A Day In The Life

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.

Oh, Hello

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.

Through The Haze

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.

ice maiden

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

weakness

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

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

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

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

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.

I'm Pretty Sure Dinosaurs Don't Like Snow. Isn't That What Killed Them Off? Perhaps I Was Tempting Fate.

I don't know which weather deity I ticked off when I moved into this house, but for the last six years about three-fourths of the parties I plan (or are planned in honor of me) have been cursed with snow. As in massive snowstorms, many of them.

You'd think a birthday party planned for April 17th would escape the curse.

You'd be wrong.

I knew the weather was supposed to be a little chilly and windy today. I did not, however, cancel my reservation for the gazebo in the park nearby, because we're Michiganders, dagnabit, and temps in the low fifties are No Big Deal.

Ha.

I was a little worried when I was loading things into the car and spotted a few particles that looked suspiciously like random snowbits. It was only ten in the morning, though, and the temp was in the mid-forties. I had to be seeing things.

The kite-making went well. DramaBoy and The Widget were joined by MTL's youngest daughter K, and they all had fun decorating their own kites. Then we put them together with little rods and string and label stickers. Flying the kites was no problem, either. The Widget dropped his on the ground shortly after getting outside, and when he tugged at it, the wind caught it and UP IT WENT!!!

For being a newb at kite flying, he was pretty dang good. Mostly I just kept an eye on him to make sure he didn't get tugged into the parking lot.

But then the wind began to blow in earnest. And along came the snow. My friend M, who was driving with her husband and daughter to join us, said the temperature dropped nine degrees in ten minutes. When The Widget began crying because he was so cold, we decided to give up and head back to the house.

Thank God for the boys' father and grandmother, who scooted through the house cleaning like mad while I waited at the park to direct stragglers in the right direction. We somehow managed to put everything together and had a great party, sudden changes in plan notwithstanding. Since it was too cold for the kids to go outside, I didn't even have to worry about the horrendous state of the yard!

It all worked out. But I think I need to figure out what propitiations need to be made in order to rid myself of this curse. I know it's Michigan, but people are starting to talk.

And I LIKE parties.

Also: WEATHERPEOPLE SUCK. No one said anything about snow.

Gratuitous photo evidence, with captions:

The Widget has a very free-form artistic approach.

Two blondes with kites

(good name for a band)

Up, up, and away!

It's a wrapper! It's a plastic bag! No...it's a kite! (No, really.)

He had on three layers and STILL ended up shivering and crying. Sigh.

Dinosaur cupcakes! Brilliant brainchild of SoccerSister (and some others, but she beat them to the punch). They almost didn't happen. I thought I had eggs and discovered at 9:30 last night that I did not. MTL came to the rescue by dropping off some eggs and calling my phone, which had managed to get lost somewhere in the house. It was a fun night, let me tell you.

Rawr.

The spread. Again, kudos to my friends and family who gave me ideas for what to get. Also HUGE thanks to the boys' grandma, who used her magical shopping skillz to track down all the dinosaur Stuff that I could not seem to find ANYWHERE.

The Widget kept rolling his eyes while we sang to him. It was very teenager. I wish I could have captured it on camera.

But then he made up for it with a huge grin. The chocolate may have helped.

PRESENTS!!!! There were many dinosaurs. We have several dozen inhabiting the house now. Also: a happy Widget. And that, my friends, makes it all worthwhile.

And Now For Something Completely Different. Like Shoes.

Oy. My stomach hurt all afternoon yesterday because of that post. Yeah, yeah, it was brave and resulted in good dialogue and yada yada yada, but as I said, OY. I'm way too thin-skinned for that kind of stuff.

Maybe it's very silly and insecure of me, but I seriously get freaked out that I'll lose friends over things like that. Fortunately, those kinds of  expectations about people are usually proven wrong. (I big puffy heart you people. Seriously.)

So. Let's "dialogue" about something completely different. Like shoes. Because with my back and hip pain (which is slowly being worked through--more on that another time--but still very present), I have been unable to wear my usual fabulous heels. Not only would doing so be Not Smart, but it hurts too much. The thing is that I really don't like wearing ordinary sneakers, and I think the vast majority of flats are just plain Ugly. With the weather warming up, I don't have the option of wearing my lovely Boots with the Furrrrr every day, either.

This meant I had to go shoe shopping.

I know. The sacrifices one must make.

