on new jeans purchased on sale from Old Navy yesterday. They're the same style that I always wear (I am, apparently, The Flirt), but one size up. It was rather marvelous to pull on jeans that don't feel like sausage casings. I am sad to report that MTL's birthday gift to me is still sitting in the corner of the living room. I've used it about four times, which means that each seven minute ride cost about $50. Damn, but I'm out of shape. I keep swearing I'm going to do something about it, and then the siren song of the couch drowns out everything else.

On a positive note, MTL appreciated being able to actually grab my butt this morning as he walked by on his way out the door, rather than encountering the immovable force of straining denim. There's always a silver lining.

--Two! Two Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

Upon arriving at daycare this morning, The Widget informed me that he felt like throwing up. He then proceeded to do exactly that. All over his shirt and the floor, with a bonus splattering on one of my shoes. Although he did have a nasty stomach bug last weekend, I have a strong suspicion that this morning's gift was the product of too much sinus drainage (thank you, environmental allergens!) and his refusal to swallow the chewed-up Claritin chewable pill that ended up on the floor along with the semi-digested remains of last night's tacos.

News flash: I have apparently lost the cast-iron stomach I developed during those early years of parenting. I was unabashedly grateful that he threw up on the daycare's floor rather than mine. All I had to do was wipe him down and get him back into the car. God bless the heroic and plastic-gloved daycare teacher who tackled the floor.

--Three! Three Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I can't say I'm thrilled about how often The Ex's girlfriend is at the house. This has nothing to do with her--I rather like her, truth be told, and I'm relieved he's moving on and I'm happy she's good with the kids. I do, however, resent that I'm still paying almost half of the mortgage on a house I don't live in, and that I'm essentially paying for them to live there. Trust me, I only agreed to this in the settlement for the kids' sake (plus she wasn't staying there back then). And yes, there is a time limit, but still. Don't even get MTL started on that, either.

However, I did find myself rather grateful to discover that she was there this morning and doesn't have work today, because she's able to watch the Widget. For some reason daycare centers don't let vomiting children stick around.

--Four! Four Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I love my coworkers.

Thanks to one of them, my students were able to enter my classroom, be made aware of the situation, and get started on their work for the day. I was only ten minutes late to work, but mine is not a job with flexible start times. Thanks to another, those kids also had a watchful pair of eyes during those ten minutes. You'd be amazed what a bunch of juniors will try to do during ten minutes' unsupervised time.

Sometimes I wonder how much of a difference there really is between my job and a kindergarten teacher's.

Oh, right. We don't have recess.

--Five! Five Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

Speaking of kindergarten, DramaBoy is currently going through a phase of Marvelous! Wonderful! Near-perfect behavior! both at school and at home, which is a lovely respite from phone calls about how many kids he's hit on a given day and battles over how many bites of that horrible healthy food he'll have to eat tonight. I'd enjoy it more if I didn't keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Also, since children learn how to tag-team at birth, The Widget is In A Mood almost every day right now. I'm fairly certain he was flung into a maelstrom of jealousy, insecurity, and angst by having his eight-month-old cousin around for a few days and having to Share Attention--particularly from my parents, whom he views as his personal attendants. I mean, how DARE they?

Not that I would know anything about how that feels, or ever tormented The Widget's cousin's mother for coming along and dispelling my belief that the universe revolved around my three-year-old self. Nah. I wouldn't have done that. Ahem.

(Sorry, SoccerSister. Again.)

--Six! Six Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

I hate politics.

I know this isn't news, but I think it deserves restating.

And while I will not, out of deference to DraftQueen's sensibilities, say that I hate all politicians or that they are all corrupt and horrible people, I will say that I have very little faith in most politicians.

However, if Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert ever run for office, I'm voting for them.

Just sayin'.

--Seven! Seven Quick Takes! Ha ha ha ha ha!--

The Old Spice commercials are awesome. In fact, an Old Spice ad torn from a magazine is clipped to my inbox where I can see it and be reminded to smile. Not because Isaiah Mustafa is pretty decent eye candy (though he is), but because the sheer over-the-top, tongue-in-cheek ridiculousness of these ads brings a little sunshine into my gloomy days.

I wonder if they'll have any effect on lowering the acceptable age for men to wear Old Spice. MTL can hardly wait until he's allowed to wear it, in fact--and felt that way even before these ads. Fortunately, I'm not allergic to that particular cologne.

In the meantime, I'll just keep enjoying the ads.

You're welcome.

Happy Friday!

What Dreams May Come (Dammit)

2011-04-27T12:46:00.000-04:00

I rarely remember my dreams these days. I will wake with a vague impression of what has been spinning through my REM sleep, but even the wisps of memory remaining slip out of reach within a matter of minutes. My friend Heidi experiences lucid dreaming, for pleasure or pain, but other than a few youthful recurring dreams that, well, no longer recur, I don't recall what I dream.

I do know, however, that I dream. I'll wake with the emotional remnants of my sleeping experiences, most strongly when I am working through anger or sadness or, most especially, anxiety.

Ah, anxiety dreams. There's nothing quite like stumbling through one's morning routine with a vague sense of impending doom. It adds a certain murky spice to one's coffee.

Last night I had anxiety dreams: more specifically, financial anxiety dreams. I'm a worrier, and I have become hardwired to worry about money over the last few years. When we first moved into our townhouse and were wading through the changing finances of combined households and moving and the start of school, I had financial anxiety dreams resulting in restless sleep and (according to MTL) distressed mumbling. He had to wake me up a few times and reassure me that we were not, in fact, about to be consumed by an avalanche of arrears.

I don't think I was mumbling last night--certainly MTL shaking me to wakefulness had more to do with hitting the snooze button too many times than sleep talking--but I've been stumbling through my day with a weight of disquiet on my weary mind. I'm a zombie today. A zombie with a bank account that mutters dour reminders that bills are impending and rent is due in a few days and groceries have not been bought and, oh yeah, there's a rather significant function occurring in just over 108 days (according to that oh-so-handy and also slightly intimidating countdown clock at the top of this page) that requires saving money to cover the balances due in a few months...

We are by no means destitute, and I openly acknowledge that our problems are what Heidi likes to cheerfully call "first world problems." Food makes it onto our table, our children are clothed, we can cover our bills ~~if we maneuvre things just so this month~~, and we have two incomes.

BUT. I look at my debt, which is high regardless of the reasonableness of its existence (student loans and the like). I look at our vehicles, which are both old--MTL's is no longer reliable for long distance travel--and neither of which are large enough to contain our entire family. I look at our credit rating, which is not high enough to get the kind of loan we need to pay off a certain debt that ties me too strongly to The Ex and the millstone of an upside-down mortgage for a house I don't even live in.

I wonder if perhaps we are foolish to spend this money on a wedding and honeymoon. There are those who think we are, whether they say so openly or no.

AND YET. We are spending less on the wedding and honeymoon combined than many people spend on just a wedding dress or wedding flowers. We certainly aren't spending irresponsibly in that regard. And there's a part of me--the part that is emphatically winning--that says it is somehow important to celebrate this event, that a courthouse ceremony isn't right for us, that we are not unreasonable to gather family and friends and show that YES, we love each other this much....

I don't know.

I'm tired and the Michigan skies are moistly gloomy today. Add that to the anxiety and depression of being told by The Powers That Be that my peers and I are somehow simultaneously Too Essential to be allowed to strike/negotiate/be heard and also Too Despicable to be treated with respect and human (ha) decency....

I suppose I'll take anxiety dreams over panic attacks. Brown paper bags aren't the most glamorous accessory.

Cravings

2011-04-19T13:32:00.000-04:00

I've been "turtling" lately: pulling my head and limbs back inside a protective shell in an instinctive effort to avoid being overwhelmed with Everything.

I don't even want to get started here, as it's all or nothing for me. Either I'm silent or I'm ranting. I normally have fairly low blood pressure--lately I can feel my heart pounding and my face flushing as a matter of course.

What's happening in this state, in this country, to educators and the regular government workers (not the politicians themselves, of course) and the middle class in general....

I'm sick to my stomach.

I need to find a career counselor. I've never had a back-up plan because, quite simply, ever since I discovered teaching I've never planned to do anything else.

What DOES a thirty-three-year-old woman with a Bachelor's in English Literature and a Master's in the Art of Teaching, with certification in English and Speech/Theatre have as a back-up plan? I'm eminently qualified to do exactly what I do. Who else is going to be knocking down my door to receive my services--especially for a wage that will continue to pay back my thousands of dollars in student loans and the other debt that I've incurred as a responsible citizen? None of which, mind you, is credit card debt or the like.

I can feel the rant rising.

We're short on "extra" money right now--not that there really is such a thing in our household lately, since pretty much every extra penny is being set aside to pay for our quite modest little wedding and honeymoon. MTL's car broke down last week and required a bit of money to repair, even though he did the repairs himself. His machine at work has also been broken, meaning his hours have been trimmed back a bit. We had a dual birthday party on Sunday for The Widget (my baby is FOUR!) and KlutzGirl (MTL's baby is EIGHT!). In three months the remaining balances are due for our ceremony and reception sites and for our honeymoon.

With all that financial stress bearing down on my mind, I can feel an age-old destructive stress mechanism kicking in. I want to buy things. I want to buy fun things, pretty things, wonderful escape-from-reality things. I want to buy books and clothes and shoes and art. I want to buy gifts for my bridesmaids. I want to buy all the accessories I want or at least need for my wedding day. I want to buy it all NOW.

I didn't give anything up for Lent this year, but I'm reminded of when I gave up chocolate a few years ago. Despite what you may think, I don't normally crave chocolate every day. I can even go a few weeks without thinking about it. Shocking, I know, but true. But when I denied myself that luscious substance, the days dragged by. I woke craving chocolate. I went to bed craving chocolate. I nearly cried when I realized that my (then daily purchase of) Cafe Mocha contained chocolate and therefore was verboten.

Impulse buys and non-necessities are off my shopping list for now--and likely for some time--and so I'm craving what I cannot have. Perhaps after a few weeks I'll find the craving wanes and leave me feeling freer, just as I did during that Lent years ago.

In the meantime, I'm staying off Etsy and Amazon and Victoria's Secret and Old Navy and every other website that urges me to indulge, treat myself, think It's only a few dollars. I have my tiny list of five necessary items which I will take to the grocery store this afternoon, and I will not buy anything except those five items. I pinkie swear.

I May Be Barefoot In The Kitchen, But I Swear I'm Not Pregnant

2011-04-04T15:37:00.000-04:00

Today was the first day of Operation Clean House. I'm calling it that because at this point I lack the creativity to come up with an awesome name, like Operation ThunderHawk or some such shit. Besides, while the results are awesome, the process is, well, not.

Now, lest you suddenly picture me amidst a near-avalanche of trash and clutter, a la the pitiful people on ~~my obsession of the last few months~~ "Hoarders" and "Hoarding: Buried Alive", let me assure you that in point of fact we keep the house remarkably neat considering it regularly contains a pack of ~~tasmanian devils~~ kids. I've shocked my parents and former roommates with my current tidy tendencies, MTL breaks out in a rash when he sees clutter, and we gratefully employ a wonderful woman to come by every two weeks to do the deep cleaning. Not to mention that we firmly believe that one of the benefits of having children is that child labor laws do not apply at home.

Nevertheless, the house could do with a proper spring cleaning. Last weekend we put the kids to work on their domain--the bedroom and the game room--instructing them to not only put things away properly but to also put the trash in the trash bag rather than tossing it into the nearest toy box, and to fill additional boxes with the toys and clothes they no longer use.

I tell you, if there are any people with serious hoarding tendencies in this domicile, it would be the ~~freeloaders~~ non-rent-payers around here.

After hours of ~~fighting and fussing~~ decluttering and cleaning, their bedroom and game room are finally fit for human habitation, and I no longer feel like weeping when I walk through the hall. The chances of seriously injuring myself have also decreased.

This week is Spring Break, and it is also our break from children. The boylets are down in Florida with their father, being spoiled outrageously by their grandfather and other relatives on that side, and MTL's children are all with their mother this week.

NO CHILDREN FOR TEN DAYS.

Excuse me while I break out into spontaneous celebratory dancing.

----

Whew. Where was I?

Ah yes. Spring Break. Now, before you go off muttering about spoiled teachers sleeping in every day (I can hear you, MTL!!! Stop that!) take a look at my agenda. OK, fine, not really, but imagine it at least. Not only am I diving into some wedding planning and spending valuable time with my sister and her adorable if exhausting seven-month-old son, I also have major chores written in for each day. It's time to get serious about cleaning house, peoples.

So today was the kitchen. I roped DMB into the task, and he scrubbed the refrigerator while I emptied cabinets and pantries and threw things away and sorted and organized to my heart's content. Do I love doing it? Well, okay, sort of, since there's a part of me that loves doing that sort of thing every now and then. It's the same part that finds folding laundry soothing, especially when done in front of a TV watching one of those hoarding shows ~~and patting myself on the back that I am so much better than that~~.

Hey, MTL likes cleaning the garage every now and then, too. I'm not the only weird one.

I can't say that I love the first part of this task, though, which involves pulling out all the food and finding out just how old that jar of mayonnaise actually is and how long that box of pasta mix has been hiding in the back corner. Since I'm trying to be a responsible recycler, it also involves emptying all those nauseating jars and tins down the garbage disposal.

My scented candles saw use today. I also appreciate sliding doors and stovetop fans. Just sayin'.

I won't tell you how many bags of garbage went out today on DMB's back. I'd like to keep my shame at a reasonable level.

Anyhow, I'm enjoying the ability to close the pantry door without something falling out. Not to mention opening the fridge without being forced a step back by the odor of Something Gone Off.

Tomorrow I'm tackling our walk-in closet and the master bathroom/bedroom before I head out to search for a wedding dress with my mother and sister. Wednesday the great room will submit to my ministrations. And Thursday I get to sort and organize the books that have crawled off the bookshelves and strewn themselves on every surface. Maybe I'll even find money somewhere to purchase the much-needed additional bookshelves that MIGHT brhttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=4078483744873792132ing our collection under the semblance of control.

Right now it's time to whip up a chicken pot pie for dinner so MTL has a nice hot dinner when he comes home from work.

Am I crazy, or am I getting positively DOMESTIC over in these here parts?

Don't answer that.

Oh, Hello

2011-03-31T19:40:00.000-04:00

I have been notified today that apparently some of my beloved readers are concerned about my lack of posts. So I'm here, although without much in the way of Wonderful Words of Wit and/or Wisdom.

I'm okay.

But I'm tired.

I'm tired physically, with not enough sleep at night and not enough sunlight as this long and dreary winter drags on and on. I don't care what the calendar says, IT ISN'T SPRING. Not here in Michigan, at any rate. We get hints and teases here and there, but I've long since learned not to get my hopes up. Not until after Memorial Day, really, and that's a good couple of months away.

I'm tired mentally, because it's that time of year and I have seniors (oh dear God give me strength) and am teaching three core classes including one that has a brand new curriculum and please shoot me if I ever agree to do such an idiotic thing again.

I'm tired emotionally, because the grim reality of politics and society in this state and this country and this world has me threadworn.

I need a break. I need some solid time filled with rest and laughter to give me the wherewithal to fling myself back into the fray. I'm hoping I'll get some of that this next week on Spring Break. The boylets are in Florida with their father (and have been since Sunday) and won't be back until the 10th. While I do miss them, I have to admit...I can use the break from mommying as well. The Padawan will be at his mother's during the next week as well. The thought of DAYS (and nights) with no kids around at all has me and MTL doing the kind of happy dance that most parents would understand.

So...yeah. I don't have a lot to say on here right now, but I am okay. Hopefully this time next week I'll be at least good, and by the weekend I'll be great.

In the meantime, I'll keep obsessively reading the archived stories over at Etiquette Hell, alternating between horrified laughter and paranoid fear.

Carry on.

Style and Stylability

2011-03-21T10:01:00.000-04:00

Warning: Many links to many amazing things ahead. I've already gotten a couple of other people hooked. This is fair warning. You may be as well...

****************************************

I've never felt like I have much of a sense of style when it comes to home decor. Other than the boylets' nursery, I've never even decorated an entire room. The Ex and I always had plans for the basement, when we finished it (we never even started), and for the dining and living rooms (we never moved beyond an area rug and some paint chips.) Even in my home with MTL, we never did get around to painting the bedrooms as we had planned. Time ran out, school started up, and other than choosing paint chips yet again...nothing. There are a few desultory photos and pieces of art on some walls, and decorative pieces placed on bookcases and the entertainment cabinet.

The most cohesively decorated room in our house is the downstairs half-bath, which has developed a soft seaside theme. It's nothing overwhelming.

I don't have much confidence in my ability to pull together cohesive, lovely interior design. I've doubted my instinct for it, and it's certainly never been put to the test. I was recently in the home of a friend-of-a-friend who had every room beautifully painted, with just the right decorative pieces and pillows and furniture and art. It felt pulled-together and homey and elegantly artsy. Even though I might not have made the same choices for my own home, I felt a streak of envy over her design instinct.

As I mentioned in my self-pitying moan yesterday, I've become addicted to Etsy.com, the home of many many beautiful handmade things (along with the downright bizarre and fugly, much celebrated on Regretsy.com, which I discovered first.) The brilliant and very artsy Heidi finally got me hooked on Etsy a few weeks ago, and I've been obsessed ever since.

As my list of favorite items and stores has grown, and as I've channeled my creative and obsessive urges into crafting thematic treasury lists, I've begun to recognize definite trends in what I like.

Apparently I am much drawn to stark, elegant trees and branches (like these pillows and these drawings and these incredible woodburnings and this pendant and this print collection and the breathtaking photography of a fellow Michigander). I can picture the art and pillows in my dream living room, with lots of wood and soft earthy tones in the furniture.

I knew that I like birds--at least when they're outdoors--but did not realize how much I love their images in art and jewelry until I started recognizing the trend in my Etsy picks. From stylized art to Poe-esque gothic photography to fantasy illustrations to incredible watercolors, birds appear in much of the art to which I am drawn. They even show up in some of my jewelry picks, sometimes combining both bird and tree, as in this elegant pendant.

I also love a number of quirky items, such as the work of the artists OddFauna and Kellie Schneider and Studio Lyon, as well as the slightly less weird but still left-of-center Eastwiching (check out the adorable foxes and elephants, especially!)

I'm beginning to create rooms in my head. I'd have the living room done with trees and birds. Animals and fairy tale creatures would frolic in kids' and guest bedrooms. I already have a huge gorgeous stick-and-ink drawing of three female figures in my bedroom (courtesy of my sister from her art class days), and I'd continue on that theme with work from artists like Krystyna and Kellie Schneider. (I don't think MTL would mind.) I'd increase our collection of wood carvings with work from the Natural Selection Studio and DD Wood Creations.

My dream house would be filled with rich earthy tones and soft blues and greens. Brighter colors would pop in accent decor. There would be wood everywhere, along with comfortable but streamlined furniture. It would be a place where I would be surrounded by beauty in every room, but where my heart and mind and soul would be soothed.

