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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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?
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'.
Here's the true nastiness of sin: even once you've asked and received forgiveness, forgiven yourself, moved on...the consequences don't end. Actions have reactions, and the fractures we make ripple out through the crust to create shock and aftershocks.
It's not punishment, you see. Punishment is finite. That was your crime: this is your punishment. It comes to an end.
Consequences are simply (and yet so not simply) the logical and often perpetual result of actions and choices.
So even when I know, to my core, that I am cleansed of my sins, I will still see consequences for them in this life. A shattered relationship that will never fully heal, revisited with pain and hurt and lashings-out in cyclical fashion. Children facing upheaval and uncertainty and change and pain that they did not earn. Friendships weakened and damaged and even lost by torn loyalties. An insidious doubt lurking in the mind of my beloved.
Long ago the people my mother works with gave me a name in their language. I cannot replicate the name here, since my keyboard lacks much of their alphabet, but the name means, essentially, "the shame is gone." They gave me the name because I am my parents' firstborn daughter--and therefore the end of culturally "shameful" childlessness.
These days I claim that name for other reasons. Do you have any idea how precious that idea is to me?
My Shame Is Gone.
There are those who would wish it to remain, who would pile it back upon me. I'm learning to ignore that. Every now and again I feel that burden creeping back and have to remind myself to let it go.
i find myself welling with anger
so easily
so quickly
the snap of a finger at a single word
no patience left
the well is dry
"i see stupid people"
he writes
and i can only agree
yet wonder if perhaps i see them
through a glass tinted darkly
my own shadows taint the light
the road has been long and weary
and although it draws to a close
uncertainty clouds the finish line
not in whether it was the right road to travel
but whether the end lies as close as it seems
so much could go wrong
still
concealed tripwires
unseen holes
camouflaged stones that may yet bruise my feet
i am worn
yet taut with strain
counting the hours
while knocking on wood
fearful still of Murphy and his thrice-cursed law
so find myself snapping
stretched thin and angry
throttling the words that threaten to erupt
from a throat raw with tension
forgive me
even though i know what i do
extend me grace
beyond what i have given you
Okay, so here's the thing. I know I did that contest last week, and I actually had two entries (really? only two people? and Heidi, darlin', I know you're busy and all, but really? no entry?) and no, I haven't gotten around to "grading" them and coming up with a winner. Yet. I promise, I will. But I still haven't finished grading all the many, many papers I need to grade this week and I'm fighting the lazies like you would not believe and I have playdates scheduled for the kidlets (now with added bonus: adult conversation during!) and then this weekend has all sorts of other non-kidlet-related fun scheduled as well.
I haven't even done any diagramming this week.
You'd think I'm on VACATION or something. I know, right?
Also, I'm behind in reading my blogs.
Wow. My posts this week are incredibly boring. I apologize. I promise to try harder.
To make up for it, here's some gratuitous cuteness. My photos are working again. So here are my kidlets looking for eggs at my aunt's house (so adorable!!!!):
Twenty-nine years ago today, my life changed forever. I had been the Golden Child, the only little kidlet around in the entire extended family and missionary community out in Ivory Coast. As far as I was concerned, the universe revolved around me and Galileo could go suck it.
And then came long this adorable little baby with wispy blond hair and big blue eyes and a disturbing tendency to be very very very precocious and I was supposed to Love My Sister.
Yeah. Not so much.
I'm afraid I was a pretty awful Big Sister for a very long time. I tormented her. I knew all her buttons. I played them with all the skill of a Mortal Kombat button masher, and my results were just as aggravating (to her) as my MK skillz were to my male opponents Back in the Day.
(For the love of god, you aren't even TRYING to get the combos off! You're just MASHING BUTTONS and I'm trying to be SKILLED here, girl! Come on!)
(Meanwhile, I would kick their butts. Just sayin'.)
