Draco De Ira

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.

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

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...

...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

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.

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.

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

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

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.