I have a home wherever I am with My True Love, but I can dream of a place that would our home in physical as well as emotional expression.

Now I just have to win the lottery...

Ugly

2011-03-20T13:25:00.000-04:00

It's one of those days--a day when I wake up in a ragingly foul mood and little can shift it during the course of the day. Thankfully, they aren't too frequent, but when they do happen, the best thing I can do is shut myself away from the world so that I don't turn into the Queen of Hearts and stomp around calling for mass decapitations.

I could not get restful sleep last night. I had odd dreams that I cannot recall but that nevertheless disturbed what little sleep I did get. I woke every hour or two, unable to get comfortable. MTL was also restless, and at times I couldn't tell whether he had woken me or I him. DramaBoy came knocking on the door at Dark Ay Em to report that The Widget was crying in pain with his ongoing bout of Unmentionable Difficulties. I soothed and medicated the poor boy, then crawled moaning back into bed.

By the time MTL and I dragged ourselves out of bed this morning, bickering over who should get up first to get breakfast going before the childrens filled themselves up with cereal, my temper was at DefCon 4.

Coffee (brewed by me) and a scrumptious breakfast (cooked by MTL) eased me temporarily. So did an indulgent session with my latest obsession, creating treasury lists on Etsy.com. But then I had to oversee the boylets in taking an overdue shower, an experience that never fails to frustrate me. And then there were the dishes to wash and the kitchen to clean. I bit my tongue the entire time, knowing full well that if I opened my mouth, whoever was nearest would suffer its lash regardless of cause. MTL finally paused in his own cleaning to ask what was wrong, and I nearly burst into tears. Scratch that: tears there were, though muffled and suppressed.

He, lovely man that he is, hugged me, reminded me that he loves me and that everyone else in the house loves me too (though sometimes I wonder), and suggested that perhaps I needed to hole up in the bedroom and rest.

So here I am. The door is firmly closed. My Emptyself station is playing on Pandora.com, I created another treasury list on Etsy, I chatted briefly with DraftQueen before she abandoned me for a trip to the fabric store, and now I'm pouring myself out here for what few readers I still have in these days of infrequent posts.

MTL is right--it's better that I shut myself away for a while, because the alternative could be ugly. It doesn't matter, though: I'm still fighting with the guilt. I can't help but think of all the things I probably should be doing right now. I can't help but be angry with myself for being in such a horrible mood in the first place. It's not like I even have a decent reason for it, other than a bit of sleep deprivation.

Argh and Grr. I need a real vacation.

Extremes

2011-03-15T09:26:00.001-04:00

I find myself in an odd limbo, strung between utter happiness and gloomy despair. Utter happiness because in just under five months MTL and I will be married, and while I am having to watch myself carefully for signs of going off the deep end in preparations for the shindig, plans proceed apace and almost everything is falling smoothly into place.

We're overly organized, really. Honestly, the only reason I don't have the wording for our wedding programs completely set is because one of my beloved bridesmaids is still trying to figure out whether or not she'll be able to attend and stand up for me. Pesky miles. I keep telling her that she and her family should just move over here, but for some reason Michigan doesn't seem to be much of a draw right now...

Cue the other extreme.

The gloomy despair? All it takes is for wave after wave after wave of news and worse news flooding through the television and Internet and email. I love my job, but am seriously wondering if I will be able to continue teaching for much longer. The politicians of this nation and most definitely this state seem intent on destroying the public education system, and sadly enough, too many people seem quite willing to let them do so. I find myself in tears, considering a nation where only those who can afford to do so will be educated (whether through private schools or homeschools--because yes, you have to be able to afford to homeschool), where corporations will get even fatter off the profits of charter schools, where the Least Of These will be once again forgotten and shunted to wither away in their corners and holes.

We are not a democracy. We are not a republic. We are a corporate oligarchy, and the bloated barons are laughing as they feast on the fat of the land.

Through The Haze

2011-03-10T09:55:00.000-05:00

I hate it when I'm blogging-blocked. I have five or six posts in various form both in my drafts folder and my head, and none of them are transforming into real life posts.

Dammit.

Lots is going on. Planning proceeds apace, my real ring finally arrived and is GORGEOUS (seriously, my man--my FIANCE--both knows me and has awesome taste), my parents are flying in tomorrow, all my classes are diving into major research projects in addition to their regular work, dear friends of mine are in various stages of distress and I'm having to practice active listening, and then there's normal everyday life.

And then there is Politics, which is taking over my life and creating Rage.

I think I'll avoid that topic for now. I'd rather not throw my laptop at the wall.

At any rate, I am here. I just can't get words onto the screen very well.

Still love y'all.

Please Excuse The Dust

2011-03-07T14:13:00.002-05:00

As you may or may not have noticed (it's still in process) I now officially have my own domain! The Google Gods have granted me a "blogspot"-free URL in exchange for a small token of my worship. However, they then apparently saw fit to remove every single link to every single other blog/website I had in my sidebar.

Le sigh.

So please bear with me as I figure out how to make the damn thing work again. Because I loves my peeps.

As you were, Beloved Readers, as you were.

UPDATE

Well, that was easy.

That, or I'm just Teh Awesome.

More Like A Wedding Speed-Walk Than A March, Really

2011-03-01T20:45:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to sit down and write a post for, oh, ages now, and I haven't done so because of two reasons.

The first is gross. A fingernail cuticle became infected about three weeks ago and unlike most annoying little infections of that sort, this one did not go away but instead decided to Colonize The Nail and attempt to destroy any chance of my ever becoming a hand model, as the lovely and all-too-kind momsicle suggested I do in order to fund the wedding. Epsom salts and tea-tree oil proved limited in their defense capabilities, and so at long last (and probably later than I should have, considering the sad state of the nail itself) I filled the scrip for Keflex and started popping pills. Two days later, I can finally put pressure on that finger without feeling like my nail is about to begin the apparently painful process of zombification.

A lovely image, I know.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

I love filling you in on the beautiful little moments of my life.

The second (and more exciting) reason is that I have dived full force into Wedding Planning, and for good reason. MTL and I had originally thought we would marry next fall. This would have meant my parents would be unable to attend. At first I shrugged this off a bit. I mean, they live in Africa. They can only come here every couple of years. Scheduling is hard.

By Wednesday, however, MTL was starting to say things like, Hmmm. A year and a half is a long time. One and a half times as long as we've been together. and Are you really sure you're going to be okay with your parents not being there?

Then I chatted with one of my closest friends, the amazing and talented Heidi (she's a bridesmaid, by the way) and she started asking about how I would really feel about my parents not being there, and finally I admitted that yes, it would matter. If they weren't there, I would regret it.

I had a feeling, said MTL.

There are SO many reasons I'm marrying that man. Other than him asking, I mean.

So we sat down and looked at our finances and we talked to people and I emailed my parents and lo, behold, we were shooting for an August wedding instead. THIS YEAR August, as in. Five and half months away.

Enter panic. Would we be able to afford this? What venues would be available? How much did you say that costs?? WHY IS EVERYTHING SO DAMN EXPENSIVE???

I had already asked my closest friends to be bridesmaids, and they ~~talked me down~~ rallied 'round. And then MTL crunched numbers and helped me look up venues and ideas online, and then we went to tour a possible reception venue and drove by a possible ceremony venue and went to a bridal expo MTL had heard about on the radio and BAM!

Things started falling together instead of apart. We fell in love with the reception and ceremony venues, and they both offer beauty as well as budget, and we even found a bakery we love and could afford at the expo.

It's really happening. We're getting married. This August thirteenth. In five and half months. Under twenty-four weeks. One hundred sixty-five days, when you get right down to it!

So DraftQueen, oh sweet Mistress of Honor? Heidi, darling bridesmaid mine? I'm seeing you here in MICHIGAN, ladies! You better be saving your pennies!

How MTL Became My Fiance (Seriously, I Can't Stop Grinning)

2011-02-20T11:54:00.000-05:00

Ah, the timing. MTL told me that he chuckled delightedly when he found out I was posting this last week about how we met and fell in love. What a perfect lead into what happened on our anniversary last night!

Last weekend we went to a dinner and comedy show, and I was under the impression that night was our combination Valentine's Day and anniversary celebration. After all, we were scheduled to have the kids this weekend, and I didn't think we'd get out. MTL, however, had other plans.

Apparently over a week ago he made sure DMB could watch the kids last night. And then he informed me yesterday that we would be recreating our first date--Thai food, glow-in-the-dark putt putt and all. I was instantly mush.

That man. He knows how to get to me, I tell you.

Anyhow, we ate a yummy dinner (although we didn't close out the restaurant this time, hehe) and headed over to play mini golf. I started off the game with an absolutely perfect Hole In One! MTL didn't fare quite so well, though once again that may have had something to do with some *ahem* distractions.

Then we got to hole 7, where there's the first little blind spot that had tempted us both on that first date, and he reeled me in for a very, um, thorough kiss.

My score on that hole dropped a bit.

By the time we got to hole 10, my game had returned. Once again there was a perfect dark corner, with nary a person around. This time I jumped him. When I backed away, laughing about getting distracted, he responded by saying, Well, maybe I can distract you a little more! and handed me a folded sheet of paper magicked from his jeans pocket.

I started opening it, thinking that perhaps he had gotten tickets to some musical or Cirque du Soleil or similar, since we had been talking recently about wanting to do that. Lo and behold, instead I saw a huge color print of this

Just. So. Perfect.

and heard him say, Will you marry me?

He told me later that the look on my face was priceless.

It occurred to me a few minutes later, as I thought that perhaps I needed to come up for air, that I hadn't actually said yes yet.

So I did. Multiple times, as I recall.

My game wasn't very good after that. But it sure was fun.

Then we went to the mall to get my ring finger sized--this was the reason I had a print-out of the ring rather than the real thing. Since it's a custom-made puzzle ring, the size needs to be right. Apparently all the dollar stores and Meijer stores in the area were fresh out of toy rings, too, so he hadn't been able to get me a substitute.

So after we stopped by one of the ten jewelry stores in the mall to tease them with a nonexistent potential purchase, we went to Claire's, where MTL found a mood ring exactly the right size with the word LOVE repeated all the way around.

Then we came home to tell the kids. DramaBoy, exactly as I predicted, immediately started jumping around in glee that The Padawan and KlutzGirl were going to be his real sister and brother, The Padawan had a grin from ear to ear, KlutzGirl started hopping around, and The Widget (who I think didn't quite understand what this means but figured it's a Good Thing) smiled vaguely and said Yay!

DMB got positively mushy, for him. I think he Approves.

Then MTL and I changed our Facebook statuses (because that makes it official these days) and I embarked on the long task of calling/texting/emailing/blogging the people who should know.

And that is how MTL became my fiance.

OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2011-02-19T21:53:00.002-05:00

As of around eight o'clock tonight, in a dark corner by the tenth hole of the glow-in-the-dark putt-putt golf place where we went on our first date exactly one year ago:

Now (OMG OMG OMG)

In 2-3 weeks (OMG OMG OMG)

How MTL Became My True Love (Part II)

2011-02-18T08:28:00.002-05:00

A few days ago I wrote about how I met MTL through an online dating site. Our early courtship, to use an ancient term, took us right through Valentine's Day, but didn't involve meeting face to face until our first official date. Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of that date. Here's the rest of the story:

After a few days in Boston, I headed back to Michigan. MTL and I talked again on my trip home, and he asked me out on a real date--we agreed on Friday the 19th. That night we met at a Thai restaurant that is now just around the corner from where we live. He was not only on time, he was early. I was also early, but didn't want to come across too eager, so drove in circles until I could go in just a couple minutes after six, which is when we were to meet. Poor guy--he'd been waiting quite a while by then and (as he told me later) was becoming certain I had decided not to come! I walked in, he stood up, and apparently we both had private reactions along the lines of He/She is HOT! He had seen my pictures, but says I am far more gorgeous in real life.

*mushy sigh*

So we sat down to eat and started talking. And talking. And talking. We finally realized how long we'd been there when they started closing up the restaurant four hours later. Neither of us was ready to have the date end, so we headed over to a glow-in-the-dark miniature golf place nearby. He had been hesitant to suggest it, since it's a bit of a geeky thing, but it turns out I'm geeky enough to think it was a great idea. So we went and played mini-golf. I beat him soundly, though it was a bit unfair as he kept getting distracted every time I leaned over to line up my next shot.

*ahem*

I'll admit it: I kept sort of wanting him to pull me into one of the many many dark corners and kiss me soundly--and it turns out he very much wanted to as well--but he didn't push things. We finally finished the evening and hugged before climbing into our respective cars and heading to our respective homes. I didn't want to be a kiss-on-the-first-date kind of girl. But the chemistry? Oh yes. It was there.

It turned out later that we lived all of a mile and a half apart on the same road. We just took two different routes to get there, so we didn't realize we lived that close!

He asked me the very next day if I would go on another date, and I said yes. I had mentioned that there was a good comedy club that did comedic and partially improvised plays, linked with an Italian restaurant. So he called them up and ordered two dinner-and-show tickets for that next Wednesday.

Then on Monday (we had continued chatting and texting and emailing every day) I felt like seeing him again, so I dropped heavy and not very subtle hints about not having any plans that night and there being nothing much worth eating in the house (my boys were on a long trip down to Florida with their dad, so I had about two weeks with no kids during all this time). He picked up on the hints (I would have been worried about his intelligence if he hadn't) and invited me to meet him for dinner at his favorite Mexican restaurant.

We closed out the restaurant that night too. And there was some, um, lingering in the snowy parking lot before we got in our cars to drive home.

The date on Wednesday was excellent. Lots of laughter, lots of talking, and some more lingering in another snowy parking lot. After that I canceled a couple of dates that had been previously scheduled with a couple other men, because I realized that (1) I really wasn't up to dating multiple people at the same time, (2) if I wanted to continue to date MTL, I couldn't date multiple people, and (3) I only wanted to date MTL. I wasn't admitting it to myself, but I already knew that this was likely to become a serious thing.

We went on a couple more dates that weekend, including dinner and a movie on Friday and a full day of bowling and food and another movie on Saturday, and we never looked back.

It was only a matter of time before I finally admitted to myself (long after he'd already figured it out) that I was thoroughly and completely in love with him. Fortunately, he was in love with me too.

He's never been one to rush into things, but he knew before I did that This Was It. I wasn't expecting the love of my life to come along just then, much less through some dating site. But there he was. And who were we to argue, when so many details indicated we'd been brought together by something more than mere chance?

You see, he hadn't used his Yahoo! Personals account in quite a long time. In fact, he had forgotten he even had it. The account was linked with his spam email account, which he only checked every month or so. He happened to check it the day after I sent that icebreaker, and he saw the email notice. He signed in, checked out my profile, liked what he saw, and responded. If he hadn't checked just then, he wouldn't have seen the email because it would have been too far down on the list of "spam".

The reality was that he'd pretty much given up on the dating scene and was starting to think that he was going to be single for the rest of his life, and that was okay with him. He was fine with being alone. He was content.

Until I came along and he realized that I fit into this massive hole he didn't even know was there.

We've been together ever since. We've had a rough patch or two, mostly due to confronting and working through the baggage we brought with us into the relationship, but we work through it and are stronger for it. It's all very sappy and mushy, but I didn't really understand what love means until I met him.

So there's the story.

And if you're sitting there all disappointed because I've left out the more, um, salacious details--MY MOTHER READS THIS, PEOPLES!!!

(You can totally email me directly if you like. *Ahem*)

Happy Anniversary, my love.

How MTL Became My True Love (Part I)

2011-02-14T14:38:00.002-05:00

Today is Valentine's Day, and because we're a holiday birthday family, it's also MTL's birthday. Happy birthday, oh love of my life!

(I got him a Kindle. Because we're soulmates like that.)

I have to admit I am generally cynical and snarky about Hallmark holidays. I think perhaps some of it has masked a quiet resolve not to care that I have not dated or been married to anyone who was much into romantic gestures. It's easier to just dismiss it all by saying it's all corporate broohaha and that romance should not be limited to a handful of days each year. Which is true, but that only really works if the person you love is romantic other times of the year.

Here's the mushy truth: romance isn't just in bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolate, and my life has become full of romance ever since I met MTL. I can't remember a day when he has not told me, with full sincerity rather than rote habit, that he loves me. I can't remember a day when he hasn't at least once held me close, looked at me with that special look, made me aware of just how sexy and amazing and wonderful he thinks I am.

There's been some chocolate, too.

HOWEVER. Hallmark holiday or no, having that wonderful man say Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart! this morning as we climbed in our respective cars, and then discovering he'd beaten me to Facebook and posted on my Wall...

Yeah. Guess I'm just a big mushy-hearted sap after all.

ANYWAY. It occurs to me that I never did tell you, my bloggy readers, how MTL and I met. So here you go. It's a long one, so grab a drink and get comfy:

Last year, a few weeks before Valentine's Day, I texted a few of my girlfriends about feeling like I could really use a compliment from some hot guy right then. You know, just for the ego boost. Shallow, yes, but honest. My friend Melissa suggested that I try out an online dating site just to do some casual dating, have some fun, get back out there. She suggested Yahoo! Personals, since her sister had tried that one.

So I decided what the heck and signed up--for free at first, just to check around. Then I did buy a brief membership, since I thought perhaps there was some potential. I created my profile and looked around at the profiles of men in my area who seemed interesting. On that site you can send little generic "icebreakers"--phrases like Your profile made me smile. I remember that one because it's the one I used when I saw MTL's profile. Anyhow, I got some responses from several men and we chatted a bit on that website. It was nice to be able to do that there, without all your super personal information on display (they know your first name and general location, plus photos and whatever you've written in your profile) and get a feel for someone before deciding even whether to exchange email addresses, much less phone numbers and whatnot.

At any rate, I connected with a few different men and went on some dates. I did the careful meeting in public, letting friends know where I was sort of thing. One guy, Scott, was very nice--but TOO nice, if you know what I mean. He just felt like a friend. He was rather into me, but I didn't feel the chemistry. But we went on a few dates. There were a few others with whom I only had one date. Nice, but not for me. And as much as I intended to keep things casual, I didn't feel right leading them on as if there was a future in the relationship. I also felt weird about juggling multiple dates, to be honest. Some women may enjoy that, and I'll admit that for a very brief time it was very flattering to have several men interested in me, but it's not for me.

So much for being a "playa". (Heh.)

I still didn't expect more than some confidence-boosting, companionable, casual dating. Little did I know that God had something else in mind.

MTL was one of the men I'd sent an icebreaker to. I thought he was cute and I very much liked what he said in his profile. He seemed to have a good sense of humor and be very "real", if that makes sense. He ended up responding a day or two later (more on that in Part II), we sent messages back and forth for a bit on the site, and then we exchanged email addresses. And we continued to communicate quite heavily. Lots of back-and-forth short messages. Our senses of humor clicked really well. We're both snarky and sarcastic, and we discovered that we "got" each other's humor even through email, which can be tricky.