I'd rile her up until she would, out of pure frustration, bite me, and then I'd go running off to a parent with the proof of her crime. Oh, I was nasty. And when we would get in mutual trouble and be placed in the corner to sit until we apologized and said we loved each other? She'd crumble in a moment. I would sit there for pretty much Ever. I'm not sorry and I don't love her! I would exclaim.
Oh, I was a bitch.
Mind you, I was the only one allowed to treat her that way. Sure, I'd complain up and down about having to let her tag along on adventures and keep an eye on her, but God forbid anyone else criticize her. Then they'd be ripped a new one. I was the only one allowed to abuse her.
Time eventually changed my attitude. I had a few wake-up calls along the way. And I finally faced the reality that most of my resentment came from my own poor self-esteem and my jealousy that my sister is, very truthfully, Just Plain Awesome.
She is. She's smart, beautiful, athletic, generous, outgoing, sensitive, funny, friendly, loving, and hard-working. So's her husband. These days when I tell people about them (with a bit of a brag, by the way), I often say It's a good thing they're so damn likable, because otherwise it would be very easy to hate them.
And there's only a tiny bit of snark in there. Because seriously, they're amazing people.
Our relationship is not entirely healed from the damage I did all those years ago. But we have worked on it, and these days? These days I can say, very honestly, that I AM sorry and that I DO love her.
So Happy Birthday, SoccerSister. It's been a long and often painful road, but I am so very grateful that you are my sister (and, um, that you're also so forgiving. *ahem*) This year to come is going to be life-changing for you like little else, and I truly hope that I can be a presence in your journey that makes you, as well, grateful to have a sister.
I'm fairly certain this has been the longest I've gone between posts since my three-month hiatus a year ago. Perhaps some of you thought I'd disappeared off the earth again, but NO! I have not. Just off the Intarwebz. DraftQueen would be more ticked off about this if she wasn't buried cute-little-nose-deep in massive work (I happen to know she was back at work on the 26th, which was a Saturday people!) so I haven't gotten any snarky little text messages from her about abandoning her. On the one hand, I'm glad she isn't feeling abandoned (well, I hope she isn't.) On the other hand, I miss her. And you. Oh yes, dear readers, I missed you.
BUT.
I have been off in Real Life having an absolutely wonderful holiday break, the best I've had in a long time. It's amazing how that can happen when one strips away the excess, the stress, the materialism, the worry about schedules and traveling and events and gifts and STUFF that has clogged my recent years. I kept it simple this year, and I'm so very glad that I did.
I kept the focus on a small circle of people: my children, my siblings, my boyfriend. So the 23rd and 24th were my Christmas Eve and Christmas, spent with my boys and my siblings. We stayed all together down at my parents' place in Detroit (which made me feel closer to them as well, even though they're off in West Africa) and celebrated by doing all sorts of our traditional family activities. The males decorated the (artificial, which is also traditional--West Africa, peoples!) tree and house, which made for some interesting choices:
This is, in case you can't tell, a piece of plastic greenery stuck in the frame of a mirror. Very classy.
As well as some sweet moments:
My sister's husband, "Muttonchops Hubby", helps The Widget place an ornament.
My sister and I made candles as gifts (more about that in a future post) while the males baked cookies. Then we had a delicious dinner of Mediterranean Roasted Vegetables on couscous (my sister is vegetarian) and watched Claymation Christmas, a family favorite since someone taped it back in 1987 and sent it out to us poor television-deprived missionaries.
(I showed this to Joe a couple of days later and he said that while he liked it well enough, once a year is just about right. Barbarian.)
The morning of the 24th, I managed to keep DramaBoy and The Widget in bed with me until just about 7 a.m. Since we had all ended up in the same twin bed, you can imagine how well I slept that night. So I went down to put a firelog on the fire, light the candles, make cocoa, and put on Amy Grant's Christmas album at high volume while I sicced the boys on the peaceful sleepers. We read Luke 2 together, prayed, and then opened presents.