DSW ended up being the place to go, with not only quite a few cute options, but Sales and Clearance, Oh My! And while if this whole stupid no-heels thing becomes more long term I will most definitely need to expand my shoedrobe, I have a small collection that Will Do For Now. I thought, for fun, I'd show you what I found. Here are four out of the five pairs I bought (not pictured: cute brown sneakers that didn't come along for the weekend) (also, I apologize for the poor lighting--they're way cuter than they look in these crappy photos):

First up: black flats with little tan--yes, that's tan--stitching and faux buckles

Next: cocoa brown flats with faux buttons. SO COMFY.

On the more casual front: black and taupe slip-on sneakers. They don't go up as far as they look--I wore these with black anklet socks. My feet look adorably small and cute in these. Heh.

And finally (not counting the brown sneakers not shown here, which are more sneakery and less slip-on): these awesome blue-grey sneakers with white stripes and chartreuse accents. Adorable. LOVE. Rapidly becoming my favorites.

So--what do you think? And if you know of some super-cute (and especially more dressy) styles that are available at DSW, Famous Footwear, and/or Payless (because that's where I shop, peoples), let me know.

My former chiropractor would be so proud. He was so against heels he once paid for a pair of flat boots as my Christmas present, when I was pregnant with DramaBoy. I kid you not.

Of course, with all this pain I'm having, maybe he had a point....

I'm going to pretend I didn't just think that.

Love, peace, and shoes to you all!

The Waiting Land

(with apologies to T.S. Eliot)

November is the cruelest month, stripping
Gnarled limbs of autumn's final glory, blending
Festivities and failure, haunting
Memories with what was and is no more.
Autumn brought new delights, shimmering
Forth in blazing array, feeding
Souls with harvest plenty.
Summer surprised us, soothing wounds
Thought too deep to mend; we learned
Life does not stop when one phase ends
And friendship may blossom best in times of pain.
November slices scars half-healed.
I slog through mud and frozen mire under
Sullen skies, and mourn the loss
Of what I thought I had: peace, security--
They fled and in their place are new
And frightening vistas of change.
I clutch my children's hands and face
Days of risk, uncertainty, fear; nights
Of loneliness, sleeplessness, worry.
I shiver in the damp cold of another
Sunless day, and bend my mind
Toward distant possibilities.

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

I know quite a few people who have months that are their bete noirs, the space of time in which they hunker down and try to pretend the world doesn't actually exist for a space of thirty days. DraftQueen's is October. Joe's is May. A few other people have told me theirs, but I've forgotten them for the moment. These are months in which, for these people, Bad Things Happen and/or Bad Memories Haunt. Thus far in my life, I can't really point to a specific month. Years, yes, (I'm so glad 2008 is over--2009 is a mixed bag, let me tell you) but not so much a generic month.

I'm nervous about November this year. It may decide to turn on me.

November, in Michigan, is a grey month when the leaves have left the trees and the Indian Summer days are very rare and the sky tends toward slate rather than robin's egg blue. Cold rain falls leaving cold mud that occasionally frosts over at night, creating treacherous footing. Leaves lie soggy and forlorn upon the grass, demanding that SOMETHING be done for appearance's sake, but no longer offering ease of raking or mowing.

Yet somehow November has been fairly good to me in the past. November was full of events, good ones, fun ones, brightening the gloomy days. Unfortunately, it is these selfsame events that weigh heavy with me now.

November 4th and 7th were, respectively, my Dating and Legal Marriage anniversaries. Since I'm about to file for divorce, these anniversaries become...problematic. I'm planning on ducking my head and plowing through those days and cuddling my boys at night.

November 25th is DramaBoy's 4th birthday. While I'm excited for him, the birthday now gets mixed in with the whole How Are We Celebrating This? thing that comes along with divorce. One saving grace is that We are getting along quite well and should probably be able to do a birthday party all together as a family. Probably on Sunday...

November 26th is Thanksgiving. This is where things get dicey. I don't know where I will be, who I will see, and how We are going to divide this holiday in terms of the boys. Are We going to try to split the day? One take Thursday and the other Friday? Set up an every-other-year arrangement? I'm just grateful it doesn't fall on DramaBoy's birthday itself this year.

That day is also a certain Special Someone's 40th birthday, and I WON'T be able to see or spend it it with him. Considering this will come at the end of a month where things are looking like I won't get to see him much at all, I find this especially depressing. He's also rather gloomy about turning Forty, and despite my reassurances that he is Not Old, keeps calling himself an Old Man. Sigh. And I won't be around much to shake him out of it. Double sigh.

Oh, and let's not forget the whole end-of-marking-period and Parent Teacher Conferences thing, which is taking up the space between those two groups of dates. I'm already getting Attitude.

I'm trying to buck up and keep a smile on my face, but it's tough going.

Maybe I should take up hibernation. I hear it's quite good for the figure.