Then we exchanged phone numbers, though we started out just texting. I found that he had a quick mind and sense of humor, and he wasn't so nicey-nice like Scott. How do I explain this? Scott was the kind of person where if I said something snarky about having a bad day or whatever, he'd be all super-comforting instead of being snarky back--which is what I want and need. MTL, on the other hand, gave back as good as I gave him. He was making me laugh, and I hadn't even talked to him directly yet.

I remember the first time I texted him, I was getting a mani-pedi. I wrote him that I was sitting in a massage chair getting my feet rubbed--so sad that he wasn't out of work yet. He retorted that some people have to actually work for a living.

And then we talked about science fiction.

(Fate, I'm telling you.)

The next day I started my solitary road trip to visit my dear friend DraftQueen and my sister in the Boston area. That night, February 12th, I had my first direct phone conversation with MTL. He even kicked his kids out of the house so he could have some privacy. Two days later, on Valentine's Day, I texted him Happy Birthday and he texted me with Not sure if this is inappropriate or not, but I don't care. Happy Valentine's Day!

I saved the text. I still have it.

(I told you. SAP.)

And five days later we went on our first official date.

Sunset

2011-02-10T07:44:00.000-05:00

I wrote this one after driving west into a sunset too beautiful for words. But I tried anyway. This is the last of the nature posts from that assignment. Maybe next time I'll try to get out in nature itself a little more. You know, like in spring.

******************************

The sky is orange tonight--such an insufficient word for that blazing color, "orange." So pedestrian and ugly, reminiscent of Halloween and pumpkins. This is no autumnal orange of squash and spice and spectral eyes. This is a blaze of color that sweeps across the west, vivid and breathtaking against the deep leaden grey of what is not touched by sun. It shades to a pink that once again surpasses the childishness of the word, and finally edges into a reddened purple that blazes one final moment. And then grey. All is grey and shades of grey, swirled across a sky that speaks of coming snow.

Gone in a moment, dipped too far below the edge of the world for light to reach the visible sky.

We speak of the sun dying on the horizon, traces of long-ago belief that the sun died each night, only to be reborn each dawn. Eaten by wolves, birthed by goddesses. Death in glory, birth in triumph.

Such beauty, this dying. The sun's death is painted by a Master hand, shapes and pigments no human agency could imitate. This is not the glory of violence, going down in a blaze of glory in some cliche rock n roll sense, but the blaze of a life well lived, beauty spread and love given and warmth shared, until the reflection of this life is as glorious as the one who lived.

I hear of such deaths. I think perhaps my aunt's was such a one, as hard and painful and horrific as it was from one point of view. But the reflection of her life--and even of her death, the going of it and her hope and faith amidst pain and knowledge that nothing more could be done, the leaving of her husband and young children--the reflection shone on all who knew her.

Painted by a Master's hand.

ice maiden

2011-02-09T07:38:00.000-05:00

Sometimes? It's just too damn cold.

**************************************

i am
clenched hands
slow feet
chattering teeth
held together by strings of yarn
wrapped and wound in knots and knits
shuffling in mimeodance through
snowdrifts
small scale
still drifts and drifted by wind
cutting cross cheeks and chin
dwarfed in immensity
stars icechips in frozen sky
moon a slice of lemon pie
did i rhyme
the chill must be affecting my brain
tears sting my lashes
if they freeze
will i become the ice maiden
crystallized in hoar frost white
bound to earth in winters grasp
and when they come searching
will the warmth of my beloveds arms
free me again
or will they chip me away
mount me on a pedestal
display me in climate controlled conditions
for all to see
and ooh
and aah
over ice made flesh
or was that flesh made ice
the one made the other
i cannot recall
or was that forecall

perhaps
i am too close to nature tonight
for i cannot tell
where winter leaves off
and i begin

Well Played, Mr. Kindergarten Teacher. Well Played.

2011-02-07T21:20:00.001-05:00

A few days ago I posted the following on Facebook:

OK. I seriously do NOT enjoy helping with kindergarten homework. I'm probably going to some parenting hell, but omg.

There were various snarky responses, including MTL's about those darn pesky teachers and their assignments, and Heidi's about it being a Judgment From On High. We all had a hearty laugh, DramaBoy's homework finally got done, and I moved on.

Today, when I retrieved the mail, there was an envelope from DramaBoy's school waiting for me. I opened it with some trepidation, as recent contact from his school has been along the lines of Your son is hitting other children and not listening and you must be a horrible parent with no control over him. Okay, fine, I added the last bit, but you get the point.

Imagine my shock when instead I found a Valentine letter from my five-year-old son, obviously composed (and spelled) all by his own self:

Der Mom

I hop you hav a grat day thak you for all the presis You r the best mom and you r the best mom in th hol intuir wrld

love [DramaBoy]

Dang it. Just when you're ready to toss in the towel, they go and do something cuter than hell.

Guess this means I better keep helping him with that homework.

Especially the spelling.

(Anyone else have a guess on what "presis" means? Presents perhaps??? Because I'm pretty sure he's not thanking me for a misspelled summary of an argument. Even if we've had a few recently.)

weakness

2011-02-06T07:34:00.000-05:00

This is how I generally feel when I'm outside these days. I'm such a wimp.

********************************

snow frosts the branches in icing swirls
candy coating chocolate bark
my mouth waters
instantly freezing and i wince

i am weaker than i thought
thin skin and thinner blood
knives of air lancing my lungs
i shudder

my days of youth were spent in tropic sun
warm torrential rains or
my lungs sliced by dry heat instead
fifteen years ago and still

i find the gingerbread images before me
tastier to see than feel
struggling to find beauty in all my senses
defeated by the cold

i shrug and wonder
perhaps my lesson today
is my weakness in the icy face
of winter's austere strength

Snowpocalypse No

2011-02-03T12:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a snow day, a snow day called the day before, something never done in the ten years I've taught in this district. (I think I may be growing fond of this new superintendent.) The weather portents were doom and gloom. Feet of snow. Sheets of ice. Plummeting temperatures. Winter storm to reach historic proportions! trumpeted every media outlet across the nation. Radar maps showed swirling masses of alarming reds and purples and blues.

So everything shut down.

The storm did not get truly underway until close to eleven Tuesday night, when MTL and I realized that what had been a delicate haze had turned into violent snow-delineated tempest. We snuggled more deeply under the blankets, chuckled evilly at the thought of our devil-cat banished to the garage for her crimes and misdemeanors, and fell asleep.

We woke to a world covered in white, but not nearly to the depth predicted. Sure, if we'd been facing the other direction, we would have had to shovel through three foot drifts against our door, but they had plowed. The children were still sound asleep, so we sneaked out to "test the roads" and get some breakfast at the new coney island up the street.

My Saturn Vue could make it out. MTL's car, not so much. Snowy? Definitely. Deep drifts? Oh yeah. Impassible roads? Not so much. The two snow days we had a month ago had far more treacherous surfaces than this one, with ice covering the roads and salt proving utterly useless. A snow day yesterday made sense purely because of all the back roads in the district. But snowpocalyse? Holofrost? Snowmageddon?

Not so much.

But I'm not complaining. The kids had fun lazing about (well, other than DramaBoy, who was grounded, but that's another story). A crockpot full of glorious beef stew tantalized our noses all day and filled our tummies that night. And as for me and MTL...

Well. There's a distinct advantage to having The Padawan and DorkMaster B in the house. MTL and I not only were able to get ourselves a delicious breakfast, we sneaked out again around noon to see a matinee of True Grit (which was excellent, by the way.) Because neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these theaters from the generous offerings of their appointed films. Then we went home and joined the kids in lazing about. I even crawled onto MTL's lap and napped for a while, head on his shoulder, his arms holding me tight, a blanket over both of us. Have I mentioned lately how much I love that man?

(No really. On his lap. Disgustingly mushy, isn't it? I know.)

We're back to work today. Reality has returned. I hear there's some big sports event on TV on Sunday, but I think we might be back at the movie theater, brood in tow, watching Tangled instead. We're awesome like that.

As for the storm--it may not have reached snowpocalyptic proportions, but I sure did love having the day off. Bring it on, Old Man Winter!

Atomic

2011-02-02T07:28:00.003-05:00

I get downright philosophical at times. Thoreau would be proud. Well, except he'd be actually out there in the snow, but whatever. He didn't live as simply as he liked to say he did, anyhow, the faker.

************************************

They come out of nowhere, tripping their nearly silent way from west to east across the frozen bracken, surefooted on the snow blanketing marshland ice. Three of them, one after another, delicate heads sloping from alerted ears, soft eyes flicking to where I stand, motionless, held in the magic of this moment.

I knew there were deer here: months ago we watched a doe nibble on the autumn foliage at the edge of this wetland pocketed between our house and those across the road. We watched her and marveled and thought perhaps a salt lick might lure more of them to the same place.

These doe are not here for salt, but they have wandered across backyards and through the trees and across the roads to wind up here, heads poised and alert to sense danger and trigger flight.

Ironic, really, that it is here in the midst of concrete and complexes where they face the dangers of engine-hearted monsters and sometimes poisoned ground that they also find safety. No hunting here, even when in season.

They have adapted, really, as have so many other creatures of wood and field. They have learned that even in the lands of human twisting there are places of refuge, safety, and food. The marshlands are such, protected by practicality as well as jurisprudence from the depredations of developers. No doubt they have learned that humans grow food in small plots as well as large. My friend Jim curses creatures such as these, nature's thieves who strip his garden despite fences.

I remember a nighttime walk a lifetime ago, it seems, when I was young and in angst and wandering the complex where I lived with--oh, I don't even remember which college roommate any longer, and I came across a fat raccoon raiding the garbage dump. They're the ones perhaps best adapted to this suburban life--well, other than the truly domesticated animals like dogs and cats, and the so-called vermin like mice and rats and cockroaches. We are less alone than we like to think, we high and mighty humans.

I sat upon the fence some fifteen feet away and watched him. He sat and watched me back, this furry bandit poised on corrugated metal, a piece of (to a raccoon) mouthwatering delicacy clutched in clever hands. After some time, he decided I wasn't planning on interfering with his feast, and he returned to rummaging and munching, sorting and tasting. He seemed almost human, working there, those amazing paws more like hands in their agility and sensitivity. A rotund little drifter, salvaging treasure from wealthier men's leavings.

We do that, you know. We humans. We cast the guise of humanity over all we see, seeing ourselves in the creatures inhabiting the world around us. What if it is more properly the reverse? We are outnumbered, after all. It makes more logical sense that we take on the attributes of those we see in nature, picking this and that, imitating family function and social construct and interpersonal (ah, but there is that word person there) relationship.

Or, perhaps, we all hold elements of each other in ourselves. We are born of one world, one earth, one all-encompassing macrocosm that contains all the millions and billions of microcosms like atoms and molecules and compounds summing up the whole of one being...

My nose is running slightly in the cold, and I sniff quietly. The largest doe's ears flicker again, and slowly all three move through the clearing, enter the brush on the far side, and vanish from my sight.

Feathers and Fat

2011-01-31T07:21:00.006-05:00

Another post from my [reluctant] reflections on the wintry world outside my window. Which is where I prefer to keep it, on the whole.

**********************************

I've never loved birds as pets.

Oh yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the antics of Fraque, our African Grey parrot, when I was a child. But I was able to enjoy him as a pet without dealing with his mess. He lived in a spacious cage, after all, and I was not the one deputized to clean out the bottom.

I didn't learn to detest pet birds until college. My former mother-in-law had a yellow parakeet who flew about her apartment with almost complete freedom. I discovered first-hand the joys of a bird's inability to control its bowels. Wherever that thing landed--clock, cagetop, couch arm, carpet, shoulder, head--it could and often would leave behind a curdled-milk trace of its presence.

Even now, as a mother of two who has personally handled far more excrement and other distasteful bodily emissions than I ever dreamed, I shudder at the memory. At least my children don't leave their waste smeared all over the furniture and walls. Well, not often.

So--no birds as pets in my household.

Our townhouse backs onto a wetlands, a tiny refuge for the local wildlife nestled amidst the human residences of West Bloomfield. And birds nest and fly about and forage in our extended backyard every day.

I have discovered that I love birds--when they are properly outside, in their natural medium. MTL and I obtained a bird feeder a few weeks ago, and Thanksgiving weekend we drove the pole into the ground and stocked the feeder with blocks of suet and peanut butter and seeds, the kind loved by birds who winter here rather than fleeing for warmer points south. We have hovered by the window, waiting for the birds to discover it.

Today, they have. Winter's bitter breath is blowing, with distinct promise of snow to come, and the birds are gorging on the luscious fat we have provided them. I sit and watch, wondering if this provision in some way violates the natural order of things. These woodpeckers and cardinals and other birds I cannot name would be forced to make do with the scant provisions of winter-bound wetlands if people like us did not lavish them with food. Would they have more natural foods available to them if we had not invaded their world with brick and wood and vinyl siding? How much of their ability to winter here, as is their natural wont, is based on our tribute to their beauty?

Have we formed an odd partnership, we denizens of the suburbs, feathered and featherless alike?

We pay our human entertainers with offerings as well, forming a niche where basic necessity does not go. Have we extended that concept to nature's entertainers as well?

Come here and brighten up my yard. Sweeten the wind with your songs. And in return, I offer you the fat of the supermarket...

Soft

2011-01-28T08:18:00.001-05:00

A while ago, my dear friend Lauren asked for more stories about living in the snowy suburbs of Michigan, curious how a tropics-born-and-raised missionary kid handles all that cold. The truth is: not all that well, considering I spend very little of the winter actually outdoors at all. But I did write some nature essays for an assignment I did along with my sophomores last month, and I'll post a few of them here to give you a glimpse into the wintry world outside my window.

Considering that the forecast calls for another thick layer of snow tonight, I think you'll find me huddled up inside under a few layers of blankets with a ~~goblet~~ mug of ~~wine~~ cocoa most of this weekend.

*************************************

I don't want to be here today. The wind is bitter, the sky gloomy with cloud piled on cloud until the horizon blurs. The warmth of the indoors is calling me, and I think longingly of hot coffee and a blanket and perhaps the friendly hum of television. Or a book. Escape into a different world, see things from a different point of view...

So much for transcending through nature. Today, I am a child of technology and media, pampered by the stuff of other's makings. I realize that if everything were to stop working today, if all the electricity and gas and everything else that has become such an essential part of modern life were to just end--I'd be screwed.

It's a good thing I live with someone who has some survival skills.

Perhaps I'm being a bit harsh on myself. Sure, I would struggle in such a situation, at least at first. But I'm not a complete idiot. I'm resourceful. I'm intelligent. I am, more to the point, stubborn. I wouldn't be one to sit down and give up.

How did they do it, though, those long-ago ancestors of ours? How did they make it through the bitter winters with limited food sources and minimal shelter? How, for goodness' sake, did anyone ever survive the ice ages?

Well, many didn't, I suppose. Were all those so-called essentials of modern life to vanish, our world would no longer be so heavily populated with humans.

We've grown soft, after all. We've grown comfortable and complacent in our furnace-heated, insulated, carpeted, electrified homes with well-stocked fridges and pantries and a television in every room.

Okay, okay, not every room. Though I've kind of wanted one in the kitchen, you know, for when I'm making dinner.

It's a reliable companion.

Definitely soft. And spoiled. I grin at myself, hoist my scarf tighter around my chin, and scuff at the snow with a boot-clad foot.

I wonder if The Walking Dead is showing tonight? I can always survive vicariously. Though we have started thinking about how to prepare for the zombie apocalypse. Bottled water and baseball bats are a good start, but I'm growing convinced that I really should learn how to shoot a crossbow. Maybe even how to make my own bolts.

You never can be too prepared for zombies, after all.

Inner Child

2011-01-21T15:08:00.001-05:00

I was, by all accounts, a bright, outgoing, bouncy, extroverted child. I was the chubby-cheeked darling who toddled up to another child, whom I had never seen before in my life, in some European airport and flung my arms around him as though he were my long-lost bff. I was bright-eyed and adventurous, making friends left and right with people young and old.

It changed around age four or five. It all blurs in my memory. The timeline fuzzes over and I can't remember whether certain things happened before or after or during kindergarten. I don't know which events slammed me first and set me up for others. I don't know when the walls started going up, or how fast I built them, or all the reasons why.

My therapist wants me to create the timeline. She wants me to through it in my mind, step by step. She also wants me to find out what else might have been going on in those years, aspects of my environment that may have had more impact on me than I know: the sort of things that would be internalized by a bright, emotionally sensitive child and become a part of her without anyone ever dreaming she even noticed.

What is it, she asks, that convinced you so long ago that you would never be good enough?

I don't know how much I can dig. I'm aware of certain elements, and facing those are hard enough. I'm not sure whether I even want to know what else might have been going on, what else might have happened. What I do know is that when I think back to those years, I'm swept away by a wave of grief and anxiety.

I've been talking a lot to my closest friends lately about the nature of my relationships. It's anything but coincidence that I do not have a close girlfriend who lives close enough to be a part of my daily life. I have a couple who live within driving distance, but such is the nature of life and metropolitan suburbia that we rarely see each other and mostly settle for chatting on the phone.

The three girlfriends who are currently my most intimate friends? The closest lives an hour away--forty-five minutes if there aren't cops around--and the other two lives states away. One I've only seen face to face once in our friendship. The other I haven't seen in fifteen years.

It's safer that way, you see. Let someone be intimately close AND be a part of your daily life and the emotional risk becomes too great. If something goes awry in the friendship or someone moves, there's a deeper loss. And even then, be careful what you say. Be careful just how much of your naked, raw, and oh-so-tender inner self you let anyone see. Keep everyone at an arm's length, for protection.

MTL is the first person I've let all the way in.

I knew it would be a risk. I knew that if I was going to let him in at all, it would have to be all the way. All or nothing. He wasn't going to settle for less. And deep down, I didn't want to either.

I didn't know how much of a risk it would be. I didn't know how unprepared I am, from a lifetime of walls and numbing myself down and disconnecting myself emotionally, for both the joy and the pain. Because it turns out that when you love someone enough to let them all the way in, everything becomes brighter and stronger and sharper. It means when I hurt him and he hurts me, whether intentional or otherwise, the pain is agony. It also means that the joy is bigger and deeper. Thankfully, the joy far outweighs the pain and is far more common, but...

But.

Here's where I'm flung back to that five year old self. Here's where I sit and realize that deep down, despite everything, I still don't believe I'm deserving of love and joy. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I keep waiting for him to wake up one day, realize that I'm not worth it, and walk away.

Because deep down that little girl is huddled in a corner, whispering that everyone leaves. And they leave because that is what she deserves.

I don't know how to talk to her. I don't know how to face her pain. I don't even know all the reasons she's there.