Interestingly enough (and SUCH a surprise, knowing our family), the vast majority of the presents were books. I myself received several books, a set of exercise videos (which I need to use), and a lovely pair of earrings. Oh, and two little handmade tree decorations from my boys via daycare.
Simple, but wonderful.
Then we made our traditional breakfast of Christmas Eggs (details again in a future post) and sweet rolls, and then relaxed before making dinner. The boys didn't so much relax as run rampant, much of the time wearing the awesome custom-made reversible superhero capes I got for them from BeeBeeBug:
DramaBoy action shot: orange side out, blue side in
The Widget action shot: yellow side out, green side in
The mighty superhero team of DramaBoy and The Widget, fighting a villain: colors reversed. Pants were, apparently, optional.
It was wonderful.
My sister and her husband left for his family's home that afternoon, so my brother and I took the boys to a Christmas Eve service at my family's home church, where my uncle is now head pastor. It was lovely. Then we had a simple dinner of leftovers and relaxed while watching Surf's Up with the boys. That movie was far better than I expected!
Christmas morning actual I took the boys to their grandfather's house for their Christmas with their father and his family, and since then I have been relaxing and *gasp* enjoying WINTER for the first time in years as well. We went four-wheeling through fields and wetlands until my feet just about froze off. I had no idea just how beautiful that stark winter landscape is. We went ice-skating, and I learned how to skate in hockey skates since I forgot my figure skates. We dropped by and visited friends and some of J's family. We drove around and looked at holiday lights. We went to dinner with friends at PF Chang's, and now I know why people like that place so much (nom nom nom). Last night I dragged J to see Avatar, which was somewhat cheesy and predictable (hello, it was James Cameron), but really quite good and well worth seeing in the theatre and in 3-D. J even managed to stay awake the whole time!
And tonight I will celebrate my birthday (which was on the 25th, but I rarely celebrate it that day for some reason), gathering friends and siblings around me in a casual get-together at a place owned by one of J's friends. Simple, no stress. It's becoming my mantra.
I'm thinking this is the way I should start doing holidays all the time. Maybe I'll even get to the point of being able to live my life that way!
I apologize in advance for getting practically warm fuzzy in this post. I'm sure the snarkiness will return in due time. It's the whininess that needs to go.
This look? Not attractive. Another reason to knock it off.
I've been feeling quite whiny lately. Not that *ahem* you would have noticed that in my last few blog posts or anything. My juniors have been driving me nuts because they are horrified that *gasp* I'm actually requiring them to READ A BOOK (I know. The humanity.) My kidlets have been less than cooperative the last couple of days. The district is trying to destroy the honors English program AGAIN. I miss my peeps. I'll be filing divorce papers as soon as I get some time to actually finalize them. The holidays are looming and I don't know how they're going to go or be organized or anything. Almost every time I try to get together with a friend, something drastic happens or someone gets sick and plans fall through. And I sound like a frog.
I have a job. It pays well, I have excellent insurance, and because of my spot on the seniority list and the size of my district, I'm not in danger of being pink-slipped. And as an added bonus, it's a job I actually enjoy (for the most part), and one in which I have earned and receive a healthy measure of respect from students, coworkers, and administration. I am good at what I do.
Although my children still get the sniffles and have asthma flare-ups and whatnot, they no longer suffer from the more extreme illnesses that had DramaBoy in and out of the hospital and required special diets and required consultations with insane infectious disease specialists. Neither of them has ever been on the verge of death, even amidst all that drama. They are both bright, beautiful, (usually) adorable children.
Even though I am going through divorce, it is one marked by an absolutely mutual desire to keep things friendly and make things as peaceful and positive for the children as possible. Despite financial complications (like a house that is worth less than is owed), we do not have to argue over money issues or get lawyers involved. Neither of us hates the other. We are both good people going through a bad situation, and we are both attempting to do so with grace and patience.