To Shoe Or Not To Shoe: That Is The Question

I know. You're reeling. Two posts in one day? you exclaim. What happened to working?

Spring Break, people. Spring Break. Today is the last day before I get a whole blessed week off, and I have Nothing Crucial planned.

Other than a teeth cleaning at the dentist (only three years overdue), three therapist visits (two individual and one joint), a chiropractor and therapeutic massage appointment (thank God for fabulous medical insurance--I pay $5 for that!), and a haircut and coloring appointment. And probably a play date on Friday. You know. Nothing big.

Not like the high level importance of posting something fashion related, because Big Mama does a Fashion Friday and I really really want to be able to use Mr. Linky. It's fun.

Big Mama loves scarves; I love shoes. Might have mentioned that before. I have been in the process of taking pictures of some of my favorite shoes, but my camera ran out of battery and so that's postponed. But I can post some pictures of shoes I have and want! So here goes...

I mentioned I "needed" a good pair of grey or silver sandals/heels, right? So Payless came to the rescue again, and here's what I found:So cute, right? When I wore them the other day, one of my senior guys asked me Why are you always wearing the snazzy shoes, Ms. TeacherMommy?

They give me happiness, I replied. Would you deny me a small piece of happiness in this dark, cruel world?

He laughed. The world's what you make of it, Ms. TeacherMommy! he said.

Out of the mouth of eighteen-year-olds.

'Tis the time of sandals and strappy heels, folks. I have hope of Spring, even if Michigan's weather doesn't like to give way so easily. So here are some of the lovely works of inexpensive art that I'm eyeing in the pages of Payless:

1. This adorable dotted pump, which of course would fill in the gaping hole that is the lack of polka dots in my shoe collection:2. This T-strap sandal, which is so elegant and makes me drool, even though I already have plenty of strappy black heels:

3. This "sassy architectural pump" (whatever that means--was it designed by an adherent of Frank Lloyd Wright?) that looks very cool but makes me wonder what it would do to my ankle:

4. This lime green dress sandal just makes me happy. I have lots of this style, but none that are plain lime green, which would actually work for me because I am one of the very lucky few who actually looks good in such a color!
5. And for those casual summery days, how about this ever-so-elegant ringed sandal that harks back to something vaguely Grecian or Roman or something like?

6 & 7. And this one or that one, too, which goes with all the browns and tans and such that, of course, need their own color palette:

And that's just one shoe store!

I should probably look into a pedicure.

There's a Yellow Brick Road There, Right?

I've decided to move to Australia.

This may seem sudden, but really it's not that surprising. I mean, I've been intruigued by Australia for a long time, ever since I read the classic Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. Obviously Australia is the first choice for asylum in an unfriendly world.

Besides, I have a very dear friend who already lives there and has a habit of taking in lost souls while they get back on their feet, so I'd be set for that. And upon checking the immigration requirements, it appears that I have a limited time frame: I only have 14 years remaining before I'm too old to move there. Apparently they don't want a bunch of senior citizens using them as the international Florida.

Though, like Florida, weather is balmy and beautiful in Australia this time of year. Since Michigan just decided to let Winter come blowing back through in defiance of the calendar that CLEARLY says it's Spring, that sounds good to me.

Now, Australia's kinda strict about who they let live there. They don't have a Statue of Liberty with the whole "Bring me your tired, your poor" sort of mentality (which, of course, we uphold with such pride these days). No, you need to prove that you can contribute to their society rather than being a drain on their resources. No bums need apply.

So I did some research. Looks good! According to Booklet 6: General Skilled Migration, I qualify because:

1. I'm under 45.

2. I hold a passport issued by the United States of America (or at least, I will once I apply for a new one, since the old one is lost and defunct). This apparently proves I have a good grasp of the English language. Though judging by the students who pass through my classroom, US citizenship isn't necessarily a guarantee of such a thing.

3. I have a Masters degree, which means I hold "a post secondary degree equivalent to an Australian Bachelors Degree (or higher)" (7). I also have an occupation that is listed on page 7 of the Skilled Occupation List ("Teacher – Secondary School Teacher"), which awards me 60 skill points (whatever that means), which is the highest number any occupation has. Sounds like I'm in like gravy.

4. I have pay stubs to prove that I "have been in paid employment in a skilled occupation on the SOL (form 1121i Skilled Occupation List (SOL) and Employer Nomination Scheme Occupation List (ENSOL)) for at least 12 months in the 24 months immediately before applying. This period of employment must have been accrued when [I was] in the workplace." Yeppers.

So all that's left is to take the Skills Assessment. I'm good at tests. Very good at tests.

Lauren, clean up that guest room! I'm moving in!