*****************************

"little girl"

little girl
sit quiet in your corner
veiled in plain sight
shield yourself from
anyone
who might see what's there inside
know what's inside

little girl
put on all that armor
fend off every look
protect yourself from
anything
that might break through to your heart
might break your heart

it's pain that teaches you to hide
fear that teaches you to run
never reaching out
never reaching in
always in flight from the unknown
that which you can't control

little girl
who tore out your heart so long ago
and told you you'd never be enough
for this world
who made you crawl into
the walls of your own mind
the armor of your own skin
the shield of invisibility
for those without the will to see
and they never get to know

this little girl
little girl
with a heart full of possibilities

and now you're grown
and still hiding
still building walls
and donning armor
only allowing those you choose
to climb over
and behind
and into your world
little girl
with a heart full of pain

i've always been afraid

2011-01-13T14:42:00.001-05:00

of letting imperfections show
cracks behind the mask
porcelain fractures
lying my way through complications
situations
til truth becomes a stranger

of risking heart and mind
fears of failure
imperfect perfectionism
hiding my way through challenges
changes
so walls become my safety

of letting go
letting in
letting out
letting be

because they may not
                       (but they might)
and if they don't
                       (and if they don't?)
because some will not
                       (but some will)
could i bear the pain
                       (the shame)
yes the shame

and so am trapped in fear
                       (and so are trapped)

unless i let go

Death And A New Beginning

2011-01-01T12:53:00.003-05:00

The end-of-year holidays are always a bit hard, really, what with all the chaos and extended family and children running around getting underfoot and underskin and more extended family and build up of HOLIDAY HOLIDAY HOLIDAY and then it's all over and everything's just a bit flattish.

Plus there's my birthday shoved in there, just wedged in anywhere it might fit, and here's the thing that sucks about having a Christmas birthday (it's not the present thing, because on the whole my people are quite good about realizing that if everyone else gets different presents for Christmas vs. birthday, then it's only fair that I do too, unless it's something Really Big that counts for both by the sheer Bigness of it all): even when people do acknowledge your birthday and even want to celebrate it, there's no point at all in celebrating it on the day itself, and what with all the exhaustion and business and familyness of the season, it's entirely too difficult to get your favorite people together to celebrate at all.

I'm thinking seriously of having my birthday celebration in June instead.

I've been anxious and on edge and horrifically tearful this last week. I did not cry on Christmas, thank God, because I've had too many Christmases spent in tears and I'm quite done with that, thankyouverymuch, but I have cried more in the last few days than I have over the entire last year. I'm not a very tearful person, really. I might get anxious or angry or melancholy or even suspiciously moist about the optical orbs, but actually tearful? Wet cheeks and reddened eyes? Crying into my pillow or a tissue? Not so much.

MTL has been patient and loving and comforting and rather alarmed. After all, when one climbs into bed at the end of a long day and wraps one's arms about one's beloved and then realizes that she's starting to gasp and shake with unexpected sobs, one does tend to become a little concerned. Well, at least he does. Rather than angry and shouty, like some people might be. He did remind me gently that I don't have to try to be strong all the time just because he's going through stressful times too--his shoulders are broad, after all.

It's what I'm here for, he said, and so I cried on those shoulders for a while, and then he made me laugh and I was finally able to fall asleep.

This time of year is a muddle of beginnings and endings, births and deaths. The last two years have been such a muddle of the same for me. And although I love so much of where life has brought me, the strain of the journey has taken its toll. There are new stresses in this new life as well: new family, new extended family, changing relationships, changing perspectives.

I think the bulk of my pain and rage (because those tears have been as much in anger as sorrow) lies in grieving the death of certain hopes and dreams that I've clung to for three long decades. Hopes that I would someday receive certain intangible things from extended family that, I now realize, I will never get. Dreams of a kind of acceptance and approval and pride that would, in reality, require the sacrifice of who I am, this person I've taken so long to be able to love.

A beloved cousin, one of my fellow Black Sheep, recently said to me that he knew from childhood that I would never fully fit into the parameters of expectation and acceptance in our Family. To do so would mean a rejection of who I actually am.

He's right. But facing that requires setting aside a lingering hope that somehow, someday, my Family (that huge, insane, ridiculously respected, secretly dysfunctional, looming, impossible Family) would actually be proud of me for exactly who and what I am, without a checklist of what must change for that to happen.

And realistically? That doesn't exist for anyone. It's not the human way.

Still...it's a death. So I'm grieving.

Apparently I'm currently stuck in the Anger stage.

But with each death comes a new beginning. Just like the passing of the old year gives birth to the new one.

Last night DMB helped the kids make pita pizzas while My True Love took me out for a steak dinner, just the two of us. Then we came home and played silly Wii games and watched a silly movie and ate chips n dip and drank sparkling juice and stayed up just long enough to watch the ball drop before crawling into bed like the old farts we are.

Today, we're all lazing about watching MTL rock Super Mario Bros on the Wii.

Just us. Just me and my family.

Happy Holidays and All That Jazz

2010-12-25T19:00:00.000-05:00

★˛˚˛*˛°.˛*.˛°˛.*★* Merry *★* 。*˛.
˛°_██_*.。*./ ♥ \ .˛* .˛。.˛.*.★* Christmas *★ 。*
˛. (´• ̮•)*.。*/♫.♫\*˛.* ˛_Π_____.♥Everyone♥ ˛* ˛*
.°( . • . ) ˛°./• '♫ ' •\.˛*./______/~＼*. ˛*.。˛* ˛. *。
*(...'•'.. ) *˛╬╬╬╬╬˛°.｜田田｜門｜╬╬╬╬╬*˚ .˛ *.*

Hey, I know. I totally stole this from Facebook. That's what social networking is FOR!!!

Regardless of any ~~theft~~ ~~plagiarism~~ loan, Merry Christmas to everyone! And a Happy Birthday (however incorrectly celebrated since he was probably born in March) (heh) to Jesus. And ME! Yep. I'm an ancient and decrepit thirty-three years old today.

Now to try to overcome my nausea and go put away leftovers from the massive overindulgence of the day. Oh, and possibly dropkick some overtired, oversugared, overstimulated children into the nearest bed. Yaaaahooooo!

What? I totally need some Silent Night up in here.

Grace Notes

2010-12-17T09:26:00.000-05:00

This has been a hard week. You'd think that having two snow days to start out the week would make it Teh Awesome, and it kinda sorta did, but driving on the Worst Ever In People's Memory roads wasn't a great joy, and the last couple of weeks have tended to be full of Stress! Stress! Drama! while quite short on Sleep! Blessed Sleep! Also, imagine the fun of trying to cram five days' worth of work into three before the students flee for a two-week break. Fun Times.

So stomachs have been clenched, muscles have been knotted, and teeth have been gritted. Needless to say, tempers have also been short.

Yesterday, in fact, MTL arrived home in a horrible mood--the worst, he confessed, since we've been together. My mood wasn't sunshine and daisies either. At one point, while trying to convince the %&#()@ cabinet drawer to get back on its runner and slide back in dammit, I slid back against the opposing cabinet, lowered my head to my knees, and let the tears just flow for a little while. It's all just the buildup of everything that has been going on, especially with The Dark One, and work stress, and extended family stress, and reaching a point of Deep Core Stuff in therapy, and....yeah.

Fortunately for those around us, MTL and I are self-aware enough to clamp down on our tongues and do our damnedest to Think before we React when we're highly stressed. I won't say we didn't trip up a bit last night, but there weren't the rages or tempestuous fights or OMG EVERYONE JUST GO AWAY moments that could very well happen at times like that.

Thank God. Which I mean literally, because I believe He helped, even if it was just having our guardian angels lay a finger on our lips from time to time so they didn't open until we'd had a moment to think first. And I'm also thankful that He gave us each other, because being able to debrief with and vent to and comfort each other goes a long way toward making it all survivable.

Today...well, today is a new day. MTL didn't get much sleep again last night, but I did, so at least one of us has some renewed energy to deal with Stuff. And it's the last day of school before Winter Break. And my students are being very sweet.

You know, it tends to be elementary teachers who get the cache of holiday gifts (which reminds me--OOPS) more so than secondary, but sometimes we still get a little something here and there from kids who ~~want to suck up~~ love us. My kids know my weakness. Oh yes, they do. A dear former student who was very sad to discover she would not have me for honors English 11 this year showed up a couple of days ago with an adorable frosted sugar cookie man. Today another student handed me a heavy gift bag that contains a massive box of fancy European cookies. Yet another gave me a box of six Godiva Truffle Bars and a $10 Godiva gift card. (The girl is GOOD.) And knowing my tenth graders, I'll most likely have another few gifts as the day goes on.

But you know what my favorite gift was today? The handwritten note that accompanied the Godiva. Inside, it reads:

Dear Ms. [TeacherMommy],
So I swear to god, I'm not just kissing ass when I say this, but, thanks for being the first teacher in 5 years to make me love English again.
It used to be my favorite subject and I'm not sure what happened, but I'm actually starting to enjoy it finally.
So thanks.

I really need to start scrapbooking all those kinds of notes and cards and emails and whatnot. That's the sort of thing to pull out on the rough days.

Life is messy and difficult and sometimes overwhelming, but it's the little things that matter. The notes of appreciation from students, the kisses and cuddles and You're so pretty, Mommy! from my kidlets, the teasing from my stepson that says he is comfortable and affectionate with me in his own way, the I love you! on the phone from my younger stepdaughter, walking out to a car scraped off and warming up each morning thanks to MTL, the look in his eyes when he sees me, the words of appreciation and love that he gives me for the things I do to keep this crazy family up and running, laughter around the table while we eat or play UNO...

And above all, the sense that as crazy as life can be, I am Home.

Don't Feel Too Pressured. It's Just A Test Of Your Love.

2010-12-16T12:06:00.001-05:00

I am blocked. I have started and stopped, both mentally and typically (I don't think that word means what you think it means! says my inner Inigo Montoya, and he's sort of right--get a sense of vocabulary humor, Inigo!) a half dozen posts and then I look at them (mentally or, well, on the screen) and they fall flatter than a prematurely de-ovenated souffle.

I complained to my friend Rob, and he suggested that I write about playing DnD

(no, not Diapers and Dragons--DUNGEONS and Dragons! Though the confusion is completely logical)

(and yes, I know that my geek quotient just went through the atmosphere with some of you, while others are completely unsurprised--This is the girl who wanted an Elf Ranger outfit for Christmas, you say, and now you know exactly what character I play: her name is Tahlia--pronounced Tuh-LEE-uh--and she's the only Fey in a group of humans, and she kicks ass, of course)

except that I think most of you have already glazed over just at the thought of it and the rest of you, with maybe a couple of exceptions, would join the others if I actually launched into a description of our sessions. Which, really, tend to be pretty raucous and full of hilarious geek culture references, but also involve things like complicated dice and little pewter miniatures and stats sheets and people debating over whether or not a particular attack is likely to have much effect on the target and whether Dexterity or Strength is the base stat for...

And there you go. Come back! I'll stop!

Anyhow.

I'm stumped and feeling a little desperate because I WANT TO BLOG and yet nothing is coming to me on its own. So here's my request: would you? could you? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASE help me out?

If you're willing to play along, comment on this post with something you'd like to know or always wondered about me or my blog or my life or whatever, or a topic upon which you'd like me to expound, and I will go with it to the best of my ability.

And if you don't comment, I'll know who loves me and who doesn't.

I KID! I KID!!!

(Sort of.)

So....Ready? Set? GO!

If I Had A Fireplace, This Would Be A Fireside Chat. Does An XBox 360 Count?

2010-12-11T09:41:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting on the couch while Many Small Children run about eating toast with various toppings, which makes for interesting food art on their faces, waiting for The Blessed Elixir (otherwise known as coffee) to brew so that my mind can properly prepare for the day ahead. The MSC made it up and downstairs before I dragged myself from my warm, if solitary, bed and into the shower, so the TV shows evidence of The Padawan's adventures with Guitar Hero, and now he's moved on to computer games. When not smearing themselves with jelly, Nutella, and crumbs; DramaBoy, The Widget, and KlutzGirl are clustering around him to watch.

Ahhhh, Saturday mornings with The Dork Squad.

MTL is at work and has been for hours, as is usual for a Saturday morning, so I'm essentially on my own with the kidlets until later today. DMB is in bed still, as his biorhythms are those of the college kid he still is. He won't emerge for hours.

Today looms in a friendly way. Besides the usual loads of laundry, I also plan to take KlutzGirl on a quest to find more jeans at Sally's Boutique*, and all three younger kids are slated to get haircuts. Carnival Cuts at the mall should make that simple. I learned my lesson about trying to cut a child's hair long ago (it's a good thing DramaBoy was too young to care). I've tried to persuade The Padawan that the drapes covering his eyes should also get trimmed, but to no avail.

----------------------------------------------------------
*a.k.a. Salvation Army. The one down here is pretty awesome, especially for kids' clothes. Yay for savings and helping the less fortunate all at once!
----------------------------------------------------------

Later, when MTL gets home, we're having our family Christmas preparation day. The tree will go up, the decorations will--well, they'll decorate, and I fully intend to have Christmas music playing the entire time. It's two weeks until Christmas: I'm allowed. Cocoa will be made, and we have ambitious plans for a luscious dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, and stuffing.

Because who said that sort of thing can only happen on holidays themselves?

Later The Padawan has a friend coming to stay the night. This makes me and MTL so very, very happy. He's a shy boy, and we were worried about him at a new school in a new district. We knew he had been making a few friends, but this makes it all very REAL. So when he asked if he could have a friend or two sleep over, we couldn't say yes fast enough.

Ahhh, coffee. I can feel my brain waking up already.

I know I haven't been here much lately. I've written a dozen posts in my head--always when I couldn't get to a computer, of course--and then when I do have my computer I'm blank. So much has been happening lately. Part of my problem is that there is so much I can't put out here, where it's public, because I can't do that to the people involved. Part of my problem is that, unlike a couple of years ago when I first got into this blog, I have outlets elsewhere. There have been times when I've felt that pressure building up that used to lead to a blog post, and instead it gets released in conversation with MTL or DraftQueen or Amy or Heidi or one of my several other beloved friends.

So--here are the Cliff Notes on what's been going on :

I'm back in therapy for old, old stuff: it's going well, but it's hard work, and I'm finding it almost impossible to be around certain people until I work out things in my head. My therapist says it's wisest right now to be silent, until I know what words can and should be said--if at all--to those people.
I love my students this year--well, except for some of the lazier seniors, but I'm working on kicking their asses into gear. My two sophomore classes are absolutely my favorite of all time, and I've had some amazing classes before. I feel like I'm finally succeeding in blending the personal with the academic, and I love that part of my job.
I hate politics. I especially hate the politics that affect my job, and boy, do they affect my job right now. And that's all I even want to say, because the slightest THOUGHT of it makes my blood pressure rise.
Things are....not good with The Dark One. It's not just me, or even mainly me, although she has to a certain extent decided to cast me in the role of Evil Stepmother. I suppose that makes me part of the matched set of Evil Mother, Evil Father, and Evil Stepfather, among others. I can't really talk about what's going on here, to protect all involved, but let's just say that her many deep issues are now being made everyone's issues. Fun Times. You won't be hearing about her much on this blog for a very long time.
The Widget is going to be seeing a child therapist in order to deal with some of his emotional and attachment issues. It's a massive blog post of its own, that, and maybe I'll write it someday. He's not in crisis, but MTL and I have been concerned for some time about certain things, and The Ex agreed, and we decided that it would be better to deal with it now than later. Hopefully we'll come out of it with some better tools for helping him ourselves, and hopefully he'll also have some tools for self-expression.

So...stress.

Despite all that...life with MTL is so full and deep and rich with love and laughter. I find myself amazed, on a very frequent basis, that I am so incredibly blessed. And because it is, I'm finding myself less involved in my virtual life.

But I still love this blog and, of course, you. So that's why I'm sitting here on this Saturday morning in the hours before the day becomes crazy, having a bit of a chat.

I've missed you guys.

So. What's going on with you?

Checking Myself

2010-12-02T12:52:00.000-05:00

I stood in the Self Check Out lane for far too long, growing increasingly impatient with the fumbling idiots who apparently couldn't handle a process that a monkey could figure out. Why do so many seniors choose that lane and then demand the undivided attention of the lane monitor to help them lift each item and scan it through? Don't they realize that completely negates the purpose of SELF Check Out?

I was fuming by the time I stepped up to a scanner to run through my five grocery items. As I quickly and competently sped through the process, I noticed that the woman at the scanner next to me had run into an issue. She had run through a dozen cans of Pringles under a misunderstanding about the sale price and wanted to void them out--but, as the monitor tried to explain several times with little success, could no longer void them because she had already run through her card as well.

Around this time I noticed that, having run my own debit card through, the machine was stalled in a "Please Wait..." status. I growled and jabbed the "Call for Assistance" button. Some use that would be, with Ms. Don't Know How To Understand Basic Explanations still mumbling about the Pringles over there. Why does this sort of technical snafu always happen when I'm in a hurry? And when someone else is monopolizing the monitor? The day was just getting worse and worse. It had been bad enough navigating the treacherous traffic getting there, since the roads were filled with idiot drivers who needed to lose their licenses. The store hadn't had the meat I needed for dinner in a couple of days. It had been a crazy day following a crazy weekend. My feet were killing me. Now this.

I tapped my feet, impatient, huffing just loudly enough to let the monitor know I was waiting. She glanced at me, then focused again on convincing the other shopper to let her void the entire purchase and just run everything through again.

Finally, she succeeded with Ms. What Do You Mean I Can't Do That? and came over to me. She was an older woman with short, curling grey hair. She showed no sign of impatience or exasperation, and instead greeted me with a pleasant smile and an apology for my wait. I curtly explained my problem, and she glanced at the screen.

Oh, well, have you pressed the End Order and Pay button yet, dear? You ran your card through, but it won't complete everything until you press that. She smiled at me again, no trace of sarcasm or impatience to be found in her voice or face.

My face flushed. I meekly extended my finger, pressed the button, and watched as the machine finished the process and spit out my receipt.

There you go, dear. I know, sometimes it's a little confusing! I'm sorry again you had to wait. Thank you for your patience! She patted me affectionately on my shoulders and moved toward her monitoring station.

I quietly picked up my bags and left the store, mumbling a sheepish Thank you! as I passed her.

You're welcome. Merry Christmas! she replied.

I've been bitching lately about the lack of basic human decency in the world around me, about all these ungrateful, impatient, rude people I encounter every day.

It took a trip to the grocery store to make me realize that I'm part of the problem.

Forget waiting for the New Year for a change of attitude. It's time to start now.

thanksgiving rain

2010-11-25T21:00:00.000-05:00

i'll sit here a while
and breathe
patter of rain on sodden ground
window streaked
not yet chill enough for snow

i feel the miles tonight
between me and those for whom
i yearn
and still
cannot break through this barrier of silence
my words lie dormant
winter seeds untouched by autumn rain

holidays are mixed
always
joy and pain
love and loss
what is and what was and
what never shall be again

i would not go back
even to do childhood over again
i would not change
what led me to my now

and yet
and yet

i turn from the window
blink away my rain
and walk toward warmth
and love
and gratitude

Updates: Because I Know You Were Wondering

2010-11-24T10:05:00.000-05:00

1. Why yes, I am feeling better! And here's the absolutely AMAZING thing: all it took was for me to STOP TAKING THE MEDICINE. Oh yes. You have that right. After multiple trips to the doctor and an ultrasound for my bladder and kidneys, all I really had to do was stop taking the damn Macrobid, keep drinking lots of water, and do my back stretches just a little more thoroughly. And HEY PRESTO! I don't feel like I'm dragging my body across a desert wasteland, my back feels mostly okay (considering it's my back), and my nether regions feel a little less like they've been channeling a little piece of the netherworld.