I do not have to worry about having a place to put my head at night. If anything, I enjoy a plethora of options. I may live out of a suitcase much of the time, but I have clothing and fabulous shoes to put in that suitcase and a car to transport it and places to take it. I may need to be a little careful with my money, but I can afford to put gas in my car and pay my bills and even have a little fun now and then.
I have friends and family who love me and, even when they can't be with me, actually WANT to be with me. I may not know where I'll be these holidays coming up, but there is no lack of options.
I have children who adore me and want to give me hugs even when I have Lost It, who run to me with huge smiles on their faces when they see me. This afternoon I will be taking my children and meeting a wonderful friend and her children and we are going to take photo shoots in a park. And the sun has chosen to emerge from behind the clouds, so even this oft-gloomy season is deciding to cooperate.
Maybe I don't have a voice today, but I can still choose which words I will say both aloud and in my own head. I am blessed, and I'm choosing to focus on that.
After all, it's less than a month until Thanksgiving. Might as well start practicing! I don't want that Thanksgiving Turkey to decide I've been a Bad Girl and give my house a miss. That would be embarassing.
Oh wait...
Okay, so maybe I just got a little...confused, but the practicing is still a good idea. What are you thankful for?
Drama seems to follow me. If I believed in auras, I imagine mine would be...interesting. I imagine swirls of brilliant purple and puce and vermilion trailing chaos in my wake, occasionally smoothed by a wave of pearly pink or sky blue.
I've sought this much of my life, truth be told. I like attention. I was an only child for some time, not only in my immediate family, but in my extended family as well as the general community. I was the adorable little girl everyone doted upon, and I ate it up. When my sister came along and challenged my status as Official Center of the Universe, I was Not Pleased.
It occurs to me that much of my search for attention, both positive and negative, has been rooted in deepset insecurity. I rarely felt good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, strong enough, interesting enough. When I was dramatic, people paid attention. A small piece of the hole was filled, albeit temporarily.
The reasons why I felt this way are not simple. I cannot point at one person or event and say Aha! THAT'S why! A complex web of words and events and experiences and interactions trapped me. I trapped myself. I let the doubt whisper in my ear and lead me down a path of lies and manipulation and Drama Drama Drama.
Now, in the proper time and place, having a dramatic personality can be a Very Good Thing. In the classroom, for example, the ability to use hyperbole and excitement and dramatic flair can capture students' interest, bringing literature and language alive. Public speaking is exponentially better with a delicate touch of drama. Theatre, it goes without saying, thrives upon drama.
It's the personal drama that becomes excessive and damaging. Taking what could be fairly simple situations and blowing them up into massive events is the stuff of soap opera and tabloid journalism. For a large part of my life, I thought that worked for me. I was the Lindsay Lohan wannabe of my little bubble world.
I've come to the conclusion that I'd rather grace the pages of Time or the NEA Journal than the World News or Enquirer. I may not wish to fade into the background, but I also am tired of the endless games.
What does that really mean? I'm learning to be comfortable in my own skin. And being comfortable and confident means that when I get attention, it needs to be for the right reasons and because I deserve it, not because I'm creating my own little Charybdis, sucking my nearest and dearest down into the chaos.
It also means altering the habits of a lifetime. It means going with my gut instinct of the best way to handle a situation, rather than diverting into secrecy, manipulation, and outright lies. It means being transparent about myself without exposing those who want to stay opaque. It means balancing on a thin line, and I'm still learning where each side lies. It means recognizing that something that I may not intend to be hurtful could be exactly that. Words only bring their own meaning to a point; the reader brings his or hers to the table as well, and that personal perspective colors and shapes the meaning of what I write.
So please excuse my mess. I'm still under construction. And the remodeling may take some time. Nothing too extraordinary--just a lifetime or so.
I've removed the last post because I crossed a line and hurt He Who Was very badly. I apologize to him here, and will be doing so in real life as well.
Out of respect to his wishes, I will be keeping him out of this blog in the future. I will do my best to respect his privacy.
