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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hugs and Kisses,
The Crazy Woman Running This Crazy Household

Twinkle, Twinkle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you mean? I asked.

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

You mean the Christmas Eggs? I asked.

Yeah! Those were awesome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twinkle on, Life. Twinkle on.

...laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

--e. e. cummings

Counting in Tongues

--Uno--

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

That part of my brain was wrong.

--Deux--

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

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

--Drei--

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

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

--Четыре--

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

I question my sanity on a regular basis.

--A Cúig--

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

We laughed and told him to try again.

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

Sigh.

--Έξι--

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

I brought home two kittens instead of one.

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

Sometimes insanity pays off.

--Seven--

I love my husband.

That is all.

Au Revoir, Grandpere

To the seeing again...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Au revoir, Grandpere. Je t'aime.

Until we meet again.

Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of Food and Family and Fabulousness

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

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

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

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

I think that may become my daily mantra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All my snarky love in the meantime,
Mrs. MTL

Blog? What Blog?

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?

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NO CHILDREN FOR TEN DAYS.

Excuse me while I break out into spontaneous celebratory dancing.

----

Whew. Where was I?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't answer that.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My score on that hole dropped a bit.

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

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

Just. So. Perfect.

and heard him say, Will you marry me?

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

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

So I did. Multiple times, as I recall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that is how MTL became my fiance.

Sunset

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Painted by a Master's hand.

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!

Death And A New Beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently I'm currently stuck in the Anger stage.

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

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

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

Just us. Just me and my family.

Happy Holidays and All That Jazz

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

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

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

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

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

Grace Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So...stress.

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

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

I've missed you guys.

So. What's going on with you?

Where I Am

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

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

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

The biggest reason, though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I KNOW.

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Dear Electronic Grading System,

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

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

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

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Dear Current Students,

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

Grumpily,
Your Favorite English Teacher

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Dear You Know Who,

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

I really need to work on my bitterness.

Trying To Forgive,
One of the People You Left Behind

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Dear Media, World, and People I Love,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's been a hard week.

Sincerely,
Your Emotionally Raw TeacherMommy

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'.