I'm still going to the urologist next week, though. I'm also still chugging water (and running for the bathroom) on a regular basis. Lesson: learned (hopefully).

2. In case you were wondering, I DID in fact get both a hug (more than one, actually) and a Date Night with MTL last week. Although we may have been so tired that we settled for a visit to our favorite Mexican restaurant and then snuggling on the couch to watch a movie. WITH NO ONE ELSE AROUND. Just maybe. And really? That was good. Very good.

3. On Saturday we drove down to Detroit and hauled my brother and his things back up to my house. He's been having a bit of a rough time living down there lately, what with the loneliness and the lack of available jobs and transportation issues and whatnot, and when he crashed my parents' car...well, he need some TLC. So we brought him up to our place for not quite two weeks, and it worked very well and he fit in perfectly and when he left--well, we kind of wanted him back. So we invited him to come live with us at least until my parents come back in March, and he said yes, and now we are Eight. Since the Dark One has stayed only one night at our place since she left in September (because God forbid she be away from her ~~troll~~ boyfriend for any length of time), we moved my brother into that room instead.

For the sake of this blog, he shall henceforth be known as "DMB", which is short for "DorkMaster B". Trust me, it fits. And he approves.

4. Thursday is DramaBoy's fifth birthday. FIFTH. This is bizarre. It's also Thanksgiving, here in these American parts, so we're sort of combining them but also tentatively planning a separate party in a couple of weeks and once again I am reminded that holiday birthdays are kind of annoying. Even though they are easier to remember. Considering that seven out of the eight of us (I'm including DMB here) have birthdays either on or right around holidays, it's a family Thing now.

Me: Christmas Day
MTL: Valentine's Day
DMB: Just before Halloween
The Dark One: American Independence Day
KlutzGirl: Often around Easter (this year, it's on Good Friday)
DramaBoy: Right around (or, this year, on) American Thanksgiving
The Widget: Often around Easter (a little earlier than KlutzGirl)

So the only one who isn't is The Padawan. Poor boy. Or lucky one, considering he gets his very own day without a holiday mucking up the process.

5. On the side of Evil triumphing over Good, two very evil things have occurred this week: first, someone(s) broke into my parents' house on Monday (fortunately while the renter was out), smashing a window and breaking down some interior doors. My brother's things were gone, of course, and my parents' were packed away, so only the poor renter suffered loss. His laptop and some other things were stolen. It all makes me very angry: most likely someone saw us moving my brother out and figured there would be less monitoring of the house. At least the (very active) house alarm limited the time and damage. And yet: SIGH.

The second and more evil of the events is that one of my stepson's teachers was arrested on suspicion of child molestation--not at school and not one of the students, but OMG ANYWAYS. This sort of thing makes me so very angry on so many levels: that the evil of molestation happens, that child molesters exist at all, that it was one of my stepson's teachers (!!!!), and that once again it is one of these cases where the evil individual will cast a shadow over the entire educational system. I know it's all alleged right now, and that guilt and innocence must wait for the trial and all that....but still.

This week has not been strong for the side of Good.

6. Except for the case of my school's annual Canned Food Drive. We nearly missed our goal, but a flurry of last-minute cash donations edged us over, and as of this morning we have collected the equivalent of over 60,000 cans in food and cash donations for a local food bank. It's one of the reasons I love this school: the staff and students here regularly reach astonishing levels of generosity for a wide variety of charitable causes. The Food Drive is one; next week the annual Gift Drive for an impoverished elementary school in Detroit takes place; other drives occur frequently to help charities and individual students and families stricken by illness and accident. Last year alone my school raised over $84,000 in charitable donations. That's not the district; that's not the county; that was ONE SCHOOL ALONE. In one year. And while we do have wealthy students and families here, we also have the very, very poor. It's a very diverse school both ethnically and socio-economically.

So that? That makes me proud. And it gives me hope, a little light in the darkness, that sometimes, just perhaps, Good can in fact overcome the many forces of Evil.

The Problem With Being Tagged Online Is That You Can't Really Run Away. Not That I'd Be Able To Run Very Quickly Right Now Anyway. Oh Well. At Least I'm Writing. Right?

2010-11-18T12:32:00.000-05:00

I haven't done a meme in ever so long, but fellow Michigander (and yes, I am of that party--no Michiganians, okay??? Even Blogger spelling says that's the wrong one!) Katie over at No Missed Opportunities tagged me, and since I haven't been posting up a storm lately and the nagging and gradually increasing pain in my kidney region is interfering with my thought/posting processes lately, tally ho and all that.

(And yes, I am being good and looking into this kidney issue further. I'm scheduled for an ultrasound this afternoon. Also: drinking water nonstop. Also: running for the bathroom every half hour. These last two may be related.)

So. The Meme: A bit about me-me. I'm feeling a little lightheaded from, well, I'm not quite sure what. The blood dilution from drinking so much water? The poisonous little ~~bastards~~ bacteria partying in my body? Lack of restful sleep due to strange dreams I suspect are triggered by my top-level antibiotics? The sheer frustration from the whole stupid illness? The strangeness of actually posting something only a couple days after a previous post????

Anyhow, whatever it is, I'm lightheaded. So we'll see what kind of wackadoodle responses I come up with in response to the meme questions.

Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person who tagged you.

2. Paste these rules on your blog post.

3. Respond to the following prompts (in bold).

4. Add a prompt of your own and answer it.

5. Tag a few other bloggers at the bottom of the post.

6. Leave "Tagged You" notices on their blog/Facebook.

7. Let the person who tagged you know when you've written the post.
------------------------------------------------------------

1) The best investment you ever made:
My health. Oh wait! That's the best investment I WISH I had ever made. Or perhaps at least buying stock in pharmaceuticals.

Um. No frickin' idea. My Tax Sheltered Annuities are doing pretty well, which is amazing in this economy, so maybe those.

And I suppose I could be all mommyblogger and say My kids! [insert rainbows and flowers and fairy dust here] but I have to say, so far it seems like there's a whole lot more investment and not a whole lot of return interest. I mean, sure, kisses and cuddles are nice, but where's my MONEY, yo??? You think those shoes and haircuts and snacks and clothing grow on trees? CUZ THEY DON'T!!!

Of course, I am stockpiling stories and pictures and whatnot with which to blackmail and embarrass them one day, so I suppose that's an investment. I'm just waiting for my returns, people.

2) If you could’ve written any book, directed any movie, and composed any song, which three would you pick:
Seriously? I have to pick something like this? Like I'm all, Hey, I could have done that! Or jealous or whatever? I'm changing it up, because y'all, I'm not those other people. So here's what I would pick to write/direct/compose:

The book that proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that sports are, in fact, overrated and unnecessary and that other things such as the arts should prevail. Readers would close it reverently, cancel their tickets to the Sunday game, and change the channel from ESPN to SyFy (which would stop showing wrestling, of course, even though that's more theatre than sport.) Athletes would demand a cut in pay. Huge quantities of money would suddenly divert from all things athletic to theaters and concert halls. The geeky kids would be picked first. For everything.

The movie that costs about $2000 to make and rakes in $900,000,000. Because I want the money, that's why.

The song that instantly makes anyone who hears it smile, even if it's the shittiest day of their lives. And never gets old.

In other words, the impossible.

3) Weirdest quirk:
Only one? But I have so many! I even asked MTL, who was astonishingly unhelpful. I would have thought this was right up his alley, but NO. He was all IDK and then Hair twirling? which is a~~n obsession~~ quirk I have, true, but isn't all that WEIRD really, especially since I do it to my hair rather than other people's which would be weirder, and so I told him he sucks and then he said You're just not weird to me and so I melted.

I do also wiggle my ears. Especially when I'm reading and very focused. So I guess I'm kind of weird when I read, since I'll sit there and twirl my hair with one hand while wiggling my ears (handsfree, of course) and also sometimes stick my tongue between my teeth, kind of like a cat. I only know these things because more than one person has observed and commented upon them.

My students say my obsession with written letters being completely closed is my weirdest quirk. When I or someone else writes on the board, for example, and doesn't completely connect the lines in, say, an "o" or an "a" or a "p", I CANNOT ignore it. I have to close it. I think it's perfectly logical, but they think it's hilarious and will sometimes NOT close things on purpose just to drive me crazy, the sadistic little buggers.

Is that weird enough?

4) One wish immediately granted:
HEALTH. Seriously. And maybe a hug to go along with it. And a date night.

Oh wait. One...okay. HEALTH. The others I probably don't need to wish for in order to get. Right, MTL? RIGHT????

5) Most expensive hobby:
Does reading count as a hobby? I think it's more of an essential part of life for me. So...cross stitching. Because the project I'm working on now cost me over $70 in supplies, will cost a ton to frame, and also "costs" increasing woman-hours of work. Especially considering all the mistakes I made at the beginning that required me to rip out literally hundreds, maybe thousands, of stitches. In one case, twice. I'M JUST THAT AWESOME.

6) An inexhaustible gift-card at which store:
Borders. DUH.

7) In another lifetime, you’d be:
A cat. A pampered indoor one, obviously. Seriously, have you seen what their lives are like? With all the sleeping and the eating and the sleeping and the playing and the sleeping and the cuddling and the sleeping and the purring and THE SLEEPING. AWESOME.

8) The most famous/interesting member of your family tree:
Good lord. Again, with the choosing. One of my Issues, actually, is trying to live up to the ridiculously Accomplished and Interesting Family in which I was raised. Extended family on my mother's side, really, where I have grandparents with medals of honor (not American, but still) framed on their wall; and a great-great-aunt who was the first woman to earn a degree in Architecture from the University of Michigan; and family members scattered hither and yon Doing Great Things For Other People; and a cousin who lived in Jerusalem for years and now teaches Hebrew to children in California and whose wife is studying to become a rabbi; and a father who is a Knight--yes really, an actually Knight knighted by the (oddly enough, non-monarchical) government of the country where I grew up and he still works.

Also on that side, I have an indirect ancestor (a many times great-uncle or cousin or whatever) in the American history books as the Founder of the American Industrial Revolution, because he memorized the blueprints to the industrial cotton mill and immigrated to the colonies and started things up, back when the British didn't allow that sort of thing to be taken to the colonies. So, you know, a smuggler and criminal. But on the winning side, which makes all the difference.

Gah. Now I'm feeling all small and insignificant again, thankyouverymuch.

9) What would you say to your teenage self?
GET THERAPY. Also, stop perming your damn hair.

10) What do you want to be when you grow up?
Just like the little old lady I spotted the other day. She was driving a smallish SUV with this stick-figure family decal on the back window:

She is officially the most awesome little old lady I've ever seen.

11) Proudest moment?
Um. I'm bad at remembering these ones. I'm better at remembering all the very many, many humiliating ones I've had.

I think I'll have to be sappy for a minute and say it would be a collage or montage or whatever of the various times students have told me I made a difference in their lives. Those are my proudest moments.

And if my sons tell me someday that I didn't mess them up TOO much, that will be my new one.

12) Best decision ever made?
To risk everything and fall head over heels in love with MTL. Haven't regretted it one bit.

All these years of forgetting to drink water all day, on the other hand....regret that. SO MUCH. Damn kidneys.

Oh, and I have to tag people? (grumble grumble) FINE. I'll tag other people who have been struggling with posting lately as well. Cuz I know how it feels, people.

I tag Kathleen over at Treasured Chapters, because routine can be a blog-killer;

and the lovely and FINALLY no longer preggers (wee Sam decided to stop hiding from his big brothers, that's why) Pants over at Pants With Names, because maybe this is a post she can handle with one hand;

and MomZombie over at Mom Zombie, because we're both struggling with silence and what happens within it;

and Angelique over at The Hyggelig In Me, not because she's struggling with posting (she's not), but because she's my real life friend and fellow Michigander who just started blogging a cozy little blog and I feel like tagging her.

So there! You're welcome.

So Much To Do, So Much To Say...*

2010-11-15T13:08:00.000-05:00

'Cos here we have been standing for a long, long time
Can't see the light
Treading trodden trails for a long, long time...*

I haven't been writing much of anything anywhere lately. It's not due to being silent; in some ways, actually, it's due to speaking a great deal elsewhere. I'm back in therapy, focusing on deep root issues that have spread their tendrils throughout almost every area of my mind and life. It's very much like after facing down depression and divorce and those dragons, others wormed their way up from the depths and waved. Hello, still here. Wanna play?

They don't play nicely.

I'm talking, yes. Talking and wringing hands and, apparently, digging my nails into my skin until the morass of red crescents becomes raw enough to realize what I'm doing. It's hard work, this therapy. Then when I leave the War Room of my therapist's office, I dive into processing and digging deeper in my own mind. And talking some more: with MTL and with my dear friends J and A and H, spread out from coast to coast of the country though they are. Thank God for email and g-chat and phones, I say.

Elsewhere, with other people, however, I find myself silent. There are ideas I have to process, issues I have to solve, emotions I have to face before I can open my mouth and speak. My therapist agrees, by the way, with this instinct. And I find myself thinking of the words of Solomon, who wrote in his time of struggle, facing dragons of his own:

1 For everything there is a season,
      a time for every activity under heaven.
2 A time to be born and a time to die.
      A time to plant and a time to harvest.
3 A time to kill and a time to heal.
      A time to tear down and a time to build up.
4 A time to cry and a time to laugh.
      A time to grieve and a time to dance.
5 A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
      A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
6 A time to search and a time to quit searching.
      A time to keep and a time to throw away.
7 A time to tear and a time to mend.
      A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
8 A time to love and a time to hate.
      A time for war and a time for peace.
--Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (New Living Translation, emphasis added)

For now, in some ways, it is a season to be quiet, to be silent, to be "mindful," as my therapist says.

But oh, Dear Readers, how tired I am!

Add to all this hard work of the mind the busy-ness of the end of the Marking Period, and Parent Teacher Conferences last week, and fighting off my fifth? sixth? seventh? urinary tract infection of the year...Oh yes, I know that's not a good thing at all. And I'm sorry if it's a bit TMI, but hello, I Have A Problem. I'm scheduled to see a urologist on December 1st, because when someone (aka ME) is averaging between six and ten UTIs per year for three years straight, something is going on.

Granted, I don't take care of myself terribly well. I've been working on that recently: drinking water much more throughout the day, even at work; heading to the bathroom much more often; avoiding an overabundance of sugary junk at work instead of real food. Hopefully that will also help.

But I seem to have reached the ceiling, so to speak, with the heavy-duty antibiotics. My body is building resistance. I've been on Cipro for almost a full week, with no missed doses, and I'm still developing fevers and experiencing discomfort--including, the last couple days, an ache in my lower back that makes me nervous about my kidneys.

So I'm headed back to the doctor this afternoon, and I'm dragging myself somehow through the day and trying not to think too longingly of my bed (oh lovely bed with your soft pillows and fluffy comforter) when I'm supposed to be teaching kids about sonnet forms and the consequences of overweening ambition as shown in Macbeth and the abuse of authority as demonstrated in Oedipus Rex and dramatic irony and the emptiness of the American Dream when lacking solid foundations as shown in The Great Gatsby and oh yes, the historical context for all of those texts and let's not forget vocabulary and grammar and dear God what was I thinking when I said I'd take on three preps this year? Oh right, helping out the department because we were losing teachers.

Also, I'm trying very hard to be grateful for having a job when so many others do not, trying hard not to be bitterly cynical about politics (and losing that battle rapidly, may I say), and trying exceedingly hard not to panic about the upcoming contract negotiations which, hey, may become moot anyhow if The Powers That Newly Be in this state have anything to say about it.

I will say this, though: I'm deeply--bone deeply, really--grateful for having friends with whom I can talk so rawly and honestly; for a partner who is my best friend, and who loves me even when I'm dragged down by it all and being infuriating, and who loves me more because of than in spite of my moments of batshit crazy; for the strength to even face this all in the first place. Even when, on days like this, I feel like doing nothing more than crawling into my very own padded room and staying there for a while.

Or taking a holiday from my Self. Just for a little while.

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself
Sometimes I find it's better to be someone else...*

-----------------------------------------
*From Dave Matthews Band "So Much To Say":

This Is Why I Should Probably Just Go Back To Bed. And Perhaps Organize My Shoes.

2010-11-04T08:12:00.000-04:00

You may have picked up a hint or two that I am overtired and overstressed lately. Just a smidge. I hadn't realized just how much my mental processes have been affected, however, until I was standing up from giving the kidlets hugs at daycare this morning and spotted this:

Oh yes. Those are, indeed, shoes from two different sets of black boots. Please note that they fit my feet quite differently. What you can't spot from this angle is that the right boot's heel is about half an inch higher than the left, which means that I had been limping--yes, LIMPING--around for the previous half hour and hadn't even noticed. This is, as you can imagine, SO VERY GOOD for my back.

So here's what I'm wearing now:

It's a very good thing that I've become so comfortable with my not-so-inner Dork.

Sinking

2010-11-01T09:51:00.000-04:00

Today I'm discouraged. Deeply, deeply discouraged. As much as I try to focus on the positives of my career, as much as I try to focus on the great kids and the joy of those wonderful discussions and discoveries and moments in teaching that make my day, as much as I try to listen to the messages I get from former students saying I made a difference in their lives: today I just want to quit.

I just want to be done. Walk away, leave behind all the crap, all the heartache, all the apathy. I just want to leave behind the parents who don't understand the importance of their children's educations and who think that teachers are the Enemy rather than their allies. I just want to leave behind the political red tape and bullshit. I just want to leave behind the pervasive attitude that somehow my education and professionalism and experience mean nothing, just like that of all my many, many, many dedicated and amazing colleagues. I even want to walk away from all the students, former and current, who Need so much from me, above and beyond the parameters of academic education.

I definitely want to walk away from the pile of papers to grade and the overwhelming list of things I have to do, which grows every day.

I feel drained. It's as though I've been plugged in, but in reverse, so all the energy is being drained away from me rather than into me. I'm tired. Deeply bone-tired. I could barely move this weekend to do the bare minimum of what the weekend required, much less do much of anything productive or useful. And of course that means I have even more to do this week because I've procrastinated.

I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for twelve hours, then get up and read or work on my cross stitch project or actually exercise for once or do one of the many other things that are infinitely more attractive to me than what I actually have to do. Preferably in the company of MTL.

But I can't. I have to finish grading all these papers and quizzes and tests, and make tests, and prepare for the onslaught of project presentations, and finish grades, and somewhere in there I should probably work on cleaning a house that became absolutely trashed over Halloween weekend.

I feel like crying.

Why Papercuts Are A Very Real Job Hazard

2010-10-28T13:55:00.000-04:00

I did the math.

I rather wish I hadn't. But what's done is done.

I added up the average of essays that I assign, taking the low side of page numbers per essay, added in a guesstimate of essays from tests, the pages of writing on projects as well as essays, and multiplied by the number of students I have per year (around 150--this year I have 148). I did NOT include the other kinds of grading I do, including objective quizzes and tests, "checked in" notes and vocabulary logs and graphic organizers and the like, and presentations.

According to my calculations, I grade a rough average of 16,000 pages worth of writing per year.

SIXTEEN THOUSAND PAGES.

PER YEAR.

On a not-unrelated note, the first marking period ends next Friday.

Any wonder why I'm not posting much lately?

And, uh, anyone want to come help me wade out of this paperlanche that seems to have fallen on me?

A Sappy And Semi-Coherent Post (Sometimes I Just Can't Help Myself)

2010-10-19T10:15:00.000-04:00

Today marks the eight-month anniversary of my first date with MTL and the first time I met him face-to-face, although we had been communicating through e-mail and text and phone conversations for a little while before.

Eight months. I know: I feel a little silly keeping track of each month's anniversary, and it's not like we're doing some big shindig for it (though I think we'll do something special for the one year mark), but I did notice the date this morning and its significance popped into my head and I said something about it to MTL.

(No, I didn't make him try to guess its significance, although he's pretty good at remembering these things anyhow, because those games feel too manipulative to me. I'm nice that way. Not in many other ways, but that way.)

Honestly, it always comes as a little surprise to me that it's only been that long, since it feels like we've known each other for years instead of months. It's all very sappy and mushy and I'm honestly a little embarrassed about it even though I shouldn't be.

Anywho, I've been feeling sentimental and I tried to write a poem and apparently the path between my brain and fingers/mouth is corrupted today because I can barely put one coherent sentence together, verbally or written. But there is a poem by the ever marvelous e. e. cummings that fits (and oh I wish I could write like him and Carl Sandburg and Ann Lamott and a host of other amazing people, but I'll just have to settle for what I have) and so here you go:

"I carry your heart"

I carry your heart
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear ;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

--e. e. cummings

I love you, MTL. Always will. Thank you for entrusting your heart with me. You know you have mine.

If Wishes Were Horses, I'd Totally Sell The Horses And Get This Stuff Instead. Forget Black Beauty. I'll Take Black Boots.

2010-10-15T10:28:00.004-04:00

There is an increasingly large gap growing between what I WANT for Christmas and my birthday (which are totally the same day so it's convenient for gift-giving, but it's NOT okay to just make one present work for both unless it's a REALLY BIG PRESENT) (just sayin') and what I NEED for Christmas and my birthday. This is one of the sadder parts of becoming terminally adult.

Well, that and all the joint creaking. You should hear me when I get up from bed or the couch or, well, pretty much any position in which my joints have to move from one angle to another. I sound like a really big bowl of Rice Krispies, or possibly a bag of microwaveable popcorn. Plus I often have to hoist myself up and then put my hand on my lower back because my back, it's lopsided and stuff. I'm 32 years old and already moving like a grandma.

It's sexy as hell, yo.

Anywho, I have a growing list of all the fun stuff I'd really like to get as gifts, as well as a growing list of all the things I actually need and don't necessarily have the money to get. And since I know you are all DYING to know what's on those lists, I'll share them with you!

You're welcome.

Here's What I Want, What I Really Really Want

1. A bunch of t-shirts from my new favorite merchandise website, ThinkGeek.com, especially these ones:

Because cookies make everything better. Especially double dark chocolate.

Because it's the Answer, of course!*

SPACE INVADERS! Now with extra destruction!

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Seriously, I think my life would be complete if I had this.**

This just makes me giggle.

Oh yes. I am that geeky. Although Next Generation is still my favorite.***

Sheldon is my hero. Even though I think I would probably stab him to death with a hundred very sharp pencils if I actually lived with him. I don't know how Leonard handles it.****

So. Awesome.

And again, brilliance from Sheldon. I want this in poster form, too.

This is what I'm talking about. I mean, seriously. LOVE.

2. Boots. I know, I know, I have a ton already, but there are a couple kinds I really want. One is a pair of tight-fitting brown high heeled boots that will perfect several specific outfits:

Like these

Or these. I'm not picky.

And then just because I've wanted a pair for a very, very long time, a pair of thigh-high black high heeled boots (but not a pair that looks too hooker-y. Because I have standards.):

Yes. Perfect.

DON'T JUDGE ME.

3. And of course I really want an elf ranger outfit to go with my ears, only that's going to be really hard to do because even the stores/websites that sell things like this seem to have never realized that maybe WOMEN want to dress like elf rangers and would prefer something of quality rather than the stupid little Peter-Pan-ish Halloween-y crap that is the only stuff I can find. ARGH. Anyhow, an outfit that would look something like this:

Yes, the bow and arrows and bracer and boots too.
Because I'm a total geek, that's why.

4. Also from ThinkGeek.com, I really, really, really want this USB Webcam Missile Launcher that would allow me to launch foam darts at my students without them even realizing I'm watching them on the webcam. Sleeping when you're supposed to be working? PEW PEW!!! Talking to your neighbor when you shouldn't? K-CHOW!!! Just being a general annoyance? PEW PEW K-CHOW WHAM PEW PEW PEW!!!!!!

Beware my wrath!!!! PEW PEW PEW PEW!!!!! Mwahahahahahahaha!!

5. And because I'm not totally selfish and would also like something that our entire massive family can enjoy, I'd love to get a Wii system and a bunch of fun games. I'm generous like that.

I already own both Raymond's Ravin' Rabbids Wii games, and I love them. But I can't play them. This makes me sad.

What I Need and Should Probably Get Instead

1. Four new tires for my Saturn Vue. The current ones are almost entirely bald and squeal like I'm a crazy maniac driver every time I take a corner, even if I'm going about five miles an hour. And Michigan winters are a bitch, yo, and these tires will NOT handle things. I should probably get these before Christmas, actually. Sigh.

They may be black and sleek in their own way, but they just aren't the same as those boots. SIGH.

2. Also for my poor overworked Vue, a rear wheel hub assembly. It's only the fourth one needing replacement in the last few months. It's bizarre: that car is awesome and reliable, but apparently at around 130,000 miles all the wheel bearings start screaming. And, um, I mean that pretty literally. They're LOUD, people.

Oooh, shiny. Still not exciting, though.

3. And because that's not enough, I should get those brakes replaced soonish too. Geez, you'd think I was working as a chauffeur these days. Oh wait. I AM.

Why do all the repairs happen all at once? Thank God MTL can do a lot of that car stuff. Makes him handy to have around.

4. Oh, and speaking of those cold Michigan winters? It would be pretty awesome to have an electric blanket. Not exactly exciting, but awesome.

Now with extra snuggles.

5. Finally, even though MTL and I have a walk-in closet, I don't exactly have room for all my Stuff. Especially the stuff that doesn't hang up. Like socks. And underwear. You know, things like that. I have exactly one drawer in MTL's dresser that is mine. And while I totally <3 MTL for giving me a drawer (of his own free will, mind you, and without my badgering or even hinting), it's not quite enough. This is why I need a dresser. Preferably one of those long low ones, because then I can also put things like my jewelry chest(s) and Other Girly Things on top instead of on the floor/bathroom counter/random surfaces as I have to now.

Like this, only cheaper, because I'm pretty sure it's an antique. Which mostly is just another word for "It's been sitting around here for a few generations and it isn't completely broken."

Sigh.

Sometimes being a low-maintenance, practical, responsible adult Sucks the Big One.

And to think: for the sake of brevity, I'm not including all the piddly stuff I gaze at wistfully, like dozens of books and CDs and movies and that really cool necklace I saw at Aldo's the other day and things like that.

I'm not really all that materialistic. Really. But a girl can dream.

-------------------------------------------------
*From The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams. If you don't get this joke, I'm deeply disappointed in you. Also, you need to go read the first three books. NOW. Forget about the last two in the series. He only wrote them because he was pressured into it and you can tell.
**From The Princess Bride--both book and movie. Again, ditto above if you don't get it.
*** STAR TREK, people. /facepalm
****From The Big Bang Theory, which is currently just about the only half-hour TV sitcom worth watching. LOVE IT.

An Unexpected Post : Now With Lava. And SHARKS.

2010-10-13T07:15:00.017-04:00

So a dear fellow teacher and friend of mine posted this link on her Facebook page with a statement about how all the cruelty in the world saddens her, and I read it while I was ~~wasting time~~ ~~procrastinating~~ taking a break during my prep hour and then commented that people like this should be exiled to an island where we wouldn't have to share the same air. And she commented back about how they don't deserve the beauty of an island, and I responded that it could be one of the ones devastated by nuclear testing and we can surround it with electric fencing and SHARKS, and she said they'd still get to enjoy the sunsets and that just doesn't seem right.

So we came up with a new idea. We think that all the evil douchebags of the world (including but not limited to cyber AND non-cyber bullies as well as massive numbers of politicians, Wall Street brokers, megacorporation CEOs, and of course idiot drivers who think the road belongs to them and their massive SUVs) should be air-dropped into the center of the very very deep caldera of a dormant volcano with impossible-to-climb sides. The top of the caldera should be rimmed with electric fencing, just in case.

We are also debating the possibility of genetically engineering lava sharks, because there need to be sharks. Obviously. We think one of our science teacher friends may be able to help us.

And just think of the excitement the evil douchebags will get to experience on a daily basis, what with all that wondering whether the volcano will decide to end its dormancy!

Talk about fire and brimstone. We have all those ultra Baptist preachers beat by a mile.

Because we're talking LAVA SHARKS, people!!!!

Like this. Only a lot scarier and more shark-like, because honestly this doesn't exactly make me shake in my shoes. Don't blame me. Blame mishaelley.

I fully expect a Nobel prize or two when we've accomplished all this. You're welcome.

Who else should we include in our group of ~~future charcoal briquettes~~ exiles? We're open to the possibility of employing multiple volcanoes, if need be.

Where I Am

2010-10-12T10:47:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, lots of people were reading this blog and I was posting just about every day. Not so much these days. In fact, it's been a rare post lately around here.

I just haven't felt much like writing. And when post ideas DO pop into my head, I'm invariably in the car or shower, and by the time I'm where my computer is, all thought of posting has vanished.

Truth be told, there just isn't much going on that I feel like blogging. I stress enough about the politics of teaching without putting it out here and getting all sorts of comments on it that will make me feel more stabby than I already do. Despite nixing the emailing of posts (which did help, I will admit) there are still things I don't feel comfortable posting here for privacy's sake. And I've never really been the sort of mommyblogger to write post after post about how dang cute those kidlets are (even though they are.) I can't pull it off without just being boring as hell.

The biggest reason, though?

Life is different these days. Despite the occasional bit of angst over kidlets and stepkidlets and the whole merging of families bit, life is remarkably drama-free.

In fact, a major component in The Dark One's desire to live with her mother instead of us is because, according to her, we're boring. And by boring, she means drama-free. Whereas life at her mother's is full of chaos and drama and this, again according to her, is far more interesting.

We think we can live with being boring if that's what it takes.

Personally, I love where my life is now, crazy as it can be at times. But she's right about it being quite lacking in the Drama area. And that means that it is also quite lacking in the Fascinating Blog Fodder area as well.

There's no more angst over The Ex. No more agonizing over decisions and the relationship's disintegration. We're divorced, quite amicably in the end. We've become MUCH better at communicating and working through the occasional issue. We don't yell or argue any more. We're almost friendly. Remarkably, we are far more functional as ex-spouses and co-parents than we EVER were as a couple. And I mean EVER. It's a good place to be.

My depression has lifted remarkably. Not that my journey is over: in fact, I will be returning to therapy in a week or so to work through some other old issues that need addressing. It's not a major crisis, though, and it's not really depression. Just...stuff that I need to face and haven't for, oh, three decades or so. At this point, I'm not comfortable writing about it here, but maybe I will later. Maybe. This would also be a reason I haven't been writing much poetry on here--poetry has been a major form of catharsis for me, and there just isn't that much Stuff to work through that way lately.

And my home life? My home life is happy. I love MTL more deeply than I ever knew I could love anyone. I am loved, deeply and completely and thoroughly and without a doubt. We have our little spats from time to time, and then we work through them and learn from them and move on. We're learning how to parent together in a blended family. There are the obstacles that come with this sort of paradigm shift, but we're facing them together. It's a good life, an incredibly good life, and I feel blessed every day to have been given such a life. I feel blessed every day that after all the crap I went through and all the mistakes I made and all the pain and heartache, I got to meet the love of my life. And we get to grow old together, which is happening sooner rather than later with all our joint and back issues. We CREAK, people. We're going to be that old couple inching along with walkers and wheelchairs. But we'll be holding hands every chance we get.

(We'll also be the old couple who delights in embarrassing their kids and grandkids every chance we get. Trust me on that one. ANY WAY WE CAN.)

Isn't it strange how being happy dries up my blog posts? It does.

So maybe I am boring now. I'm certainly not bored.

Maybe it's just that life has become so much more worth living in real time, rather than online.

Dear So and So: An Emotional Rant (Or Four)

2010-10-01T14:46:00.000-04:00

Pants With Names posts every now and then with her very amusing versions of her friend Kat's postcard posts. You know, the "Dear So and So" type of thing. Today, I think I need to do it too. Because I am in a MOOD. One that even Ghirardelli dark chocolate with raspberry filling cannot fix.

I KNOW.

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Dear Electronic Grading System,

WTF do you mean, it's Progress Report time??? I'm not ready! I'm not prepared! I'm still scrambling to get everything done AND figure out how to balance Work and Home Life right now, and it's still in the early stages. Plus I had to take that day off to stay home with The Widget, and it's taking me twice as long to catch up as it would have to just be here.

Your little asterisks of Grades Have Not Been Entered mock me!

Yours in frantic desperation,
Ms. Buried-Up-To-My-Neck-In-Paperwork TeacherMommy

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Dear Current Students,

No, M&Ms are not suitable replacements for Godiva. Also, it's Cherry COKE. Cherry Pepsi is an abomination.

Grumpily,
Your Favorite English Teacher

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Dear You Know Who,

I know. It's AMAZING that moving to that town didn't fix all your problems. Such a shock! I never would have guessed.

I really need to work on my bitterness.

Trying To Forgive,
One of the People You Left Behind

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Dear Media, World, and People I Love,

I know there are problems with the system. I'm not saying it can't improve. And I love that there are options for people, like private schools and charters and homeschooling. But here's the reality check: they're not all perfect either. Or even always better. And every time you lump all of us educators together under the category of "lazy" or "useless" or "outdated" or "unnecessary", you injure a group of people who, in a far greater majority than you give them credit for, have chosen a career that is full of stress and challenge and (increasingly) very little thanks--and do a damn good job.

You want to measure my efficacy? You want some stats? Today alone I actively taught five classes (three different courses), graded eight sets of quizzes, rewrote two quizzes, prepped questions and activities for a novel, answered over twenty emails, entered grades into the grading system, wrote a wiki rubric for the district benchmark "test", checked in three classes' worth of vocabulary assignments, and helped several individual students who had issues or questions outside of class.

That was in five hours. And I'm still behind.

That doesn't even include the unmeasurable aspects: getting students excited about literature, making them laugh, working with other teachers to develop ideas and activities and curriculum. How are you going to gather statistics on the number of students I impact in the ways that don't show up on standardized tests?

And I'm not even the best or hardest working teacher I know, not by a long shot. AND THEY'RE EVERYWHERE.

And here's the other thing: we take everyone. That's EVERYONE. Regardless of ethnicity or religion or gender or financial status or, especially, disability. We don't get to pick and choose like almost every private and charter school does. We take everyone, and we care about them, and we do our damnedest under increasingly difficult circumstances.

And then we get shit on from every direction. Including our own administration, our politicians, the media, and (God help me) even our own friends and family.

I told my students' parents on Sneak Peek night that I teach because I love doing it and I love working with these kids. It's true. But for the first time in my entire career, even when I was so close to burn-out that I could taste it (twice), I realized this week that if I miraculously won the lottery with that ticket I never buy, I wouldn't keep teaching.

Stop saying "Oh, but I didn't mean YOU." Yes, you did. Because I'm in this along with all the others.

It's been a hard week.

Sincerely,
Your Emotionally Raw TeacherMommy

Draco De Ira

2010-09-28T08:44:00.000-04:00

One of the hardest lessons I've had to learn over the last not-quite two years is how to forgive and what forgiveness really means. I've learned, among other things, that forgiveness is more about healing oneself and less about healing others. I've learned that apologies often follow forgiveness rather than the other way around. And I've learned that forgiveness needs regular application, since anger and resentment tend to ooze back into one's soul over time.

Forgiveness is rather like Preparation H, when you think about it. Or Tums.

I learned that first major lesson about forgiveness nearly a year and a half ago, on a day when I planted myself next to a small lake and begged God to please make two particular people Very Sorry for all the hurt they had caused me. The geese stared at me and honked moodily. Then I sat there and begged God to forgive me for the hurt I had caused those two people. This seemed a bit better, but I wasn't quite there.

So I sat, surrounded by goose shit, which seemed rather apropos for my mood, and read a bit from a book, perhaps one by Anne Lamott, who also struggles with anger and forgiving and therefore gets through to me with some deft application of verbal hammering on my brain. I don't remember any longer exactly who the author was: at any rate, the words were about forgiveness and about how we make huge errors in thinking that (1) withholding forgiveness does any damage to anyone other than ourselves, (2) apologies are requisite precursors to forgiveness, and (3) we are better than the people we have to forgive. And then the author drove home that when we refuse to forgive someone, we're as much as yelling to the Universe that we are better than God, who forgives us for much more than we have to forgive.

That sounds like Lamott, so it probably was.

I remember sighing, because the idea of forgiving these two people, who had no interest or willingness to recognize any need to apologize, seemed like a greater task than I was capable, especially in a time of such great stress and pain. Nevertheless, I bowed my head, and this time when I prayed, I asked that I be granted the strength to forgive. Then I said out loud (much to the surprise of the geese) that I forgave those two people, and I named them. Then I said it again, just to be sure, and found the words easier to say the second time.

Imagine my surprise when I felt a tremendous weight lift off my heart.

I've had to forgive those two people again since then, for the same original pain and (in the case of one of them) additional pain caused over time.

Regular application, especially when the acid burning of anger starts up again.

Since that day by the lake, both of those people have apologized to me for the pain they caused. It's a cycle, really, the forgiveness and apology and forgiveness again, and with time the pain truly does ease.

Other times...you're blindsided.

This last weekend I found myself enraged, furious, reacting far more strongly to a frustrating moment with The Widget than the incident truly deserved. I stood in the walk-in closet searching for clean and comfy clothes, and I asked myself what was really going on.

And I realized that my anger was at other people entirely, over a situation over which I have no control, where I feel guilty for even being angry at all, where the anger comes from years of hurt and pain and loss that I have shoved deep down over and over and over again because I do not feel justified in my anger.

But the anger is there. And because I have never embraced that anger, recognized it, and forgiven both myself and those other people for these decades of pain and grief, I have never moved on. I have, in fact, allowed that pain to poison other relationships and prevent me from opening myself fully to love.

MTL found me in tears and I poured out my grief and anger. Just saying it, just letting it out of my head, was a step. Writing this post, which has taken me two days, is another.

The next step is bigger. More painful. It holds more delving into truth, a stripping away of shadows and shame.

It's a choice I have to make.

I am stalled in the moment. The skies hold no answers. The window is drenched with autumn rain.

I Think I'm Less Like A Helicopter And More Like A Bus. You Know: Get Them There. Get Them Home. Sit Down And Shut Up. THAT Kind.

2010-09-27T10:21:00.000-04:00

I am questioning the wisdom of being a parent even more now. No really, because it's too much work. Here I thought that since DramaBoy is growing up and I no longer have to dress him or wipe his butt or unbuckle him in the car or even bathe him (first solo shower this weekend! WOOT!!!) that somehow my parental responsibilities were going to be reduced.

And then I started getting the newsletters from his kindergarten teacher.

Maybe I should start calling them news-novelettes, because really. I swear it takes longer to read them than it does for me to write one of these posts, and I'm a ridiculously quick speed-reader, peoples.

I would also like to know when homework started requiring so much parental involvement. I don't remember my own parents being quite so involved, though maybe it doesn't fully count because my mother was my teacher for most of elementary BUT NOT KINDERGARTEN and since I don't remember (a) having that much homework and (b) my parents being involved, I feel rather ill-used at this point. I don't know what I resent more: my parents not having to help me much back then or my having to help DramaBoy so much. Probably the latter. Because it's more work.

This is also complicated by the whole split custody thing, because The Ex and I have to divide what each person does and communicate and all that fun stuff. It's a good thing we're practically friendly these days, because the whole cooperating thing works a lot better that way.

Maybe I'm a little extra resentful this week because The Ex is going on a short vacation so I have the boys an extra weekday, which isn't a big deal really because I love them and stuff, but it means that I have MORE HOMEWORK TO DO WITH DRAMABOY!!!

Also, I am already behind in grading papers both because I'm always behind in grading papers and also because my National Honors Society ~~slave~~ student assistant has been sick and therefore unavailable to assist me. Plus there's so much more Life to my Personal Life these days. All this to mean that I have lots of homework of my own that I should be doing and having DramaBoy's homework getting in the way is not the kind of excuse for which I am searching. Not that I don't look for excuses, you see; it's more that I want excuses that involve more Fun and less Frustration.

Because seriously, have you ever tried to get a wiggly not-quite-five-year-old sit at a table and do his homework?

Let's just say that it didn't surprise me AT ALL to read his weekly goal sheet and see that the teacher wrote DramaBoy's main goals as "paying attention and following instructions in class and finishing work assigned."

MTL may have had a sarcastic comment about it, actually. To follow mine. BECAUSE WE'RE AWESOME LIKE THAT, THAT'S WHY.

Somehow I don't think teachers need to worry about either of us being helicopter parents.

May I please get back to just handing out the homework instead of being on the receiving end?

It's going to be a looooooong fifteen years.*

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*Because The Widget will start two years after DramaBoy, that's why. I CAN COUNT. I just don't like to help my kids do it. I know. I'M SUCH AN AWESOME PARENTAL ROLE MODEL. Shut up.

These Are The Reasons I Love My Job

2010-09-23T15:32:00.001-04:00

I love working with these kids. It's craziness sometimes, but that's half the fun. Scratch that: it's most of the fun.

Today each of my sophomore classes brought laughter and spur of the moment ~~crazy~~ creative learning moments. You wanna hear about them? Yes? I thought so.

First, I had my fourth hour class write words on my dry erase boards next to my ~~silly stick figures~~ awesome artistic portrayals of the three main characters from The Scarlet Letter--Dimmesdale, Chillingworth, and Hester Prynne. After much laughter over the art, they went at it with gusto. The markers were squeaking like a horde of voracious mice.

And then I saw what they'd written.

Spell Check is their friend. *sigh*

So we learned some spelling for a little bit. But what had me in almost immediate stitches was one word written next to Chillingworth's figure. "INTELLIGOUS" proclaimed the board, in big green letters.

I mean...really?????

This is where the impromptu vocabulary lesson came in. After the hilarity died down, I told the kids to pull out a scrap of paper and, without consulting with each other, each write down a definition for this new word. Then they shared them and we voted on the best ones. After weeding out the rather mean if not entirely mean-hearted ones targeted toward the (fortunately quite self-confident and very nice) young man who had apparently made the thinko in the first place, they had come up with several that were just awesome:

intelligous (in-tel'-i-jus) adj. 1 being or appearing to be fabricating intelligence by creating one's words, but inevitably failing miserably 2 describing a person who is not only intelligent but also a genius 3 smarticle or brainilicious 4 Sum1 who is lyk, SOOPER SMRT. That's a caps S-M-R-T, gyz 5 the nice way to tell someone that they really are stupid 6 (and my favorite) when you know English things goodly.

That last one got a spontaneous ovation from the class. My students? Are awesome.

We're making a class shirt. No, really.

Then in fifth hour, also a sophomore class (but a lesson behind because of our schedule this week), I had a sudden moment of brilliance. Let me see if I can retrace the rabbit trail of the conversation that led to this (class discussions can take interesting tangents): We were talking about the different characters and how they relate to each other in what had been going on, I know that. They've gotten to the middle of the book...Dang it. Can't remember where we went with it, but suddenly we ended up talking about FaceBook (no really, it related somehow) and I thought of this hilarious viral post (don't worry, I don't mean it has a virus, I just mean it was passed all over the internet through virtual word of mouth, which is called "going viral") and had an AH HA!!!! moment.

I get them once in a blue moon.

So I told my students they could opt for an enrichment assignment--meaning they didn't have to do it, but could get a grade if they did, and those who chose not to would be excused. It can help grades, but it's not extra credit. Make sense? They could make their own versions of FaceBook Walls for each of the main characters (up to three) with status updates, comments, likes, and so on. The FB Walls would have to be accurate to the characters and the interactions between characters in the book. If they could make their project actually look like FaceBook, awesome, but it's not a requirement.

I have kids who are ramped up like you would not believe. And here's the sneaky part: they'll really have to know the book and the characters to pull this off, including the subtleties and the relationships and all the symbolism laced throughout that novel!

I love getting kids to think critically--and outside the box.

Of course, I also then had to calm down the one kid who wanted to create YouTube videos Scarlet Letter/Puritan style (you know, if they had YouTube back then sort of thing?) I haven't allowed video projects since my third year of teaching when my craziest student of all time thought it would be a good idea to light himself on fire for a video project "based" (and I use this term as loosely as possible, in this case) on the book Fahrenheit 451.

Yeah, no.

I love working with these kids. I love relating to them personally and intellectually. I love seeing them grow over time. I love running into them for years, or years later. I love feeling like I've had an impact on people through my job. All of these are reasons I love teaching.

These lessons aren't the sort of thing that will ever show up directly on any standardized test. But I'll tell you this: my students are learning about words and grammar and literature and critical thinking in a way that will stay with them. They're getting excited about the class--excited about learning. And that's the sweetest reason of all.

Since I'm Being Me...

2010-09-21T14:36:00.002-04:00

...might as well make sure you understand what that can entail.

Those who know me, like, you know, actually KNOW me, know that I'm a Dork. A Geek. Almost, but not quite, a Nerd--though when it comes to words and grammar and stuff, I definitely cross that line.

Just, you know, a COOL one. *ahem*

While my awkward, shy, not-so-cool dorkiness didn't do me much good back when I was in high school, it's amazing how much it's done for me these days. Self-confidence ftw*, srsly.** It makes all the difference.

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*ftw = gamers' slang***, literally "for the win", basically meaning "is awesome"
**srsly = texting slang, short for "seriously"
***The fact that I know this and have used it both in and out of games means I'm an authentic dork. Q.E.D. Also, my decision to use "Q.E.D." Srsly. I've also decided to make my footnotes less footnotey, as I'm afraid by the time people finish my lengthy posts they've forgotten what the damn asterisks are for. You're welcome.
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Students like my dorkiness. It's real. It's funny. It's also heavily tongue-in-cheek, because I know it's humorous and life's a lot more fun if you can laugh at yourself.

I have a lot of fun.

You, beloved peoples, shouldn't be surprised by this side of me. I have, after all, mentioned being a gamer before. Also, I'm very into sci-fi and fantasy, and while I can't pull up a post from memory, I'm sure I've mentioned that. And yesterday I gave you a glimpse of my inner Elf. Some of you know that the boundaries of my geekery and dorkdom go far beyond that, and I am in fact pushing ever deeper into that realm. (Hey there, A Teacher!)

MTL calls me a dork on a daily basis. For those of you for whom "dork" is an insult (*sigh* you silly people), do not fear. It's a term of affection with us. I call him one back. Because truth be told, we're two of the dorkier people you'll ever meet. Just in an awesome way, I think. And our mutual dorkiness has a lot to do with why we clicked and fell madly in love. I can be freely Me in all my gawky, geeky, awkward, silly, dorky glory around him, and he'll only love me more for it.

While laughing his head off, of course.

So. This is Spirit Week here at my place of work, and each day has a dress-up theme.

Uh, what? you say. Where you going with this? Where the hell is the segue, oh Great Grammar* Goddess?

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*and Writing, of course, but that doesn't have the same alliterative je ne sais quoi.This is a practical example of literary license and writing style. SEE? I even do it here. That's how much I rock.
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Really, it makes sense. Stay with me.

Today was Band T-Shirt Day. In other words, we're supposed to wear t-shirts displaying bands. You see how that works? Right. Easy, you'd think. I mean, who doesn't have some old band t-shirt lying around in their drawers from that awesome concert all those years ago?

Well. Um. I don't. I mean, I used to have a few, but they were all kind of crappy to begin with and didn't really fit and weren't particularly special and so they got tossed out this summer along with all the many, many, many other items that I decided I didn't need to lug around any longer.

So. No band t-shirt. Not even one for the marching band here at school, because as much as I love them, I haven't ever bought one of their t-shirts. I know. I suck.

But my lack thereof wasn't going to keep me from participating. Because I like to feel the SPIRIT, yo! This morning I donned a long-sleeved shirt and a pretty but plain t-shirt over top and grabbed a handful of small safety pins. Then I made sure I got to work a few minutes earlier than usual.

And made myself a band shirt:

I know that top one looks rather like a dying worm. I swear it's just rubber. *ahem*

There are more on the back. I had another teacher help, in between snorts of laughter.

Get it? BAND shirt? You know? RUBBER BANDS? ON A SHIRT?

Oh yes. That's how much of a dork I am.

By the way: you know what's a very good measure of just how well a student is capable of thinking outside the box? Or how much of a dork he/she is? Or the quickness of his/her intelligence? Or all of the above?

See how quickly they catch on to the joke when they see something like this.

It's been an awesome day.

Me, My Elf, And I

2010-09-20T09:37:00.001-04:00

So it turns out that if you wear a pair of realistic elf ears into a Meijer at around eight o'clock on a Sunday night, just long enough to grab a jar of maraschino cherries*, you won't get that much attention. Well, other than from the old man waiting for his wife to finish checking out the fab Meijer clothing. He will look quite surprised and a touch alarmed.

However, if you wear that pair of realistic elf ears into an El Patio Mexican restaurant so that you can nom some nomilicious chili rellenos and tacos, well, you will get some attention. Hilariously, it will come in the form of sidelong stares and en espagnol asides and surreptitious giggles from the (all male) staff. And possibly the customers, according to MTL, though I couldn't see them. NO ONE WILL SAY ANYTHING.

I love society.

Also, MTL now realizes to what an extent his social anxiety has faded over the years, because he was amused rather than bothered in the least by sitting next to an elf-in-human's-clothing in a public area. You know, other than the Renaissance Festival, where such things are blase and normal.

The attention being the potential issue, not the ears. He LOVES the ears. Trust me. *ahem*

Yes, peoples, I am a geek.

You want to know just how much of a geek I really am? The ears (purchased and custom skin-tone blended at the aforementioned Renaissance Festival, where I could easily spend thousands and thousands of dollars if I had them) (the dollars, not the ears) are my first step towards assembling a kickass Elf Ranger costume.

Oh yes. THAT MUCH OF A GEEK.

Next thing you know, I'll be LARPing.

Because, peoples, Geeks are Teh Awesome. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Or I'll nail 'em in the ass with an arrow.**

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*This purchase is less odd than it may appear. But that's not the point of the story, so I'll leave it to your imagination.
**Well, I will once I have some. And a bow. And a quiver. Anyone have a few hundred dollars to spare?

Personally, I Picture My Conscience In Stiletto Heels. The Better To Stab Me With.

2010-09-16T13:05:00.000-04:00

I KNOW. Second post on the same day. I make no sense.

But here's the thing: I am sitting here on my prep hour, which comes at the end of the day, which means I get very very very little actually done because I'm pooped, people, pooped.

[Tangent: I now frequently sit at the dinner table with four males--one supposedly an adult, one preteen, one kindergartener, and one preschooler. I am Queen of my domain, people, and thusly have had to ban (1) farting and (2) poop jokes and (3) I'm serious, DramaBoy, NO POOP JOKES at the dinner table. Am I crazy for having so much damn fun?]

Where was I? Oh yes. Pooped on my prep. Anyhow, I decided to read back through that last post and suddenly had an attack of conscience. Yes, that one particular teacher is annoying and frustrating and infuriating on a regular basis. HOWEVER. Once she gets all the griping out of her system, she really does want to do well. Which is, I think, part of her problem: she's terrified that she won't, and the situation is a challenging one, and she is dealing with all sorts of new things, and she's resorting to her default coping mechanisms.

I joked, sort of, about playing Compare Our Lives with her. I said I'd trump her. Then said that didn't really mean I "win."

But really, in my head...that's not true. I DO think I "win." And that's a bunch of bullshit too.

She doesn't know all the details of my life and how much I deal with every day.

I don't know all the details of hers, either. Just because she appears one way doesn't mean that's the truth--or at least, all of it. I should know. I spent years portraying one image while hiding the truth.

So I'm being just as bitchy and nasty (and behind her back, no less) as she seems capable of being.

So here's my next challenge: stop listening to the words she says and listen instead to what she means. Stop assuming I know the woman and resigning myself to "getting through the year with her" and start actually getting to know her a bit.

Maybe she'll turn out to be just as annoying as I've always thought she is.

And maybe I'll find out I'm about as wrong as I can be. I have a niggling feeling that this may very well be the case.

Don't you hate it when your conscience starts whispering? Or, when that doesn't work too well, pricking you vigorously so you'll sit up and pay attention?

Yeah. Me too.

Oh, I Have a Blog? Righto, Maybe I Should Post Something Then.

2010-09-16T10:52:00.000-04:00

How's the school year starting off, TM? you ask. Since it's been a week now and nary a peep about that from me.

I know, I know. I make this big declaration about taking my blog back and then silence. Blame bad habits. Blame exhaustion. Blame the start of the year and the fact that I'm actually getting off my ass and being a much more active and interactive teacher.

I came into this new school year with some higher expectations for myself. The last two school years have been full of chaos and distraction for me: first with all the depression and wading my way out of despair, then with all the divorce and whatnot. Even last year, when I was in a much better place emotionally, I was so distracted by the divorce proceedings and mediation meetings and finances and then the world of dating and then, lo and behold, falling in love...Yeah. The academic side of things kind of went to the wayside a bit.

Not that I was an abysmal teacher. Just not as good as I know I can be.

I did connect to my students much better during those years, though. I think it's because I became much more Real in the classroom as well as in my personal life. I stopped hiding behind my wall of reserve and started connecting with my students in a down-to-earth way, flaws and all. I have always had students with whom I have connected strongly, but never so many and so wide-spread as in the last two years. As a result, my students tend to be more interested and alert in class, and they've also increasingly seen me as a safe harbor, counselor, and mentor rather than "just" an English teacher.

It's time to put both pieces together: the academic and the personal. So I have high expectations for myself this year, and I'm spending far less time sitting at the computer.

So how's it going so far? It isn't so much the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly as it is the Exciting, the Frustrating, and the Infuriating.

My students are awesome. I truly enjoy the mix I have this year, and I'm Excited to meet and interact with them each day. I am teaching the new twelfth grade curriculum, which I helped design, and it is NOT tied to the ACT/MME (Michigan Merit Exam) or other conventional standardized tests, and I'm ever so Excited to work with such a different class. The literature is pretty damn awesome, too.

However, the same curriculum presents some challenges, since we have limited funds available to do things like, oh, buy more books. So we each have a class set--or rather, are supposed to, since I currently have only twenty-three copies--of the textbook. The students can't take it home. There are only class sets of a number of other books for the class as well. There's a large technology component to the course, but with the budget cuts we have extremely limited access to either computers or the Media Center. I'm also the only teacher in the building who is familiar with the course curriculum AND the literature. Therefore, I am the woman to whom all the other twelfth grade teachers come with their questions and freak-outs. This is all very Frustrating.

And then there are the couple of people with whom I must work in this new course who, well, are very negative. One in particular is a teacher whom I struggle to respect. She seems to have an excuse for every bit of real work she has to do, not to mention complaints about everything that is new. Which is basically the whole damn course. Most Infuriating of all, she uses her mommyhood as her default excuse. She "can't" handle all this new stuff because she has "mommy brain." She isn't familiar with any contemporary (or ancient, apparently) world lit because all she reads these days is baby books and child-rearing books and, apparently, the Shopaholic chick lit books.

It's a bullshit excuse. There are exactly two people in our rather large department who don't have children. Most of us have YOUNG children. Our department head has one toddler and is due with her second in December. DramaBoy is all of one year younger than this teacher's oldest child. Yeah, she has three young children. She also works part-time and has for years. If she really wanted to play Let's Compare Lives, I'd trump her. I have two young biological children, three stepchildren (one of whom lives at home with us full-time, so there's three in the home), I work full time as does MTL, and I also have the stress of constant negotiation (peaceful, but still) with an Ex. Also, I am the only English teacher in this building with three different preps instead of two. The two she teaches in her part-time day? I teach both of them. PLUS another.

Does that mean I win? No. It just means that like every other person here, my life is busy and complicated and stressful. I just want to yell at her to Suck It Up, just like everyone else.

But I can't. I need to be able to work with her and the other teachers and keep things calm and moving in the right direction.

I've been biting my tongue a lot. As of yesterday's lunch, literally. Ow.

Life's a bit crazy.

In other words, business as usual.

I should go eat my lunch now, in the few minutes remaining. It's been lovely to chat. I promise, I'll be back soon.

Maybe, if certain people keep pissing me off, sooner than you think. Just sayin'.

With Three Toilets And Four Males In The House, I Should Be Better At Clearing Clogs By Now

2010-09-13T10:32:00.000-04:00

You know what's been bothering me? he asked, and I waited expectantly, because he is wise in many things, my love is.

You have this blog, and it's basically an online journal for you, and it's an outlet that you need. And here you don't even feel like you can be yourself there anymore, and so you're missing that outlet! I mean, I get it. I understand why you're hesitant these days. But it's not right. I think you should do something about it. Either start a whole new blog or stop the email thing. Think about it.

He knows it's part of why I've been agitated lately. Just a part, but it's there.

And, you know, he's right. This blog has gotten me through many a day, helped me process, helped me work through thoughts and feelings and bad times and good times and has been ME. Especially for the last year and a half. But you see, like many semi- or non-anonymous blogs, there's the little catch: you know some of the people reading it.

Lately, this hasn't necessarily been all that good a thing. For various and complicated and valid and sometimes only semi-valid reasons, I have been censoring myself here, frequently to the point of silence. I can't or won't lie. I won't be someone I'm not on this blog. Instead, I've stopped blogging much at all.

But I need it. I don't journal privately well: I am the sort who will write a page or two, an entry or three, and then forget. I do need that sense of audience. So as I've been dealing with a whole new phase of my life lately, one that unfortunately has elements that cause tension and controversy with a few people, one that makes me very happy but is also full of stress because IT'S LIFE, people, and....I can't tell you how many blog posts I've composed in my head that have never even made it as far as the keyboard. I feel constrained and silenced. My choice, I know, but also, well, because I don't like conflict and don't like making people uncomfortable.

Well. Here's the thing. Ages and ages ago certain much-loved people asked me if I could have my blog posts emailed to them. For varying reasons, it's much easier for them that way. Blogger has a little formatting doohickey that will automatically email posts to indicated addresses once I publish them. It's marvelous....Unless. You see, too often the idea that people will automatically receive those posts, rather than coming to my blog to read them, makes me hesitant. I hold back. I overthink the potential effects my words might have. And my anxiety over this has become such that I would rather just not post.

And my outlet becomes closed to me.

Maybe it doesn't make any sense, but if I'm just posting here and people are choosing to come read a post, I don't feel that same sense of silencing.

So. Given the choice between shutting down this blog and starting a new and actually anonymous one, or simply disabling that email feature....I'm choosing the latter.

This is the last post that will automatically be emailed to anyone. Please...if you are one of those people, this doesn't mean I'm effectively banning you from my blog. That is not my intent. I just need to unclog the flow. I need to be able to be myself here again. It may very well be, with some of you, that what I write makes you uncomfortable. I suppose I'm sorry in advance, but I can't keep on like this. I need this.

It comes down, I suppose, to why I blog at all. It's not so that friends and family can keep up with my life, although I know it serves that purpose for some. It's not so that I can connect with people online, though I cherish and value the connections I do make (and hey, I'm still a comment whore! Some things never change.) Ultimately, this is my voice. I have other outlets, other venues, other ways in which to connect and vent and process and be heard, but I need this one too.

So I'm taking my blog back. I may not be changing diapers any longer, but there's still plenty of crap in my life. And I may be facing different dragons, but they lurk in their lairs, waiting for battle, nonetheless.

It wouldn't be life, otherwise.

Dregs

2010-09-08T14:06:00.000-04:00

I'm just too tired. Drained, really. It's not just the whole moving thing or school starting thing or occasional money thing or the fact that my car decided NOW NOW NOW when we have so many start-up costs to require ALL FOUR WHEEL BEARINGS AND THE ATTACHED TIRES to be replaced (though we're doing them in stages, for sanity's and wallets' sake).

Oh no. There has also been Angst and Drama of the sort that has me, MTL, and his ex running to our parents to sob out our apologies for everything we ever did to torment them back when we were teens.

Also, we're rather grateful that we somehow survived and weren't strangled in our sleep by enraged parents.

Not, mind you, because they weren't enraged. We're fairly sure they all were. Multiple times.

It's the not-strangling-us thing that has us grateful.

I can't really go into it all more than that. Not really. For privacy's sake. But I think you get my drift. Fill in the blank, peoples. Really, let your imaginations roam.

Chances are, if you have or have had teens, or were one of those particularly TEENISH teens yourself, your imaginations are getting somewhere around the mark.

I'll tell you this much, though. I chose this life. It may not always be remotely what I expected (MTL keeps shaking his head over my incurable optimism) (and then admits freely that it's one of the many reasons he loves me) but it is the life I chose. For better or worse. And even when there are these trials by fire, I keep choosing it. I wouldn't want another.

Hey. I always told you I'm crazy.

Woohoo!!!! Cue Happy Dances And Cooing Noises!

2010-08-31T18:46:00.001-04:00

I am officially a TeacherAuntie!!!!! My nephew arrived very punctually and in an organized fashion this morning, on his due date. No artificial persuasion required! He even waited until an hour and a half after midnight to start the process--and until the day after his parents had gotten everything set and the house cleaned!

Very much like his father already, that one.

And in a few weeks they'll move to Canada, thus being, ironically enough, only three and a half hours away instead of fifteen.

So we can go SEE HIM.

*happy baby-induced sigh*

(Also: WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP POSTING BLOG POSTS? I HAVE NO TIME TO READ. NO TIME, I TELL YOU!!!!!!!!!)

(Argh.)

If It Wasn't For Meme, You Wouldn't Have Me At All

2010-08-25T16:05:00.000-04:00

Well, at least right now. Because life, it's a little crazy. Bless DraftQueen for tagging me. I'll be Up North in the Michigan backwoods for the next few days, so I will not be on the Interwebz. Well, even less so than I have been lately.

So. Ten questions (and answers, natch) about me, and then I'm supposed to tag six people:

1. If you blog anonymously, are you happy doing it that way; if you are not anonymous do you wish you had started out anonymously so you could be anonymous now?

Well, I am and I'm not. My name and my fambily's names are, obviously, nom de plumes. But I did that whole Oooooh I'm writing a blog! Come read me! Do you need me to make it email itself to you automatically???? thing for my extended family and friends (and The Ex, who wasn't my Ex back then) that a lot of beginner bloggers do, and there have been times when that has been...inconvenient. Ever since I crashed and burned back in December 2008/January 2009 and then started blogging again in March 2009, I've been as open and honest as I can be. There are times when I need to write about something that I'm not comfortable being read by certain people, however, and that's when I resort to friends who will lend me their blog for a day or two.

Thank God for bloggy friends.

What was the question, again?

2. Describe one incident that shows your inner stubborn side.

HA! Which to choose, which to choose...because really, it's not so much an "inner" stubborn side. It's pretty much HERE I AM AND WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!?! Um...okay. Shall I be all open and honest here? And you can decide whether this is me being stubborn or all conflict-avoidance.

There's a friend who has been a fairly good friend for quite a while who said some things to me back in January about my divorce and how she saw my future playing out. I was pretty hurt and bothered by some of it, and I haven't talked to her since, even when she's texted or Facebooked me. I even composed a letter in my head explaining why I was hurt (I don't think it's even the part she expects it is) and why I've been avoiding her. But I haven't written the letter.

I suck.

3. What do you see when you really look at yourself in the face in the mirror?

Someone beautiful and flawed and fulfilled. You have no idea how amazing it is to be able to say that with honesty.

4. What is your favorite summer cold drink?

Iced tea with lemon, NO SUGAR thankyouverymuch. Though I have to say the tropical sangrias I imbibed at the Olive Garden last Friday would top my list if I was more of a drinker.

5. When you take time for yourself, what do you do?

READ. Lavishly. Preferably the kind of books that do NOT end up on summer reading lists, though I think those lists could use more like what I read. Ugh. Remind me to ~~whine~~ ~~vent~~ tell you about that another time.

6. Is there something you still want to accomplish in your life? What is it?

I seriously think I'd like to be published. I'm not certain whether it would be for poetry, fiction, or essays, but I'd really like to be published. You know, by other people. And ideally also read by other people.

7. When you attended school, were you the class clown, the class overachiever, the class shy person, or always ditching school?

Oh, definitely the overachiever. For a long time my intelligence and academic success were the only things I thought worthwhile about myself.

I still attend school occasionally, by the way, because there's that pesky ongoing education requirement for my certification. Nowadays I'm the class smartass. I'm still at the top of the class, though.

8. If you close your eyes and want to visualize a very poignant moment in your life, what do you see?

Past? Future? Sad-poignant? Happy-poignant? Come on, people, be specific! Um.

Past sad-poignant was the moment last year I realized my marriage was dead. Not just dying, but dead. I'd already cried all my tears, so I didn't weep for it again, but it was a moment that I'll never quite forget.

Past mostly-happy-and-also-freaked-out-poignant was the moment DramaBoy was first shown to me and I fell in love in a totally different way than I expected. I also realized that life would never be the same and I wasn't quite so sure I was ready. Turns out, I wasn't. I survived, though.

More recent and purely-happy-poignant was when MTL first told me he loved me. I already knew it, but still, the first time those words are spoken...I can still picture it all perfectly. *mushy sigh*

As for future poignant--well, refer back to my answer to #1. Maybe I'll tell you once it's happened. *wink*

9. Is it easy for you to share your true self in your blog or are you more comfortable writing posts about other people or events?

I don't think I can help but write about myself. Very few of my posts are about other people without my involvement. This is essentially my rather non-private diary. Same for my poetry--it's all based in reality.

Sure, it's navel gazing, but they say to write what you know! Hehe.

10. If you had the choice to sit and read or talk on the phone, which would you do and why?

Oh, the answer to this one should be obvious to anyone who's been reading my blog for long! Sit and read ALL THE WAY!!! It's my addiction, after all. Even more so than shoes. (I know. Gasp.)

I actually prefer texting on the phone to talking on it. And I'll take talking to someone face-to-face over the phone any day! I've become more like my mother that way as I've gotten older. Now sit down with me over a cup of coffee or a lovely slice of dark chocolate cake with raspberries, and I can talk--and listen, believe it or not--for hours.

Which is what I plan to do the next few days, because my parents are IN COUNTRY and IN TOWN until Sunday, when they fly out to Boston for the birth of my nephew!!!

MTL finally met them last night. I won't tell you how nervous he was. How very, very, very nervous. *ahem*

(He survived.)

(I love that man. As he says, I better. Heehee.)

I'm supposed to tag people, right? Eeek. Um. Okay. Yikes, can't tag DraftQueen. Or Brenda at MummyTime. Or Wanderlust. Or Melissa at Rock and Drool. DQ already tagged them. Dammit, woman!

Okay. I tag:

Lori at Random Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mum
Pants With Names at Pants With Names
Katie at No Missed Opportunities
Nicola at Some Mothers Do Ave Em
GingerB at Gas-Food-Lodging
Monica at And I'll Raise You 5

Your turn!

You're welcome.

Sometimes Eventually Happens

2010-08-20T11:20:00.001-04:00

How do you and MTL deal with real life so easily? she asked, and I sat there thinking how on earth to respond to that. It was a bit of a shocker, really. I don't view myself as someone who "deals" all that well, truth be told, considering the more or less daily soap opera playing out in my head for three decades. Days of My Life: now with more child actors.

But I think I know from whence her question came. She and her best friend, both former students, had called me up late at night in fear and anguish, and MTL and I had gathered them up, plunged into their drama, and been the safe haven they could not find elsewhere. She also knows a good bit about my own drama played out over the last two years. And because of their own sufferings, I had talked with them about what happened when I was five.

I suppose MTL and I have dealt with "real life" and its sorrows better than many. It's the "easily" part that struck me, because it has not been that, not for either of us. What seemed so easy to her?

It isn't really our own strength, I told her. We both have faith in God, not to take all the hardships away or make everything go right, but to give us the strength we need to deal with what comes. We've both had to lean on him pretty heavily at times. That's what makes it look easier than it is.

I've been reminded these last two weeks just how much I do need to rely on that strength and grace, because life has been messy and draining and complicated. Those friends' drama, with its unhappy and maddening and ongoing outcome. Learning the ins and outs of a blended family and providing for and monitoring and parenting five children (plus the occasional friend staying over, which makes us a full-blown Brady Bunch even without the kitten). Attempting to deal with an angst-ridden fourteen-year-old girl who does not want to go to a new school in a new district with new people on top of starting high school.

It's bringing back some awful memories, that last one. I'm remembering too well the anger and depression of being fourteen, coming back to Michigan for a one year furlough, going into my sophomore year with people I either did not know or who might remember me vaguely from fifth grade as that weird girl from Africa. And who wants to make friends with someone who doesn't have a clue about anything that is Important like the popular clothes and music and movies and TV shows, and will be leaving at the end of the year anyway?

I get it. All too well. Add all that drama to the natural angst of being female and fourteen...

It's been interesting around here.

So last weekend when The Dark One invited me and MTL to go with her to her church (she wanted us there! with her! in a public place!) we went. We were rather delighted with the service. And the pastor, who is an energetic young man with four kids and dreadlocks. We'll be going back.

Before his sermon, Pastor Devine (pronounced "Devin") talked about the need to hand over all our burdens and worries to God so that we could come freely before Him, and he asked us to bow our heads and then raise a hand if we were in a situation where we needed that strength and grace. My right hand shot up. I felt MTL's hand cover my other, and we held each other tight as we prayed. There's grace right there, I thought, this man standing beside me.

This week has been a testing of that prayer. Each day has gotten busier and crazier as I have performed the tasks of chauffeur, launderer, cook, maid, mother, stepmother, and teacher. Yesterday was the peak. I hadn't actually written out a list of everything I needed to accomplish (which might have helped my focus, really), but if I had, it would have covered at least two pages.

At one point I caught myself getting strident as I urged the children to get their chores done and rooms cleaned before I had to take the four oldest (MTL's three + The Dark One's BFF, who has adopted us as her parents and calls us Mommy and Daddy) the 50-minute drive out to their mother's place. One of the many, many things I've learned from this new family experience is that when I start getting strident, things get worse. The kids get sulky, resentment builds, and I end up feeling guilty and mean.

So I took a break. I went upstairs and closed myself away in the sanctuary of our bedroom, and I picked up the book I had grabbed at random off my bedside table the day before. It was a God-step, because in the pages of Anne Lamott's Grace (Eventually) I found the words I needed to bring me back to center, accompanied by the wry humor that appeals to me about her work. I even underlined some lines, the ones that spoke to me and reminded me that (1) we're all in this together and we're all a mess, (2) I'm not in charge, (3) yes, parenting is hard, but that's normal, and (4) God loves me and sometimes that's not a warm and fuzzy thing.

Let me share, because she puts it all so much better than I can (well, outside my head, where this blog post was ever so much more eloquent this morning, let me tell you):

We're invited more deeply into this mystery on a daily basis, to be here as one-of; a mess like everyone else, and not in charge. That's why we hate it. (125)

Why was he [her son Sam] sabotaging himself like this...and for what? Well, this is what teenagers have to do, because otherwise they would never be able to leave home and go off to become their own people. Kids who are very close to their parents often become the worst shits, and they have to make the parents the villains so they can break free without having it hurt too much. Otherwise, the parents would have to throw rocks at them to get them out of the house. (190)

It turns out that all kids have this one tiny inbred glitch: they have their own sin, their own stains, their own will. Putting aside for a moment the divine truth of their natures, all of them are wrecked, just like the rest of us. That is the fly in the ointment... (193-194)

I had behaved badly? It all started up in me again, but this time it didn't take over, because something got there first. You want to know how big God's love is? The answer is: It's very big. It's bigger than you're comfortable with. (125)

Then I said the stupidest thing to God: I said, "I'll do anything you say." Now this always gets Jesus' attention. I could feel him look over, sideways, and steeple his fingers. And smile, that pleased-with-himself smile. "Good," I heard him say. "Now you're talking. So go home already, and deal with it." (192)

So I took a deep breath and tossed a mute Help! and I'm sorry! and Thank You! up to God, girded my mental loins, and headed back into the fray. But I made sure to talk to The Padawan and apologize for my tone and thank him for all the help he's been giving and the good job he's been doing with his chores and the little kids. And I took the time to talk to KlutzGirl about how I know it's hard to suddenly be the only girl with a bunch of boys so much of the time. And I made sure to give DramaBoy and The Widget some hugs and cuddles, however brief, in between dashing about Getting Things Done. And when I picked The Dark One up from her orientation that she hadn't wanted to attend and over which she had actually cried, I took her to 7-11 to buy a Monster, and I told her how proud I was of her for going and trying even when she really really really didn't want to.

That's grace, really, in those small yet not-so-small moments: the strength and patience to do what needs to be done without losing track of the hearts and minds and souls of those God has placed in your life. It's stretching me, making me grow in ways I never dreamed, widening my capacity for love and patience. If you had given me the same sort of day with the same sort of To-Do list just a couple of months ago, I would have broken down. Instead, the day ended in smiles and laughter and connectedness.

It all has its rewards. Last night when MTL held me close and told me how much he loves me and how much he appreciates everything I do, I told him that I finally am starting to understand what some of my friends have been saying: these friends with big families and crazy lives who say that they find joy in the insanity, that they have a sense of fulfillment in parenting such large broods.

I feel the challenge, yes, but I'm also feeling the blessing.

Today they're all gone, all of these children small and large, off to their other homes and other parents. There's a part of me that relishes the silence and sanity and prospect of uninterrupted hours spent with MTL. And there is, against all logic, a large part of me that misses them and their noise and squabbling and laughter and craziness.

It's not easy, this life. But it's full of unexpected grace and joy.

--------------------------------------------------
All quotes taken from Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott.

Toast Me

2010-08-18T09:38:00.000-04:00

I just solved a great domestic engineering mystery.

I figured out where to set the dial on the new toaster.

Now before you scoff (you scoffing scoffers you), keep in mind that this toaster simply had a set of numbers on the dial going from 1 to * (no really, an asterisk, following the 9) with no indication whether 1 was "barely toasted" or "charcoal briquet", and no clue whatsoever what the punctuation was for.

When I took a stab at it yesterday, I set it to 4ish in a wishy-washy middling attempt to determine the proper setting. The resulting toast was....edible, but the "left a little too long over the campfire" sort of edible. There was also an accompanying odor of baking plastic as it toasted, so I suspected that perhaps there was some sort of coating on the interior of the toaster. I elected NOT to scrub it off in the sink.

My intelligence is not purely of a literary nature.

So I set the dial at * and let the toaster toast air, in a crazy guess that perhaps the asterisk was some sort of self-cleaning setting. Correct or not, at least this morning it only emitted the lovely scent of toasting bread rather than burning petroleum-based synthetics. However, I still faced the problem of where to set the dial. Was 9 the highest regular setting, or was 1? I tried 6.

I'm a little confused now. Are there people who ENJOY eating toast that looks like it should be fueling a grill? Because if the resulting blackened bread at level 6 is any indication, level 9 produces filler for charcoal bags.

RIP those two pieces of bread, by the way. I don't like wasting food, but I also didn't really need an emetic this morning.

So I settled on a setting of 2.5, and the toast came out Just Right. Still on the slightly darker side, which makes me wonder what someone who wants light toast is going to do.

And yes, I very much enjoyed my Nutella toast, thank you very much.

With a side of Victory.